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eyekoninurarea · 3 days ago

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Your Idol

→ daniela avanzini x fem!idol!masc!reader

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word count: 4.2k

summary: in which a struggling girl group was suddenly brought into light when their debut came out of nowhere. everyone thought SIREN5 was just hype; a chaotic rookie group with a pretty concept and no substance. Even KATSEYE wasn’t expecting much when they were assigned to mentor them before debut. But the moment the music hit, everything changed.

authors note: please have mercy on my poor soul. i just want more fics of daniela and watching kdh gave me ideas and i needed to write it immediately. this is total rookie writing✍️. I had to split this into parts because I hit the text limit for tumblr lol 😞. This might be more than 3 parts so 🥰. Also, I'll release part 2 after this so...

The characterization in this fic does not, in any way, reflect that of the real people portrayed in this fic.

tag(s): fluff, suggestive content, nsfw, mdni (pls i beg), idol!reader being a loser trapped in a hot body, masc reader, reader having she/her pronouns, rough transitions, shitty characterization, messy, sex jokes, the author doesn't know how the music industry works

You sometimes still feel like you're in a dream.

And it's not even the glittery and sparkly one. Oh no, it was the clowns-are-chasing-me-and-I-can't-run type of dream. Rather than dreaming about swimming in money, you felt like you're dreaming about swimming in shame as you stood in class with your pajamas after mistaking it to be “pajama day”.

But still, it was a dream.

How could it not be? You were supposed to be a songwriter. Just a dork in barely professional clothes writing songs for hot people to perform. And yet, instead of just writing songs in a dark corner, you're thrust into a room with mirror walls, cheap speakers, flickering fluorescent lights, and sweaty movements.

You're still not sure how it happened. You just knew it started with a dare. A drunken dare.

You were two shots into a cheap bottle of soju and knee-deep in a karaoke rendition of “Meant To Be Yours (Heathers) ” when your best friend dared you to send in a demo to Venari Entertainment. They had opened submissions for original songs, apparently hunting for tracks for a “secret girl group project.”

“I bet you won’t,” your friend had slurred, finger wagging.

“Bet I will,” you’d slurred back, totally serious and chewing on a pocky stick like it was a cigarette.

And you did.

You didn’t even have a good mic. You recorded the vocals into your phone and produced it in your pajamas. A soft, slow-burning track called “Ocean’s Jaw.” Lyrics about falling in love with something deadly, something beautiful, something that sang only for you, something that's unapologetically yours

You hit send.

You forgot about it.

Until two weeks later, you got an email that changed your life.

Everything was a blur, if you were going to be honest. You remember thinking it was fake. You thought, At most, they want to buy the song.

Imagine your surprise when one minute you were nervously sipping water in a freezing conference room, wondering if your socks matched, and the next you were standing outside a practice room with a woman who introduced herself as Chae: the creative director of something called Project: Siren5.

You bounced on the heels of your shoes nervously; no one said anything to you, no orientation, no guides, just told you to be here at this time. And as you stared at the peeling mahogany door that Chae started to open, you found yourself with your mouth agape.

When you imagine a dancing room, you imagine a cutthroat, sterile and bright environment made to mold artists and stars to perfection. Yet when you stand there, suddenly painfully aware of your mediocrity, with bass blasting into your ears as four women dance to the lyricless beat, you find yourself out of breath. It wasn't professional at all. It was comfy, roomy, and lived in. There were scattered water bottles, neatly folded towels, cheap speakers, peeling paint, cracked mirrors, loud ass ac, and that damn blinking light. Your eyes darted around the room, wondering if they'd mind if you spent your time writing here.

You accidentally made eye contact with the blonde woman with sharp eyes through the mirror that they were practicing in front of and you found yourself clutching the hem of your ill-fitting button up shirt in sheer gay panic and nervousness. You seriously were about to fucking puke your guts out.

“New dance coach?” she asked, skeptically eyeing your outfit. It honestly made you squirm.

“She’s not tall enough.” the hazel haired deadpanned, reaching for her towel as soon as the music stops

“She’s cute though,” the blue haired girl said from the floor, mid-stretch, blinking at you upside down.

“She’s the songwriter,” Chae said dryly. “We asked her to come in.”

“She dance?” Your eyes darted to the last woman. She seemed calm, like a black haired surgeon.

“Not... really? Maybe in my nightmares” you offered.

“Perfect…” the blonde girl grinned. “...We needed another project.”

And that jump started your hellish training period. Your label wasn't rich by any means, in fact the project was a last ditch effort at making money before they ran out. You still had time to finish your studies, graduating while training to be an idol wasn't part of your plans.

Not that you had any.

You found out that they were trainees for a 10 months before you showed up, you’d learn they were skeptical of you. Why wouldn’t they be? You were this nervous little outsider who stammered through her introduction and said “Hi, I like bread” instead of your name.

The silence was deafening when they stared at you, their eyes blinking owlishly as the tips of your ears began reddening. You actually considered digging a shallow grave with your bare hands and just... vanishing.

Then a snort tore through the silence, it was loud and it was followed by boisterous laughter. It was sudden and sharp, and the blonde immediately crumpled to the floor like someone had hit her with a tranq dart.

“Bread?! That’s your opening line?” she wheezed out, damn near choking with tears.

“I panicked!” you said, mortified.

“Dude.” the hazel-haired one muttered, rubbing her towel over her face, “You could’ve said literally anything else.”

“I mean…” chirped the blue-haired girl, now cross-legged and beaming, “...bread is very likable.”

The last girl, the calm one, the leader-looking one, finally cracked a smile.

“Okay. Bread girl. Let’s start over.” You were sweating bullets as she walked over to you, stretching a hand out as she opened her mouth to speak again.

“I’m Hana. I do vocals and lead things. Try not to be annoying.”

“Cami,” said the blonde, still grinning, “resident menace. I dance. I flirt. I ruin lives. Soon, at least.”

“Amara,” the hazel-haired one said, voice flat but eyes sharp. “I rap. I glare. Sometimes I say things that hurt, don't take it to heart, it's a love language”

“Rina!” the blue-haired girl said brightly.

“Maknae. I eat snacks. I drink blood and souls.” she continued, smiling brightly up at you.

The training began at 6 AM the next day.

Not figuratively. Literally.

You're suddenly in the building with the lights turned on too bright, shoes laced too tightly, Water bottles clearly labeled. Rina tried to climb back into her locker once, sobbing “I’m a mole person!” The trainers pulled her out by her ankle. No one blinked, except you who stared at the scene with a bewildered face.

You were used to late nights, not early mornings. Your body hadn’t exercised since high school P.E., where you once faked an asthma attack to avoid Zumba. So when they said “light cardio” you didn’t expect a 5k run followed by strength circuits and core holds while singing scales.

Your lungs? Betrayed you.

Your legs? Jelly.

Your soul? Left the group chat.

But you felt yourself smiling genuinely, for the first time in quite a few years, you admitted to yourself you're having fun. Even if your body felt like it was in hell.

“Stand up, bread girl. We're not even halfway our schedule yet.” Cami chuckles, only slightly out of breath as she takes a slow sip of her water

“What do you mean?” You choked out, dry heaving into the green grass as Rina pats your back with mild concern, handing you your bottle.

Hana quirks a brow before passing her phone to you, on a wallpaper of her clearly scheduled schedule.

6:00–7:30 AM: Conditioning + Vocal Warmups on the treadmill (yes, while running)

8:00–10:00 AM: Dance Rehearsals (with Chae yelling “YOU’RE A WAVE, NOT A ROBOT!” at you)

10:00–12:00 PM: Stamina Training ft. Chaos™

Lunch

1:00–6:00 PM: Line Dissection, Stage Presence, Character Building (Cami called it “becoming sexy school”)

7:00 PM–???: Solo Practice, Self-Critique, Vocal Journaling (Amara’s favorite part. Your personal hell.)

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You groaned out

“Oh that's not the worst part of it.” Amara spoke out, a slight smirk on her face.

And then out her mouth came the most cursed thing of all:

“SINGING. WHILE PLAYING. SPORTS.”

You thought it was a joke. Like a prank to haze the new girl.

It wasn’t.

It was mayhem.

Volleyballs were flying overhead. You were screaming. Someone was harmonizing while diving for the ball. A staff member did a perfect jump serve while belting an adlib. You got hit in the face mid-chorus. Rina laughed so hard she dropped her mic pack.

But the weird part?

You kept going.

Your voice cracked. Your legs wobbled. You forgot the entire verse.

But the girls cheered anyway.

“Breathe from your diaphragm, not your trauma!” Cami shouted.

“Don’t aim with your face!” Hana barked, her smile amused

“You’re getting better!” Rina chirped, hugging you even as you collapsed.

“You didn’t throw up this time,” Amara nodded. “Proud of you.”

You collapsed onto the mat after training that night, soaking through your third shirt, arms jellied, throat raw.

“This is... a cult,” you gasped out, barely able to move.

Laughter rang out of the practice room that day.

Months passed since that first training and you were slowly getting used to the steep training schedule and you were actually keeping up. Not to mention your vocals were “passable” according to Hana, which to you by then was high praise. Yet you found yourself stumped with the choreography.

Oh god, the choreography has you dry heaving like a choking racoon, the choreography has you tumbling around like a newborn deer in a washing machine. You can't count the amount of tears you shed from frustration and the amount of tears Cami shed from laughter.

She laughed so hard once she had to lie down on the floor.

You cried crocodile tears.

She still cried harder, from laughing.

“Stop sobbing,” she wheezed. “You’re making it funnier.”

But they didn’t give up on you.

Not once.

Hana slowed down the steps for you after hours.

Amara practiced with you in silence, counting the beats with gentle nods.

Rina tried to teach you muscle memory by choreographing a routine to a frog song because, quote, “maybe you need a little bit of amphibian energy.”

And Cami, when she stopped laughing, pulled you close, rested a hand on your hip, and said:

“You move differently. Don't force yourself to fit in, it's not bad. You just haven’t learned how to make it yours yet.” She smirked at you flirtatiously, before guiding, no, she maneuvered your limbs to move to the beat.

You blushed. Furiously.

The first time you stayed late with them like really late, it wasn’t for training.

It was because the pipes in your apartment had burst and Hana had said, “Just sleep at the practice room.” with that signature quirked brow as if what she said was totally common sense

You assumed she meant alone. But then she showed up with her pillow. And then Amara with a box of strawberry milk. Then Cami with a bag of stolen hotel slippers and Rina with her entire plushie collection.

And suddenly, all five of you were crammed together on a makeshift pile of mats and blankets under the fucking annoying flickering fluorescent lights surrounded by Rina's plushie cult.

Rina was drawing on Cami’s arm with a glitter pen. Hana was braiding Amara’s hair. You were staring at the ceiling, quietly debating whether your thighs had exploded from squats or if this was what being twenty felt like.

“We really need to fix that damn thing. It's gonna worsen my eyesight.” You mumbled, absolutely wrecked from the arduous training you just endured

“You're practically blind, darling. I doubt it'll get worse.” Cami teased, turning over to face you as Rina nodded at her words.

You let out a chuckle, turning over to face her as well.

“You’re weird” Cami then said, poking your cheek.

“So are you.” You snapped back, a joyous grin plastered on your mouth

“Yeah, but I make it look hot.”

“You're delusional.”

“And you're obsessed with me.”

You snorted. Back then, you were still getting used to this, the way they touched you without thinking, teased you like they’d always known you, like you weren’t just the awkward girl with decent lyrics anymore.

Because you weren't. Not anymore.

At some point, the conversation shifted.

It always did, when you were all too tired to keep your guard up.

You were fiddling with your phone, playing old vocal takes from a project you abandoned last year, when Hana sat up straight.

“Pause. Who is that?” she spoke sharply, mouth slightly agape.

“Me.” You mumbled, chewing your lip in nervousness

“That’s you?” Amara blinked.

“Yeah?” You're beginning to frown, anxiety filling your veins as your brain kicks into overdrive

“Wait, play that again,” Cami said, suddenly wide awake.

You did.

And the room went silent.

It was raw. A little breathy and raspy. But full… like salt and honey. A layered harmony that you’d built piece by piece, night after night. It was something warm and sad and huge.

“That’s what you sound like when you’re not trying to imitate someone else, when you're not forcing yourself to fit in.” Hana said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“You keep singing like you're trying to sound... soft. Pretty. Delicate. But that’s not what your voice wants to do.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No,” Amara said, sitting up beside her. “It wants to punch people in the face. In a good way.”

You blinked.

“So... what? I should sing like a... hot butch?” You spoke jokingly, tossing a chip into your mouth

Hana shrugged. “I mean, if the shoe fits.”

“Yeah,” you said before you could stop yourself. “’Cause I’m gay.”

A beat.

Then Cami threw her slipper at you.

“BABE. We been knew.” she damn near shrieked, laughing hysterically

“Girl, we are too,” Rina giggled, rolling onto her side.

“I literally call my girlfriend Mommy during phone calls. You thought you were the only gay one? ” Amara said, raising an eyebrow.

“I have a rainbow tattoo on my tit,” Cami declared proudly.

“Okay,” Hana said, smirking faintly. “First of all, ew. Second of all... finally.”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried. It wasn’t even coming out, not really. It was the acceptance that you hadn’t realized you were waiting for. That these girls weren’t just bandmates.

They were like your people.

Your family. No matter how cringe or cliche that sounded.

Since then, you started belonging in ways you didn’t even notice.

You laughed during warm-ups. You stole bites of Rina’s snack stash. You fought Cami over who was more masc-coded in the new choreo. You helped Amara build harmonies. You stayed late with Hana to rewrite the bridge of a new song, not because anyone asked, but because you wanted to. All 5 of you bonded by watching random shows while melting into Hana's couch (Her apartment's the biggest one). Rina would throw popcorn at you and start a food war and then Hana would explode because you dirtied her couch.

But that was only half your battle. Your vocals still sucked and your movements are clunky like a giraffe that's learning how to tap dance.

“I'm pretty sure you won't survive Dream Academy” Cami teased you one time and Rina laughed, even Amara's lips twitch into a smile.

“What's Dream Academy?”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Am I about to introduce you to Dream fucking Academy?!”

It was then that the random shows you guys watch on day offs turned into watching Dream Academy and crying whenever absolutely anyone gets eliminated.

“They all deserve to be stars! They all deserve to debut! We deserve to debut!” Rina would sob uncontrollably in Cami's arms as Amara hands her tissues.

You, however, had your eyes trained on one woman, and one woman alone. Daniela Avanzini.

The first time you saw her, your jaw dropped so far that Cami had to manually close your mouth unless you start drooling because Hana would make you all run 5 kilometers if her couch gets dirty again.

Your eyes would sparkle everytime Daniela would appear on screen, and your eyes would immediately snap to her even if she's just in the background. You would stare so intensely at the screen whenever she performed like she was both your muse and your training manual. Cami's teasing was endless, it was to the point that she edited and printed Daniela into photocards just to mess with you, only for you to cry because: “This is the sweetest thing someone ever did for me”

And it was just… printed pictures of your celebrity crush…

It was then that the girls swore that they seriously needed to up your standards.

Not that you'll ever know.

Because the more you watched Dream Academy, the more you watched her perform, your hunger grew. Suddenly, you had a muse.

And really, what's an artist without a muse?

Venari Studios Practice Room. 6:37 am. Training Day 789.

Sweat clung to your back as you stared at the mic. You could see yourself in the mirror, oversized tee, hair tied up into a bun, eyeliner smudged.

Not soft, not cute. But authentic.

You inhaled deep, rolled your shoulders back, and sang.

It was the same verse, the one you'd been practicing for weeks with the girls but this time, you didn’t hesitate. You let the weight sit in your lower register. You bit into the vowels like they owed you something.

You imagined standing there, flashing lights, people screaming your name, but your eyes are only ever focused on her.

The sound that filled the room was rich. Smooth like honey, dark like salted espresso.

And when you hit that high note, your tone didn’t flutter nor did it shake, it jumped out of the ocean like a surfer conquering a huge wave.

“That’s it,” said the vocal coach, stunned, a little breathless. “That’s your color.”

“Holy sh—” Cami choked from her seat in the corner. “I think I just came a lil”

“Disgusting,” Hana muttered, though she was smiling.

Amara merely hummed in approval.

You laughed, shaky with relief. It was like your lungs finally learned how to breathe.

But then you realized, vocals weren't the only thing you struggled with.

Choreography was a whole ass war.

Your groupmates moved like silk, all elegant curves and effortless allure. They were trained to seduce with each step, to smile and destroy with a wink. And next to them, you felt... off.

Too sharp. Too grounded. Too clunky. Not enough float.

You were practically groaning in frustration every move.

The choreographer paused the music and raised an eyebrow at you.

“Why are you dancing like you’re afraid to take up space?” he snaps a little, yet his tone was still gentle. He sounded like an old woman when the neighborhood kids trampled her garden.

You flushed. “Because I feel like a fridge next to a fleet of Ferraris?”

The room laughed, lovingly.

Cami slung an arm around your shoulder.

“Babe, you’re not a fridge. You’re a Tesla. Dangerous. Sexy. Expensive.”

“Please stop complimenting her with car metaphors,” Hana groaned.

“I think it fits,” Rina grinned. “She’s sleek. Strong. Kinda intimidating.”

“A little bit gay,” Amara added.

“A lot,” you corrected.

“And please never refer to me as a tesla again, I might actually puke in disgust. The amount of rage when I see a tesla cyber truck in the wild is concerning.”

The next time the music started, you tried something new.

You didn’t copy their fluidity. You moved with weight. You didn’t melt, you solidified, with sharp jagged edges. Where the others flicked their wrists, you dragged yours with intention. Where they arched like flames, you stood solid like smoke, filling the empty spaces that your girls had.

You weren’t soft. You were sharp, yet somehow fluid.

And somehow, by miracle, it worked.

You didn’t drown in their intensity.

You were a contrast. A pull.

You made them shine, and they made you burn.

The choreographer clapped.

“There she is,” he said, pride dripping from his tone.

“Choke me, mommy.” Cami playfully moaned like a pornstar with her rent due.

Her moan knocked you out of your zone, you choked on your own spit as you felt all the heat in your body rush to your face.

“She's mommy but she's confused.” Rina guffaws, high-fiving Cami as she joins Rina's laughter.

Amara, unfazed, calmly stepped over you like you were furniture. Hana didn’t even blink as she passed you a towel.

“Good form,” she said, her tone monotone but there's a soft look in her eyes that made you grin joyfully.

You were wheezing from a mixture of embarrassment and pride, eyes still wide, brain still echoing “mommy” like a curse.

But your body, your body was still humming from that last run. You were sweaty. Out of breath. Absolutely wrecked. You hoped for a little rest. But Hana just had to open her mouth.

“From the top,” Hana said quietly.

“Wait—” Rina muttered, already out of breath.

“Too late,” Cami grinned, hopping back into place.

Amara rolled her neck, you swear you heard her bone crack.

You stood up pulling your shirt away from your damp back.

The music clicked on. And just like that, they moved, you moved, like waves crashing against cliffs.

A few months later, while your group was once again rehersing like your life depended on it, just outside the room, unseen and unknown, two women stood watching.

The cracked door to Studio B let out just enough sound to spill the track into the hallway.

Chae, arms folded, jaw set. She’d been with them since day one. She knew their rhythms. Their hunger. Their passion.

Beside her, Mirae, Geffen’s A&R rep, stood still, one hand loosely curled around her phone, but not recording. Just watching. In utter disbelief and awe.

Inside, the music looped back into the chorus.

Five girls moved in perfect sync.

Not polished, not poised, but real. Undeniable, uncontrollably feral yet sensual.

“How long have they been like this?” Mirae asked without looking away.

Chae exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding her breath for two years.

“They didn’t start this way. 4 years maybe, give or take. 2 years of breakdowns.”

Mirae nodded faintly.

“They’re not even trying to be a girl group. They simply just are.” She remarked, letting out an exhale she didn't know she held.

“They move like no one’s watching,” Mirae murmured. “They think no one is. They think they’re not worth the audience.” Chae replied.

A pause.

“They’re going to change things…” Mirae said, softly, fingers tapping furiously against her phone.“...A group like this? Queer? Sharp? Messy? Human? They’re going to hit hard.”

Chae didn’t say anything. Just stared through the glass.

“Good,” she thought.

“They deserve it.”

Inside, the girls stumbled to a stop. Their bodies are sweaty, their lungs breathless, half-laughing.

You flopped down to the floor, clutching your towel like a lifeline.

Rina rolled into your side, comfortably laying on your bicep.

Cami dramatically lay flat like she’d been shot.

Hana handed out bottled water with silent efficiency.

Amara leaned against the wall, arms crossed, humming through her cooldown.

Just another day.

Just another run.

Or so you thought.

#katseye x reader #daniela avanzini x reader #daniela avanzini #katseye daniela #daniela avanzini imagines

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monstersholygrail · 1 day ago

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Imagine getting isekai'd into your favorite Monster Romance Dating Sim.

After one too many bad dates with the men you’ve met on your countless dating apps, you figured why not give fictional men a try. Anything would be better than this. You were tired at this point, so you really can’t be blamed for simply looking up the top ten most obscure dating sim games and downloading whichever one got placed number one.

It didn’t matter at the time that you hadn’t realized the website didn’t have any other articles on their entire platform. Nor did you seem to notice that the article specifically used your name when offering the list on what you may like. All of it just flew right over your head.

And when the time comes that you’d be able to notice anything amiss, you’re already too obsessed with the game to care. Thinking it just has to be a coincidence that the game seems to know everything about you. How it somehow manages to anticipate your every need.

Even the Monster bf you mained appeared to favor you, although all the monster bf’s seemed to be addicted to you. It was his interactions you seemed to get the most of. Every option you picked was the right one and only made him even more in love with you. You never had such good luck in a game before. It should’ve raised at least one red flag.

But you figured it was just because it’s a good game. Definitely nothing strange going on. It was first on that website. Though come to think of it, you can’t seem to recall what any of the other games on that list looked like. All you could remember was seeing this one in such big bold letters that it was the only one you were really drawn to.

Yet still, after all that, you didn’t expect it when during another night holed up in your room your computer began to glitch. The colors mixed together till it created a strange sort of whirlpool. You were too shocked by what you were seeing to feel the strong breeze pushing you forward and sucking you up into the computer.

When you come to, it takes you a minute to process what you’re seeing. Instead of your room you’re now in a familiar looking tavern. The very same tavern in your game, in fact. Except now you’re not looking at it through a screen but in real life. Or whatever this is. Virtual life? You really couldn’t make sense of it.

You really needed a drink and some time to figure all this out. But the moment you sit down, a large shadow casts over you. Looking up your jaw drops, all five of your Monster romantic interests standing before you. And every single one of them stare down at you with a raging hunger. Looking like they want to tear off your clothes, shred them into tiny pieces, and ravage you till you’re a mess and fucked dumb on their cocks.

Only so that they may gain your love and finally claim you as their perfect mate, of course. And until you decide which one of them has won your heart, they see no problem sharing your body. Over and over again until your health bar drops to zero and you pass out from utter bliss.

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lovji · 2 days ago

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Perfectionist

G!P Professor!Sophia x Fem!Reader

You just wanted your grade fixed, that’s it. But somehow, you ended up in your professor’s office after hours, stuck in a conversation that feels a little too personal, a little too intense… and way more complicated than it should be.

cw: age gap, degrading, praising (ironic ik), sophia is lowk manipulative, reader is a virgin, breeding, creampie, blowjob, deepthroat, pussy eating & rubbing, a bit of slapping, overstimulation, begging, & more. wc: 8.04k

note: this is lowk not proofread and its my first on this blog but i hope u guys enjoy LOL also sorry this is kinda filthy...

You sat in the cafeteria, your fingers absently tracing the creases of your most recent grade report for General Physics. The sounds of lunch hour buzzed around you — metal trays clattering, overlapping voices, bursts of laughter — but it all seemed to blur into background noise. Your focus remained locked on the single letter printed on the paper in front of you: B.

Not even a B+. A flat, bitter, almost mocking B.

This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be.

