#IT’S NOT AS ROUGH AS I WANTED I’M SORRY

[qivrae]

static - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: 😲😲😲😲 phone sex with reid (inbox open, please request)

You’re just about to fall asleep when your phone buzzes softly against the pillow. The screen lights up with a contact photo you didn’t realize you’d memorized—Spencer, blurry and smiling, probably mid-laugh from the day you took it. You answer without hesitation. “Hey,” you murmur, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a pause, like maybe he didn’t expect you to pick up so quickly. When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse but gentle in the way only he can manage.

“Did I wake you?”

You turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a sleepy smile. “Kind of. But it’s okay.” He exhales into the line and something about the sound makes your stomach flutter. It’s not relief, exactly. More like… release. Like hearing your voice made something inside him loosen.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally. “Too much noise in my head. I didn’t want to be alone with it.”

You tug the blanket up to your chest. “Rough case?”

“Yeah,” he says. And that one word carries so much: long hours, too many victims, the weight of responsibility he always takes on alone. “We’re just in the waiting phase now. Interviews are done. Morgan and Hotch are going over timelines. It’s a lot of hurry-up-and-wait.”

“And you’re in a motel?” you ask, already picturing it: a dimly lit room, stiff sheets, the hum of a bad AC unit in the background.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Small town. Two-star situation. The mattress feels like cardboard.”

You smile softly. “Poor baby.”

“I’m not fishing for sympathy,” he says, a little defensively.

“No,” you tease, “but you’re definitely hoping I’ll say something to make you forget it.” He’s quiet again.

Then a little rougher, “Maybe.” There’s a shift in his breathing. Something you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well but you do. It’s subtle, barely there but it makes your heart thump. You recognize that sound. That shallow inhale like he’s trying not to let it show.

Your voice drops. “Spence. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he answers too quickly. Then, quieter, “Just… thinking.”

You smirk against the phone. “Thinking about me?” You swear you can hear him swallow.

“Yes.” Another pause. This one longer. And when he speaks again, his voice is soft but not shy. Not embarrassed. Just real. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I didn’t call to— I wasn’t trying to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” you say, sitting up slightly, your pulse starting to pick up. “It’s not weird. I like knowing you think about me like that.” He doesn’t say anything at first. But the sound of him breathing shifts again, deeper now. More purposeful. “Tell me what you’re doing,” you murmur.

A beat. Then slowly, carefully: “I’m just… lying on the bed. Still dressed. But I—” he pauses like he’s deciding how much to give away. “I have my hand over myself.”

Your breath catches. “Are you hard?”

“Yes.” You press your thighs together under the sheets, already warm from just imagining it. Spencer in some creaky motel bed, trying not to get too into it because his team is down the hall.

“Touch yourself,” you whisper. “I want to hear what it sounds like when you do.” There’s a hitch in the line—movement, maybe fabric shifting or his hand adjusting.

“I—okay,” he says breathlessly. “I’m… pressing against the shaft. Through my pants right now. Applying slight pressure—uh—engorgement of the corpora cavernosa has already occurred, so stimulation is…” He trails off, like he just realized what he’s doing.

You laugh softly. “You’re giving me a lecture, Doctor Reid.”

“I know,” he groans, embarrassed. “I can’t help it. I—It’s just how I process. When I get nervous or—aroused—my brain defaults to clinical terminology. I—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you breathe. “It’s hot.”

He lets out a choked laugh. “You’re the only person on Earth who would say that.”

“Maybe,” you tease, “but I’m the only one who gets to hear it, so I’d say that works out.”

He’s breathing harder now, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m unzipping my pants. It’s… a little awkward lying like this. But I can feel the friction through my boxers. It’s—god, it’s warm. I’m leaking already.”

Your stomach flips. “I haven’t even touched myself tonight,” you whisper, running a hand slowly down your body beneath the sheets. “I was waiting for you to call.” You hear a low sound from him—almost like a whimper but he catches it before it escapes fully.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” he says, voice thick. “But now I can’t stop picturing your hands. Your mouth.”

“Mmm. You like when I use my mouth, don’t you?” You ask and his breath stutters.

“I think about it too much. Sometimes during briefings. During flights. I’ll remember the way you looked up at me from between my legs and I— I can’t focus.”

You moan quietly. “Tell me more.”

“I—I can’t get enough of the way you hum when you’re doing it. Or how your fingers dig into my thighs. You’re so soft and warm and—fuck—I’m touching myself now.”

You squeeze your legs together, slick already pooling in your panties as his voice drips into your ear like molasses. “How?” you ask breathlessly.

“My fingers,” he pants. “Wrapped around the base. I’m stroking slow, not too tight yet. The pressure is increasing blood flow but—fuck—there’s already too much. It’s… overstimulating.”

“Do you want me to slow you down?”

“No,” he whispers. “Don’t stop. Don’t let me stop.” There’s a tension in your chest now, rising with every breath he takes.

You slide your own hand lower, easing the ache that’s been building since the second he said your name.“Spencer…”

“I keep picturing you with your hand between your thighs,” he gasps.

“It is,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself, Spence. I’m so wet just listening to you.”

He groans, a low sound that rips through the speaker. “I’m close,” he chokes out. “Already. But I don’t want to come yet. I want to listen to you. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m pulsing,” you murmur. “My fingers are soaked. I wish it were yours. I wish I could slide you inside me right now, slow and deep.”

“Fuck.” You hear the bed creak beneath him, hear his sharp inhale as he tries to keep control. He’s falling apart but he’s not there yet—not quite. And neither are you. So you both breathe into the silence. Desperate. Flushed. Teetering on the edge. Spencer’s breath is heavy in your ear. It’s the kind of sound that tightens your stomach and makes you ache, like he’s caught between wanting to speak and not wanting to break the fragile control he’s still holding onto. You can’t help the rush of heat that spreads through you at his small curses. He’s fighting his body, fighting the need to come, all while trying to be considerate of you. It’s so damn Spencer.

You whisper, running your hand over your body, mimicking the movements you know he’s making. “You need to let go a little, don’t you?” He gasps, the sound cutting off abruptly. You hear the shift of his body as his hand speeds up, the friction becoming more intense.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. You wonder if he’s going to try to hold back, but when he finally speaks, his voice is raw, needy. “I—I don’t want to come yet,” he confesses, so quietly that you almost miss it. “I don’t want to rush it.”

“Then slow down,” you tell him, your hand slowly moving beneath your sheets in tandem with the rhythm of his voice.

He breathes a shaky laugh escaping him. “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”

“I know, baby,” you murmur, the word slipping out without thought. “It’s hard for me too.” There’s a slight catch in his breath, a slight trembling and you know he’s fighting with everything he has to keep himself in check.

“I… I can’t explain it. It’s not just the physical… it’s the mental stimulation. The proprioceptive feedback is off the charts. I’m—fuck, I’m getting lightheaded just talking about it.”

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to keep things academic, even now. “You’re so hot when you do that,” you tell him, voice thick with desire. “I think I might get off just listening to you try to sound all scientific while you’re on the edge of losing it.”

He groans at that, and you can almost see his face, flushed with embarrassment, as he shifts around in his bed. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to—”

You cut him off gently. “You don’t have to apologize, Spence. I love hearing you like this. You can let go. You can talk to me, tell me exactly what you need.” He takes a shaky breath and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue or retreat back into his overly-analytical shell but then he says your name, low and desperate. The desperation in his voice makes your heart race. You’ve never heard him like this—raw and open, breaking away from his usual restraint. You’re so close to pushing him past that edge. You don’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, you keep him on the brink. “Tell me what you need, Spencer,” you whisper, your voice thick with anticipation. “You’ve got me right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I need you to…” he starts, but his words get stuck in his throat. “I need you to make me feel good. I don’t want to—fuck, I need to feel you.” Your pulse quickens as you hear the vulnerability in his voice.

“You can feel me, Spence. I’m right here. You just have to focus. Focus on how good you feel right now.”

“I’m trying,” he whispers and there’s that catch in his voice again. “I just—fuck, I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”

Your body aches at his words as you whisper back, “Let go for me. Let me hear you.” Spencer’s breath hitches again, faster. Like he’s teetering on the edge. You’re both so close. So close. But he’s still holding back, still refusing to let go completely. You feel the tension, the urgency in his voice. You’re both quiet for a moment now. Just breathing. And even through the static of the phone, you can hear every soft puff of air he exhales. Every subtle shift of movement on that scratchy motel bedsheet. He’s being so good. He speaks up through the groans. Just your name. It’s broken but like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary. You press the phone tighter to your ear and close your eyes, your free hand sliding between your legs as your voice softens. “Still with me, baby?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, hoarse. “I’m just—my hand’s shaking.”

“How long have you been like this?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

There’s a beat before he says, “Since before I called you.”

Your heart flutters. You shift in bed, biting back a moan. “That long?”

He hums a pitiful little yes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to, but everything felt… empty. Like my skin was too tight. I—I kept getting hard every time I thought about your voice. About your hands. About the last time we—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. You know he’s fighting, hard. Harder than he should be.

“Spencer,” you murmur, “you’ve been so good for me. So patient. But I don’t want you to hold back anymore.” He exhales like he’s just been told he can finally breathe. “Come,” you whisper. The word is barely out of your mouth before you hear him fall apart on the other end of the line. The soft, slick sounds of his hand meeting skin. The choked gasp that gets caught in his throat. The deep, trembling groan like it’s been trapped in his chest for hours.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, his voice breaking. “It’s—it’s too much, God.” You can hear the rhythm. He’s fast. Desperate. Probably fucking into his own hand with nowhere near the control he had earlier. You let your fingers glide through your own slick heat and sigh into the phone.

“Does it feel good, baby?” His breath hitches again.

“Yes, it’s—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” you coo, “Feels so good, hmm?” A strained whine escapes him.

“It’s—it’s throbbing. It’s pre-cum. My whole body feels like—like I’m on fire. My hand is wet, I don’t—I don’t even know how much came out, it’s so fucking sensitive and I’m—I’m gonna lose it.”

“You’re doing so well,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself too, Spence. You’ve got me so wet.”

He whimpers. “Please,” You feel your own orgasm building, slow and steady like a wave about to crash. You want to finish with him. You want to feel it in his voice when it finally hits him. You don’t even get another word out before he gasps so loud it cuts through the speaker, his breath catching in his throat as he falls over the edge. It’s not even a groan—it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. Desperate, stunned, overwhelmed. You hear the wet slap of his hand faltering, the breathless moans as he rides it out.

“ah— please.” he keeps saying your name like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. And that’s what sends you over. You press the phone harder to your ear, hips stuttering against your hand as your orgasm hits you like a tremor. Your whole body arches as you cry out, biting your lip to keep quiet but knowing he hears it—feels it—because you can hear him panting through his own aftershocks. It’s messy. Loud. Intimate in a way that phone sex usually isn’t. Neither of you talk for a while. Just the sounds of two people on opposite sides of a phone line, breathing like they’ve just been pulled from underwater.

Eventually, Spencer breaks the silence with a soft laugh. “That was… wow.” You smile, sinking back into your bed.

“Yeah. Wow.” He’s still breathless but there’s a note of wonder in his voice, like he’s not entirely sure that just happened. “I’ve never… I mean— that was…”

“Good?” you offer. He laughs again, quieter this time.

“Yeah. Very.” You imagine him lying there, hand limp on his chest, flushed and dazed and probably trying to mentally calculate how many calories he just burned. It makes you ache with affection.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

“More than okay,” he says and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I just… wish I could hold you right now.”

You let out a breath, soft and sincere. “Me too.”There’s a pause before you sheepishly ask, “Think you can sleep now?”

He hums. “Eventually. I’ll probably fall asleep picturing you.”

You laugh softly. “Pervert.”

“Your fault,” he says, voice already thick with sleep. And it is. And you’re okay with that.

[meowdei]

down the drain (literally) — ft. ryomen sukuna

female reader ; established relationship (engaged even!) ; modern bf sukuna ; slightly dramatic reader (she’s in shambles okay??) ; soft sukuna ; fluff

Sukuna is going to kill you.

For one, you’ve been in the bathroom for thirty minutes and he is clearly sick of it—the door handle rattling is proof enough. For another…well…your engagement ring is down the drain.

(Literally.)

You’re technically supposed to take it off when you wash your face just to be safe, but you get tired, and you forget here and there—mornings are always rough as it is. Sometimes, because you’re human, you forget. And it’s generally okay. Until it’s not.

Because your engagement ring is down the drain. (Literally.)

“God fuckin’ dammit woman,” he hisses, knocking on the door, “what are you doing in there? Open the damn door it’s been ages.”

“Just a second,” you call, panicking as you try to pull the drain plug out, but it doesn’t budge. Your fingers aren’t doing you any favors either—it feels like they’re the perfect size to not fit around anything to help you out here.

Your engagement ring is down the drain (literally) and there’s nothing to do but slowly bite your lip as tears collect at your lash line. So you open the door—and before Sukuna’s angry face can scold you any further, you’ve collapsed against his chest, soaking his bare chest with your tears.

“Wha—” he’s stunned. Stiff and standing there for a moment before he’s stuttering, “h-hey—I didn’t even yell at you that bad, what the fuck? Why’re you bein’ so—”

“I’m sorry, Kuna,” you sob, “please don’t be mad!”

“I’m mad but not that mad,” he says, bewildered. You sob harder at that, and his hands quickly find your hips and squeeze in panic at a poor attempt to reassure you. “Okay, okay! Not mad. Just…mildly annoyed. You’re…mildly annoying, better?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you wail.

“Okay! I got it! You’re havin’ a slow morning. Whatever, I waited. Can we just—”

“I didn’t think it’d slip off like that!”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“My ring,” you hiccup. He stills. You sniffle, pulling away and preparing yourself for his harsh, bitter anger as you whisper, “it fell down the drain.”

“What?” he looks at you, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I w-was washing my face and then…and then—” you take a shuddering breath to try and work through your sobs before you continue, “it fell off and went down the drain! Now it’s in the sewers!”

“The sewers?”

“Yeah the pipes are gonna take it to the sewers!”

“I don’t think it’s in the sewers just yet—”

“And then the sewers will take it to the ocean and then I’ll never find it again!”

“The ocean is a long way from here—”

“I’m so, so, so sorry—”

“Oh my god, woman,” he grabs your cheeks, squeezing them together to shut you up as you stare up at him with wet, miserable, teary eyes. And he softens. Lets his shoulders fall a little as he sighs before rough thumbs are swiping at your cheeks less than gently, but more than in love. “’S just a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring,” you gasp, “it’s my engagement ring!”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs, “but we’re still engaged—”

“But now no one will know!”

“Then I’ll buy you a damn new one,” he groans, rubbing his temples as he clicks his teeth when a fresh new round of tears soak your cheeks. (He doesn’t like how it looks—wobbly lips and puffy eyes on you make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. He has enough mistakes to worry about as is.)

“But it’s expensive and—”

“And not your problem,” he grumbles, “I’ll buy you a ring. A nicer one, too, if you promise to quit your whining.”

“You’re not mad?” you sniffle, slumping against his chest as your arms circle his waist.

He melts. Because it’s you, and he always does when it’s you. His arms wrap tightly around you, and a large hand cups the back of your head as he presses a small kiss to your temple.

“You want me to be mad that bad?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Then ‘m not,” he snorts, chest vibrating under your cheek at his laugh, “so quit worryin’. You’ll get creases and everyone’ll think I married some old hag.”

You crack a small grin. He’s good at that—at pulling a soft smile onto your lips against your will as you let out a quiet giggle, gently swatting at his back with your hand as you huff. For a second, the ring is forgotten. For a second, it’s just you, it’s just Sukuna, and it’s just nothing else.

“Not a hag, you asshole,” you huff.

“You nag like one,” he mumbles.

“Do not,” you huff, “you just always piss me off.”

“You piss me off, too.”

“Are you pissed off about the ring?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he grunts. His arms squeeze you tighter, his lips kiss your head once more, and his body sways you side to side ever so slightly as he repeats, more seriously this time, “no. Forget the ring. I’ll get you a new one if I have to, so don’t cry.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he hums.

He does. Ring or not, he does. And you can tell he does when he pulls away, gently pinches your nose and leans in to kiss the tears off your face as you can’t help but smile and giggle.

Your ring is down the drain (literally) and so is the hefty sum of money he spent on it, but everything else is still right here. Him and you and you and him and everything you’re ever built, nestled perfectly safe between the little space between your bodies.

“Done cryin’?” he asks gently.

You nod, kissing his jaw as he hums in content. “Yeah.”

“Great. Then get out—it’s my turn in the bathroom and I’ve waited long enough.”

—————— BONUS.

“Hand me the wrench.”

“Okay,” you hum. You hand him a tool, and he stares at you unimpressed as soon as he looks at it.

“That’s a screwdriver.”

“Oh. Which one’s the wrench?”

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” he groans, rubbing his temples.

Fifteen minutes later, and a good deal of bickering over what a wrench looks like and how his tools don’t all look the same, Sukuna has successfully retrieved your very shiny, and very pretty engagement ring. (It didn’t make it very far down the pipes—which is good. It didn’t make it to the sewers, and it most certainly didn’t make its way into the ocean.)

It’s no longer down the drain. (Literally.)

It’s now on your finger. (Literally.)

“Happy?” he raises a brow, watching as you grin at your finger, clearly pleased.

“Yeah,” you hum, sighing in relief. “Good thing you’re at least good at something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“I’m flushin’ that thing down the toilet next time! Sendin’ it straight into the ocean so you’ll never find it again!”

I’ll never forget when I was six years old and I dropped the small ring I got from a gumball machine down the drain when I was brushing my teeth and then I had such a severe meltdown my dad had to bust out his toolkit, open the damn bathroom sink pipes, and fish it out. Because six year old me could not FATHOM losing my 50 cent plastic ring no matter how many times he promised he’d buy me a new one 💀

Anyway. My dad and I were reminiscing about that on call and then I decided it would make a cute sukuna drabble so here you go.

Anyway peace ✌️

[kxsagi]

hey deary 😛🫶🏾 how are you these days

may i pretty pls have bllk boys (including isagi my man my man) x ex gf reader where they accidentally bump into each other again and the boys realize they still have MASSIVE feelings for her. (reader bump into them on possible once she saw them but they don’t know that)

“𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢”

a/n: hey girlie, i’m doing okay and hope you’re doing well! i’m sorry this request took such a long time to fulfill, i decided to make it into oneshots rather than headcanons, and i just wanted it to be perfect for you :) (wrote countless drafts and changed the title like three times)

i’m also really sorry if each one comes off as repetitive, but i imagine it as ex gf! reader bumping into them on purpose for fun just to see their reaction, only for them to show you bad they miss you, making a move on you for a second chance 😛

title is a paramore reference from the song still into you

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, ness alexis, karasu tabito, yukimiya kenyu

itoshi rin

you catch sight of him across the street, standing stiffly outside a bookstore, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. 

rin itoshi – the boy you once loved so hard it hollowed you out. 

and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. 

your heart slams against your ribs. you almost walk away. almost. 

but instead, you cross the street, pace casual, and, as you pass, you bump your shoulder lightly into his. 

he stiffens immediately, turning with that familiar sharpness, ready to glare, but the second his eyes meet yours, all that cold hostility falters. 

rin’s mouth parts slightly, and something behind his eyes cracks open. "... you," he breathes, voice rough. 

you offer a small smile, feigning surprise. "oh. sorry. wasn’t looking." 

for a moment, neither of you moves. the sounds of the street blur into nothing. it’s just him and you, trapped in a memory that neither of you can seem to escape. 

rin swallows hard. his fists clench at his sides, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching for you. 

"you look..." he trails off, voice too thick. you watch the way his gaze skates desperately over your face, like he’s trying to memorize you all over again. "you look good," he finishes, hoarse. 

you shift, pretending not to notice the way his ears flush pink under the cold winter air. 

"you, too," you say gently. 

there’s a beat of heavy silence. 

then, so quietly it almost sounds accidental, rin says, "i never stopped looking for you." 

your chest squeezes tight. 

and before you can think, rin takes a slow, hesitant step closer, voice low and urgent: "can we... can we talk? somewhere quiet. please." 

his hands twitch, aching to touch you, to pull you back into his orbit. 

"i... i can't just let you walk away again." 

and for the first time in years, you see it clear as day: rin itoshi was never over you. he was only ever waiting.

itoshi sae

the last person you expect to see standing outside the little café is him. 

sae itoshi – hands tucked into the pockets of an expensive wool coat, head bowed slightly, scrolling through his phone like the world doesn’t deserve his full attention. 

your stomach flips. the urge to run is instinctual. but instead, you take a breath, tighten your grip on your bag, and walk toward him. you make it look natural – a stumble, a quick fumble of your purse that sends your belongings scattering at his feet. 

he bends down almost immediately, without hesitation, like muscle memory. his hand brushes against yours when he picks up a lip gloss tube, and when he looks up, the world tilts off its axis. 

his sea-glass eyes widen. a crack splits through his perfectly controlled facade. 

he says your name, low and almost, almost, like a prayer. 

you smile, easy, casual, like your heart isn’t breaking open. "hey, sae." 

he hands you your lip gloss, but his fingers don’t leave yours right away. they linger, trembling the slightest bit. 

he straightens slowly, still watching you. still looking at you like he can't believe you’re real. 

"you look good," you offer lightly. 

something flickers in his gaze, a softness you hadn't seen in years. and then, voice even softer, sae says, "stay." 

your heart stutters. 

he clears his throat, looks away briefly, like the words cost him something. 

"sit with me. catch up. or... or just sit. i don't care," he mutters, shoulders tense. "just... don't walk away again." 

he says it like it's casual. but when he finally meets your eyes, you realize the truth: he's asking you for a second chance, even if he doesn't know how to say it out loud. 

isagi yoichi

he’s crouched near the bottom shelves of a bookstore, flipping through a manga, hoodie pulled low over his messy hair. 

you see him first, and gosh, something about it almost knocks the air out of you. 

isagi yoichi. your first love. the boy who once looked at you like you hung the stars. 

your palms go clammy. but you take a deep breath, step backward, and "accidentally" bump into him. 

he catches you immediately, strong hands steadying you. 

"sorry!" he starts, voice familiar and warm, and then he freezes. 

"wait," he says, stunned, like he’s seeing something impossible. 

you turn, letting your face light up in slow, soft surprise. "yoichi," you murmur. 

his mouth opens, and shuts. his fingers are still curled lightly around your arms, like he doesn't trust you not to vanish. 

"you– i mean, you look– wow," he stammers, cheeks flushing crimson. 

you laugh softly, feeling a pang of fondness so strong it nearly floors you. 

he lets go of you reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly. "uh... if you’re not, like, super busy or anything..." he clears his throat, shifting his weight. "there’s this ramen place down the street. we could, uh, catch up? or, y’know. just... eat. together." 

he says it so nervously, so earnestly, like he's holding his heart out with shaking hands. 

and you realize that no matter how much time passes, isagi yoichi will always be someone who loves wholeheartedly. 

and right now, he's choosing to love you again. 

kaiser michael

you spot him in the middle of a crowd – that unmistakable golden hair catching the light, sunglasses perched lazily on his head, confidence built into every step he takes. 

he looks the same. no, he looks even better – more grown, more dangerous, more him. 

your hands tighten around your coffee cup. screw it. 

you move forward, a quick step, a tilt of your wrist, and the coffee tips, splattering at the edge of the sidewalk dangerously close to his shoes. 

he swears sharply under his breath and wheels around, irritation flashing across his face – 

until his gaze lands on you. and then the world stops. 

kaiser's mouth parts slightly. the cocky grin falters for a split second, something raw and unguarded flashing in his blue eyes. 

"... you," he says, voice low, almost disbelieving. 

you blink up at him innocently. 

a slow, dangerous smile curls at his lips. he steps forward, crowd forgotten, gaze burning. 

"you missed me," he murmurs, so close you can smell the rich spice of his cologne. "didn’t you, hübsche?" 

you open your mouth, but he’s already reaching out, fingertips brushing your wrist, featherlight. 

