#I’m not saying what the man did was okay

[mr-tony-stark]

Tony laughed. “I’m okay, Clint.  I told you.  I know how to ride.  I did all the fancy stuff.  Dressage.  Show jumping.  Polo.  I’ve even been on a fox hunt, though we weren’t hunting a fox.” He looked at Clint deadpan.  “We were hunting man,” he said seriously.

He broke quickly though, laughing at his own joke. “Or just a scented drag.  Whatever.  But needless to say.  I know how to get on and off a horse.”

He patted Star again as Clint hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek. “You can do that as much as you like,” he said.  “Ten’s a good age.  Old enough to not be green, not so old you need to retire her immediately.”  He flicked the reins over her head. “So what are you going to do?  Hobble her?  Tie her up?” 

“I try my best,” he spoke gently to his words of understanding. He then chuckled and shook his head. “I wasn’t gonna have your hand I was simply gonna stand here and make sure that you didn’t fall and then—“ he spoke as Tony got down, his arms wrapping around his waist from behind.

“I was gonna do this,” he spoke and kissed his cheek before humming. “She’s around 10,” he spoke and nodded. “Horses can get up to 30 years though so she’s still young,” he spoke and smiled a bit. “Shes always been calm from what I know,” he spoke and smiled.

[jungwnies]

roommate from hell - oscar piastri (1/5)

୨ৎ : pairing : oscar piastri x gn!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : forced into an accidental roommate situation, oscar and you struggle with clashing habits, sarcastic banter, and unexpected tension…until frustration turns into something much deeper.

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy & light angst (barely...) ୨ৎ : tws : forced proximity, mild conflict, emotional tension, and mutual pining. ୨ৎ : wc : 1140

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

The apartment listing had sounded too good to be true.

"A modern two-bedroom in a great neighborhood! Affordable rent! Recently renovated!"

You had jumped on it. Places like this didn’t stay on the market long, and after what felt like a lifetime of apartment hunting, you were ready to sign a lease and never look at another rental website again.

So, you scheduled a tour, packed a mental list of negotiating tactics, and prayed to whatever higher power existed that this would finally be the one.

Across the city, Oscar Piastri was doing the exact same thing.

Unlike you, he hadn’t even bothered looking at multiple listings. He had sent his assistant a simple message: Find me an apartment. Quiet, good location, no crazy landlords. He wasn’t picky, he just needed a place to live between races. Simple.

At least, that’s what he thought.

One Hour Later – At the Apartment

The moment you walked into the leasing office, you knew something was off.

For one, the landlord, a middle-aged man named Greg who looked permanently stressed, was nervously shuffling through papers like he had forgotten how to read.

For two, there was already another person standing there, signing a stack of documents like he had just secured the place.

You blinked. “Uh, what is happening?”

Greg looked up, his face immediately twisting into an expression that screamed oh no.

The guy next to you, a very casually dressed guy in a McLaren hoodie and cap, barely glanced up. “I’m signing my lease,” he said simply, like this was his apartment and you were the intruder.

You frowned. “No, I’m signing my lease.”

Greg audibly gulped.

McLaren Hoodie Guy finally looked at you properly, his eyebrows pulling together. “That can’t be right.”

You turned to Greg, arms crossed. “Okay, Greg, what’s going on?”

Greg inhaled sharply through his nose. “So, funny story..."

You knew it was not going to be a funny story.

“...there was a bit of a mix-up, and it looks like I… um… may have accidentally leased the same apartment to both of you?”

Silence.

You blinked. "What?"

McLaren Guy squinted at Greg. “You may have?”

Greg winced. “Okay, did. I did lease it to both of you. But in my defense, I didn’t realize it until just now, and I already spent your security deposits, so I really can’t refund you until next month.”

Your jaw dropped. “You already spent...!?!? Are you kidding me?”

McLaren Guy let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So what are you saying? That neither of us can live here?”

Greg let out a nervous chuckle. “Well… I could cancel the lease for one of you, but…” He glanced between you two. “Do either of you have another place lined up?”

You exhaled, crossing your arms. “No.”

McLaren Guy sighed. “No.”

Greg’s face paled. “Right.” He rubbed his hands together, clearly dying inside. “So, um… what if you two just… shared it?”

You and McLaren Guy turned to each other at the exact same time, both shaking your heads.

"Absolutely not."

"Not happening."

Greg held up his hands. “Okay, okay! Just hear me out.”

You shot him a look. “You literally just admitted to scamming us.”

“I didn’t scam you—"

McLaren Guy scoffed. “You spent our deposits.”

“Okay, I accidentally scammed you.” Greg sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, I’ll cut the rent in half if you both agree to stay. Just for the first few months, until I can sort this out.”

You turned back to McLaren Guy, fully expecting him to shut it down. Instead, he looked like he was considering it.

You frowned. “You cannot be thinking about this.”

He shrugged. “Do you have another option?”

“…No, but that doesn’t mean I want to live with some random—" You gestured at him vaguely. “—McLaren fanboy.”

McLaren Guy’s eyebrows shot up. “Fanboy?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, motioning to his hoodie and cap. “You’re decked out in McLaren gear. You look like you’re about to go meet Lando Norris.”

Greg made a strangled noise.

McLaren Guy just stared at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. His mouth opened for a second, then closed.

Then he exhaled, shaking his head. “You know what? Fine. Let’s do it.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait—what?”

He grabbed the lease papers, signing his name at the bottom with zero hesitation. “I don’t have time to find a new place, and I’m not about to couch-surf across Australia.”

You turned to Greg. “You cannot expect me to live with a stranger.”

Greg gave you a deeply exhausted look. “I expected to lease this apartment to one person. Life is full of disappointments.”

McLaren Guy grinned. “You’re lucky I’m an excellent roommate.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “I highly doubt that.”

Two Days Later – Moving In

You were right.

Oscar Piastri was not an excellent roommate.

The first issue became apparent when you opened the fridge and found nothing inside except for a can of Monster Energy, a half-empty bottle of water, and two whole heads of lettuce.

You turned to him, arms crossed. "Do you… not eat real food?"

Oscar barely looked up from setting up his PlayStation. "I eat at the McLaren hospitality tent most of the time."

You squinted. "McLaren hospitality—" You let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh my god, you’re a team employee, aren’t you?"

Oscar blinked at you. "Huh?"

"You work for McLaren," you said, pointing at his hoodie, the McLaren duffel bag by the door, the literal McLaren keychain hanging off his keys. "That’s why you’re obsessed with the team."

Oscar stared at you for a long moment. Then, very carefully, he said, "Yes. That’s exactly it."

"Called it," you muttered, going back to unpacking.

Oscar smirked to himself but said nothing.

The second issue? He was too quiet.

You were used to some kind of background noise. Either it was music, TV, literally anything, but Oscar? He just moved around the apartment in silence, which somehow made you more on edge.

Then, later that night, you really reached your breaking point.

You had been winding down, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, scrolling through your phone when you suddenly heard a deep sigh behind you.

You turned your head slightly, only to see Oscar staring at you from the other side of the couch, arms crossed, looking very unimpressed.

You blinked. "What?"

Oscar sighed again, slower this time, louder. "You chew really loud."

Your jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You’re, like, aggressively loud."

Your eyes narrowed. "I will throw this popcorn at you."

Oscar smirked. "You wouldn’t dare."

Without hesitation, you grabbed a handful of popcorn and launched it at him.

Oscar gasped, dodging the attack. "Greg was right! This was a terrible idea!"

You grinned, grabbing another handful. "Welcome to hell, roomie."

taglist : comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[facewithoutheart]

What if Eddie got a beanie baby for Christmas one year and it’s dumb because stuffed animals are for girls and Eddie’s the Man of the House but secretly he likes his little white bear with the heart on his chest. He cuts the tag off it and his mom yells at him because they’re supposed to be worth a lot of money someday but secretly Eddie’s glad he did it. If the bear isn’t worth anything but the joy he brings to Eddie then maybe he’ll get to keep it. He does, eventually, forget about the bear. Or, he puts him on a shelf when he enters high school because high school boys don’t sleep with toys and maybe there’s some nights he sees the bear on his shelf and he thinks it might be nice to hold him but he doesn’t.

The first time Shannon comes into his bedroom she immediately sees the bear. “Who’s this little guy?” she teases and Eddie gets irrationally angry seeing it in her hands. “My stupid sisters leaving their stupid toys in my room,” he says, grabbing it out of her hands and throwing it in his bedside trash can. He waits until she’s left to fish him out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” which is dumb, so dumb, that he’s apologizing to a doll, that he’s crying.

Eddie wants to bring the bear with him to Afghanistan but he doesn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the bear, no matter what little comfort it might bring to Eddie.

When his mom gives Christopher a stuffed bear after his birth, Eddie stares at the way Chris hugs it to his chest and wonders what would ever make him tear the toy from Chris’s hands.

Chris finds the stuffed bear when he moves to El Paso. It’s weird, how he wants it to sit on his nightstand, but not as weird as the tight look his abuela gets when she sees it. “Where did you find that?” Chris shrugs. “Behind some books in the closet.” Chris becomes fascinated with the bear. He looks it up online. Valentino. There’s a little red stain over one eye, maybe someone spilled something on it. He sends a picture to Buck. “He kind of reminds me of you.” “Yeah, Superman! He does! How are you doing?????” Chris doesn’t reply.

When Chris is packing up his items to move back to LA, he doesn’t think about it when he throws the bear into his suitcase. He puts it on a shelf when he gets back home. Nothing else has changed about his room; his dad kept it exactly the way he left it, so the bear sticks out. “Where’d you get that?” His dad asks when he sees the bear, his hands are flinching into fists by his side. Chris’s breath picks up. “You can’t be mad at me for taking him. You obviously didn’t want him; you left him behind!” “I’m not mad,” Chris’s dad lies. “Yes, you are. You are!” “Okay! I’m a little mad!” “Why?!”

“Because he was mine!”

Eddie takes a breath. He looks at his son. He loves him so, so, so much. “Because he was mine,” Eddie says, “but I wasn’t … I never felt like I was allowed to have him.” This time, Chris’s question comes out softer, more earnest, “Why?”

It’s not easy to put into words all the ways the world has shaped Eddie into a form he barely recognizes, but he tries. For his son, he’ll always try. At the end, Chris walks over with the bear. He places it in his dad’s hands. “I think you need this more than I do.”

Eddie laughs and thumbs over where his sister spilled cherry koolaid on him the one time he let her play with Bear.

“He kind of looks like Buck, doesn’t he?”

Eddie holds Bear to his chest. He squeezes tightly.

“Yeah. He does.”

[stellamarielu]

blurred lines II

joel miller x female reader

read part one here

summary: after the little stunt you pulled last night, joel can't bring himself to be in the same room as you. he's canceling his weekly plans to join your dad for sunday night football, and you're fed up with the awkward tension which leads you marching right over to his place determined to fix the problem.

content: nswf, 18+, dbf!joel, age gap, a sprinkle of angst, pet names [duh its joel], lots of praise, fingering, penetration, riding that man like a mechanical bull, unprotected sex, joel finishing in reader without explicit permission, basically just smut with very little plot let's go!

author's note: i need joel miller circa 2003 like i need air in my lungs, so of course i had to write a part 2 for this one

“What're you doin' here?”

Joel hadn’t expected to see you standing directly in front of him holding a Tupperware bowl when he opened his front door.

“Brought you some Chili.” You were stating nonchalantly as if he should’ve been expecting your company.

He had flaked on your dad tonight. Of course he had. 

After what happened last night, you didn’t expect him to show his face at your house like he normally did every Sunday, but it didn’t stop his excuse of feeling “under the weather” from pissing you off.

You made things complicated when you decided to call him last night. Why couldn’t you have kept it together and just called an uber instead?

You spent the entire day feeling guilty and embarrassed and even though you tried to blame your inappropriate advances on the alcohol you’d consumed, you knew it wasn’t the real reason you crossed a line in the backseat of his truck.

After he got out of coming over for the game, you watched the empty seat on your couch that he usually occupied and let the guilt eat you alive. Him and your dad should have been drinking beers and yelling at TV together, but instead your dad just sat in silence.

You couldn’t handle it— you needed to talk to Joel. You weren’t sure what you would even say to him, but before you knew it, you were packaging up leftovers and telling your dad you were taking dinner to Joel and Sarah during halftime.

“Is Sarah home?”

You were asking and looking over Joel’s shoulder, the leftovers still warm in your hands.

“No-“ 

He’d hardly responded when you pushed past him and into the familiar territory of his living room, cutting straight to the chase.

“Why didn’t you come over tonight?” 

“I think we both know the answer to that.” His voice was laced with annoyance at your question.

He was standing a few feet away, still by the front door. Watching as you angrily stormed into his house, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table.

“Okay, but you didn’t have to lie to my dad.” 

You were coming in hot. You needed this to be over so you could stop feeling so embarrassed and remorseful about the whole thing. 

“Oh, your right, I should’ve just told him I almost fucked his daughter so it’d be kinda weird for me to come over.” Joel was scoffing as he leaned against a nearby wall, folding his arms over his chest. Your skin was burning at his words.

“Look I’m sorry for making things weird, but can we just move on? I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come around anymore. You’re like my dad’s only friend.”

“Then why’d you do it?” His voice was rough, almost like he was angry with you, but his eyes told a different story. They were gentle— carefully watching your expression as you wracked your brain for an answer. 

“Because…” You were trying to avoid his eyes but it was nearly impossible given the way he was staring so intently at you from across the room.

You started out so firm but now you were crumbling. His tender gaze picking away at you, wildling you down into a pile of nerves. 

“I don’t know Joel, let’s just drop it. I’ll keep to myself from now on and we can just pretend like nothing happened. Just please don’t let this effect your friendship with my dad.”

Joel chuckled at your words, an amused smile forming on his lips— Like this is something that could be easily forgotten. 

“Why’d you ask me to pick you up.” The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had formed. His demeanor was serious again as he revisited the objective of the conversation. The memory of you touching yourself in his car standing between you like an undeniable presence the room.

“What do you mean? I was out drinking and needed a ride.” You were trying to keep it together but there was a hint of hesitation in your words. 

“Yeah, but anyone could’ve given you a ride. Why’d you call me at 2am.” 

His eyes were locked on yours, heavy and sincere. 

“What do you want me to say Joel?"

here you go.

"Do you just want me to keep embarrassing myself? I didn’t want anyone else to pick me up. I wanted it to be you. I wanted an excuse to see you.” You were huffing out the words in a quiet voice, too mortified to speak above a whisper. 

“Thought that was pretty obvious when I had my hand between my legs in the backseat of your truck.” 

Your words were left ringing in the silent room as Joel just stared, his expression stuck in concentration. 

“Happy now?” You were deadpanning with a wave of your hands. Why wasn't he saying anything? You couldn’t read his expression and it was infuriating. 

“Very.” 

One word was all he said as he pushed himself off the wall, his arms still loosely crossed over his chest. He was taking small steps in your direction and your entire body froze. 

“I’ve been tryin’ to convince myself all day that you were just drunk last night. That the only reason you did such a filthy fuckin’ thing was because you were horny off one too many vodka sodas.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he spoke, his body now within reach. 

“I needed to tell myself it wasn’t because you like me.” His eyes were glued to you.

“Needed to convince myself that ya weren’t bein’ all sweet touchin' yourself like that because ya wanted me to fuck you.”

He was taking another step, the gap between you dwindling down with every word he spoke.

“Because if that was the case, if ya did do it on purpose...” He paused, letting his eyes rake down your body. Taking his time before he continued, his stare lingering on your lips.

“Do ya know how hard it was for me to keep my fuckin’ hands to myself?” He was so close, you could see his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath he took.

His stare was dense and all you could think about was how you’d never been this close to him before.

“Joel…” You meant to whisper his name as a warning but instead it came out as a pathetic whimper; only encouraging another inevitable step over the blurred line of your relationship. 

He was leaning in, and you weren’t stopping him.

“This is such a bad fuckin’ idea.” He avoided your lips and ducked his head into your neck, his whisper landing right below your ear and you could feel his breath on your skin. 

“I don’t care.” The words were a rushed hum as your fingers found the nape of his neck. You suddenly felt desperate to have his lips on you. 

“Please.”

That word had Joel spiraling. God, hearing you beg for him like that, he needed to hear it again. Wanted to hear it fall from your lips over and over again while he had you sitting on his cock.

“You said you think about me when you touch yourself.” Joel’s voice was a hum against your skin as his lips finally connected with your neck. He was placing a long drawn-out kiss right beneath your jaw before pulling away just enough for more words to make their way from his mouth.  

“Tell me what you think about.” His breathless whisper on your body made you dizzy, sending your fingertips clutching into this hair- desperate to find something to tether you back to earth. 

“I think about the way it’d feel- when you touch me.” Another pitiful whine. 

“Touch you where?” His words were barely audible as he continued placing gentle kisses down the side of your neck. 

“Joel…”

“C’mon sweetheart, you were so brave tellin’ me what ya wanted last night. Don’t get all shy on me now.” His voice was low and rough- intoxicating. 

“Think about your fingers in me. How they’re so much bigger than mine. How good they’d feel filling me up.” 

You were reaching for one of his hands as you spoke, holding it in front of you and tracing his palm before you pressed your hands together, his was so big and rough compared to yours. 

Then he was intertwining your fingers together and using the hold to pull you into him, your bodies flushed together. A groan left his mouth sending a sweet vibration into your skin.

“There she is.” He was murmuring into the crook of your neck, his hands finding your waist and gripping tight, pulling your hips closer. He absorbed your frame in his own, the muscle of his body solid and sturdy against yours. 

Joel felt like he was dreaming.

After he got home from dropping you off last night, he barely made it to his room before he was yanking down his jeans and wrapping his hand around his dick. The images of your fingers pushed deep inside of you were pulled from his memory, making him finish in record time. He thought about you all night. He couldn’t even sleep as visions of you filled his mind; you curling your fingers into his hair with his head between your legs, you on your knees for him, you with your head buried into his pillow and your perfect ass pushed back while he railed into you from behind. He thought about nearly every sexual scenario possible and now you were here, your soft body like putty in his hands.

“Let’s see then.” His voice was low as he kissed your neck one last time, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes. 

“See if I can make ya come on my fingers yeah?” 

There was a soft smile on his lips conflicting with his sinful heavy-lidded stare. His hands were unruly as he explored your figure, dipping beneath the material of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin on his fingertips.

“Wanted to see it last night, could barely hold myself back from pushin’ your pretty little hand out of my way so I could be the one makin’ ya feel good.”

One of his hands remained on the skin just above the waistband of your jeans while the other trailed up your body until it was on your face.

Joel’s hand was carefully caressing your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your skin. The act was reminiscent of the way he was rubbing your thigh not even 24 hours ago, and the recollection had you clenching your thighs together. You let your mind wonder back to the dirty things Joel said to you last night; the way he watched with a predatory glare as you fingered yourself in front of him. You were lost in the echo of it all until Joel caught you off guard, crashing his lips into yours. 

His kiss was heavy. The weight of unspoken feelings and undeniable tension fueling the way his lips molded into yours. Your shared desire was finally being dealt with and the relief was almost palpable in the liberation of his mouth on yours.

Your lips were tangled in a messy embrace as Joel ushered you backwards until you felt the back of your legs hit the couch.

His lips were following as you flopped down on the cushions, his body leaning forward between your legs. The kiss didn’t lose any momentum as his hands pulled at your jeans. You were arching off the couch assisting Joel as he slid the denim down your legs, breaking the kiss to watch you kick them off your body completely. 

He had been aching to see you like this again. Legs spread and chest heaving. Only this time he didn’t have to hold back. He could touch you; see what you looked like with his fingers knuckles deep in your sweet little cunt.

At that reminder Joel was reaching a hand down to feel you through your panties, his fingertips tracing the outline of your swollen lips, already wet beneath your underwear. 

“Fuck sweetheart you’re soaked.” 

The hot sticky evidence of your arousal was seeping through the cotton material, causing Joel to let out an animalistic groan. He hadn’t even touched you yet and he was losing all sense of control. 

He continued running his fingers over the ruined material, circling your clit over the clothing.

You were already writhing under his touch, which you normally would’ve considered pathetic, but not now. Not when you had been waiting for this exact moment. Now that it was really unfolding, you were proud of yourself for not taking his hand in your own and shoving his fingers where you really needed them.

He kept circling slowly and intricately, still leaning over you— his face inches from yours.

“That feel good?” His voice was a sweet murmur as you moaned in response. 

He was pleased by your answer, pushing your panties to the side and dipping a single finger into your entrance. His digit was gently pressing into you as he watched your face contort in pleasure.

Letting you bathe in satisfaction for only a second, he was retreating. Pulling his thick finger from your core before pushing it back between your wet folds, only this time adding a second along with it.

You were immediately reaching for his forearm, grabbing it instinctively, looking for something to hold onto while you went braindead with pleasure. You were biting down on your lip as he leisurely pumped his fingers in and out of you, scared of the obscene noises you would make if you didn’t.

“Let me hear ya baby.” Joel was smiling down at you with a devious grin. He could see the way you were suppressing your moans. He wanted to hear you; wanted to know how good he was making you feel, wanted to hear the pretty sounds you made when you came around his fingers.  

You let your mouth fall open. The whimper that fell out upon hearing his words prompted Joel to push his fingers further into you, curling when he felt the spongey warmth of your walls tightening. 

He could tell by the moan rolling off your tongue that he had found a favorable spot deep in your core. He kept his fingers bending in the perfect position as he peered down at you. 

The sight beneath him had his hips bucking into nothing. You with your head thrown back on his couch; eyes shut, brows furrowed and jaw slack. After last night he thought he’d never see something so glorious again, but now you were proving him wrong. You looked so beautiful like this— all fucked-out with his hand between your legs. 