You were a top student. An academic perfectionist. You had practically made academic validation of your personality at this point — and General Physics was no exception. You had revised the basics, read ahead, memorized every formula, and anticipated every quiz. You contributed in class religiously, always offering answers when no one else dared to. You were, without exaggeration, doing everything by the book. And yet, you still ended up… average.

You clenched the grade report in your fist, crumpling it slowly as if it would erase what it said. The paper bent and creaked, echoing how you felt inside. Crushed, cornered, and humiliated.

Professor Sophia Laforteza had been a pain in your academic side from day one. Elegant and sharp-tongued, she made it her mission to crush egos in front of the class with her famously brutal grading rubric and impossible-to-please attitude. You still remembered the first time you asked her a question, a harmless inquiry about vector directions, and she responded with an eye-roll, a smirk, and a lecture that made the entire class laugh at your expense.

You never forgot that moment. And it felt like she hadn’t either. Since then, she watched you, not in a neutral, teacherly way, but with something colder, more scrutinizing. And now, despite your relentless efforts, she gave you the same grade she gave slackers who barely showed up.

You couldn't let anyone see this. Especially not your parents. They’d cut your allowance again. No more takeout nights. No more gym membership. Maybe even fewer meals altogether.

You spotted your friends weaving through the sea of students, maneuvering carefully around crowded tables and swinging backpacks, trays of food balanced in their hands. Laughter trailed in each step they took, a feeling of familiarity you would never get sick of. Manon — your best friend, plopped down on the seat beside you, gently resting her food tray on the table, while Megan, Yoonchae, and Lara sat on the long bench adjacent to yours.

As the girls sat down and before they could notice, you hurriedly stuffed the crumpled piece of paper back into your bag, jamming it in between your textbooks and other essentials, burying your humiliation with it. Of course, no one needs to know about this. They shouldn’t. You need to maintain your perfect composure. That’s how people always view you. Composed, responsible, and smart. Someone they were willing to count on. You couldn’t even imagine how disappointed and judgmental others would be if they found out you were failing such a class. Just thinking about it sent a shockwave of embarrassment jolting through your nerves.

“You okay?” Manon tilted her head. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“You look bamboozled,” Megan teased, a laugh escaping her lips and infecting the group. You forced a laugh too, brittle and hollow.

“Yea, yea! I don't know why, but I just feel a little tired today. Maybe it’s because I slept late last night. Couldn’t fall asleep for some reason.” Lie after lie. You weren’t tired. You didn’t sleep late. You in fact passed out right as you hit the bed at 8PM. Staying up late? What’s that?

“You sure? We literally asked you if you wanted to call last night and you replied at like 8PM saying you were literally dead from destroying your legs at the gym and cleaning your dorm all night…” Lara tilted her head in doubt. Whoops. Perhaps you’re not such a good liar.

“Yup,” Yoonchae added. “And you haven’t opened the group chat since.”

“Oh! Uh…” You fumbled for an excuse, eyes darting. “I was, um, watching that new Netflix show? The one that’s trending right now?” Another lie. You hadn’t opened Netflix in weeks.

“Didn’t know you were into shows,” Manon raised a brow.

“Anyways—” you blurted out, desperate to shift the topic. “Did you guys get your physics grades back?” You were curious as to how your other friends felt about their results. Maybe Professor Laforteza was really just a bitch who didn’t wanna give anyone a good grade. No way anyone else got a higher grade than you.

“Oh, yeah!” Megan beamed. “Even though I flunked that last quiz, I got a B- overall!”

“I got a B,” Yoonchae said with a shrug. “Not mad. I didn’t really care about that class.”

“I got an A- somehow,” Lara smirked. “No clue how. I’ve slept through, like, three lectures.”

“I was late to every single one,” Manon gasped. “Still got a B+. Wild.” She giggled. “How about you, Y/N?”

Your mouth went dry. What? You worked harder than all of them — hell, harder than most people — and they were getting similar or better grades for doing the bare minimum?

Your throat tightened. Your eyes stung.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

You took a sharp breath, plastering on a strained smile. “I’d… prefer not to say.”

Lara rolled her eyes, laughing. “Come on, we all know you got an A+. You always do! You’re, like, terrifyingly smart.”

“Huh? Don’t even mention it,” you chuckled weakly, trying to wave it off, but your voice cracked — panic barely concealed.

You quickly turned to your phone, pretending to scroll through apps. You opened Instagram. Closed it. Opened your Notes app. Typed a random letter. Deleted it. You weren’t even pretending to text anymore — just trying to look busy enough to avoid conversation.

What the fuck is going on? What am I doing wrong?

The laughter continued, quieter now, but you still heard your name once or twice. Then: Daniela.

Manon scoffed. “Of course Daniela got an A+.”

Your eyes shot up from your phone. Your jaw clenched. Your academic rival. Always trying to one-up you. And now she’d won.

“She always does. Have you not seen how Prof. Laforteza looks at her?” Megan laughed. “They’re basically eye-fucking the whole lecture.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

You looked around. Everyone else was frozen too, processing what Megan just said.

Megan’s grin faded. “Wait… you guys didn’t know?”

Yoonchae leaned forward, brows raised. “Know what?”

Megan hesitated, then lowered her voice. “You know… the thing. Between Prof. Laforteza and Daniela.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, curiosity prickling despite yourself.

Megan scanned the room nervously. “Don’t tell Daniela I said this. Seriously. But apparently, they’ve been… seeing each other.”

Lara gasped. “No fucking way.”

“That’s what she told me. They meet in her office. After hours.”

“Are you telling me they’re fucking?” Manon said bluntly.

“I—I don’t know!” Megan whisper-shouted. “That’s what people are saying. But it’s not just Daniela.”

Megan leaned in closer. You all followed, your heads almost touching over the middle of the table.

“She’s been rumored to be sleeping with other students too. Including—” she paused, locking eyes with you “—you.”

Silence fell.

“What?” You could barely get the word out. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your voice was sharp now. Angry. Betrayed. “I’m not like that. I’m not Dani. I work for my grades.”

“We know,” Yoonchae said quickly. “But, this is all starting to make perfect sense. This explains why Dani got away with turning in that data report late last month! She was literally, like, 2 weeks late into turning it in, and Prof. still accepted it! Which already sounds crazy enough, but catch this — she gave Dani full marks as well! Zero deductions for late submission.”

Lara nodded. “And honestly? She does stare at you a lot, Y/N. Like… a lot.”

“I don’t think you’re like that,” she added quickly. “But I get why people talk.”

You sat there, stunned. Humiliated. Angry. Confused. You hadn’t noticed Laforteza’s eyes on you. But now? The looks. The subtle smiles. The comments. Were they normal? Were they inappropriate? You didn’t know anymore.

You looked at your friends. At the laughter that had faded. At the rumors now etched into the air.

You needed time to think about this.

The clock on your desk glared back at you: 11:13 PM. The room was dim and suffocatingly quiet, lit only by the golden pool of light cast by your desk lamp. Its warmth barely touched you. Most of the glow clung to the wood of your desk, highlighting the chaos you'd created. Crumpled notes, thick textbooks flung open to unread pages, assignments with messy annotations, highlighters bleeding across margins like battle scars. Some pages barely hung onto the edge of the table, others had already fallen, scattered carelessly across the floor like discarded thoughts.

The bluish light from your laptop screen painted your skin with a sterile, ghostly hue. You blinked at it, eyes heavy, throat tight. The same physics lecture was open. Again.. This had to be the fifth time tonight. Or maybe the sixth. It didn’t matter. The words didn’t make sense anymore. Equations swam, graphs twisted, sentences lost their structure the moment you tried to make sense of them.

With a sharp exhale, you slammed the laptop shut. The sound echoed louder than expected in the still room. You leaned back in your chair, head thrown against the backrest, a guttural grunt escaping your throat half frustration, half exhaustion. Your hands rose to your face, covering your eyes, then slid up into your hair, gripping it with trembling fingers. You twisted at the roots, pulling, almost hoping the sting would snap you out of this spiral.

But it didn’t.

Instead, your mind pulled you deeper into it.

Megan’s voice rang in your head again, as clear as if she were sitting in the room with you. “She’s been rumored to be sleeping with other students too. Including—” she paused, locking eyes with you “—you.”

The grip on your hair tightened with each thought.

Your grades. Dani’s perfect score. The stares. The rumors.

The way Prof. Laforteza looks at you in class. Was there really something?

You push yourself away from your desk, another frustrated grunt spilling from your lips. You flopped down onto your bed, snagging your pillow and bringing it close to your chest. Your hands tremble a little. It wasn’t even the grade anymore. It was everything else that came with it. The pressure. The unfairness. The humiliation. The disappointment.

You weren’t the type of girl who slept her way to a better grade. You were diligent. Your parents raised you well. Everyone knew that. Or at least, you thought they did.

But now? You could feel your reputation cracking.

You nestled into the pillow, letting out a sharp breath. You bit your lip, trying to fight back the tears. You didn’t wanna cry. Your parents taught you not to. They told you to be strong.

You propped up on your bed, determined to fix this. Determined to fix yourself. You were gonna do something about this.

You weren’t gonna let Prof. Laforteza get away with this.

You stood in front of Prof. Laforteza’s office door, heart thumping so loud you could feel and hear the vibrations in your chest. Your fingers again fiddled with the now crinkled grade report held in your hand. You need to be strong.

Inhaling bluntly, you hovered your fist over the door, hesitating for a moment.

Knock.

One beat. Two.

You heard the footsteps inside the room getting closer and closer to you. The handle turned.

And there she was. Professor Laforteza. She was suited in her usual dark blazer, the collar popped just slightly like always, with the top two buttons unbuttoned — which was not so usual, her expression completely blank. Unusually, her hair was let loose today. Perhaps because she didn’t have any formal lectures today.

“Y/N,” she said in a monotone voice. “Didn’t expect to see you today. Did I perhaps call you to my office?”

“No,” you answered firmly, stepping into her office as if it was your own. “I’m here to talk to you about something.”

“Hm,” she pouted in curiosity, nodding her head as she shut the door behind you with a quiet click.

Locked.

You felt your breath hitch silently. Why did she lock it?

Her office was surprisingly not well organized, which was quite surprising for someone like her. You could even call it messy. You felt a look of disgust creep up onto your face.

Did her and Dani fuck before you came here?

Does that explain the loose hair? The unbuttoned top? The messy desk? Fucking disgusting.

She walked back to her desk and sat back on her chair. “So, what are you here for?” She flashed a sweet smile at you. How cunning.

You dropped your grade report onto her desk, facing her. “I wanna talk about this.” You said as you crossed your arms.

She looks at the paper. Blink. Looks back at you. Blink. “Your grade?” She lets out a chuckle.

Why was she chuckling? She was starting to get on your nerves. Again.

“No,” you sounded disappointed. “The one you gave me.”

That made her raise an eyebrow. She stood up, picked up the grade report, squinted her eyes, staring closely at it. “You’re not satisfied with a B?”

“Why should I be?” You bit.

“You’re aware that I hold high standards?”

“I’m aware that you play favorites.” You snap back.

She looks straight up at you, putting the paper back onto the desk.

“I’m aware that Daniela passes everything late, yet she gets a perfect score, every single time.” You said. “Must be magic, right?”

She couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t find the right words.

And then she laughed, very lightly. “What are you trying to say, Y/N? I suggest you speak to me very carefully.”

“I don’t care. Because I’m not here to beg, I’m here to give you an option.”

She leans in on the desk, crossing her arms. “Are you threatening me?” She snickered.

“If I was, would you report me?” You tilted your head at her, raising your eyebrows. “Oh wait, that would cause — other things to come out, wouldn’t it?” A cunning smile forms on your lips. This was going your way perfectly.

There it was. You saw it. A glimpse of dismay in her eyes.

She blinked. “You’re bluffing.” She said while scoffing.

You took a step closer. “Try me.” You threatened. “Fix the grade. Or the principal gets a little anonymous email.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, smirking. Something you paid close attention to. “You’re playing with fire, Y/N. Come meet me in my office at 7 PM after class hours. I’ll sort something out for you.”

You weren’t sure what you expected. Perhaps a detention notice? Or maybe even a slap to the face.

Certainly not that. Not her leaning into you like that. Not that devilish smirk. Not the way your name rolled off her tongue like it was a sin.

You gulped nervously, almost breaking your composure. “Fine, seven.” You stared at her.

“I do hope you’re being serious about sorting this out.” You added, trying to regain your confidence, lifting your chin up.

Prof. Laforteza didn’t reply. She simply smiled and started organizing the papers on her desk. Dismissed. You didn’t give the satisfaction of giving her a second glance or another word as you walked out the door. But the second it shut behind you. You could feel it. There was a heat clinging to your neck, your ears, and your jaw. They way her eyes lingered for a second too long.

You now knew what others were talking about.

It’s 7:05 PM. The hallways are dimly lit and empty. The fluorescent lights above buzz softly, flickering just enough to make the silence feel heavier. Outside Prof. Laforteza’s office, the door looms like a line you’re not sure you should cross. But you do.

Your hand wraps around the handle,cool to the touch. You twist it slowly. The door gives a faint creak.

She’s there. Exactly where you expected her to be.

Seated at her desk, eyes down, pen in hand, papers spread in front of her with clinical precision. She looks up, calm, collected, and her gaze finds yours like it always does: too directly. Too intimately. You can't tell if it’s meant to disarm you or expose you.

Her lipstick is still that rich, velvety maroon from earlier, but you can tell she just reapplied it. There’s a fresh sheen, a new sharpness at the edge of her cupid’s bow.

The lights in the room are low. No ceiling light, just the amber pool of her desk lamp, casting golden illuminations across her face. Everything else fades into the warm gloom: her bookshelves, the filing cabinets, the locked drawer you’ve always wondered about.

She doesn’t speak yet.

She just lifts the glass in her left hand, amber liquid swirling inside. Definitely not water. She holds your gaze over the rim as she takes a sip.

“Five minutes late,” she finally says, voice low, casual. But there’s an edge. A challenge. She sets the glass down.

You speak without thinking. “You said seven.”

You step in and shut the door behind you.

Click.

Silence, except for the faint ticking of the wall clock.

“Lock it.” She said again.

You didn’t wanna lock it, for obvious reasons. But you also didn’t wanna talk back, for an unknown reason.

The sound of the door locking was far too loud for your liking. It was almost deafening to your ears.

“Sit,” She ordered again.

The leather chair across from her desk was cold against your bare legs. You were still in your casual plaid skirt from earlier this day. You tried to hold her gaze. But you couldn’t. Something was off in the atmosphere of this room. The way she looked at you, it made something in your stomach coil.

“I believe you came here with demands?” she said softly, tracing the rim of her glass with her index finger.

You gulped. “I want the grade fixed. I know about you and Dani. It wouldn’t take much for a tip-off to land on the principal’s desk.” You threatened, trying to sound confident.

She chuckled softly, somehow alluring. “Ah. Blackmail? How… adolescent of you.” She mocked.

You felt threatened. “Don’t try to play smart. I’m serious.”

She stood, unhurried. Slowly took her time, step by step to walk from behind her desk towards you. Her gaze never left yours.

“You’re serious, huh?” She mocked your statement, grinning as if it amused her. “Tell me, Y/N, do you actually think you’re the first person to come here and try to corner me?

You clenched your fist. You felt yourself starting to fall apart. You didn’t know what to say.

She got closer to you. She leaned in forward over the back of your chair, her plump lips ever so close to your ears. You didn’t flinch, but your breath certainly did hitch.

“Hm. You really think I'd risk everything for some naive little girl with a bruised ego over a B flat?” She whispered sensually. You could feel her warm breath on your ear.

Fuck. What was happening? You were failing.

She moved, circling around you, brushing a hand along your shoulder as she walked past.

At her filing cabinet, she plucked out a folder and opened it as she returned back to her desk. “Hm, your academic record,” she mused, with an impressed look on her face. “Every essay. Every grade. Every late night. You’re a perfectionist, honey, and it shows.”

You tense up at the nickname. You start to feel your chest tighten, and your breathing gets heavier. Why did you feel like this? Was she making you feel like this?

She looks back at you again, leaning against her desk with palms resting on the edge. “Do you know what I find most fascinating about perfectionists, Y/N?

You couldn’t give her a response.

“They break easily.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut.

She tilted her head. “So… what now? You threaten me. I call your bluff. You leak your little secret. I deny it. Daniela denies it. And then what?” She gasps mockingly. “You get dragged in too. For tampering, for false accusations, for harassment."

This wasn’t going as planned at all. You felt terrible. You felt stupid.

You didn’t think this through.

Just as you thought you got to the worst part of the night.

Prof. Laforteza took a step forward. Slow and deliberate. “But you’re not really mad about the grade, are you?” Her voice dropped, a smirk formed on her face as she looked down on you. “You’re mad because you’re not my favorite.” She reached out to hold your chin, gently forcing you to look up at her.

She caressed the top of your chin.

You didn’t know how to feel. You felt like you were being hypnotized.

“Sweet, bright, diligent Y/N…” She continued to caress as gently as possible, giving you a pitiful pout. “You envy Daniela. But not because she’s top of the class.”

She leaned in on your ear, her breath hot and careful. “You want the attention I give her. You want it so badly it’s driving you to this.” She chuckled. “Isn’t that pathetic?”

You couldn’t find the words. There was nothing in your head. Yes, it definitely wasn’t a lie that you were extremely jealous of Dani, but not for this reason. Perhaps Professor Laforteza was right. You could feel her fingertips grazing on your chin and how her hot breath felt on the side of your ear. It felt so — hot.

She pulled away, lips curled into a cruel, evil smile. “Am I wrong?”

Again, you couldn’t find the words. You felt like you were being teased. You hated this feeling, yet, something about it felt somehow exciting.

“You envy her,” she murmured, “but not because of the grade. No. You envy her place.”

The professor circled behind you now, deliberately close, her breath feathering against your neck. “The way I look at her. The way she makes me laugh.” A pause. “You want that same heat.”

Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Stop.”

But Sophia wasn’t listening. She moved in front of you again, hands braced on either side of your body, you could feel the warmth of her palm on your shoulders. “Say it,” she said. “Say you want it too.”

The room was too quiet. Too heavy. Your heart beat like it was trying to escape your chest.

“You’re so much more fun when you’re not pretending Y/N.” She leaned down, getting closer to your face each second. “Please, stop pretending.” Her nose was centimeters away from yours.

You bit your lip at the desperation in her voice. The way she talked to you. You knew she was manipulating you, but you played right into it.

She placed her hand on the side of your neck, gripping lightly. The room felt so fucking heavy.

In the dim light, her lips softly pressed onto yours. You could feel the pressure of her kiss. You’ve barely tasted any of her, yet, you already felt intoxicated. You were frozen, unsure of what to do. You felt her lips relax. And then go in again, kissing you a bit harder this time. For the first time, still unsure, you kiss back. You can feel her hum into the kiss, growing more passionate.

She puts her hands on both sides of your waist, tugging you upwards to stand up. She lightly pushes you against the edge of her desk, knocking a few items here and there. Both of you are still holding the kiss, and each second it grows deeper and hotter. Unexpectedly, you felt a soft and wet organ dart at your lips, seeking entrance. You open your mouth, welcoming her warm tongue into your mouth. You could taste her drink. You couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it was something sweet. Damn, it tasted good. Everything felt so hot. You couldn’t believe what was happening.

You were making out with your professor.

Professor Laforteza.

Sophia broke the kiss for a moment. “I knew you’d give in.” She chuckled under her breath.

Fuck. You felt so defeated. But something about being defeated by Prof. Laforteza felt so good. Something about the way she handled the situation — the way she handled you, was so fucking hot. You’ve never felt anything like this. Hell, the last time you experienced anything remotely close to anything like this was when your first and last boyfriend tried to kiss you in 10th grade. You cringe at the memory.

Now, you have your professor pinning you against her desk. She goes back in for the kiss, a lot more hungry this time. Her big hands are dancing around your waist, each caress lighting you on fire. Her hands find their way towards your ass under your skirt, groping at both of your cheeks, making you hitch up into her touch and slightly moan into the kiss. Today was definitely the day to not wear safety shorts. You could feel her smirk through the kiss. You felt so good under her touch.

The kiss doesn’t bore you. She pulls out and kisses you gently on the jaw, tracing kisses over it. You take this chance to recover your breath. You then feel her lips nib on your neck, a lick across, and then a nice suck on your sensitive skin. You could feel the bruising of the warmth and tightness of the sensitive spot on your neck. It hurt so good. You were already aching for more. She continued to suck on your neck while she started to unbutton your blouse with her eyes closed.

Damn. You couldn’t help but wonder how many other girls she did this to or, maybe how many times she has been in this exact same situation with Daniela. A wave of jealousy and insecurity hits you. But it didn’t matter right now, not when Sophia was undressing you. “Mmm, I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget about this moment, baby.”

There it is again. A nickname. Not that you were complaining though. You loved it.

Now unbuttoned, she pulled your blouse off of your body, still nestling herself on the side of your neck. Her lips on your neck felt so tingly. It felt so addicting. It felt like a massage. She pulled away to get a look at your topless body.

“Fuck, I knew it. You’re so gorgeous.” She said as she unclasped your bra smoothly, as if she’s done it a million times before.

She wastes no more time and shoves her face into your boobs, sniffing the scent of your naked body and inhaling as much she could of you. She fondles your boobs, rolling your hard nipples in between each finger. You let out a gasp. You’ve never felt this before. It felt like you wanted to gush. She plants her tongue on your nipple, softly flicking back and forth while she tugged and pinched at the other one. She wholly takes it into her mouth, gently sucking at it while moaning, sending vibrations to your sensitive nubs, making you squirm in pleasure.

“Oh fuck,” you squeaked.

“Mhm, you like that? I bet no one’s ever made you feel this way, huh?” She said cockily.

She kept sucking on each of your tits, alternating back to back, making sure to give each an equal amount of attention. You could feel the dampness in your panties already. Every single one of your moves felt so dangerous.

Her hands find their way back under your skirt, but this time in the region of your pussy. She could feel everything. The moment she touched your panties, her hand too became wet.

“Already so wet, baby? We’ve barely even started yet.” She murmured deeply.

“C’mon, get these off.” She said as she rolled your panties off of you. She stared at them for a second, throwing them away the next. “Pink. How cute.” She teased you, making you look down and blush in embarrassment.

“My baby is so cute, hm?” She said as she kneeled down to get a better view of your pussy.

You tug at the hem of your skirt, attempting to take it off. She holds your hands tightly, “Nuh-uh, skirt stays on.” Looking at you with seriousness.

She gets back to business and props one of your legs up on top of the chair with the other on staying on the floor. Your pussy was all spread out for her to see, drenched in your fluids, all because of her. She grazes at your lips and at ever so slightly at your clit, earning a sharp gasp from you. She licks softly at you, making sure to savor your taste. She keeps giving long and slow licks up and down your pussy, long enough to keep you waiting, but to also make you frustrated. You boldly grab her head and attempt to push her face into your pussy, but immediately pull back when she gives you a hard slap on the thigh. It stung, and it scared you.

“Hey, don’t fucking touch me unless I say so.” She looks up at you with daring and controlling eyes, her hands and fingers gripping so hard on your thigh, to the point that it hurts.

“I-I’m sorry…” You could only apologize softly.

Tired of playing around, she dove back into your pussy, this time fully indulging herself in it. She licked in every crevice of your lips, and slightly shoved her tongue inside of you from time to time. She used two fingers to spread your lips and see how wet you really were for her. “Hm, you’re such a pretty baby. I wish you could see how swollen and wet your pussy was for me. It’s so fucking hot baby.” She said as she licked and nibbled on your sensitive clit. She kept violating you, each flick getting you closer and closer.

“Oh, Oh my God, keep going please. Please.” You begged in a high pitched tone.

And now she suddenly pulls away. It felt cold down there suddenly, and you were confused. You whined at the loss of contact.

“Not yet, you need to earn it, mkay?” She said while standing up, unzipping her black slacks.

You saw the big bulge creeping up on her underwear. So fucking big. And it looks so delicious. Your hand reaches down to the bulge and gives it a little squeeze and rub, which Sophia lets out a groan to.

“Get on your knees, hun.” She pushes you down.