"come with me," kaiser says, voice rough now, nothing playful about it. "i'm not letting you out of my sight again." 

and you realize michael kaiser, for all his bravado, had never gotten over losing you. and now that he has you again, he’s not going to waste another second. 

shidou ryusei

you catch sight of him outside a tattoo shop – bright pink hair messily swept back, a toothpick between his teeth, a grin playing on his lips like he owns the whole damn world. 

shidou ryusei. 

your fingers twitch. your heart pounds. you don’t think, you just move, brushing past him, “accidentally” bumping your shoulder hard against his chest. 

he reacts instantly, whirling around, fierce, ready to bark something rude. but when he sees you, the fight bleeds out of him. 

his eyes widen, the toothpick falling from his mouth. "... no fuckin' way," he mutters, almost reverent. 

you bite your lip, playing innocent. "sorry. didn’t see you there." 

he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost. like he's seen a miracle. 

then, with fast, reckless, pure instinct, he grabs your wrist, gently but urgently. "where the hell you been, pretty girl?" he rasps, voice suddenly low, almost hoarse. his thumb brushes over your pulse, like he’s grounding himself in your presence. 

"fuck it," shidou mutters under his breath, a wild glint lighting up his eyes. "come with me." 

no hesitation. no room for doubt. 

"i’m not letting you walk outta my life again." 

and when you see the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing he’s ever truly wanted, you know he means it. 

nagi seishiro

you almost miss him – slouched on a bench in a shopping mall, hood up, playing a game on his phone, utterly oblivious to the world around him. 

nagi seishiro. 

you swallow hard, nerves spiking, but you steady yourself and "accidentally" drop your shopping bag near his feet. 

he glances up lazily… and freezes. his game forgotten. his fingers going slack. 

"it’s you…?" he says, voice soft, almost disbelieving. 

you crouch down, pretending to gather your things, offering a small smile. "hey, sei." 

he stares at you, wide-eyed and helpless, like the sight of you short-circuited his brain. 

for a beat, neither of you says anything. just the quiet hum of the mall around you, the thundering silence between you. 

nagi shifts, shoving his phone into his hoodie pocket awkwardly. then after a pause, voice barely above a whisper: "stay with me a little?" he scratches the back of his neck, gaze dropping shyly. "i don't wanna... be alone right now." 

his honesty cuts through you, simple and devastating. and you realize nagi never stopped needing you. he just didn’t know how to ask until now. 

mikage reo

reo stands under the glittering lights of a department store, phone in one hand, a shopping bag in the other, laughing at something on the screen. 

gosh, he looks beautiful. gosh, he looks happy. 

you almost turn around, but something stronger pulls you forward. you time it perfectly – stepping too close, nudging into his side. 

he startles slightly, looking up, and when he sees you, the world seems to tilt. 

"wha–" reo says, blinking rapidly, like he’s convinced he’s hallucinating. 

you give a small, breathless laugh. "fancy seeing you here." 

he sets his bag down hurriedly, eyes shining. "are you– are you busy right now?" he asks, tripping over his words a little, that easy charm fraying at the edges. "because,” a deep breath, “because i was just thinking about how much this city sucks without you." 

you blink, heart hammering. 

reo runs a hand through his hair, cheeks flushed pink. "let me take you out. anywhere you want," he says, voice cracking slightly. "just... let me have a second chance." 

and that’s when it hits you – reo mikage had been waiting for this moment. he's ready to make you his again. 

ness alexis

you spot him near a flower shop – vibrant and golden, smiling softly at the blooms like he’s trying to memorize their colors. 

ness alexis. 

your heart aches so sweetly it almost doubles you over. 

but you gather yourself, stepping close enough that your hand "accidentally" brushes his. 

he startles, turning, and when he sees you, the brightest, most radiant smile you’ve ever seen breaks across his face. 

"you!" he gasps, eyes wide, wonderstruck. 

it’s not the shocked kind of smile. it’s the kind people make when a missing piece clicks perfectly into place. 

you chuckle, pretending calm. "hey, ness." 

he’s trembling slightly, hands fluttering uselessly in the air before he grabs a small bouquet from the nearest stand, thrusting it toward you without thinking. "these– these are for you!" he says desperately. 

you laugh, touched. 

"i missed you," ness says so honestly, so openly, that it makes your chest hurt. "can we," he swallows hard, "can we start again…?" 

and standing there, bouquet between you, you figure it out: ness never stopped believing in you two. not for a second. 

karasu tabito

he’s leaning against a streetlamp, scrolling lazily through his phone, sunglasses sliding down his nose. 

karasu tabito. cool, collected, untouchable. 

until you "accidentally" bump into him, making him stumble back with a sharp curse. 

"watch it, dumbass–" he starts, and then he sees you. 

his mouth snaps shut. 

his hand comes up halfway, like he’s reaching out without meaning to. "uh, sorry, hi..." he says, voice cracking into something raw. 

you smirk lightly. "still a charmer, huh?" 

karasu lets out a low, breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair, the mask slipping, the cocky smile fading into something so much more vulnerable. 

"shit," he mutters, eyes drinking you in like he’s parched. "i was doing fine until i saw you." 

he steps closer, uncharacteristically serious. "stay for a bit," he says, voice low, almost pleading. "let me pretend i didn’t fuck everything up." 

you see it in his eyes – the regret, the yearning. and you think to yourself: maybe karasu never wanted to let you go. he just didn’t know how to fight for you, until now. 

yukimiya kenyu

he’s framed by the soft light of a bookstore window, flipping through a novel, his glasses slipping low on his nose. 

yukimiya kenyu. 

you’re pulled toward him like a moth to a flame. you walk by, close enough that your bag brushes his elbow. 

he looks up, ready to apologize, and freezes. 

"hey, you’re…?" his voice is low, stunned. 

you smile gently. "ken." 

his fingers tighten around the book, knuckles whitening. for a second, he looks like he might say something and then thinks better of it, a million emotions flickering across his face. 

he steps closer, voice barely above a whisper. "have coffee with me?" his eyes are so full of desperate hope it makes you ache. "just... five minutes. or an hour. or forever." 

the words slip out so raw, so unguarded, that it stuns you both into silence. 

yukimiya never stopped wanting a future with you. he’s just been waiting for the chance to ask again. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[multifandombabe]

Tommy Buries His Sorrows in… You 

(Past) Joel Miller x Reader, then Tommy Miller x Joel’s Girlfriend!Reader, Post Joel’s Death

Word count: just under 6k

Warnings: Female reader, Dead Joel, Reader Gets w/ Tommy, Grief, Submissive Tommy if you squint, but also Dominant Tommy if you squint too, smut (duh), p in v sex, oral (female receiving, iktr), fingering, angst (there’s no getting out of it, i’m sorry), unprotected sex (use protection irl pls), only proofread a little

a/n: for the girlies who want to heal over joel's death in their own sick and twisted way ;)

tagged some lovelies who said they were interested: @venus-written @mmmunson @xodilfluvr @hillaryfluff @endurexxsurvive @pascalslilpunk

It had always been complicated with Tommy.

Back before everything was official with Joel, there had been moments- small, dangerous moments- where Tommy would linger a little too long, smile a little too much, let his hand brush yours in a way that felt like it meant something more.

You hadn’t been with Joel then, not really. You two were still dancing around each other, too stubborn, too scared to admit what you both wanted. And maybe that's why Tommy thought there was a chance.

You remembered one night at the Tipsy Bison, after a few too many beers, when Tommy had leaned so close. Too close, his words slurred and almost as gentle as the hand he had draped around your waist. 

His breath had been warm and minty, and you'd felt the tickle of his mustache brush against the shell of your ear when he spoke your name, soft and low, almost reverent. It had sent a shiver down your spine back then, a shiver you hadn’t dared to acknowledge.

You hadn't let him finish what he was going to say. Not because you weren’t flattered, but because Joel had been watching from across the room, his stare heavy, a warning. Because even then, even before Joel had claimed you, some part of you had known you weren’t meant to be Tommy’s.

You were Joel’s girl.

Because when Joel looked at you, really looked at you, it was like you were the only steady thing left in a world built on ash and ruin.

You remembered the night it all changed. It was cold, a brittle sort of chill that bit through your jacket and scraped across your skin. The two of you were standing just outside the town’s walls, where the broken street lamps cast long, crooked shadows over the cracked pavement. You’d been laughing about something, some stubborn argument you had while on patrol, some petty thing that didn’t even matter now, when Joel suddenly fell quiet.

You can still remember the way he looked then: hands jammed deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a blow. His eyes, usually so guarded, softened-  something raw and desperate bleeding through the cracks.

“I ain’t good at this,” he muttered, voice rough like gravel. His breath fogged in the air between you, curling and disappearing into the cold. You’d barely gotten out a confused, “Good at what?” before he closed the space between you.

He kissed you like he was starving for it. Like he’d been holding himself back for too long and something inside him had finally snapped. His mouth was rough and searching, his hands hesitant at first, then surer- one curling around the nape of your neck, the other splaying against your lower back, pulling you closer until there was no air left between you. He smelled like leather and cedar and that stubborn, earthy scent that was just Joel.

When he finally pulled back, his hand came up to cradle your cheek, calloused thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was clumsy, almost too careful, like he was afraid he might break you.

“Saw the way Tommy was lookin’ at you,” His voice was hoarse, and he let out a slow, shaky breath, almost a laugh. “Knew if I didn’t do somethin’, someone else would. And I couldn’t stand the thought of losin’ you before I ever really had you.”

You didn’t need him to say the rest. You’d felt it too-  all those glances, all that tension wound so tight between you it could snap at any second.

So you kissed him again, and that was the end of it. You were his.

Everyone knew it, including Tommy. He backed off after that. Kept his distance. You caught him looking, once or twice- not in the way he had before, not with a teasing smile or a lingering touch, but with something quieter, something sadder. Maybe he’d been a little surprised that Joel had finally made a move. Maybe, if he was honest, a little jealous too. But at the end of the day, Tommy had always been loyal to the people he loved.

And so he smiled that crooked, awkward smile when Joel pulled you close in public, and clapped him on the back like he was proud. The flirting stopped, replaced by an awkward politeness that never quite seemed natural.

It had been easier that way. Cleaner.

But now Joel was gone. And everything clean and easy had died with him

____

It was late- too late for visitors, but Tommy didn’t seem to care. You were sitting by the window, staring out at the darkened world, feeling the weight of the night more than ever. The loss of Joel still stung, a raw ache you couldn’t shake, and every sound seemed to echo louder than it should.

A knock on the door startled you, sharp and insistent, but when you opened it, there was Tommy, standing there with his shoulders hunched, his gaze a little too guarded.  He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there in the doorway, like he wasn’t sure why he’d come, or maybe too afraid to say the reason aloud.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice quiet, unsure if you even wanted to know the answer. The words felt strange between you- almost like a question you both already knew the answer to, but neither of you could admit.

Tommy’s eyes flickered to the ground, then back up to meet yours. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, like the words weren’t quite ready to leave his lips. His hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and his stance was defensive, like he was bracing for something.

"I... I don’t know what I’m doin’ here," he admitted finally, his voice low and rough, the words feeling more like a confession than an explanation. "I just- "

You could see it, the uncertainty in his eyes, the same confusion you felt creeping up on you all the time. What were you supposed to do after everything had been torn apart? What were you supposed to feel when the man who was supposed to keep everything together was gone?

"You don’t have to explain," you said, stepping aside to let him in. "Just- come in, Tommy."

He hesitated, looking over his shoulder, like he was trying to convince himself this was the right thing to do. Then, with a grunt, he stepped inside. He didn’t seem to belong in the small, quiet space, his presence too big for the room, too loud in its own way.

“I like your outfit,” Tommy tried, a weak smile on his face

You looked down at your pajama ensemble, which consisted of a baggy t-shirt and athletic shorts, and looked back up at him, an eyebrow raised

"I wasn’t sure if you’d wanna see me," Tommy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Figured you needed space, y’know?"

You didn’t answer immediately. The last few days had been a blur of grief, silence, and confusion. You’d expected space from everyone, even from him, but there was something about Tommy that felt different. He wasn’t just Joel’s brother- he was one of the few people who understood what it meant to lose him.

Tommy’s gaze flickered down to the floor again, and when he looked back up, there was something different about him- an edge of need, of something barely held back. The space between you was still there, but it felt like it was closing, pulling you both closer even though every instinct screamed to stay apart.

"I didn’t think I’d want to see anyone," you crossed your arms, voice barely above a whisper. "But here we are."

Tommy took a slow step closer, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. It was a dangerous proximity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to step back. His presence, though so different from Joel’s, felt like the closest thing to comfort you’d had in days. Maybe that’s why you didn’t back away.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Tommy muttered, almost to himself, but it wasn’t regret- at least not the kind that would stop him from moving forward. There was something darker behind the words, something that tugged at you both. "But hell, it feels like this is all we’ve got now."

Tommy let out a low, shaky breath. The air between you two was thick with everything unsaid, and he shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable, like he didn’t know where to put himself in this new, empty world. He glanced at the chair next to you but didn’t sit.

“You’re still… still here. After everything,” Tommy said, voice cracking, tears forming in his eyes. "Don’t know why that matters, but... it does."

There was a strange, fragile honesty in his voice, and for a moment, the grief in his eyes matched your own. But there was something else there too, something that neither of you could name.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said, the words soft but firm, as if to convince both of you. “Not yet.”

That was all it took. Tommy staggered two steps towards you, then fell to his knees with a strangled cry, burying his face into the fabric of the t-shirt at your stomach, his hands resting on the backs of your legs, clutching at you like you were the only thing left in the world. 

Your hands instinctively moved to his head, your fingers threading through his thick hair. It felt like Joel’s.

It felt like Joel’s.

You gasped, pulling your hands back like you’d been burned, guilt crashing over you like a wave.

Tommy felt you start to pull away-  his grip on your legs tightened in a silent plea, grounding himself there, refusing to let you go. He mumbled something against you, too broken to lift his head.

“What did you say, Tomm-”

Before you could finish, he shifted- slid his hands up from the backs of your legs to your hips, desperate, almost clumsy with it. The movement made you stumble a half step back, heart thundering in your chest.

“Help me,” the words barely escaped his throat.

"Help you?" you breathed. "Wh-"

"Help me forget," he choked out. "Help me feel better, help me-" He broke off, his voice catching, as if he couldn't even put words to the ache tearing him apart.

Still, he couldn’t look away.

Still, you couldn’t either.

You stood frozen for a second, heart hammering against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Tommy still knelt there, broken, at your feet, clutching onto you like you were the only thing left holding him together.

"Joel woulda never… I’m sorry," Tommy began, his voice thick with guilt, the words snagging in his throat, a single tear streaming down his face. His eyes dropped to the floor, shame flickering over his features. "Never wanted this. I can’t… I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t” he sputtered out. 

The weight of it crushed your chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Maybe that's why I haven’t sent you away," you whispered, the confession burning your tongue. Tommy froze at your words. It felt like betrayal- to Joel, to yourself- but the hollow ache inside you roared louder than your guilt. "Maybe I need this. Maybe... I need something I’m not supposed to have."

Tommy’s eyes darkened, his hands still fisting the sides of your shorts like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Without thinking, you sank down, knees pressing into the worn wooden floor. You were level with him now, close enough to see every crack in the mask he was trying so hard to wear. Tommy sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, like it shattered the last bit of restraint he had left.

You hesitated- a heartbeat, two, before reaching out and tentatively brushing your fingers against his cheek. His stubble was rough under your touch, grounding you in this awful, beautiful mess.

His forehead dropped against yours with a shaky exhale, his body trembling from the force of everything he was trying to hold back.

"Fucking god, Tommy,” you shuddered, “We can’t," you whispered against him, your breath mingling with his. Spearmint. 

"I know," Tommy muttered, “I fuckin' know,” but the words didn’t stop him. His hand locking around the back of your neck to hold you in place, he surged forward without giving either of you another moment to think.

His mouth crashed against yours- rough, needy, almost clumsy- but you answered him without hesitation, your hands grasping at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

There was nothing careful about it. No permission asked. No forgiveness given. Just grief, aching and the feeling of being alive between your mouths, pulling you undone. Tongue and teeth and Tommy’s mustache scratching your face, the smell of leather, soap, and sweat, his smell, surrounding you. 

Without warning, Tommy pushed off of you, and the sudden space between you two felt unbearable. 

​​Tommy’s breath was ragged, his forehead still pressed against yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to will himself back under control.

"I’m sorry," he rasped, though he didn’t let you go. His hands still clutched your waist like he thought you might vanish if he loosened his grip.

You shook your head, your fingers untangling from the fabric of his jacket and sliding up his biceps to rest on his broad shoulders. Your chest heaved, your lips burning from the kiss, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. Not when it made you feel something again.

"Don't be," you whispered, your hands moving to cup his face. "Please... don’t be."

He let out a whimper, becoming putty in your hands. His eyes opened and found yours, glassy and dark, and for a long moment neither of you moved, neither of you breathed.

Your thumb brushed gently over Tommy’s lips, feeling them tremble. His breathing stuttered, but he didn’t pull away-  didn’t even flinch-  just waited, he was putting everything in your hands now.

Slowly, you leaned in, brushing your nose lightly against his. His breath hitched again, but he stayed still, letting you set the pace.

You kissed him.

Soft, sure, and nothing like the desperate clash from before. This kiss was a promise. A surrender.

Tommy made a broken sound deep in his chest- half relief, half wrecked need- and his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer without hesitation.

You shifted without breaking the kiss, moving to straddle his lap. Tommy shifted underneath you, clumsy and desperate, dropping to fully sit on the floor and tugging you into his lap like he couldn't stand another second without you closer, his hands trembling as they guided you into place.

Tommy groaned low into your mouth when you settled over him, the heat of your core pressed flush to his achingly hard cock restrained by his jeans. His fingers dug into your hips through your clothes, anchoring himself to the moment, to you. You ground down on him, drawing a sinful sound from his throat, the denim providing the perfect amount of friction for you both. 

There was no more slowing down. Tommy’s hands were everywhere now, sliding under the waistband of your shorts, gripping your hips as he now manually moved you back and forth over where he needed you most. Every motion was urgent, desperate- like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. His lips left yours only to trail down your throat, his breath coming out in sharp gasps as you tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but you couldn’t. Not with him this close. Not with him kissing you like he needed you to breathe. 

Tommy’s hands stilled, one on the back of your head, one on your hip, and before you could protest at the lack of motion, he flipped you over. Swift, calculated, and with ease. You gasped, your back hitting the cool floor with a soft thud, the sudden shift in control making your heart race.

He hovered over you, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. The space between you two felt heavier now. His lips hovered above yours, torn between control and chaos, like he was waiting for you to stop him, to say something, anything to make sense of what was happening.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your waist, your hips, his touch desperate, as if he were mapping you out. You could feel the intensity of his touch, the way his fingers trembled, almost like he was afraid that if he let go of you, the world might collapse entirely.

"Tommy," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, a plea that felt more like a question.

"Shh," he whispered, his lips moving to your neck as his hand slid under your shirt. His touch was hot, but still left a trail of goosebumps on your skin where his fingers had brushed.

His mouth found yours again, this time urgent, his kiss deepening with a rawness that sent a shiver through your entire body. You could feel the weight of everything between you two- the grief, the loss, the hunger for something real- and it only made the kiss more desperate. His hands, once tentative, were now firm, pulling you closer, pushing you further into him like he couldn’t get enough.

The hand under your shirt moved slowly, deliberately, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your breasts as it slid even higher. His hand made its way up to the collar of your shirt, where he twisted the fabric around his fingers. He pulled back from your kiss to straddle your waist, his strong thighs framing you, anchoring him, before his other hand moved to grip the shirt collar from the outside. 

Without warning, he tugged harshly, his knuckles hitting against your skin as the shirt gave way with a rip. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the room, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight to your chest. The action was raw, animalistic, the urgency in his movements undeniable as he tore the shirt open, right down the front, exposing the skin beneath.

"God, you're-" Tommy groaned, his voice breaking, words barely slipping out of his throat, his fists tightening around the fragments of shirt in his hands. "I don’t... fuck..." He couldn’t finish the thought, but you could hear it all- the desperation, the guilt, the raw, aching need to feel you, even if it was just for a moment. 

He didn’t give himself the time to find the words. His mouth left a hot, wet trail down your torso- over the soft curve of your belly, the band of your athletic shorts. He paused there, nuzzling against the fabric, his breath burning against your skin. He hooked his fingers over the waistband and wiggled your shorts off of your hips, tossing them aside without ceremony, letting out a borderline pained groan when he saw you weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

"Let me..." he rasped, almost begging, kneeling on the floor between your spread legs, his fingers digging into the sides of your thighs. "Let me take care of you. Please."

You nodded once, almost imperceptible, but Tommy caught it. 

His eyes locked on your cunt, looking at it like it was the answer to all of his prayers. His gaze didn’t falter once as he slowly lowered himself to lay on his stomach on the wooden floor, hooking your legs over his shoulders. He looked like he was starving. 

He pressed a kiss to your clit and finally looked back up at you. His eyes glossed over, hypnotized. 

"Tell me to stop," he rasped, voice nearly unrecognizable, thick with emotion, "And I will. Swear to fuckin’ god, I will."

You didn’t tell him to stop.

"Tommy... please,” tears forming in your eyes “Please just-”

He cut you off by finally giving you what you wanted.

The first sweep of his tongue was tentative, almost cautious- as if he was savoring you, memorizing the taste of you. But when you cried out, your fingers yanking at his hair, something in him snapped.

He groaned against you, digging his fingers into your thighs, and licked into you with a hunger that bordered on feral.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t slow, or teasing, or careful.

It was messy and desperate- needy, frantic. Tommy buried his face between your legs like he was starving for it, tongue moving in sloppy, devastating circles over your clit, moaning against you like he couldn’t get enough.

"Tommy," you gasped, your back arching off the floor, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Oh my god, Tommy-"

He answered you with a low growl, gripping your thighs tighter, dragging you closer, pressing you more firmly against his mouth. His nose bumped your clit with every desperate movement of his tongue, the friction sending you spiraling, unraveling.

Your vision blurred, your breath stuttered, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Tommy's hand moved. He grabbed your thigh roughly, holding you wide open, and slid two thick fingers into you without warning.

You cried out- half sob, half gasp- and he just groaned against your clit, like he needed your sounds, like they drove him crazier.

"That’s it, baby," he mumbled against your cunt, voice low and ragged. "Give it to me. Let me hear you."

His fingers pumped into you hard, relentless, curling up inside you with devastating precision. Every stroke punched a broken little noise out of you, your body jerking helplessly under him.

Tommy was now propped up on one elbow, with his face and his free hand buried between your legs. Not a comfortable position for him at all, but that wasn’t his focus anymore. He wanted to see you. 

"You’re mine," Tommy growled, rough and possessive, not caring whether the words were true or not. "Always were. Always fuckin’ will be."

The rhythm of his fingers and his tongue was overwhelming- dirty and desperate- grinding you down until there was nothing left but him.

You tried to hold on, tried to make it last, but he worked you over mercilessly, coaxing every gasp and whimper out of you until you were right on the edge, shaking and breathless.

"Come on, sweet girl," he murmured, mouth slick and messy against you. "Wanna feel you fall apart on my fuckin' hand."

He knew you were close. The way you clenched around his fingers, the way your breath hitched and broke- he felt it, heard it- and without another word, he buried his mouth against you again, hell-bent on tearing that finish out of you.

With a final rough curl of his fingers- hitting that spot inside you so perfectly it hurt- you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you hard and fast, your vision going white, your body clamping down around him, your hands fisting helplessly in his hair as you cried out his name like a prayer. Tommy groaned into you, slow and deep, drinking down every last shudder you gave him before finally- finally-  dragging his mouth away.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and glinting with a filthy sort of satisfaction. Cocky. Proud. Like he’d just won something. He pressed a few lingering kisses to your trembling inner thigh, then pushed himself up, moving to hover over you.

“Fuckin’ knew you'd taste good," he smirked down at you, hair mussed, mouth shiny. His hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in. “Been wantin’ to do that for-”

He cut himself off so fast you barely caught it. For how long? Since Joel died? Before? The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken.

You didn’t let him finish. Didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down into a messy, desperate kiss. He sighed against your mouth, kissing you back just as rough, his body pressing hot and solid against yours, grateful that you interrupted his train of thought. You could feel him-  hard and thick in his jeans, grinding against your hip like he couldn’t help himself.