The deliberate curl of his fingers with each plunge was sending you reeling as you let profanities bubble up in your throat. Just as you felt yourself teetering on the brink of release Joel added the pressure of his thumb on your clit.

“You gonna come already?” His words were sprinkled with amusement as he felt you clenching around his fingers. 

“Joel…” His name was a moan on your lips, and you were digging your fingers into his forearm, desperate to hold yourself steady as your body tensed.

“Fuck- you’re gonna come.” He was grunting as his fingers kept their pace. You were mewling out his name and nodding your head in desperation as you felt the coil inside you pulling tighter, ready to snap.

“Let me have it baby.” Joel was nearly begging you to let go. His tone as he growled out the words pushed you right over the edge, sending you into an abyss of pleasure. 

Your body was trembling as you whined out Joel’s name. He could feel your pussy squeezing his fingers as he continued to push them into you gently, relishing in the feeling of your warm embrace. 

“There ya go.” His grunts and groans were replaced with a calm voice as he worked you through your orgasm. 

“Good job sweetheart.”

His praises only added to the sensory overload running rampant through your body. 

“So beautiful baby.”

You were finally opening your eyes, looking up at him with a lust clouded gaze.

He couldn’t stop himself from kissing you again, only this time deeper. It was laced with passion and had you pulling him down onto the couch next to you.

Your mind and body were still buzzing from your climax, making it easier to gain dominance over him. You were pushing Joel back against the pillows and climbing onto his lap, straddling his waist. Your kiss had become sloppy and hungry as your lips worked in tandem to relieve the thick tension. 

“Off.” You were mumbling against his mouth and fumbling with the button of his jeans.

He got your message loud and clear as his own hands flew to the waistband of his pants. He was lifting his hips off the couch to free his body of the jeans but in doing so he was thrusting up into you, his erection grinding into your unclothed core. You were bringing your hands to his chest to stabilize yourself as he pushed his pants and underwear to the floor. 

You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering down to his member now on full display. He was big. You knew he would be, but this, this was more than you'd imagined. 

In awe you brought a hand between you, encasing him gently with your touch and ever so slowly letting your fingers follow up and down his length.

You looked to his face to see his eyes fluttering closed in pure delight from finally feeling some sort of relief. The pressure that had been building inside him since he watched you finger fuck yourself last night was slowly dissipating with every pump of your hand around his cock.

You stroked him a few times, your touch soft and cautious; driving Joel insane. He was groaning with every flick of your wrist.

“Need to be inside ya.” A longing yet primal gaze took over his expression as he muttered the words; confessing his need to feel you, all of you.

They were the magic words, the ones that had you lifting your hips and guiding the head of his cock to your slicked entrance. You lingered there, with his tip filling you just enough, soaking in the final tension filled moments before you both completely gave in to your mutual desire.

Your eyes were locked on his, the two of you exchanging one last look of approval before you were sinking further onto him. 

You both let out hums of relief as you felt him stretching you inch by inch.

You were moving slowly, letting yourself adjust to his size as you relaxed onto him. His fingers were gripping onto your hips, holding you steady but careful not to guide you further. He wanted to let you set the pace. 

You sunk down until you were met the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. You were sat completely on him, taking a moment to savor the way he felt pushing deep inside of you. 

“That’s it baby.” He was whispering another praise as his hands traced up your body, taking your shirt with them and tossing it to the floor. Then his touch was on your face, holding your jaw in his fingertips and bringing your gaze down to meet his. 

“That okay? Feel good?” His questions were genuine, but they were spiked with such a immoral tone you might’ve thought he was mocking you. 

“So good.” Your voice was breathless as you affirmed him.

You decisively rocked your hips over his and an unconscious moan slipped from your lips at feeling him move inside you.

He brought his hands back to your hips as you started to move. Gripping onto your skin and guiding your body onto his as you began to bounce up and down on his cock.

“Oh honey- fuck.” He was moaning out as you picked up your pace, relentlessly taking him as deep as you could with every rebound. 

“That’s its baby.” His words were tumbling out of his mouth with every movement of your hips. You were riding him with such precision his mind was going numb, rendering him uncapable of piecing together coherent sentences.

Your palms were flat against his chest and your head thrown back in pleasure as he rubbed against you at just the right angle. You were using him to your full advantage as you shamelessly fucked yourself on his cock.

“Take what ya need baby.” He was encouraging your lewd movements, the sounds leaving his mouth were borderline pathetic as he tried to keep himself together long enough to feel you coming around him.  

He was letting his hands wander further, gripping the flesh of your ass with his palms and using the hold to pull you harder into him with each thrust. 

The desperation in his grasp had you seeing stars. You were bracing yourself on the rigid surface of his chest as you felt the familiar crawl of a second release sneaking up on you.

“Joel I’m gonna…” Your announcement was cut short by a surprised whine as Joel moved his hips along with yours, pushing himself even deeper into you. The way he was stretching, filling and holding onto you had your body straining and your vision blurring.

“Let me have it sweetheart.” 

The carnal grunt off Joel’s tongue as he coaxed you into another orgasm brought you to your finish. You were clutching at his chest, your body melting into his. The pleasure surging through your body caused you to lose all balance, making you slump forward until your forehead found his.

Joel reached for you, placing a hand carefully at the nape of your neck, holding you against him. 

“God you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Another groan was leaving his throat as he pushed his lips onto yours. You were still coming down from your high, pussy squeezing and clasping around him as he muffled your moans with his mouth. 

“So perfect baby.” He was mumbling as he used both of his hands to hold you firm, slowly bringing his hips up to meet yours. His pace was unhurried as he took pleasure in the way you fluttered around him. Then he got caught up in the moment, his tempo quickening. He was thrusting into you persistently, mercilessly rutting as breathless whimpers fell from his tongue. He was holding you still with his fingers curling into your hips as he drove into you— hard and fast.

He was groaning and greedily fucking up into you as his hips began to stutter. With a low guttural sound his movements ceased and you were met with the warmth of his release spreading into you.

He was frozen in place for a few seconds, catching his breath and gathering a sense of composure. You could feel him throbbing in you as his hands kept their hold on your hips. 

“That was so fuckin’ stupid.” He was muttering under his breath, and you immediately felt insecure. He was still inside you and he was already regretting hooking up with you?

“We don’t have to do it again Joel, it was just-“ You were beginning to defend yourself before Joel cut you off. 

”No sweetheart, comin’ in ya.” Joel looked at you with a sympathetic grin on his face.

“I can’t be doin’ that.” He was shaking his head at the poor decision of burying his spend deep inside you. 

“I’m on birth control, it’s okay.” You felt relieved to know his shame wasn’t about having sex with you, but rather his panic of potentially knocking you up. Understandable. 

“Don’t care it’s not smart.” He was reaffirming and leaning up to place a kiss on your forehead; a simple gesture but it had butterflies swarming your stomach.

“How ya gonna explain to your dad why it took so long to drop off leftovers?” Joel was releasing his clutch on your hips and letting his hands rest lightly on your thighs as he spoke. 

“Oh my god, please don’t talk about my dad right now.”

You were mortified. You couldn’t think about your dad. Not while you were straddling his best friend’s lap who’s come was fighting not to leak out between you. 

“Looks like I’m really gonna need to move out soon.” You were groaning and bringing your fingers to your temples, hiding your face in your hands. 

“Oh, without a doubt.” Joel was laughing at your predicament, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t keep having you like this. Now that he’d gotten a taste, he wouldn’t be letting you out of his sight any time soon.

my masterlist

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You Protect The Marvel Comics Characters By Punching Someone Who Speaks Badly About Them

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has been insulted more times than he can count. He’s been called a menace, a failure, a joke. He’s used to it, laughs it off even when it cuts deep. But when he hears the sharp crack of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw—when he realizes that you did that for him—his world tilts on its axis.

- “Oh no. Oh no no no.” His first instinct is to grab you, to get you out of there before this turns into something worse. You just punched someone for him. He’s supposed to be the one protecting you, not the other way around. His heart is hammering—part fear, part something softer, warmer.

- He rushes to your side, hands hovering, unsure if he should scold you or kiss you right there in the street. The person you hit is groaning, cradling their face, and Peter is torn between feeling bad for them and wanting to tell them they deserved it. (Because they did. They did.)

- “Okay, that was… something,” he says, eyes darting between you and the stunned crowd. “Not that I don’t appreciate the backup, but—y’know, punching people usually gets me into trouble.” His voice is light, joking, but there’s something else in his gaze—awe, affection, something deeper than words.

- Later, when he’s patching up your knuckles with the gentlest hands, he murmurs, “No one’s ever fought for me like that.” And when he finally meets your gaze, soft and unguarded, you see it—the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most incredible thing in the universe.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark has heard it all. The insults, the backhanded compliments, the jealous jabs from people who will never be him. Normally, he drowns it out with charm and a drink in hand. But then—then—your fist connects with someone’s face, and the world stops.

- For a moment, he just stares. Blinking. Processing. Did you really just punch someone for him? Then, slowly—a slow-spreading, wicked smirk. Because holy hell, that was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

- “Well, well, well.” He steps forward, slipping an arm around your shoulders like you’re some kind of victorious gladiator. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He’s eating this up, reveling in it, in the way you didn’t hesitate, in the way you stood up for him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

- The guy on the ground groans, and Tony glances down, unimpressed. “Next time, try using words, buddy. Or, y’know, just accept that I’m better than you.” Then he turns back to you, tilting his head. “Not that I’m complaining, but—what was that? You got a thing for defending handsome billionaires, or am I just lucky?”

- Later, when the adrenaline fades, he brushes a knuckle over your bruised hand, voice quieter. “No one ever does that for me.” And it’s not teasing anymore, not deflection—just something real. Something raw. And for once, Tony Stark is at a loss for words.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers has always fought his own battles. From the alleys of Brooklyn to the battlefields of war, he’s used to standing his ground—used to taking the hits for the people he loves. But this? This is something else entirely.

- One second, he’s turning the other cheek, trying to walk away from the insult. The next, there’s the sharp, unmistakable sound of impact—your fist driving straight into the jaw of the person who dared speak ill of him.

- “Hey—!” His hands are on you immediately, pulling you back before things escalate, before this turns into something worse. But his heart—his heart is a drumbeat against his ribs, because you fought for him. He should tell you it was reckless, that you didn’t have to, but all he can do is stare at you, his throat tight with something he can’t name.

- “That wasn’t necessary,” he says, but there’s no scolding in his voice, only something soft, something incredibly fond. Because no one ever fights for him. Not like that. Not without hesitation.

- Later, when you’re sitting together, nursing your sore hand, he finally murmurs, “Thank you.” And when he looks at you, there’s a warmth in his blue eyes that says more than words ever could—a depth of feeling that leaves you breathless.

Thor aka. God of Thunder

- Thor is used to insults. They roll off his back like rain on a battlefield, drowned out by the thunder in his veins. But when he hears the crack of your fist colliding with flesh— when he realizes you have struck someone in his name— he does not laugh. He is in awe.

- “By the gods!” His voice is both a boom of delight and a whisper of reverence. He steps toward you, eyes shining with something almost worshipful. You are fire, you are fury, you are glorious.

- And then he throws his head back and laughs, loud and full of joy. “A mighty warrior indeed! You honor me, my lady.” He clasps your hand, ignoring the bruises blooming on your knuckles, lifting it as though you have just won a great battle.

- The fool who insulted him scrambles away, but Thor does not spare them a glance. No, his attention is entirely on you. On this magnificent, fearless mortal who would strike in his name. And suddenly, the air around you feels different. Charged. Alive.

- Later, when the revelry has died down, he turns to you, voice softer. “You are… remarkable.” And when he looks at you, it is with the kind of devotion that only gods can give.

Loki aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is no stranger to cruelty. Words have been his weapons, his shields, his burdens. But when someone speaks ill of him— when they dare to drag his name through the dirt—he expects only one thing: to be alone in the aftermath.

- And then you hit them. Hard.

- He blinks. Once. Twice. Shock flickers across his face, unreadable and raw. He watches as you stand, fists clenched, gaze burning with something primal, something protective. And for the first time in centuries, Loki does not know what to say.

- “You—” His voice is different. Lower. There is no mockery, no amusement, only a sharp, jagged edge of something he does not let himself feel. You have fought for him. Him. And the realization shakes him.

- Later, when you’re alone, he traces the bruises on your knuckles with something dangerously close to reverence. “You are a fool,” he whispers, but his fingers linger, his breath unsteady. “A reckless, maddening fool.” And then, softer—so quiet you almost don’t hear it—“And I think I am doomed to love you for it.”

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton is used to being underestimated. People see the bow, the lack of powers, and assume he’s less. They talk about him like he’s a joke, like he doesn’t belong among gods and super-soldiers. He lets it roll off his back—until you don’t.

- The sound of your fist cracking against a jaw cuts through the noise of the bar, and suddenly, the air is electric. You did that for him. Not because he asked, not because you had to—but because someone insulted him, and that was unacceptable to you.

- “Whoa—hey, hey, hold up!” Clint is beside you in an instant, half-laughing, half-terrified. His hands hover near yours, concern flickering in his sharp blue eyes. You’re pissed. It’s kind of the best thing he’s ever seen.

- The guy on the floor is groaning, but Clint isn’t paying attention to them anymore. No, his focus is on you—on your clenched fists, the fire still burning in your gaze. You’re beautiful like this, fierce and unwavering, and he’s absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

- Later, when he’s wrapping your bruised knuckles in an old bandana, he grins, soft and lopsided. “You know, I usually do the whole reckless, getting-into-fights thing. But I gotta say—kinda nice having someone in my corner for once.” And the way he looks at you then? Like you hung the goddamn stars.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff has been called a monster, a traitor, a woman who can never be trusted. She’s lived a life of whispers behind her back, of sideways glances and careful distance. She’s learned to endure it. But she never expected you to lash out in her defense.

- The impact of your punch is sharp, decisive— a clean, perfect strike that she would have been proud of. And yet, it startles her. Not because you hit them, but because you lost control for her.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice is smooth, but there’s something unreadable in her expression—something unfamiliar. She’s used to people fighting beside her, but no one has ever fought for her. Not like this.

- She grips your wrist before you can throw another punch, thumb grazing the pulse point there. “Look at me,” she murmurs. And when you do, she sees it—the fire in you, the defiance, the unwavering loyalty. And it does something to her, something she can’t quite name.

- Later, in the quiet of a dimly lit room, she traces the bruise on your knuckles with the barest touch. “You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, lips curving slightly. And for the first time in a long time, she thinks—maybe she wants to be protected, too.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes knows what people say about him. A killer. A weapon. A man who should have died decades ago. He doesn’t argue. He knows what he’s done. He doesn’t expect anyone to defend him.

- But then—you do. And not with words. With fists.

- The moment your knuckles connect with skin, he’s there. He’s fast, instinctive, grabbing you by the wrist before you can swing again. His heart is pounding. Not out of fear—but something deeper, something he can’t afford to name.

- “Why did you do that?” His voice is rough, almost accusing. But you don’t waver. You stand your ground, breathing heavy, eyes blazing with defiance. It hits him then—no one has ever done this for him. Not Steve, not anyone.

- Later, he sits beside you in the quiet, his metal fingers ghosting over your bruised knuckles. “You don’t have to fight for me,” he murmurs, voice almost broken. And when you reply—“Then who will?”—he feels something shift in his chest, something old and aching and terrifyingly new.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock hears the insult before it’s even fully formed—the venom in the voice, the disdain dripping from every syllable. He’s heard it before, about his blindness, about his law career, about the devil that lurks beneath the surface. He expects to ignore it.

- What he doesn’t expect is the sharp, sudden sound of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw.

- His head tilts slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He felt you coil before the strike, heard your heartbeat spike. You didn’t hesitate. And God help him, that does something to him.

- “That wasn’t very lawyerly of you.” He steps close, voice low and teasing, but there’s something else there too—something reverent. His fingers brush against yours, light as a whisper, like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance.

- Later, in the sanctity of his apartment, he takes your injured hand in his own, running careful fingertips over bruised skin. “I don’t need saving,” he murmurs, though the way his breath hitches when you squeeze his hand says otherwise. And when you reply—“Too bad. You’ve got me anyway.”—his world tilts, just a little.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle is a ghost, a monster, a cautionary tale. He’s used to people spitting his name like it’s a curse. He doesn’t care. He’s beyond caring.

- But then you punch someone in the face for speaking ill of him—and everything stops.

- The guy drops like a stone, groaning, and Frank… laughs. It’s not a soft sound. It’s dark, rough, something almost dangerous. He steps forward, crowding into your space, looking down at you like you’re something holy and terrible and his.

- “You got a mean right hook, sweetheart.” His voice is low, amused, but there’s something else there—something molten, something raw. He doesn’t say it, but he’s never had someone do this for him. Never had someone choose him so recklessly, so violently.

- Later, when you’re both alone, he leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes dark. “You don’t fight my battles.” His voice is a growl, but there’s no real anger behind it. And when you meet his gaze, unyielding, he exhales sharply. Because if anyone in this world deserved someone like you fighting for them—he knows it sure as hell ain’t him. But he wants it anyway.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector is used to being called insane. A broken mind, a fractured man, a violent, unhinged vigilante. The whispers follow him everywhere, behind his back and to his face. He doesn’t defend himself—because what would be the point?

- But then, you do. And not just with words. With your fists. The impact is sharp, the sound of bone on bone cutting through the murmur of the street like a gunshot. The moment is frozen. And Marc? He stares.

- He should pull you away, should tell you not to waste your breath, should laugh it off like it doesn’t matter. But he can’t. Because no one has ever done this for him. Not for Marc Spector. Not for the man beneath the mask.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is low, but there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it. His gloved fingers graze your bruised knuckles, and the moonlight catches in his dark eyes—like he’s seeing something holy.

- Later, he watches you from across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. You stood up for him. You fought for him. And now, all he can think about is how much he wants to fight for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm is used to the attention. The praise, the criticism, the headlines that reduce him to nothing more than a pretty face and a flame. He shrugs it off. Pretends it doesn’t sting.

- But then, he hears your voice—furious, unwavering, like a flame catching oxygen. And before he can turn, you swing. The guy stumbles back, clutching their jaw, and the entire room erupts.

- “Oh. My. God.” Johnny is somehow both horrified and absolutely delighted. He stares at you like you just set the whole world on fire. Because you did. And you did it for him.

- “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he grins, stepping closer. There’s something in his voice—something deep, awed, almost breathless. Because no one has ever burned quite like you.

- Later, when the adrenaline wears off, he’s grinning like an idiot, watching you ice your knuckles. And when you catch him staring, he just shrugs. “What? It’s kinda hot when you punch people for me.”

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has heard every insult in the book. Detached. Cold. Unfeeling. They don’t understand how his mind works, how his thoughts stretch beyond the present moment, beyond normal comprehension. He’s used to it.

- But you? You aren’t. The second someone spits out something vile, dismissive, cruel, your fist is already flying before Reed can even process what’s happening.

- “Oh.” That’s all he says at first, blinking as if recalibrating. He hadn’t expected—this. You. Your anger, your unwavering defense, the fire in your eyes. It’s an equation he hadn’t considered. And now, he can’t stop solving for it.

- “Violence isn’t necessary,” he murmurs, but he’s already taking your hand, stretching his fingers around your bruised knuckles, memorizing the shape of your loyalty.

- Later, he watches you—studying, calculating, analyzing. But for once, the question isn’t why. It’s how he ever lived without you.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t need protecting. She’s spent her life clawing her way out of trouble, slipping through shadows, dodging every snare. She laughs in the face of danger, purrs at the edge of chaos.

- But then—you hit someone. For her. And everything stops.

- She should be amused. Should smirk and tease and call you reckless. But instead—she just stares. Because no one, not once in her life, has ever thrown a punch for her. Not like this.

- “Darling, you really are full of surprises.” She steps close, a slow, predatory movement, her fingers tilting your chin up. There’s something wicked in her smirk—but her eyes? Her eyes are soft.

- Later, she finds herself watching you more than she should. Running a gloved hand over your bruised knuckles, feeling something dangerously close to devotion. And for the first time, Felicia Hardy wonders what it would be like to be caught.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange is used to arrogance. His own, and the world’s. He’s used to people whispering behind his back, questioning, doubting, scoffing. He doesn’t care. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

- But when someone speaks ill of him in front of you? You react before he does. The crack of your fist against their jaw is startlingly satisfying. And suddenly, the entire universe shifts.

- “You—” He stops himself. Adjusts his cloak. Exhales sharply. He should be chastising you, telling you to hold your temper, to rise above it. But instead, he’s looking at you like you just rewrote the laws of reality.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is careful, but his fingers are gentle when they brush against your bruised knuckles. He’s spent a lifetime mastering control—so why does it slip when you’re around?

- Later, he finds himself summoning bandages with magic, hands lingering longer than necessary. And when you smirk, teasing—“Was that a thank you, Doctor?”—he only hums, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. Because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind needing you.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is used to disrespect. The surface world dares to look down on him, on Atlantis, on the very ocean that sustains their miserable existence. He tolerates it only because he must. But when someone speaks ill of him in your presence, they are met with something he does not expect—your fist.

- The blow lands sharply, flesh against bone, a declaration of war in its own right. Namor watches, silver eyes narrowing, his body rigid with something unnameable. It is not anger. No, anger is familiar. This? This is something else.

- “You strike for me?” His voice is velvet over steel, laced with the kind of dangerous curiosity that comes before a storm. His people have fought wars in his name. But this? This is different. This is you.