She pulls down her boxers and the rest of her clothes with them, revealing her hard veiny cock. Her cock was so hard, it looked like the veins in it were about to burst. It was standing up fully, ready to take anything. “You see my dick baby? That’s how hard I am for you.” She said as she wrapped your hair into her hand to form a ponytail. “Open your mouth for me.”

You obeyed, gaping your mouth with your tongue slightly out. She slightly pushes your head down, keeping her filthy gaze on you. The moment the tip of her cock feels the warmth of your tongue, she can’t help but bite her lip and groan at the sight. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, baby.”

You try to take her whole dick, but it’s hard, seemingly because of how thick and long her dick is. You try to adjust your jaw to it first before moving too much, but Sophia gets a little impatient. “C’mon, what’re you doing?” She says as she pulls on your hair and makes you look at her. You take this as a sign to start your motion, bouncing your mouth back and forth on her hard cock.

You squeeze your hot mouth around her length, attempting to pleasure her. She groans in approval of it. Your hair is still wrapped around her hand, she suddenly tightens the grip and starts pushing and controlling your head more, making you slightly gag every time the tip of her cock reaches the back of your throat.

With each stroke, she gets more aggressive, seeking for more. She gets faster, and starts to push harder and deeper. “Prove to me that you can do it for me baby.” She says in a low grunt, suddenly pushing your head down as far as she could. Even then, you still couldn’t take all of her

Now, tears started to sting your eyes. You couldn’t help it, especially when her thick cock was lodged inside your throat. It was so big, it almost felt stuck, as if it was permanent. Sophia made you stay in that position for a moment. You looked up at her with tears in your eyes, mouth full of cock and she looked back down at you, eyes full of greed and pity.

Suddenly, she winds back her hips and thrusts forwards, banging your throat. You let out a gag as she assaults the back of your throat. Her being the sick person she is, could only chuckle to that. She keeps doing the same motion, each stroke gets harder and faster.

By now, she was aggressively fucking your throat, throwing her head back and moaning. Thrusting into your mouth without mercy. Tears spilled from your eyes down to your cheeks, and drool was bubbling from your mouth from each thrust she took. “Ugh fuck baby, your throat feels so good, ngh. Don’t worry, you feel so much better than Daniela. You’re being such a good girl right now. Taking my cock so fucking good. You’re so fucking good for me, hm? It’s as if that little mouth of yours was made for my cock.” She moaned out as she fucked your mouth into oblivion. With every word she threw at you, you could feel your pussy dampen and clench on nothing.

“I’m gonna cum soon, baby, need you to take it like a good girl okay? Swallow it for me.”

Sophia suddenly pulled and started stroking her cock pointing at you at a swift speed. “Open that mouth for me baby, stick out that hot tongue.” She grunted deeply.

You obeyed, sticking out your tongue for your professor and looking into her eyes like a little whore. Sophia kept jerking herself, and soon enough, she came. Her hot strings of cum landed on your tongue. There was so much, it just kept going and going. Without a warning, she put the palm of her hand on the back of your head and shoved her dick back into your throat, having you fully take it as she kept unloading her hot semen into the back of your throat. “Oh fuck, that’s my good girl.”

You felt yourself getting even more wet at her words. She unlodged her dick off of your mouth, softly slapping your cheek with her cock as she left out a small but hot chuckle, admiring how drunk you were from her cock.

She bends down, almost to your level, but just enough to be still above you. “You're such a good girl for me. Good job baby, I’m so proud of you.” She gives you a gentle kiss as slowly helps you up from the floor.

“Now get on the desk. Don’t think you’re getting away without me fucking that pussy.” She said deeply as she lifted you on top of her desk. As she propped you up, she spread your legs, having you set your feet on top of the desk as well. Thank God you were flexible. She leaned down to get a closer look at your pussy again. “I could stare at this all day baby, so beautiful, hm. Your clit is so swollen and your pussy looks so tight.” She whispers deeply.

You could do nothing but whine in response. What were you even supposed to say to that?

Sophia looks at you, “Are you a virgin?” She asks.

You look down, nodding slightly, flustered, not sure of how to answer the question without looking like an absolute loser.

“I knew it.” She said as she took another lick at your clit. She was slowly getting addicted to the taste of you, but she wasn’t complaining. She went back up to level your face and started kissing you again, lips attacking yours. Her tongue felt so warm and gentle, but also so aggressive and dominant. How was that even possible?

You indulged yourself in her lips and tongue as she made your mouth her plaything, sucking and nibbling on both your lips and tongue. She pulls back and slowly strokes her cock. She was fully rock hard again. Her dick obviously aching for some more.

She lines up the tip of her cock to the entrance of your pussy, but before she puts it in, she smothers it in your wetness, smearing the tip of her cock all over your pussy, most especially rubbing it fast on your clit. In response, you squirm and writhe under her. You felt so sensitive after all the teasing and from how horny you were.

She responds to your reaction, “You like that baby? You like it when I play with your pussy using my cock?” She says teasingly as she spreads your lips to get a good view of your pussy, rubbing her fat tip on your clit and all over your pussy. At that moment, you felt like you wanted her cock inside of you already. It felt raw and vulgar. It feels so good, you start trembling under pressure, you bite your lip so hard it almost starts bleeding. You moan loudly like you’re not in your college campus.

“Oh my God, yes! Fuck!” You squirm out as Sophia keeps playing with your clit. You can feel it. You don’t know what, but you start to feel something brew in your gut, and before you know it, you start cumming on her bare tip. Your legs spasm as they start to close in on themselves as you let out a terribly loud moan. Your eyes roll back and you arch your back from all the pleasure. You just had your first real orgasm.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sophia says abruptly as she slaps your cheek. “Who told you you could cum?” She raises her voice at you.

You look at her with shock and fear in your eyes. You didn’t even know you were about to cum. It was your first time. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” You whimpered like a poor puppy.

“I don’t care. For a virgin, you sure are a needy bitch.” She grunts as she spreads your legs fully and shoves her cock inside you.

You scream in pain and pleasure – mostly pain. After she rammed her dick inside you after one go. she stopped, letting you feel her cock just inside you. “Fuck, you really are so tight.” She chuckles, well excited for what she's about to experience.

You purse your lips and try not to cry. You tried to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain, and it was slowly working. You could still feel your orgasm wash out. Your pussy was too sensitive for this right now.

“Hm, can you feel me baby? You feel my big cock inside your pussy.” She asked teasingly in a high tone as she pouted at you.

You could only pout at her back and nod as you whimper.

“I’m gonna start moving a bit, okay my pretty girl?” She whispered softly as she slowly started to move her cock. You could feel it. You could feel everything. It felt so real. It felt so raw.

“Oh fuck, you’re taking this dick so good. Holy fucking shit. So fucking tight f’me.” She moaned as she slowly moved in and out of you, watching her dick slowly disappear into your tight cave, swallowing her dick whole.

Soon eventually, the pain started to subside, and pleasure was all you could feel. She was all you could feel. Your professor. Sophia Laforteza.

She started to go at a faster, more average pace. “God, this pussy is so good. I can feel you tighten around me baby. You’re so fucking hot. So fucking beautiful.” She softly whispered as she fucked her cock into your tight cunt.

You started to relax your body on the desk, letting Sophia take full control over you. She lifted your legs and pressed your knees down towards the sides of your chest, making sure she could fully immerse herself in you.

You could feel her big cock stretching you, hitting your g-spot, reaching you in places you didn’t even know existed. The more she thrusted into you, the more drunk and intoxicated you felt. It felt like all that mattered right now was her cock.

She started to increase her pace. “Holy fuck! You like that, baby? Tell me how much you like it.” She grunted.

“Oh! Ngh, it feels so fucking good. I love your cock. ‘Can feel you fucking my pussy so good.” You whimpered loudly as your eyes hit the back of your head. Your words were almost incoherent. You didn’t even know you were capable of speaking like that.

Sophia was fucking your pussy like a monster. She held you by your hips, making sure you felt as full as ever. “That’s it baby, take that cock. What a good girl.” She praises.

She took this moment to admire the beautiful sight in front of her. One of her students, laid back onto her desk with their legs spread wide open, skirt lifted up high to reveal their pussy. Her cock splitting your pussy open as you moan like a bitch with each thrust of her rod. She bit down on her lower lip at the sight of your tits bouncing back and forth, occasionally tugging, twisting, and rubbing on your nipples from time to time.

The sound of her pelvis slapping your ass fills the room, with wet sticky sounds ricocheting across the walls. Your body writhed and convulsed beneath her, spasming when she reached with her finger to play with your clit.

“You gonna cum at the same time as me, okay pretty baby? I’m so close already. Let me see my pretty baby cum under my cock.” She says, beads of sweat dripping down her forehead and she kept her pace and consistency in fucking your now sore pussy. She fiddled with your clit, switching from pinching to tease you and rubbing it to stimulate you.

She continued to rub your clit in circles and all sorts of different motions, spitting on your pussy from time to time. The bundle of nerves on your pussy felt like heaven. You could feel that same brewing in your guts again. “Oh, ‘think I’m gonna cum!” you squeaked out loud as Sophia kept fucking your tight little pussy.

“That’s my girl. Where do you want me to cum, baby? Want me to cum inside you, huh?” She shouted as she slapped you cheek which turned you on even more.

The thought of her cumming inside you brought you even closer to your orgasm. Your pussy tightened at the thought. You loved the way she talked to you as if you were some whore for her dick. “Mmm, yes! Please cum inside me! Mph!” You weren’t thinking. You were intoxicated by her cock, completely. You moan out loud as she keeps working on abusing your clit while she rams her fat cock in and out of your sore and tired pussy.

“Oh God, take this cum. Take my sperm, gonna pump that fucking semen inside of you. Fuck!” Her hips convulse, you can feel her dick reach the deepest part of your pussy, while her cock pulses and releases her hot semen into your cervix. The warm cum floods your entire pussy, coating your walls with sperm.

As she unloads her cum inside of you, her fingers still rub on your sensitive clit, and you reach your peak shortly after she reaches hers. You both cum at the same time, your pussy tightening around her cock as you cum and your body spasms while your back arches again. “Oh my fucking God, yes! Fuck! So good…” You moan as you both reach your high.

As Sophia is still unloading into you, she doesn’t find the need to stop rubbing your clit, or stop thrusting into your pussy. Your body was too tired to do anything. You felt incredibly overstimulated. All you could do was whimper and whine while trying to push her off. But it didn’t work, Sophia is too strong for that.

“What? I thought you wanted to cum? Isn’t that right? You came without permission earlier right?” Sophia teased with an evil grin.

You looked up at her with tears forming in your eyes, attempting to push her off again. But she doesn’t budge. You could feel the pain brewing in your clit from the overstimulation and the soreness of the insides of your pussy. “Please, it hurts…” You squirm.

“Nuh-uh, come on baby, I know you can cum one more time for me. Come be a good girl for me. I know you can, baby.” She whispered gently as she pulled her cock out of your pussy and started rubbing her tip on your clit again. As she was doing so, her cum escaped your pussy, fluids overflowing and flooding out onto the desk. “Hm,” She sighed disappointedly.

She used the tip of her cock to scoop her cum from your worn out pussy. She flicked your clit back and forth with her fat tip, smearing her cum all over your pussy, using it as lubrication. “You like that baby? That’s what you like, right? When I rub this cock all over you pretty little clit?”

You could only nod and whimper in agreement. It hurt so much, but you could feel it again. As she rubbed his cock real fast on your clit, you came, for the third time today, screaming again, almost out of breath. Your legs shook and closed on impulse, pushing Sophia out of the way. She did nothing but laugh at your actions.

“How cute.” She chuckled as she petted your head.

You were so exhausted. It felt like your whole body was worn out, even though it was Sophia doing all the work. You didn’t even feel like getting up anymore. Your body was just fully limp on her desk.

She took this time to admire you, how beautiful your body and face really were. “You’re so gorgeous, Y/N.”

No response. Too exhausted. Just breathing heavily, looking up at the ceiling.

She held you by your back and lifted you up to sit so you could face her. “Are you okay?” She asked while wiping the sweat off of your face. You couldn’t tell if she was being serious right now. She literally just destroyed your guts and now she's asking you if you’re okay?

“Uh, yeah.” You said in a shy manner, now that the sexual tension has gone, you felt even more embarrassed.

“Good.” She whispered firmly. “I promise to never give you anything but an A+ after that. Only if you keep doing what I want you to do though.” She chuckled. You knew she had to keep you around after that.

You were still dazed, unsure of how to respond to anything. You certainly did enjoy your time in her office – a little too much maybe. But you weren’t sure if this was something you wanted to keep up. Nevertheless, you knew you had to obey her and listen to her now. She had something against you.

You shared a dirty little secret.

#sophia katseye #sophia laforteza #katseye smut #sophia x fem reader #sophia laforteza x fem reader #g!p sophia laforteza #katseye imagines #katseye sophia #sophia smut

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abbotjack · 17 hours ago

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Ok this might seem super random but I feel like jack and the reader from the life we grew would be watching love island . Like I see all these couples watching them online and I just kept imagining them doing it . Like bam as soon as baby is down it’s time for love island . 😂 and jack can’t help himself making commentary at everything they’re doing . Jk this was just super random I felt like I had to share . You’re amazing and I love your blog it’s such a welcoming space , hope you’re doing well !

This idea made my whole day, it’s so perfect?? Jack Abbot, post night shift, fake hating love island while absolutely needing to know who got dumped?? You waiting to watch it until he’s up because you’re both secretly obsessed?? It’s so them. Also, thank you for being so kind. Your message was the sweetest and genuinely means so much to me. You made this space feel exactly how I hope it feels. 🤍

₊˚⊹ ୨୧ THE LIFE WE GREW SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s 4:53 PM and the house is quiet.

Not the peaceful morning coffee kind of quiet. The other kind. The Bean is down for her nap, Duck is missing an eye again, and the twins have finally stopped treating your ribcage like a conga drum kind of quiet. The kind that only happens in a house that’s run on toddler chaos, shredded cheese, and the sacred 7PM–7AM shift rotation of Dr. Jack Abbot.

You’re on the couch, legs propped up, belly stretched tight under one of Jack’s old shirts. Your back hurts. You’re eighty five percent sure you dropped your phone somewhere between the couch cushions.

The TV’s paused on Love Island... waiting.

Jack’s finally up, the weight of another brutal night shift still clinging to him. This morning, he barely managed to kiss you, kiss Bean, and do his usual fridge check before crashing into bed like someone hit his off switch. You never wake him, unless the house is on fire. And even then, you’d probably just close the door and handle it yourself.

When he wakes on days like this, it’s always slow. Hair rumpled, eyes half lidded, moving like gravity’s still a little too heavy. Hungry in that very specific, I worked a trauma bay last night and now I’m eating shredded cheese straight from the bag kind of way.

Which is exactly what he’s doing now.

You hear the fridge open. Then the unmistakable rustle of the cheddar bag. A beat of silence. Then a tiny voice from the hallway.

“Dada… can I have some feelings cheese too?”

You smile.

Bean appears, Duck in hand. Jack comes closer to her, already holding out a fresh pinch of shredded cheddar like a holy offering.

“You promised Duck could have two pieces today,” Bean says solemnly.

“I did,” Jack nods. “And you held me accountable. That’s integrity, Bean.”

You watch them from the couch, heart already melting. This is how it started, the cheese thing. Not from you. You keep snacks in matching containers and label leftovers with the date. You were a federal compliance accountant, for God’s sake. Precision is your love language. But then Bean caught Jack one morning... half dead from back to back shifts, crouched in front of the fridge in his scrubs, eating shredded cheese straight from the bag. He didn’t even pretend to hide it. He just looked her in the eye and said: It’s feelings cheese. Helps with brain. She nodded like he’d told her a sacred truth.

And now here you are, living in a house where cheese is currency, comfort, and spiritual practice.

Jack finally plops down beside you on the couch, balancing the bag between you like it belongs there. “Tell me you didn’t watch it without me,” he says.

“I didn’t.”

He exhales. “Good. Because that would be emotional cheating.”

You grin. “You literally pretend to hate this show.”

He grabs the remote, unpauses it. “I do hate it. I also need to know if that one girl cried in the Beach Hut or just dramatically stared into the ocean again.”

You glance at him. “You know their names.”

He doesn’t look away from the screen. “I remember who’s dangerous.”

You laugh so hard your stomach aches. Onscreen, two new contestants make their entrance: one in overly crisp linen, the other introduced as a “crypto investor,” like that’s supposed to be reassuring. Jack squints. Then his voice softens. Still teasing. But quieter. More personal.

“I wonder what you were like then.”

You glance over.

“When?”

He nods toward the TV. “When you were that age. Twenty one. Just starting out. Probably had three highlighters in your bag and a five year plan on your desktop. Corrected people’s grammar in group projects. Said things like, ‘I just function better with a routine.’”

“I was insufferable.”

“You were dazzling and beautiful.”

You pause.

He looks at you, eyes gentle but tired. Like he’s still halfway in that night shift fog but would still find you in a crowd. “I think about it sometimes,” he continues. “What it would’ve been like. You back then. Me, too messed up to stay still. I wouldn’t have known how to love you yet. But I would’ve tried.”

You lean into his shoulder. “I think I would’ve scared you.”

“Oh, no doubt. You would've ruined me with your beautiful brain.”

You laugh into his clothes.

“But I would’ve shown up,” he says. “Even back then. Even if I didn’t know what to say. I think I would’ve made a mess of it. But I would’ve meant it.”

You curl your hand around his. His calluses. His pulse. The way he still smells like the hospital and somehow like home. “I would’ve followed you,” he adds, “even if I didn’t know why yet.”

You don’t say anything. You just rest your hand on your belly, and he places his over yours. There’s a kick. A shift. The twins are listening. On screen, someone shouts, I just want to be loved for me! and Jack doesn’t even look.

“She’s absolutely texted ‘lol okay’ as a breakup.”

You giggle. “You’re so mean.”

“I’m literally exhausted and emotionally available. That’s what women say they want.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth. Bean appears again, “Can Duck have one more sprinkle?”

Jack tosses her a pinch of cheese. “Only if Duck agrees to take responsibility for their actions in the villa.”

Bean nods. Confused, but serious. A deal’s a deal.

The living room smells faintly of baby shampoo and cheddar. A terrible dating show hums in the background. You’re very pregnant, sore in places you didn’t even know existed during your last pregnancy, and completely undone by this man who treats shredded cheese like currency and still looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t change a thing.

#hey anon this was super fun and im happy you shared it!!#cause yes this is totally them #NEW TLWG lore just dropped #no one move #tlwg #the life we grew #x reader #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot fanfiction

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enviedear · 2 days ago

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JASON TODD and a mean!gf…

and it’s not that she’s cruel or hateful, she’s just navigating some issues with control and disorganized attachment. she’s hot and cold—sometimes at the same time. she’s draws him in just to feel suffocated. she presses for signs of weakness in their relationship like they’re bruises.

jason, for all his flaws, does love deeply. truly. earnestly. he broods, he definitely has issues with trust, and tends to not be able to let go—he needs to talk things out, seriously—but he’s perceptive. he can see echos of himself in her, in ways. she challenges him, pushes him, brings him to his wits end…but she also loves him like so right. he feels it in his bones.

he knows she need her space from time to time. that she operates best when given ample opportunity to examine her own mind and emotions. he’s fine with that—he enjoys the restraint she exhibits in that way, making time for herself. he loves her, and he never wants her to feel or get lost in the dynamic she shares with him.

say she’s particularly stressed. a mix of everything hitting all at once. all she wants is time to indulge in herself and her own mind—divulge into her own activities, maybe see friends she hasn’t spent time with in a while, or maybe catch a movie alone—something that’s just about her, what she needs. so she brings it up to jason, “babe? can you find something to do for the evening? i need some time.”

and it’s as simple as that. jason respects when she’s up front.

only—she’s not always up front. sometimes she tries too hard to mold herself into what she assumes he wants or needs. maybe he had a bad patrol week, got hurt, and is doing that silent sulking only he can do so well around the apartment. she doesn’t voice much, but she’s there. ignoring her own issues and feelings in hopes he’ll feel better. trying to play the role of perfect—not that jason ever asked. and besides, that’s not how it works—she gets too overwhelmed—it’s just not sustainable.

it always reaches a breaking point. something boils over. a snap. she’s fine and gentle until she’s not. she suddenly feels like she’s been asked too much of—and there’s a guilt with that feeling as well. the nagging idea of, ‘he deserves peace. be that for him’.

but despite the guilt, the feeling remains, and she feels a need to test and scrutinize the relationship. to make problems before he can notice she feels like one.

like when he comes home bloodied from patrol and she’s had a day from hell. her boss was a condescending prick, her friend canceled plans last minute, and she’s running on three hours of sleep—but jason’s lip is split and there’s that look in his eyes that means someone died tonight.

so she swallows it. make him tea, starts his shower, lets him hold her while he stares at the ceiling processing whatever fresh trauma gotham served up.

three days of this. three days of being what he needs while her own shit festers.

then he has the audacity to stare at her. notice her. say, “you seem off lately.”

“off?” her voice could cut glass.

“yeah, distant. like you’re not really here.”

she slams her coffee mug down hard enough that the counter echos, “not here? i’ve been nowhere but here, jason. wiping blood off your face, pretending i don’t have my own problems because, god forbid, you have to deal with anything that isn’t your own guilty conscience.”

“baby, that’s not—”

“no, shut up. you want to know what’s off? what’s off is that i’m so tired of shrinking myself into whatever shape you need that i can’t even remember what i actually feel anymore. it’s all just you.”

his jaw ticks. the vein that appears when he’s fighting his temper mares his forehead, “nobody asked you to do that. that’s all you.”

“didn’t they? because every time i even think to bring up my own shit, suddenly there’s some new crisis. some new reason why your problems are bigger and more important than mine.”

“that’s not fair.”

“fair?” she laughs, and it’s ugly. mean, “you wanna talk about fair? fair would be dating someone who doesn’t treat me like an emotional support system with tits.”

and that’s when jason’s patience snaps. because he can take a lot—has taken worse than she could ever dish out—but that particular accusation hits every insecurity he has about being too much, too broken, too damaged, and too dependent for anyone to love.

“you know what? fuck this.” he’s off the couch, grabbing his jacket, eyes glaring into her own, “you want space so goddamn bad? have all the space you want.”

“oh, so now you’re leaving? because…what? i’m right? perfect. very mature, jason.”

“what do you want from me?” he rounds on her, shadowing her, and there’s something dangerous in his voice now, “you snap, pick a fight, tear me apart, then get mad when i don’t stick around for more. it’s fuckin’ exhausting.”

“i want you to notice before i have to snap—and stop running away the second i’m not perfect!”

he tugs at his hair, eyes rolling, legs moving toward the door, “you think this is me running? baby, when i run, you’ll know it.”

the apartment door slams hard enough to rattle the windows.

he’s gone for two days. doesn’t answer texts, doesn’t come home. her disorganized attachment goes into overdrive—half convinced he’s never coming back, half planning what cruel thing she can say if he does.

she gets through it the way she always does—detachment. short responses to everyone, cutting remarks that leave people emotionally bleeding. her coworker with no sense makes a joke about her hair, and she smiles sweetly just to ask how his divorce is going. a guy at the coffee shop tries to buy her drink and chat her up, and she looks him up and down like he’s something rancid she stepped in.

because if jason’s not coming back, she’ll be in hell—and everyone else can go to hell too.

except he does come back. walks in like nothing happened while she’s aggressively reorganizing her (their) bookshelf.

“we need to talk.” he says, tone like he’s trying to diffuse a bomb.

she doesn’t even look at him, “do we? or are you just here to grab more of your shit before you disappear again?”

“i wasn’t disappearing. i was thinking.”

“how very enlightened of you.”

“jesus christ, would you just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “look, i get it, okay? you’re pissed. you can be pissed. but we can’t keep doing this.”

now she turns around, “doing what?”

“this thing where we hurt each other just to see if the other person will stay.”

she wants to argue, but he’s right and they both know it. so instead she deflects, “maybe some of us are just too much for other people to handle.”

“maybe. but i’m still here.”

“for now.”

“no, not for now. period.” he steps closer, “you think you’re the first person to try to push me away? sweetheart, i’ve been rejected by everyone i’ve ever cared about. if i was going to leave because you’re difficult, i would’ve been gone after the first week.”