One hand planted on the floor, his other moved down to fumble with his belt, cursing low under his breath as the buckle clinked. He was rushing- hands clumsy, frantic- until he suddenly stilled.

"No," he muttered against your skin, voice rough and wrecked. He squeezed his eyes shut, like he was wrestling with himself. "Not like this,” he said, mostly to himself. 

Before you could ask, he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you clean off the floor. You let out a soft, startled noise, arms wrapping around his shoulders instinctively.

Tommy carried you across the room, his hands gripping you tight like he was scared you’d run away if he let go. He laid you down on the bed- gentler now- and took a step back, hands on his hips, staring down at you like you were something holy.

“This,” he smiled, somewhat weak but still genuine, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, “this ain’t gonna be rushed, sweetheart. Ain't gonna be sloppy.”

He popped the button on his jeans, dragging them down his hips with slow, deliberate hands- his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m gonna take my time with you."

Your eyes raked over his now naked form, drinking him in like he was something holy and forbidden all at once, because he was.

Tommy was solid- broad shoulders, thick arms, a chest dusted with dark hair that tapered down his stomach, leading your gaze lower, making your mouth go dry. He wasn’t perfect- there were scars across his ribs and hips, little stories written into his skin- but god, he was beautiful. Strong, sturdy, built like he could ruin you and hold you together at the same time. There was a kind of roughness to him, a ruggedness- the soft curve of his belly, the way his thighs were thick and powerful, the way his hands were big and rough, but they touched you like you were something delicate. 

And his eyes- Fuck, his eyes.

Dark, wild, hungry- like he was barely keeping himself from devouring you whole.

You’d never been looked at like that before.

You'd never been looked at like that before.

Joel had loved you- you knew he had. You’d loved him back just as fiercely. But there had always been something in the way. Some job that needed finishing. Some danger around the corner. Ellie needing him more than you did. There was always a part of him you could never quite reach, no matter how close you got.

You felt it creeping in now, the old ache, the old loneliness-

You forced it away, pushed it down deep where it belonged. Not now. Not with Tommy looking at you like you were the only thing he'd ever wanted. Like you were the last good thing in a broken world. Like he’d starve without you.

Tommy was all man, all heat, and all yours. 

You lay there, breathless, skin flushed and buzzing under his gaze, watching him. Watching the way his chest heaved, the way his hands fisted at his sides like he was holding himself back by a thread.

You didn’t want him to hold back.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your legs falling open in silent invitation.

Tommy swore under his breath, low and rough, and crawled over you, his big hands sliding up your thighs, spreading you wider, fitting himself between them like he belonged there. He leaned down, catching your mouth in a bruising kiss- messy, teeth clashing, tongues tangling- and you moaned into it, arching your body up against his. You could feel how badly he wanted you, how close he was to snapping.

"Christ, look at you," he muttered against your mouth, his hand snaking down between your bodies, stroking himself once, twice. "So fuckin’ beautiful like this. So ready for me."

You whined, desperate, bucking your hips up. "Tommy, please."

That did it.

With a ragged growl, he lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing hot and insistent against your slick entrance. He nudged in just an inch, enough to make you gasp, and froze.

"Sweetheart," he rasped, voice thick with something like pain, like worship, "you sure?"

You nodded frantically, fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer.

That was all he needed.

With one slow, devastating thrust, Tommy pushed into you, stretching you open, filling you until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. You both gasped- his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow.

“Fuck,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. "You feel- Jesus fucking Christ, you feel like heaven."

He gave you a moment, letting you adjust, but you were already clenching around him, greedy, needy, your body desperate for more.

“Move," you whispered against his jaw, biting down just enough to make him groan.

And then he did-  dragging almost all the way out, slow and torturous, before slamming back into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

He set a slow rhythm, each thrust hard and deep, like he was trying to fuck the memories out of both of you.

You took everything he gave you- the desperation, the anger, the hunger- and gave it right back, meeting him thrust for thrust, nails clawing down his back, mouths colliding in fevered kisses between ragged breaths.

You didn't know when the rhythm had turned frantic- when Tommy had stopped holding back, when you'd started begging. All you knew was the sound of skin slapping against skin, the desperate little noises breaking from your throat, the thick stretch of him inside you.

"That's it, sweetheart," Tommy rasped against your ear, his voice wrecked, his hips grinding deeper, harder. "I want you to cum with me. C'mon-"

His hand found your clit, fingers rough and unpracticed but perfect, circling you with the same wild urgency he fucked you with. It tipped you right over the edge.

You sobbed his name, clinging to him like a lifeline, body seizing up so tight it sent fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. You broke apart around him, your whole world narrowing to the relentless drag of his hips and the unbearable sweetness of his touch. Tommy cursed low in his throat, feeling you clamp down on him, and he didn’t stand a chance.

He spilled inside you with a hoarse, shuddering groan, burying his face against your neck as he followed you into oblivion. His whole body locked up, muscles trembling with the force of it, his hand still working you through the last waves of pleasure.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing, the way you both clung to each other like you'd drown if you let go.

Tommy didn’t move at first. He just stayed there, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, like he was trying to catch his breath- or maybe just trying to hold onto the moment a little longer.

His arms slid under you, gathering you up without even thinking, and he rolled onto his back, taking you with him, keeping you perched on his chest. Still joined, still trembling. Still his.

You melted into him, your body boneless and spent, your cheek pressed to the sweaty curve of his shoulder. You could hear his heart thundering under your ear, feel it slow bit by bit as the silence wrapped around you. He ran a hand down your spine, shaky and gentle, tracing your skin like he never wanted to forget the feel of you.

"You okay?" he murmured after a while, his voice rough, almost shy. Like he hadn't just wrecked you. Like he hadn't just stitched himself into you in ways you weren't sure you could ever undo.

You nodded against him. Your fingers found his chest hair and you played with it. 

He chuckled low under his breath- a sound that rumbled deep in his chest-  and tightened his arms around you.

"Good," he said, and kissed your hairline, your temple, anywhere he could reach. "Good, sweetheart. Ain't lettin' you go now."

You hummed, allowing yourself to close your eyes and let yourself drift asleep against Tommy’s strong chest.

_____________ 

Eventually, the cold started to creep in.

Your bare skin prickled against his, the sweat drying sticky between you, and awoke with a shiver.

Tommy felt it. Of course he did. He was wide awake while you were sleeping, not allowing himself to doze off for fear you’d need him for something, monitoring every time you shifted or sighed in your sleep.

He muttered something under his breath- too low and Southern-slurred for you to catch- and shifted carefully, sliding out from under you with a soft, broken sound. You whimpered at the loss, at the overwhelming emptiness he left behind. His hands soothed down your sides, slow and gentle, murmuring, "I got you, baby. I'm right here."

He walked a few steps toward the edge of the bed, reaching down to grab the blanket that had gotten kicked off due to your previous activities. He shook it out, his muscles rippling down his back as he did. 

You caught glimpses of him in the low light: mussed hair, flushed chest, long lines of scratch marks blooming red down his back like some sort of claim. Your mark. You’d done that to him.

He gently spread the blanket over you on the bed, then sank down beside you again. 

You thought maybe he’d pull away. Maybe he’d retreat into silence, into shame.

But he didn’t.

He laid back against the pillows and tugged you onto his chest again, wrapping you up in his arms. You could still feel the wild thudding of his heart, still hear the rasp of his breathing as he combed a hand through your tangled hair.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

You just laid there, bruised and aching and still a little wet between your legs, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened settle into your bones.

Tommy’s thumb traced lazy, meaningless circles over your back. Eventually, you felt him dip his head, his mouth brushing the top of your ear.

"I been wantin’ you for a long time," he whispered, like it was a secret, like he was confessing something he couldn’t take back.

You closed your eyes tight against the flood of emotion, your hand fisting weakly in the blanket.

You wanted to say it back. You wanted to tell him that maybe, without even knowing it, you’d been wanting him too. But the words stuck in your throat.

He noticed.

Tommy’s voice was a whisper as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. "I’m sorry," he murmured, though you could hear the regret mixed with something else- something deeper. "I never wanted it to be like this."

You didn’t answer. Instead, you just held onto him, the warmth of his body against yours the only thing that felt real in that moment.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

[soulsnatcha3000]

Let Me In

Remmick x black!fem oc

Summary: The summer night clings thick around Lenora as she hovers at the screen door, drawn to the danger waiting outside. Remmick stands in the dark, all wicked smiles and promises she shouldn’t want. Her family sleeps just feet away, but he leans closer, voice low and sinful, tempting you to break. She knows better, but her body betrays her— and Remmick, all patience gone, is ready to beg for the privilege of ruining her.

Warnings: cunnilings, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), BACKSHOTTTTTS, JUST STRAIGHT FLITHY, he’s MEAN

a/n: had to edit some stuff! sorry for the wait! Hope yall enjoy reading this🫶🏾

dw no drool is mentioned

The screen door sighed.

The porch was bathed in soft, silvered dark, the fields humming with crickets and hidden things. The air hung thick, tasting of dust and something sweeter underneath. Behind me, my family slept on, but i stood frozen at the door.

Waiting.

Remmick leaned against a porch post, lazy in the low light, shirt sleeves rolled, collar loose, like temptation carved into human shape. His eyes found me — slow, deliberate — and he smiled like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, look at you,” he murmured.

I gripped the doorframe tighter, nightgown clinging to your skin in the heat.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” i said, barely above a whisper.

“And yet,” he drawled, tipping his head, “you keep waitin’ for me.”

The screen door bowed as he brushed it with his knuckles, light as a prayer.

“Open up, pretty thing,” he coaxed. “Let’s not pretend either of us got the will to walk away.”

I stayed silent, the air between you thick with all the things neither of you would say.

He leaned in slow, until the world narrowed to the press of his voice against the thrum of my blood.

“I could wait all night,” he whispered. “But you’re the one shakin’, baby.”

My fingers curled tighter into the frame, splinters biting my skin. Every instinct screamed to shut the door, to bolt it tight — but my body, my blood, told a different story.

I leaned in, so close now that the screen barely mattered, so close i could feel his hunger vibrating in the air between you.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’,” i whispered, the words shaking as they left me.

Remmick’s mouth tilted into a half-smile, nothing kind about it. “I know exactly what I’m askin’,” he said, voice fraying at the edges. “And you know exactly what you’d give me.”

Slow, deliberate, he dragged his fingertips down the mesh — a rasping sound that made me shudder harder than if he’d touched my bare skin. He watched me, saw the way i pressed my thighs together like i could hold back the flood.

He nodded to my thighs. “You..and those pretty legs of yours…damn sugar I’m getting desperate out here.” He groaned softly.

“You keep pressin them together… do you not realize how crazy you doing that makes me? Thinking about them… wrapped around my waist.. or on my shoulders. Hell even buried in between them.”

I turned away quickly, exhaling shakily, heart pounding against my ribs. He was making this so damn hard.

“I know you think about it too,” he said, voice dropping to something dangerous and hypnotic. “How good it’ll feel… my cock buried so deep inside you wont even be able to think straight.”

“All the different ways I could have you…” he continued, eyes raking over me. “The way my mouth would make you come… again and again… tasting every drop of you.”

I whimpered before I could stop myself, slamming the door shut right in his face, heart racing like I’d just run a marathon.

On the other side, I heard him chuckle — deep, rough, absolutely unbothered.

“I know you’re soaking right now, darlin’,” he said, voice muffled but still dripping with that maddening confidence. “Could smell you from out here. Fuck… just let me in.”

“Go away.” I said as my voice cracked and I could hear him sigh.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night…every night. Until you let me have you.” And as he said that I heard his boots going down the porch steps I let out a sigh turning, as I begin to walk away from the door.

“Nora?” I jumped as I heard the voice of my mother.

“H-hey momma, Whatchu doing up?” I calmed my voice, the conversation I had with remmick still in my head.

“I should be asking you the same thing, you was talking to someone?” She yawned.

“No, just thought I heard something outside and checked real quick. It’s um, it’s nothing there.” I chuckled nervously nodding.

She looked at me suspiciously and then nodded slowly. “Uh huh alright..well at least get some sleep. We gotta open up the shop early.”

I nodded. “Yes ma’am. Good night, I love you.” I smiled softly.

“Love you too honey, night.” She blew a kiss turning the lamp off going back to my father and hers bedroom.

I groaned turning around back to my room. “I need my own damn place.” I closed my door softly, careful not to wake anyone. And got in my bed twisting and turning before falling asleep.

———

The morning sun cut through the kitchen window in soft gold stripes, warming the worn wooden table where she sat peeling potatoes.

My hands worked automatically — knife in one hand, potato in the other — but my mind was somewhere else entirely.

I’ll be back every night… until you let me have you.

His voice still echoed in my head, low and sinful, curling around my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to focus on the day ahead.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

My older brother, Eli, sauntered in, ruffling my hair as he grabbed a biscuit from the tin.

“You were tossing and turning all night. Bad dreams?”

I forced a laugh, nudging him with my elbow.

“Somethin’ like that.”

If only he knew.

Their mother bustled in next, apron already tied, sleeves rolled to her elbows.

“Eat quick,” she said, pushing a plate of eggs toward her. “We open the store in twenty minutes. And don’t let that Mr. Hargrove short you again — I saw him trying to sneak two loaves for the price of one last week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” i said, slipping into the rhythm of it — the comfort of normalcy.

But when i stepped out into the bright morning and crossed the dusty road to the little general store their family owned, a shiver still danced down her spine.

I could almost feel him out there — somewhere beyond the neat rows of houses and the muddy street, hidden in the woods, in the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

————

“Let’s get to work.” James said.

“Got a shipment comin’ in later,” he added on, straightening up with a grunt. “Pa said we gotta restock the sugar and soap.”

“Alright,” I said, tying my apron tighter.

My younger brother James was already stacking crates near the counter, whistling tunelessly.

———

The morning rush had slowed, and I leaned against the counter, dusting flour that I had dropped off my apron.

My younger brother James was sweeping in the corner, and Eli was restocking canned peaches.

I sighed quietly, half to myself.

“Lord, I can’t wait till I have a place of my own someday. Just a little house… no brothers banging around. No early mornings unless I want ‘em.”

James snickered, twirling the broom like a bat.

“Yeah right. You’d miss us in two days.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could fire back, the door to the storeroom creaked open.

My father stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag, his work shirt stained from unloading crates.

He scratched his jaw, giving me a look that was part serious, part something else she couldn’t read yet.

“You want your own place that bad, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and knowing.

I blinked, caught off guard.

“Well… I mean, one day, sure. Ain’t in a rush.”

He nodded, tossing the rag onto the counter.

“Good thing, then,” he said with a small smile. “Cause I got you one.”

I straightened up, heart thudding.

“What?”

“Little place down on Willow Lane,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Old Mrs. Cartwright’s place — she moved in with her daughter outta town. Rent’s cheap, real cheap. Fixed it up some. Even put in some new furniture — nothin’ fancy, but it’ll do.”

I stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“You serious?”

“I-how did you-.” I was speechless.

He chuckled. “Heard you mumbling to yourself about it last week. And Course I’m serious. You’re grown, sugar. You deserve a space that’s yours. Key’s in my coat pocket if you wanna go see it after supper.”

James dropped the broom with a loud clatter.

“You’re really lettin’ her move out? Just like that?”

My father shrugged.

“She’s twenty-two. Good head on her shoulders. ’Sides, she’s only two streets over. She ain’t runnin’ off to New York.”

Behind her, James let out a squawk and dropped the broom with a loud clatter.

Eli crossed his arms, mock-scowling.

“Hold on now — what about us?” he said, jerking a thumb between himself and James. “When we wanna have the missies over, if you know what I mean?”

James smirked, elbowing him.

“Yeah! No more sneakin’ ‘em past Ma if she’s gone!”

Their father shot them both a hard look that could’ve split stone.

“You bringin’ any missies over while you still live under my roof, you’ll be sleepin’ in the barn. With the hogs.”

The store went dead silent for a beat.

Then James coughed and bent real quick to pick up the broom.

“Just kiddin’, Pa.”

Eli mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “worth askin’ anyway” under his breath.

My heart was beating so hard I thought it might shake me right out of my shoes.

A home.

My own home.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered, throat thick with emotion.

He winked at me and headed back into the storeroom without another word, leaving me standing there stunned, my brothers bickering behind her.

Somewhere deep down, a flicker of fear stirred — because I knew:

When night fell and he came back for me…

I wouldn’t have a house full of family around anymore.

I would be alone.

And I wasn’t sure if that made me scared — or excited.

————

The afternoon sun dipped low, painting long shadows across the store floor.

I wiped my hands clean on a rag, satisfied. Shelves stocked. Counters wiped down. Ledgers tallied. Another day’s work done.

My brothers, as usual, lounged behind the counter, tossing an apple back and forth like it was honest work.

I smirked, tossing the rag aside.

“You two sure work hard,” I drawled, hands on my hips.

James caught the apple with a grin.

“Hey, gotta save our strength for tomorrow.”

“Right,” I said dryly.

Then I spotted my father’s heavy coat hanging near the storeroom.

Heart skipping, i sauntered over and slipped my hand into the front pocket, feeling around until my fingers closed over cool metal.

The key.

I fished it out, holding it up between two fingers like a prize.

It glinted in the fading light.

James and Eli froze mid-apple toss.

“Look what I got,” i said sweetly, twirling the key on its ring.

James groaned dramatically.

“There she goes, big boss already.”

Eli slouched against the counter, face twisted in mock betrayal.

“Don’t forget about us when you’re sittin’ on your fancy porch, drinkin’ lemonade.”

I slipped the key into my skirt pocket with a grin.

“I’ll think of y’all when I’m not hearin’ your big mouths every morning.”

As i headed for the door, Eli suddenly straightened, pointing an accusing finger at me.

“You ever think maybe she just wants her own place so she can be fresh?” he said loudly, looking straight at their father. “You think about that, Pa?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, scandal flashing in my eyes.

“Me fresh?” I scoffed, spinning around with my hand on her hip. “You and that little girlfriend of yours are the fresh ones, Eli! Don’t get me started!”

James howled with laughter, practically collapsing against the counter.

I snapped my gaze to him, narrowing my eyes.

“Oh, you wanna laugh now too, James?” I said sweetly — too sweetly. “I could tell Ma and Daddy exactly what I heard last week.”

James smirked, tossing the apple in the air again.

“Feeding the cows,” he said cockily.

I lifted my chin, deadpan.

“More like feeding something else.”

James’ smirk dropped clean off his face.

His cheeks burned red as he grabbed the nearest thing — a throw pillow off the bench behind him — and hurled it at me.

I dodged it easily, laughing as it thumped harmlessly against the doorframe behind me.

Eli howled with laughter, almost falling over.

Their father just shook his head with a sigh.

“Lord, give me strength,” he muttered, walking back into the storeroom.

I grinned, blowing a kiss at my brothers before grabbing my bag.

“Y’all have a good night now!” I sang as she slipped out the door, the key jangling in my pocket.

————

The door swung shut behind me, the bell jingling softly.

Inside, James and Eli stood frozen, still scowling after her.

James finally muttered, “She better not bring no trouble to that new place.”

Eli snorted.

“Yeah, she actin’ all innocent… watch, she gonna have some slick-talker sneakin’ in through the window first night.”

Before either of them could blink, their father appeared from the back, wiping his hands on a rag.

Whap!

He smacked the back of James’ head with a heavy hand, then Eli’s a second later — hard enough to make them both stumble forward.

“Ow!” James yelped, rubbing the back of his skull.

“What was that for?!” Eli complained, ducking away.

Their father narrowed his eyes at both of them.

“Worry about your own trouble before you run your mouths ‘bout hers,” he said firmly. “And don’t let me catch you bringin’ no fast girls ‘round here neither.”

James and Eli muttered sheepish yes, sirs under their breath, suddenly real interested in counting apples on the counter.

————

Their father just shook his head again and walked off, grumbling under his breath.

“Should’ve bought myself a second barn to lock all of you kids away,” he muttered, clearly fed up.

“And Eli!” he called over his shoulder, not even looking back. “Get your own damn place! You’re 25!”

James snickered loudly, grinning wide.

“Might as well just sleep in the barn, huh?” he teased, elbowing his older brother.

Eli shot him a sharp glare, and punched James’s arm.

“Shut up, James,” Eli snapped, though the bite in his voice was fading.

James rubbed his arm with exaggerated pain, wincing dramatically.

“Ouch! See, that’s why Pops got Nora a place and not you. At least she does her part. While you’re off sneaking around, swapping spit with—” he paused, raising an eyebrow “—who knows what girl this time.”

Eli’s face flushed a deep red, his fists clenching at his sides. His body tensed as if he were about to explode.

“None of your business!” he growled, his voice tight with fury.

Before James could even react, Eli practically launched himself over the counter, his legs swinging as he tried to grab James by the collar.

James yelped, diving out of the way just in time. He dashed across the store, laughing and shouting over his shoulder,

“Too slow, Eli!”

Eli chased after him, his face twisted in frustration and embarrassment, but James was already a few steps ahead, running for his life.

Their father, still in the back, barely glanced up but muttered under his breath,

“Good Lord, not again…”

⸻

The sun had dipped low by the time i reached my new house, a small, neat little thing tucked at the edge of town. The fresh paint on the porch still smelled sharp in the warm evening air.

I stood for a second at the bottom of the steps, clutching the key in my hand, feeling a little knot of nerves and excitement twist in my stomach.

It wasn’t much — a plain wood house with a crooked chimney and a creaky screen door — but it was mines.

I grinned to herself, slipping the key into the lock. It stuck for a second, and i had to jiggle it, but then it gave way with a satisfying click.

The door swung open with a soft groan, and i stepped inside.

The furniture was brand new — well, new enough. A simple table with two mismatched chairs, a sturdy bed tucked into the back room, a little worn couch sitting by the window. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clean. And it smelled like wood and fresh linen.

I dropped my bag by the door, turning in a slow circle, taking it all in.

A slow, proud smile pulled at my lips.

“Finally,” I whispered to myself. “A place of my own.”

As I pulled open a window to let the evening breeze in, I swore I felt it — a tingle at the back of her neck. Like I was being watched.

I couldn’t help but shiver a little.

Brushing it off, I shook my head and went back inside.

⸻

I smiled to myself, still glowing with excitement, and wandered toward the little closet in the corner of the bedroom.

Just as I reached for the door, the old rotary phone on the kitchen wall started ringing, the sharp sound making me jump a little.

I hurried over and picked it up, pressing the receiver to my ear.

“Hello?”

My best friend’s voice came bursting through, full of excitement.

“Girl! Are you at your new place yet?!”

I laughed, my nerves instantly easing.

“Yeah, just walked in not too long ago.”

“Good, good,” my friend said, a grin practically heard through the line. “Now, go look in your closet!”

I blinked, confused.

“My closet?”

“Yes, your closet! Go on, I tucked something away for you earlier — and you better not chicken out neither!”

Shaking my head but smiling wide, I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and padded back across the room. I pulled open the closet door and knelt down, spotting a box I hadn’t noticed before tucked neatly into the corner.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” I said into the receiver, laughing under my breath.

“I know!” My friend said, giggling. “Now open it!”

I set the phone down just long enough to lift the lid. Right on top was a folded piece of paper, my best friend’s messy scrawl across it:

“In case you ever decide you wanna let go of that goody two-shoes thing.”

I shook my head, grinning as I pulled back the tissue paper to reveal a deep burgundy nightgown — soft, delicate, and daring.

I gasped softly, my cheeks warming instantly.

“Delphine!” I called into the phone as she picked it back up.

My best friend just laughed.

“You’ll thank me later! Especially when a certain someone comes knockin’!”

I rolled her eyes, but deep down, I felt a little thrill shoot through me. Maybe I would try it on later — just… to see how it felt.

⸻

After the long day at the store and moving into my new place, I wasted no time.

I gathered a fresh towel, my new nightgown, and slipped into the little bathroom tucked off the side of the bedroom.

The water pressure wasn’t much to brag about, but it was warm, and it soothed the lingering ache in my muscles.

I lathered up with my favorite soap — a soft, rich scent of amber, fresh gardenia, and a kiss of vanilla wrapping around me. It was comforting, familiar, a scent that always made me feel like myself. Clean, sweet, a little bold when you got close enough to notice.