- He moves toward you, slow, deliberate, fingers tilting your chin up. There is no hesitation when he speaks next. “You are worthy of a crown.” And the way he says it—it is not a compliment. It is a fact.

- Later, the sea sings your name. And though he will not say it outright, he watches you differently now—like a king who has found the one thing worth more than his throne.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has been called many things. Freak. Monster. Hellspawn. He doesn’t care—not anymore. He’s spent too long carrying his curse, dragging his soul behind him like a dying star.

- But then you hit someone. For him. Your knuckles split skin, the sound echoing in the dim light of the bar, and for the first time in a long time, Johnny forgets how to breathe.

- “Shit.” The word is barely a breath. You turn to him, fist still clenched, shoulders tight with fury, and Johnny? Johnny just stares. Because no one, not in his entire damn life, has ever thrown a punch in his name.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, but there’s something dangerous behind his voice—something that flickers like an ember waiting to catch. He should stop this, should tell you he’s not worth it. But instead, his fingers brush over your bruised knuckles like a prayer.

- Later, he watches you from his bike, the engine growling beneath him, his heart doing the same. And when he finally speaks, voice rough, almost shy, it’s only to say: “Next time, lemme do the hitting.”

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock has heard it all before. Loser. Washed-up. Parasite. He grits his teeth and lets it slide, because what else is new? Venom, on the other hand, is far less patient.

- But before either of them can react—you do. Your fist cracks against the jaw of the one who dared to insult him, and suddenly, everything goes still.

- “Did you just—?” Eddie’s eyes go wide. Venom, however, purrs with delight.

- “They are ours,” the symbiote rumbles, voice sliding through Eddie’s skull like liquid night. “They fight for us.” Eddie wants to argue, to tell Venom to shut up, but he can’t, because he’s too busy watching you, heart pounding, something terrifying and warm curling in his chest.

- Later, he doesn’t bring it up—but Venom does. “We like them,” the voice whispers, thick with amusement. Eddie doesn’t respond. He just glances at you, hands tightening into fists, and thinks: Yeah. We do.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa has faced enemies greater than words. He has fought battles with his hands, his mind, his heart. He does not concern himself with petty insults.

- But you do. The second you hear someone speak his name with disrespect, your body moves before your mind does. The punch lands with precision, trained and true—a warrior’s strike.

- He should chastise you. Should remind you that his reputation needs no defense. But when he looks at you—fire in your eyes, your breath sharp, your hands still clenched—he feels something stir beneath his ribs.

- “Impressive,” he murmurs, stepping closer. He does not touch you, not yet, but the space between you hums with electricity. He sees you differently now—not just as an ally. As something more.

- Later, as he watches you spar in the Wakandan training grounds, his mind drifts back to that moment. You fought for him. And T’Challa? T’Challa is not used to losing battles—but he is certain he is about to lose this one.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is used to being hated. She does not care. She exists between life and death, between shadow and steel. She does not need protection.

- But then, you hit someone. For her. And Elektra? She does not know what to do with that.

- She watches as the body crumples to the floor, watches as you shake out your fist, anger still radiating from every inch of you. Something slow and dark unfurls in her chest.

- “Foolish,” she murmurs, stepping forward. But her voice is soft. Her fingers graze your wrist, her eyes searching yours for something she refuses to name. “But… admirable.”

- Later, she finds herself lingering near you more than usual, watching, waiting. You fought for her. And Elektra Natchios has spent her entire life surviving—but now, she wonders what it would be like to be worth saving.

[euphoria-looney]

Astro!

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader Squid Games!AU

m. list|next

"And goodness knows, The Wicked's Lives are lonely. Goodness knows, The Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you're wicked, You're left only, on your own." 'No One Mourns The Wicked' by Wicked the Musical

Divider creds: (?) and @dollywons

As a kid, all I longed for was someone to play a game with me that didn’t require some form of technology to keep both of us entertained.

Well, be careful what you wish for, because I have reached an all-time low, willing to kill people with children's games to earn money.

How much longer will I spend in this twisted game before getting killed? Maybe this is better whether I win or lose, I still gain freedom.

One choice is just the better option. 

That’d be losing winning.

Sure I would feel immense guilt, but I’d be free from debt… and then what? No longer needing to slave anyway from the amount of money I receive.

What then?

Could therapy even help? They’d probably send me off to a mental ward. 

Who's going to believe I won millions from playing some children’s games?

I looked around and saw the old man again from earlier, sitting alone in a space, I approached him, and he accepted to play with me.

“When I was little, this was one of my favorite games as a child.” The old man told us while we were walking into an open area.

“Really? I’ll be honest, I’ve never played this game before.”

As we finally found a point to play the game, we conversed.

—

“Did we do this to make a pact?”

He held out his hand, his pinkie and thumb sticking out, I laughed, wrapping my pinkie around his, pressing our thumbs together.

“Sir, no my gganbu- I think that’s what they called a really close friend right?”

—

Eventually we went all for nothing, this was the funniest game I ever played… I almost forgot the fact that I was going to die at the end.

“Ah, guess you won, betting all my marbles for your single one. Didn’t see that one coming.” I chuckled sadly.

He held my hand and placed the last marble in my palm.

“Take it, it’s yours anyway.” I looked up at him in shock, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“We are gganbu aren’t we? Remember we swore on it. And Gganbu always shares everything no matter what. You made this all possible.” My shoulder shook, as I could only stare at my shoes, my eyes felt like facets at the point. 

And then I felt these same hands embrace me, and I felt like a child all over again.

“What a great way to go.”

He pulled away, making me face him.

“Thank you. I had a good time.”

I hugged him once again, my tears overflowing on his shoulders.

He let go and I walked out of the gates.

Sniffles were all I could do before I heard the voice behind me.

“I remember my name now. My name is Il-nam. Oh Il-nam.”

I kept walking then flinched when I heard a ‘bang’ go off.

Surrounded by all these dead bodies, and these empty emotions, I pushed forward.

[Player 1, Eliminated]

—

Despite everything, I’m still having these selfish thoughts of staying alive.

We had just played ‘glass bridge’ leaving three of us here, dressed in suits, and eventually I was talking with Penelope, she’s the one that helped me out of the restraint we were in after we left for the first time.

“Hey, [name], just in case either of us can actually make it out of this hellhole, promise that we will take care of each other's loved ones, okay?” 

“Don’t say that, we’ll be okay.”

But she took more damage than any of us once the glass had shattered and was losing blood fast.

“Stay where you are, I’ll go get someone.”

I left and went to the guard or whatever they were, to beg, plead, for a doctor, maybe one that could’ve been on standby, but instead they walked past me with a coffin.

I could only stare at my once best friend standing over her bed.

I ran over there and held her body up, shaking her for some sign of hope.

“No, Penelope, please, no…”

—

Approaching the end game, we ate a feast, so fresh and nicely made, I felt the need to puke.

We place in the field shapes surrounding us, to resemble a squid, this was, Squid Game.

The rain soaking both of us, gray skies, and a single guard on the side.

Astro’s shirt still soaked in blood, his suit back on. He spoke before the game began, a knife in hand.

“I ended her suffering. You know she would have died anyway.”

The tears that once stained my face had been washed off by the rain, and now I could only feel disdain for the man I once knew in front of me.

“That’s bullshit, stop lying. She could’ve survived, they could have treated her.”

He retorted.

“I know what you’re like, you’re the reason I had to kill her. I knew you two would stop all this, so she didn’t die there. Even though we’ve gone so far, just to quit?” 

It seemed so similar to the time back at the manor.

—

“Damian had a lot happen to him as a child, are you going to blame him for this?” Dick sighed Damian behind him with no remorse for the fact I had slashes on my arm, not deep but painful. And though they wouldn’t leave scars, would that really matter?

He held a weapon against me while all I had was a stack of books now discarded and torn on the ground.

“[name]. You’re older than him, he’s still a child. You are the reason for this, it could’ve been avoided if you didn’t egg things on. Don’t blame Damian for your faults.” Egg him on? All I did was try and avoid him.

It wasn’t fair.

—

Now, if it wasn’t high before, my blood pressure had to be spiking. For that petty reason? Simply because he didn’t want all of this going to waste?

“Was that it? You killed someone because this might end?” My voice trembled.

“Yeah! You and that girl would have been the majority you needed to get out! Going home without anything! I couldn’t live with that!”

“And you think that means anything?! What?! one more life on top of the others you’ve stolen isn’t enough, and won’t be enough until you receive something?! You’d rather have one more dead than for all three of us to leave and somehow find another way to bring something, anything home?!” I shouted back at him.

I took my knife out of my pocket.

“It's over…”

“I won’t let you leave here with the money.”

3RD POV

While the VIP’s finally stood up to watch this entertaining last game.

Two people who have developed over time physically and mentally, once friends, were squabbling, fighting with very small amounts of energy, but a passion to win.

Both stabbed the other when eventually, player 456 was able to get the other on the ground and punched him over and over again.

The Waynes couldn’t help but be relieved this was it, they’d never let her go again, they would make up for everything starting with making sure she would be okay.

“Found the location heading there soon!” They heard Cassandra on the other line.

Late, but they would make it.

—

[name]’s POV

I held my knife, before stabbing it into the field, next to his face, before limping over to the goal point, it felt miles anyway, the guard had his gun loaded and aimed at Astro.

There before me was the practical finish line.

I can’t… No, I refuse to if anything, playing this game has fucked me other the head, but I refuse for one second to let this game be the last thing I ever see Astro at.

“I wanna end here.” I face the guard walking back to them.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees, so if we both give up,  you have to end it right?” I stumbled over.

The guard spoke on the walkie-talkie while I gazed back at Astro.

“Astro.”

“Back when we went to the same school, we’d hang out together and study before leaving chasing after our purpose that called out for us. Nothing's calling anymore.” After all this time, he still is.

I smiled at him, that once gummy smile I adorned, one that I hated so much.

“Let’s go”

I extended my hand to him. 

“Let’s go together.”

He slowly lifted his hand.

“[name], I’m sorry.” 

And before I could react, he took that hand and grabbed the knife that I put right next to him, and impaled himself in the neck with it. 

Blood gushed out and he choked out blood.

I quickly went to his side, stabilizing his head.

“Astro! Astro!”

“[name]..”

“No, no, don’t speak! Hang on!” I was panicking, this can’t be the end of us.

“M-my mother, please take care of my mom. And…”

“I love you.” That made me freeze my erratic movements, I was sure he could’ve seen my eyes widen.

“Loved you since meeting you.” With that, he closed his eyes and I could only call out his name, and held onto his body, it was getting colder fast.

[Player 218, Eliminated. Congratulations, Player456]

—

3rd POV

“Believe in Jesus or go to Hell!” A guy holding two signs chanted outside in the rain, strangers walking past each other, a white limo rolled up on the side of the street, dumping a bruised and exhausted body on the sidewalk, the same guy chanting untied the girl.

“Believe in Jesus.”

The girl was in the bank depositing 4.56 billion dollars before withdrawing some out. Her hair a mess, eyes sullen and eye bags that dragged down her face, she seemed exhausted. Walking back to the store she once worked at, a sign stated ‘SOLD’ and next to it a reef, “Rest in Peace, Conny Claire, Died too soon, old shop owner that meant so much to many people.” Flowers that surround the message.

The girl that came there for a snack could only sink to the ground in shock, hands rising to cover her face, body shaking and quivering.

Walking down a store alleyway, Astro’s mom approached the girl.

“How have you been, here take some food for the road after losing…” She sighed, and patted the girl's back, walking back to her shop.

“Have you heard from… Nevermind.” 

The girl opened her run down apartment where she once lived and went to see all the old photos in the yearbook of classes she had with Astro and in all of the group ones featuring her, her classmates, and Astro she noticed how in each one he was looking at her, with those fond eyes.

She could only fall onto her bed, her tired state crept on her before she fell asleep.

Some time later, the girl kept her promise to Penelope and helped out her family, then left them with Astro’s mom, leaving a wealthy sum of money, they became a family… somewhat of a replacement for the other's loved one, and the girl left paying off whatever debt any of them had.

The girl was sitting alone at the pond, drinking some alcohol. Before an old woman approached her, a flower basket in hand, it seemed she needed to sell them immediately before they wilted away. The girl reached into her pocket, handing her some money before the old woman went off. 

Picking up the nicely wrapped flower, a card appeared, making the girl stumble at picking up the card before reading it.

Approaching a hospital, card in hand.

It was the old man.

“What is this… Who are you?”

“Pour some water for me. Please, [name].”

And there she sat, anger rising in her, but she couldn’t do anything against the man who made the games.

She sat listening to the man talk, about the homeless guy below them, about how everything he said about himself was true, how he missed the old days, him and his friend used to have the time of their lives, and how no matter if you're homeless or rich both lives are no fun. Then a clock struck.

She looked at the machine to see that his heart was no longer beating, instead a flat line appeared. Getting up, she closed his eyes.

That’s when she finally started her life again. She got it together.

So, at the first place, her life changed at the same bus stop, well across from it, the skies were clear and the sun was glaring into the area. It had been a regular day for her, working at her own company and all.

Maybe that’s why when she unlocked her car and stared right in front of her at that same place, she was shocked to see her father, Bruce Wayne, and his family.

That’s it for this part of Astro! Did you like it?

Also, unlike Squid Game, soon after [name] left, everyone that participated in Squid Games got arrested, which made it on the news, but was looked past after a few months, [name] made gravestones for Penelope and Astro.

Ofc the Batfam got the credit and got even more famous for uncovering this incident, which is also why they hadn’t ‘visited’ [name] and now are just getting to it.

Not the update you expected, but I hope you like it.

Any comments, advice and corrections are appreciated!!!

-ILoveeeMoney

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @elfollaburras3000 @czarinera @tiffyisme3760 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @gwyneveire @k-anaru @a-lurking-fae @nxdxsworld @ryuushou

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell anyone's name wrong and tag the wrong person.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

𝑀𝑜𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓎 Our Girl: Growing Up | 𝒮𝑜, 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓃’, 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓃’, 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐵𝓎 𝑀𝑒

summary: leah and jordan are finally made aware of the extent of abuse monkey has suffered at the hands of mark

our girl: growing up masterlist

“Honestly, Mum. I don’t know what he was thinking,” Leah sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the surface as she rubbed her temples in frustration. Jordan and Amanda sat across from her, mirroring her serious expression, “You should have seen acting the way he was at the match. It’s no wonder that Monkey is so… terrified of him.”

Amanda’s expression darkened, “Did he really say that? In front of everyone?”

“Yeah, without a care in the world,” Leah sighed, nodding in agreement, “He just came up to us at the end– And he was loud enough for everyone else to hear!”

“You’re kidding?” Amanda’s voice was laced with disbelief.

Jordan let out a humourless laugh, “We’re not. It’s like that man has no shame now. Like, he doesn’t even try to hide it anymore, Amanda.”

Before either Leah or Amanda could respond, the shrill ring of Leah’s phone cut through the tense atmosphere. Instinctively, she reached for it, her stomach twisting as she saw the caller ID.

“Who is it?” Jordan asked, curiously as she noted the worried expression on her girlfriend’s face.

“It’s Monkey,” Leah murmured, an uneasy feeling creeping into her chest.

The three of them exchanged a look, dread settling between them like a heavy fog.

Leah quickly swiped to answer, pressing the phone to her ear, “Monkey?”

A trembling whisper came through the line, barely audible over shaky breaths, “L… Le! I need… I need your help. Please.”

“What’s wrong, my girl?” Leah shot up from her chair, her heartbeat hammering in her ears, “Where are you? I’m coming. I’m coming right now!”

“I… I need you, Le. Please. Help me,” Your voice cracked, choked with fear, “I… I’m scared, Le. I’m so– I… I don’t want him to hurt me. Not again.”

Leah’s grip on her phone tightened, “I’m coming, Monkey. I’m coming. Just… Just stay on the phone, yeah? Don’t hang up, alright?”

“O… Okay,” You shakily replied.

“Where’s my keys?” Leah frantically scanned the kitchen, “Where are they? I can’t see them anywhere! I need them. I need to get to Monkey. Now.”

“They’re right here, Bubba,” Amanda motioned to them, handing them over.

Jordan was already on her feet, “I’m coming with you.”

Amanda’s face had gone pale, “Be careful. And bring her home.”

Leah barely nodded, her phone still glued to her ear before she was out the front door and climbing into her car, her entire world narrowing to one singular thought.

Get to you. Now.

“Le, slow down,” Jordan warned, gripping the dashboard as Leah sped through the dark streets.

“I’m not stopping until we get to her,” Leah’s voice was razor-sharp, her knuckles turning white against the steering wheel.

Jordan exhaled a sigh, “Le, listen I know you’re worried, and so am I. But if you don’t slow down, you’re going to end up in a wreck before we even get to her.”

Leah barely registered Jordan’s words, her mind solely focused on you–on the terrified, broken voice that had been whispering through the speakerphone for the past five minutes.

“Please hurry, Le,” Your voice trembled, cracking under the weight of fear, “I’m… I’m scared. I don’t want him to hurt me again.”

Leah’s jaw was clenched, stomach twisting painfully as her grip on the wheel tightened, “We’re on our way, Monkey. Just… Just hang in there, alright? Stay on the phone with us. We’ll be there soon.”

“Le,” Your voice was small, almost childlike, “I’m… I’m really scared.”

“I know, my girl,” Leah exhaled sharply, forcing herself to keep her emotions in check, “I know you’re scared, but we’re coming. Just stay on the phone and talk to Jordy, yeah? Talk to Jordy for me.”

“Uh huh,” You mumbled hesitantly. After a moment, your voice wavered again, “Jordy?”

“Hi, little one, I’m here,” Jordan reassured you in a soothing tone of voice, her own voice being a steady contrast to Leah’s barely contained rage, “We’re right around the corner now. Just hold on for us, okay? You’re being so brave, Monkey.”

“I’m scared,” You whimpered in fear, “I… I don’t like this.”

Jordan swallowed a lump that formed in her throat, “I know, little one. But just a few more minutes, and you’ll be safe in the car with us, yeah?”

“Please hurry,” You sniffed, your breath shaky, “Please, I… I don’t want him to find me.”

Leah clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt. If she ever saw your father again–no, when she saw him again–she didn’t trust herself to hold back.

None of that was important right now. You were her priority. Getting you out of there was all that mattered.

“You’re near?” You asked.

“We’re round the corner, my girl,” Leah replied as she turned the corner.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

There you were. 

Small. Shaking. Curled in on yourself near the edge of the pavement with your arms wrapped tightly around your knees. The loose-fitting football kit you were still wearing was drenched in the night air, clinging to your trembling frame. You looked so tiny–so scared.

Leah slammed on the brakes, barely shifting the car into park before she threw the door open and sprinted toward you, “Monkey!” 

Your head snapped up at her voice, your breath hitching as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, “L… Le,” You whimpered.

Leah was on her knees in front of you in an instant, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug. You collapsed into her, your body wracked with silent sobs as you buried your face in her shoulder.

“I’m here, my girl,” Leah murmured, her voice soft but unshakable, “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

You clutched at her jacket with trembling fingers, holding on as if she might disappear if you let go, “You… You came,” You choked out, “I thought… I thought he would find me. I thought he would hurt me again.”

Leah felt something deep inside her crack.

“Of course I am,” Leah whispered, pressing a firm kiss to the side of your head, “I’ll always be here when you need me. You don’t have to be afraid anymore, okay? I’ve got you.”

You peered up at her, searching her eyes, “You… You promise?”

Leah exhaled shakily, “I… I can’t promise, my girl. But I swear I will do everything in my power to keep you safe now. He won’t touch you again.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Your voice broke,  “I don’t want to go back to that house. Please don’t take me back.”

Leah tightened her arms around you, her decision already made, “You’re coming home with me, my girl.”

There was no need for her to say anything else. She just scooped you up, carrying you as if you weighed nothing, and settled into the backseat of the car. Jordan had already moved to the driver’s seat, eyes dark with determination.

The warmth of the car was an overwhelming contrast to the cold night air, but you still trembled. Your small hands clung to Leah’s coat, refusing to let go. Leah pulled you against her chest, wrapping both arms securely around you.

“You’re safe now, my girl,” Leah whispered, rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back.

Jordan glanced at the rearview mirror, her brows furrowed in concern, “She looks absolutely freezing, Le.”

“I know,” Leah murmured, shifting to wrap more of her coat around you as she pressed another kiss to your temple, her voice unwavering, “We’ll get her warm as soon as we’re home.”

“Mum? We’re back,” Leah called as she stepped inside, tightening her grip on you.

“Oh, thank God,” Amanda’s voice was laced with relief as she saw you, before turning to Leah with a firm look, “You’d better have not been speeding in the car, Leah Cathrine!”

“What– No! Of course not,” Leah huffed, shaking her head, obviously not going to tell her the truth.

“The way you rushed out of here, I had my doubts…” Amanda raised an eyebrow, “And you’d better have not been speeding with Monkey in the car, either!”

Leah exhaled sharply, not in the mood to argue, “Mum, I need to get Monkey warm. She’s freezing and trembling like a leaf. I’m running her a bath.”

Amanda’s expression softened as she turned to you, “Hi, Monkey.”

“Hi, ‘Manda,” You barely managed a whisper.

“I have an idea,” Amanda crouched slightly, keeping her voice gentle, “How about after your bath when you’re all comfy in pyjamas, I make a hot chocolate? It won’t be as good as David, but I promise it’ll still be pretty great.”

You hesitated before giving a tiny nod, “O…Okay.”

Leah pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Come on, my girl.” She murmured, leading you upstairs, and guiding you gently while you clung to her.

As soon as you reached the bathroom, you sank onto the closed toilet lid, too cold and drained to move as Leah busied herself with the taps.