“i’m not difficult, i’m complex—”

“you’re mean as fuck when you’re scared.” his voice is matter-of-fact, “you go for the jugular. you say things specifically designed to make people give up on you. and you know what? sometimes it works.”

her throat feels tight, “even with you?”

“no. not with me.” he cups her face, forces her to look at the broken man that loves her, “i’ve been dead, baby. i’ve been tortured, betrayed, abandoned, replaced. you think a few nasty words are gonna break me?”

the thing about jason is he doesn’t just love her despite the mean streak—he loves her because of it. because he knows what it’s like to be sharp edges and defense mechanisms. because when she bares her teeth, he doesn’t just see a snarl—he sees the hurt underneath.

“you know what your problem is?” she says later, when they’re both calmer, sitting on opposite ends of the couch like fighters in neutral corners.

“enlighten me.”

“you think you deserve to be treated like shit. so when i’m awful to you, part of you thinks it’s justified.”

he’s quiet for a long moment, then shrugs, “maybe.”

“and you know what my problem is?”

“tell me.”

“i think everyone’s going to leave eventually. so i try to control when and how, even if it means burning everything down myself.”

“and how’s that working out for you?”

she gestures between them both, “jury’s still out.”

but here’s the thing about loving jason todd—he doesn’t stay because it’s easy. he stays because she’s worth it. even when she’s testing every boundary, pushing every button, daring him to prove her right about being unlovable.

especially then.

because jason knows something about being too much for people. and he’s decided—fuck those people. he’d rather have all of her—sharp edges, and mean comments, and midnight fights—than some watered-down version that fits into other people’s idea of comfort. she fits his.

“come here.” his voice is low, gentle in his own way.

“why?”

“because i love you when you’re mean. i love you when you’re scared. i love you when you’re picking fights just to see if i’ll stick around.” he holds out his arms, “and ‘cause i’m tired of sitting on opposite sides of the couch like we’re enemies. c’mere baby.”

she doesn’t take his embrace immediately. because this is the part that scares her most—not the fighting, but the making up. the moment when he proves, once again, that she’s not too much, that he can handle all of her.

“what if i’m always like this?” she huffs, burying her face into his side.

“then you’re always like this.” he shrugs, “i knew what i was signing up for.”

“i’m serious, jason. what if i never get better at this? what if i’m always going to be the girlfriend who says terrible things when she’s scared?”

“then i guess i’ll always be the boyfriend who leaves for two days instead of dealing with his feelings.” he pulls her closer, his hand at her waist. “we’re both fucked up, baby. might as well be fucked up together.”

and finally—finally—he feels her relax.

a/n: this is my first time really giving reader a set personality or personal issue…do we hate it? also trying something a bit different for how i structure thought drabbles—idk if i like it. i may delete this LMAO, tbh i just wrote it mostly for personal comfort. but shoutout the mean!gf’s of the world and our disorganized attachment. we will prevail. love is not always scary or meant to be analyzed like a true crime case. speaking from experience.

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

#⤸ enviedear #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc jason todd #dc red hood #redhood x reader #jason todd thoughts #redhood jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #red hood x reader #dc redhood #red hood #jason todd fluff

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maeshoneyles · 1 day ago

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trophy

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

wc: 3.1k

tags: 18+!!!! smut, sugar mommy alexia, mafia alexia, fingering (r receiving), mirror sex, cunnilingus (r receiving), alexia grinding on r, dirty talk, jealousy, possessiveness but the good kind, alexia threatens a guy, aftercare and fluff at the end

a/n: i love a good sugar mommy alexia dynamic and the mafia just adds the perfect touch to me lol hope you enjoy!

The restaurant felt like somewhere the characters from Succession would eat, which honestly probably wasn’t too far off. Alexia was across the small table, eyes darting across a wine menu like she was deciphering some ancient cipher instead. Her brow had certain quirk to it, her forehead wrinkled just so as she read through the list of foreign reds and whites. The soft candlelight only accentuated her soft features as you sat there, staring, unabashedly, like nothing else in the world mattered. At that moment, it didn’t.

“Where did you say we were going after this, baby?”

“An event.” She said quickly, not looking up from the list.

“Do I get any more detail than that?” you said, batting your eyelashes in that way that always pissed Alexia off. Of course, it only made her mad because it made her melt for you.

“Stop that, and no. I told you everything you need to know.”

“All you said was to stay as close to you as possible, stay quiet, and look pretty.”

“Exactly, that is all you need to know.”

You sat back in your seat with a sigh and continued watching. The fabric of your dress was tight, but not too tight. The shoes were silver, and you honestly could not remember if this was a pair studded with real diamonds or not. You had too many too keep track. The necklace, though, those were definitely real. You remember Alexia coming home with the box on a random Wednesday a few months ago, almost giving you a heart attack in the living room when you saw the exquisite piece.

Alexia ordered the wine and the food, as usual. She liked to do everything short of actually chewing your food for you like a mama bird. And honestly, you wouldn’t put it past her.

You really had no idea what you ate—there was no point wasting energy on even looking at the menu when Alexia decided everything. Not that you minded, of course. One less decision for you to make. You told her about your day, your internship, your coworker who had bought you coffee twice this week, and yeah, had you brought that up just to see her jaw clench and her pupils dilate? Maybe. “Princesa, you know you don’t have to work that silly job, right? If this man is bothering you…”

“Yes baby, I know. You’ve told me a million times. But I want to, okay? I would go crazy sitting at home all day waiting for you. And I promise he is not a big deal. He doesn’t matter. Don’t do anything stupid on his account, ‘kay?”

“Mmm…I make no promises when it comes to you.”

“Ale…” You smirked. Alexia flashed back her wolfish smile that never failed to make you squirm in your seat. God this meeting or event or whatever better not take too long. Maybe I can convince her to leave early.

Dinner was comfortable and quick, just the precursor to the rest of the evening.

“Come, the car is outside,” Alexia’s hand found it’s place at the small of your back, leading you through the dimly-lit restaurant, out into the crisp night air, and into the back of the unassuming black car she had hired. You couldn’t remember the last time you had driven anywhere. Would you even remember how if given the opportunity? You didn’t waste too much time on the thought, brought back to reality quickly by Alexia’s hand squeezing your thigh. “Remember princesa, stay close and quiet. Don’t move out of my sight. Let everyone drool over you and make sure they know who you go home with,” she husked.

“Is that it? I’m here so you can show me off on your arm and make these assholes jealous?” you smirked.

Alexia gave me an unimpressed look and sighed. “Don’t- I’m not-”

I chuckled, shutting her up with a kiss. “Shut up. I love when you show me off, I love being your trophy”

“I don’t want you to think that’s all I see you as.”

“Ale, I know. You love me,” you smirked, lips just millimeters from hers.

“Brat.”

“You loveee me,” you sing-songed, playfully pecking her lips over and over again, your lipstick tinting her lips in a soft pink that just made you want to keep going and going.

The black car pulled up to what looked to be some kind of event center or hotel, again, you couldn’t bother yourself with the details when you knew Alexia would take care of everything.

The security guard escorted us in, not hesitating to lower his head in respect when he saw Alexia. You clocked her facial expression as you both strutted into the event, the subtle changes to her posture, her eyes darkening, her jaw clenching in the same way it did earlier. You felt her energy shift from the car to now; this was no longer your Ale, your wife, your love. No, this was Alexia Putellas. This was La Reina. Everyone knew not to mess with her or they should face the consequences. You were grateful to be on her arm and not a face in the crowd. Even in a room of potential danger, you felt as safe as you could by her side.

The next several hours were a blur of Alexia talking to various associates about god-knows-what. Honestly, you were just focused on her. The feeling that was buzzing underneath your skin, combined with the several drinks Alexia had gotten you from the bar, was begging to get out of that stuffy room and back home. “Ale,” you whispered in between conversations.

“Yes, carinyo?”

“How much longer do we have to stay?” You batted your eyelashes, giving your best pouty look that you knew she could never resist.

You saw the mask slip, her tough exterior fade for just a moment. “Not long, I promise. Stop it with the eyes, brat.”

I smirked in victory and leaned my head onto her shoulder as she led us away to another man she needed to converse with. Only a short while later, I felt an unfamiliar touch on my shoulder. Flinching further into Alexia, I looked up to see a man in a suit looking down at me with hungry eyes. “Quién es esta linda chica, Putellas?” he said, his voice slimy and sending shivers down my spine.

“Aléjate de ella antes de que te corte la garganta, Javier,” Alexia said, low and full of anger. She tugged you closer to her.

“Veo que la reina tiene una mascota ahora?”

Alexia took a deep breath before speaking again. “Podría matarte aquí mismo, y nadie vendría corriendo a por ti. Cuida tus palabras.”

Your Spanish wasn’t perfect, far from it, but you knew enough to know the gist of what was going on. And you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the specifics of how she was threatening that man, anyway. Once she was done her threat, she dragged both of you away to the entrance, already on the phone with the driver, making demands in rapid Catalan.

You didn’t dare speak until the driver safely deposited us at Alexia’s house. “Are you okay, Ale?” you said softly, almost worried she would explode again.

“Yes, princesa. I despise those men, every one of them. Even the thought that one of them would make you uncomfortable, let alone touch you, fills me with rage. I needed to leave before I did something I would regret doing in front of you.”

You clocked her choice of words immediately. In front of you. She would have killed that man like he was an ant in the blink of an eye if you were not watching, you were sure of it. The thought that she was willing to do such a thing in the name of protecting you filled you with heat.

“I’m okay, baby, I promise. Thank you for protecting me. I loved seeing you in your element tonight, by the way.”

“Yeah? You liked that? Liked seeing me boss everyone else around for a change? Not just you?” Alexia’s hands were all over you, running over the smooth silk of your dress.

“Mhm…loved seeing everyone scared of you..” Alexia’s lips were barely a breath away from yours, ghosting over them to tease you.

“Everyone there was staring at you, mi vida. I could tell. They all wanted you. But you come home with me? Don’t you?” she whispered against your skin.

“Y-yes…’m yours..” Alexia’s smirk came back, stopping for a moment before her grip on your waist tightened and her lips moved to attack your neck. “Fuck, Ale. Mark me, please.”

Alexia groaned against your neck as she sucked a bruise to the spot below your ear that made you squirm in her hold.

“Ale, please. Please- bed,” you moaned out after what felt like a lifetime of Alexia biting and sucking at your neck and collarbones.

“What? Your little pussy can’t handle a little kissing? You need more of me?”

“Y-yes! Yes baby, I need more.”

Without a word, Alexia scooped me into her arms and carried me into the large master bedroom, placing you down in front of the dresser and large mirror that sat on top of it. Alexia stood behind you and softly kissed the back of your neck as she took off your jewelry. Her large hands ran down the back of your legs as she knelt down to undo the buckles of your heels. Her fingers grasped the zipper at the top of the dress and paused. “Keep your eyes on the mirror, princesa.”

You whimpered softly, bracing yourself on the dresser with my forearms as Alexia freed your body from the sleeveless black silk. The dress puddled around your ankles on the hardwood floor, leaving you in nothing but the red lace panties Alexia had picked out for you hours ago. “Every time I am amazed at how beautiful you are, darling. So perfect, and all mine.”

“Yours.” You gasped out at Alexia’s hands began wandering, wrapping around your front to softly knead your breasts. She dragged her fingertips lightly around your nipples, the feather-light touch on the hardened buds making you squirm. You watched her hands work like magic against your body in the mirror. You could feel you wetness gathering between your thighs, desperation growing. You were always desperate for Alexia, but how could you blame yourself?

You resisted. Resisted the urge to let you head fall forward and eyes flutter closed in ecstasy. Resisted the urge to push your hips back into Alexia’s, silently begging. Resisted the urge to slip your own hand between your legs and get some kind of relief.

“All this,” she spoke in your ear as she lazily dragged her hands around your chest, back, stomach, and thighs, “is mine.”

“Yes..yes it’s yours. All yours. Alexia please.”

“Do you need more, carinyo?”

“Yes. Please.”

Her hands drifted down to your hips and toyed with the waistband of your panties for what felt like an eternity. You squirmed and whined, dropping your head to hang between your arms, the feeling of need becoming close to too much. You immediately felt one of Alexia’s hands snap up and tangle itself in your hair, yanking hard forcing your head back up, forcing you to make eye contact with yourself. The sharp prickles of pain from your scalp sent sparks straight to your core. You moaned, and Alexia tightened her grip.

“If you want me to touch you, watch. I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Ale please.”

“Shhh…I’m gonna take care of you. Just keep those pretty eyes up there.” You managed a nod and a whine as her hands released your hair and returned to your hips, one of them snaking around to feel through the thin fabric convering your pussy. She hummed in satisfaction at the wetness she found there. “What is this, princesa? All for me, hm?”

At this point you didn’t have words, turned on beyond belief and using every ounce of self-control to keep your eyes where she wanted them. Another sharp tung on your hair had you gasping into the suddenly too-hot air of your bedroom. “Words, mi vida.”

“Y-yes! Yes, it’s all for you Alexia!” you choked out. She took her time, gliding her fingertips through your silky folds like she was mapping them out in her mind even though you both knew she already had it memorized like the back of her own hand. The rough pad of her thumb made sudden, rough contact with your clit, causing you to gasp and buck your hips back towards the source of your pleasure. Your high was building quickly, the tension coiling in your lower stomach and threatening to break in what should be considered an embarrassingly short amount of time. “A-Ale..Ale I’m gonna-”

“Not until I give you permission, remember?” You glanced behind you in the mirror to see Alexia’s biting smirk looking down at you. You whimpered but nodded your head, biting your tongue until you tasted copper to try and starve off the climax begging to overtake your body. The visual stimulation of seeing yourself, seeing the desperation and pleasure in your eyes as Alexia played your body like she was in an orchestra kept you dangerously close to the edge. Alexia’s thumb slowed it’s circles around your clit and her middle and index finger were inside you before you could even whine in protest. “I love feeling you squeeze around me carinyo. Who’s pussy is this? Hm?”

“Y-yours! Yours, yours, yours!”

The uncontrollable facial expressions you watched yourself make were downright sinful. Alexia’s words, low and husked and laced with the Catalan accent that made you weak in the knees in a normal atmosphere, only added to the growing mess between your legs when combined with the current context.

“That’s it, baby. Watch yourself fall apart. Watch how you give yourself to me. God, you look so perfect like this, don’t you think? I should just keep you like all the time, dripping and begging for me. Would you like that? My perfect, slutty, little toy for whenever I want?”

All you could do was whimper and nod as Alexia’s talented fingers hammered against all of your most sensitive spots.

“Alexia-! I need- needa’..please” you babbled incoherent nonsense as Alexia pushed you just to edge and kept you dangled there for what seemed like decades. Tears filled your eyes, falling down your flushed cheeks as you blinked them out to regain your vision.

“Don’t you dare take your eyes off the mirror. Watch your perfect eyes when you come for me,” Alexia hissed against the shell of your ear, attacking your neck in bites as she finally pushed you over the edge. The sounds that ripped from your throat were completely feral and animalistic. Alexia continued her movements, not stopping until you were writhing from the overstimulation. Your head dropped onto the dresser as you attempted to catch your breath. But Alexia, obviously, was not done. Her strong hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you over the bed, laying you down and knocking your legs open. You swore you could see her mouth watering, even through your post-orgasm haze that hadn’t even begun to fade, your heart still racing and your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“So good for me, watching yourself like that, coming so hard for me. Let me clean my girl up, and then you can help me out, okay?” You only nodded and took a deep breath. Alexia’s soft lips kissed your pussy, still sensitive and slightly raw from before. “I’ll be gentle, I promise,” you could feel the smirk against your skin and knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful, but you couldn’t find it to mind.

Alexia lapped gently at the arousal pooled in your folds, drinking it up like she had been craving it for weeks. She focused the tip of her tongue on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you and your hips to buck up. Not one to allow you any kind of control, she tossed your legs over her shoulders and linked her fingers over your stomach, effectively trapping you exactly where she wanted you.

She alternated between sucking on your clit, fucking you with her tongue, and flattening her tongue against your folds, slowly building your arousal again until you were a shaking mess beneath her. “Ale-!”

“Shh, you’ve been good tonight. Come when you feel it.”

“Mmm- thank you thank you-“

You babbled out thanks and nonsense as another wave of your arousal flooded her mouth. She drank it up with no complaint and moved up to kiss you, your slick still coating her mouth and chin. You moaned, tasting yourself on her.

She slid her hips up until her bare cunt was rested against your abdomen. She used your gasp as an opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth as she grinded her soaked pussy along your abdominal muscles. You loved being used by her like this, even after two orgasms it sent sparks straight to your core.

Unsurprisingly, Alexia came fast after getting to toy with you for so long. She collapsed onto the sheets beside you, fingers coming up to trail imaginary paths along your side. “You okay, amor?”

“More than okay,” you hummed, turning you body to tuck your face into her neck and cuddle into her side.

“Good. You want a bath?”

“Only if you get in with me.”

“Brat. Deal..” Alexia smirked and moved gingerly up from the bed, taking your hand and supporting most of your weight on the way to the bathroom. She ran the bath with the utmost care, triple-checking the water temperature and that she had the scent that you preferred in the soap. Although you really didn’t care about all that, as long as you were in a warm bath, back pressed against Alexia’s chest, you would be content.

You sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of the hot water on your over exerted muscles. Alexia slid in behind you, carefully holding you against her chest with her strong arms. Your head leaned back to her shoulder and her lips pressed against your temple gently.

After some time soaking in the bathtub, Alexia spoke, her voice miles away from the confident and powerful woman that had stepped into the event hours ago or fucked you to tears just minutes ago. “I’m sorry that man made you uncomfortable. I should have been keeping a better eye on you, and on everyone else.”

“Not your fault Ale, it’s okay. Don’t tell me what you said to him after though, okay?”

“That was the plan mi vida. I love you.”

“I love you more. Every version of you.”

#lesbian #wlw #lesbians of tumblr #woso smut #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #fc barca #barca femeni #woso community #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #alexia putellas smut

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zzbubblegumbitchzz · 1 day ago

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Begin Again // Luke Hughes

Welcome to Luke Hughes 3 step guide to getting his girl back.

part one, part two

AN: here’s our final part, lover boy Lukey coming at you hot off the press.

WC: 1.3k

CW: fluff, sweet bf Luke, some angst if you squint, pet names

He would never hurt you again. He understood the intensity that was in the palm of his hand. He knew the second you called how important this chance was. He knew he needed to do this, and he knew it had to be right.

He was able to win you over once, and he was only a kid then. Now, he’s an adult. He’s going to Cinderella style sweep you off your feet.

Welcome to Luke Hughes 3 step guide to getting his girl back.

STEP ONE: PLAN THE ULTIMATE DATE

The cafe. That damn cafe. The place he fell in love with a sound – her laugh. He never knew he could love a sound so much. No song could ever compare the pure happiness that riddled you when you laughed.

You may not remember the details of that spring day, but Luke does. Every. Last. Detail. And now, he is going to recreate it.

He spent the last week preparing. He called the cafe, rented the whole place. They designed special drinks that represented a special moment in their relationship throughout the years. Saving the signature drink just called, Her. Her go to, her favorite.

STEP TWO: DAILY FLOWERS

Do you know how many types of flowers there are in the United States? 400,000 different types of flowers that he had access to. Millions in his bank account made it all the easier when he walked into the florist shop down the road.

“Hi! How can we help you?” The red head behind the counter asked.

Luke took a deep breath. “I want your whole inventory. How much would that be?” He chuckled at the surprised face the florist wore. “I know it’s a big ask, but I made a big mistake and kind of need to fix it.”

“You’re idea of fixing, is buying an entire florist shop?”

Luke nodded, “need options ya know?”

She shrugged, “tell me about her. Let’s make these perfect then.”

STEP THREE: TELL HER THE TRUTH

Feelings were hard. Mistakes were hard. Life without her was hard. He knew that. He was bad at talking, especially when he saw her and his mind just went blank. He made a note to work on that. That’s why he wrote it all down, like a vow.

He was paving the living room, hands sweaty, mumbling the same words over and over. A sad attempt at soothing his whole anxiety.

“Luke, it's okay. You’re gonna be fine, she hasn’t complained one bit and there's been a lot of deliveries to her house.” Jack spoke from behind him.

Jack was right, he knew he was right. His mind just couldn’t stop worrying.

What if he was too late? What if this was it? What if you actually hated all the flowers? What if seeing the cafe made you mad?

“Got your phone? Keys? Wallet? Notes?” Quinn asked from the kitchen.

Luke patted his pocket, then lifted his keys. “Yeah. All good.”

Jack just nodded towards the door, “then go get her back Lukey.”

The ride to the cafe was so quiet, she was driving herself and he wasn’t about to push. Whatever she wanted.

Come on Luke. You’re fine. She doesn’t hate you, she happily agreed to this. If she hated you, she wouldn’t have called. She wouldn’t have sent you that picture in your hoodie. She would’ve blocked you, thrown out everything. She wouldn’t have brought in the flowers. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.

By the time Luke had refocused on his surroundings he was pulling into a parking spot. That same parking spot he always did. He looked around, finding your car in an instant. Now or never Luke.

He watched your car door open, signaling him to get out of his own. Moving quickly to go shut your door, smiling down at you while he did. “You haven’t done that in a while.” Her voice spoke. “I know, and it’s a shame.”

He offered his hand, just a small gesture. Nothing he wanted to overthink.

His hand just about swallowed hers. He forgot how small she truly was compared to him. Her hand was warm, soft, and back where it belonged.

“Luke?” He was ripped out of his thoughts, “yeah honey?” making a mental note of the way her cheeks reddened and the grip on his hand tightened.

“I don’t think they’re open.” There was an edge to her tone, not anger, just sadness.

“Promise they are, come on.” He replied as he opened the door.

Wow. That turned out nicer than he was expecting. The tables were covered in her favorite flowers, every single table. The counter even had a huge vase full.

The bakery wall was covered in hand written menus, all designed specifically for her. Her drink sat ready at the end of the counter, his right next to her.

He watched her look around. The crinkle at the corner of her eyes and the flush covering her face gave away every thought she had. He was filled with a sense of pride. He was proud of himself. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“What is all of this for?”

“Do you remember our first date?” He watched her nod. “This is just an intensified version. Nothing but the best. Things I should’ve been doing ages ago.” He felt his ache as he spoke. She may forgive him, but he’ll never forget what he had done. Who he had hurt. Swore, he promised himself he’d never, ever do it again.

“I need to run to the restroom quickly, while I'm gone, I want you to read this.” He handed the envelope over.

The envelope with her name and small heart, in glitter gel pen. That was so very obviously hers from high school. He never got rid of her things, just moved them. Put them somewhere he’d never forget.

Hi sunshine,

I hope you’re not tired of notes yet, i’m aiming to do this once a week. Filled with all the words I can’t say out loud, or things I can’t express enough. I’m sorry if that feels like a cop out but I'm trying. I promise. I don’t ever wanna make that same mistake I did and I can’t express how sorry I am. There’s so much I’d do differently if we could go back, but I can’t. I can’t change the past, but I can build the future. (With you, preferably.)

You agreed to go on a date, Wednesday. Which I’m not sure if you remember, was the same day of our very first date. In this same cafe.

I know your mind is probably stressing about how much this costs, but trust me when I say no amount of money is ever too much when it comes to you. I would spend my last dollar if it meant you smiled at me.

Anyways, i’ll get into the whole reason for this little letter. Here’s my promise to you.

I promise to love you, and love you right. Love you loudly, love you proudly. Just like you deserve. Just like you’ve always done for me.

I promise not to miss dinner.

I promise to never go to bed without kissing you, your head, and holding you close.

I promise to never leave the socks next to the hamper.

I promise to fill the vase every week; no matter where I am in the world.

I promise you will never feel like a second, ever again.

I promise to always be there, especially when you need me.

I promise, I will be the guy you fell in love with.

Yesterday, every day, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.

I promise to always lift the sun as high as I can, just so you never dim.

I love you,

Luke.