When I finished, I stepped out into the steamy little room, toweling off and slipping into the deep burgundy nightgown my best friend had left for me. It slid over my skin like a whisper, cool and soft, clinging in just the right places.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and blushed — I’d never worn anything so… bold before.

Still, part of me liked it.

I padded barefoot back into my room, the hardwood floors cool under her toes. I was smoothing down the nightgown when i heard it — a faint tapping at her window.

Heart racing, I turned — and there he was.

Leaning against the frame, his arms braced casually, a cocky grin playing on his lips.

The soft red glow in his eyes flickered as he took her in, top to bottom, like he was drinking me in.

A low, appreciative whistle escaped him.

My stomach flipped.

Without thinking, i gave the barest tilt of my head — a small, daring motion — and murmured,

“Come in.”

⸻

The air in the little house felt heavier with him in it — like the walls themselves knew trouble had just stepped across the threshold.

I backed up slowly, my bare feet brushing the worn floorboards as he followed, eyes glowing low and red, like embers that hadn’t yet gone cold.

I reached the bed first, the hem of my silk nightgown swaying with the movement. His gaze dropped, slow and unapologetic.

“All this for me, huh?” he drawled, voice low and teasing, a rough edge in it that made my knees wobble.

I smirked, cocking my head as i rested one hand on my hip. “Maybe,” i said, coy and even. “You still think I’m sweet?”

He chuckled under his breath, stepping closer. “Sweet?” he murmured, reaching for my hand, pulling her gently toward him. “Darlin’, I think you’re somethin’ else entirely.”

He caught my chin between his fingers, tilting my face up. His thumb brushed along my jaw, his eyes locked on mines like he could see straight through the teasing.

Then he leaned down — not rushed, not hungry just yet — and kissed me. Deep and slow. Like a promise.

My fingers curled in his shirt. My breath hitched, lips parting to meet his again before I pulled back just enough to whisper:

“What happened to all that talk the other night?”

He laughed low, foreheads pressed together.

“Talk’s easy when I’m standin’ behind glass, baby,” he murmured. “But now I got you right here in my hands…” His voice dipped, dragging heat straight down her spine. “Ain’t no talkin’ necessary.”

His hands moved — slow — fingers sliding down my back, palms memorizing every dip of my body like he’d been dreaming about it for a hundred years.

I rested my forehead rest against his chest, heart pounding. The scent of him — something like smoke and pine and danger — filled my nose, made me dizzy.

And he just held me there for a moment. Like he needed to remember this. The weight of me. The warmth.

“I ain’t in no rush,” he said finally, lips brushing my temple. “You open that door… I come through it on your time. You say stop, I stop. But if you don’t—”

He leaned back, just enough to meet my eyes again, voice gone hoarse:

“I’ma ruin you slow, Lenora.”

That was the promise.

I looked up at him biting my lip gently. “So ruin me.”

I looked up at him through my lashes, my voice low but steady. “I’m not stoppin’ you.”

He grinned at that, slow and dangerous, like a man who had all the time in the world to ruin me.

He tugged my closer, the weight of him pressing against my body. His lips brushed against my neck, soft at first, like he was testing, tasting, savoring the way I shivered under him.

My fingers found the button of his pants — clumsy at first, then deliberate as i undid them.

“Not so quick now,” he whispered, his voice rough against my skin. “Let me have the honor of undressin’ you. I been waitin’ long enough.”

I nodded, swallowing down the knot in my throat, my hands falling to my sides as he stepped back.

His eyes never left mines as he undid the clasp of my nightgown, the silk slipping down my body like water — teasingly slow, revealing every curve, every inch of me. When the gown pooled at my feet, i was left in nothing but my skin and the heat that lingered in the air.

He stepped forward again, hands sliding over my shoulders, down my arms, as he pulled me flush against him. The contact sent a jolt straight to my core.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Perfect for me.”

My hands slid up his chest unbuttoning his shirt down to the last button, finding the warm skin of his torso, feeling the muscles tense under my touch. I let out a soft, shaky breath, my fingers moving to the waistband of his pants, slipping them lower without hesitation.

My pulse was pounding in my ears, my skin humming with the anticipation, with the feeling of his eyes on me, burning and predatory.

“Don’t keep me waitin’, darlin’,” he growled low, voice a raw rasp. “You know what I want.”

His shirt was already half undone, and when i reached up and slid it off his shoulders, he let it fall — didn’t even flinch — just watched me with that slow, wicked grin.

I shoved at his chest, pushing him to sit down on the bed — then climbed into his lap, straddling him.

For a second, he let her think she was in charge.

Let her grab his jaw, kiss him hard, grind against the thick bulge in his pants.

But when she started fumbling with his belt, he grabbed her hips hard, fingers digging into her skin.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice rough with need. “Ain’t no rush… ’sides, I got plans for you first.”

Without warning, he flipped me — He laid me back on the mattress, my soft coils tumbling wild around my face, catching the low light like a crown.

I barely had time to gasp before he yanked my thighs open and dropped between them like a man possessed.

“Gonna taste you first,” he muttered, breath hot against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “Been thinkin’ ’bout this mouthful for days.”

And then he ate me out like he was starving.

No slow teasing. No soft warm-up.

He buried his mouth between my legs and devoured me — messy, wet, deep — until i was squirming and gasping and grabbing fistfuls of the sheets.

When i cried out — high and broken — he just groaned against me, his tongue flicking ruthless, making sure i couldn’t run, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

My mouth agape as my back arched. “O-oh shit.” I whimpered.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he growled against me, mouth slick and filthy. “Give it to me. Give me all that sweet little pussy.”

He caressed my thighs as he continued to devour me with such intensity. My eyes shut tight as I let out loud moans.

“Uh uh open your eyes darlin.” He mumbled in between my thighs, and I opened them to see his eyes red as he stared at me his mouth still moving.

“I-I o-ohh fuck w-wait!” My head thrashed as I let out a squeak my toes curling into the sheets, my chest heaving.

“Oh fuck remmick!” I whined, moving my hand down to push his head back a bit. “J-just wait!”

He moved his head away from my core and rubbed my clit with his thumb.

“What happened to you me letting me ruin you Lenora?” His eyes a shiny red as he continued to run circles on my clit. All I could do is let out noises.

“Don’t do that now honey, you got all dolled up for me, told me to ruin you and now you can’t even form a proper fucking sentence.” He laughed. My brows drawn tight as I went between throwing my head back due the pleasure and looking at him as I moaned loudly.

“Huh? What was that? Can’t hear you sweetie speak up.” He said then went right back to devouring my pussy.

And when she finally shattered for him — legs clamping tight around his head, hips jerking helplessly — he didn’t stop.

He rode it out with her, licking her slow and deep till she was whimpering and trembling, completely wrecked.

“Tired?” He picked up his head from between my thighs. I nodded weakly my eyes watery as I looked at him between my thighs.

“Too bad baby.” He patted one of my thighs and gave it a sweet kiss before going back down in between my thighs.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shining, his eyes glowing soft red.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like sin itself.

“Now that’s the sweetest thing I ever tasted,” he said roughly.

Before i could recover, he was up — unbuckling his pants one-handed, cock springing free, thick and heavy.

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t hesitate.

Just grabbed my hips, dragged me down the bed, and pressed the thick, bare head of his cock against my dripping entrance.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he rasped, voice breaking at the edges. “So good you won’t even remember your own damn name.”

And then he pushed in — bare, raw, deep — filling me in one thick, slow stroke.

I cried out, clawing at his back, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the filthy, perfect way he fit inside me.

No barrier.

No protection.

Just him — thick and hot and bare — claiming every inch.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged.

“Ain’t lettin’ you go now, sweetheart,” he muttered against her mouth before he kissed me slowly.“Too good to be let go of.” He added on

⸻

He didn’t give me time to catch my breath.

I cried out. “R-remmick wait.”

Flipped me onto my stomach with a rough tug, dragging my hips up till i was on my knees, back arched, ass in the air.

“Look at you,” he rasped, sliding back into me with one brutal thrust. “Pretty little thing takin’ this cock like you were made for it.”

I gasped loudly then let out a broken moan.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room — rough, fast, filthy.

I sobbed, my mouth agape. My head dropped into the pillow, the one I so desperately bit into.

Every stroke pushed me forward on the bed, and he just grunted, grabbing my hips tighter, pounding into me like he couldn’t get deep enough.

He moaned loudly throwing his head back.

“Fucking hell.” And I could’ve sworn I heard a slight Irish accent slip out.

I held onto the metal frame the bed squeaking louder and louder each thrust.

I gasped, moaned, whimpered — every noise only spurring him on harder.

He smacked my ass once—twice—three times, low and rough, making me jolt forward with whines.

“I love the way your ass bounces back on me, Nora… mm, shit.”

His voice was thick, breathless — the kind of groan that vibrated down my spine.

I lifted my head, eyes glossy and blurred with pleasure, just to look back — and damn, what a sight.

His brows were drawn tight, jaw slack, lips parted as he stared down at the way my ass met his hips with every thrust…

the wet slap of skin filling the room, his balls hitting with every deep stroke.

He dragged his gaze up from the bounce of my ass, eyes catching mine over my shoulder — and then that damn smile curved across his face.

Without a word, he slid one hand from my waist and gripped the back of my neck, firm but careful, pulling me upright into him.

A guttural moan ripped from my throat as my back arched against his chest, my body molding to his like it was always meant to fit there.

⸻

His fingers were slick as they slid through the mess between my thighs, teasing the swollen spot that made me twitch and gasp.

My head dropped forward, forehead brushing the curve of my arm as I bit down hard on my lip.

He grinned behind me — could feel me tightening, trembling — and still, he didn’t let up. His strokes stayed deep, deliberate. His fingers circled slow, just enough to keep me on edge.

“Tryin’ to be quiet now?” he drawled low, voice thick and husky against the shell of my ear. “After all that beggin’?”

I whimpered, shaking my head, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, dragging his tongue along the side of my neck, “you already lost.”

“You feel that?” he breathed. “That’s me hittin’ that spot over and over till you’re cryin’ again.”

His hand glided up my stomach, stopping when he reached the spot where I could feel the weight of him pressing deep inside me. You feel that, baby?” “Look at how deep I am…look baby.”

“I-I feel it… I can’t— it’s so deep…” I let out a broken sob, not even trying to fight it anymore, I glanced down and saw it — the small bulge in my stomach, thick and impossible to ignore.

My hand trembled as I traced the spot where he pressed from the inside, a deep bulge right in my stomach.

“Please,” i gasped, not sure what i was begging for. To stop. To keep going. To let me fall.

He nipped my shoulder with his teeth, and his voice dropped darker.

“Yeah. That’s it. Beg for it.”

⸻

“That’s right, baby,” he growled. “Cry for me. Let everybody know who’s fuckin’ you now.”

My legs gave out first — i collapsed onto my forearms, shaking, crying from the overwhelming pleasure.

He didn’t stop.

He just followed me down, leaning over my back, fucking me even deeper.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear, voice almost desperate. “Gonna make you mine from the inside out.”

And with that said he began to move slowly, pulling out soft mewls from me.

————

My thighs trembled beneath him, slick and shaking, but he didn’t stop — not with the way my body kept trying to run, even as it begged to stay.

“Where you goin’?” he murmured, lips ghosting against the shell of my ear. “Hm? You tryin’ to run from what you was beggin’ for?”

I couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. My hand reached back blindly, grabbing at anything — his wrist, his hip, the sheets — but there was no saving myself now. Not with the way he was buried so deep, dragging slow strokes that made me see stars.

And his fingers still worked my clit with steady, wicked precision — slick circles that had my hips jerking back, chasing every stroke even as my head shook like i couldn’t take it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, watching the way my back arched, my ass bouncing just right against his hips. “Takin’ me so damn good. Pussy grippin’ me like she don’t wanna let go.”

I let out a choked moan, and he laughed under his breath, rough and low.

“You feel how messy it is down there?” he growled. “How wet you are for me? That’s mine, baby. You hear me?”

I tried to nod, but the pleasure was mounting too fast — too sharp — my breath catching in short, helpless gasps.

He leaned down, his chest brushing my back, his voice dark velvet in my ear.

“Don’t you come yet.”

I whimpered — almost cried — as his pace slowed just enough to drive me insane, rolling his hips deep, grinding against that spot that made me cry every time.

He kissed my shoulder, then bit it softly.

“You wait till I say, pretty girl. You wanna come on this dick?”

“Huh baby?” He said breathlessly as he smirked before letting out a low moan.

I couldn’t even respond.

“You ask me for it.”

My lips parted, tears burning behind my lashes as i tried to obey — tried to hold it in even though my whole body screamed for release.

“P-please,” I gasped, nearly sobbing.

“Please what?” he coaxed, hips never stopping, voice like sin. “Use your words.”

I arched again, grinding myself back onto him, and the sound that left me was ragged, desperate, raw.

“Please let me come…”

And right then, he slammed into me hard — just once — all the way to the hilt, making me scream out as everything snapped.

⸻

When he finally came — deep, hard, cursing low and filthy against my skin — he held me tight against him, grinding slow and messy to make sure every last drop stayed inside.

I was wrecked.

Sweaty, shaking, boneless.

Face buried in the sheets, trying to catch my breath, my thighs still trembling from the force of it all.

He kissed my shoulder — lazy, soft — and whispered against my skin

I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt his arms around me — pulling me back into him, wrapping tight across my middle like he was trying to hold everything together.

“Shh,” he whispered into my hair, voice low and cracked. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

My body wouldn’t stop trembling. The aftershocks kept rolling through me — soft, sharp little waves that left my thighs quivering and my breath catching in uneven sobs. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Just felt everything, all at once.

He didn’t let go.

Instead, he kept me right there in his lap, my back pressed to his chest, his hands moving slow and careful over my stomach like he was coaxing me back into my skin. One hand drifted up into my hair, smoothing through the damp curls with fingers that trembled a little too — and maybe that’s what undid me most. How gentle he was now. How quiet.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, like a promise. “You did so good for me, pretty girl.”

I didn’t have the strength to speak. Just leaned into him, let my hand find his forearm, clung to him like I was still falling. Like maybe I’d fall forever if I let go.

He kissed my shoulder — soft, reverent — and I shivered.

“You still with me?” he asked, palm cupping my jaw, tipping my head back slightly.

I blinked up at him, dazed and watery-eyed, and nodded.

His smile was different now — not dark, not cocky. Just warm. Real.

“Good,” he breathed against my skin. “Gonna take care of you now, alright?”

He shifted us gently, lowering me back onto the bed, sliding under the covers with me. His body curled around mine like armor, and his hands — still steady, still warm — moved over me in soft circles: my thigh, my side, my hip.

“So fuckin’ proud of you,” he whispered against my neck. “My beautiful girl.”

I let out a breath — not a sob this time. Just something quiet and spent and safe. I let myself melt into him, my body sinking against his like I’d never moved before. And he held me. Through every tremble, every shaky breath. He held me like I was something worth protecting.

And when the silence stretched and the storm in my chest softened, I whispered into it.

“…Don’t go.”

He stilled for half a second — then exhaled slow, his mouth brushing my shoulder.

“I’m not leaving.”

⸻

remmicks pov:

She barely made it a few minutes before her breathing evened out, her body softening completely against me. One of her hands stayed wrapped around me, like she didn’t trust the world enough to let go.

I stayed there, holding her, my thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against the curve of her shoulder.

And I realized — it wasn’t just the heat of her skin, or the way she whispered my name like a prayer that kept me here.

It was something deeper.

Something older.

Because when she clung to me like that — all sleepy and broken open — it stirred up something I thought I’d buried a long time ago.

Something I’d shoved down and left to rot with the rest of the ghosts.

The reason I stayed wasn’t just because she needed me.

It was because in that moment, she reminded me of something I thought I’d lost forever.

A place I could come home to.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run from it.

I wanted to stay.

So I tightened my hold around her, tucked her closer, breathed her in.

When she whispered, so small I almost missed it. “Don’t go…”

I bent down, pressed my mouth to her hair, and murmured against her skin.

“I’m not leaving.”

And this time, I meant it.

[lovetommyactually]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything… Nice.

BuckTommy, WC: 1.2k, post 8x15, cw: canon mcd, grief Ι below or on ao3

"Shit—!!"

That was the first thing Buck heard when he entered his house after a long shift, followed by something crashing.

"Shit, oh god, shi—"

A rush of anxiety washed over him. He dropped his bag and rushed to where the voice was coming from—the kitchen.

He shoved the door open, heart pounding—and there was Tommy, frozen mid-disaster, flour everywhere, a tray half on the floor, guilt painted all over his face.

"oh, h-hi, Evan, I'm sorry," Tommy muttered, embarrassed. "I was gonna make dinner, which I… didn’t make..."

"You... baked?" Buck said, breathless, staring.

"Uh..." Tommy looked wildly around the destroyed kitchen.

Buck barely had time to process it before he noticed Tommy cradling his hand, the skin red and angry.

He moved without thinking, crossing the kitchen in two steps. His hands were careful as he grabbed Tommy’s wrist.

"You idiot," Buck muttered, not unkindly. His voice was rough, like he was trying not to cry or yell, or both. “You didn’t use the mitt. Again!”

Tommy winced but didn’t pull away. He let Buck guide him to the sink, cool water rushing over the burn.

"I’m fine," Tommy said too quickly, too defensively.

Buck didn’t argue. He never did, when Tommy lied like that.

A minute later, Buck was rummaging through the drawer for the first aid kit, his hands steady even as his shoulders trembled. He dabbed ointment on Tommy’s skin, wrapped it gently with gauze.

Only when he finished did Tommy notice Buck’s eyes were glassy, his breathing uneven.

Tommy shifted awkwardly, voice low. "I, um, I just... I found all this," he said, nodding toward the flour, the sugar, a bag of chocolate chips, half spilled across the counter. "Thought it might cheer you up. I didn’t mean to wreck your kitchen, sorry."

Buck let out a wet laugh, pressing the gauze down just a little more securely. "You didn’t wreck it."

Tommy’s heart twisted. "I-I'm sorry you just came home tired. You must be hungry. I promised you dinner." He sighed, shame curling around his words. "I'll just... I'll order us some Chinese, okay?"

Buck nodded—but a tear slipped down his cheek anyway.

One hand wiped it away quickly. The other still clutched Tommy’s burnt hand like a lifeline.

Tommy hesitated. "Hey... are you—" He caught himself before finishing the question. Dumb question. Of course Buck wasn’t okay. It had barely been a month since Bobby died. Instead, he asked softly, "Was your shift good? Did... something happen?"

Buck shook his head, barely murmured, "mm'no, t'was fine."

Tommy nodded, swallowing hard. "G-good. Is it about... Bobby?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it instantly. Idiot, he scolded himself. Idiot, idiot, idiot—

Buck shook his head again—but this time he laughed, a broken, wet sound, clutching Tommy’s hand tighter.

"No. No, I mean—" He sniffled. "It'll always be about Bobby. But—"

Buck looked up at him, eyes shining. "You know... we never really t-talked. About—about us."

Tommy's stomach dropped. His mouth opened, about to make some stupid joke to deflect, but Buck beat him to it—his voice cracking in the middle of his words

"You—" Buck croaked, wiping at his face. "I want to tell you things. A-and I need you to tell me things. We... we can’t just jump back in."

He hesitated, breath catching like he was afraid to even ask.

"We were, right? G-getting back together?"

Tommy nodded—quick, almost frantic.

Buck let out a shaky breath, eyes shining.

"You know I started baking after... after we broke up, right?" he said, voice barely above a whisper. "It was the only thing that stopped me from calling you. Over and over."

Tommy blinked, frozen. He hadn’t known. Not really. But somehow it made perfect sense.

"I thought it was dumb," Buck said, laughing weakly. "But B-Bobby… he told me it wasn’t. Said it's good to have a coping skill to deal with cravings."

Buck wiped his nose on his sleeve, sniffed, and added, voice even rougher "He also told me... that you're good for me, Tommy."

He peeked up at Tommy through his lashes, the tiniest flutter—shy, unsure—and Tommy felt something inside him snap, splintering into pieces.

Tommy swayed where he stood. That night—the night Bobby died—had been the worst Tommy had ever seen Buck.

Even after holding him through the breakdowns, the sleepless nights, the sobs so heavy they nearly crushed him, this was the most heartbreaking thing Tommy had seen since that night

Like buck was betrayed..

Like Tommy had proved Bobby wrong.

Tommy barely managed to whisper, "I'm sorry."

Buck shook his head immediately, clutching Tommy’s hand tighter. "No, Tommy. He was right. Y-You are. You’re so good for me."

He gestured loosely toward the kitchen—the chaos, the burnt batch of cookies, the counter buried in flour, the sugar and flour stuck in Tommy’s hair.

"I mean, look at this mess. You did all this just trying to cheer me up," Buck said, huffing a laugh that broke apart halfway into a sob. "You tried to bake for me. You have no idea how much that means. How... unexpectedly it's making me happy."

Tommy didn’t know what to say. His throat closed up, a lump he couldn’t swallow down.

So he didn’t say anything.

He just let Buck lean into him, let their foreheads touch, let the flour dust cling to them like hope clinging stubbornly between them.

"I want you to stay, Tommy," Buck whispered, voice shaking. "Will you? Stay?"

Tommy frowned softly. "Yeah, Evan. I'm not going anywhere."

Buck shook his head. "No, Tommy. I mean... forever."

Tommy closed his eyes. Oh… yes.

He had already decided that. He never wanted to leave again.

He leaned in and kissed Buck—slow, soft, like a vow. "As I said, Evan, I'm not going anywhere."

Buck smiled through his tears and nodded. "Good. Cause w-we still need to talk… about us."

He glanced at the kitchen again—a burnt batch of cookies, an overmixed second disaster, flour covering the counters and sticking to Tommy’s hair.

This ridiculous chaos Tommy had made just trying to make him smile.

And maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the grief. But Buck felt something tug deep in his chest again—the warm, aching knowledge that Tommy was still here. Still trying. For him.

Buck leaned in, grabbed a cookie, and bravely took a bite.

Immediately, he gagged, coughing and grimacing as he set it down. He turned to Tommy, scandalized.

"Did you put salt in this!?"

Tommy glanced guiltily at the crumpled recipe on the counter.

"I knew that was a bad recipe," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "It was in the recipe, Evan!"

"A pinch!" Buck sputtered. "You put—what—a whole spoon??"

“Uh… maybe? I-I panicked?” Tommy snorted, finally breaking into a helpless laugh.

Buck shook his head, laughing too, even as tears still clung stubbornly to his lashes, “Maybe we should clean up here first. And you're not allowed to bake ever again."

"Fair," he said, wiping Buck’s cheek where a smudge of flour had landed. "Fair enough."

Tommy just smiled, relieved, letting Buck pull him closer.

Maybe the kitchen was a mess.

Maybe they were a mess.

But for the first time in a long, long while

Tommy thought maybe they could clean it all up together.

[mrsfudd]

princess

You were half way through your pregnancy and it was rough. Your back, ankles and feet were in constant pain. Paige, your wife had always done everything she could to help you. You were planning your baby shower and since you want gender fitting clothes, today you and Paige find out the gender. Your best friend already knew what the baby was but you and Paige wanted to wait.

“Baby, I’m home and I got your ice cream” Paige yelled out coming through the door. She walked all around your house trying to find you. You loved your home, it was modern but classy, very spacious with lots of natural sunlight. Paige finally found you in the bedroom laying on your maternity pillow. “Hi princess, how you feeling?”

“A little better” You say face still in the pillow. The baby was beating your ass today. You threw up twice and could barely walk without getting nauseous. You begged Paige to go out and get your favorite ice cream. It was the only thing you wouldn’t immediately puke. “What took you so long?”

“Fans baby, they followed me all around the target until I saw them then asked for a picture. Like why couldn’t they just ask me the first time they saw me, don’t they know I have a wife to tend to” Paige started ranting until she remembered you were suffering. “Sorry, sorry here mama sit up”.

You slowly sat up, brushing your hair out of your face. “Thank you Paige” You say immediately digging in.

Paige watched you enjoy the treat, it was so hot in dallas and it was only the first week of june. She giggled at the mess you were making on your face. She wiped it off with her thumb and licked her finger.