The sound of rushing water filled the space, steam curling into the air. Leah turned back to you with a small smile, “Do you want a lot of bubbles? Or just a few?”

You didn’t answer. You just stared into space, you didn’t know what to say.

Leah watched you carefully, her heart aching at how small you looked, curled in on yourself, trembling. She kept her voice soft, and gentle, “Monkey?”

You blinked slowly, still shivering before shrugging a little, “A… A lot?”

“A lot of bubbles, coming right up,” Leah smiled and poured in a generous amount of bubble bath and sat on the edge of the tub, swirling her hand in the warm water as the bubbles grew. She glanced over, taking in the sight of you–curled in on yourself while sitting on the toilet lid, your arms wrapped tightly around you, and looking so small.

“I’ll let you get in, yeah?” Leah murmured, standing up and wiping her hands on her joggers, “I’ll be in my bedroom if you need me.”

You nodded stiffly with your gaze fixed on the tiled floor. Leah hesitated, waiting to see if you’d say anything else, but when you remained silent, she turned towards the door.

“W… Wait,” Leah’s hands were about to grip the handle when your voice, small and hesitant, stopped her.

Leah turned back immediately, “You okay, my girl?”

Your fingers curled into the hem of your football shorts. You swallowed, not meeting her eyes.

“Can you… Can you stay outside? On… on the other side of the door?” You mumbled.

Leah’s expression softened, “Of course, Monkey. Whatever you need,” She said, before stepping outside, pulling the door almost closed but leaving a small gap, just enough to show you she was still there.

You heard her settle against the wall, the quiet rustle of fabric as she sat down.

Taking a shaky breath, you forced yourself to move, peeling off your kit piece by piece. Your body ached as you climbed into the tub, the heat of the water making your bruises sting. You hissed, biting your lip as you sank lower.

The warmth helped, but it didn’t take away the exhaustion that weighed on you, nor the way your limbs felt too heavy.

For a few minutes, you just sat there, knees drawn up, letting the water lap at your skin. But then, as you reached for the shampoo bottle, your hands trembled.

You poured some into your palm and hesitated. The moment you tried to lift your arms, you felt a sharp, searing pain shoot through your ribs.

You sucked in a breath, wincing, “Ow,” You whimpered in pain.

You tried again, but your limbs felt weak. Useless.

The frustration burned behind your eyes and your throat tightened.

You hated this.

You hated feeling this weak.

Your fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging into your palm. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t do it.

And the worst part? You knew you wanted–needed the help.

But if you called Leah in… then she’d see the dark, ugly marks trailing along your ribs, your back and arms.

You knew she’d see the proof of everything–You didn’t want to see her face when she looked at you, and you didn’t want her to see how broken you were.

But your arms hurt. Your ribs ached. And no matter how much you willed yourself to move, you couldn’t.

“L… Le,” Your voice wavered, a lump formed in your throat, ”I… I need help.”

The door opened instantly, and Leah stepped in, her movements were quick but careful.

But the second she took in the sight of you–curled up in the tub, your arms wrapped around yourself and the bruises littering your skin–she froze.

“Oh…” Leah’s breath hitched, “Oh my God,” She looked horrified as a storm flashed behind her eyes, something dark, something furious.

Until her gaze flickered back to you, and she saw how small you looked. How vulnerable.

Leah inhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to push the anger aside. That could wait. Right now, you needed her.

“I… I need your help to wash my hair,” You stuttered out.

“Alright, my girl,” Leah murmured, kneeling beside the tub, “That’s not a problem. Lets’ get your hair washed, yeah?”

You nodded wordlessly.

Leah rolled her sleeves up, scooping some water in her hands before gently wetting your hair. Her touch was light, and delicate, as if she was afraid you might shatter under her hands.

Working in silence, Leah carefully lathered the shampoo before rinsing it out. Her fingers gently massaged your scalp, slow and soothing. She could feel the tension in your body, the way you were still curled in on yourself.

She didn’t rush. She didn’t push. She just kept moving, steady and calm.

When she finished, she grabbed a towel and held it open, “Come on then, out you get, my girl.”

You hesitated, but eventually, you let her wrap you up, her arms tightening just slightly around you.

Leah pressed a kiss to the top of your damp hair, “I’ve got you, my girl.”

“You get dressed, yeah? I’ll be outside the door. I’m not going far,” Leah reassured gently, her voice softer than usual.

“O… Okay. Do… Don’t go far,” You mumbled, clutching the pyjamas she handed you.

“I won’t, my girl. I promise,” Leah promised you before moving to step outside of the bedroom door, closing it with a quiet click before leaning against it. She pressed her back against the door as she tried to steady her breathing. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. 

The image of your bruised skin, the way you had flinched when she touched you–it was burned into her mind, and the rage in her chest only grew heavier with each passing second.

How could he do that to you? 

You were so young. You were small. You didn’t deserve any of this. Swallowing hard, Leah tried to keep it together. But when she heard footsteps on the stairs, she didn’t even need to look up to know it was Jordan.

The moment Jordan reached the landing and caught sight of Leah’s face, she knew there was something wrong.

“Le,” Jordan’s voice was cautious as she stepped forward, “Hey, what’s wrong?” She asked, stepping closer.

Leah let out a sharp, ragged breath, her whole body vibrating with tension. And then, suddenly, it all came spilling out.

“She’s covered in bruises, Jord,” Her voice cracked, and she slammed a fist against the wall beside her, “Fucking covered in them. That bastard–”

Jordan’s jaw tightened, “Leah–”

“No, don’t,” Leah’s voice wavered, her eyes burning with fury, “If you’re going to tell me to calm down then I don’t want to fucking hear it,” She turned on Jordan, her whole body trembling.

“I wasn’t going to,” Jordan murmured, exhaling a sigh and without hesitation, pulled Leah into a hug.

And just like that, Leah broke. The anger, the fear, the helplessness–it all came crashing down at once, and before she could stop it, she was sobbing into Jordan’s shoulder.

Jordan didn’t say anything. She just held on, letting Leah get it all out.

“I swear to God, if I ever see him again, I won’t be able to stop myself,” Leah whispered, her voice shaking, “I’ll fucking kill him, Jordan. He hurt her. He hurt our Monkey. And she was too scared to tell anyone about it. I knew it was bad… but fuck, I didn’t know it was this bad!”

Leah’s breath hitched, the anger cracking into something else–something raw and broken. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, blinking back the tears that blurred her vision.

“She’s here now,” Jordan told her, squeezing Leah a bit tighter, “With us. And she’s not going back.”

Leah nodded sharply, exhaling through gritted teeth, “I need to make the call to social services. I need to tell them that she is here.”

Jordan hesitated for a moment, “If you think that is the right thing to do.”

“As much as I don’t want to, I have to,” Leah muttered, voice thick with emotion, “I have to play by their rules.”

Jordan sighed, rubbing a hand over her face, “At least make the call when Monkey is settled and in bed. She’s been through enough today.”

Before Leah could respond, the door behind her cracked open.

You stood there, small and hesitant, wrapped in the warmth of the pyjamas and fluffy socks that Leah had brought you earlier in the week. They were slightly too big, but that only made them cosier.

Jordan’s face softened instantly, “Hey, speak of the devil. How’re you doing, little one?”

You hesitated, “Were you… Were you guys talking about me?”

Leah forced a small smile, crouching down to your level, “We’re just concerned about you, my girl. We’re going to do everything we can to make sure you’re safe.”

Your eyes darted between them, uncertainty clouding your expression, “I… I don’t want to go back there.”

“No, no,” Leah’s stomach twisted as she reached out, brushing a hand over your arm, “Not if I can help it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, “H… He scares me, Le.”

Leah’s heart ached at the broken whisper. She cupped your cheek gently, “I know, my girl. I know you are. But I’m going to do my very best to make sure that doesn’t happen, alright?”

“O… Okay,” You hesitated, giving a tiny nod.

“Right then,” Jordan sensed the shift in mood and clapped her hands together with a grin, “I know for a fact there’s a hot chocolate downstairs with your name on it.”

The change in your expression was instant. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a genuine flicker of happiness in your eyes.

“Wow. That looks great, Monkey!” Amanda praised, smiling warmly at you as she admired the LEGO set you had just finished assembling.

“T… Thanks,” You stuttered, your fingers fidgeting slightly with one of the pieces, “Can I build another set?”

“Yeah, we should!” Jacob chipped in eagerly, already reaching for another box.

Leah glanced at the clock, her expression shifting slightly. It was only 8:30 pm. Tomorrow was going to be long enough without you staying up for longer.

“It’s getting a bit late now. Let’s put it aside for now and you can continue it tomorrow, can’t you?” Leah suggested, bracing herself for the inevitable protest.

“Nooo,” You whined, shaking your head stubbornly. Your grip on the LEGO tightened.

“Mhm, I think so. Judging by the tiredness in your eyes and the whining, it might be bedtime, hm?” Leah teased, arching a brow.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “N… No, not yet! I’m still buildin’ LEGO, Le!”

Leah didn’t waver, pursing her lips, “And it’ll still be there for you tomorrow. It’s not going anywhere.”

You pretended to ignore her, prying open another set, hands moving faster.

“Monkey,” Leah gave you a warning look.

“It won’t take long to do!” You insisted, ignoring her gaze and emptying the contents of the LEGO on the carpet.

Leah exhaled a sigh, shaking her head, “Er no, I don’t think so madam,” Gently attempting to retrieve the LEGO set out of your hands, “I’ve already said no.”

You glared at her, hugging the LEGO set to your chest like it was a lifeline, “You’re being mean!”

“That’s okay to think that,” Leah replied, keeping her voice calm, “But it’s been a very long day. I know you’re tired now, aren’t you?”

“Give it back!” You whined, your voice growing sharper as you snatched the LEGO back from Leah.

Leah sucked in a surprise breath. That was new.

“Monkey,” Leah said firmly, shocked where this sudden misbehaviour had come from, “You don’t snatch. I’ve already said no, three times now. It’s bedtime.”

Your heart pounded. Bedtime meant quiet, and quiet meant your thoughts creeping in. The darkness, the loneliness–it was too much.

You shook your head quickly, refusing to let go of the LEGO set. You went as far as to rip open one of the packets, sending the small bricks spilling onto the floor.

“Hey, little one,” Jordan stepped in with a gentle but firm look, “I think it would be a good idea if we listened and put the LEGO away for tonight, yeah?”

“Don’t wanna,” You murmured, tearing into the next packet as though the plastic was a distraction from the lump in your throat, “I don’t need to go to bed.”

Leah exhaled a sigh, wordlessly collecting the spilled pieces from the carpet.

“Leah!” You turned and shot her a glare, “I was building that!” You shouted, voice shaking more than you wanted it to.

“And I’ve already told you–not tonight,” Leah said, still gentle but unwavering as she placed the LEGO out of reach, “I think you need to start using your listening ears, my girl.”

“No, I don’t want to go to bed. I want to build more LEGO!” Your voice rose in panic as you threw yourself onto the floor.

Leah didn’t bat an eyelid. She was more prepared for the emotional outburst while Jordan and Amanda exchanged shocked glances, and Jacob sat frozen, confused.

“It’s bedtime, Monkey,” Leah repeated, watching as she watched you have a complete meltdown in the space of less than five minutes.

“Sweetheart,” Amanda tried a more gentle approach, “I know today’s been a lot. I think getting a good night’s sleep might help, don’t you?” She tried her luck to get you to listen.

“No! I don’t wanna go to bed,” You mumbled, barely glancing in Amanda’s direction, “I don’t want to!”

Leah rubbed her temples, this was completely different to how it had been earlier on. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to all of them, but especially you, “Right, come on, enough of this. Bed, now.”

“I don’t wanna,” You whined, not making any attempt to get up from the floor.

Leah sighed, but this time, she softened slightly, crouching down next to you, “Monkey, listen to me.”

You turned away, arms crossed, “I… I’m not going! You can’t make me!”

“I know bedtime might feel a bit scary tonight,” Leah murmured, rubbing your back for a moment before gently taking your hand, “But you’re safe now. You’re not alone. I’ll be right there, okay?”

“No!” You screamed.

Leah didn’t hesitate, “Alright, that’s enough,” She murmured, scooping you up off the floor in one swift motion, “Bedtime, now.”

You let out a yelp of surprise, “B… But Le–”

“No buts,” Leah’s voice was firm, her grip secure as she held you against her hip, “It’s clear that you’re tired, I’m not going to stand here and argue with you about this now, so come on.”

Your pre-teenage attitude was nothing Leah or Jordan were prepared for, in comparison to the 360 mood change.

Your body tensed, but the warmth of being held was grounding. Your limbs twitched in weak protest but ultimately sagging against her.

Leah adjusted you in her arms, rubbing soothing circles into your back, “Come on, now. Let’s say goodnight.”

You huffed, glancing at Jordan, “Night, Jordy.”

“Night, little one,” Jordan smiled softly, ruffling your hair.

You turned to glance in Amanda’s direction, “Night, ‘Manda.”

“Night, sweetheart. Sleep well,” Amanda said kindly.

“Goodnight, Monkey!” Jacob grinned, peering up from his phone.

“Night, J,” You grumbled, slumping your shoulders. Then, desperate for another delay, you blurted, “Wait! I need to say goodnight to Bella!”

Jordan chuckled in amusement, “Pretty sure she’ll follow you up.”

“I’m thirsty,” You tried next.

“Oh, how convenient,” Jordan teased, rolling her eyes, “I’ll bring one up to you in bed.”

“Hello! I’m home!” David called as he stepped inside the house.

Your eyes lit up. A perfect distraction, “David’s home!”

“Oh, I thought I heard your voice,” The older man smiled, stepping into the room, “Well, this is a nice surprise having you here. Are you here for the night?”

“I’m just trying to get her up to bed but it’s proving difficult,” Leah said, shifting her grip on you as she shared a playful knowing look with David, “Maybe you’d have better luck?”

“You heard Le, time for bed champ,” David ruffled your hair, gesturing in the direction of the stairs.

Your face scrunched in defeat, “Fine.”

Leah hid a smile, carrying you up the stairs to stop you from making an escape,  “I’ll be back down once she’s settled.”

“You sound very grown up,” Jacob snickered.

Leah huffed, rolling her eyes, “Shut it, you.”

“Do I even want to ask what that was about?” David chuckled, amusedly, glancing at Amanda.

“Probably not, no,” Amanda responded.

“Sounds like Leah has her work cut out for her tonight,” David noted.

“Teenagers,” Jacob quipped.

“Speak for yourself,” Jordan laughed as she got up off the sofa to go make you a glass of water per your request.

“That’s not the way to the bathroom, last time I checked,” Leah noted with a raised eyebrow. She’s placed you back down on the floor once she was sure you wouldn’t try to make a break for it.

You ignored her completely, your focus snapping to something familiar on the bed. A rush of relief flooded through you as you darted into your temporary bedroom, eyes wide with excitement, “My monkey!” You gasped, snatching up the stuffed toy you thought you’d lost forever.

Leah’s stern expression softened, her arms crossing loosely over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe, “I thought you’d miss it.”

“You found it! I thought… I thought I lost it!” You clutched the plush close to your chest, the comfort of it grounding you in a way you desperately needed.

“Jacob found it on the stairs the night you left. I kept it here safe for you,” Leah explained gently.

You squeezed your stuffed toy tighter, the overwhelming emotions making your throat tighten, “I’ve missed him.”

Leah smiled faintly, “I know.”

But she didn’t give you too much time to get lost in your thoughts, “Right, come on you. Bathroom–go brush your teeth. I want to see those pearly whites,” She instructed, nudging you lightly toward the hallway.

You groaned, dragging your feet, “Pearly whites?”

“It’s just another phrase for teeth,” Leah clarified, walking beside you to make sure you actually follow through.

You begrudgingly brushed your teeth, only because Leah was watching you like a hawk the entire time. When you finished, you hesitantly turned to face her.

“Let’s have a look–” Leah leaned forward dramatically, inspecting your mouth with exaggerated scrutiny, “Ooo,  they’re lovely and shiny.”

You rolled your eyes but giggled despite yourself, “You’re silly.”

“It’s the best way to be,” Leah smirked, following as you wandered back into the bedroom. She pulled back the duvet, patting the mattress, “Right, into bed.”

You didn’t hesitate to crawl under the covers, still clutching your stuffed animal, “I’m not tired.”

Leah gave you a knowing look, “I think we both know that’s not true.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “It’s too early to go to sleep.”

“It might be usually, but you’ve had such a long day, and tomorrow is going to be just as busy,” Leah reasoned, keeping her tone of voice soft but firm, “I just want to make sure you’ve had enough rest.”

You frowned, “J’s still awake, though.”

“Well, J is a little bit older than you, isn’t he?” Leah reminded you.

“Not fair–” You shifted restlessly, then suddenly sat up, “I’m hungry! Can I have a biscuit?”

Leah exhaled a sigh, “You’ve already eaten dinner, and you had pudding as well. And chocolate. I think if you have any more, you’re going to end up with a bit of a tummy ache, won’t you?”

You pouted, “Please, Le?”

“No, Monkey,” Leah remained firm on her decision, “Come on now, it’s time to sleep.”

You flopped back onto the pillow with a dramatic groan, “How can I sleep if I’m not tired?”

“You have to close your eyes and try,” Leah smirked, tucking you in, “Now, any more questions?”

Silence lingered for a moment before you blurted out your next question, “How much do sharks weigh?”

Leah blinked at the sudden change of topic, “I… I don’t know.”

“That’s no good,” You let out an exaggerated sigh, “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

Leah snorted, shaking her head, “I am smart, Monkey. But I don’t just have random shark facts stored in my brain.”

You frowned, “Well, Google it, then. Duh.”

Leah shot you a pointed look just as Jordan appeared in the doorway, holding a glass of water.

“Still fighting the bedtime battle?” Jordan teased, handing the glass over.

“Just a bit,” Leah deadpanned before turning back to you. She arched an eyebrow, “Alright, little miss attitude, why don’t you tell me the real reason you don’t want to sleep, hm?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the hem of the duvet, “I… I’m just not tired,” You muttered.

Jordan lingered for a moment, watching the exchange before giving Leah a knowing look. She knew you’d settle faster with just one person in the room, “I’ll leave you to it,” She murmured before quietly slipping out, pulling the door ajar behind her.

Leah waited until she was gone before lowering herself onto the edge of the bed, “Come on, Monkey. This is me you’re talking to. What’s really going on?”

Your throat tightened as you clutched your stuffed animal closer, “I… I don’t want to sleep. What if… I… I…” You struggled to get the words out.

Leah’s expression softened, “You can do it, my girl. Tell me how you’re feeling. I’m listening to you.”

“I… I don’t want you to leave me,” You said, tears pricking at your eyes.

“I’m right here, my girl,” Leah’s heart clenched, “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to be scared about that.”

“You promise?” You asked, holding out your pinky finger.

Leah wrapped her own pinky around yours, “I promise, Monkey. You’re staying here with me, I’m going to make sure of it this time,” She told you, “I love you so much, my girl.”

Your lips wobbled slightly before you whispered, “I love you too, Le.”

Leah smiled, leaning forward and running a hand through your hair, “I don’t want you to go through any more hurt or pain, and I’m going to fight to protect you. I messed up before, but I won’t let it happen this time.”

Without any hesitation, you leaned forward and threw your arms around her, “I was… I was so scared. I thought he would find me before you both arrived. I didn’t… I didn’t want him to find me.”

“I know you were,” Leah murmured, gently continuing to run her hands through your hair as she held you close, “But you’re safe now. You’re with us, and nothing is going to hurt you anymore. We’ll always keep you safe, I promise.”

You buried your face into her chest, feeling the warmth of her embrace wrapping around you like a shield, “I… I didn’t want him to hurt me. I thought he… I thought he would, Le,” Tears begin to flow, a flood of emotions finally pouring out all at once, “I don’t want to go back there–I don’t want to!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re here now, you’re here with us, and I won’t ever let him hurt you again. Okay?” Leah fought to push down her own anger, focusing instead on comforting you as she held you tight, letting you cry in her arms.

You sniffled, still not fully able to shake the fear that had gripped you, but slowly, you relaxed yourself into her arms.

Leah gently wiped away a tear from your cheek, her heart aching at the vulnerability you were showing. She held you tighter for a moment, feeling her protectiveness instincts surge as she kissed the top of your head, “I won’t let him hurt you again, I promise. No one is ever going to hurt you again,” She whispered, her voice low and soothing.

Eventually, after a few minutes, Leah pulled back just enough to look at your face, “You’re so strong, Monkey,” She said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, “And I’m so proud of you. You know that?”

You looked up at her, your eyes wide and vulnerable. You didn’t have the words, but you nodded slowly, feeling comforted by the tenderness in her eyes.

With a final reassuring squeeze, Leah helped you settle back onto your pillows, smoothing the covers around you, “I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep, okay?” She said, her voice a gentle murmur as she tucked you in snugly, “Do you want me to read you a story?” She teased.

And to Leah’s surprise, you nodded, “I want that book,” You mumbled tiredly, pointing to the familiar book cover of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone resting on the nightstand.

Leah grinned, picking up the book and flipping it open to the first page, "Mr and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much,” She began, glancing down at you with a mischievous smile, “I don’t know about that now, do you?” She joked, her playful manner still in her voice.

You were too tired to respond, but you listened to the rhythm of her voice, the warmth of it enough to make you feel safe as your eyelids began to flutter shut.

Leah, absorbed in the book, glanced down at you and noticed your half-asleep state, “I think that’s enough reading for tonight," She murmured with a soft smile, gently closing the book and careful not to disturb the peace of the room, “Sweet dreams, my girl.” She whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“Night, Le,” You mumbled, your eyes barely open as you clutched your stuffed Monkey tightly in your arms, “Love you.”