#luke hughes drabble #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fic #nhl fluff #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl imagine

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brookghaib-blog · 3 days ago

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Golden Arms, and Dark Whispers

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob share a deeply passionate relationship, cracks begin to show beneath their perfect facade due to Bob's double life, hoping for a normal loving family life, and her pregnancy. Y/N's mental state deteriorates, making her vulnerable to the sinister influence of the Void, who turns her into a pawn for control.

Word Count: 8,8k

Warning: Emotional distress, anxiety, paranoia, psychological manipulation, mental health struggles related to pregnancy, feelings of abandonment, betrayal (very angst and emotional)

Note: Reading this post will clarify a point, but it's very much implied :)

The morning sun spilled lazily through the gauzy white curtains, golden light dancing across the kitchen tiles as the scent of rosemary and warm cinnamon rolls filled the little house. Birds chirped somewhere beyond the open kitchen window, where a breeze carried in the scent of dewy grass and the first bloom of summer roses. Their home wasn’t grand — it never needed to be. It was tucked away at the edge of a quiet neighborhood, where wildflowers grew untamed on the garden path and neighbors rarely bothered them. Their backyard was a mosaic of everything they'd nurtured together: lavender, tomatoes, lemon balm, and a pair of wooden chairs under the old olive tree where they'd once slow danced barefoot in the rain.

Y/N had woken up early, long before Bob stirred. She hadn’t slept well — not from anxiety, exactly, but from the overwhelming tide of joy and nerves that surged every time she remembered the small plastic stick now tucked behind the bathroom mirror. Two pink lines. Clear as day. She was going to be a mother. And Bob, he was going to be a father.

She wasn’t sure how he’d take it. He never talked about the future in concrete terms. For all his devotion, his presence often came in waves. Sometimes he was so utterly, intensely there — arms around her waist as she cooked, mumbling sleepy “I love yous” into her hair — and then he’d be gone for three days, maybe five. He always gave reasons: “work trip,” “client emergency,” “something came up,” delivered with soft apologies and those blue eyes full of guilt. But Y/N never pushed. Love, she believed, meant trust — and Bob, for all his mysteries, had always made her feel like the center of the universe.

She’d made it simple — understated, just like them. On the dining table now rested a small handmade box wrapped in twine, nestled between a breakfast tray and a freshly picked rose from the garden. Inside the box, she’d tucked a tiny pair of crocheted booties, pale yellow with little sunflowers on the toes. Next to it, the sonogram she’d gotten that morning — just a bean-shaped blur in grayscale, but to her, it was already everything. A note in her handwriting read: “Coming soon — in nine months. I hope they get your heart.”

Now, barefoot and nervous, she waited in the kitchen, fidgeting with the cuffs of Bob’s oversized flannel shirt she’d thrown on that morning. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she heard the soft creak of floorboards above. He was awake.

Bob’s footsteps were slow, sleepy — a rhythm she knew like the beat of a song she’d loved forever. When he appeared at the bottom of the stairs, hair tousled, face still puffy from sleep, wearing only sweatpants and a crooked smile, something in her heart ached with how deeply she loved him.

“Morning,” he rasped, voice still thick with dreams. He shuffled toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Smells like heaven in here.”

Y/N turned, biting her lip to hide the trembling. “I made breakfast,” she said softly. “And… there’s something I want you to open. Before it gets cold.”

He blinked, confused but smiling, as she guided him to the table. The box sat there like a quiet secret.

Bob sat down slowly, brushing his hair back with one hand before tugging at the twine. His fingers paused for a moment when he opened the lid. The booties fell into his palm first, delicate and soft as clouds. Then the sonogram, the note. The silence in the room deepened.

Y/N watched him carefully. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I only found out this morning.”

Bob didn’t speak right away. His eyes were wide, frozen. Then, without warning, he stood — fast — knocking the chair back slightly, his breath hitching. Y/N’s stomach dropped. For a split second, panic overtook her expression. “Bob…?”

But then he was in front of her, gathering her face in his hands, forehead pressed against hers, his voice shaking with awe. “You’re… we’re having a baby?”

She nodded quickly, tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

And then Bob laughed — the kind of laugh that cracked open the ceiling of the room. Not loud, not manic, but deeply emotional. A laugh choked with tears. He dropped to his knees, burying his face against her stomach, arms wrapped tightly around her hips as though afraid she might disappear. “I didn’t think I’d ever deserve this,” he whispered. “God, Y/N… I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Her hands threaded into his hair, pulling him closer, as her own tears spilled freely. “We deserve this. Both of us. You’re going to be such a good father, Bob.”

“I swear,” he said, voice breaking, “I’ll protect you both. I’ll do everything right. I swear.”

He kissed her belly gently, reverently, again and again.

They stayed like that for a long time, the moment cocooned in light and silence. Eventually, he stood and kissed her properly, a long, deep kiss that tasted like a thousand promises. Then he held her close as they ate, her legs draped over his lap, the booties sitting on the table beside their plates like two tiny suns.

For the rest of the day, Bob couldn’t stop touching her. His hand on her back as she watered the garden, fingers intertwined with hers as they walked barefoot through the grass, arms around her as they watched the sunset from the porch swing. He kept whispering things into her ear — sweet, silly, adoring things. He called her his whole universe. He kissed the inside of her wrist like it was holy.

But somewhere behind his gaze — when he thought she wasn’t looking — a shadow stirred.

Because Bob wasn’t just a man. Not really.

And Y/N, glowing with new life and love, didn’t know the truth: that the man who held her so gently, who whispered dreams into her skin, was also The Sentry — a being made of light, power, and secrets that could destroy the world.

And worse — buried deep beneath that, in the darkest place he never dared let surface — was something else.

Something that already knew about the child.

2 years ago

The sound was unbearable — like steel screaming against itself, like the groaning collapse of a world folding in — and Y/N couldn’t hear her own heartbeat anymore through the thunder of crumbling concrete, the shrill cries of sirens and terrified coworkers echoing in every direction. The glass windows of the upper floors had shattered minutes ago, sending shards raining through the open air like razors. The once-pristine hallways of the Solaris Tech Building were now smoke-filled war zones of broken wires, fallen beams, and the overwhelming stench of scorched plastic.

It had all happened so fast. One moment she was in the lab updating system diagnostics; the next, the city was under siege by something they couldn’t name. Not a terrorist. Not an alien. Something… worse. A being of pure chaos, all heat and light and fury, tearing through buildings like paper, leaving only molten metal and dust in its wake. Emergency lights flickered as evacuation orders barked through malfunctioning intercoms, and even as she ran, guiding two interns down the twisted stairwell, her legs shaking from adrenaline and ash in her lungs, she knew it was already too late.

They had reached the fifth level when the wall exploded inward.

The shockwave threw bodies through the air like dolls. One of the interns screamed. Y/N was flung backward, her shoulder slamming into a concrete pillar, pain lancing through her arm, ears ringing as flames licked up the walls. And then — just as she scrambled to regain balance — someone collided into her from behind in the panic. It wasn’t malicious, just fear. A stampede of desperation. But the push was enough.

Her foot slipped on the fractured floor, and she stumbled forward — not into hallway safety, but into open air. The edge.

There was no floor.

There was no anything.

The fifth level had collapsed.

Her hands scrambled against the edge, but gravity already had her. Concrete blurred past her eyes, glass sparkling in slow motion like stars. Her mouth opened, maybe to scream, maybe to beg — but no sound came out. For a heartbeat, the world was silent.

Then, instinct.

Her left hand snatched a length of twisted metal — a support pipe jutting from what used to be a column — and she gripped it with both hands, knuckles burning as the force of her own fall nearly ripped her shoulders out of their sockets. Her body dangled over nothing. Wind rushed against her face, dust stung her eyes, and her legs flailed, unable to find anything to brace against. She sobbed — not out of fear, but out of helplessness, that bitter taste of reality when survival hinged on nothing but rusted steel and hope.

Her hands began to slip.

Her arms were shaking so violently she could feel her muscles giving out, breath growing short and erratic. There was no help coming. No time. No chance.

She whispered a name — her mother’s, maybe — and then her grip gave out.

The world tilted. Her body dropped.

She felt the fall — her stomach lurching, hair whipping around her face, the city a blur of chaos below — and in the final seconds, a strange sense of peace rose in her chest. This was it. Not how she imagined it, not here, not today. But sometimes the sky just falls, and you don’t get to ask why.

Then — light.

Golden. Blinding. Gentle.

She didn’t hit.

Instead, she was caught.

Not with a jolt or pain, not like concrete or steel would catch a person — but with strength so perfect, so impossibly precise, that she barely felt the impact at all. One arm wrapped firmly beneath her back, the other supporting her legs, and they were rising again, soaring effortlessly above the wreckage. Warm air rushed past her ears. The scent of sun and ozone filled her lungs. And when her eyes opened — wide, wild, disbelieving — she saw him.

Golden suit glowing faintly in the smoke-filtered sky. Blonde hair floating weightless like silk threads in the wind. Eyes like twin suns — radiant, impossibly deep, filled with a strange, aching kindness. The Sentry.

She didn’t know his name, not really. Only that he was a myth among men. A guardian angel in gold. A whisper of godhood that moved too fast for cameras and never stayed long enough to speak. And now… he was holding her.

“You’re safe,” he said, voice impossibly soft for a man who had just pulled her from death. “I’ve got you.”

She couldn’t reply — not at first. Her fingers curled instinctively into his chest, gripping the fabric of his suit like a child clinging to a lifeline. She didn’t even realize she was shaking until his arm tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that yes, she was real, and yes, she was alive. Her lips parted, and she whispered, stunned, “You caught me…”

His gaze searched hers for a long, charged second. Not like a stranger looking at a civilian — but something deeper. Something confused. Moved. A flicker of recognition he shouldn’t have had, a gentle awe that caught even him off guard. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but wonder, like something in her had pierced the golden haze he always wore like armor.

Time seemed to slow.

The city still burned below. Shouts still rang in the distance. But in that brief, impossible moment, the sky was silent, and it was just them — suspended above the ruins, two people breathing the same breath, bound by the miracle of not dying.

Her hair brushed against his jaw as the wind shifted, and she was close enough now to see the faint freckles across the bridge of his nose, the shadows beneath his lashes, the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something else — something personal — but held it back. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. But her grip didn’t loosen. And neither did his.

Later, she’d tell herself it was adrenaline. That she only stared because he was the only steady thing in the world that had just fallen apart.

But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was something clicked in that moment — a gravitational pull neither of them could name — and it was soft, and terrifying, and permanent.

As he brought her gently back down to a rooftop where paramedics had gathered, Sentry’s fingers lingered a second longer than necessary on her wrist as he let her go.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice laced with something careful — something almost human.

She shook her head slowly. “No. You… you saved me.”

His expression shifted, almost pained. “I wish I could save everyone.”

And then he was gone — a streak of gold vanishing into the sky before she could ask his name, before she could thank him

He’d caught hundreds of people before — civilians yanked from explosions, children scooped from falling bridges, women pulled from wreckage, their terrified eyes always wide with disbelief — but he had never remembered any of their faces for longer than a night, not until her. There was something about her that carved into him like a slow burn under his ribs. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful — though she was, almost painfully so, with eyes that still haunted the edges of his mind and fingers that had clutched his suit like she was anchoring herself to life — it was that she had looked at him like he wasn’t just power, like he wasn’t just some golden storm crashing through the skyline. She’d looked at him like he was real.

Bob had flown away that day, as he always did, but his chest had felt tight, his hands aching as if her touch had left behind something permanent. He told himself it would pass — that it was just proximity, just adrenaline, just some foolish human moment in a life too far removed from humanity. But it didn’t pass. Not even close. For the first time in years, he couldn’t focus during missions. His thoughts strayed constantly, his golden senses reaching out like sonar, hoping to feel that heartbeat again, that voice, that presence that had made the silence in his mind feel a little less unbearable.

He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know where she worked. Just the memory of her face, the faint lavender scent that lingered on her skin, and the sound of her breath shaking when he whispered she was safe.

It should’ve been impossible to find her again. New York was too big, too fast, too chaotic. But Bob Reynolds had patience, and he had time, and he had power — and when something etched itself into his soul like that, he didn’t let it go. He walked the streets more often in his civilian form, dressed down in sweaters and jackets, hair tied loosely, sunglasses perched on his nose, doing everything to seem forgettable while scanning crowds with something far sharper than eyesight. He tried not to feel pathetic — standing at bus stops too long, lingering outside corporate buildings with coffee he didn’t drink, watching reflections in shop windows for even a shadow of the girl who had clung to his chest like he was more than a weapon.

Weeks passed. His obsession grew quiet, but it never left.

Until one day, when the wind smelled like rain and the sky hung low in the color of ash, he saw her.

She was exiting a tall glass building uptown — one of those sleek places that looked more like a bank than anything therapeutic — and she had that faraway look in her eyes, like she was halfway between her mind and somewhere much deeper. Her coat was belted tightly around her waist, collar up against the wind, and her hair was swept carelessly over one shoulder, strands lifting with each gust. She looked tired, but not in a defeated way — in a worn way, like someone carrying something invisible and heavy, but still moving forward. Her steps were quiet, graceful even in exhaustion.

He recognized her instantly, and something inside him flared so strongly he had to steady himself against a lamppost.

And then — as if fate had nudged the world in his favor — she dropped something.

A pen.

Nothing remarkable. Black. Click-top. The kind of thing most people wouldn’t even notice hitting the sidewalk. But he did. She didn’t. She kept walking, head lowered, probably thinking about whatever ghosts lived inside her, and for the first time since that day in the sky, Bob moved without thinking.

He picked it up and chased her down the block, careful not to call attention to himself, closing the space between them as the light turned red at the next intersection. The moment her pace slowed, he found his voice — that strange, mortal sound he rarely used unless absolutely necessary.

“Hey—excuse me! I think you dropped this.”

She turned, startled at first, but then her expression softened when she saw the pen in his outstretched hand. Her eyes — those same eyes that had looked up at him from the edge of death — met his again, though she didn’t recognize him, not like this, not with the suit gone and his hair loose, not without the sun burning in his irises. But he felt the weight of it like gravity, and her smile — polite, surprised, a little guarded — knocked the air from his lungs.

“Oh,” she said, voice warmer than he remembered, slightly husky from the cold. “Thank you. I didn’t even notice.”

He handed it to her, brushing her fingers in the exchange, just enough to feel the warmth of her again. “No problem,” he said, trying to sound casual, steady, normal. “I was actually wondering… do you know if there’s a coffee shop nearby? I’m still learning this area.”

She hesitated, then gave a soft, wry smile. “There’s a place just around the corner. That’s where I’m heading now.”

His heart stuttered in a way that had nothing to do with cardiac function. “Mind if I tag along? Promise I’m not trying to sell you anything,” he added quickly, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

She laughed — actually laughed — and the sound of it was so lovely, so open, that it made him ache somewhere deep and unreachable. “As long as you don’t make me talk about politics or crypto, you’re welcome to walk beside me.”

And just like that, they did.

He walked with her beneath a sky growing darker by the second, his shoulder brushing hers every now and then as they crossed streets and shared observations about the city, about the weather, about how every café these days seemed to insist on lavender lattes. He introduced himself as Bob — just Bob — and when she told him her name, something inside him settled. A name. A name for the woman who had haunted his sleep. A name to whisper in the quiet moments when he needed to feel human again.

They reached the café — small, tucked into a brick building, warm light glowing through the windows like firelight — and as they ordered and sat, something clicked.

The way she spoke, the way she tilted her head when listening, the way her eyes softened whenever he fumbled a word or made a dry joke — it was all real. Effortless. Like meeting someone you somehow already knew, like finding a song you hadn’t heard in years but remembered every lyric. He forgot, for a while, that he was something more. Forgot that his body could bend the laws of physics and his mind held back a monster darker than the void of space. Here, across from her, with two steaming mugs between them, he was just a man. And for once, that was enough.

She didn’t talk about her appointment. He didn’t ask. But he watched the way her fingers wrapped around the mug like it was anchoring her to the moment. He caught the way she looked out the window sometimes, not distant — just contemplative, as if her thoughts lived on deeper levels than most people would ever bother to swim.

He wanted to know everything about her.

And she, unknowingly, was already starting to lean in — charmed by his awkward charm, by the way he looked like he carried something heavy but still smiled like he wanted to make her feel light.

They left the café an hour later. The rain had started by then, gentle at first. She shared her umbrella with him, and he let her — even though the rain never bothered him, even though he could’ve walked through a storm without a second thought. It wasn’t about staying dry. It was about staying close.

That night, she gave him her number.

That night, he went home and stared at it on his phone like it was the key to something holy.

That night, he remembers thinking how much the universe was on his side, something that never seemed to happen to him and just like that... That alone meant something. All these coincidences, all his luck.

She is where he's meant to be.

The sun had stopped feeling warm weeks ago.

It still poured through the kitchen window in that same golden light, still bathed the lemon tree in soft afternoon shimmer, still lit the old fence in dreamy hues by twilight — but for Y/N, the sun had become just another thing to witness instead of feel, like a photograph left behind from a life she didn’t remember choosing.

Five months in, and the baby was growing perfectly — at least that’s what the doctors said — strong heartbeat, active little legs, spine curved just right like a question mark asking all the things she couldn’t put into words, but Y/N didn’t feel perfect, didn’t feel glowing, didn’t feel like the miracle she was constantly told she was carrying.

She felt hollow, swollen, heavy in ways that had nothing to do with physical weight, and everything to do with the constant ache behind her ribs, like grief for something she hadn’t lost yet.

Her once-vibrant garden had gone wild — weeds curling between the cobblestones, lavender dried and snapping in the wind, the tomato plants leaning sideways, unpruned and reaching toward nothing — because bending down now made her dizzy and sore, her back screamed after five minutes of effort, and her favorite boots no longer fit because her ankles had decided to swell like fury every afternoon without warning.

Her work had moved to the living room, her laptop permanently stationed on the coffee table while she curled on the couch with five pillows, trying to type between kicks to the bladder and moments of overwhelming nausea that still hadn’t left despite the doctor’s promises that it would get better by now.

She didn’t complain out loud — not really — because she had chosen this, hadn’t she?

She wanted this.

She wanted him.

Bob.

God, she loved him.

She loved him more than she had words for, more than she could ever fit into a text or a voicemail or one of the letters she used to write when they first started dating, back when she still believed love could solve anything if you wrapped it in enough poetry and time.

But Bob wasn’t here.

Not most days.

Not most nights.

The job had taken him again, like it always did — long stretches of silence interrupted by sudden calls from strange places, his voice rushed and low, always apologetic but never promising change.

She had begged him.

Not screamed. Not demanded.

Begged.

Sitting on their bed in her softest robe, her hand over the curve of her stomach, eyes glassy and raw, she had asked him to talk to his boss, to explain that he needed fewer trips, that she was scared, that she couldn’t do this part alone.

He’d pulled her into his arms that night, kissed the crown of her head, whispered “I know, I know… I’m trying.”

But then he’d left the next morning anyway, suitcase in one hand, travel mug in the other, and a kiss that tasted too much like goodbye.

Days bled together now.

She lost track of time between emails and naps, between midwife appointments and nights spent curled around Bob’s pillow, pretending it still smelled like his shampoo, even though she had washed the sheets three times since.

Her body was no longer hers — she was aware of that now in a way no one had prepared her for.

She couldn’t look in the mirror without seeing someone foreign staring back — her cheeks puffier, her collarbones hidden beneath new softness, stretch marks like silver lightning bolts crawling across her thighs and hips, her breasts heavy and sore no matter how many support bras she tried, her skin dry, her hair refusing to do anything but hang like tired curtains.

She had always been confident — always — the kind of woman who walked into a room like she owned the floor beneath her heels, the kind of woman who laughed too loud and danced in store aisles when the right song played and wore lipstick just to buy milk.

But lately, her confidence had turned into something brittle.

She caught herself flinching at her reflection.

She avoided putting on real clothes.

She stopped taking selfies.

Stopped flirting over text.

Stopped believing she could still be the version of herself he’d fallen in love with.

Because what if he didn’t want this?

What if Bob didn’t see her anymore?

What if the way he looked at her — those honey eyes full of worship and want — had dimmed without her noticing?

What if every time he left, it wasn’t the job pulling him away… but relief?

What if he was already halfway gone, too kind to say it, too guilty to walk out, too afraid to admit that he wasn’t ready — not really — to be a father?

The thoughts came in waves, soft at first, but sharper each time they returned.

Maybe he was overwhelmed.

Maybe he was in love with a version of her that didn’t exist anymore.

Maybe his silence wasn’t work-related at all.

Maybe — just maybe — he regretted this.

She cried in the shower sometimes. Just leaned her forehead against the tiles and let the water hide the tears as her hand cradled the underside of her stomach like she could protect the baby from her own unraveling.

She never said these things aloud.

Not to her friends, not to her doctor, not to the kind nurse who asked if she needed any mental health resources “just in case.”

Because how could she admit it?

How could she tell anyone that she was terrified of becoming unlovable?

That she was scared Bob would come home one day, look at her — swollen and exhausted, hair messy, eyes puffy — and not recognize the woman he had once called “his entire universe”?

How could she admit that love, as strong as it was, didn’t always feel like enough?

Not when she was falling asleep beside empty space.

Not when she was holding herself through the nights.

Not when the garden was dying and she no longer remembered the last time he said I miss you like he meant it.

It was late — well past midnight — and the house was still except for the quiet ticking of the kitchen clock and the low hum of the radiator beneath the floorboards, but Bob was awake, lying beside her in bed with one hand gently cupped around the curve of her belly, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of her old sleep shirt, the one he liked because it smelled like her shampoo and years of summer mornings spent wrapped in bedsheets and love.

She hadn’t said much that night — hadn’t said much all week, really — but she’d smiled when he got home, tired but genuine, her kiss soft but brief, her voice quieter than usual when she asked how his trip went and told him there was leftover pasta in the fridge if he was hungry.

He’d sat beside her on the couch after dinner, her legs resting over his lap while she typed something half-heartedly on her laptop, and he’d rubbed her feet without her asking, knowing the swelling hurt more in the evenings, asking soft questions about her day that she mostly brushed off with half-smiles and vague replies.

He didn’t push — not then — because he knew pregnancy could do this, knew her body was working overtime, and maybe it was just hormones, maybe just fatigue, and the last thing he wanted was to make her feel cornered when all she clearly wanted was to be held without explanation.

So he had held her.

Carried her up to bed when her back gave out halfway through brushing her teeth, whispering sweet things against her shoulder as he helped her into her nightshirt, pulling the covers over both of them and keeping her close even when she curled slightly away — not in rejection, but in exhaustion.

He didn’t tell her that her silence scared him more than anger would have.

Didn’t say that the dark circles under her eyes had deepened, or that her smile didn’t quite reach the corners like it used to, or that he had caught her standing in the middle of the nursery two days ago, just staring at the mobile he’d hung above the crib, her hands trembling.

Because part of him wanted to believe it would pass.

That it was the pregnancy, like she said.

That maybe she just needed rest.

But he watched her breathe now — slow, uneven — and he kept his hand on her belly, trying to ground both of them in something physical, something real, while inside, something else was stirring.

She didn’t know how good she was at hiding it — how many of her thoughts had grown heavy and sharp, quietly clawing at her while she wrapped them in blankets of silence and pushed them down so far even she couldn’t tell where they began.

She told herself it was hormones, told herself that all women go through this, that Bob loved her, of course he did, he came home, didn’t he? He touched her belly and made her tea and told her she was beautiful — and she believed it, mostly — but some small, cracked part of her couldn’t stop the ache that came when he left again, couldn’t stop the fear that maybe he loved her in spite of the pregnancy, not because of it.

That maybe she was just a body now — just the carrier of something bigger, more important, a vessel for something he wanted, not someone.

She didn’t say any of this aloud.

Didn’t journal it. Didn’t dare speak it into existence.

But someone else already knew.

The Void had always known.

It had waited patiently for the moment she began to bend, and now that she had, he leaned in closer with every night that passed, curling like smoke into the edges of Bob’s fractured mind, sliding beneath the surface while the Sentry slept in golden peace, unaware of the rot growing quietly in the corners of his world.

Y/N didn’t feel it — not fully — not yet.