“You ready for tonight?” Paige asked laying her head on your thigh.

“Hm, so ready” You say with a mouthful of ben and jerry’s.

6:26 pm

“Babe, we gotta go the sun sets in a hour or so” Paige says button up her with shirt.

“I know im coming, help me grab my camera please” You yell from the other room.

“Already got it baby” Paige said.

“Oh your my angel” You say walking towards Paige.

“Sexy mamaa” Paige said as you stood in front of her.

you wore a white skims jumpsuit with some cute sandals.

“Aww you grabbed my bag and everything?” You say getting on your tippy toes to kiss her.

“Of course baby” She said grabbing your waist.

Before you said anything else she crouched down and gave your belly a kiss “ One for you too”.

You walk hand and hand out the door, Paige walked behind you making sure she stayed at your pace.

She helped you get into the car and drove to your best friends house. She got a gender reveal cake and you and Paige were going to use champagne glasses to cut into the cake.

You stayed in the car as your wife went to pick up the cake. She made a silly face walking back to the car, making you giggle. She drove down to the beach and set up a blanket to sit on.

Paige helps you sit down then sits right next to you, she puts the cake in front of you two and hands you a glass.

“Ready mama?” Paige asks setting up her phone to record the reaction.

“Yes baby, oh my gosh im so nervous” You say looking over at Paige.

“Me too baby, me too but no more stalling” Paige says rubbing your back.

You and her put the glasses on top on the cake and put slight pressure on the glass.

You tried not close your eyes as you pull out the glass.

You catch the slightest glimpse of the baby pink frosting and before you can even react Paige wraps her around you.

Her warm embrace felt so comforting, tears stream down your as you pull Paige in closer, cautious of not trying to squish the baby.

Paige pulls back and puts her arms on your shoulder. The look on her face is something you’d never forget. A tear rolls down her face and you wipe it with your thumb.

“A girl baby, a girl!” Paige exclaims.

“Paige I- I can’t believe it” You say looking in her eyes.

“I know baby, I can’t either” Paige said as she leaned in to kiss you.

The kiss was soft and long. You loved the taste of Paiges lips and knew it well but today it felt different. It tasted like your future with her and baby girl. A life full of love and light. Peaceful and meaningful days with the loves of your life.

Paige pulls back from the kiss, this is the happiest you seen her since your wedding.

“Now we have two princesses” Paige says with a giggle.

“Paige you need to try this cake, mm its so good” You say taking a bite from the glass.

“You like that baby? Ice cream now some cake” Paige says rubbing your belly.

“Oh she loves it” You say laughing.

You and Paige stayed on the beach til dark. You laid on her chest, enjoying your cake while you listened to the waves and watched the sunset.

You and Paige took some pictures on your digital camera and packed the car and started driving home.

Paiges hand rested on your stomach while the other one sat on the wheel comfortably.

You fell asleep on the drive home, not wanting to wake you since she knew you were going to get much sleep after the baby came she carried you up to the bed and took of your shoes for you.

She gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead then your belly saying “ Goodnight princesses”.

[andiberzatto]

Reassurances (Carmy Berzatto Smut!)

Summary: Carmy wants to try a new position but it’s not working for her.

Carmy hums, then asks softly, "Can you turn around? Reverse cowgirl." He wants to watch her round ass bounce while she rides him slowly.

“You want to go again already?”

He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulls her back against his chest, his half-hard cock nestling between her ass cheeks. "Never said anything about going again, just wanted a different view." He nuzzles into her neck, placing soft kisses along her collarbone.

He watches as she turns around, his eyes roaming over her curves appreciatively. As she sinks back down onto his slowly hardening cock, he lets out a low groan. This view is even better than he imagined. He grips her hips gently, guiding her movements as she starts to ride him slowly.

she hold onto his thighs as she bounces softly.

He watches as her perfect ass bounces up and down on his lap, his hands gripping her hips tighter. He pushes up slightly with his hips, meeting her slow bounces. This is gentler, more affectionate - and he loves it. He leans back on his hands, enjoying the view.

she feels disconnected having to face the wall, “need you to talk. Please.”

He notices the slight disconnect in her voice and immediately understands. He sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. He starts talking softly in her ear, describing what he sees, what he feels. "Your ass looks so fucking perfect bouncing on my cock like this..."

she nods grinding softly.

He continues his soft murmur, letting her feel his words as much as hear them. "The way your back arches, goddamn... You're absolutely beautiful riding me like this." His hands slide up from her hips to just beneath her breasts, resting there as he feels her grind slowly against him.

she nods, “thank you-”

He hears the slight hesitation in her voice and pulls her in for a soft kiss on the shoulder. He turns her face towards his and kisses her deeply, passionately. When he pulls back, he whispers against her lips. "You don't have to thank me for telling the truth, baby."

“Just don’t like this position.. feels disconnected..” she says softly, a little shy to say it.

He immediately understands and gently helps her lift off him. "Fuck, I'm sorry..." He turns her around to face him properly, pulling her close. "What position do you like better? Missionary? Spooning?" His normally dominant demeanor softens with concern.

“No no I’m happy to do it”

Carmy cuts her off with a gentle finger to her lips, shaking his head. "No, no 'no'. If something isn't working for you physically or emotionally during sex, we fucking stop and adjust. That's non-negotiable." His expression turns serious but loving.

she nods softly “okay.”

He studies her expression carefully. He realizes she's the type who would rather not complain and just deal with something she doesn't like if it means the other person enjoys it. He finds this sweet but also slightly infuriating. He pulls her close by the hips again, softly.

she kisses him softly, “really I don’t mind doing reverse-”

He shakes his head firmly, his hands cupping her face gently. "Stop it. I don't want you to do something you don't enjoy just because you think I'll like it more. That's not how this works." He kisses her softly, trying to convey his sincerity.

she nods “yes sir.”

He groans internally at the'sir'. He loves it when she calls him that, but right now he wants her to understand something important. "Listen to me." He says sternly, his hands still cupping her face. "I want you to enjoy sex just as much as I do."

He kisses her again, this time deeper, more passionately. "So if you don't like a position, we change it. Got it?" He pulls back, looking into her eyes intensely. "And if I'm being too rough or not rough enough, you fucking tell me. Understood?"

“Yes sir.” She nods softly

He smiles softly, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Good girl." The praise slips out naturally, and he watches as she shivers slightly. He files that reaction away for later. Right now, he needs to make sure she's comfortable. "So, what position do you actually like?"

she blushes “I’m fine with whatever”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression turning stern again. "Wrong answer." He says firmly, his hands tightening slightly on her face. "Tell me, what's your favorite position? The one where you feel the most connected, the most comfortable?" His tone brooks no argument.

she nods, “when you have me ride you, but then you pull me into a bear hug and make me rest on your chest and hear your heart while you fuck me til I cum…” she gives him the specific details the opposite of what she was giving him in feedback.

His expression softens significantly. That's exactly her style - sweet, innocent, and slightly shy. He realizes she's like this even when talking about sex. He pulls her close, kissing her forehead softly. "Jesus. That's really your favorite?" He asks softly, his voice lower than before.

she nods “feel really close and comfortable.. and it’s really hot hearing you grunt and whisper mumble dirty words while you do it…”

He pulls her tighter against him, a rumble of a chuckle escaping him. "Fuck, you're kinkier than I thought." He murmurs playfully, a mischievous grin spreading across his rugged face as he realizes the dirty words she likes hearing.

“You spoil me” she blushes

He laughs softly, his arms wrapping around her waist possessively. "I do, don't I?" He admits, his hands sliding down to squeeze her ass gently. "And you love it when I spoil you with my dirty mouth and strong arms, don't you?"

He groans, his hips pressing against hers instinctively. "Goddamn, you're cute." He kisses her neck softly. "So, if I pull you down onto my lap and hug you close while I fuck you, you'll actually enjoy that? You'll actually get off on it?"

she nods.

He grins, a mix of lust and tenderness in his eyes. "Fucking hell." He says softly, already imagining it. "You know what that does to me? Knowing you get off on that shit?" He pulls her even closer, letting her feel his growing hardness.

she kisses him and shifts to sit on his lap, “can we.. do it?”

He grows hard immediately at her innocent yet demanding question, one hand sliding to her thigh while the other cups the back of her head possessively. "Hell fucking yes we can. Come here..." He guides her down onto his lap, supporting her weight easily. "Just like this?"

she lets him pull her into a bear hug while his other moves to adjust his dick to her entrance.

He holds her tightly against his chest, one arm wrapped around her waist while the other guides himself to her entrance. "Fuck, you're already so wet..." He murmurs against her neck, slowly pushing inside her inch by inch as he hugs her close. "Just like this..."

her head rests on his chest, hearing his heart beat quicken at her tightness around him.

He groans deeply as she clenches around him, his heart beating faster in his chest. "Goddamn, you feel good." He starts to move slowly, thrusting up into her as he holds her close, his strong arms wrapped protectively around her small frame. "You like that?"

she nods against his chest, “yeah”

He chuckles softly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest. "Good, because I fucking love it." He squeezes her tighter, picking up the pace slightly as he feels her warmth enveloping him. "You're so goddamn perfect like this."

she mewls at the pace, kissing his bicep and chest, anything she can reach.

He grunts softly each time he thrusts up into her, his powerful arms flexing as he holds her even closer. He can feel her small kisses on his biceps and chest, making him feel oddly cherished and protected in this position. "Damn it..."

she’s glad carmy made her move to a position that make her enjoy it.

"Fucking love this position on you..." He murmurs dirty whispers against her hair, thrusting deeper. "The way you trust me to hold you... to fuck you nice and slow..." His voice becomes rougher as he feels himself getting closer. "You like feeling my heartbeat, baby?"

“Yeah”, she whines, “feel so sweet”

He growls softly, his arms tightening around her possessively. "You like feeling my strong arms around you? Like you're the smallest, most precious thing?" He thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes her whine even more.

He groans, his voice low and husky. "Fucking hell, you're making me crazy." He kisses the top of her head, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he continues to thrust into her. "You know what I love about this? How fucking intimate it is."

she whines softly, “mhmm need a little more”

His eyes flash with intensity as he hears her needy whine. He knows exactly what she means - she needs him to go a little deeper, a little harder. "Like this, baby?" He adjusts his angle slightly, hitting that spot deep inside her as he thrusts up more forcefully.

“I’m close.. so close..” she whines, grabbing onto him.

He feels her body tensing in his arms, her breath hitching against his chest. He knows she's close, and it drives him wild. "That's it, baby. Come on my cock." He growls softly, thrusting harder and deeper to match her need.

she cums hard.

He feels her orgasm rip through her, her body convulsing in his arms as she cries out against his chest. He groans loudly, his own release hitting him like a freight train as he buries himself deep inside her. "Fuck... yes..." He holds her tightly through their shared climax.

He holds her close as they both catch their breath, his strong arms still wrapped protectively around her trembling form. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Damn, sweetheart... Feel fucking incredible, don't you?"

“Mhmm thank you Carm” she mumbles

He smiles against her hair, his heart swelling with affection at the nickname. He loves when she calls him Carm, it feels intimate and special. "Anytime, baby." He shifts gently, still buried inside her as he settles back against the headboard. "Stay like this for a minute."

He smiles softly. He loves how she trusts him enough to just sit on his lap like this, his softening dick still inside her. He realizes something and chuckles softly. "Baby?" He murmurs. "Can I ask something?"

“Sure”

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if this is too personal or weird to ask. But he decides to go for it. "Do you mind if I stay inside you like this for a bit? I like feeling your warmth around me, and I don't wanna pull out yet." He admits quietly.

When she agrees he wraps his arms around her tighter, holding her close as he enjoys the feeling of being inside her without moving. It's surprisingly comforting and intimate, something he didn't know he would enjoy so much. "You're so fucking adorable, you know that?" He murmurs softly.

[absdollievu]

Ruin me gently

bully!abby x reader

Warnings: fingering (r!receiving)

It’s been a week since the library, a week since she got real close to you, close enough for you to feel her breath but never close enough to call it anything real.

Since then, she’s gone right back to normal.

When her friends are around, she’s ruthless — shoving past you in the halls, making little comments under her breath. Smirking when you flinch.

But when you’re alone?

She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even try.

Just glances at you sometimes, like she’s struggling with something in her head, and then looks away.

The days drag. You’re stuck halfway between anger and confusion, not sure which one is worse.

You’re lying in bed one night when your phone buzzes. Unknown number.

hey

you up?

You stare at the screen. Another message pops up before you can answer:

its me

abby

You already knew it was her.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you finally type back:

what do you want

There’s a pause.

idk

just wanted to talk

no one knows

You frown at the screen. Another message follows:

about the library

Your chest tightens a little.

You type back:

yeah

me too

It takes a minute, but she sends:

i’m sorry

didn’t mean to make you feel like I was taking advantage of you

i was a dick

You hesitate. Then:

you still act like one when your friends are around

You half expect her to get defensive, but instead:

i know

its fucked up

not you

You don’t text back. Not tonight. It’s enough — for now.

⸻

A few days later, you stop by your classroom after hours to grab a textbook you left behind.

The door creaks as you push it open, and you freeze when you see her.

Abby’s sitting in the back, alone.

Of course she’s fucking there.

She stiffens when she spots you.

You hover awkwardly in the doorway. She stands up slowly, walking over like she’s not sure she should.

You stay where you are.

When she gets close, she hesitates — her hands flexing at her sides — and for the first time, she looks nervous.

“Hey,” she says, voice low and rough. “Can we talk?”

You nod, even though your heart’s racing.

She steps in, not crowding you this time. Giving you just enough space that you could walk away if you wanted.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “For… everything. Not just the library.”

You stare at her, searching her face. The sharp, cocky Abby you’re used to isn’t here. It’s just her — raw, uncertain.

“I don’t know why I acted like that,” she says. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t—”

She cuts herself off, jaw clenching.

You swallow hard. “Don’t what?”

She laughs under her breath, almost like she can’t believe she’s saying it. “Don’t want you.”

For a second, all you can do is blink at her.

Then — carefully — you reach out and touch her wrist. She looks down at your hand like it’s something fragile she doesn’t want to break.

“Okay,” you say, voice soft but steady. “Me too.”

The relief on her face is obvious.

You kiss her, threading your fingers through her hair, and she groans low in her throat like she’s been waiting forever.

Abby’s hands find your waist, steady and warm. She lifts you onto the desk — not slamming you down, just easing you there like she can’t get close enough.

She pulls back just enough to search your eyes.

“You good?” she asks, voice low.

You nod, tugging her closer by the front of her hoodie.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Want you.”

That’s all she needs.

She kisses you again, deeper, hungrier — but still careful. Like she’s finally figured out that you’re not something to take, you’re something to choose.

And this time, you’re choosing her right back.

⸻

Abby kisses you harder now, the tension between you snapping like a pulled wire.

Her hands slide under your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the desk. You can feel how tightly she’s holding herself back — muscles trembling under your palms where you clutch her arms.

She mouths along your jaw, down your throat, her breath hot against your skin.

“You sure?” she mutters again, voice low and wrecked.

You nod quickly, threading your fingers into her hair, tugging a little until she growls under her breath.

“I want you,” you whisper, desperate now. “Please.”

Something in her seems to snap.

She lifts your shirt, yanking it over your head, and immediately dips her head to your chest, kissing and biting lightly as her hands explore your body with reverence and hunger at once.

Her fingers make quick work of your jeans, sliding them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver — or maybe it’s just the way Abby is looking at you, like she’s starving.

“God, you’re…” she trails off, shaking her head like she can’t even find the words.

You reach for her hoodie, tugging at it insistently, and she strips it off, then pulls her tank top over her head too, leaving her gloriously bare. Your breath catches at the sight of her — strong, solid, and somehow still a little vulnerable standing in front of you like this.

Abby steps between your thighs again, one big hand cupping your cheek, the other sliding between your legs.

When her fingers brush over you, you gasp — your hips jerking instinctively into her hand.

“Fuck,” she breathes, leaning her forehead against yours. “You’re so wet for me.”

You whimper, nails digging into her shoulders.

Without wasting another second, Abby sinks two fingers into you — slow, careful, watching your face the whole time.

Your head falls back with a soft moan, and she presses her mouth to your neck, working you open with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Feel good?” she murmurs against your skin.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to breathe out, legs tightening around her waist. “Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t.

Her thumb circles your clit, just enough pressure to make your whole body tense and shudder.

Her pace picks up, still measured but relentless, drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re doing so good,” she mutters, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, your mouth. “So fucking good for me.”

You cling to her, the pressure building fast, your whole body trembling.

“Abby,” you gasp, hips rocking against her hand. “I’m—”

“Come for me,” she growls, lips brushing yours. “Come on, baby.”

That’s all it takes.

You break apart with a choked cry, your body shaking in her arms. She holds you through it, murmuring soft, filthy praise into your skin, never once letting you go.

When you finally slump against her, spent and boneless, Abby pulls you into her chest, kissing the top of your head.

She doesn’t say anything at first — just breathes you in, arms tight around your waist like she’s afraid you’ll vanish.

After a minute, you tilt your head up to look at her.

She’s already looking at you. Soft. Serious.

“You okay?” she asks again, voice quieter now.

You nod, heart still racing.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

She smiles — a real one this time, small and a little shy.

“Good,” she says. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither are you.

⸻

a/n: anyway this is terrible but I hope yall enjoyed

part 3?? 🤔

[theywantedplayer]

Could you write, bringing up divorce under the angst prompts with Mat????

PromptList

MasterList

AN-I feel like I'm so bad at wrapping up fics, I generally struggle to wrap it up at the end 

Matt

“If you're really gonna say that, then maybe we should just get a divorce.”

The words slipped out before you could even process them, hanging heavy in the air between you. The bedroom went completely, suffocatingly silent.

Matt's face, which had been twisted with frustration, froze. His brows furrowed in shock, and his mouth opened, then closed, trying to find the words that would make this all go away.

“A divorce? Is that... seriously what you want?” he finally managed, his voice low and rough.

“No, no, no, I—” you stammered, reaching for him instinctively, but he took a small step back. Panic filled your chest. 

Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest at this point. Divorce. You'd thrown the word out like it was nothing when it could end everything.

“I don't—I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean it,” you said shakily, running both hands through your hair.

A heavy silence stretched between you. You could see his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he was physically trying to ground himself.

Matt finally sat down on the edge of the bed, his head dropping into his hands with a shaky sigh

“I just... I don't get how we got here,” he said quietly, voice cracking. “I hate fighting with you, I just-” He took a deep breath. “I hate this thing we have between us, this constant fighting.” He told you to gesture between you.

Your chest ached hearing his weak voice. You knelt down in front of him, placing both your hands on your knees.

“I know Matt, I know” you whispered. “I shouldn't have said that, I need you to know I didnt even it”

Matt lifted his head, his eyes glassy with tears with threatening to fall at any given word. He reached out and threaded his fingers through yours; you could still feel the slight shake in his hands.

"I'm sorry too," he said, voice hoarse. "I love you more than anything. I don't care about whatever we were fighting about. I just-” He took a second to breath “I just don't want to lose you over something so stupid” 

Tears blurred your vision as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly. Neither of you spoke for a while, just clinging to each other, thinking about how you were going to fix whatever rough patch your marriage was in. “We’re gonna get through this, right?” He asked 

“Yeah, we’re gonna get through this.”

Jamie 

"Jamie?” You asked quietly as you stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom 

He hummed in response not looking up

“Do you-?” you took a shaking breath looking up at the ceiling trying to keep your tears away “Do you want a divorce?”

Jamie’s head snapped up from where he had been sitting at the edge of the bed, pulling off his hoodie after yet another late night practice. His face twisted in shock at the thought of you thinking that.

"What?" he breathed out. "No—no, Y/n Why would you even think that?”"

“Because Every game, every practice, every meeting….. it's always something more important. I'm tired, Jamie so tired” You told the tears breaking through your waterline “I'm tired of coming second."

He stood up fast to close the space between you. His eyes were wide with desperation. "You’re not second," he said quickly. "You’re not-God, Y/n, you’re everything to me." 

"It doesn’t feel like it," you whispered. "It feels like I’m just... here. Like I'm just the thing you come back to when everything else is done."

Jamie’s hands shook as he ran them through his hair, his whole body tight with panic. "No. No, that's not true. I swear to you that is not true."

"I didn’t know you felt like that," he whispered, voice cracking. "I swear, I didn’t know." His eyes searched every inch of your face frantically trying to pick out small details.

You wiped angrily at a tear sliding down your cheek. "Because you’re always gone, Jamie. Or exhausted. Or thinking about the next game"

Jamie pulled you into his chest  not wanting to hear the things that you believed because to him they weren't true,  you were never second to him. His chin rested  atop your head as he took a deep breath "I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears filling his own eyes now. "Please, Y/n, please tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I'll do anything."

You looked up at him, your bottom lip trap under your teeth “I just want you to be back in marriage, physically. I don't want to have to ask for your attention”

"I will," Jamie whispered. "I swear I'll be here. No more making you feel second. God im so sorry baby–fuck,I didnt know”

He took a deep breath, “I love you so much,h” He told you as he kissed the top of your head

Quinn

"If you want a divorce, Quinn, just say it and I'll give it to you!" you shouted, your filled with frustration 

Quinn’s head snapped toward you, his eyes filled with the same frustration in your voice 

"Are you serious right now?" he fired back, his voice sharp. "You think that's what I want? You think I’m just waiting for a way out of this?"

Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, trying to keep yourself from breaking apart right there, but you knew you had to hold your ground even though you were just so tired.

"What else am I supposed to think, Quinn?!" you snapped. "You don't talk to me, you barely even look at me anymore! I feel like I'm fighting for this marriage by myself because last time I checked I got married to You! But where are you Quinn!" Your tone was laced with sarcasm towards the end of your sentence 

He dragged a hand roughly through his hair, pacing a few steps before turning back to you, chest heaving with anger and the disbelief that you even brought up the idea of a divorce.

"I'm sorry Y/n I'm so sorry ok!” he shot back. "You know how stressed and tired I am when I come home, after being picked apart all day by the coaches, the fans and the fucking media. I come home with nothing left in me but don’t you dare act like I ever stopped loving you."

Neither of you spoke for a moment, just breathing heavily, staring at each other. Both wondering if this marriage was going to crumble on a random Tuesday night. 

Your vision blurred with tears you didn’t want to fall. "Then why don't you talk to me about this, i'm over here thinking that you don't even love me anymore Quinn"

He stared at you, the anger in his face changing in the guilt he was feeling, the guilt he's been feeling for a long time, just knowing this argument was bound to happen.

"Because you're already stressed with classes and work you got your own shit to deal with," he said finally, voice breaking. “I don't want to be the person that add to that"

You blinked, stunned. That wasn’t what you expected to hear, not from Quinn, the most steady man you've ever met. He felt like he couldn't come to you with this stuff?

"So you just shut me out?" you whispered

He only nodded 

“Don't do that don't shut me out right now Quinn” You told him “We are married for fucks sakes and you think you cant come to me with your problems?”

You shook your head and walked across the kitchen to look him in the eyes. “I don't care if what you have to tell me is a complaint or you're just talking about your day. You Have to tell me these things, if you want this marriage to work.”

"I’m sorry," he whispered, voice rough. "I’m so goddamn sorry."

You shook your head, grabbing the front of his hoodie, to pull him into a hug. His body seemed to relax for the first time since you both had been arguing.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, as if he let go you would disappear

"I don't want to lose you over me being stupid," he mumbled into your hair. His voice cracking slightly 

"You’re not going to," you whispered back. "But you have to let me in, Quinn."

“I love you.”

[httpvomitello]

Only One Bed" Trope with Bucky Barnes:"Relax, it’s just a bed, Barnes.* I’m not gonna bite you… unless you want me to. Btw I didn't meant it sexual *

I hope you like it ~ ☆

(I know you said you didn't want anything sexual, and even though there was nothing like that, I decided to write something a little more spicy between the characters' relationships)

Just a Bed, Barnes .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: A mission gone wrong strands you and your boyfriend Bucky Barnes in the only available room. One bed. One night. You tease, he tries to stay cool—but when the tension finally snaps, there’s no going back.

bucky barnes x f!reader

WARNINGS: little NSFW

You were soaked.