“I love you too, Monkey,” Leah smiled softly, standing up from the bed, ready to turn off the bedside light.

“No, don’t,” You panicked slightly, your voice small, “Can you… Can you leave it on, please?”

“Of course,” Leah replied with a warm nod, her heart softening at the request. She left the room quietly, pulling the door ajar just enough so she could hear if you woke up and needed her. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching over you until you fell asleep.

You were safe. You were home.

“She’s finally asleep,” Leah murmured as she walked back into the living room, exhaustion evident in her posture as she flopped down on the sofa beside Jordan, “I wasn’t prepared for that battle tonight.”

“You handled it well, Bubba,” Amanda reassured her with a soft smile, “I was just filling your dad in on everything that happened today.”

David hummed in disapproval, “She went off to sleep okay?”

Leah nodded as she took a seat, her eyes softening as she thought about the moment she’s just shared with you, “Yeah, she’s asleep now. Took a little while, but she’s settled now.”

Jordan glanced up from where she was sitting, a warm, knowing smile on her face, “It’s good that she’s getting some rest. It’s been a long day.

David let out a low sigh, still not entirely convinced about the situation, “I just don’t like how all of this is affecting her. It’s not right, Leah.”

Leah met his gaze, her expression firm but compassionate, “I know, I don’t like it either but I’m going to do everything I can in my power to make sure she’s safe. I’m not going to fail this time.”

Jacob looked up from his phone briefly, his casual demeanor replaced by something more serious, “I’m glad she’s got you both. It sucks what she’s been throgh,” He paused for a moment before his eyes shifted back to the screen, “But is she… okay?”

Leah exhaled softly, a slight frown tugging at her lips, “She will be. It’s just going to take a bit of time. But we’ll help her get there, one step at a time.”

“We’re here to support you, Bubba,” Amanda gave Leah a reassuring glance, “You’re not going to be alone in this. She’s got a solid support system. That counts for something.”

Leah smiled faintly, looking down at her hands for a moment, “Yeah…I just want to protect her from everything that’s happened. All of it,” Her voice softened with the weight of her words, “I won’t let anyone hurt my kid again.”

“I know you won’t,” David’s expression softened a little, though still edged with concern.

“Do you think the hot chocolate helped?” Amanda joked, shifting to keep the atmosphere in the room light with a playful smile.

“It might’ve done the trick,” Leah said with a tired grin.

“Not as good as mine, I bet,” David said with a knowing look.

Amanda shot him a playful glance, “I tried my best.”

“Did you find out what that meltdown was all about earlier?” Jordan asked, curiously.

Leah exhaled a sigh, running her hand through her hair, “Yeah… she didn’t want to sleep, because she was afraid that I would leave her. She thought that tomorrow morning she’ll have to go back to her dad’s house.”

“I see,” Jordan replied, exhaling a matching sigh, “She’s a good kid, ain’t she? She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“That scumbag never deserved her,” Leah spat, her anger resurfacing now that you were asleep, and she didn’t have to hold back.

Amanda placed a calming hand on Leah’s arm, “Bubba, I know you’re angry, but lashing out isn’t going to help.”

“Your mum’s right, sweetheart,” David added gently.

Amanda gave her a sad smile, “We need to think about what happens next, don’t we?”

Leah nodded, her thoughts already shifting to the practical next steps, “I know. I need to call Monkey’s social worker,” She mumbled, not exactly thrilled to have that conversation, but it was necessary.

It was now or never.

Leah dialed the number, her fingers hovering nervously over the screen before she placed the call, “Hello, this is Leah Williamson. I need to talk to a social worker about an ongoing case.”

“Is Monkey going to live with us now?” Jacob piped in, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“We don’t know that yet, son,” David replied with a heavy sigh, trying to follow Leah’s conversation as she explained the situation briefly.

When Leah hung up, she exhaled in relief, setting her phone down on the sofa, “They’re sending someone round tomorrow afternoon to talk to us.”

Jordan nodded, rubbing a hand over her face, “Alright. That’s good.”

Leah’s expression darkened again, “She doesn’t have anything here. Other than her pyjamas which I brought her, and her football kit, she doesn’t have clothes–nothing.”

“She didn’t have a bag with her?” David asked, frowning.

“No, she came here with clothes on her back,” Leah replied, “She’s going to need more. She needs… just– she needs stuff. Jord, go to Tesco. Grab what you can. Anything she might need.”

Jordan blinked in surprise, “Uh–what stuff?”

Leah huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “Clothes, Jord. Pyjamas. Socks. Toothbrush. Just… I don’t know. Whatever she needs. Just get it.”

Jordan shifted awkwardly, “What size is she?”

Leah groaned, rubbing her temples, “I don’t fucking know–just guess, Jord. Use your common sense!”

“Leah!” Amanda snapped, her voice sharp, “We know you’re frustrated, but don’t swear at Jordan. We have raised you better than that.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Leah quickly apologised, her anger deflating with the reprimand.

“You need to take a minute to calm down,” Amanda told her firmly, standing up and grabbing her car keys, “Look, Jord and I will go to Tesco now and grab some essentials for her. You stay here, in case Monkey needs you, okay?”

Leah nodded, finally taking a deep breath as her frustration gave way to exhaustion, “Thanks, Mum.”

“I’m coming!” Jacob insisted, wasting no time to grab his trainers, “She needs snacks. Food always helps when you’re feeling sad, don’t it?”

Amanda chuckled, nodding in agreement, “You’re right there, son. Come on then.”

“I know you’re frustrated, sweetheart, but you have to stay calm,” David told her as the two of them sat alone in the room, “You won’t be any good to Monkey if you’re letting your anger get the best of you.”

“I know, Dad. I just… I don’t want to let her down. I can’t let it happen. Not again,” Leah’s voice trembled with emotion.

David nodding in understanding, reaching forward to squeeze Leah’s knee in reassurance, “Just… don’t burn yourself out trying to fix it all at once.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Leah met his gaze, a small but grateful smile playing on her lips, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“This will be worth it in the end,” He added with a teasing grin, “Mind you, I never imagined your mum and I would become grandparents so young.”

“Le?” Jordan shifted, waking up to find Leah awake, “How long have you been–”

“Can you hear that?” Leah cut her off, gesturing to the faint nose in the background, “It sounds like…” Her words were cut short by a blood-curdling scream that shattered the night.

Leah’s heart stopped for a moment before it began racing in her chest. She shot up in bed, the panic rising in her throat, her instincts already pulling her towards the door. Jordan, Amanda and David were right behind her.

“Monkey!” Leah yelled, as she hurried into the hallway, her feet pounding against the wooden floor.

Jacob appeared out of his bedroom, half-asleep, he looked confused, “What’s that noise?”

David placed his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, “I think Monkey had a nightmare. You should go back to sleep, it’s late and you have school tomorrow,” He told him with a knowing look, “Your  sister has it under control.”

Leah burst into the room, her eyes immediately finding you thrashing under the duvet, your cries raw and panicked as you gasped for breath between sobs. Your arms flailed, hands twisting into fists as you kicked at the sheets, trying to escape something only you could see.

“Monkey! Monkey, it’s okay! You’re safe,” Leah’s voice was firm but gentle as she reached for you, but the moment her fingers brushed against your arm, you recoiled violently, another piercing scream ripping from your throat.

Jordan winced at the sound, glancing at Amanda with wide, uncertain eyes, “She’s not awake.”

“Shh, sweetheart, we’re here,” Amanda’s voice was soothing as she flicked on the lamp, casting a warm glow over the room.

Your chest heaved, breaths coming too fast, too shallow. You didn’t like the light. It was too bright, too sudden. You curled in on yourself, hands flying to your ears as a whimper escaped your lips. The noise, the movement–it was all too much.

Leah crouched beside you, hands resting on her knee and making sure she wasn’t too close, “Monkey, it’s me. It’s Le,” She said softly, “You’re safe. You’re at home, my girl.”

At the sound of her voice, your head jerked up, eyes wild and unfocused, “He… He was–” You breath hitched as your face crumpled.

“I know, my girl,” Leah’s heart clenched, nodding slowly, “But he’s not here. I promise, you’re safe.”

You let out a broken sob, still trembling, your whole body buzzing with restless energy. Leah hesitated only for a moment before reaching forward again. Only this time you didn’t flinch away when she gently wrapped her arms around you, pulling you against her chest.

“I… It was real–It felt so real,” You whimpered, clutching at her like she might disappear.

“You’re okay,” Leah murmured, rocking you slightly, “Breath with me, yeah? In… and out…”

You tried, but your breaths were still shallow, your body still twitching like you needed to move–like you couldn’t stop moving. Leah ran a hand up and down your back, grounding you.

“Feel my breathing, Monkey. Can you match mine?” Leah encouraged.

Slowly, you did. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of Leah’s shirt as your gasps evened out, your body sagging against her as exhaustion started creeping back in.

“I’m sleepy,” You mumbled, voice thick with tears.

Leah nodded, adjusting you slightly so you were more comfortable, “I know, Monkey. I’ve got you.”

She felt it immediately–the dampness seeping through your pyjamas.

Your whole body tensed as you realised what had happened.

“I… I didn’t mean to… I–” Your voice came out small, barely above a whisper.

Leah didn’t let you finish, “It’s okay,” She said simply, squeezing you a little tighter, “You got scared, that’s all. It’s not a big deal, I promise.”

But you wouldn’t meet her eyes, curling in on yourself.

“I didn’t even feel it,” You mumbled.

“I know, my girl,” Leah soothed, “That happens sometimes when you have a really bad nightmare. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Amanda, still standing in the doorway, gave Leah a soft nod and quietly went to grab clean sheets. Jordan followed, muttering something about getting you some water.

“Come on,” Leah coaxed gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

You hesitated, but when Leah stood and offered her hand, you took it. She helped you into the bathroom, running warm water and handing you a fresh pair of pyjamas from the improvised late night Tesco shopping trip that Jordan, Amanda and Jacob went way too overboard on clothes and toys.

Leah never rushed you, she didn’t make a big deal out of it, but instead she just talked to you softly about Coco Pops and the cartoons you could watch in the morning.

Your fear returned when it was time to return to your bedroom. The thought of being alone again sent a shiver down your spine. You clung to Leah’s arm, trembling as you shook your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, “I… I don’t want to go back. Please don’t make me.”

Leah’s heart twisted at the sight of you, “You’re okay, my girl. You can go back to bed, it’s safe now.”

You didn’t budge, you shook your head, your body trembling with exhaustion and fear, “N… No. Please… Please don’t leave me,” The words were barely above a whisper, desperate. Your lip wobbled as fresh tears welled in your eyes.

Leah crouched down, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, “Hey, you’re not alone. I’m right here, I promise,” She murmured, her voice thick with emotion, “I tell you what–tonight, you can sleep with me and Jordy tonight, just for tonight, okay?” Ultimately she would have preferred for you to go back to sleep in your bed, but she could tell how shook up you still were, and making sure you were okay was the priority right now.

You nodded quickly, your whole body sagging with relief. You felt safe, finally. You didn’t care that you were 12 or that this was probably a little silly–right now, all you wanted was to feel loved, protected, and not alone.

Leah gave you a gentle time as she helped you into bed, “We have a guest joining us tonight,” She said to Jordan, glancing up at her as she settled beside you.

Jordan’s eyes softened, a fond smile tugging at her lips as she watched you curl up close to Leah, “I see that,” She replied, her voice warm, “Hi, little one.”

Your thumb found its way to your mouth instinctively. Your fingers trembling as you sucked it in, a habit you hadn’t relied on in a long time, but right now, it brought a sense of comfort that nothing else could.

Leah’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against her chest, “You’re safe with us, Monkey. I’ve got you, my girl. You can close your eyes and sleep now,” She said, her fingers stroking your hair.

“M’ sleepy,” You mumbled, your eyes fluttered closed, the warmth of Leah’s embrace making you feel like everything would be okay, even if just for tonight.

The rhythmic beat of Leah’s heart and the steady sound of Jordan’s breathing surrounded you like a cocoon, and eventually, you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of their arms.

“Le, can I… I have cereal for breakfast?” You asked, excitedly as you bounded into the kitchen still dressed in your pajamas, your hair wild like a lion’s mane, “You promised I could!”

“Of course you can, Monkey. You can have anything that you want,” Leah replied, the tiredness evident in her own voice.

Your eyes lit up, “Even Coco pops?”

Leah smiled and nodded, “Even Coco pops.”

“Yeah!” You exclaimed, bouncing on your toes.

Despite the nightmare from the night before, you were up and ready at 7 am, wide awake. Leah, reluctantly getting up with you, switched on the TV for morning cartoons while she made you the promised bowl of Coco Pops.

You sat on the spinny chair in the kitchen, pushing it back and forth, spinning in circles, “Why did Jordy stay in bed? She’s missing out on Spongebob!” You giggled, pointing at the screen. 

“I’m not missing out, I’m just avoiding the early morning Spongebob chaos,” Jordan appeared in the doorway, her voice groggy but playful, “Besides, if I have to listen to Spongebob’s laugh one more time before coffee, I might just turn into Plankton.”

Leah chuckled softly, shaking her head at Jordan’s antics, “Jordy isn’t much of a fan of early mornings,” She explained, “Do you want a bit of milk or a lot of milk?”

“Hm, not too much. It’ll make the cereal yucky!” You scrunched your face in mock disgust as you inspected the milk bottle.

It was remarkable to see how quickly your joy had returned, despite the nightmare that had shaken you both in the middle of the night. Leah had hardly slept, and neither had you. Your scream had woken up the entire house, sending everyone into a flurry of concern, but now, here you were, laughing over breakfast.

Leah sat at the kitchen table, fingers tapping anxiously against the wood. Jordan was across from her, just as tense but they both kept a brave face for you as you sat opposite them, oblivious and munching on your breakfast.

You stared at your bowl, then looked at them, your thoughts turning inward. You knew it was Monday. On Mondays, you always went to school. So why weren’t you today?

“So, Monkey,” Leah began the difficult conversation, keeping her voice soft, “Today, someone is going to come round from social services to talk to us–well, to you.”

“Why?” You asked, your stomach dropping at the unfamiliarity of the situation.

“Because it’s important that it happens I’m afraid,” Leah replied softly, but there was something about the way she said it that made you feel uneasy.

Your eyes widened in fear, instant panic taking over your face, “No, no… They’re just going to send me back to my dad's!”

“They’re not. I won’t let them, okay?” Leah shook her head quickly, her voice firm but gentle, “Not this time. We’ll talk to them, we’ll explain everything that happened, okay? There’s no need to be scared.”

“O… Okay,” You whispered, the fear still gripping your chest.

You really didn’t understand, but you didn’t want to ask again. You hated it when people didn’t answer your questions the way you wanted them to. It felt… off. You didn’t know why, but it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t like.

“Eat your breakfast before it goes cold, little one,” Jordan encouraged, trying to lift your spirits. 

You giggled, poking your spoon around in your bowl, “It’s cereal, Jordy. It’s already cold.”

“Of course, silly me,” Jordan smiled at you, her voice light, trying to coax a smile from you.

Leah shook her head with a fond smile, “What’s she like, eh?”

“Silly!” You said, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you took another spoonful of your cereal.

By the time lunch had rolled around, the house was filled with the sounds of laughter and light-hearted jokes. You were sitting on the floor in the living room, building your Lego set, your fingers moving quickly as you pieced together a colourful castle. Leah and Jordan were sitting nearby, Leah with her phone, and Jordan struggling to assemble a poorly designed tower that kept collapsing.

“Jordy, that’s not how you build it!” You giggled, pointing at the mess she was creating, “It’s all wrong! The pieces don’t go like that!”

Jordan pouted, clearly amused by her own failure, “Oh, really? I thought it was a… modern abstract tower, that’s all.”

“Nooo, it’s awful!” You told her, grinning as she made an exaggerated face of frustration, “You have to build it properly!”

Leah laughed softly at the two of you, shaking her head, “You two are something else.”

You giggled mischievously in response, feeling more comfortable with them than you had in so long.

But as you clicked the last piece into place on your Lego creation, a sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment.

Leah stood quietly, her mood shifting as she turned towards the door, “Stay here,” She said, her voice gentle but firm, “I’ll go let them in. It’s going to be fine, yeah?”

You nodded, clutching the Lego piece in your hand, feeling a nervous flutter in your chest, “I’m scared, Jordy,” You turned to look at Jordan for her help.

“Hey,” Jordan shifted to move closer and wrap a protective arm around you, “You don’t need to be scared. Leah and I are going to sort this out. We’re not letting you go this time.”

Leah opened the door before the second knock could land, her eyes immediately locking with the woman standing there. The woman was in her mid-thirties, with an expression that was professional but kind.

“Miss Williamson?” She asked.

Leah’s grip tightened on the doorframe, “Yes.”

“My name is Hannah, and I’m from social services,” The lady introduced herself, showing proof of her ID card.

Leah’s jaw tightened, unfamiliar with this lady, “You’re not Monkey’s… I mean, you’re not the one I spoke to before at social services?”

“I’m afraid her case has been reassigned to me,” Hannah explained, her voice steady but with a trace of sympathy.

Leah stepped aside, her eyes momentarily narrowing with a mix of frustration and concern, “Right. Come in,“ She said, ushering the woman inside, “Monkey is in the living room with my partner.”

The moment the door closed behind them, you stiffened, instinctively shrinking back into your seat on the floor, your eyes darting between the unfamiliar woman and the safety of the room.

“Monkey?” Leah approached you with a cautious look, “This is Hannah. She’s from Social Services, and she’d like to talk to you. Think you can do that?”

You froze, feeling a lump in your throat. You didn’t want to talk to her. Didn’t even want to look at her.

“Hi, Monkey,” Hannah greeted you, though you could hear the professionalism still, “I’m Hannah. It’s nice to meet you.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Instead, you focused on your Lego, avoiding eye contact, desperately trying to make yourself small, to disappear into the safety of the pieces in your hand.

“I understand that you stayed here with Miss Williamson and her partner last night, is that right?”

“Her name’s Leah, not Miss Williamson,” You mumbled, your voice barely audible.

“Right, of course. You stayed here last night with Leah, and her partner,” Hannah corrected herself, glancing in Jordan’s direction.

“Jordan,” Jordan answered curtly.

Hannah nodded, making a note of it on her clipboard, “So, you stayed here last night. Can you tell me what happened before that?”

You tensed, shrugging your shoulders and uninterested in talking. Your fingers trembled as they fiddled with a piece of Lego, keeping your eyes downcast. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak–not now. Instead, you scrambled up off the floor and reluctantly glued yourself to Leah, pushing to sit directly in her lap as she wrapped her arms around you protectively.

She wouldn’t force you to talk, not if you weren’t ready.

Jordan noticed your withdrawal and sat up from where she was sitting on the carpet originally beside you to move to sit on the sofa beside you and Leah, “Maybe it would be better if one of us spoke about it?” She suggested, offering you a silent but supportive glance.

Hannah nodded, understanding the hesitation, “That’s perfectly fine,” She agreed, her gaze flicking from you to Leah.

Leah inhaled sharply, her voice steady but filled with an intensity that you hadn’t seen before, “I got the phone call from Monkey last night. She was in distress and needed our help. We found her hiding out on the street, terrified and cold. She didn’t want to go back to her dad. Mark. He’s… He’s been hurting her,” She paused, the words heavy, but she didn’t look away, “I tried to talk to her old social worker, and every time, I was brushed off. And now look what’s happened. I’m not letting her go back to him. That’s not an option.”

Hannah regarded her carefully, her face softening with empathy, though her eyes still remained sharp, “Leah, I understand that you’re worried, but–”

“No, you don’t understand,” Leah’s voice cut through, unwavering, “I’m not letting her go back. She’s staying here. With me. With us.”

“Leah,” Hannah’s eyes softened as she took a slow breath, her clipboard held tightly in her hands, “Legally, there’s a process we have to follow.”

“Then follow it. But you’re not taking her away from me,” Leah responded firmly, her posture rigid as she pulled out her phone, “I’ve got proof. I’ve got everything–pictures, recordings. You need to see what happened. The bruises, the fear in her eyes, the way she recoils at the mention of his name–And last night, she had a nightmare. She was screaming blue murder. I had to get up with her in the middle of the night because she was terrified. She had an accident because she was so fearful. She was shaking when I finally got her back to sleep.”

Hannah’s face paled as she watched the footage, looked at the pictures of the bruises, the evidence unmistakable. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she took a moment, her fingers gripping the clipboard harder.

“I’ll be escalating this immediately,” Hannah murmured, her voice low and serious, “This isn’t something that can just be swept aside.”

Leah exhaled sharply, but relief was short-lived. Hannah wasn’t done yet.

“There will need to be a court process,” She continued, “For now, we can arrange for emergency placement with you both, but a judge will need to approve the custody arrangement.”

Leah clenched her jaw, her heart racing, “And what happens if he tries to fight it?”

“The court will give him a chance to try and change his ways. But…” Hannah explained, her voice dropping in tone, “I’ve seen cases like this before. With the evidence you’ve shown me… I doubt they’ll risk sending her back.”

Leah’s stomach churned, but she nodded, her body tense, still holding onto the hope that you were safe. That she had done the right thing.

And somehow, for once, the system worked. A court order was pushed through, and Leah and Jordan were granted joint custody. Your dad was given a second chance to change–He had been allowed to have supervised visits.

Leah wasn’t thrilled, but at least this way you were safe with them for now.

As you sat in Leah’s lap, still curled up, she leaned down and kissed the top of your head softly, “You’re here, you’re safe. This is exactly what Jean wanted all along.”