But the shadows were there, whispering just beneath consciousness, and it began simply, softly, the way all rot does.

You’re not enough.

It came like a breeze at first, barely perceptible, threading itself into her dreams as a thought she’d had earlier, or something she’d heard online, or maybe a memory she’d rewritten without realizing — the image of Bob kissing her goodbye too quickly, the way he checked his phone when she spoke, the silence between messages growing longer.

He won’t stay.

She would blink awake at three in the morning, cold sweat across her spine, and not remember what the dream had been, only that she had woken feeling abandoned.

He doesn’t want you like this.

And the Void watched — delighted.

Watched the way her posture shrank, the way she stopped playing music in the mornings, the way she avoided mirrors, the way she stopped reaching for Bob in her sleep.

He smelled her despair like perfume, rich and aching and perfect.

She was unraveling, and she didn’t even know it.

Every flicker of self-doubt, every quiet moment where she thought, maybe he’s just being kind, every split-second where she looked at herself and winced — he fed on it.

Whispered worse.

Planted seeds.

He was subtle — at first — letting her mind do the work, giving her just enough poison to feel the sting but not enough to run screaming.

He wanted her to stay, to stay in this fragile state, where she was soft and tired and beginning to hate the weight of her own reflection.

He wanted her cracked open.

Because the more she cracked, the more Bob would panic, and the more Bob panicked, the more vulnerable his mind would become — and then, when the time was right, he would pull her.

Pull her into the dark where nothing hurt.

Where there were no mirrors, no blood, no crying in the shower, no sound but breath and stars.

He would take her to the void. He would take her for himself. Pushing Bob the same despair she was in. Pulling both of them to him, giving him the full control he so much desired.

The rain started mid-afternoon — not a dramatic storm, but the soft kind, the kind that whispered against the windows and made the air smell like wet earth and old memories, and Y/N sat on the couch wrapped in one of Bob’s sweatshirts with a mug of tea gone cold between her hands, eyes fixed on nothing as the shadows of water danced across the floor.

She had tried to work earlier, really tried — pulled her laptop onto her thighs, adjusted her pillows, cracked her knuckles like she still had energy for ambition — but the words blurred and her thoughts drifted, and by the third failed sentence she had closed the screen and stared into the rain until the edges of her chest began to tighten.

The baby kicked once — a slow, soft motion like a whisper from the inside — and her hand moved automatically to cradle the curve of her belly, but there was no smile today, no whispered hello, just a lingering ache behind her eyes as fear crawled up her spine like cold water.

The door creaked open behind her.

She didn’t turn.

Bob’s footsteps were easy to recognize — soft, always careful, even when rushed — and he crossed the room with that quiet grace that always made him feel like he wasn’t quite of the world, like something stepped out of a dream trying to pass as human.

“I brought you those weird strawberry muffin things you like,” he said, his voice low, trying to be casual but with the kind of deliberate lightness she’d come to recognize as code for I know you’re not okay but I don’t know how to fix it.

She blinked slowly, forcing a tired smile as he held out the bag.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it but not opening it, placing it on the coffee table beside the mug as her fingers retreated into the sleeves again, hugging herself without meaning to.

He sat beside her, knees touching, one arm stretching behind her shoulders to rest along the couch — not pulling her in, not yet, just waiting for permission, always waiting — and she hated how much she wanted to collapse into him and how little of her believed she still could.

The silence lasted too long.

Finally, she spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

His head turned toward her instantly.

“Always,” he said, no hesitation, voice soft.

She hesitated anyway, biting the inside of her cheek, staring at the wall because looking at him would make it real.

“You’ve been… gone a lot,” she began, and already her voice felt like a stranger’s, thin and careful and made of too many unsaid things, “and I know it’s work, I know, but…”

“But?” he prompted gently, and it almost killed her, the kindness in his voice, the tenderness that made her want to cry because it wasn’t enough anymore.

“But I’m scared,” she breathed, eyes filling suddenly, throat closing around the rest of the words, and she hated herself for how small she sounded, how fragile, how not her.

He moved in closer, finally touching her, hand resting on her thigh, voice dipping low.

“Hey… hey, what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asked, smiling a little, trying to comfort, and maybe that’s what broke her.

Because he didn’t see it.

He didn’t see the nights she cried without sound, the way she avoided the nursery now, the way she flinched when she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror, the way every kiss lately felt a little more like a habit than a want.

She turned to him then, finally, eyes wet and heart in her throat, ready to say it — I don’t feel like myself, I don’t feel loved, I’m scared you’re leaving me without ever walking out the door — and she even opened her mouth.

But then his phone buzzed.

Once. Twice.

He blinked, glanced down, and without thinking, pulled it from his pocket, checking the screen.

Something in his expression shifted — subtle, unreadable — and he stood.

“Just a second,” he said quickly, too quickly, already walking toward the hallway, already halfway gone before she could form a sound.

“Bob,” she said, too softly.

He paused at the doorway but didn’t turn around.

“I’ll be right back,” he said again, and then he was gone, his voice retreating down the hallway as he answered the call, door closing behind him like punctuation.

Y/N sat frozen, her hands trembled, the tea was still cold.

And the silence now felt different.

Maybe it was work.

Maybe the hormones were making everything worse.

But then again…

Maybe it wasn’t work.

Maybe it was someone else.

The thought came not like thunder, but like a knife, clean and terrifying and familiar — the kind of thought you don’t want to have, the kind that burns when it arrives because part of you knows it didn’t come from nowhere.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose as the sound of his muffled voice bled through the walls.

She knew him, she loved him.

But love didn’t always mean safe.

And the thought wouldn’t leave her. What if he didn’t want to be here?

What if every trip, every phone call, every unreadable pause in his eyes wasn’t about stress or work or something noble — what if it was guilt?

What if he was already somewhere else, loving someone else, smiling that smile with someone thinner, someone softer, someone not ruined by carrying his child?

She gasped.

The thought didn’t even sound like her own voice.

Like a memory she never lived but somehow remembered.

A voice not hers, whispering sweet poison from the corners of her grief.

He’s already gone.

You’re just a weight he hasn’t figured out how to let go of.

He lies when he says you’re beautiful.

She stood up suddenly, almost dizzy, one hand on her belly, the other gripping the edge of the couch as if the world was tilting.

He was just in the other room.

Just feet away.

But he may as well have been a hundred miles off the ground again, glowing gold and vanishing into the clouds — untouchable, unknowable, not hers.

Tears ran silently down her cheeks, and the door stayed closed.

It was after midnight when he fell asleep beside her again, his arm draped loosely across her waist, breath even, chest warm against her back like nothing had shifted at all, but Y/N was wide awake, staring into the dark with her heart beating too loudly and her mind whispering too many things at once — you’re being paranoid, it’s nothing, he loves you — but none of those thoughts were hers anymore, not entirely.

She waited a full hour, eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to the way the rain had softened into a misty hush against the roof tiles, counting the seconds between the distant dripping from the bathroom faucet and the creak of the old air vent by the window, and when his breathing slipped into that unmistakable rhythm of deep sleep, she turned slowly, careful not to wake him, slipping from the bed with a grace born of fear and the kind of exhaustion that no longer begged for rest.

Her feet were bare against the floorboards, the house colder than usual, shadows stretched long across the hallway as she padded toward the living room, where his jacket lay half-slouched on the arm of the couch, and her fingers moved without thinking, reaching into the inside pocket where he always kept his phone when he didn’t want to leave it charging in the bedroom.

She told herself this wasn’t who she was — she wasn’t the woman who checked phones, who let fear chew through her trust — but her body kept moving, as if some invisible hand was guiding her, as if this had been coming for months and tonight was just the moment her grief had finally found a mouth to scream through.

The screen lit up with a soft blue glow as her thumb hovered over it, and the code was the same — still her birthday — which somehow made it worse, the intimacy of it, the small proof that he still thought of her even if something had broken between them.

She opened his messages.

Scrolled past names she recognized until she saw one she didn’t.

Yelena.

Not saved with a last name, just that — Yelena — and a profile picture that was blurry and small but undeniably a woman, blonde maybe, possibly with short hair, squinting into the camera beside what looked like a mountain ridge.

Her stomach dropped.

She tapped the name and opened the thread, and instantly she knew it wasn’t what it should’ve been — the messages were long, back and forth all day, even while he was supposed to be working, even during the trip he took last week, the one where he told her he barely had reception.

The most recent message was from just before he came home.

Yelena: Hope you got back in one piece, golden boy 🖤 let me know when you're free, I wanna finish that story you started, you left me hanging again lol.

Beneath it, a meme she didn’t understand — something dumb, probably an inside joke, probably the kind that came from months of casual texts that slowly slipped into something less casual.

She scrolled up, jaw tight, throat dry.

Bob: You’re literally the worst, you know that right?

Yelena: Takes one to know one 💅

Bob: Okay, but you laughed, so I win.

Yelena: You're unbearable.

Bob: You like me unbearable. Admit it.

Yelena: Ughhh shut up before I send another pic of my dog in a sweater.

Bob: That’s not a threat. That’s a gift.

Further up — two weeks ago — a longer message:

Bob: I can’t sleep again. I hate nights like this. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, I just… thanks for letting me vent earlier. I can’t really talk about it here. It’s hard.

Yelena: You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You know that. I get it. And for what it’s worth… I think you’re doing the best you can. Better than most would.

Bob: Yeah, but I keep wondering if it’s enough. I don’t want to break her. I don’t want to break myself either.

Yelena: Then maybe stop pretending you’re not already broken. It’s okay. I like the broken parts, remember?

And that’s when Y/N’s hands started to shake.

Because the tone wasn’t professional, wasn’t platonic, wasn’t right — it wasn’t just the emojis or the way they teased or how often they texted or how late — it was how easily he confided in her, how raw he was in a way he hadn’t been with her in months.

They talked about books.

Movies.

Shared music.

Screenshots of stupid articles, blurry pictures of food, a clip from some show he always said he didn’t have time to watch.

And worst of all — the mention.

One message, from three days ago.

Yelena: I know it’s messy. I know you care about her. But I also know you’re not okay. You don’t have to lie when you’re with me. That’s why it’s different. You should tell her the truth, about yourself, about us. We are a team remember?

Us?

The words hit like glass in her lungs.

He had talked about her. To someone who had clearly become safe in the ways she no longer was.

Y/N dropped the phone like it burned her.

The only thing she could hear was her own heartbeat, and it was pounding too fast, too loud, thudding behind her ears like thunder.

She pressed a hand to her stomach — the baby shifted gently, a soft roll under her palm — and she didn’t know whether she wanted to scream or be sick or run outside and walk until the dawn came and swallowed her whole.

The Void was there. Not visible just yet.

See?

I didn’t lie to you.

He’s already gone.

And you’re alone, just like I said you’d be.

She pressed both hands to her face, tears slipping through her fingers, hot and silent and endless.

And for the first time, she believed it.

The morning came pale and slow, dragging itself through the curtains like it didn’t want to be seen, grey light settling over the house in quiet judgment, and Y/N sat at the edge of the bed already dressed in one of her oversized sweaters, hands folded over her stomach like a shield while Bob stirred beside her, stretching with a soft grunt before turning toward her and smiling like nothing had changed, like the world hadn’t crumbled overnight in the spaces between them.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, hand reaching for her thigh.

She smiled.

It was practiced, quiet, soft enough to be mistaken for tiredness, her voice matching his as she leaned down to kiss his forehead and whispered, “Morning,” like her heart hadn’t shattered twelve hours ago beside his phone.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face, asking something about breakfast — whether she wanted eggs or pancakes or maybe that café down the street she used to like — and she nodded and hummed and answered all the right ways, let him brush his hand over her stomach and say “Good morning, little one” in that low warm voice that used to make her chest swell with joy, but now made her ribs feel too tight for breathing.

She followed him into the kitchen.

Made tea she didn’t drink.

Laughed softly at his stupid joke.

Sat at the table while he talked about something funny Alexei said during the last mission, nodding and pretending to listen, even though every word slid off her like rain on glass, even though every sound in the room felt muffled, like she’d fallen underwater and hadn’t come up for air since the moment she read Yelena’s name.

She didn’t mention it.

Didn’t say I saw your messages.

Didn’t scream Who is she to you?

Didn’t whisper Do you love her?

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

And she couldn’t survive real.

Not today.

So she kept her performance soft and flawless, convincing even herself for a few hours that maybe it was nothing, maybe it was work, maybe the tone was misread, maybe her fears were wearing Yelena’s name like a costume because they needed a face, needed someone to blame so they wouldn’t eat her alive from the inside.

She made it through the day like a ghost in her own life, answering emails, folding laundry, staring at the nursery door without going inside, one hand resting absently on her belly every time the baby kicked like she was grounding herself, like that was the only thing left tying her to this version of herself — the mother, the partner, the woman trying to survive.

By the time night fell, the silence had settled again — not peaceful, but stretched too thin, too perfect, like a wire pulled tight between two breaking points — and Bob had taken a late shower while she sat curled on the couch in the dark, the TV on mute, her eyes fixed on the flickering light as if it could keep her from slipping.

He kissed her temple as he passed.

She didn’t move.

“Come to bed soon?” he asked, and she nodded, not trusting her voice.

He didn’t press.

He never did.

By the time she joined him, he was already half-asleep, the bedroom heavy with the warmth of his body and the smell of clean soap and cedar, and she slid into the sheets beside him like a stranger, careful not to let her sadness wake him, curling toward the wall with one hand tucked beneath her pillow and the other resting quietly on her belly, the same rhythm she’d kept for weeks now, even though her dreams had stopped being gentle.

She didn’t remember when she fell asleep.

Only that the house seemed too quiet.

Too still.

The kind of stillness that made you sit up without knowing why — and when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t the bedroom she saw.

It was black.

Not dim, not dark — black.

A complete and terrible absence of light, swallowing the air itself.

She sat upright in bed, breath caught, heart slamming into her throat as she looked beside her, where Bob should’ve been — but he wasn’t there.

The sheets were flat.

Cold.

And something was moving at the end of the room.

She tried to speak, but no sound came, her mouth frozen open in a silent gasp as the shape began to form — not walking, not arriving, but becoming from the darkness itself, rising like smoke in reverse, tall and thin and endless, golden eyes cutting through the pitch like burning cracks in reality.

The Void.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared at her with that impossible face, skin like obsidian, edges flickering like something half-tangible, and she tried to move, tried to back away, but the bed wasn’t there anymore — nothing was — just a floor that felt like stone and shadow and something older than fear.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling, eyes wide with terror.

He tilted his head, voice like velvet soaked in static.

“I already have.”

She turned.

Ran.

Or tried.

But there was nowhere to go — the darkness stretched on forever, infinite and unmoving, every step a scream in her muscles as the air grew thicker, colder, heavier.

She felt him behind her — not chasing, but drawing, like gravity itself had chosen her bones and would not let go.

Her feet slowed.

Her chest heaved.

She screamed for Bob, once, twice, until her voice cracked — but nothing answered.

No golden light.

No familiar hands.

Searching for the same golden angel that saved her that day. The reason she was alive, that she had her life with Bob, her baby.

She didn't know the same hands that saved her, was the same hands that gave her so much love, and now those same hands would took it all away.

Only the cold grip that closed around her wrist with sudden, inescapable strength, yanking her backward until her spine hit something solid and cruel.

She turned, crying, begging.

“Please — please don’t — I didn’t — I didn’t— I beg you please my baby! I didn’t— ”

“You did,” he breathed, lips not moving, voice inside her skull like ice-water, like thunder in a well.

“You fell, you called for me” he said, brushing her cheek with a clawed hand that felt like nothing and everything at once, “and he let you. He doesn't care, and know you're alone.”

She tried to scream again. Tears rolling down her face as she mets the cruel fate she was being given.

He kissed her forehead.

And in one motion, he pulled her into him.

And when the darkness stilled, when the room finally settled back into its original shape, the only thing that remained on the bedroom floor was a faint, blackened silhouette burned into the wood, curled and reaching — like a shadow that had tried to run but was caught mid-flight, its edges still whispering.

Bob didn’t wake up soon enough.

Not until morning.

And by then, she was already gone.

197 notes · View notes

galaxy-stardust · 1 day ago

Text

Simon Ghost Riley x you

"This song..."

It started with a passing comment.

You didn’t even remember saying it, really. One evening curled up on the couch, your legs over Simon’s lap, some random playlist humming in the background. You were tired, head tilted against the armrest, the kind of tired where you don’t filter what you say.

“This song always makes me feel safe.”

You hadn’t said it to him. Just… out loud. A passing murmur between thoughts. But he stilled under you. You didn’t notice. He didn’t react.

He just remembered.

You only realized something had changed two weeks later.

You were brushing your teeth after a long shift, hair up, skin exhausted, mind numb. The flat was quiet, Simon somewhere in the kitchen. But then - there it was.

That song. Playing softly from the living room. Not from your phone. Not from a speaker you recognized. The sound wasn’t crystal clear, either - muffled, warm, like it was playing from a tape deck, or an old handheld recorder.

You paused, toothbrush in hand.

The song ended. Another started. Another one you knew. A different one from that sleepy-night playlist you had months ago. Ones you always listened to when you were homesick. Ones you used when you couldn’t sleep.

You stepped out slowly.

Simon was standing near the bookshelf. Something small in his hand. He looked up like you’d caught him mid-crime.

He cleared his throat, stiff. “Made something.”

You stared. “What do you mean?”

He held it out like it might burn him. A tiny black MP3 player. Old-fashioned. Bulky. Ugly. Covered in matte black tape like it had been customized or repaired. A patch of dark thread tied near the headphones, like a marker - your favorite color.

“I don’t know shit about apps,” he mumbled. “Don’t trust streaming. So I… downloaded the ones I heard you mention. Or hum. Or play when you think I’m not listenin’. Put them all here.”

You blinked. “Why?”

His ears were red beneath the edge of the mask.

“So if I’m not here, and you need quiet... or need to feel safe… you’ve got it.”

You held it in your palm.

It was heavier than expected. Not just in weight - emotionally. You knew he must’ve sat at his computer for hours, hunting down files. Listening. Learning. Piecing this together with those massive hands that usually held knives or weapons.

“You made me a mixtape,” you whispered, throat thick.

He winced. “Don’t call it that.”

“It’s a mixtape.”

“I’m not twelve.”

You smiled, tears pricking. “Simon. It’s perfect.”

He looked away, like he didn’t know what to do with the warmth in your voice.

You stepped forward, pressed your hand to his chest. Felt the steady thud under his black shirt. His arm came around you, slowly, careful, protective in that way only he was. Mask brushing your hair.

"Still don’t know what I’m doing," he said quietly.

"You don't have to," you whispered back. "You already do everything right."

And later that night, when he thought you were asleep, he tucked the player into your hand under the blanket. Just in case you needed it again.

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod fandom #cod fanfic

201 notes · View notes

vin-taege · 3 days ago

Text

stranger than fiction

Summary: Bobby keeps talking nonstop about a friend he made at the gym. Contrary to his family's belief, he's more than certain that Erik is the one who would be more than interested to get to know her.

Genre: fluff, some suggestive dialogue

Pairing: Erik Campbell x f!reader (no description for reader aside from her having tattoos and snakebites)

Words: 5.3k

Note: oh yeah, i got carried away again. also, I don't think I made it clear, but reader is a few years older than Bobby (around Julia's age!). This was based on an anon's request. Sorry it took a while, but I hope it was worth the wait >< I'm considering a part 2, so feel free to drop ideas!

The first time Bobby laid his eyes on you, he instantly thought of how well you'd get along with Erik. It was during the early hours of the day, when the gym wasn't filled yet and the area still smelled fresh. He just finished his treadmill warm-up, sipping Gatorade from his Spongebob water bottle—a hand-me-down from Erik.

He took a swig, then saw you as he brought his head back down. You were looking at him a bit shyly, standing near enough to have a conversation. What caught his attention were the pointed ends of two rings near the sides of your bottom lip. They looked like small fangs when you had your mouth closed.

The next thing he took note of were your jogging pants, which had hand-painted spiderwebs on the black cotton. Surely, he would've remembered something as distinct as that. But he's never seen you before up until this moment. Either that or Julia was right, he really could be too oblivious sometimes.

"Hi!" he waved to you.

"Hi, sorry," you chuckled, offering him a small smile. "I didn't want to look like a creep or bother you, but uh, would you happen to know how to use that machine?"

Bobby looked over to the corner you were pointing at. He chuckled. "Oh, that. You know, I've been going to this gym for a year now, and I have yet to see anyone use it."

"Well, at least I know I'm not the only inept one," you laughed. Even down to the humor, you and Erik were so alike.

"I'm Bobby," he stuck his hand out, which you shook when you introduced yourself. He gestured towards his mouth, "I love your pants and your—this."

"Awh, thank you! I got my snake bites just four months ago. They're my favorites from everything I've gotten done."

At the mention of other piercings, his eyes flitted towards your ears, which were decked in rows of metal. On your right side, you even had an arrow going from the upper part of the shell onto another. Curiously, he chanced a look at your arms, which were covered in ink.

"Sorry, got too excited there. I didn't want to disrupt your workout," you shifted awkwardly, taking Bobby's silence as indifference. Bobby snapped out of his train of thought, holding his hand up and waving it around dismissively.

"No, you aren't a disturbance at all! I was just thinking about how much you remind me of my brother."

You inwardly sighed in relief. He was just as sweet as you thought he would be before you approached him. Out of the three other people in the gym, you went up to him because you had spotted his yellow little sports flask. "Oh thank God, I didn't want to be in your way or anything."

"Actually—" he paused, quickly mulling it over twice before he asked you. You had just met, but there was so much about you that was automatically so endearing to him. It might have been his bubbliness at 6 am, or the fact that he was a big guy with Spongebob merchandise. "Do you need a spotter or something? I don't really have much to do for my routine today. I'm mainly working on legs."

"That's perfect! I'm working on legs today, too. Maybe a bit of cardio later, I haven't really made up my mind. Are you sure it won't be a bother?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun!"

And with that, you had stuck to each other like glue. He went from being a stranger to a familiar face you always looked for once you stepped into the building. The time you spent at the gym nearly doubled because of how many times you've lost track of your rest times in between sets. Bobby was fun to talk to, displaying child-like excitement for almost anything and everything.

That was over four months ago.

Presently, you and Bobby were doing your cool-downs in front of the mirror. Real breakfast usually came post-workout, spent at the diner a five-minute walk away. It was tradition for you to go and eat together, so much so that the kind waitress already memorized your orders.

"We have this family thing coming up on Friday. It's a barbecue around lunch, and it would be cool if you'd go." Bobby groaned when he cracked his neck just right.

"You sure I wouldn't be intruding?" You took a sip out of your water bottle, looking on in disapproval as he carelessly smeared sweat all over himself with a hand towel. You whistled at him, gesturing for him to turn around. He followed you, letting you wipe his nape with the towel. "Don't smear your sweat. You need to dab at it."

"Yeah, of course not. They basically already know you by now. Just need to put a face on the name." He turned around to give you two thumbs up—extra reassurance. He added just under his breath, "And I really want you to meet Erik."

You chuckled, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder. Throughout all your workout sessions, he’d been casually name-dropping his mysterious older brother who was “just so much like you” and who you’d “totally get along with.” Truth be told, you’ve been waiting to meet him, too. Like bread crumbs, Bobby laid out a trail for you to piece together who exactly Erik Campbell was. Tatted, pierced up, an artist, an awful fighter, a video game addict, a one-time-winner of a radio station raffle, and an all-time-loser of every arm wrestling game ever—those were just some descriptions he left out for you.

"You know, you've been hyping your brother up for a while now." You brought him up once again as you were walking to the diner. “He better be as cool as you say he is.”

Bobby snorted. “I didn’t say he was cool. I’m just saying that you look like gender-bent versions of each other.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You grinned at him, waiting for your words to sink in. Bobby’s eyes widened, crinkling in child-like glee.

“So I’ll see you this Friday?”

“As long as you make those killer cocktails.”

────୨ৎ────

When Bobby first told them that he had made a new friend at the gym, Julia and Erik immediately thought that there was a high chance that you would end up together. Bobby always arrived with a certain glow to him after gym sessions with you. He talked about you with the giddiness of a first-grader discovering chocolate milk. Being the youngest meant being the one subjected to the most teasing when it came to anything romantic, but they couldn’t have been anymore wrong about the nature of your relationship.