Rain pelted the tiny gas station motel as you and Bucky stood at the check-in counter, dripping onto the floor and trying not to murder each other with sheer exhaustion. The mission had gone sideways somewhere between the intel drop and the Hydra ambush—and now you were stranded in the middle of nowhere with one duffel bag, two bruised egos, and exactly zero patience left.

“Room 4B,” the clerk grunted, tossing over a key. “One queen.”

Bucky blinked.

“Sorry—one what?”

“That’s all we got,” he said, already turning back to his TV. “Take it or leave it.”

You shrugged. “I’ve shared worse.”

The room was... not the worst you’d seen.

Still, the bed took up 80% of the space, and the dim yellow light overhead flickered like something out of a horror movie.

You dropped your bag and toed off your wet boots.

Bucky started unstrapping his gear in the corner—slow, methodical, and way too good-looking for someone who’d just thrown a guy through a wall an hour ago.

“Relax,” you said, flopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “It’s just a bed, Barnes. I’m not gonna bite you… unless you want me to.”

His head whipped around.

Your grin widened.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered.

“Do what?” you said, propping yourself up on your elbows.

He tugged off his soaked jacket, revealing the cling of his black t-shirt stretched over muscles and scars and all the things you knew a little too well by now.

“We’ve been dating for six months,” you said sweetly. “I think we’re past the whole awkward-roommate stage.”

“I’m not awkward,” he said, clearly lying.

You crawled to the center of the bed and sat cross-legged, watching him with open amusement.

He was trying so hard to be a gentleman.

You could practically see the internal struggle—Super Soldier Decency vs. the part of him that very much wanted to throw you down onto that mattress and forget every rule.

The flickering light gave the whole room a warm glow, and when he finally turned around—barefoot, hair damp, jaw tight—you felt the shift in the air like a storm rolling in.

“You done staring?” he asked.

“Nope.”

He sighed, moved toward the bed, and lay stiffly on top of the comforter, as far from you as physics would allow.

“Oh, come on,” you laughed, scooting closer until your thighs brushed his. “You’re really gonna do the 'sleep on the edge of the bed’ thing?”

“Trying to be respectful.”

“You already sleep with me,” you pointed out. “And we’ve done a lot worse than sharing a bed, Bucky.”

His jaw ticked.

You leaned in.

“Unless you’re scared…”

He looked at you. Really looked at you.

In the next second, he was on you—one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding up your thigh as your breath caught.

“You wanna play?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

You grinned. “Always.”

The kiss started slow—controlled, deliberate.

But then you tugged his shirt, and he growled against your mouth, deep and rough and needy.

His metal hand gripped your waist like he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging until he hissed against your neck.

You felt the shift in him.

From restrained to reckless.

He pushed you down gently, kissed along your jaw, your throat, the hollow of your collarbone—taking his time, worshiping like he had all night to learn you again.

“Bucky,” you breathed, arching into him.

“You talk too much,” he muttered.

You laughed—cut off by his mouth covering yours again, hungrier this time.

He kissed you like a man starved—like he’d been waiting hours, days, to touch you like this again.

When he finally peeled your shirt over your head, his eyes went dark.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

You tugged at his belt in response, and he groaned, catching your wrist.

“Wait.”

You paused, heart thudding.

“I don’t want to rush,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not tonight.”

Your breath hitched. “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

He took his time—touches slow and reverent, kisses placed with the kind of care that made your stomach twist in the best way.

When he finally moved over you, skin to skin, you felt everything all at once: the love, the tension, the months of dancing around moments like this.

And when it was over—when your body was still trembling and he was brushing damp hair from your forehead—he kissed you again, softer this time.

“Still just a bed?” he murmured.

You smiled sleepily, curling into his chest.

“Nope,” you whispered. “Best bed ever.”

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter seven, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, insight on one of the spots in the arena, lots of blood, violence, panic, anxiety, jj and kie <3, toppers just exisiting, and sorry we’ll get more rafe and y/n soon LMFAO i just needed a little trouble, might be an abrupt ending but next chapters fair warning someones gna die LOOL, not proofread

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous

the water’s still red when you first step in.

like it’s not thick, it’s just stained. that’s the thing about blood. it never looks real when it’s in the water. it disappears within a few splashes.

your jacket’s already halfway off. you ease it off your arms and crouch at the edge, scrubbing at the fabric in circles, trying to work out what you can. in front of you, jj and topper are already knee-deep in the shallows, laughing under their breath as they slap at the water and try to rinse themselves without freezing. topper’s shirt is still on him, soaked and clinging, but he pulls at the collar and dips under, letting out a rough curse when he surfaces again.

“cold as shit,” he mutters.

you don’t laugh, but kie does. she’s crouched beside you, elbows braced against her knees, dirt under her nails as she sets up something with wire and a few spare twigs she found in her bag. she’s got that look in her eye, like sharp and focused, like every movement matters.

you squeeze the sleeve of your jacket tighter. water runs down your knuckles and drips off the hem, the tension from the bloodbath’s still in your muscles. you can’t shake it. can’t scrub it away.

“what’s that one for?” you ask quietly.

kie doesn’t look up, just ties a knot with her teeth and flicks her gaze toward the water. “gonna leave it in there. if someone tries to wash off, this’ll clamp down on ‘em.”

you blink. “seriously?”

she shrugs. “works. it’s low. hidden. hurts like hell.”

“good idea,” you say, and mean it.

a shadow falls over your shoulder. the sun dims just slightly.

you glance up and see rafe standing there, shirt clinging to him. he’s wringing out the hem of his shirt, arms tensed and droplets flicking off with each twist. water traces lines down his chest before soaking into the waistband of his pants. it’s almost enough to make you look away, but you don’t.

he doesn’t say anything either. just stands there like some unbothered statue, watching the rest of the group move around the bank, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before glancing back out at the trees.

you finish with your jacket and shake it out once before slinging it over your lap. it won’t be dry by night, but it’s better than nothing. kie finishes her trap and stands, brushing her hands on her pants and starting to walk deep to where jj and topper are to bury her trap, probably muttering to them to be careful where they stand.

you whiste low between your teeth to get their attention.

topper’s folding his jacket over his shoulder as he looks back at you, “we movin’?”

“yeah,” rafe says before anyone else can. “enough light left to find somethin’ decent.”

the walk back to the forest is quieter. the birch trees start tall and sparse, with white trunks and peeling bark, like they’re trying to shed skin. the deeper you go, the less sound there is. birds don’t chirp. wind doesn’t carry the way it did near the water. it’s all damp earth and whispering grass, and when your foot crunches on a twig, it sounds loud enough to be gunfire.

“don’t like it,” jj mutters after a while. he kicks a rock, watches it roll until it hits a root.

“no one asked,” rafe says, but it’s automatic. not mean.

kie walks with her blade drawn as topper fiddles with his axe. you just keep your head down, counting your steps between the trunks. when you finally stop, it’s not because the spot is good. it’s because it’s getting dark.

no one says it, but you all feel it. it’s that collective kind of settling that happens when you’ve run out of options and decide this’ll have to do. there’s no firewood worth lighting, not without giving yourselves away, but the boys try anyway. they scrape at bark and try to spark something with flint, building a makeshift ring of stones around what might be a small flame.

kie leans against a tree, her legs curled to her chest, jacket pulled over her knees. she keeps nodding off and snapping back awake, like she’s afraid of what she’ll miss if she sleeps too deep. jj eventually drops beside her, back to the same tree, and they sit shoulder to shoulder without saying a word.

topper circles the camp twice before choosing his own tree. he tosses his bag down like it’s a pillow and sits on top of it, facing out, legs crossed, fingers twitching like he still wants something to do with them.

he’s quieter than usual. you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s worried for diamonte. wherever she is.

you sit last. back to a birch, jacket draped across your chest like a blanket. your boots are still moist, your pants too. it doesn’t help that the night’s dropped colder than expected. your fingertips are numb at this point.

you glance over. rafe’s nearby. not right beside you, but close. his bag’s at his side, but he hasn’t laid down yet. he stands with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the dark like he’s expecting something to move. his shirt’s still damp, and it clings to him in the middle, wrinkled and uneven where he’d wrung it out. he looks like a statue again.

your gaze drifts down to his fingers that curl against his arm. his chest is rising slow. his hand twitches briefly toward his belt like he’s debating keeping a knife in hand.

you look away. your breath fogs faintly in the cold. the jacket around you isn’t enough. nothing is. your skin still feels sticky, even though you scrubbed it raw.

somewhere in the distance, a cannon goes off. just one. everyone flinches, even if only slightly. you don’t say it, but you know what they’re all thinking. nine left, and you’re still here. nine more people other than the ones in this circle and you have no idea how it’ll play out.

eventually you try to sleep, like really try, but the cold creeps into your bones, making every breath feel sharp. you shift against the rough bark of the tree at your back, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, its material sticking uncomfortably to your skin.

you five have decided at two at a time to stay up. so somewhere nearby, jj and kie are keeping watch. they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, faces lit faintly by the dying firelight, speaking in voices too soft for you to catch. now and then you hear the scratch of jj's boot against the dirt or the low clink of metal in kie's hands as she fidgets with something.

your eyes fall closed, and for a few moments, you drift in the uneasy space between waking and sleep. but just when you feel yourself slipping under completely, something changes. it’s subtle, like a shift in the air, but your body feels it before your mind catches up.

the wind.

it brushes over your cheek like a blade, so cold it burns, and instinct snaps you awake with a jolt. you sit up, heart hammering, hands instinctively tightening around the edges of your jacket. for a few seconds, you think it must have been a dream, some leftover thread of anxiety pulling you from sleep. but then you hear it again. it’s a faint, whispering sound threading its way between the trees, too high-pitched to be natural.

you glance toward the others. kie has frozen, crouched low with her hands still tangled in the trap she was working on. jj straightens, muscles tense, his hand drifting to the knife tucked at his belt. across the clearing, rafe stirs where he's leaned against a tree, lifting his head sharply like he heard it too.

nobody speaks. nobody moves.

the forest around you shivers with every gust of wind, the slender birch trunks creaking and swaying in this slow, unsteady rhythm. they’re so hollow it catches the wind in strange ways, creating sounds that don’t quite belong in this world. you can hear wails and soft, deliberate whispers that seem to dart past your ears before you can catch them.

the longer you sit there, the more you feel like the forest isn’t just alive, it’s watching.

you scramble to your feet, your hands stiff from the cold. rafe is suddenly beside you, his fingers brushing your elbow to steady you. his eyes flick quickly over your face before shifting to the trees around you. he says nothing, but the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders tells you enough. he feels it too.

“guys, what the hell is that?” kie murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. her voice even sounds wrong in the hollow space, too human, too solid.

jj doesn’t answer. he’s already moving, silently packing up the few things he had pulled from his bag earlier. a few feet away, topper, who must have woken up at the sound, is sitting up, staring wide-eyed into the trees as if he can see something none of you can.

no one needs to say it. you need to get out of here. there’s something wrong about this forest.

the group starts gathering their things immediately, slinging backpacks over shoulders, stuffing whatever supplies you had out back into whatever pockets you can. the fire is left to smolder and die eventually too.

you stick close to rafe without even thinking about it, matching your steps to his as jj and kie fall into a loose formation ahead of you. topper brings up the rear, checking over his shoulder every few seconds like he expects something to lunge out of the trees and drag him away.

the birch forest feels endless, like you’ve lost your way in a maze or it stretches further than you remember it did earlier, like it changed. either way, it’s making you freak out.

and the deeper you move into the forest, the worse it gets. the wind picks up, slicing across exposed skin in quick, stinging bursts that leave you wincing and turning your head.

at one point you swear you see something in the corner of your eye, like a shadow darting between the trees, but when you turn, there’s nothing. only the birch trees.

beside you, rafe pulls his jacket tighter and leans down slightly, his mouth brushing your ear so he doesn’t have to speak loud enough for the forest to hear. “keep moving, a’right? n’ don’t stop.”

you don’t argue. you don't even look at him. you just keep your eyes ahead, focusing on the faint outlines of jj and kie.

every so often, the group rotates who’s leading. jj passes the front to kie, then topper takes over for a while, but it doesn't really matter. the forest looks the same in every direction, and every step feels heavier than the last.

minutes seem to bleed together until your legs are sore and your throat burns from breathing the cold.

nobody argues when jj suggests camping at the mouth of the cornucopia instead. you guys slip out of the tree line as fast as you can without breaking into a full sprint.

the cornucopia looms in front of you. it’s better than being out in the open or trapped between those trees again. probably should’ve just stayed here first.

everyone collapses down near the entrance without much ceremony, backs against the cold metal walls or slumped over their packs.

you're still catching your breath when topper curses under it, pulling back his jacket sleeve and looking at his forearm. “dude,” he mutters, voice half in disbelief, half in frustration. “i swear to god something scratched me back there.”

he turns his arm toward the firelight after jj and rafe managed to get a small fire going, careful to keep it low and hidden, and sure enough, there's a thin, angry-looking slice across his skin. the sleeve of his jacket is torn too, a clean rip like something sharp and invisible slashed right through the fabric.

kie is on her feet immediately, brushing dirt from her palms as she crosses over to him. “you need to clean that before it gets infected,” she says, already digging through the nearest backpacks, checking each one quickly for any sign of a medkit or even something they could use as a bandage.

watching them stirs something uneasy inside you. you remember that slicing feeling against your skin earlier. fuck. you shift where you sit, running your hands over your arms, your sides, your legs, looking for anything, any sting, any wetness that might mean blood. nothing. not until—

“hey,” rafe says quietly.

you glance up at him just as he steps closer, and his hand lifts before you can react, the tips of his fingers brushing carefully along your cheekbone. his thumb drags lightly across a spot just beneath your eye, and you flinch at the touch. something stings there.

your hand flies up instinctively, covering the spot as you jerk away slightly, heart pounding. you hadn’t even noticed. hadn’t even felt it until now. your fingers come away faintly wet when you touch the scratch, and you blink down at them, stunned. it really got you. the forest really left a mark on you.

“it's not deep,” rafe says as he glances back over his shoulder toward kie. “you find anything?” he calls to her.

kie shakes her head, still rifling through a few more bags. “nothing real. some antiseptic wipes, but that's about it.”

“give ‘em here,” rafe says, already reaching out a hand.

within a minute, he’s back in front of you, crouching low enough that you're eye-level with him. the wipe in his hand stings worse than anything when he presses it gently against the scratch, and you grit your teeth against the burn, refusing to pull away even though every instinct tells you to. rafe works quickly, efficient but careful, his fingers steady where they brace the side of your face.

“you’re good,” he says after a moment, crumpling the wipe and tossing it into the fire to burn away. “just a scratch.”

just a scratch. but somehow it feels like more.

you sit there quietly as the night goes on, the fire burning low between all of you, throwing long shadows against the inside of the cornucopia. no one talks much. the exhaustion is too heavy, and the fear from the forest still lingers. eventually, one by one, people start settling down where they sit, leaning back against the cold metal and pulling their jackets tighter.

rafe stays close, sitting just a few inches from you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. jj and kie continue their watch again, trading quiet words and keeping their eyes pinned to the trees. you try to sleep, but your body refuses to fully relax, your muscles still wired tight, your mind half-expecting to see something move in the darkness just beyond the firelight.

morning can’t come fast enough.

it’s quiet, which should be a good thing, but by now, silence feels more like a warning than a gift. you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, knuckles cold. there hasn’t been much movement since dawn.

you keep glancing around the clearing, your eyes tracking empty air. you know the cameras are out there somewhere, always are, but there are no booms in the sky. no signs of death.

by the time it’s day three you’ve only heard one cannon, maybe two if you count the one that rang out sometime late last night too.

you’d been awake last night, barely, head resting back against your pack, watching the sky twist open as a hovercraft descended near the water. you couldn’t see much, just the mechanical limbs dropping down and pulling a limp body up into the air before disappearing again. maybe it had been one of the tributes. maybe it’d been kie’s trap. either way, someone was gone.

you remember fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, wrapping it tight until it snapped, and trying not to think about it.

but you didn’t get much time to be still. you hear a scream the morning after.

you jolt upright, hand scrambling for the daggers you’d kept close to your hip. your head turns fast, eyes scanning for movement and you find it, just beyond the edge of the cornucopia. a mess of limbs and shouting. kie. she’s out there, fighting off two figures, maybe three, already half on the ground.

she must’ve gone out early, probably to check something or maybe even just pee, and got followed back.

jj’s already on his feet, spear in hand, eyes locked on the chaos just ahead. topper curses behind him, grabbing for his axe, but he’s moving fast, rage written all over his face.

“go!” jj barks.

the three figures ahead split up. one, a girl with a jagged ponytail and wild eyes, stays back with kie, pinning her to the ground and shouting something you can’t make out. the other two, the boys, are charging straight for jj and topper.

you barely have time to think before you and rafe are running too, his mace clenched tight in his fist. you reach them just in time to see kie struggling under a girl’s weight, the other tribute pressing a forearm against her throat.

jj lets out a hoarse yell and lunges first, spear angled low before snapping it upward into the stomach of the boy charging him. the point hits home, but the kid’s momentum sends them both sprawling. they hit the ground hard, wrestling for control, jj keeping the shaft of the spear between them, teeth gritted, muscles locked.

topper meets the second boy mid-sprint.

he swings his axe, catching the edge of the kid’s shoulder with a sickening thud. the boy stumbles, but not enough to stop. he grabs topper by the collar and drives a knee into his side. they break apart only to collide again, fists flying, wood meeting flesh, metal against bone.

you and rafe flank wide, slipping into the chaos.

you duck a blind swing from one of the boys and drive your dagger across the back of his thigh, deep and slicing. he jerks with a yell, and jj takes the opening, twisting his spear up and shoving it straight through the boy’s chest. he lets out a gargled cough before he collapses to the dirt.

“kie!” jj yells, dragging the spear free, almost like he needs to make sure she knows she’s going to be okay. he’s already moving toward topper. topper’s still fighting, but barely.

blood is running down his forehead, but he’s got his axe up, teeth bared as he swings again. this time, it hits clean. the blade bites deep into the side of the boy’s neck. he jerks once, then falls to his knees. topper pushes him off with a final grunt, panting hard.

you’re already turning your head, trying to find kie, the girl. there. she’s still on top of kie, but something’s wrong. she’s not hitting. she���s not stabbing. she’s just holding her.

then you see it. her leg, caught in something like taut metal wire, barely visible in the early morning light, looped tight around her calf. blood drips fast and heavy from the gash, pooling into the soil beneath her. it’s one of kie’s traps. that’s why they’re here?

you’re already moving.

the girl’s too distracted by the pain to realize you’re there. you lunge, dagger drawn, slicing across her back to knock her off balance. she shrieks and twists.

rafe’s there beside you in an instant, swinging his mace with brute force. it crashes into her side, ribs crack with a dull, sickening crunch. she tries to scream, but it chokes out into a wheeze.

you don’t hesitate. you grab the front of her jacket, force her down, and drive your blade into her chest. she jerks just once, then goes still. for a second, all you hear is breathing.

you turn to kie, who’s propped herself up on her elbows, eyes wide, staring at the body beside her.

jj steps forward, spear still slick in his grip. “you good?”

kie nods slowly, then glances down at the wire trap still tight around the girl’s leg. “caught her,” she mutters, voice scratchy.

you nod, swallowing hard. “trap held.”

“trap held,” jj echoes, looking down at the girl like he almost can’t believe it worked.

topper leans on his axe, the high from the fight already wearing off, sweat sliding down his temple. rafe’s still standing beside you, his breathing finally slowing. you don’t realize how close you’re leaning into him until the sound of another cannon rolls through the sky.

third one in less than a few minutes.

you stare at the girl’s bloody leg for another second before finally backing away. and for the first time since you woke, you realize you’re still shaking.

but rafe doesn’t move. he’s staring. you notice the shift in his posture before you notice what he’s looking at, eyes are narrowed slightly downward. you follow his gaze and—

your stomach sinks. blood, but not from the girl you just killed. it’s smeared across kie’s thigh, soaking the side of her pants. she didn’t even notice. or maybe she did and just didn’t want to say anything. but now that you’re looking, you can see how stiff she’s sitting, how carefully she’s trying not to put weight on that leg.

“shit,” you breathe out, already crouching beside her. “kie—”

she flinches when you reach for her, just barely. “it’s nothing.”

“no, it’s not.” you press your hand near the tear in the fabric, fingers already sticky. “jesus, kie, they got you bad. when—?”

kie glances toward the body beside her, then away again. her mouth is set. “before. when she and the guys first jumped me. one of them had a knife.”

“shit. topper, grab anything from their bags. i don’t care what it is, just— something.”

your hands hover uselessly near the blood that won’t stop spreading. it’s soaking through your fingers.

“we need to get her out of the open,” you say, sharper now. your eyes snap up to rafe and jj. “help me—inside. she needs cover.”

jj doesn’t hesitate. neither does rafe. the three of you lift her together. she tries to mumble that she’s fine again, but the sound is thin and breathless. you don’t even look at her.

topper follows, arms full with whatever gear he could grab from the fallen tributes’ bags like loose supplies, scraps of cloth, water, someone’s jacket. it’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

inside the cornucopia, you get kie onto one of the tables, and even then she grits her teeth and turns her head away to muffle a sound. her leg hangs slightly off the edge, blood’s dripping down the table now.

you try to breathe. you’ve never had to deal with this before.

your hands shake as you rifle through what topper brought. there’s gauze from someone’s first aid strip, a torn-up shirt, a flask of water, a hunting knife you toss aside quickly.

“what do i do?” you ask, looking at kie frantically. “just tell me, tell me what do i do, okay? i don’t know how to help you.”

kie’s jaw is tight. she looks at you, then down at her leg. her face is pale but her eyes are sharp.

“you’re doing fine,” she says gently, which somehow only makes the tears in your throat sting worse. “start with pressure. above the cut.”

you grab a strip of cloth and do as she says, wrapping it around her thigh and pulling tight. your fingers fumble the knot. blood seeps through almost instantly.

“fuck,” you whisper, pressing harder.

jj’s pacing now, running both hands through his hair, the spear clutched tightly in one of them. his mouth is twisted, his shoulders hunched. he looks like he might explode.

“they could’ve killed her,” he mutters, voice rising. “they could’ve fucking killed her—”

“jj,” rafe warns, stepping in front of him, hand pressed against his chest. topper joins him a second later, pushing lightly on jj’s shoulder. “calm down.”

jj jerks his arm away, breathing hard. but he doesn’t move toward you again. he just stands there, watching, helpless.

then, a yell, somewhere across the field. everyone freezes.

rafe and topper spin toward the open mouth of the cornucopia. rafe grabs his mace. you don’t even look up.

“go,” you say quickly, pressing the cloth harder against kie’s leg. “whatever it is, handle it. we’re fine in here.”

topper hesitates. “are you sure—”

“yes.” you glance up at him finally, your expression unreadable. “you don’t need all of us for one scream. go.”

jj growls something under his breath but doesn’t argue. he’s the first out the door, rafe and topper right behind him.

you’re alone again, just you and kie and the blood that won’t stop leaking through your fingers.

“you’re not gonna die,” you tell her, not sure who you’re trying to convince. you reach for more cloth.

kie tries to laugh, but it catches in her throat and becomes a hiss of pain. “yeah. well. thanks for the pep talk.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp

[stillbornfrost]

League of Villians: Reaction to your death.

(Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi, Toga Himiko, Spinner, Twice, and Mr Compress)

Tomura Shigaraki

Tomura didn't scream when you died.

Your chest stopped rising under his bloodied hands, your mouth parted as if you still had something left to say. His brain refused to accept it. His heart beat on like a cruel joke, each thud an insult against your stillness.

He just stared.

The world around him fell away, peeled back like skin. Sound drowned in static. Colors dimmed to ash.

He touched your face—bare, reckless—and this time he wanted his quirk to activate. He wanted to rot the world into dust starting with himself. But nothing happened. Your skin, once so alive beneath him, was already too far gone for death to touch twice.

His hands shook as he cradled you, bones creaking under the weight of a grief too dense, too vicious to name.

"Look at me," he hissed, voice a cracked, ugly thing. "Wake up. Wake the fuck up."

But your eyes stayed closed. Peaceful. Distant. Like you had taken all the light with you.