Leah held you a little tighter, her arms a protective shield around you, and the words hung in the air for a long moment. Jean had always wished for Leah to have custody of you, to keep you safe from your dad.

Now, it was finally happening. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to relax, the fear in your chest easing as you let yourself believe it.

You were safe. You were home.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[kiyoomiee]

Your bestfriend, Yuuji’s older half-brother Sukuna, who always had this grudge towards you and you can’t pinpoint why.

You first met him during summer break. Your couldn’t keep up with your dorm fees anymore and happened to mention it to Yuuji one time.

“You could stay with me! I have a spare room nobody’s using.”

“Are you sure Yuuji? I don’t want to impose on you.”

“Of course I’m sure. You don’t even have to pay rent or anything.”

A home that’s close to uni and has no fees? It was heaven sent for a broke college student!

“That’s the last of them. Thank you Yuuji, I really appreciate the help. If there’s anything I could do around here just let me know.” You told him after dropping your stacking your last moving box into your new room.

“No problem. Just a heads up though, my brother also lives with me. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure, it’s fine with me.” Your famous last words.

You should’ve headed the red flags when Yuuji tried to warn you about his brother.

“Sukuna can be..difficult sometimes. But it’d be nice if you two would be friends. If not, ehh, just avoid him if you can.”

You should’ve headed the red flags when Yuuji tried to warn you about his brother.

To say that Sukuna had a bad day at the tattoo shop was an understatement. His new assistant never arrived, he was dealing with a shit client plus, his ink almost ran out.

His frustration echoed throughout the two-storey house when he slammed the front door shut.

He was confused by the smell coming from the kitchen as he walked in. Is Yuuji cooking? Nah, his idiot brother would burn the house down if he even tried to get near the kitchen.

Instead, he finds a woman’s figure busy behind the kitchen counter. It made him stop his tracks.

Beautiful, he thought. But too young for Sukuna’s taste. Plus, he doesn’t like it when a stranger touches his favorite spot in the house.

So great, his bad day is about to become worse.

“Who. The. Fuck. Are you?” You almost screamed when your eyes went to the man that appeared behind you.

He looked similar to Yuuji, but the aura was very different. His build was larger, jaw sharper, and he had looked furious.

Oh, he must be Yuuji’s brother, Sukuna. You tensed up unintentionally while his eyes wandered on what you’re wearing.

“You one of Yuuji’s girls? I told him not to bring his hookups here.” He uttered, eyes not leaving yours.

You wore a tank top with cotton pajama shorts. You looked too comfortable just to be visiting.

“No! I-I’m Yuuji’s friend. It’s nice to meet you.” You said nervously.

“Can’t say the same sweetheart. I’m not so fond of strangers in my house. So open the front door and walk outside.”

What? Is he kicking you out?

“Wait! Yuuji didn’t tell you? He allowed me to stay at the spare room down the hall.”

“He what?” Sukuna was fuming. Every step he took closer to you looked like he was going to eat you alive.

“YUUJI!” His voice thundered all over the house.

“I-I think he’s sleeping in his room.” You winced at the string of curses that came out of his mouth.

“Whatever conversation you had with my dumb brother, it’s not happening. You can’t stay here.”

“But it’s the start of the semester, I can’t find a new dorm in a snap!”

“You shouting at me, girl?”

“N-No, I mean-just please, I can take care of the house. I can even cook for you. I can’t afford to leave, not right now.”

Before Sukuna could open his mouth, Yuuji’s footsteps rang out from the stairs.

“Sukuna, you’re back! Wait, did something happen?” Yuuji looks at your nervous face.

“Yeah we’ve met alright.” Sukuna muttered, arms crossing to his chest.

“Yuuji, your brother’s kicking me out.” You tried to hide behind Yuuji’s form.

“What? You can’t kick her out!”

“I can because it’s my goddamn house. If don’t want some girl in here, she’s got to go.”

“You can’t! To be fair, I did tell you that my friend’s staying with us for a while and you agreed.”

Yeah he did agree but he thought that black haired kid was moving in, not you.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Sukuna exclaimed and you could tell he’s about to lose it.

“I’ll stay out of your way all the time, I promise. You won’t even notice I’m here.” You pleaded him.

“Yeah, I doubt that. Clean up your damn mess.” He said harshly and glared at you before stomping his way upstairs.

“I’m so sorry. My brother’s not so good at making first impressions.” Yuuji pouted.

He’s an asshole, you wanted to say.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad he didn’t kick me out.” You exhaled in relief.

If that was his reaction during your first meeting then what about the upcoming months?

“He won’t. I’m sure you’ll grow on him, you kinda have that effect on people.” Yuuji tried to cheer you up but you just gave him a faint smile.

Yeah, somehow you doubt that would work on Sukuna.

——————————————————

note: Sukuna is 29 in this fic and your age gap is 6 years. I don’t like doing age gap with minors, so just think that everyone in this fic are 18+.

[gothcsz]

I bet you already know what I’m about to say. I really wish you’d write a fic about Marcus Acacius eating pussy. Bonus points if he’s wearing his ring and uses that hand to please you. Extra aura points if you’re his wifey. Modern/canon time. Whichever. 😁🤭

Flesh & Gold | Marcus Acacius x Black F!Reader | ~1.8k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Tags: oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, size kink kinda, secret fling with the general, his ring makes an appearance, not historically accurate we're just vibing here, a smidge of possessive!marcus, reader is a black woman, has curly hair, and is able bodied, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: feliz cumpleaños primita! 🥂 this one is specifically for you and i hope you enjoy it! thank you for always supporting the feral musings that plague me and for being an amazing friend 🖤 this is the same pairing from this lovely moodboard... i couldn't help myself 🏹

The invitation had come by way of a sealed scroll, delivered just before the sun set.

You had expected it the moment he wheeled through the streets in a decorated chariot, the roar of the crowd so thunderous it seemed to shake the very stones beneath your feet.

The banquet that followed the fights had been routine, its opulence familiar. You’ve lingered in Rome longer than any other city or village, drawn by the wealth, the beauty, the intoxicating danger of slipping into the arms of a man as powerful as him.

You had seen the hunger in his gaze long before his lips ever formed your name. How he traced the shimmer of oil on your skin, your hips beckoning his attention beneath the rich gossamer fabric.

You effected him deeply, much to his dismay, grip tightening around his goblet whenever you locked eyes. A silent promise in the look you shared.

You were summoned to his home under the guise of performing for a private gathering, a small dinner shared with a few senators. But as you stepped into the lavish cubiculum, purposely draped in expensive fabric, it became clear that you were never meant for an audience of many.

The chamber was dimly lit, the warm glow of oil lamps flickering against frescoed walls, the scent of myrrh and clove thick in the air.

A half-emptied tray of honeyed dates sat abandoned on a low table near the lectus, its decadence forgotten in the wake of something far more intoxicating.

You turned just as the heavy door groaned shut behind you, sealing you within his den.

Acacius stood before it, still in his white and gold ceremonial robes, his presence alone filling the space. Big-shouldered and imposing.

The golden light caressed the hard planes of his face, tracing the scars that cut across his cheek and strong nose, the slight furrow of his brow—an expression you had come to know well.

A slow, knowing smile curved your lips as you took a step forward, the skirt of your two piece ensemble shifting with your movement, the golden body chain adorning your midriff catching the light, twinkling with every breath. 

Your hair had been swept up into a high bun (minus the few strands that framed your face), exposing the line of your throat, the delicate layering of gold and bejeweled necklaces resting against your bronze skin.

Your earrings swayed as you moved, sounding like wind chimes in the summer breeze, every piece of you an adornment—an invitation.

He took you in, his gaze darkening, lingering at how your exposed midriff gleamed beneath lamplight.

“Where are your senators, General?” you questioned with a teasing lilt, tipping your chin in challenge. “Am I to dance for ghosts?”

His mouth twitched in amusement, but his eyes remained fixed upon you like a predator assessing its prize. Slowly, deliberately, he removed his bracers, then unclipped the heavier red cape, setting each article aside with the practiced ease of a man who had undressed for war a thousand times. 

“I did not invite them,” he admitted, his voice a low rasp, now standing before you only in the white tunic that lied beneath the formal wear.

A shiver slithered down your spine. Your confidence did little to protect you from the intensity of his stare, from the way he stepped toward you, unburdened now by armor or pretense.

You let him come.

His hands found your waist, skin ablaze as his roughed and calloused touch made contact, palms mapping the curve of your hips.

A slow exhale left him as he traced the golden links, admiring how they dipped with the natural swell of your body. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing and teasing your stiffened nipples.

“You are a temptress,” he murmured, leaning in, breath tantalizing against the shell of your ear. “Every man watches you, but none dare touch. I would cut them down where they stand.” Each word rolled over you like the slow pour of honey.

You managed a smug grin, though your breath caught when his lips found the column of your throat, coarse hairs of his beard grazing the sensitive skin. “At ease Acacius. So possessive.” 

He hummed against your warmth, the sound deep, reverberating through you like the low growl of a lion. His lips and teeth traced a path down the curve of your neck, lingering, tasting, claiming.

Your eyes fluttered shut as pleasure stole through you, your fingers finding purchase on the thick cords of muscle of his biceps beneath his tunic. The tickle of his beard, the scent of wine and leather clinging to him, the sheer size of his broader frame against yours—it was enough to make you sigh, melting into him as your inhibitions lowered.

He lifted you with ease, his competent strength effortless as he carried you to the bed, its frame carved from ivory, sheets a cream color. He laid you upon it, the fabric cool against your heated being, and he stood above you for a moment, consuming you with his eyes.

“I have thought of this often,” he admitted, voice slathered with desire as he leaned down to kiss the swells of your tits, beginning his descent. “Dreamed of tasting you again.”

What an obscene act, one that was practically unheard of—that was until you found yourself beneath the General’s touch, claimed within the sanctum of his bed.

His hands slipped beneath the deep slit of your skirt, knuckles dragging against the fevered skin of your thighs as he bared you inch by inch, removing the garment that covered the gift between your thighs.

You shivered, nerves thrumming like the strings of a lyre as his fingers traced a languid path upward, teasing your pussy lips.

He exhaled when reaching your mound, nuzzling his curved nose at the stripe of hair there. You keened.

The heat of his breath washed over you before an open-mouthed kiss was pressed to your pussy. His action made your hips swivel, a sweet moan sung from the depths of your throat.

Marcus gripped your hips, thumbs stroking the dip where flesh met bone beneath the thick band of your skirt, keeping you still.

When his tongue breached you slit, he groaned as though he had discovered a treasure more valuable than the gold that lined his wrists or filled his pockets.

And then, he feasted.

His mouth was slow and indulgent. The slide of his wet muscle circling your clit was a prayer, the scrape of his facial hair a plea for divinity. He held you down firmly when you writhed, his hands moved to grip the meaty, soft flesh of your thighs, forcing you to take what he gave.

The lewd cunnilingus had pleasure striking your body like a lightning bolt, unraveling you with each intentional stroke and kiss.

The melody of your jewelry danced with every shake of your form, echoing off the stone walls, mixing with your cries of pleasure—a symphony of passion, a testament to your shared lust.

Your fingers tangled in his greying brown curls, tugging desperately, needy, and he growled in response, the tremor of it sending a shock through your very core.

“Marcus—” His intimate name left your lips like an invocation, a whispered surrender.

He grunted, the sound bordering another snarl, and just as you thought he would grant you your orgasm—he withdrew, his mouth parting from you with agonizing slowness.

A protest nearly fell from your lips before you felt something cool against your skin.

His ring.

A thick band of gold with an emerald cut into the shape of a ziggurat. He traced it along the inside of your thigh, the smooth metal a stark contrast to the heat pulsing at your pussy.

He slid his ring-clad knuckle between your folds, the cold press of gold against spit slicked, sensitive flesh sending a quiver through you. And then, he sunk two stocky fingers into the mouth of your cunt—deep, firm, the tip of his tongue resting against your swollen, pert clit as he moved.

The sensation was intoxicating. You clenched around his digits, hips arching, chasing the rapture only he could give you. He chuckled, low and dark, his breath fanning against your sex.

“You take my touch so beautifully,” he rasped, curling his fingers inside you, angling just right. Your pussy squelched and weeped for more. “As if you were made for it.”

Your moaned loudly, uncaring if anyone could hear you. Acacius knew how to command your body, the skill honed from his title. You were like a beautiful string puppet meant only for his entertainment and pleasure.

He worked you open with a measured pace, teasing you to the edge before retreating, only to start again.

Pleasure coiled, unbearable, exquisite. And when he bent his head once more, his tongue lapping with more ardor at your clit before he sucked roughly, the sensation sent you careening into bliss.

Your body bowed off the bed, a sharp cry piercing the air, your orgasm crashing over you like a breaking wave.

And still, he did not stop.

He licked, sucked, kissed, and drank from you as though he had been starved for years, only now having been given leave to taste the heavens.

His fingers still moved in slow, deep thrusts, prolonging your bliss until you were entirely pliant beneath him. 

Over and over he made you fall apart, soaking his hand as if cleansing it of the blood it had long been stained with.

When your body could take no more, when your limbs quaked and your breath stuttered, sweat built to a sheen at your skin, he finally lifted his head.

Acacius’s lips and chin were wet with your essence, expression darkened in satisfaction, curls in his hair mussed by your affections. He dragged his mouth up your body, once more tracing the curve of your hip, your stomach, licking at the golden links of your body chain until he was at the valley of your breasts, biting down the supple flesh.

“Taste yourself on my tongue.” He uttered before capturing your lips in a kiss that stole the last breath from your lungs.

And you did, kissing him languidly, taking your time to trace the inside of his mouth with your tongue, flitting over his teeth, tasting your tanginess and enjoying the feeling of his large, strong figure pressed against yours.

Only then did he withdraw, brown eyes hazed over with lust, stroking your cheek affectionately.

He then lifted his hand to his lips, the emerald on his ring catching the flames of the flickering lamps. He met your eyes as his pink tongue swept out to taste you from the very accessory that marked him as Rome’s greatest conqueror.

“I should not keep you here,” Acacius vocalized gruffly, trailing his palms up and down the length of your enchanting body, eyes appreciating, showing no sign of letting go. “But I cannot bear to let you leave.”

Your lips tugged into a sultry smile, your heart still pounding in your chest, brain fogged with simply... him. “Then do not.”

[mrsstarkey1]

nothing good (getaway car) - d.s.

yn is in a loving relationship with a guy she has no complaints about. tom(blyth, holland, hiddleston, take ur pick) is amazing. only problem? it's too good. restless, always searching for an exit, she never expected to find it in drew starkey. one lingering glance from across the bar and suddenly, she’s slipping into the passenger seat of a getaway car she knows is bound to crash. but that’s the thing about running—it only ever feels good until the chase is over.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: slight smut, infidelity, cursing

obx masterlist

The theater is dark, the screen flickering with golden light, but you can’t focus.

Tom is sitting beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, the way a good boyfriend’s should. He’s completely absorbed in the film—his film—the one he’s poured his heart into. Every time the audience reacts, he squeezes your knee in excitement, like he’s saying, Did you hear that? They loved it.

And you try. You really do. You keep your eyes on the screen, laughing at all the right moments. But your mind drifts, the way it always does.

Because here you are again—bored.

It’s always like this. You get restless, your fingers itch for something new. You don’t mean to be this way. You don’t want to be this way. But no matter how good a man is, no matter how many red carpets or candlelit dinners or whispered I love yous you collect, you always end up feeling like this.

Detached. Distant. Disconnected.

Tom leans over, whispering, “That was my favorite scene. Did you like it?”

You force a smile, turning to him, trying to shake yourself out of it. “I loved it.”

His brows furrow slightly, blue eyes searching yours. “Are you okay?”

You nod quickly, turning your attention back to the screen. “Of course. I’m just tired.”

He believes you. Because why wouldn’t he? You’re the perfect girlfriend—always there, always smiling, always saying the right things.

But tonight, you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend.

The weight of it all presses against your chest—too many eyes, too many expectations. You can feel Tom’s hand at the small of your back, warm and steady, a silent reminder of the role you’re supposed to play. You force a smile, let him guide you through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces, laughing at jokes you barely register.

And yet, beneath the shimmering lights and flowing champagne, something inside you itches, restless and uncontained.

It’s loud. Too loud.

Hollywood types fill the room—directors, actors, agents, all talking too fast, laughing too hard. Tom is in his element, shaking hands, flashing that charming grin. You squeeze his arm. “Go socialize, movie star. I’m gonna grab a drink.” 

He hesitates for half a second before kissing your temple. “I won’t be long.”

You nod, already turning toward the bar.

But once you get there, you don’t leave.

One drink turns into two. Two turns into—who’s counting? The ice in your glass melts as you swirl it idly, your mind still elsewhere.

And then, you feel it.

A pair of eyes on you.

You look up, and there he is.

Drew Starkey.

Sitting across the room, leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the back of the booth. He’s watching you, a slow smirk playing on his lips, the kind that makes your stomach flip in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You should look away.

You don’t.

He tilts his head slightly, as if to say, What’s a pretty girl like you doing drinking alone?

And that’s when you realize it—this is the moment. A moment you experience all too much. The point of no return.

You can get up, find Tom, pretend you never locked eyes with Drew Starkey across a crowded room. You haven’t done anything wrong, yet. 

Or you can pick up your drink, take a sip, and see what happens next.

You don’t look away.

Neither does he.

It’s a game of chicken now, the kind you shouldn’t be playing when your boyfriend is just across the room, laughing it up with his costars. But Drew doesn’t seem to care about that little detail—not with the way his lips curl at the edges, amused, like he already knows exactly how this will play out. 

And then—he stands.

You exhale slowly, turning back to your drink like you don’t notice. Like you don’t feel the heat of his gaze cutting through the crowd as he moves toward you.

A beat. Then, a voice, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

“You looked lonely.”

You glance up. He’s already leaning against the bar, a lazy confidence in the way he takes up space. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of his collarbone, sleeves rolled up in a way that feels entirely calculated.

You arch a brow, playing along. “And you just couldn’t let that stand?”

Drew tilts his head slightly, eyes flickering over your face. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he orders a drink, “Old Fashioned, please,” before turning his full attention back to you.

“Let’s just say I’m a humanitarian.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Saint Drew Starkey, patron of lonely girls at bars.”

He smirks, tapping the rim of his glass before taking a slow sip. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

The conversation is easy, effortless, a kind of push-and-pull that makes something in your chest tighten. You’re intrigued—because of course you are. Because he’s intriguing.

And hot as hell.

You knew that before, in a vague, yeah-he’s-attractive kind of way. But now that he’s right in front of you, now that you can see the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his blue eyes flicker under the dim bar lights—yeah, you get it.

He studies you like he’s trying to figure something out.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing sitting at a bar alone at her boyfriend’s movie premiere?”

There it is.

He knows who you are. He knows who you’re here for. And he’s still standing way too close, still watching you like he wants something.

The smart thing to do would be to laugh, brush him off, go find Tom.

Instead, you tilt your head, tapping a nail against your glass. “Maybe I like a little space.”

Drew hums, like that answer doesn’t surprise him. Like he already knew it.

And then, he leans in—just enough for his voice to drop into something lower, more dangerous.

“Or maybe you’re just looking for an exit.”

Your breath catches. "Is that an observation?" You tilt your head to search his eyes, "or an invitation?"

Drew’s lips twitch like he wasn’t expecting you to match his energy so easily. He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim before setting the glass down with a quiet clink.

“Depends,” he muses, running a finger along the condensation on his glass. “Would you take it if it was?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. He’s good—too good. The kind of smooth that should make you wary. Key word being should.

Instead, you angle yourself toward him, elbow resting on the bar as you meet his gaze. “You always talk in circles, or is that just for me?”

Drew smirks, tipping his head slightly. “Maybe you make it more fun.”

His voice is easy, teasing, but there’s something beneath it. A challenge. A dare.

Your fingers tap against the bar. You should excuse yourself, find Tom, do anything but sit here, entertaining this.

But instead, you lean in just slightly, close enough that his scent—something sharp, something expensive—wraps around you.

“You think I’m here for fun?” you ask, lips barely curving.

Drew hums, eyes flickering to your mouth before dragging back up. “Here—meaning sitting at this bar with me?”

You nod once, unsure of his angle.

He pretends to think it over, tilting his glass in his hand. Then, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach tighten, he murmurs, “No. I think you’re here because you hate events where you have to pretend to be in love with your boyfriend.”

Your fingers tighten around your drink. The ice clinks against the glass.

Because he isn’t wrong.

And the fact that he sees it so clearly? That should bother you.

But you find yourself leaning in just a little closer. "And what makes you think I’m pretending?"

Drew smirks, slow and knowing. "Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t still be sitting here."

You stare at him, your brain and heart running on overdrive.

You know what should happen next. You should finish your drink, put on a smile, and go find Tom—stand next to him, wrap an arm around his waist, remind yourself that he’s good. That he’s kind, and sweet, and proud of you. That you’re supposed to be his.

But of course, you don’t.

“And if I left?” you ask, voice quiet, just for him. “Would you follow?”

His lips twitch, his amusement barely concealed. “That depends. Are you running?”

Your pulse jumps. You swallow, setting your glass down. 

Because yes. Of course you are. You always do.

Drew watches you carefully, fingers tapping against the bar. He could call your bluff. Could smirk and let you go back to your perfect little life. Could make it easy for you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, close enough for his breath to ghost against your cheek. “You want an exit?” he murmurs. “I’ll give you one.”

You don’t have time to second-guess.

Because suddenly, your feet are moving. Your heart is pounding.

You don’t check to see if Tom notices. You don’t check to see if anyone does. You just slip through the crowd, past glittering gowns and crisp suits and clinking glasses, and push through the doors into the cool night air.