It was the night before the barbecue when he finally put all speculations to rest.

Erik had asked him about you for the nth time, wondering aloud when Bobby would "bring his mystery gym rat girl" and introduce you to them. Bobby simply calmly chewed his pasta, then set his fork down.

"She's more of your type, actually," he trailed off, punctuating the thought with another forkful of pesto.

Julia breathed a laugh, looking back and forth between her brothers. Erik stilled, glass of water halfway tilted to his lips. He set it down, leaning closer to Bobby. "And that means?"

"Maybe it means you like women who could bend you in half," Julia cut in, earning a pointed "Young lady" from their mother.

Bobby attempted to cover his laugh with a cough, resulting in him choking on his food. Erik rolled his eyes as Bobby thumped his chest, patiently waiting until the coughing fit was over. Julia nestled her chin on her palm, invested in the new information as well.

"Yeah, what do you mean by Erik's type?"

"You'll see," Bobby smirked at them both, resisting the urge to spill any further details. “She’s coming by tomorrow.”

“That’s great! Your mother and I have been wanting to meet your friend as well,” Howard said. He considered for a few moments, before adding a quieter, “She is just your friend, no?”

“Oh my god, yes, Dad, she’s just my friend,” Bobby groaned, letting out an exasperated laugh. Howard held his hands up in surrender, muttering a quick apology.

Dinner wrapped up not soon after. As they were clearing the table, Bobby slinked over to Julia, who was concentrating on not dropping their plates.

“I bet you ten bucks Erik’s gonna ask her out by evening.”

“Who—your girlfriend?”

“Julia,” he hissed, before looking behind them. Erik was obliviously chatting with his dad in the living room, making no indication that he heard their conversation. “She’s like an Erik clone, except she can run faster. Like, like someone looked into our house, saw Erik, and made him in a different font style. It’s insane!”

Julia faced Bobby, folding her arms as she thought. She took in how Bobby’s eyebrows were slightly crumpled, lips in a hard line—the usual tells whenever he was defending something he firmly stood by. Even now, at the last of his teenage years, she still saw him as a kid. “Okay, geez, I believe you. I say ten bucks by afternoon.”

They nodded at each other conspirationally. Over in the living room, Erik wasn’t even the slightest bit aware of what was to come, still not buying into Bobby’s claim. However, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t pique his interest.

“She’s more of your type.”

“She better be as cool as he made her out to be,” Erik thought to himself.

────୨ৎ────

“The grill’s finally on!” Erik gave the grill one last playful smack, a tinny “clang” coming from the metal of his spatula. “Dad, I told you we needed a new one.”

“I’ll get a new one if your sister finally beats me at Jenga without cheating,” Howard chuckled, earning a groan from Julia. Joining them were Marty and Stephanie—the latter miraculously back from college over her break. Erik had a small smile as he saw Julia and Stephanie talking, relieved that they seemed to be rekindling their friendship.

The springs of the trampoline brought his attention over to Bobby and Charlie, who were playfighting recklessly as they bounced. Watching them from the chair swing were Brenda and Darlene. He wasn’t exactly sure what to feel about his estranged aunt reconnecting with the family. Charlie has told him how much he missed her on multiple occasions, but Stephanie seemed the full opposite. She has yet to utter more than a single word to or about her mother.

With the squeak of the back-gate opening, everyone’s heads turned to the new arrival. Bobby beamed, his smile impossibly wide as he hopped off the trampoline. He shouted your name, waving animatedly at you, as if it would be possible to miss him. Julia gawked at you. Bobby really wasn't kidding about Erik's type.

The sight of you sucked the air out of Erik’s lungs. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, mouth suddenly dry. He took in your body art first, ink swimming on soft skin, flowing on your toned arms. Even though you were a distance away from him, he could see the glint of your snakebites in the sunlight. Where he had only two lobe piercings on either side, your jewelry was far more maximalist, rows of studs, rings, and tiny chains decking your ear. He let his eyes blatantly wander, barely registering the hiss of meat sizzling on the grill.

As Brenda and Howard came over to greet you, Charlie’s voice rang through the yard. “I think something’s burning.”

Erik sniffed, head whipping back to the burgers. Smoke rose up the grill, alarmingly getting thicker. He clumsily poked at the burnt burgers, trying to salvage them by getting them off the grill. “Shit, shit!”

You watched the man you presumed to be Erik try to salvage the food. You chuckled, partly because of what was happening, but also because of how right Bobby had been. His septum piercing was a thicker gauge than usual, meaning this guy may or may not be a hardcore masochist. Tiny tattoos littered his arms, looking like their placements had been done on the spur of the moment. Impulsive too, maybe.

“I’m so sorry, he’s usually not like this,” Bobby whispered to you, feeling a tinge of secondhand embarrassment.

“No worries, I like it when they’re a bit of a dork.” You whispered back before sharing pleasantries with his mom and dad. Bobby introduced you to them, and they were more than happy to finally meet their youngest’s gym buddy. Bobby kindy took the box you had brought, lifting the lid slightly to check what was inside. You perked up, “Oh yeah, I brought some apple pie! No nuts, just apple and cinnamon.”

Howard delightedly thanked you, sharing news of the dessert with the rest of the family. He ushered you to the Jenga stack, where Julia and Stephanie immediately included you in their conversation. When you turned to talk to Stephanie, Julia sent over a knowing look to Bobby, arching her eyebrow as if saying, “Huh, you really weren’t joking.”

Bobby raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. A silent “Told you so.” He took his place behind the wooden bar, making good on his promise to you. That bartending summer workshop proved to be useful as he expertly mixed drinks as if it were the only thing he knew how to do. In his concentration, he jolted when he turned around and saw you next to him.

“Jesus, you almost made me drop the glass.”

“That’s Erik, huh?” You nodded towards the older guy. Erik had regained control of the grill, getting into his own little zone of flipping burgers and toasting buns—though you’ve caught him staring at you a couple of times.

Bobby nodded enthusiastically, offering you a freshly-made Hice Pale Ale-lemonade mix. “Told you you had the same vibes. Now go drink this and talk to him.”

“Talk about what exactly?” You accepted his offer, gingerly taking a sip. Damn, Bobby wasn’t lying about how good it was. “Just because we look the same doesn’t mean we’d get along.”

“I know the both of you enough to know that you’d get along,” Bobby groaned. “Now please, get over there and blow his mind or something.”

“I know another thing I could blow,” you smirked, muttering under your breath. Bobby theatrically gagged, shivering as you walked away.

“I’m starting to regret this!” He lightheartedly called after you. When you stood nearby Erik, it was Julia’s turn to sidle up to Bobby. Wordlessly, he showed her his watch, tapping the glass as it read “1:30.” Julia rolled her eyes.

“I have plenty of time.” The siblings watched as you and Erik started talking. They didn’t miss the way Erik’s lips lazily quirked up, how he gestured more as he talked—textbook signs that he was nervous.

“Ten bucks,” he reminded her as they contentedly sipped their drinks. They both smiled as Erik laughed, genuine boyishness showing through instead of the usual snark.

When Erik saw you approaching, he had to mentally prepare himself. You looked like an alternative angel in your sleeveless, black turtleneck. The soft fabric hugged your waist, cinched in by a sleek black belt. It was chic—simple, yet unbelievably hot. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard, he repeated to himself.

“Hey,” he greeted you cooly with a lopsided smile. “So you’re the gym buddy?”

“And you’re the older brother.”

“Bobby’s been talking about me too, huh?” He rubbed his neck shyly. You saw the way his eyes lingered over your arms, the same way yours were taking in his. You pretended not to notice how you ogled each other until Erik was the first one to break. “I like your tattoos.”

“I like yours, especially your centipede. It looks fucking gnarly.”

“If you wanna talk about gnarly, your snake bites,” he whistled lowly. “Pretty good piercer you got there.”

“God, I got these forever ago. Delayed my braces because I had them done on a random Tuesday. My mom freaked out when she saw.” You both chuckled at the memory. It hit a little too close to home for Erik, who also had shit timing and spontaneous body mods.

In an instant, you clicked. Unsurprisingly, you had a lot in common. From your music taste to your preferred jewelry brand, you were incredibly in sync. Bobby wasn’t exaggerating how alike you would be. Sure, there were differing opinions in movies—mainly because Erik hated found footage films—but even then, it was fun banter for the two of you.

“Holy shit, an unironic Grave Encounters 2 fan in the flesh,” he put his hand over his chest, gasping dramatically. You laughed, hitting his arm lightly. He tried not to blush too hard. You literally just met, and on top of that, you were Bobby’s friend—in his mind, that made you off limits.

“You’re an actual snob. Grave Encounters 2 was so much fun and Alex—God! Call him my teenage dream,” you swooned, earning an eye roll from him. It felt like talking to a long-time friend, like he was lost familiarity to you.

Eventually, Erik finished cooking all the food. Not once did you leave his side, the two of you losing track of time as you chattered on. He was still fishing for buns in the empty plastic by the time he realized he was all out. He clicked his tongs twice before setting them down.

The entire time, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at his arms. His tattoo placements were so chaotic, yet they were all perfectly him. Your eyes trailed the inked insect wound around his lower bicep. “You into bugs?”

“You talking about Spencer?”

“Spencer?”

He pointed to his centipede tattoo. “He has a name, you know.”

You laughed, making a show of leaning closer to his arm, peering at the tattoo. It was as if you were talking to a child. “Hello, Spencer! Would you happen to know if your daddy’s into bugs?”

Erik’s face flushed. His breath already hitched when you moved closer to him. But then, you called him that. Daddy? He wasn’t even into that thing—reminded him too much of his own dad and it made him shrivel up. However, it came from you. And you said it so nonchalantly, not even thinking about the impact of your words. His dick twitched in his jeans, and it took everything in himself to try to prevent it from fully erecting.

Think of unsexy things. Furbies. Moldy bread. His boss.

He cleared his throat, commanding steadiness in his voice. “I like them more than most. I used to catch beetles and ladybugs in our yard when I was a kid. It carried over to high school, I guess, and I had this phase where I was enamored by centipedes and millipedes. I don’t know, I just thought that they were so cool and terrifying. Beautiful in an ugly way, almost.”

You nodded in understanding. He was surprised he wasn’t met with the usual comments of shock or disgust at the insects. It drew him further into you, a magnetic-like attraction. Sure, he liked to talk a lot, especially with clients during a session—regardless of whether or not they’re responsive. But this felt more genuine, like he was letting you peek into a crack in his armor

“My mom tried cleaning my room one day—she failed by the way—and saw my old insect drawings. I saw the sketch for this one, refined it a little, then boom. Spencer was born.”

“You drew this yourself?” Your eyes widened in amazement. You brought your hand up, letting it hand halfway to his arm. “May I?”

“Knock yourself out. He won’t bite.” He didn’t think twice before boldly adding on, “His daddy can, though.”

You giggled, feeling your cheeks heat up. Gently, your finger traced over his tattoo, swiping over the skin here and there to take in all the details. The shading was solid, hugged by neat line art. Genuinely, it was such a good tattoo. Its beauty was only amplified by the one wearing it.

All the while, Erik was having an internal crisis. He should not have said that. He didn’t know what he wanted yet. He did know that he wanted to be close to you, but in what way exactly? If, down the road, you became a couple and you broke up, Bobby might end up losing you, too. Plus, he didn’t even know if Bobby would be okay with it. Shit, is Bobby okay with what’s happening now?

His eyes scanned the yard, searching for Bobby. He spotted him next to Julia, standing by the side of the trampoline as Charlie bounced around on it. The pair had their eyes on you, sipping from iced drinks, topped off with the small cocktail umbrellas Bobby loved so much. Julia seemed to anxiously glance at her watch. When he achieved eye contact with them, they swiftly brought their free hands up, giving him a thumbs-up.

Well, the signal couldn’t be clearer then.

“Thank you for letting me pet him,” you straightened up, looking innocently at him. A cruel smirk played on your lips. “Didn’t expect him to be quite big and long.”

“Packs quite a punch, just gotta give him a chance.”

“Hmm, a chance at what?”

“I—”

“Erik!” Bobby came barreling towards him, giving a thump on his back that almost sent his older brother flying. Behind him, Julia was yelling, “You cheater! No interventions allowed!”

Okay? Whatever that meant, you thought as you stepped aside, letting the brothers have their moment. Bobby smiled apologetically at you, while Erik looked more than ready to bite his head off. “Sorry, I remembered something I had to ask Erik over here.”

Bobby threw a not-so-discreet look at his watch. 3:48.

He wrapped an arm around Erik’s shoulder, steering him into the house. Erik was basically dragged along, looking back to mouth “sorry” to you. Before you could even comprehend what just happened, Julia was beside you, linking your arm around hers. “I’m so sorry about that. Bobby can be a real dingus sometimes. How have you been getting on with Erik?”

Inside the house, Erik shook Bobby’s grip off him. He faced his brother, gaze sharp and deadly. “I want you to know that you ruined a very good thing.”

“Holy shit, you totally like her,” Bobby whisper-shouted. He balled his fists up in excitement. “I fucking told you she’s your type.”

“Yeah, yeah, well, how was I supposed to know?” Erik waved him off defensively.

Bobby took in his flushed cheeks, his tense shoulders, and his uneven breathing. He grinned, crossing his arms. “You’re fucking head over heels, aren’t you? Shit, I didn’t expect you to fall for her that much.”

“I’m not! It’s just a crush at most, so what?” Erik mirrored Bobby’s stance, taking a step back. He shrank away from the younger boy, as if he maintained the distance, he could avoid discussing his feelings. “How do you know I don’t see her just as a friend?”

“Are you planning to ask her out?” Bobby ignored his last question. Erik sputtered, looking anywhere but at his eyes.

“What, I—what?!”

“Can you do it after 6 pm?”

“Hey!” Julia slid the glass door open with a loud swish. Erik glanced behind her, seeing how you were now under Stephanie and Charlie’s care, the three of you making use of the trampoline. You turned as you jumped, meeting his eyes through the doorway. Almost immediately, he smiled at you, bringing a hand up in “hello.”

“Holy shit, you’re totally into her, “ Julia quipped, surprised by Erik’s love-struck expression.

“That’s what I said!” Bobby exclaimed, bringing out his arms.

“You!” Julia turned to Bobby, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You are a cheating weasel. You ruined a perfectly good thing!”

“That’s what I said,” Erik murmured in the background, eyes still trained on you. You looked so pretty when you laughed, hair forming a halo around you as you reached the peak of your jump, falling down in waterfalls when you came closer to the ground.

“Erik, if you’re gonna ask her out, do it now. No better time than the present!” Julia patted his shoulders, taking his right arm to pull him out.

“Woah, no!” Bobby grasped his left arm, stopping Julia in her tracks. “Do it later at night. It’s gonna be more romantic that way.”

The two younger siblings bickered, pulling Erik back and forth like a rag doll. Erik blinked twice, snapping out of his trance as he took in his surroundings. He wriggled free of their hold, bringing his hands up. “What the fuck are you two on? I don’t know what you’re planning, but can you do me a kindness and please fuck all the way off? I’m not gonna ask her out.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Bobby and Julia chorused, “What the fuck do you mean you aren’t asking her out?”

Erik shrugged, rubbing his nape. “I don’t know. Now that you’re both on my ass about it, I feel like it’s too soon. I just want to take it slow for now.”

“What the hell?” Julia’s brows furrowed. Bobby’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. “Take it slow? As if you took all your Tinder hook-ups slow?”

“Those were hook-ups. This is different.” He stood in front of a small hanging mirror, tousling his hair a little to get it back to its “messy-chic” style. “Now if you fuckers don’t mind, I’m gonna go out there and play Jenga with my girl.”

“Technically, she’s not your girl yet. If anything, she’s my girl. You know, since she’s my best friend,” Bobby muttered, shutting up when Erik glared at him. Quickly, though, he realized something. Bobby smiled to himself, Julia still not catching on to what he had planned.

“Yeah, she’s my girl,” Bobby repeated slightly louder, a hint of shakiness to his voice. “In fact, since you’re taking too long, I might just go and ask her out myself.”

Erik steeled himself, surprised that Bobby’s comments affected him deeper than he expected. There was a certain possessiveness he felt for you, only hours after meeting you. He was more of a free will person rather than a fate one, but it felt like destiny brought you together—like everything fell into place when he laid his eyes on you. And as much as he loved Bobby, he knew that his brother couldn’t handle all that. You were made for Erik—his living, breathing, dream girl. Even though he sensed that Bobby was joking, he couldn’t help but feel even just a tiny bit pissed.

“Fuck you,” he pointed to Bobby. “And fuck you too,” he turned to Julia.

“What did I do?!” Julia yelled, exasperated. “I was supporting you!”

Before she could further defend herself, Erik was out the door, making his way back to you. His spirit was filled with renewed determination and the slightest tinge of jealousy. Bobby watched proudly, slipping out the door, Julia following behind him. “Do you think he’s gonna do it?”

Bobby snorted, “I hope so. Let’s pray he doesn’t chicken out.”

“That was a good pep talk,” Julia hi-fived him as they went back to observing you.

You hopped off the trampoline as Erik went over to you. You winked at him, cheekily smiling. “Hey there, daddy.”

His eyes widened momentarily before remembering the reason for the pet name. He rolled his eyes, pointing to Spencer. “My kid wanted to say hi again.”

You chuckled at your inside joke. Your phone buzzed, tearing your attention away from him. Erik noticed the way your lips twitched into a grimace, the slight crease appearing between your eyebrows.

“You okay?”

“Sorry, I might have to go. Just got an errand from my mom,” you waved your phone at him. Subconsciously, he pouted, something he looked adorable doing. “It was nice finally meeting you, though.”

“Thanks, people usually tip me after.” His eyes crinkled as you laughed. “I enjoyed meeting you too.”

Erik tagged along with you as you said your goodbyes to his family. Any outsider looking in could’ve thought that you’ve been together for years by now. Brenda pulled you in for a surprising, yet not unwelcome, hug. That, alongside an open invitation for you to come around more, made your heart soar. Bobby walked towards you as you neared the back gate.

“Thanks for having me over, big guy,” you said as he enveloped you in a bear hug.

“I’ll see you on Monday? Big day for arms!” He waved at you before turning to Erik.

“I’ll walk her to her car,” Erik tightly smiled at him. He opened the door for you, letting you walk a few steps ahead of him. When he was sure you were out of earshot, he leaned closer to Bobby, patting his shoulder. “Thanks for bringing her over.”

“Better buy me good takeout later,” Bobby muttered, watching his brother run after you like a dog off-leash.

The walk to your car was comfortably silent. Erik moved to the driver’s side to open the door for you, embarrassed when he realized that you hadn’t unlocked it yet. He ended up tugging uselessly on the door, shuffling instead to lean on your car coolly. “Fun fact about cars, they’re very secure.”

“Yeah, would be pretty bad if anyone could just come up to your car and unlock it, huh?” you chuckled together. Neither of you wanted you to leave yet, and you stood there awkwardly, just looking at each other. Finally, Erik broke the silence.

“So… was I everything Bobby raved about? Wouldn’t want to be false advertising.”

You hummed, pretending to think hard. “Wardrobe was on point. Humor was more sarcastic than I thought it would be—not that it’s a bad thing. Overall, better than I imagined.”

Erik’s heart beat hard against his chest. You pressed a button on your keys, letting him actually open the door for you now. When you got settled in, you rolled the window down, peering at him through your lashes. He leaned in, resting an arm on the top of your car. “I might have another look, though. Just to make sure the description was… consistent.”

“Ah, quality control,” Erik nodded, eyes narrowing as he considered your words. “I respect your dedication. When can I schedule an appointment for a second viewing?”

“You into carnivals?” You asked as you stuck your hand out, wordlessly asking for his phone. Erik dug into his back pocket, giving it to you. “There’s one rolling into town by the end of the month. Really good test of other factors… like stamina, courage, and your fun bone.”

After adding your number to his contacts, you brought the phone back to him. He smirked at you. “I have a fun bone right here.”

You sputtered, nervously glancing towards his belt buckle. He caught your gaze, tutting at you. “Oh no, princess, I meant right here.” He tapped a small skull tattoo hidden on the side of his bicep.

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head to smile at him. You looked at his lips. His scent was so prominent, now that it was just the two of you in close proximity. Smoke and menthol. Your eyes flickered to his arm. “It was nice meeting you, Spencer.”

Your gaze slowly went back to him, bright baby blues that reminded you of sparkling water. “It was nice meeting you too, daddy.”

Entranced, Erik stepped aside, watching mutely as you pulled into the road and disappeared into a dot on the horizon. He knew that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d be seeing you. He also had an inkling that somewhere, in their backyard, one of his siblings had won a stupid bet. He shook his head, a smile never leaving his face as he made his way back.

#erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #final destination #final destination 6 #final destination: bloodlines #fd: bloodlines #erik campbell smut #erik campbell imagine #richard harmon

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sexy-monster-fucker · 2 days ago

Text

I Wish You Would

John Walker x New Avenger!Reader

Summary: While the rest of the team is gone, Reader is excited to have the screening room to herself for the usual group movie night. Until she walks in and finds her night of freedom interrupted.