Something feral, something ancient and monstrous, crawled out of him then. A choked, animalistic sound burst from his throat as he pulled you closer, pressing his face into your chest, into the hollow where your heartbeat should have been.

He stayed there, teeth gritted, jaw locked so tight it ached, trembling so violently it seemed like the earth itself shook with him. His nails scraped shallow gouges into his own arms without noticing.

"You stupid... liar," Tomura whispered against your skin, voice soaked in venom and sorrow. "You said you'd stay... you said... you said..."

He was supposed to die first. That was the deal. He was the monster, the ruined thing, the villain. Well you were a villain too but.. You didn't deserve- A sharp, ugly laugh tore from him. It echoed over the battlefield, eerie and broken, before dying into silence.

He buried you in his arms, cradling the corpse of the only thing he ever loved, as the world rotted inside him.

For the first time, Tomura Shigaraki wished his hands had worked.

He would have crumbled the whole fucking earth just to follow you into whatever cold, dark place you had gone.

And he would have done it smiling.

Dabi

Ash hung in the air like a funeral shroud, the fires crackling and popping in the hollow silence.

You were collapsed against the rubble, blood soaking into the cracked ground, skin too pale in the blue light of the flames.

Dabi stood over you, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He stared down, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat.

"Figures," he said, voice rough and low. "You always were a goddamn idiot."

He dropped to his knees beside you, jacket brushing against the dirt. His hands hovered uselessly in the air — twitching forward, jerking back — like he couldn't decide whether to hold you or let you go.

Your eyes opened, barely, and you smiled when you saw him.

That same soft, stupid smile you always gave him.

Like he wasn’t a monster. Like he was worth something.

"I’m... sorry," you breathed.

Dabi’s jaw tightened.

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn't bear to see you like this.

"Don’t," he muttered. "Don’t say sorry. I shoulda known you'd pull some shit like this."

Your hand reached for him — slow, shaking — and he caught it halfway, his own hand hot and trembling as he gripped yours too tight, like he could anchor you here by force.

"I love you," you whispered, like it was the last secret you had left.

For a second, Dabi didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

His stitched-up face twisted, something ugly and desperate flickering through his blue eyes.

He laughed — sharp, broken — the sound punching through the smoke like a blade.

"You're such a fucking idiot," he said, voice cracking hard enough to shatter.

You smiled again — smaller now, fading — and then your hand slipped from his fingers, falling away into the dust.

Gone.

Dabi just sat there, staring down at you.

The fires guttered low around him.

The world felt cold, even with the flames licking at his heels.

He blinked slowly, and for a terrifying moment, he thought about setting the whole goddamn world on fire.

Leveling every street, every building, every face that ever existed.

Instead, he leaned down, forehead pressing against your cold one, breathing you in one last time.

"You’re such a pain in my ass," he whispered, so quietly even he barely heard it.

He stayed like that for a long, long time, until the fires around him finally died, and the night swallowed the ruins whole.

When he stood, he didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

His hands were steady now.

Steady and burning.

And even though he didn’t cry, even though he didn't scream your name to the heavens, Dabi knew —

somewhere deep in the hollow, scorched thing that used to be his heart —

that he would never forgive the world for letting you die.

And he would never forgive himself for letting you love him first.

Toga Himiko

The first thing Himiko Toga saw was the blood.

So much of it, soaking your clothes, staining the ground beneath you.

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

"You look so cute like that!" she chirped as she skipped toward you, knife twirling lazily in her hand. "All messy and red and —"

She stopped.

Something in her stomach twisted, sharp and wrong.

The way your body was slumped. The way your chest barely moved.

Her smile faltered.

"...Hey?" she said, voice smaller now, unsure.

She took a few slow steps closer, the knife slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground unnoticed.

You turned your head toward her, sluggish and weak, blood dripping from your mouth.

"Himiko..." you rasped.

The last of the warmth drained from her excitement, leaving something heavy and cold behind.

She dropped to her knees, scrambling to reach you.

"No, no, no," she whispered, hands flying over you, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to fix it, but it was too much — too deep — too late.

"You’re not supposed to look like this," she said, voice cracking. "I like blood, but not when it means... not when it means this!"

Tears welled in her wide golden eyes.

"You’re supposed to be okay," she whispered fiercely, like if she said it enough, it would be true. "You're supposed to stay with me!"

You managed a faint smile.

Even now, you still tried to make her feel better.

"I'm sorry," you breathed.

Toga shook her head wildly, blonde hair whipping across her tear-streaked face.

"No! Don’t say sorry! I love you!" she sobbed, grabbing your hand and pressing it to her cheek. "I love you, okay? Just stay! Just stay and love me back!"

You tried to squeeze her fingers.

Tried.

But your hand was already slipping away from hers.

"No, no, no," she chanted under her breath, rocking you back and forth. "You promised me! You said we'd find someplace quiet! You said we could just be together! You can’t leave! You can't!"

You blinked slowly at her, your body trembling with the last shreds of strength.

"I love you too," you whispered.

And then you were gone.

The world tilted sideways around her.

The night pressed in, thick and suffocating.

She stayed there long after your body had gone cold,

clutching the memory of your touch like a bruise she didn’t want to heal.

The stars above blinked, uncaring,

and the night swallowed her soft, broken promises.

You had been warmth.

You had been laughter.

You had been the only thing in a world of sharp edges that hadn’t tried to cut her.

And now you were just a silence she couldn’t stop screaming into.

Toga closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to where your heart used to beat.

"If love means hurting," she whispered,

"then I’ll hurt forever, if it means I can keep you with me."

The blood dried.

The world moved on.

But Himiko Toga stayed kneeling in the ruins,

loving a ghost who had never once made her feel like she was a monster.

Spinner

Spinner found you lying there, broken under the cracked glow of a streetlamp.

The blood around you had already begun to dry, black and sticky against the concrete.

Your hand was curled toward your chest, like you had been trying to hold yourself together.

He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees so hard it rattled through his bones.

For a second — one terrible second — he thought you might still be breathing.

That maybe if he just touched you, you’d blink awake and smile that small, tired smile you always saved for him.

“Hey,” he rasped, reaching for your face with shaking hands.

Your skin was still warm.

Still you.

But your chest didn’t rise.

Your lips didn’t move.

The world blurred at the edges, spinning out into something weightless and cruel.

He pressed his forehead to yours, feeling the cold creep in between them.

“Wake up,” he begged, voice hoarse, breaking apart.

“Come on. Please. Wake up. You promised.”

But you didn’t move.

You never would again.

He stayed there, curled around your body as the smoke thickened and the sirens wailed.

When the others finally found him, they had to pry him off you, piece by piece.

Spinner didn’t even fight.

He just sat there, empty hands in his lap, watching the world move on without you.

And in the hollow where his heart used to be, something cracked and bled and didn’t stop.

Not for a long, long time.

Twice

Twice sprinted through the smoke, his coat flapping behind him,

panic clawing up his throat.

He found you lying there — broken, bleeding — your body half-crushed under the rubble.

Your hand twitched once, weakly, reaching for nothing.

“No, no, no — no way, this isn’t happening!” he gasped, falling to his knees beside you.

He fumbled at the rocks, scraping his hands bloody trying to pull you free.

“You’re fine! You’re gonna be fine!” he said.

Then, in the same breath,

“You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s my fault.”

The words tangled over each other, panic and denial fighting for space in his mouth.

He finally uncovered you, dragging you into his lap.

Your eyes fluttered open, just for a second — just long enough to find his.

You smiled, small and broken and soft,

the kind of smile that gutted him worse than any wound.

“Jin...” you whispered.

And then you went still.

Twice stared down at you, his whole body trembling.

“No— no, no, no, come on! Wake up! Wake UP!”

He shook you gently at first, then harder, desperate to undo it.

He would have ripped the world in half if it meant getting you back.

“You said you’d come home! You promised!”

His voice cracked, high and wild and full of too many people —

the broken man he used to be, the fighter he tried to become —

all crumbling in his arms.

He held you close, rocking you back and forth like a child,

muttering nonsense under his breath.

“It’s okay, you’re just sleeping.

You’ll wake up and yell at me for being dramatic.

You’ll laugh and hit me and tell me I’m an idiot.”

A wet, broken laugh bubbled from his lips.

“I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot.”

But you didn’t move.

You didn’t even breathe.

Twice curled himself around you, hiding you from the world,

shielding you the only way he knew how —

even though it was too late.

When the others found him, he didn’t let go.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even blink.

He just clung to you like you were still his,

like if he held on tight enough,

maybe you wouldn’t slip away too.

Mr Compress

Mr. Compress wasn’t fast enough.

He found you collapsed in the wreckage of a shattered street,

the night choking on smoke and ash around you.

You lay sprawled on the concrete, blood spilling out from under you in a slow, terrible bloom.

He knelt beside you in silence, his coat brushing against the dust and broken glass.

His gloved hands hovered over your body — careful, desperate —

as if afraid he might hurt you more just by touching you.

You were still warm.

Still soft.

Still the person he had allowed himself to care for, against every instinct to stay detached.

“A performance cut far too short,” he murmured, voice cracking despite the way he tried to steady it.

He reached to lift your mask, brushing his fingers gently over your cheek.

Your eyes, half-open, stared past him — glassy and far away.

Your chest didn’t rise.

The stage had already gone dark.

Compress bowed his head, his hands trembling where they gripped yours.

“I should have been here sooner,” he whispered.

The words tasted like failure in his mouth,

like ashes and broken promises.

He stayed there with you, even as the battle raged on around him —

the sirens, the shouting, the chaos.

None of it mattered.

The world could end tonight, and all he would remember was this:

the way you looked in the final act,

the way he hadn’t saved you.

When the others came, they tried to pull him away.

Gently, at first.

Then firmer.

But Compress didn’t resist.

He only pressed one gloved hand over your heart —

where it should have been beating

—

and murmured a final, broken line, half prayer, half goodbye.

“A magician’s greatest tragedy is losing what he cannot bring back.”

And when they led him away, he didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Because in that moment,

he wasn’t the Gentleman Thief.

He wasn’t the Showman.

He was just a man,

cradling the ruins of what he loved.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Mental Healing with the Race

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Hey Guys, I just wanted to say I am still super sorry with every chapter that takes longer than I used to be to get them out. I asm currently in the middle of the last 2 weeks of college, so lots of studying and prep for our huge Final Projects or Tests. On top of that my FSAE team and I are prepping to leave for the Big Competition three weeks from now. However, I do not want any of my chapters to lack in the love and work that I put in to writing them. So I will do my best to try and get them out more regularly, but I will not post anything early or with any less love than the last one. So should they continue to take longer please remember this. No one has said anything about this but I still want to make sure that everyone knows I am not done with this story, just a little busy right now. With that said please enjoy...

The gym lights flicker on just before sunrise, humming low above my head like they’re still waking up, too. My hoodie is heavy with sleep and my shoulder twinges the second I shrug it off, revealing the newer, thinner brace beneath. It’s progress — less restrictive, easier to hide under my clothes — but it also means I’m out of excuses. The world thinks I’m still resting. But rest never made me stronger.

I roll out my mat in the same corner of the performance room as always. Familiar. Quiet. Grounded. Axel lays just a few feet away, head on his paws, eyes tracking my every move like he knows this day is going to be rough.

Because it is.

Today is cardio and strength. And no cast means full-arm weight again. It’s the first real milestone — a make-or-break kind of day.

I sit on the mat for a moment, my back pressed against the cool wall. My fingers find the scar on my forearm, tracing it absentmindedly. A reminder.

The crash didn’t defeat me.

"Alright, warrior,” Diego calls, stepping into the room and clapping his hands once. He’s grinning, but there’s a crease between his brows — the one that always shows up when he’s worried about me. “Scale of 1 to 10. Pain?”

I crack a tired smirk. “About a 4. Maybe a 5 when I raise my arm too fast.”

He raises a brow. “And how much of that are you downplaying to look cool in front of us?” Slightly nodding towards Axel.

I glance over at my dog, who immediately perks up like he knows he’s being talked about. “A solid 60 percent.”

Diego laughs, but he kneels down next to me, softer now. “Y/N, you’ve made insane progress. But we’re still building up. You don’t have to prove anything today.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say, even though it’s a lie. “I’m just trying to… feel strong again.”

He doesn’t challenge me. Just gives a nod and offers his hand to help me up. “Okay. Let’s do this. But the moment I see that shoulder falter or your breath get shaky, we’re pausing. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The warm-up is fine. Easy even. Jogging laps around the indoor track with Axel trailing behind me like a shadow. My lungs are steadier than they’ve been in weeks. I feel… almost like myself.

Then we shift to shoulder presses.

“Let’s start light,” Diego says, passing me the small dumbbells — the baby ones, I tease in my head. I hate how small they feel in my hands.

“Come on,” I mutter to myself, planting my feet. “You’ve done this a thousand times before. Hell, you used to double this weight for warm-ups.”

“That was before your bones tried to throw a party and forgot to invite safety,” Nico pipes in from the corner where he’s leaning against a table, flipping through my training notes. “Let’s not reenact the crash scene here, yeah?”

I shoot him a look but secretly, I’m glad he’s here. He grounds me. Keeps me from letting the fire inside burn too hot, too fast.

I managed the first set. My form is shaky on the second. By the third, my shoulder screams. My breath catches.

Diego notices before I say anything. “Stop. Drop ‘em. Right now.”

I obey, lips pressed tight. My pride stings more than my shoulder.

“Sit,” he says, nodding to the bench. “Now tell me what your body’s saying.”

I slump onto the bench, sweat trickling down my spine. “It’s saying I’m not ready.”

He kneels again in front of me, tone low and honest. “No. It’s saying you need time. Which isn’t the same thing.”

Nico steps closer now too, crossing his arms. “You’re not failing by resting, Y/N. That’s the bravest thing you could do right now — listen.”

I exhale shakily, brushing my sleeve across my face. “I just… I don’t want them to worry. The boys. They were scared enough. If they knew I was training again, they’d—”

“—They’d be proud,” Diego finishes for me. “Because you're doing this smart. You're building up again. You’re not throwing yourself into a cockpit half-healed. You’re working for it. Quietly. Strongly.”

I don’t respond right away. Just nod and lean forward, elbows on my knees, eyes on Axel who’s still watching me with that serious, almost human stare.

“Just… don’t tell them yet,” I finally whisper. “Let this be mine a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico says, his voice softer now. “Your story. Your pace.”

“Besides,” Diego adds, grinning again as he hands me a bottle of water, “when you finally show up at the garage again and toss your helmet on like nothing happened, they’re gonna lose their damn minds.”

I chuckle. “I can’t wait to see their faces.”

I pick the dumbbells back up before they can stop me. Not for another full set — just one more press. One more reminder that I can. I lift them once, clean and steady, before lowering them again.

“That’s enough,” Diego says gently. “Today, that’s enough.”

And for once… I believe him. Because I know I’ll be back again tomorrow. And the day after that. I’m not chasing the old me anymore. I’m building someone stronger.

—

I hadn’t realized how much I missed the scent of race fuel and burnt rubber until I stepped through the paddock gates again.

The buzz. The noise. The heartbeat of a track that never really goes quiet.

The second my shoe hit the pavement inside the circuit, it all came rushing back — that itch in my fingers to feel the steering wheel again, the thrum in my chest that didn’t hurt anymore but still pulsed with memory. I wasn't driving today — still under the "you're technically held together with sports tape and medical optimism" clause — but I was here.

That counted for something.

Nico was walking just to my left, sunglasses on, hands in the pockets of his black team jacket, looking every bit like my silent, slightly too-calm bodyguard. Meanwhile, Paul practically bounced beside me on the right, grinning like a rookie who’d been handed keys to a spaceship.

“I swear, I thought you were just a myth,” Paul said, shifting the duffel bag on his shoulder. “They said ‘Ghost will meet with you before FP1’ and I was like, cool, should I also expect a unicorn and a sentient AI?”

My voice changer cracked slightly as I tilted my helmet toward him. “Sentient AI would be less chaotic than most of this team.”

Paul snorted. “And here I thought you were gonna be mysterious and intimidating. You’re… kind of hilarious.” I shrugged beneath my oversized hoodie. “Don’t get comfortable. I bite.”

“That would explain never taking that helmet off.” he said with an exaggerated look of fear. “Let me just go prep for my debut with the racetrack cryptid watching me from the pit wall.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “Your job today is to not crash my car, Aron. It likes being pampered.”

“Anything else I should know?” he asked, just as we turned down the garage hallway.

I smirked under the helmet, then nudged him with my elbow. “Lots. Don’t downshift too hard into turn six — it’ll get twitchy. There’s a subtle bump on the exit of nine, trust your rear to hold but don’t overcorrect. And if you talk back to Diego during the debriefs, I’ll personally short-sheet your bed for the rest of the season.”

Paul stared at me, eyes wide. I tilted my head playfully. “What?” “That was… disturbingly specific. How do you even know about short-sheeting beds?”

“Because I’m creative and mildly vindictive.” Nico coughed — poorly disguised laughter — and muttered, “He learned it from Oscar.”

I pretended not to hear him and turned my attention back to Paul. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll be on the pit wall the whole time, headset on, translating Diego’s feedback into ‘Paul Speech.’ He’s been dying to lecture someone other than me.”

“Oh great, I’m the replacement victim,” Paul said, mock sighing. “But really, thanks. This means a lot, Ghost. Being the reserve is weird — you never know when you’ll actually be used. I thought I’d be invisible.”

I reached up and tapped the visor of my helmet, voice softening through the modulator. “Invisibility doesn’t mean unimportant. You’ve got this.” He smiled then, really smiled. That bright, pure grin that reminded me so much of Jack it almost stung.

“Alright, cool,” he said, straightening his posture like he was trying to match the height of his moment. “Let’s go make you proud.”

“Oh, you’re already halfway there,” I replied. “You didn’t trip coming off the shuttle. That’s one more point than I had on my first day.”

“I knew you were a disaster once,” he laughed.

“Once?” Nico muttered beside us. “That implies improvement.”

“Rude,” I said flatly through the voice changer, flipping him off.

We turned into the garage then, the loud hum of tools and chatter dimming the second we stepped through the threshold. The mechanics looked up, a few nodding in recognition as I passed, others just giving me that respectful kind of glance — Ghost’s back. Even if I wasn’t driving, I was here.

Paul peeled off to go suit up. I took a breath, looking over at my car — technically still mine, even if someone else would be behind the wheel for FP1. It gleamed under the overhead lights, waiting.

My fingers twitched. Soon.

Nico said something, but I didn’t hear him — not really. Because just then, the gravity of being back settled in my chest. Not pain. Not fear. Just this warm, solid weight of home.

And I didn’t even realize how tightly I’d been holding onto that until I let myself feel it again.

—

The hum of the garage had dulled to a low buzz after FP1 wrapped. Tools were put back in drawers, pit boards were stacked, and Paul was somewhere in the back being debriefed, grinning like a kid who’d just aced his first big test.

I stayed where I was on the pit wall, not wanting to really speak to the media or answer questions. I didn’t need to hide here. But, it still gave me that edge of comfort… a thin line between me and the rest of the world. Especially when emotions threatened to press a little too close to the surface.

“You looked good out there,” a voice said behind me — calm, familiar, warm.

I turned slightly, already recognizing Franco’s tone before my eyes landed on him. He gave me a soft nod, leaning his elbows against the barrier beside me, helmet tucked under one arm.

“I wasn’t out there,” I said, the voice changer wrapping my words in static.

He tilted his head, blue eyes sharp and quiet. “Didn’t say you were driving. I said you looked good out there.”

I paused. Then exhaled through my nose and pulled out the mic cord completely, letting it hang from the railing as I leaned forward a bit, matching his posture.

There was a moment of silence before I added, softer, “You know it hurt… at first”

He didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

“It hurt a lot to sit here and not be the one buckling in. To know that the car — my car — was about to be driven without me. And that I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fight it.”

My hands clenched slightly at the memory — the ache in my ribs still faint under the surface, the scar on my arm pulling a little under the hoodie.

“I kept thinking about how many races I might miss… how slow recovery’s felt. How I used to fly in that thing. And now I’m grounded. Watching. Coaching. Like I’m some kind of whisper in the background of my own team. Truly a ghost by name. ”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just reached out and tapped his knuckles lightly against mine — an anchor.

“But…” I said, slowly, breathing in deep. “Then Paul started talking. Asking me questions. Getting excited. Like… full-on spark-in-his-eyes excited. And I realized I could still be part of it. Just from here. From the wall. From the headset.”

I looked down at my gloves, flexing my fingers. “He listens. Like really listens. And seeing him figure things out… watching him light up after his first laps? I don’t know. It felt… right. Not perfect. Not the way I wanted to be here. But right… okay.”

Franco nodded once, voice soft. “You’re still racing. You never stopped.”

I looked at him.

He smiled faintly. “Just because you’re not in the seat doesn’t mean you’re not driving this thing forward. He wouldn’t be out there doing so well without your help. You’re shaping him. You’re shaping this whole team.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

My throat tightened a little behind the helmet. “I think… for the first time since the crash… I don’t feel broken being here. I feel like I still have a purpose. I want Paul to do well. I want him to prove himself. I want him to have the chances I had. And if I can help him get those… then maybe this isn’t all just pain and waiting.”

Franco reached up then and gently knocked on the side of my helmet. “That’s the champion mindset. And the good teammate mindset.”

He grinned. “Even with the scary voice mod.”

I huffed a laugh. “It’s for dramatic effect.”

“You’re terrifying,” he deadpanned. “Inspiring, but terrifying.”

We both chuckled, the kind of laughter that eases tension like a pressure valve finally letting go.

Then Franco leaned back and said quietly, “It’s okay to feel both, you know. The pain and the pride. You’re allowed to miss it. And you’re allowed to find joy in what you can do right now.”

I swallowed hard, but nodded.

“Thanks,” I said. “For saying that.”

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time that day, I let myself take my helmet off — slowly — and just breathe.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t stare. He just offered a genuine smile, no different than the one he gave me when I was Ghost.

“You’ll be back in the car soon,” he said. “But until then? This version of you — the strategist, the leader, the teammate — is just as badass.”

I blinked at him, then smiled.

“Don’t tell Diego or Nico that. It’ll go to their heads, like some mother duckling they might pull me from my seat.”

Franco smirked. “My lips are sealed.”  I smiled back before following him back across the pit towards the garage. 

—

It was race day when the others finally found me.

Sure, they knew I was here. The media had caught glimpses of "Ghost" in the paddock all weekend, whispers and blurry photos circling online. But catching me for a real conversation? Actually pinning me down? That was a whole different challenge to them.

Until a very familiar flash of papaya orange caught me out.

I was tucked away in a quiet corner behind one of the hospitality buildings, sitting on a crate, sipping from a water bottle, my legs stretched out in front of me.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up — only to see a smirking Oscar Piastri standing there, arms crossed.

“Well, look who I finally found," he said, tilting his head at me with a grin. "Thought you were supposed to be taking it easy during your injury. Yet here you are. Hiding like a delinquent.”

I didn’t get a word in before he stepped closer, peering dramatically at me.

“I hope you at least have your brace on under that hoodie," he teased, tugging playfully at the sleeve. "Would hate to have to carry you back to the medical center and explain to the physios why you’re broken again."

I scoffed behind the voice modulator, batting his hand away. "Relax, Mum," I said dryly. "Brace is on. Doctor's orders. I’m being good."

Oscar chuckled, dropping down onto the crate beside me with a quiet oof, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine.

"I dunno if sitting here in your emo corner counts as being good," he quipped. "But it’s good to see you. Missed you, you know."

I smiled — small, hidden — but it was there.

"Missed you too, mate."

We sat there for a beat, the sounds of the paddock — tools clanging, fans yelling, engines roaring in the distance — fading into a quieter hum around us.

"You look good," Oscar said suddenly, voice softer now. "Healthier. Stronger."

"Feel stronger," I admitted, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie. "Still a long way to go. Still can’t race yet. But it’s... better being here. Even if I’m not in the car."

Oscar nodded, watching me with that patient, careful look he only ever used when he dropped the sarcasm.

"I’m proud of you," he said simply.

Before I could say anything back — feeling dangerously close to getting a lump in my throat — another familiar voice floated over to us.

"There you are!"