A sleek black car is idling by the curb. The driver barely glances up before stepping out to open the door.

Drew nods at him, then looks at you. A silent question.

You take one last breath of hesitation. One last chance to stop this before it starts.

The second you slide into the car, a laugh bubbles up in your throat—light, breathless, entirely uncontrollable.

Drew gets in after you, shutting the door with a quiet click, and that’s it. You’re gone. No cameras, no flashing lights, no careful smiles. Just the two of you and the city slipping past in a blur.

You press a hand to your lips, still grinning, the adrenaline coursing hot through your veins. This is so bad. Reckless. Messy. But God, it feels good.

Drew watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes as he leans back, stretching an arm along the seat. “You always run this fast?”

You shoot him a look, “Only when there’s something worth running to.” He's good, you've seen that throughout the night. But you know you're better.

His lips twitch, and instead of answering, he reaches forward—plucks a chilled bottle of champagne from the car’s minibar like it was meant for this exact moment. The foil crinkles, the cork pops, and you flinch before giggling again, head tilting back against the seat.

“Jesus,” you exhale, watching as he pours, the bubbles rising in the glass.

Drew smirks, passing one to you. “To running.”

You clink your glass against his, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “To the story of my life," you mumble.

The champagne is cold and sharp against your tongue, fizzing like the thrill still buzzing under your skin. You take another sip, letting your body sink into the moment, into the warmth, into the sheer wrongness of it all.

Drew watches you over the rim of his glass, gaze flickering to your lips before dragging back up. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

Because you know.

This is the part where you should hesitate. Where you should remember Tom, the careful life you just stepped out of, the lines you’re about to cross.

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean in, setting your glass aside, hands bracing against the seat as you crawl onto his lap, fabric slipping high on your thighs.

Drew hums, low in his throat, hands finding your waist like it’s second nature. “You move fast.”

You smirk, fingers curling into the undone knot of his tie. “You just noticed?"

Then his lips are on yours, hot and insistent and God help you, you can't remember Tom's name.

The kiss is messy, rushed, all tongue and need, like you’re making up for lost time neither of you even knew you missed. You fist a hand in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

The car takes a sharp turn, and Drew pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, eyes dark. His fingers ghost over your jaw, then trail down, slow, deliberate.

“This is the part," he licks his lips, eyes scanning over your face, "where you tell me if you want to go home, or to the hotel on the end of the street."

You could play coy. You could make him chase. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean in, lips brushing against his, and whisper, “Make sure it's a suite."

The grin that spreads across his face is pure sin. 

The next few minutes are a blur of heat and hands and whispered things you won’t remember in the morning. The car stops, a door opens, and Drew is pulling you out, his grip firm around your wrist.

You follow him through the back entrance, avoiding the glow of security cameras overhead. The way he moves—quick, confident, like he’s done this before—sends a thrill down your spine. Inside, the lobby is quiet, dimly lit. A night worker barely glances up as Drew approaches the desk, exchanging a few low words you can’t quite catch.

It’s the way it happens so smoothly, the way the worker nods without question, slipping him a key card like it’s routine, that has something twisting deep in your stomach.

You should probably wonder. Ask questions. But instead, it just turns you on more.

Drew glances back at you, lips twitching like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He slides the key into his pocket and reaches for your hand, his grip firm, leading you toward the elevators.

The moment the doors slide shut, his hands are on you again—palming at your waist, pressing your back against the cool metal, mouth hungry at the curve of your jaw.

The ride to the top floor is torturous. Every second feels stretched too thin, charged with heat. When the doors open, he doesn’t let go of you, walking backward down the hall like he can’t bear to break the contact.

The second the suite door shuts behind you, Drew’s on you again—his hands firm on your hips, his mouth already seeking yours like he’s been starved for it. His kisses are deep, urgent, but teasing too, like he enjoys dragging this out just to watch you fall apart.

Your fingers work quickly at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders, reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He lets you undress him without protest, but his hands aren’t idle—his fingers skim under the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch, teasing.

As he tugs it over your head, he leans in, breath warm against your ear. “You always this impatient, or am I just special?”

You scoff, raking your nails down his chest. “Shut up and take your pants off.”

His low chuckle vibrates against your skin, but he obeys, kicking them off to be long forgotten. The two of you leave a careless trail of clothing across the hardwood floor, stumbling blindly toward the bedroom.

You pull back for a breath, chest rising and falling, but Drew doesn’t let you go far—his lips immediately attach to your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin. A sharp sigh escapes you, your head tilting back to give him more access.

Your eyes flick around the room, momentarily distracted. "God, this place is nice," you murmur.

Drew hums against your skin, his lips still working their way lower. “Yeah? You thinking about interior design right now?”

You chuckle, fingers weaving into his hair as you tug lightly, forcing his gaze down to yours. "No, baby, only thinking of you," you tease, looking at him through your lashes.

A slow smirk spreads across his lips, dark and knowing, before his hands slide down to your thighs—gripping firm before lifting you with effortless strength. You barely have time to react before he all but throws you onto the mattress, the plush bedding sinking beneath your weight.

He towers over you, his eyes raking over your body like he’s committing every inch to memory. Then, he tilts his head, voice rough yet laced with amusement. 

"You know," he muses, finger tracing down your bare stomach, dancing around the fabric of your thong. "I don’t feel great about stealing Tom’s girl, especially on the night of his big premiere," he tsks. "He’s a great actor. Seems like a great guy."

You freeze for half a second, your brows lifting as your eyes snap to his. The smirk playing on his lips is lazy, arrogant—like he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to get under your skin.

Your fingers ghost over the waistband of his briefs, "Are you saying you want to stop? Hmm? 'Cause I'm sure he'd be happy to come take your place. I mean, you've already got me all hot and ready for hi-"

Drew lets out a sharp breath—almost a laugh, but darker. His mouth ghosts over your jaw, trailing down your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse point as he mutters, "Careful."

Heat pools low in your stomach, and you don’t bother fighting the grin tugging at your lips.

"Then shut up the fuck up about Tom."

He huffs out a low chuckle against your skin. "Who?" 

That’s enough talking, you both decide. 

His lips are slow, teasing, dragging across your skin in a way that has you gasping, hands grasping at him, nails digging into his back. He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every breathy moan he pulls from your lips.

And when he finally gives in, it’s fast and slow all at once—like he can’t get enough of you, but also wants to make this last. His touch is firm, controlled, but there’s a hunger beneath it, an urgency that makes heat coil low in your stomach. His hands roam your body, memorizing, mapping, claiming.

He’s good. Too good. The kind of good that makes you dizzy, that makes you forget your own name, let alone the one of the man you left behind tonight.

“God,” you breathe, fingers digging into his shoulders as he moves against you, burning skin on burning skin. He makes a noise in the back of his throat at the sound of your voice, like he’s reveling in the way you come undone beneath him. His name spills from your lips, a whisper, a plea, a curse all at once.

Drew’s mouth finds yours again, swallowing every sound, every broken breath. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like he knows this can’t last but wants to make it count anyway.

And you let him.

You let him pull you under, let him ruin you in the best possible way, let him set a fire to everything you thought you knew.

Because for the first time in a long time—you feel something.

And it’s intoxicating. 

Drew is asleep beside you, his arm hooked around your waist, his breathing slow and steady. The room is dark except for the city lights bleeding in through the window, painting streaks of gold across the sheets.

Your body is still buzzing, your mind still running in circles. You stare at the ceiling, your heart pounding with something that isn’t just adrenaline. It’s something deeper, something heavier. The weight of everything you just did, everything this means.

You should leave.

But as you shift slightly, testing the idea, Drew’s grip tightens in his sleep, his arm flexing just enough to pull you closer, as if even unconscious, he can sense you trying to go.

You freeze.

A sharp inhale. A pause.

Your eyes flick toward the hotel desk. A notepad and pen sit untouched beside the lamp, waiting.

You think about what you’d write.

I’m sorry. No. Too simple. Too empty.

This was a mistake. A lie.

Don’t follow me. You don’t even know if you mean it.

The words swirl in your mind, shifting, twisting, refusing to settle.

You press your lips together, staring at the blank page from across the room.

And you wonder if you’ll actually write anything at all.

---

requests open!

[runninriot]

Spinning

written for @steddiemicrofic and as a little gift for @braincell-pingpong 's special day 💗🖤 all the forehead kisses to you, love!

march prompt: ride | wc: 453 | rated: t | tags: established relationship, fluff, Eddie had a little too much to drink and Steve takes care of him

   “Someone get me off this fucking ride,” Eddie groans, mumbling the words to no one because he’s alone in his room, lying on his bed that doesn’t stop spinning like a carousel going too fast. If this doesn’t stop, he’s going to be sick, and he hates that. So he closes his eyes, hopes it’ll help but somehow, that only makes it worse.

   “God, please take me out of my misery.”

   “You did that to yourself, babe. Now suck it up and suffer like a real man.”

Steve’s laughing and Eddie hates him for it. Not really, but- you know, he thinks he deserves at least some sympathy from his boyfriend.

   “Steeeve, don’t be mean. ‘S not my fault. You let me drink all that Tequila. You know I can’t handle Tequila.”

The mattress dips beside him and then he feels Steve’s hand on his forehead, gentle fingers brushing his messy curls out his face before placing a soft kiss there. It’s nice, makes the spinning a little more bearable.

   “Aww, sorry babe. I’ll be a little stricter with you next time.”

Eddie is pouting, contemplating whether to forgive him or not. He cracks one eye open, and it takes a few seconds before his vision clears enough to focus on the person hovering above him.

   “Promise?” he asks and Steve nods, smiles down at him with a cheeky glint in his eyes.

    “Promise, baby. Now roll over, sleeping on your side will make it better.”

Eddie huffs dramatically but does as he’s told and- yeah okay, that helps. Doesn’t feel like he’s stuck on a never-ending carousel ride anymore. And what really makes it better, is Steve lying down behind him, wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him close to his chest.

Usually, Eddie insists on being the big spoon because he loves to bury his nose in the back of Steve’s hair, loves the way his boyfriend fits so perfectly into the mould he creates with his body. Loves to place his hand on Steve’s tummy, tucked underneath his shirt if he’s wearing one, dragging his fingertips through the happy trail leading into his boxers.

But this feels good, too. So for tonight, he’ll accept it.

   “Steve?”

   “Yes, baby?”

   “Do you still love me?”

   “Why wouldn’t I?”

   “Because I’m drunk and I smell like a distillery?”

He can feel Steve move, feels lips connecting with his cheek, then his nose, before they land on the corner of his mouth.

   “Hmm, thank you,” Eddie hums, feels suddenly so sleepy.

Steve settles back behind him, nuzzling his neck while Eddie slowly begins to drift.

And the last thing he hears is Steve’s hushed voice when he says, “Happy Birthday, my love.”

[daryltwdixon]

would love a fluffy au of the reader helping sarah or elle with their first period since joel called and didn’t know what to do☺️

Joel Miller x Reader drabble

Fluffy domestic Jackson!Joel, established relationship but early on, living separately, maybe a little silly okay but how cute would it be if there were walkies between houses in Jackson? obvi no cell phones or landlines sooo. yeah. I saw this come in and immediately thought of this so I stayed up late to write it for you !! hope you enjoy I had the best time writing it

"Uh, b-baby? You there?”

The crackly voice startles you. The walkie-talkie sits on the windowsill above the sink, right next to the pile of grimy dishes you’ve been scrubbing after days of letting them pile up. You fumble for it, wiping your wet hand on your jeans before pressing the button.

"Yeah? What is it?" you ask, one hand holding it up to your ear while the other continues scrubbing half heartedly.

The walkie goes static for a second before he finally says, "We have kinda a, uh... an emergency. How fast can you get here?"

An emergency?

Your heart kicks up, stomach flipping as you immediately set the dish down, water sloshing over the edge of the sink.

Joel never calls things an "emergency."

"I'm on my way!" you say immediately pushing the walkie back on the counter, barely remembering to grab your keys as you bolt for the door. The hinges groan as you shove it open, the wooden porch creaking beneath your hurried steps.

Joel's front door comes into view, and you don’t even slow down before pushing inside.

“What? What is it? Are you okay?” you pant, grabbing Joel’s face with both hands. He’s standing against the kitchen counter, brows drawn together and lips pressed into a hard line. His skin is clammy, his usually steady eyes darting around like he’s seen some real shit.

“Yeah, I—I’m fine. It ain't me,” he stammers, blinking at you like he's just survived a war zone.

Your stomach tightens. “Ellie?”

"She's upstairs," he nods toward the hallway, big brown eyes pleading with you to fix whatever horror he's just endured.

What the hell was going on? And why was he acting like he’d seen a goddamn ghost?

You drop your hands, press a quick, reassuring kiss to the tip of his nose (which earns you the tiniest exhale of relief from him), and sprint up the stairs two at a time.

The bathroom light spills from under the door at the end of the hall.

"El?" you call softly, knocking lightly.

The door flies open so fast you nearly stumble inside.

“Oh, thank god,” Ellie sighs dramatically, yanking you in like you’re her lifeline.

When the door closes behind you, you scan her up and down—no blood, no injuries, no immediate threats. She’s fine.

Your pulse is still hammering. “What’s going on?!” you hiss, glancing around like you’re expecting a Clicker to drop from the ceiling.

Ellie groans, dragging her hands down her face. “What did Joel say? Did he freak you out? You look terrible!”

“He said it was an emergency!”

"An emergen—oh dear god, that poor old man."

"Ellie! Just tell me what's going on!"

She lifts her hands and declares with all the seriousness of someone admitting to a crime, “I think I got my period. It's the first...first time."

For a moment, you just stare at her.

Then, the tension in your chest unspools all at once, and a breathless, incredulous laugh tumbles out of you before you can stop it.

“Oh, thank god.”

Your knees nearly give out as you clutch the edge of the sink, the sheer relief of it washing over you.

Ellie narrows her eyes. “That’s a...weird reaction.”

“I thought you were, I don’t know, dying? Missing a limb? Held hostage?” You shake your head, still giggling as you rub your face.

Ellie waves a hand. “I am bleeding out.”

"Ellie."

She smirks. "But, like, in a totally normal way."

Another wave of laughter hits you, and suddenly, you can’t stop. "Jesus. Christ." you say through giggles, "I thought something had attacked you. Joel sounded like he was reporting a goddamn homicide!"

Ellie grins. “Yeah, he freaked the hell out.”

"What did he do?"

“Well,” Ellie says, holding up one finger, “first I stood up off the couch, and he saw the blood on my pants--stared at it like it was brain matter. Then he gulped—you know that thing he does? When his whole Adam’s apple bobs?”

You bite back more giggles, nodding. "Oh yeah, I know the look."

“Then he left the room, paced the hall for five minutes, came back, opened his mouth, closed it, and then offered me... a sock.”

You lose it.

Your laugh is immediate and uncontrollable, your head falling back as you clutch your stomach. "Oh my god."

Ellie grins. “I told him I wasn’t stuffing a dirty sock in my pants, and he just kinda stared at me! Then said, she drops her voice real low, mimicking his Texan drawl, “‘...I’ll call her.’”

That sets you off again, laughing so hard you double over.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze. “I have never loved that man more.”

Ellie, still unamused, huffs. “Are you done?”

You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon, let’s raid my stash.”

Ellie smirks. “What do we do about the old man downstairs?”

You groan. "I'll sort him out later. First, let’s let him know you’re perfectly alive and well. Then I’ll sit him down and tell him aaalllllll about women’s hygiene. Should be a blast."

Ellie groans. “Ugh, gross.”

You grin, pulling her into a reassuring side hug, warmth settling deep in your chest despite the ridiculousness of it all.

Joel Miller: Texas tough, apocalypse survivor, undone by a little bit of blood from a teenage girl.

[nanamincreampie]

The CEO’s Hidden Flower: Part 2 (part 1)

The offices of Sukuna Enterprises thrived on efficiency, precision, and intimidation. Every employee knew their place, their role, and above all else, the iron-fisted authority of their CEO, Ryomen Sukuna.

No one slacked off. No one dared to waste time.

But today?

Work had come to a complete standstill.

It started the moment she walked through the glass doors again, the woman who had sent shockwaves through the company just months ago, stunning everyone with her warm demeanor, effortless beauty, and most shocking of all her identity as Sukuna’s wife.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

“Hi again!” she greeted cheerfully, shifting the soft pink baby sling around her shoulders, adjusting the tiny bundle nestled against her chest. “I’m just dropping off my husband’s lunch. He forgot it this morning.”

The receptionist, who had barely survived the Great Muffin Incident of two months ago, nearly fell out of her chair.

“H-Hold on… wait… You already—? You had the baby!?”

She laughed, gently swaying on her feet as if soothing the sleeping infant. “I sure did! Two months ago, actually. She’s been keeping us very busy.”

The woman’s voice, warm and honey-sweet, carried through the office like a breeze, drawing attention immediately.

Heads turned.

People whispered.

The employees who had witnessed her first visit froze at their desks, their jaws going slack as they registered the tiny baby strapped securely against her.

One of the junior associates nearly dropped his coffee.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. That’s— That’s his—? He’s actually a dad?!”

“Holy shit, I thought we were still in the pregnancy arc!”

“I thought we had time!”

“She just—just casually walked in here with his baby like it’s nothing—”

More and more people abandoned their work, curiosity outweighing their fear of their terrifying boss. They inched closer, whispering in disbelief.

Finally, someone from HR, probably the most fearless among them stepped forward hesitantly.

“Oh my God… She’s already here?”

The new mother beamed and adjusted the baby sling, brushing a delicate hand over her daughter’s back. “Mhmm. She came a little early, but she’s happy and healthy.”

A woman from the finance department gasped dramatically. “So that’s why Sukuna took a leave of absence! I thought he was handling some shady underground business deal or something!”

Sukuna’s wife chuckled. “No shady deals this time. He was home with me and our baby.”

The entire floor processed that information at once.

Sukuna. Their Sukuna. The ruthless, cutthroat businessman. The terror of the corporate world.

Had taken paternity leave.

People were struggling.

One of the interns, a nervous young man, cleared his throat, staring at the sleeping infant in absolute awe. “U-Um… Would it be okay if we… got a peek at her?”

“Of course! Just be quiet. She’s sleeping,” she whispered as she carefully pulled back the fabric of the sling.

The moment they saw her, a wave of soft gasps filled the space.

The baby, tiny, peaceful, her little fists curled against her mother’s chest—had a full head of soft, rosy-pink hair.

Just like him.

“Yup. That’s his kid,” someone whispered in awe.

“She has his hair. Oh my God.”

“I— I never thought I’d say this, but I think I want to see Sukuna holding a baby now.”

The receptionist clutched her heart. “She’s so precious. What’s her name?”

The new mother smiled, running a finger over her daughter’s tiny fingers. “Her name is d/n.”

The group collectively melted.

“d/n,” one whispered, as if testing it out. “It suits her. It’s… delicate.”

“Unlike her father,” someone snorted.

The growing crowd around her had become so engrossed in the moment that they failed to notice a hazardous presence approaching.

“Why the hell is nobody working?”

The deep, thunderous voice sent chills through the air.

Like a spell had been broken, people scattered, employees darted back to their desks, some fumbled with their papers, and others tried to act like they hadn’t just been seconds away from cooing over a baby.

But his wife?

She simply brightened at the sight of him.

“Ryo!” she chirped happily, lifting the lunch bag in her hand. “I brought your food! You forgot it this morning.”

Sukuna’s sharp crimson eyes flickered to the bag, then back to her. His gaze softened, just a fraction, as he took in the sight of his wife holding their daughter.

A long sigh left him as he dragged a hand through his hair.

“Flower, you really shouldn’t be carrying her around like this. You just had her.”

She pouted, adjusting d/n's sling. “I’m fine! Besides, I wanted to get out of the house for a bit.”

“You could’ve sent a driver.”

She huffed, placing a hand on her hip. “And miss the chance to see you?”

He narrowed his eyes, but the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

One of the braver employees coughed awkwardly. “Um, congratulations… sir?”

Sukuna barely spared him a glance. “Took you all long enough to figure it out.”

The employees collectively held their breath as their boss turned his attention back to his wife.

Then, in a move that should have been impossible, Sukuna, the merciless CEO, the demon of the corporate world, leaned down and kissed her forehead.

The office shattered.

Someone nearly fainted.

Another grabbed onto the nearest desk for support.

A senior associate actually whispered, “No fucking way.”

If the first visit had been a shock, this was earth-shattering.

Sukuna, completely unfazed by the chaos, exhaled and ran a hand down his wife’s back. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”

She giggled, letting him lead her away, but not before turning back to the stunned employees. “It was nice seeing you all again! I’ll bring cookies next time!”

And just like that, they were gone.

What followed could only be described as pandemonium.

“HE KISSED HER.”

“He called her Flower......again!”

“Did you see the way he looked at the baby?”

“This man is whipped. He’s actually in love.”

For the entire week, nothing else mattered in the office. The legend of Mrs. Sukuna had only grown more, cementing her place as the most fascinating, most talked-about mystery in the company’s history.

And Sukuna?

He didn’t bother addressing the rumors.

Because at the end of the day, there was only one thing he cared about, his wife, his daughter, and making sure they had everything they ever wanted.

Even if it meant tolerating the absolute chaos she left in her wake.

Tag list : @totallygyomeiswife @slushycoookie

[suzukiblu]

. . . so like, no PROMISES for doing the whole month, buuuuut . . . day one of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh, should I? In all the spare space I’ve got in here?” Tim asks, still sounding wry. 

“Buy a bigger boat, babe, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bernard says reasonably. “How’re we gonna keep a kept boy without a bigger boat, huh? You want a big pet around, you gotta have a big space for him. Let him really stretch his legs, you know? Or spread ‘em, whichever.’ 

Kon buries another laugh in his arms and Tim rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. Jokes aside, they really are crammed in pretty tight on the bed–it is just not that big a bed to be fitting three people in–but Kon minds literally nothing about that. Not even a little bit does he mind that, in fact.

He likes it, more like. Likes being all up in someone else’s space even without anyone actually fucking each other or even making out or like–just, anything, he guesses. He doesn’t get to do that often enough, it always feels like. Everybody’s always–busy, or moving, or . . . 

He just wants to, like . . . get to do this kind of thing more often, he guesses. 

Doesn’t hurt that it’s Tim whose space he’s currently all up in, either. Like–he has definitely not gotten to be all up in Tim’s space too many times that weren’t directly related to one of them saving each other’s ass in a crisis situation. Or, like, occasionally being transportation to a crisis situation; that has also been a thing more than once. 

. . . actually, fuck, thinking too much about being Tim’s usual designated transportation or just being all shoved up in each other’s space while the world was trying to end while he’s gay is not something he’s gonna be able to be normal about, huh. 

Like . . . wow, yeah. Not even a little bit normal. 

Jesus. 

“Oh, I see, so this is just another excuse to try and get me to trade in my perfectly sound and perfectly outfitted boat,” Tim says, which sort of distracts Kon from his own personal Chernobyl: Horny Edition. Like, kind of, anyway. “Is there literally anything that we have not managed to do in this bed? Genuinely, please tell me what position you have in mind, I’m honestly curious.” 

“Well, what about letting your boy sleep at the foot of the bed?” Bernard asks even more reasonably, which actually just made Chernobyl: Horny Edition like, twelve billion times worse, probably. Just–Jesus, again. “You think you’ve got the real estate for that on this mattress? No you do not, because you’ve failed to plan ahead and you should be ashamed.” 

“Yeah, Rob, shouldn’t you have a Bat-contingency plan for that?” Kon teases past more laughter, and Tim sighs. 

“You know, I did worry if you’d get along with each other or not, but I think it’s worse that you do get along with each other,” he muses, picking a peach slice up off the plate in his lap and eyeing it assessingly, because Tim is literally incapable of not assessing things, apparently, boyfriend-delivered breakfast or otherwise. “Actually, no, it’s worse that you encourage each other.” 

“I’m a very encouraging person, man, what can I say?” Kon says, flashing him a sharp grin. Tim rolls his eyes again, but with that little fond smile again, and Kon feels warm and heady and a little bit desperate to get his mouth on his cock again or, like–get kissed again, maybe. 

It’s maybe a little stupid, how he can’t really tell the difference between those things. Like–which one he really wants, he means. But like, in his defense, he is still experiencing his own personal Chernobyl right now and he’s just doing his best with the resources he’s got available, okay? 

“Oh absolutely, yes, I’m always so encouraged in your presence,” Tim says wryly. Kon grins at him, then sticks his tongue out at him instead. Tim drops the peach slice on his tongue like a weirdo, and Kon represses another laugh and pulls it into his mouth. What, it tastes good. And it’s not any weirder than getting hand-fed a protein bar was, either way. 

Well–maybe still a little weird, but whatever. 

Tim picks up a piece of waffle–Bernard cut them up in quarters, Kon guesses–and holds that out to him, and that . . . Kon hesitates a bit over that, because . . . 

“Sorry,” Tim says. “Don’t want it to get cold.” 

“That’s, like–your plate, man,” Kon says, his face feeling a little hot as he flicks his eyes up from the offered waffle chunk to glance at Tim’s face, because for some ridiculous reason his brain’s gotten stuck on that over a waffle, even after not really thinking of it with just the peach. Though that seemed . . . less deliberate, maybe, so . . . 

“No it’s not,” Bernard replies matter-of-factly, shaking his head as he picks up a banana slice off his own plate and pops it into his mouth. “Tim’s plate has way fewer waffles on it and blueberries instead of peaches. Also oh my god, Tim, don’t feed your boy dry-ass waffle with nothing on it. There’s whipped cream and caramel sauce over here, you want any, Kon? Also butter, if you’re feeling basic. I won’t judge, sometimes the vibe is just butter.” 

Kon takes a long moment to process the fact that Bernard put the plate he made for him on Tim’s lap, and also that Bernard went to the effort to make his plate different, for like . . . whatever reason. 

“. . . um. Caramel, if that’s cool,” he answers, a little belated, and wondering if Tim, like–told Bernard he likes peaches, or . . . well, he’s pretty sure peaches and caramel sauce are not standard waffle toppings, or at least not standard in most people’s usual breakfast setups, so like . . . “Uh–thanks.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Bernard says easily, reaching over to the tray and coming back with, weirdly, like a little, like–carafe, or whatever? pitcher? like the kind of thing people put coffee creamer in, except just full of caramel instead–and passing it to Tim. 

Which . . . okay, low-key weird that Bernard felt the need to pour out the sauce bottle into a fancy little pitcher, but Kon isn’t gonna lie, he’s a little charmed by it. Like, it’s just a funny little quirk, but . . . 

“You’re so fucking cute, man,” he says, laughing again and then grinning at Bernard in amusement. “Like, A+ hosting, don’t get me wrong, totally killer hospitality, but I wasn’t gonna knock down Tim’s Yelp rating if the bottle was sticky or whatever.” 

“Huh?” Bernard asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression, then seems to realize something and clarifies–“Oh, no, Tim only has the shitty cheap syrup that makes a shell when you put it on ice cream or whatever, I wasn’t gonna put that on waffles, I just made my own.” 

“You made it?” Kon says in bemusement, a little startled by the idea. That’s like–a thing? “Like–what, from scratch?” 

“Yeah, Tim said you liked caramel but again, the only caramel he had on deck was shitty cheap stuff,” Bernard replies with a shrug as Tim pours some sauce onto–Kon’s plate, apparently–and swipes the waffle quarter he’s holding through it. “Personally I’m more the whipped cream type but like, caramel is way less annoying to make from scratch when you don’t have a stand mixer, which your bestie continues to refuse to invest in because of some nonsense about ‘limited counter space’. So like, normally he whips the cream, because it’s his fault I gotta do it by hand anyway and also, you know, he’s got all those sexy, cream-whipping vigilante muscles that I was pretending not to notice but was not above taking advantage of. But we didn’t want you to come up without somebody around, so today my arm is sore, fuck you, babe, buy at least a hand mixer already.” 

Kon . . . blinks, once or twice, and feels–weird, maybe, because that rattled-off chatter makes it sound like . . . like Bernard made that sauce, like–specifically for him? Like . . . just because of him? 

Did he? 

[izzyy-stuff]

𝐒𝐊𝐈 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

bf!Soobin x fem!reader

in which you take your boyfriend on a ski trip, and as a way to help him relax afterwards, you book the spa for him. But as you sit in the hot water, just the two of you, you get a better idea on how to relax together.

wc 1.8k

warnings smut, established relationship, they do it at the spa, unprotected sex, nicknames/pet names, fingering

↪ izzy speaks... I love soobie :( I need to write for him more honestly not proofread!

Seeing your boyfriend struggle even stepping out of the cabin makes you laugh. The boots are heavy on his feet, the snow stuck everywhere on top which makes it harder to climb up the small hill. Still, when he notices the look on your face he knows it’s all worth it. 

“Come on, give me your skis I’ll hold them so it’s easier for you,” you offer but he immediately shakes you off. “No, no, I’m fine,” he says, finally reaching you. “Actually, give me your skis. I’ll carry them for you until we reach the road.” You giggle at how hard he tries but don’t protest, handing him your skis while you take his poles from him, insisting on carrying at least that. 

As soon as your boots sit on the skis and you start to move, you almost forget there’s a man waiting behind you, trying to figure out how it all works. Almost. Until you hear him cursing quietly. 

“Baby, wait,” you step out of your skis for a minute, coming back to your boyfriend. “I got it.” He sounds frustrated and it makes you feel bad. You were the one who suggested going on a skiing trip knowing he never learnt how to. “Soobin,” you coo and he finally looks up. You sigh, ignoring his determination to do everything on his own and walking to him. “Look, balance yourself by leaning on your poles and then slowly step on the skis. It gets easier once you know what to do.” 

He does as you say and it doesn’t take much longer for you to ski down the first small hill with him. You and his brother had already spent the week before teaching him the basics so technically, he knew how to ski. Now he just needed to apply his knowledge practically. 

“I so figured it out,” Soobin says proudly and it makes you giggle. “For sure, baby,” you nod, stroking his arm assuringly. “Let’s go one more time and then stop in the café we saw earlier?” You offer and he agrees, gently brushing the freshly fallen snow off your goggles. He’s cute, and every minute you spend with him you fall for him more. “I love you,” you smile, taking his hand in yours. 

You can hear the relief in your boyfriend’s sigh when he finally takes off his helmet, his gloves following shortly after. “Are your feet okay?” You ask, sitting down at the nearest table. “It’s been better,” he answers honestly and you nod. It’s understandable. “But that doesn’t mean we need to go back immediately,” he adds, sending you an assuring smile before his eyes fall down to the menu in his hands. “What do you want to get?” 

“A dessert?” He smiles and nods at your suggestion. “And a milkshake?” He adds, creating a smile on your face right away. He knows you too well. “Okay, I’ll go order it.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

By the time you’re on your way back to the cabin, Soobin is doing a lot better. He doesn’t fall as much now, and it seems like he has gotten used to the skies too. But most importantly, he looks happy. 

“That was fun,” he proclaims, taking off his boots. You giggle as he exhales deeply in relief at the feeling of his feet being free again. “I’m glad,” you mumble. “I was a bit worried about whether you would actually enjoy it or not.” He puts on his slippers and moves the boots aside, stepping closer to you. “I really did enjoy it,” he assures you, holding your chin up with his two fingers so you would look him in the eyes before he leans down and places his lips on yours. “There is no way I wouldn’t enjoy something we do together.” 

Soobin has a way of making your heart skip a beat. No matter how many times you hear him say he loves you or compliment you, it always feels like it’s the first time. Maybe that’s exactly why you’re so in love with him. 

“How about we go visit the spa later?” You offer with a sheepish smile on your face. “I called in advance and reserved it for us. I thought you might need it to relax,” you explain and watch him immediately light up. “You know me so well,” he mumbles, stealing another kiss from you. 

The rest of the day goes by quickly. You don’t go skiing again because Soobin insists on being too tired now but you have fun nonetheless. After all, you’re spending time with one of your favorite people, your boyfriend. 

“You’re going to fall asleep, baby,” you comment, watching him lay on his stomach and open a book, as if he was actually going to read. “No, I’m not,” he argues, reading through the first sentence. “Come on, let’s go now. It’s almost time,” you encourage, the puppy-eyes you give him making it impossible for him to protest. He closes his book again, groaning as he stands up from the bed. You shake your head at him slightly, handing him his towel. 

You pull the closest shirt you find—his shirt—over your swimsuit and grab your own towel, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you hold his hand and pull him out of the room, heading to the spa. 

Your whole body relaxes under the hot water as you sit in the jacuzzi. You close your eyes, resting your head on the cushion behind you. Soobin’s body pressed onto yours from the side, his hand still holding yours. “This feels good,” he mumbles, turning his head to face you. You smile, nodding. When you feel him shift beside you, you open your eyes again, your eyes softening when they lock with his. 

“Come here,” he whispers, straightening his back. You chuckle quietly, moving to sit on his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, smiling sheepishly at him as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Feeling relaxed?” You wonder, your breath hitting his face softly. He smiles back at you, nodding. “Absolutely.” His hands rest on your waist, keeping you close. You lean down, your body pressed onto his as you steal a kiss from him, your lips fitting perfectly together. As if they were made for each other. 

Soobin’s hands wander up your back, his touch soft, careful, almost as if he could break you if he pushed more. You tug on the hair at the back of his neck, a soft moan escaping his lips as he looks up at you. “We are the last ones here before they close,” your breath is hot against his lips, sending shivers down his spine. “Oh yeah?” He mumbles, his hands sliding down again to grab the flesh of your ass. “Yeah.” 

It takes no time for Soobin to get rid of your bikini, the wet piece of clothing ending up somewhere on the floor behind him as his mouth explores yours, just like it did many times before. His hands stay on your body, his touch more possessive this time. Your whine gets muffled in the kiss as you grind your hips against his, annoyed at the swim shorts he still has on. “Get it off.” 

He chuckles at your command, moving his lips lower, tracing your jaw and then collarbone. His teeth dig into your skin and you gasp, knowing it will leave a mark. He kisses the place immediately after, his hands resting on your waist again. “Take it off yourself, baby.” 

You don’t need to be told twice, prompting yourself up just slightly to have access to his shorts before pulling them down, leaving them hanging at his ankles before you sit on his lap again. He shakes his head at your movement, “get up.” You frown but obey, standing in front of him, watching as his eyes scan your body as if it was the first time he saw you naked. The water reaches only up to your knees, yet, your whole body feels hot under his gaze. 

“We can’t make too much of a mess in the water,” he says, standing up himself. You watch him curiously, your eyes following his every movement as he steps aside, pointing at the edge of the jacuzzi with his head. “Bend over.” 

You find yourself getting wet just by his words. You come closer to him, his hand resting on your back as he guides you, gently pushing you down as he stands behind you. You spread your legs apart, holding onto the edge tightly as you glance back. He leans closer to you, his lips finding your immediately in a tender kiss. 

He carefully spreads your legs wider, his fingers tracing over your folds before he pushes them inside, slowly preparing you. He stops kissing you, his eyes glued to your pussy, watching as his fingers disappear in you. Your moans fill the space, a pleasure to his ears. 

He smirks as you shake beneath him, letting his hand fall back to his side, leaving you to the feeling of emptiness for a moment before he grasps your waist again, aligning you at his cock. His thrusts are slow at first, careful and soft, until something in him snaps as you moan out his name. He curses under his breath as his movements become faster, harsher, searching for release. The moment’s hot, your boobs moving with each of his thrust as well as he slams his hips against yours, making your eyes roll back. 

You clench around him as you get closer to your climax, his curses getting louder. “So fucking good, baby,” he groans, his grip tighter. You’re sure you’ll have bruises on your waist later, but you don’t care. “Taking my cock so well.” 

“Shit–Bin, I–” you don’t even get to finish your sentence as your legs give out. He wraps his hands around them gently immediately, helping you stand still as his thrusts slow down again, becoming sloppy. “It’s okay, I got you,” he mumbles, groaning again as you cum on his cock. 

Your eyes roll back again as he fills you up, pulling his cock out of you slowly. You gasp at the feeling, turning your head back to look at him. He leans down immediately, pressing his lips on yours. He carefully turns you around, sitting you up on the edge as he stands between your legs. “So good,” he mumbles against your lips again with a smile. 

You stay like that for a while, your lips never leaving his as he holds you close, giving you time to calm down before he steps out of the jacuzzi, helping you out right after. You don’t even get the chance to try to stand on your own feet as he picks you up, his eyes full of love as he slowly steps towards the nearest shower. You smile back at him, falling just a bit more in love with him again.

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez @bamgeutsz @lovingbeomgyudayone @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 ✶⋆ Want to get notified? Join taglist here!

[madaqueue]

KEEP OUT THE COLD — suguru geto x f!reader

request | event masterlist | smut : trapped in a snowstorm (fingering, 1.2k)

the breath comes from your lips like a ghost, grey and foggy, almost real but never quite; you shiver.

“we might be stuck here,” suguru says, the first sign he’s returned with those light steps that carry him silently. he says the words carefully, placing them into the otherwise empty room besides the couch you’ve curled up into and the half-broken fireplace in the opposite corner. dark eyes watch for your reaction, wait for you to panic, or worse, cry.

“i think…i think the heat is b-broken.”

yes, you shiver, and yes, you look nearly frozen against the cracked leather cushions, but you don’t look terrified. when the tears never come, suguru laughs, and you swear the temperature goes up a few degrees.

“yeah, it is. i don’t think there’s any power in this place, at least not that i could find outside.” your chapped lips curl into a frown, and he chuckles again. “but i did find some wood out there. let’s light a fire and make the most of this, yeah?”

at the question, he tilts his head, remnants of snowflakes falling from his shoulders and onto the cabin’s old wooden floorboards. it makes you giggle when he does that - ‘you look like a dog’ you used to say, and he’d just smile. ‘i’d happily be your dog.’ - and sigh. “okay.”

“okay.” he claps his hands together and is gone.

when he returns, it’s with stacks of logs and more snow decorating his hair, friendly stars in an unfamiliar night sky. it’s dark outside now, you’re sure of it, even with the windows boarded closed to keep the wind out.

the attempt to drive in this weather had been stupid, you knew it was stupid, but both of you were too headstrong to heed anyone’s warnings. the resort was only a few hours away, how bad could it really be? and how long had it been since the two of you took a vacation together? no, you weren’t about to miss it for a few flurries.

ah. how stupid you had been. at least this abandoned little house had appeared through the blinding white just in time, the car’s wheels nearly spinning out as you pulled into the overgrown driveway.

a loud crackle pulls you back, back to the unfamiliar living room, the cold leather on your back, the icy air in your lungs. but then, a spark, and flames burn softly in the tiny fireplace.

suguru stares at it proudly, dusting a few remaining wood chips from his palms.

“how did you do that?” you ask - he loves when you get excited about things like this, when he gets to show off just a little.

“what can i say,” he grins, pride blooming between his teeth, “i’m a man of many talents.”

before you can even laugh, he’s pulled you into his lap, thick arms encasing your torso and holding you against him. with more frosty air circling around your body, you shiver again.

“now, let’s get you warmed up, yeah?”

“yeah,” you hum, nuzzling into his chest.

it’s better already, with his cotton t-shirt on your skin, with his heartbeat below your cheek. your shaking slows, but doesn’t stop; above you, suguru frowns.

“your clothes are wet.”

“oh,” you murmur, “probably from the snow when we ran inside.”

three beats of his heart - he’s thinking. “you won’t get warm if your clothes are wet.”

“wha-”

before you can ask, he’s picked you up and placed you back on the couch (in his spot, where the leather is warmer), and gone into another room. this time, when he returns, blankets spill over his elbows and graze the floor.

they’re set next to you on the couch, before he’s leaning over you; hot breath tickles your ear when he speaks.

“you’ll never warm up with those clothes on. why don’t you take them off?” for me, goes unsaid.

when you shiver, it’s not from the cold.

the damp cloth is peeled painstakingly from your body - you wince at the loss, before being immediately wrapped in something softer. two layers of blankets, and suguru pulls you down next to him.

“there,” he sighs, letting his fingers trail over your jaw, the nape of your neck. “isn’t that better?”

it’s just the warmth that makes your cheeks burn, you swear - not the way he’s looking at you like you lit the sun, nor the way his lips curl to show teeth as if he’d like to swallow it whole.

“mhm.”

“ah,” he corrects, tapping a thumb to your lips. “what do we say?”

your skin tingles, vibrating, hot. “t-thank you suguru.”

“good,” he purrs.

there’s a giggle when he pulls his hand away and you let out a little whine, a small protest at the loss of contact, chilled in the absence of his palm.

“aw, still cold?”

you nod into his shoulder.

“well,” he breathes, pulling you further into him until you’re both laying across the couch, trapped under wool blankets, “i can help, if you’d like.”

“yes, please, suguru.” the words come out in a single exhale; he grins.

then, his hands are trailing lower. they dance along your collarbones, over your chest. one remains there, kneading the tender flesh of your tits, pinching already-hardened nipples (you’d blame the cold, if he asked; he’d let you lie to his face).

the other, meanwhile, ventures further.

down over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs. even in those narrow, lithe fingertips, everything is hot in their wake.

when they find their way between your legs, you shiver again. suguru chuckles, a puff of frosted air in the ever-closing space between you.

“still cold?” he chides, but the words have no bite to them, even when you can see his canines digging into his lower lip. “so needy.”

a whimper escapes your throat, but that seems to be the correct response, because suguru finally brushes his thumb against your clit. it makes you gasp, and nearly choke from the stiff air filling your lungs. he just grins.

“aw, you really do need me to help you, don’t you?”

“y-yes.”

“yes, what?”

“yes, please, suguru.”

“good.” teeth that could chew apart stars; a finger finally sunk into your aching cunt. you keen, and the hand on your chest holds you tighter.

a second finger, and you’re writhing in his grasp. when he kisses you, it sucks the light from every corner of the room, until he’s glowing (he’d provide for you in every way if he could; he’d be your sun and pull the moon from the sky so night never touched you, so you’d only ever need him, his warmth).

hot fingertips press into you, into the spot that has your legs shaking, skin sweating. each pant clouds between your open mouth and his, aching, pulling, burning.

“suguru, i’m gonna-”

a low hum, one that emanates from his chest. a correction, a reminder.

“suguru, c-can i please cum?”

soft lips smile against your chapped ones. “of course.”

and with that, his wrist picks up, deeper, harder, faster. fingers pull and pinch at your nipples, teeth sink into your neck. you whine out his name as you finish, until you’re foggy and limp in his arms.

you barely catch the way he pulls his hand from your legs, lifting it to his lips and sucking your cum from it, but you taste it when he kisses you again, hot and claiming.

a soft palm rubs up your spine, and you melt into the touch. he tucks you into his shoulder for safe keeping.

“warm enough?” he asks. you mutter something, liquid words he knows are ‘yes, suguru,’ into his skin. the flickering fire dances across his eyes, and he holds you tighter.

a/n: KAIROOOO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!! THANK YOU FOR LOVING THIS STRANGE COMPLEX MAN WITH ME!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!