I turned just in time to see Charles approaching, helmet in one hand, hair a little messy from pulling it off, suit half-zipped down. His face was lit up with relief, though there was a thin line of worry etched between his brows too.

"I have been looking everywhere," Charles said, crouching in front of us, resting his elbows on his knees so we were eye-level. "You are impossible to find sometimes, you know that?"

"Occupational hazard," I joked lightly, voice still crackling with the modulator.

Charles huffed a laugh, but then his gaze softened as he studied me.

"You are really here," he said, almost to himself. "And you are doing well."

"Trying," I said honestly. "It... wasn’t easy at first."

Oscar nodded beside me, nudging my arm. "But she's kicking ass. You should've seen her, Charles. Advising Paul like a damn pro. Ghost engineer era unlocked, I can’t wait to see what they can do during the race together."

Charles smiled — a real, warm smile — and reached out to squeeze my hand where it rested on my knee.

"I am proud of you, mon amie," he said. "More than you know. It takes a lot of strength to be here. To stay when it hurts."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing gently into my chest — not painful, not overwhelming. Just... steadying.

"I needed to be here," I whispered. "For the team. For myself. Even if it’s just helping from the wall. It feels like... I'm still part of it."

"You never stopped being part of it," Oscar said quietly.

Charles nodded, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. "And you never will."

For a moment, the three of us just sat there in the shade, the chaos of race day spinning on without us. It didn’t matter. It could wait.

Because here, hidden behind the noise, tucked into a small, forgotten corner of the paddock, I was reminded that even when I couldn’t drive, even when my body wasn’t at a hundred percent — I wasn’t alone. And that was enough. For now at least.

—

The race was chaotic.

From the second the lights went out, my heart thundered in my chest, the noise of the engines vibrating through the pit wall. I sat perched on a high stool right beside Diego, headset snug over my helmet, live feed on the monitors in front of me.

Paul's voice crackled through the radio — tight, a little anxious. His first F1 race. His first real chance. He'd qualified P14, and while it was a hell of a debut, he wanted more. We all did.

"Focus up, rookie," I murmured into the radio, voice softened by the modulator but still carrying the firmness I knew he'd hear. "Eyes forward. Breathe. You’re better than half the grid out there."

"Copy," Paul answered, clipped but trying to sound calm. I could hear the nerves anyway, layered under every word.

The first few laps were brutal — midfield battles that could turn ugly fast. Paul held steady, sharp and clean even under pressure. But he hesitated at key moments — lifting just a fraction when he could’ve pressed the attack.

"Car ahead is struggling with rears," I said, low and steady in his ear as Diego fed me data. "Watch him out of Turn 7. You’ll have him on exit."

A beat.

"Okay," Paul breathed. "Okay, Ghost. I trust you."

I smiled behind the visor, chest tight with pride.

And sure enough, two laps later, Paul slipped past in a beautifully patient move, climbing to P13.

The race ebbed and flowed, the pit stop cycle throwing chaos into the midfield. Every time Paul's focus wavered, I was there — guiding without overwhelming, steering him without grabbing the wheel.

"Car in front weaving under braking. He’s nervous. You stay clean. He’ll crack first."

"Brake balance forward two clicks. Save your fronts, we’re gonna need 'em later."

"Trust your exit speed. You’re faster in S2. He can’t stop you if you set it up early."

It was like music, almost — this silent, invisible dance we did together, woven between the roar of the engines and the crackle of the radios.

Lap by lap, Paul clawed his way forward. P12. Then P11.

When we hit the final stint, fresher tires on and the car lighter on fuel, Diego leaned toward me, excitement flashing in his eyes.

"One more position," he said into my private channel. "We get points."

I keyed my mic again, calm even though my heart raced like mad.

"Paul. Eyes up. P10 ahead. You are faster. You are faster. Stay close. Pressure him."

Paul’s breathing was heavier now, the strain of the race wearing on him, but he responded instantly. "Copy, Ghost. I’m on it."

I watched, fists clenched, as he chipped away at the gap — lap after lap, tenth by tenth.

Finally, into Turn 4, he made the move — bold, late on the brakes, perfect.

P9.

Inside the points.

The final few laps were a blur of adrenaline, shouting, encouragement.

When the chequered flag waved, Diego practically threw his headset into the air beside me, and I couldn't hold back the yell that ripped from my throat over the radio.

"YES, PAUL! YES! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT!" I screamed, voice cracking with pride and joy.

Over the team radio, Paul whooped, the pure exhilaration pouring out of him.

"OH MY GOD, THANK YOU, GHOST! THANK YOU!" he shouted, breathless. "I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU!"

"You did that," I said, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt under the helmet. "You kept your head, you fought smart — you earned this, Paul. You earned every bit of it."

He was still yelling and laughing as he pulled the car into parc fermé, tires screeching slightly. The mechanics and engineers around us were clapping, cheering, and I stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed.

He did it. We did it.

I pushed through the crowd toward the car, heart hammering.

Paul barely waited for the car to cool down. As soon as he wrestled himself out of the cockpit, he tore off his steering wheel, slammed it into its mount, and sprinted toward me.

"Ghost!" he shouted, voice hoarse with emotion.

I didn't even have time to react before he threw his arms around me, nearly knocking us both off balance.

Our helmets clashed with a loud crack, making both of us stumble a little, but neither of us cared. Paul clung to me like a lifeline, arms tight around my back, helmet pressed to mine.

I wrapped my arms around him in return, gripping him just as hard, laughing breathlessly even as something in my chest squeezed and ached with pride.

"You absolute legend," I said, voice trembling. "I'm so proud of you, Paul. So, so proud."

He pulled back just a little, enough that our visors almost touched.

"Couldn't have done it without you, Ghost," he said again, voice thick. "You believed in me when I wasn’t sure I could do it."

"I knew it from the start," I said quietly. "You just had to see it for yourself."

For a moment, the noise of the world faded away — the shouting, the music, the celebration. It was just the two of us, standing there in the middle of it all, holding onto each other like it mattered.

And maybe it did.

Maybe it mattered more than either of us could say.

Masterlist

Taglist @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym @ferrarisstrategy

[padmesweetheart]

Second Chances

Pairings: Hayden Christensen x Pregnant! Wife

(Long-Form Continuation of Second Chances)

(Post-Pregnancy Reveal — Full Emotional Journey)

The house settled into a soft quiet, the evening falling around you both like a heavy, warm blanket. Hayden was still kneeling, arms looped gently around your waist, his forehead pressed to your belly like he couldn’t bear to move.

You stroked his messy hair, the simple act grounding both of you.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your skin.

You frowned, tugging lightly at his hair to get him to look up. His blue eyes, so beautiful, so bruised by his own doubts, met yours.

“What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“For doubting,” he whispered, his voice rough with guilt. “For even letting myself think I wasn’t good enough for you… or this.”

Your heart cracked and swelled all at once. You knelt down in front of him, pressing your forehead to his, the kitchen tiles cold beneath your knees.

“You’re human, Hayden. You’re allowed to feel scared. So am I.” You smiled tremulously. “But we’re in this together.”

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks tenderly. “Always,” he whispered.

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss over his lips.

The kiss deepened, slow and reverent, like a prayer shared between two broken people finding solace in each other. His hands slid down to cradle your hips, pulling you closer.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic it was home.

When you finally broke apart, gasping quietly against each other, Hayden tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and grinned really grinned, boyish and a little shy, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to be this happy.

“We’re gonna need a bigger house,” he said suddenly, voice light but a little breathless.

You laughed, tucking your head into his chest. “Or at least a bigger fridge.”

He chuckled, the vibrations rumbling through his chest where your ear rested. “You’re gonna be one of those pregnant women who needs, like, twenty snacks an hour, aren’t you?”

You pulled back to mock glare at him. “Excuse you. I already am.”

Hayden laughed, real and loud, the sound lighting up the entire room.

A laugh that would light up a whole room

God, you love him just with the way his eye crinkled every time when he would smile or laugh sometimes you’d even run your thumb over them gently.

You could have stayed there on the kitchen floor forever, but life your messy, beautiful, new life was waiting.

——————————————————————————————

Later That Night:

You lay curled into Hayden’s side on the couch, his hand lazily tracing little circles into your stomach through your soft t-shirt.

Neither of you had said anything about telling his daughter yet. The idea loomed in the air, thick and important.

You finally gathered the courage. “Hayden?”

“Hm?”

You twisted to look up at him. His long lashes brushed his cheekbones as he blinked down at you.

“How do you… want to tell her?”

He bit his bottom lip, thinking. His hand stilled over your stomach, palm resting there protectively.

“We tell her together,” he said finally. “We do this as a family.”

You smiled, a lump forming in your throat. God, he was so good.

“She’s gonna love having a little brother or sister,” you said, even though a tiny thread of fear tugged inside you. What if she didn’t? What if she felt replaced?

As if sensing your anxiety, Hayden kissed your temple softly.

“She’s gonna be so happy. She already thinks you’re the coolest thing ever,” he murmured.

You laughed quietly. “I don’t know why. I’m literally a disaster half the time.”

“You’re our disaster.” He squeezed you. “And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Both of us know that.”

You buried your face into his chest, inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of his cologne and laundry soap.

Maybe things wouldn’t be perfect.

But they’d be yours.

And that was more than enough.

——————————————————————————-

The Next Morning:

The sun barely crested over the hills when you heard tiny footsteps padding down the hall.

Hayden’s daughter appeared, hair mussed with sleep, her pajama pants twisted around her ankles. She yawned hugely, rubbing her eyes.

“Mornin’, Daddy. Mornin’, Y/N.”

Hayden smiled softly and pulled her into his lap, ruffling her hair. You watched them, your heart feeling impossibly full.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “There’s something we wanna tell you.”

She blinked sleepily at him, then at you.

“You’re not moving away, are you?” she asked immediately, lip wobbling.

Your heart broke a little at the fear in her voice. You shook your head quickly.

“No, no, baby. Never.”

She visibly relaxed.

Hayden reached for your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“We’re… gonna have a baby,” he said, voice soft but steady.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

Then her face lit up. Bright and amazed and impossibly happy.

“Are you serious?!”

Hayden laughed, hugging her tight. “Yeah, pumpkin. You’re gonna be a big sister.”

She pulled back, eyes wide. “Can I help pick the name? And the room colors? And the toys??”

You laughed, tears slipping down your cheeks at the pure excitement pouring out of her.

“You can help with everything,” you promised, squeezing her tiny hand.

She grinned, bouncing in Hayden’s lap. “This is the best day ever!”

Hayden met your eyes over her shoulder, and there it was that overwhelming look with love

You knew, without a doubt, that everything was going to be okay.

——————————————————————————————-

Later That Evening:

You sat outside on the back patio, the warm breeze fluttering against your hair. Hayden was setting up the fire pit, pretending he wasn’t grumbling at the logs.

You couldn’t help smiling.

“Need help, old man?” you teased.

He gave you a mock glare over his shoulder. “Careful. You’re carrying my kid now. You’re officially stuck with me.”

You giggled, resting a hand on your stomach. “Best mistake I ever made.”

He finished lighting the fire and walked over to you, crouching down until you were eye level.

His hand slid to your belly again, thumb brushing gently.

“I’m not scared anymore,” he said quietly. “I’m just… grateful.”

You reached for him, pulling his forehead against yours. Your noses brushed, soft and intimate.

“I’m grateful too,” you whispered.

The fire crackled beside you, and the stars blinked awake overhead.

A new beginning.

A second chance.

Together.

Always.

———————————————————————————————

Two Weeks Later — Early Morning

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains as you groggily shifted under the sheets. You blinked sleepily—and smiled.

Hayden lay on his stomach beside you, one arm thrown possessively over your waist, his messy blond hair sticking out in all directions. His mouth was open just slightly, snoring so softly it was barely audible.

You reached out, tracing a fingertip lightly over the constellation of freckles across his shoulders.

This man—your husband, the father of your growing baby—was your whole world.

You stayed like that for a while, just memorizing him.

Until your phone alarm buzzed, jolting you.

Ultrasound day.

Hayden groaned into the pillow, blindly reaching out for you. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Come on, sleepyhead. We’re gonna be late for our baby’s first photo shoot.”

At that, his blue eyes snapped open immediately, still bleary but shining.

“Oh shit,” he said, bolting upright, his hair sticking up like a golden haystack. “Right. Ultrasound. Right.”

You giggled as he tripped over his own pajama pants trying to pull them on.

God, you love him.

———————————————————————————————-

At the Ultrasound Appointment:

Hayden squeezed your hand so tight it almost hurt.

You could feel how tense he was beside you, his knee bouncing anxiously as the tech squirted cold gel onto your stomach.

“You okay?” you whispered to him, squeezing back.

He nodded jerkily but didn’t look away from the screen.

And then—

There it was.

A tiny, flickering heartbeat. A little blob that somehow already felt like the most perfect thing in the world.

Your breath hitched.

Hayden made a choked noise in his throat. You turned to look at him and your heart broke.

Tears streaked silently down his cheeks, his lips pressed tightly together as he tried and failed to keep it together.

“Oh, baby…” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face.

He shook his head, laughing wetly. “I’m fine,” he croaked. “I’m fine. I’m just—”

He broke off, leaning over to kiss you fiercely, still crying.

The tech politely turned away, pretending to be very interested in adjusting the machine settings.

You kissed him back just as fiercely.

It didn’t matter what the world thought.

This was your family.

Your miracle.

Your future.

——————————————————————————————

Later that day after the ultrasound

The rhythmic hum of an electric drill echoed down the hallway, mingled with the faint hum of classic rock playing on an old Bluetooth speaker. You peeked around the doorframe of the nursery, your hands cradling your growing belly, to find Hayden crouched over a crib panel with a determined scowl on his face and an instruction manual dangling from his mouth.

“I swear this Allen key was designed by a Sith Lord,” he muttered around the paper, wrenching a bolt into place.

You bit back a laugh. “Need help, General?”

He turned his head, that familiar boyish smirk spreading across his face when he saw you. “Nah, I got it. You’re on observation duty. Baby building bootcamp, remember?”

You stepped in, barefoot and wearing one of his faded old Star Wars shirts that hung loosely over your bump. The nursery already smelled like cedar and lavender—your touch—while the furniture and little stuffed Bantha toys scattered around spoke to his. There was love in every corner.

Hayden glanced up at you as he tightened the final screw on the crib. “Done. What do you think?”

You scanned the crib—solid wood, the perfect height, simple yet elegant. “It’s perfect,” you said with a soft smile, brushing your fingers against the wooden slats. “You did this all by yourself?”

“I had help from the Allen key,” he quipped, giving you that signature grin.

You chuckled, watching him stand up straight and stretch his back, rubbing his hands together in triumph. “I know you’re not a fan of asking for help, but if you’re planning on building an empire for our baby, maybe we should let a few more hands in.”

“Shh, the empire is coming together,” he said, pretending to defend his work. “This crib’s my throne for now. And, uh,” he paused, catching the gleam in your eyes, “I’ve been watching those YouTube tutorials. So I’m practically an expert.”

“An expert in crib building?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“An expert in getting it done,” he corrected, his voice suddenly serious, though his eyes still danced with humor.

——————————————————————————————-

Same Night — Nursery:

After the crib was finished, Hayden pulled you into his lap right there on the floor, cradling you against his chest.

His calloused hands skimmed soothingly up and down your arms.

“You did so good,” you whispered, your head tucked under his chin.

He chuckled softly. “You’re the one making a whole human, sweetheart. I just built some furniture.”

You tilted your head back to look up at him, your heart squeezing at the tender, teasing smile he wore — that little crooked grin he tried to hide when he was feeling something too big to say.

“This isn’t your first time doing this,” you mumbled shyly. “You’re so calm.”

Hayden’s arms tightened around you, like he needed to anchor you even closer.

“No,” he admitted, voice low, “but it feels like the first time again. Because it’s with you.”

Your throat burned instantly.

“You’re gonna be amazing,” you whispered, emotion thick in your voice.

He kissed your temple gently, lingering there. “We’re gonna be amazing.”

———————————————————————————————

The Next Day — Baby Shopping:

At the baby store, you clutched the shopping list with a death grip, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choices. Bottles. Car seats. Baby monitors.

Hayden, however, was a man on a mission.

He didn’t hesitate once, striding confidently to the bottle aisle and picking up a set. “These. Anti-colic. Worked like a charm last time.”

You blinked at him.

“You know what you’re doing.”

He smirked. “Of course I do. I’ve done this before. You think I’d let you wing it, babe?”

He kissed your forehead, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

Still, there were moments where he fumbled a little — standing frozen in front of hundreds of diaper brands, muttering, “Okay… maybe not all the brands existed last time…”

You giggled as he picked up a pack, turning it over like it might bite him.

“Hayden. It’s just diapers.”

He gave you a side-eye.

“These are important. Only the best for our girl.”

You melted.

———————————————————————————————-

Later That Afternoon — Home:

Hayden insisted on carrying everything in himself — arms full, struggling slightly, looking like a walking baby commercial.

You were unpacking onesies when he reappeared in the nursery, a suspiciously mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What’s that face for?” you asked.

Without a word, he climbed onto the floor next to the crib, stretched his arms out dramatically, and said, “Today was bootcamp, sweetheart. next week? We’re practicing swaddling drills.”

You burst into laughter.

“Swaddling drills?!”

“Yes.” He nodded seriously, grabbing a stuffed bear from the pile and trying to wrap it in a muslin blanket — and completely failing.

The bear’s leg stuck out at a wonky angle.

You doubled over, gasping through your laughter.

“You are terrible at this.”

Hayden shrugged shamelessly.

“I’m just out of practice.”

———————————————————————————————

That Night — In Bed:

You lay curled against Hayden’s bare chest, feeling safer than you ever had in your life.

His fingers absentmindedly traced lazy circles over the stretch marks growing across your hips and thighs — no shame, no hesitation, only pure awe.

“Your body’s doing something amazing,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re incredible.”

Your voice cracked with emotion. “I’m scared sometimes.”

Hayden tilted your chin up with two gentle fingers, his blue eyes steady.

“I know. I’ll be scared sometimes too. But you’re not doing this alone.”

He kissed your forehead, lingering.

“You’ve got me. Always.”

You believed him.

With your heart bursting, you buried your face in his neck, breathing him in — the faint scent of wood, laundry soap, and Hayden — and let yourself dream about the life you were building together.

Brick by brick.

Board by board.

Heartbeat By Heartbeat

———————————————————————————————

The Next Day — Nursery:

The nursery was almost complete.

Hayden stood at the center of the room, his sleeves rolled up and a painter’s smudge on his cheek. He had transformed the ceiling into a dreamy night sky soft clouds swirling in the corners, deep blues fading into purples and blacks, and bright, glimmering stars scattered across the vast expanse. It felt like a place where dreams could soar.

You stood in the doorway, your heart swelling as you gazed up at the ceiling, the weight of the moment settling deep inside you. The room was warm, filled with the smell of fresh paint and wood and his scent.

“You did all of this?” you asked, unable to hide the awe in your voice.

Hayden turned toward you, wiping his hands on a rag, his eyes lighting up when he saw your expression. “I did. All for our little girl.”

You walked into the room, your hand instinctively going to your stomach. The baby stirred gently, a subtle reminder that your world was about to change in the most beautiful way.

“I love it,” you whispered, your voice soft with emotion. “It’s perfect.”

Hayden stepped toward you, cupping your cheek with one hand. “Perfect for you, perfect for her.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch, and for a moment, everything in the world felt right you, him, and the tiny life growing between you.

———————————————————————————————

Later That Evening — Baby Shower at Home:

You had insisted that the two of you keep things small, just the two of you, so it wasn’t really a baby shower. It was more of a cozy, private celebration — an evening dedicated to preparing for the baby.

Hayden had gone all out, surprising you with gifts he had carefully selected, things you hadn’t even thought of.

As you opened each one, your smile grew wider. Baby clothes. Little stuffed animals. Soft blankets. Tiny socks that made your heart ache with sweetness.

But the one that had your breath catching in your throat was the soft, hand-stitched quilt, deep maroon with a pattern of stars and moons, the same constellations that were now painted on the ceiling. You felt tears sting your eyes, realizing the time and effort he had put into every detail.

“Hayden…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I made it,” he said quietly, his hands gently brushing the edges. “For her. For us.”

You reached out, tracing the stitches with your fingers. “It’s beautiful. She’s going to love it.”

“I hope she does,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I just want to make sure she has everything she needs, everything you need.”

You shook your head, smiling through your tears. “You already do.”

———————————————————————————————-

Later That Night — First Kick:

You were lying in bed, exhausted but happy. Hayden was next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his hand resting on your stomach.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of the wind rustling outside and the occasional creak of the house settling. You were both exhausted from the day’s work, but the quiet calm of the night was like balm to your soul.

You closed your eyes, feeling the gentle weight of Hayden’s hand, but then—there it was.

A soft, unmistakable thump.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Did you feel that?” you whispered, your voice filled with surprise.

Hayden’s hand immediately stilled, and his breath caught in his chest. “What was that?”

Before you could answer, it happened again — a series of soft but firm taps against your stomach. The baby was awake.

You gasped in disbelief, your hand flying to your belly. “She’s kicking! Oh my god, she’s kicking!”

Hayden’s eyes went wide with excitement. “Are you serious?”

You nodded vigorously, a smile breaking out on your face. “Yes! She’s alive in there, Hayden. She’s real!”

Hayden sat up slightly, placing both hands on your stomach, his eyes filled with wonder. “Can I… feel it?”

You smiled and nodded again, reaching for his hand and gently placing it where you felt the kicks. It wasn’t long before you both felt the gentle thumping beneath your palms.

Hayden’s face lit up in disbelief. “That’s incredible. Our little girl’s going to be full of energy, huh?”

You laughed, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “I think she already is.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your belly, his voice low and full of emotion. “I can’t wait to meet you, sweet girl. You’re already loved so much.”

You held Hayden’s hand there, savoring the moment, the feeling of being a family. The room felt alive with anticipation, and your heart was bursting with love.

——————————————————————————————

The Following Week — Parenting Bootcamp:

“Alright, babe,” he said, standing in the living room, his hands on his hips in a mock-serious stance. “We’re doing this. Full-on baby prep. I want to make sure we’re ready for her.”

You laughed, sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, already amused by his over-the-top excitement. “I thought we were ready.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No. Not until we’ve done swaddling drills, diaper changing, and baby soothing.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“No way,” he said confidently, pulling out a stuffed animal. “I’ve got this.”

—————————————————————————————-

The Swaddling Drill:

You stood by, amused but impressed, as Hayden took the baby swaddle and tried to wrap the stuffed animal. His first attempt was laughable, the bear’s head stuck out awkwardly, arms flailing in a way that made both of you burst into laughter.

“See?” you teased. “You’re hopeless.”

He gave you a playful glare but didn’t back down. “I’ll get it, just wait. Just out of practice.”

The next attempt was much better. Hayden wrapped the bear snugly, the blanket pulled tight around the tiny stuffed body, its head perfectly swaddled.

He stood up, holding the bear in one arm, looking triumphant. “Boom. Professional.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Alright, alright. You’re getting the hang of this.”

He winked at you. “Of course I am. I’m a natural.”

But you could see it in his eyes the nervous excitement, the desire to be the best dad he could be. And as much as he liked to act like he had everything under control, you knew that this was a new chapter in his life too.

“She’s going to love her dad,” you whispered, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Hayden looked at you, his expression softening. “I love you, sweetheart. We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

You leaned forward, kissing him gently. “We already are.”

——————————————————————————————-

“What is done in love is done well.”

— Vincent van Gogh

[passionwillow]

https://www.tumblr.com/disgustinggf/664996741732564992?source=share

You and Frank, it is not even a toxic habit. It is just your guys way of apologizing

YESSS I WANT MAKE UP SEX WITH HIM 😩

Rough and messy and mumbled apologies as he’s fucking you. Face buried in your neck as he groans loud and low, nudging your cervix with each thrust.

“M’sorry- fuck, baby, I’m sorry-“ he pants, your hands pinned above your head as he bites at your throat. “Forgive me.”

And it’s hard not to forgive him when he’s making your toes curl is your head spin so you just nod, breathless and whiny as his hand slips down and rubs your clit, cursing as you clench around him.

“That’s my girl, c’mon. Let me hear you.”