CW: Thunderbolts* Spoilers, teasing, mutual pining, makeout, handjob, some choking, John’s obvious praise kink, p in v, creampie,

a/n: im about to start my period so my hormones are everywhere, and all I want is to ride John Walker until he forgets his name lol um happy birthday Wyatt Russell

title track 🎶🎞️

~~~

Movie night.

Normally something you dreaded worse than any mission. Having to sit through Alexei’s loud chewing, Ava and John’s arguing, and Yelena having to explain every joke to Bob. Poor sweet Bob, sometimes not completely aware of references due to his amnesiac state.

But tonight was almost perfectly laid out by the Gods for you.

Most of your team was dispersed all over the country. Alexei, Yelena, and Ava off on some undercover mission. States and timezones away from the Tower. Getting some intel hidden down floors below a far too fancy government building. Infected with H.Y.D.R.A. scum. Ava was perfect for such a task. Assisted by the perfect distractions that were Yelena and Alexei. Bucky, Bob, and John were all out at a secluded training facility. If Bob was unable to use his powers without the fear of Sentry and the Void returning, they needed to teach him the physicality. How to keep a cool head even when people were charging you. You were always outnumbered by enemies, everyone needed to be able to fight.

Lucky for you, Valentina had sent you off on a mission that was an easy resolve. An interview with a well known journalist. Having to save face for your entire team after a rather eventful, and damaging, brawl. Some delinquents got their hands on weapons sold under the table by an old site cleaner. Advanced with alien technology. Extra hard to stop. Which resulted in a good lot of the city being trashed. Citizens were rightfully angry. John’s pompous attitude and Alexei’s casual behavior hammering the final nail into the coffin.

You were the member with the cleanest record. Presentable and approachable. A known former Avenger before the Battle with Thanos. Advocating very publicly for housing reform and a change in the way foreign threats were handled. A pivotal part of restoring the world’s faith in supers. Your public image was, for the most part, clean and beloved.

While everything was still so different and new, you loved your team. They were more of a family than you had found with anyone before. Bonding and developing routines. Traditions. Much like tonight.

You wore your oversized pajamas. Long sleeves and shorts. Perfect to tuck yourself under the blanket and keep warm. You walked into the living room with your favorite blanket in hand. The one you hid in your room just to make sure no one else claimed it. Excited for a night in the big screening room. All alone. Finally able to watch one of the new releases you had been waiting on.

Until you rounded the corner and saw a movie already in progress. Some shitty cop-duo comedy. Where they go undercover looking for a drug dealer around a college campus. More crude humor than not. It was older, you remembered the commercials for it that aired back when it came out.

Who the hell was here? None of your teammates were supposed to be here. It was going to be your one chance for some quality alone time.

You rounded the leather chairs, eyebrows already arched. Frustrated beyond belief before even knowing who the culprit of your interruption was.

And there he was. Slumped down in the chair with a bowl of popcorn resting on his stomach. Legs spread wide, arms positioned so he only had to twist his wrist to reach his mouth with a handful of popcorn. Tight fitted t-shirt and lounge pants.

John F. Walker.

Your lip twitched. Blinking over and over to try and relax the harsh expression that tugged at your muscles. You barely caught his attention. Completely lost in the illuminated screen. Before turning his gaze to you.

“What’sup, Y/N,” he casually said with a mouthful of popcorn. Crunching and wet mouth sounds mushing his words together.

“Thought you were with Bob..?”

John shrugged his shoulders, “Buck got mad at how I was trying to train him.”

You knew what that meant. John always had a tendency to take training too far. Shouting like the drill sergeants that had trained him. Bordering on the lines of degrading. Especially for someone like Bob. He needed a special, calm touch. Clear instructions and understanding, that was what made him learn best. Which was why he was rarely sent off on missions to begin with. The risk of a disaster returning was too high. Maybe one day he would learn to control his powers. Powers forced on him. Something many of you could sympathize with, unlike John. He chose the super soldier serum. Willingly burdening himself with power. So you guess it was hard for him to understand this struggle, or maybe he was just in denial about it. Assuming if he could handle it, so could everyone else.

“Barking again?”

John scoffed, rolling his eyes at you, “No.”

There was a silence. One of your eyebrows raised as you crossed your arms over your chest. Leg cocked to the side, trying to get him to admit the truth.

“Okay— maybe a little barking,” John sighed.

You dropped your arms back at your sides. Motioning towards him with a nod that said ‘I knew it’. Earning a disapproving grunt from him as he focused back on the screen.

That silence returned. It was common between the two of you. A certain level of awkwardness that neither of you could overcome. Something you could not explain. Always seeming to find yourselves tangled in the other’s business. Whether it be bumping into each other during a stealthy mission, leading to you both being pressed together against a wall as to hide from the enemy. Or reaching for the same thing in the cabinet or at a restaurant at the same time. Or even seeing each other out and about when you were on a date. Always ending with you having to explain to your suitor that he was your coworker. It usually turned them away from you. Never being able to escape work and all. Your lives were always overlapping in such strange and unexpected ways.

And you liked it. Never would you give him the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed his company. It would go straight to his head if you ever told him. Tell him how you loved getting sent off on missions together. Alone time was sparse, so you liked getting to know him. Or tell him that you subconsciously saved him a spot next to you on the Quin Jet every time. The feeling of his leg resting so casually against yours would have your ears burning and heart pounding. Or even that you would vote for whatever movie he suggested just to see him smile when it won.

It was embarrassing. You were a hero. Having such a strong crush for your coworker made your stomach knot and palms sweat. How could you let him consume you this way? Which was why you had to overcompensate for your feelings. Picking on and teasing John came naturally to you. It was a customary practice between the two of you.

Yet all insults left you right now. Swallowing the lump in your throat as the voices of college age football players blurred together in your ears. Taking a final deep breath.

“I was going to watch a movie,” you said as if he should have known.

“Yeah? Well, I’m like almost done with this one,” John gestured with his hand, “You can finish it with me.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Fighting off the voices in your head telling you to blurt out your problem. It was childish to a certain extent. But not to you.

“You… you’re in my seat,” you admitted.

“Your seat?”

“I always sit there when we have movie nights,” you sighed, getting a little annoyed with the devious smirk on his lips. When an amused chuckle bubbled out of his chest, it only made you angrier.

“First come first serve,” he shrugged, shifting his body up in the seat a little more, “But you can always come join me.”

John patted his lap. Hand suggestively pointing. Clearly mocking you.

But it made something switch inside you.

Your entire face flushed immediately. You were sure if someone had cracked an egg on your face, it would have fried.

He caught on to your awkwardness immediately. Based solely off your silence. Normally, you were quick with a comeback. It was something he admired about you. Your ability to joke along with him. Usually you had the best roasts of the group. To see you crumble so easy made a mischievous light click behind his eyes.

You stammered. Noises that could not even begin to resemble words. And it only made you flush more. Flirting was never new. Usually so natural that no one even pointed it out anymore.

He was smug. Rolling his hips to make sure that your eyes were drawn there. Softly grunting as he faked readjustment, “Suite yourself. Movie should be over in thirty.”

You growled. Fists clinching tightly together as your teeth ground down. He was such an ass. Full of himself. Far too confident. Always able to keep his composure and cool. It drove you insane.

And you loved it.

You began to stomp away when John called out to you once more, “Oh, and Y/N. I’m a big boy, I promise you won’t break me.”

Well if this was the game he was playing… you could play along.

You stepped directly in front of him. Blocking his view of the large screen behind you. Shadowed blue eyes looked up at you. Rolling his eyes as he stiffened his spine along the chair. Hands gripping the arm rests preparing to push himself out of the chair. Until you stepped forward. Wedging your knee between his and the arm rest. One hand resting on his shoulder to stabilize yourself.

John was flabbergasted. Eyes unable to leave your waist and how you straddled him now. The feeling of both your hands on his shoulders. Wide eyes looked up at you. His large hands awkwardly hovered at either side of your waist. Like he was too scared to touch you. Your head was tilted to the side. Hooded, sultry eyes scanned his face. One of your arms began to arch behind his neck, nuzzling your face into the crook between his shoulder and pulse. Relaxing so that your ass laid against his thighs. Cores barely inches from one another.

As if he had been holding it without knowing, John finally took a deep breath. Lungs refilling so desperately. The feeling of his chest rising and falling was comforting. The tip of your nose rested against his jugular. Strong musky scent filled your senses. It had your insides sloshing and tying themselves together.

While he could still see the screen, the stupid buddy comedy was the farthest thing from his mind. Lump choking him in his throat. Face flushed and hot to the touch. Knowing he probably felt like a heater with how molten his veins ran. He closed his eyes trying to stabilize himself. No one had touched him in so long. Let alone so casually.

Finally willing to take the plunge, he rested his hands on your sides. Low, directly about the curve of your hips. One of them softly running up and down the curve of your body. His heart was racing. As if he had been training for a marathon.

You were beautiful. He would be a fool to not admit that. And he would be a liar to say he had never caught himself staring at you. Or that sometimes he did snoop around when you were going around town with some stranger you met on the internet. He was overprotective of you. Even though he knew you could protect yourself. Adoring how you held yourself. Well spoken and independent.

John would never admit how much he thought about you. In situations similar to this. Pressed together and intimate.

“Is it good?”

“W-What?” he choked, blinking rapidly.

“The movie?”

John blew his breath out, “Yeah. It’s… real funny. Real, real good.”

You smiled against his throat. Able to hear how loudly he was swallowing. Anxiety was not something you often saw on him. Even when you had went through the void, he had appeared more depressed and disappointed in himself. Normally, he had nerves of steel. Years of rejection and public mockery toughening him up. Military had trained him to be quick on his feet. Able to change plans on a dime.

But this was something he could have never prepared for.

John was a flirt. Popular in High School. Star of the Football Team. Multi-decorated soldier. He was used to women throwing themselves at him. Hell, he liked getting attention. Or atleast he used to. Before his public image got burnt so badly that even the mention of his name made people cringe or scoff or laugh. His failure as Captain America had been internationally broadcasted. There was not anyone who particularly wanted to be seen with him. No one usually wanted to be around him either.

Yet here you were curled up in his lap. Breath fanning down his neck and bodies pressed together. Fitting him like you were molded together. Meant to be like this.

He was alluring. Making you want to run your hands all over his body. Wanting to touch and feel any bit of him you could. But you knew you had to play the game.

You tested it at first. A quick peck. Something that could have been written off as you readjusting and your lips just so happened to touch his neck. John’s hand gripped on your side firmer than before. Barely giving him anything, and he already felt like he could fall apart. So you continued. Kisses turning more sensual when you planted an opened mouth kiss to his pulse. Continuing to slowly grow more and more hungry with each passing kiss. Tongue involving itself. Teeth grazing against his blooming skin. Finally pulling his flesh between your teeth to leave a mark.

John groaned. Head falling back against the chair. Simply enjoying the feeling of your lips all over him. Focusing entirely on not allowing his cock to pitch itself underneath you. If you were just teasing, you would never let him live it down if he popped a boner from some basic neck kissing. It’s not like either of you were teenagers. Still, he had not had anyone like this in years. His ex-wife and himself had long since given up in the bedroom. Only having his fist and some porno magazine one of the boys in boot camp had given him. He kept it because he refused to buy any of it. And those videos on Twitter were too creepy for him. A little unethical.

So the brush of lips on skin, the weight of you in his lap, the soft breaths that came from your nose; it all had him so wound up. Eyes forcing themself shut.

You began to run one of your hands down his chest. Fingertips barely catching the fabric of his t-shirt. Outlining his muscular physique as you continued your trek further and further down. Palm flattening at his navel so that your fingertips teased the edge of his waistband. Running them underneath the elastic. Fingers playing with the thin hairs of his happy trail. Earning a shaky breath from the super soldier between your legs. Your lips traveled up his throat to the soft space where his ear and jaw met. Your hand dared to dip deeper into his pants, under the elastic of his underwear, so that fingertips grazed the soft hair along his pubic bone. Painfully close to the base of his cock.

Training took over. Instinct to protect himself. Anxiety and fear bubbling at the back of his throat, “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we… we’re on a team together. Not supposed to fraternize,” John’s voice betrayed him. The words were wrong as soon as they left his tongue. Throat clearly tight as he tried to squeeze the words out.

You did not move. Frozen by his words. He had a point. How would Valentina react? How would your teammates react? It was all common knowledge that you were not supposed to fool around with your coworkers.

And if there was one thing about you and John: you liked to follow the rules.

You began to remove your hand from beneath his clothing. Respecting his decision, but still teasing your way out.

John’s hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist like a vice. Shocking you with pure force. His hand was shaking as it held yours where it had gone.

“But, you said…”

“I know… Doesn’t mean I don’t want it,” John grumbled against your scalp.

You smiled. Hiding your face in his neck. Not wanting to reveal how truly excited you were for this. For him. Knowing his tendency to tease could possibly ruin whatever this was blossoming between you. John’s other hand cupped the back of your head. Leaning you so that he could see your face. Reading for any sign of hesitation. Only finding your pupils matching his own. Blown with pure want. Fluttering lashes adding a beautiful accent.

You stared at one another in silence. John’s mouth was parted in a semi-pant, as if he could not breathe properly. His body moved on its own, pushing himself forward and beginning to close the gap between your mouths. Being cut off by you.

“Tell me you want this,” you whispered, “I’ll leave if you want me to. We can go back to flirting, nothing more. I don’t want you to regret this.”

A beat. Like he was taken aback by your blunt wording.

“I could never regret you,” John breathlessly said, finally planting his lips to yours. Gentle. Still experimental. Turning hungry rather quickly. Both his palms cupped the side of your face. Tongue darting between your lips. Lapping over and over to get your taste on his pallet. Teeth clanked together. Sloppy, but heated.

Lips trailed down your throat. Kissing against your rapid heartbeat. Canines nipping skin, causing you to gasp. One of his hands splayed along your lower back. Fingertips bunching up the back of your shirt. Pinky and ring finger touching your skin. His other hand ventured down to your breast. Massaging the mound between desperate fingers. Thumb swiping across your nipple. The bulb perked at his touch. Showing off the fact you had no bra on.

“You always walk around with no bra on when you’re home alone?” John smirked, continuing to kiss you between words.

You giggled. A sound that was for the most part foreign to you. Giggling with the intent of flirting. John had successfully gotten under your skin in the best way. Bringing out a side of you that you thought was long gone. No one had sparked such a feeling inside you in years.

Slowly, your hand hooked under the band of his shirt. Beginning to tug it over his head so you could get a full look at his bare chest. Muscles and scars decorating it beautifully. Dirty blonde hair cascading a trail around his pecs and belly button. You flattened your hands along his torso. Able to feel his heartbeat below the surface.

John’s eyes doed up at you. Innocence and nerves behind his wide oceanic stare. Lips were on yours once again. Finally able to slip your hand back down the band of his soft, cotton pants. Nails catching against his elastic underwear. A not-so-hidden bulge pressed against the fabric. It was big. You could tell by how it strained the material under your fingertips.

“Please,” John choked with a loud gulp, “Touch me.”

Your stomach did a flip. Temperature inside you spiking, causing your throat to run dry. You did as he asked, guiding him to lift his hips so you could pull his pants down to his mid thighs. Easier to access like this. You sat a little further back on his legs. Gawking down at his groin. Thick and swollen. Tip blushing a red similar to his kiss swollen lips. It craved you. He craved you.

Hesitantly, you wrapped a hand around him. John shuttered, nails digging into the armrest. You tried to be gentle. Stroking him slow with a borderline limp grip. His hips rutted upward chasing after your hand.

You grinned. Looking back up at John. Head thrown back and sweat beaming along his brow. It turned you on to see such a strong man weak from your touch. One of his hands gripped your hip as you began to twist your wrist. Pinching tighter around the tip causing some pre-cum to bead up. Swiping over it with your thumb.

John groaned. Eyes falling shut as he tried to stabilize himself. Cock twitching from your touch. Slickness formed between your legs. He was gorgeous, it made you sick. How could someone as cocky as him be this pretty?

You leaned forward, kissing up his jaw to his ear. Pulling his earlobe between your teeth. Quickening the speed of your hand around his cock, “Talk to me, soldier boy.”

His mouth twitched. Nostrils flaring as he locked his jaw. Your voice melted like honey across his skin. Unable to form words, he was lost in pleasure. Trying to focus so he did not blow his load right away.

John’s hand grabbed your throat, guiding you back. Soft squeeze of fingers causing your mouth to fall open. His lips were sewn shut as his body jerked with each breath. Soft shake to his hand around your throat. Your face was flushing. Eyes hooded as you stared into his oceanic gaze.

“Feel s-so good you forgot- forgot how to run your mou-mouth?” you chastised with a smile, struggling around his grip.

John’s brows contorted. Baring his teeth for a moment. Roughly, he pulled you flush against him. Kissing you harder than you had ever been kissed. Releasing his hold on your jugular, hand venturing down to tug at your shorts. Getting them half way down your thighs when he decided to run a finger up your slit. His eyes widened immediately. Capturing you in a kiss once more.

“You’re so warm,” he muttered like he was trying to catch his breath.

You shifted all your weight to one side and pulled your shorts and panties down so that they dangled from your calf. Bare against his thighs. Slowly, you began to grind down on his length. Pinning it between your bodies as you coated it with your slick.

John’s jaw hung open as he stared at where you sat. Transfixed my the soft squelch of your body. His eyes were glossy and drool dared to drip out of the corner of his mouth.

You leaned down so your lips were against his ear, “Want me to ride you?”

John gasped, “Fuck.”

Eager hands curled around your thighs, helping you rise above him. Making sure to line himself up with your entrance before allowing you to sink down. It took a moment of adjusting, but you were sat flush against his lap. Cock stretching you with a slight burning sensation. Curve causing it to graze against one of your more sensitive spots. Your throat tightened. Swallowing loudly as you hesitated to move.

You fell forward. Wrapping your arms around his neck. Giving you both some time to refill your lungs. Already panting from the pure adrenaline rush. Fear of someone catching you prominent at the front of his mind. Thrilling him. He would love to see the looks on the faces of your teammates.

“What if I just stay like this? Let you finish your movie,” your tone was sultry.

John quickly thrusted upward. Super soldier strength lifting you like it was nothing. Arms wrapping around your back to make sure you could not abruptly leave him. Fucking into you like someone was going to rip you away from him. Panting into your ear as the sound of skin smacking together filled the room.

You whined and moaned with each brutal piston. His name was a mantra on your lips. But you wanted control. Needed to be the one in charge right now. Used to getting bossed around by him, it was finally your turn. Gathering up all your strength, you pushed John away from you. Still connected at your cores, but his back was now against the seat. His eyebrows arched in confusions and frustration. Hands flattened along his shoulders, tilting your head to the side with a smile.

You hooked a finger under his jaw, “Let me do it. Okay? Just watch your movie and I’ll make you feel real good.”

John growled in disapproval. Trying to force himself forward to kiss you again, but you kept him back. “Johnny,” you chastised with a coo.

That had him melting. A nickname he normally refused to let people use. It made him feel weak. Powerless, like he was some softie. But when you said it, it made his insides get all gooey. Warm with want for you.

He ceded. Huffing when you clenched around him.

You smirked devilishly, “That’s it, John. Now, watch the movie.”

You guided him so that he could watch the screen behind you. His cerulean eyes wanted to watch you. Give his full attention to you, but anytime he looked back at you your hips would stop. He was growing enraged. Becoming more needy and whiny than normal.

“Please, baby. Just let me watch you,” John begged.

“Soon as the movie is over. Can you last that long?”

John cussed under his breath. Blinking rapidly hoping maybe it would make his peripheral widen so that he could watch you and the movie at the same time. The roll of your hips had his vision blurring. Grunting each time you took him completely inside. Hands piercing tiny moons into your hips. Unable to focus on the hijinx that was the over the top ending of the, now to him, idiotic movie. Throb of his cock making his heartbeat hammer against his eardrums.

And he felt so good. The way his hips barely rolled to meet your every move. How black his pupils had become. You got your chance to admire him now. Looking at his chiseled jaw and blonde hair. Stubble perfectly accenting his chin. His lips were swollen as he breathed loudly. Watching one of his hands mindlessly wander up to hold your breast. Under your shirt so that he could feel it in his palm.

“Think you deserve to play with my tits?”

John nodded, eyes locked firmly into the screen. A breathy ‘uh-huh’ rolling from his tongue.

You giggled, “Yeah. Guess you’ve been well behaved.”

John’s breath hitched in his throat. Eyebrows furrowing at the compliment. It made his dick flex inside your walls. Hand on your breast firming its hold.

It went on like this for a few minutes. Riding him while the coil inside you wound tighter and tighter. John never looked away from the screen, promise of an end so close that he could practically taste it. His balls tightened when you circled your hips. Getting him far too close to the end.

Credits began rolling.

John sighed, smiling his bright white teeth at you. Lust filled eyes finally darting to meet your flushed face. Your lips were parted as you arched a brow at him. His other hand found your clit immediately. Swirling his digit around it caused your hips to lock up.

“Can’t wait anymore,” John rushed his sentence, pressing forward to encapsulate your lips in his. Once again, starting his relentless pace inside you. Your body bounced up and down. Chasing both your highs that were practically a breath away.

You grasped him for stability. Your walls were tightening. Every inch of you was electric, orgasm knocking on the door. “John, it’s so fucking good,” you moaned, throwing your head back.

“More,” John demanded, “Tell me more.”

“Perfect cock,” you whimpered, “I want you to fill me up. Please, John. I wanna cum on your dick.”

John’s eyes shot up to yours. Inquisitive brow asking if you really meant it. Your eyes gave him the answer. And he smiled. Wide. Like a kid opening a present on Christmas.

“Yeah. I can fill up your tight cunt,” John huffed, hips slowly becoming erratic as his finger applied more pressure to your nub, “Make you walk around for the next couple of days with me leaking out this perfect pussy. That way you remember who made you feel this good. Huh? What’doya think of that?”

You nodded, feeling your floodgates burst. Walls spasmed around him. Massaging his aching cock guiding him to his own finish. He held onto you tightly as his entire body twitched. Ropes of thick cum coated your insides. Both of you moaned in harmony. Resting your foreheads against one another as you tried to catch your breath. Breathing the same hot air from the other.

Silence filled the room as some soft melodic song played over the final credits. Neither of you moved. Too afraid to let the moment pass. It was all so surreal. You could feel him slowly going soft inside you, small amounts of your mixed releases pooling around the base of his cock. Still having waves of aftershock which would cause him to perk back up.

Without a word, John pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. You collapsed into him. Mouth against his neck. Arms limp at your sides. His large hand rubbed up and down your spine. Occasionally pressing rather intimate kisses to the side of your head. His smile was palpable even in the silence.

“Wanna watch your movie now?”

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately when it comes to writing and being creative. Probably from the stress of moving for the first time ever. I appreciate everyone’s patience with me, and the continuous love I’ve been receiving on my other fics. As always, my tag list and inbox is open. I’d love to hear from you! Love ya! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @person-005 ~ @somemadart ~ @witchygagirl ~ @illyrianbrat ~ @fire-joestar

#john walker #john walker x reader #john f walker #u.s. agent #us agent x reader #thunderbolts #new avengers #wyatt russell #wyatt russell x reader #writing #fanfic #sexymonsterfics #marvel #marvel mcu

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sshnzsr · 2 days ago

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𝓘 could be a good mother

lhs x f!reader | warnings: a lot of angst, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, arguments | wordcount: 2k

After years of secretly loving your childhood best friend Heeseung, your hopes are dashed when he introduces his selfish, manipulative girlfriend, Hana, in high school. When Hana announces her pregnancy at a party and later abandons Heeseung and their newborn daughter, you step in, marrying Heeseung to help raise the child.

You’d loved Lee Heeseung for as long as you could remember. He’d been your childhood best friend, the boy with the bright smile and endless energy who’d chase you around the playground, tugging your pigtails just to get a reaction. You’d always thought (hoped) he felt the same way. There were moments that fueled your daydreams. The way he’d sling an arm around your shoulders, call you his “partner in crime,” or share secrets with you under the glow of a flashlight during sleepovers. But those dreams shattered in high school when he introduced you to her. His girlfriend.

Her name was Hana and you didn’t hate her because she “stole” Heeseung from you. No, it was her personality that made you hate her. She was selfish, manipulative and fiercely jealous, always finding ways to wedge herself between you and Heeseung. She’d pout when he laughed at your jokes, accuse him of caring about you more than her and eventually demanded he cut you out of his life entirely. You’d watch Heeseung, waiting for him to see her real face, but he was too blind to her flaws. It broke your heart, but you stepped back, letting him live his life.

Then came the party.

You’d been dragged along by mutual friends and there she was, standing on a table with a drink in hand, shouting over the music, “I’m pregnant!” The room froze. Your eyes darted to Heeseung, who stood beside her, pale and wide-eyed. He hadn’t known. She hadn’t even told him first. She’d announced it to a room full of strangers instead. You saw the fear flicker across his face, though he quickly masked it with a shaky smile, pulling her down and whispering something in her ear. He said he wasn’t scared, but you knew him too well. He was terrified.

Months later, Hana’s true colors shone through. After the baby was born, a beautiful little girl with Heeseung’s eyes, she vanished. She didn’t want the child, didn’t want the responsibility. She left Heeseung a note and disappeared into the night, leaving him alone with a newborn. You’d never seen him cry like that, his shoulders shaking as he held the tiny bundle in his arms. He named her Angel. The same nickname he’d once used for Hana. It stung, but you understood. He was still trying to hold onto something good.

Heeseung threw himself into fatherhood, determined to give Angel everything he could. But it was hard. He worked long hours, came home exhausted and struggled to balance it all. The baby needed a mother, he’d say, his voice breaking late at night when you’d visit to help. One evening, over a cup of coffee in his cluttered kitchen, he looked at you with those tired, pleading eyes and said, “I know this is crazy, but… would you marry me? For Angel?”

It wasn’t the proposal you’d dreamed of as a kid, but you said yes. Not because you thought he’d suddenly fall in love with you, but because you loved him and Angel too much to say no. So you moved in, became his wife on paper and slipped into the role of Angel’s mom. You slept in the same bed, a crib nestled beside you and every morning, a tiny voice would call you “Mommy” with a grin that melted your heart. Heeseung was kind, funny, the same boy you’d always known, but there was a distance. He didn’t love you. Not like that. You were partners, co parents, but not lovers.

Years passed and Angel grew into a bright, curious 5 year old. She had Heeseung’s charm and your patience, a perfect blend of the two of you. Life settled into a routine,

until it didn’t.

When Angel turned five, something shifted in Heeseung. The playful, warm man you’d married faded. He stopped joking, stopped talking as much. He’d come home late, barely acknowledge you and turn to his side of the bed without a word. You told yourself it was stress from work, but it hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

One night, you were in the kitchen with Angel, the clock ticking past 11 p.m. She’d refused to sleep, insisting she wanted to wait for daddy. To distract her, you’d baked a cake together. A messy, chocolatey masterpiece that left flour on her cheeks and giggles in the air. You were feeding her a small slice when the front door swung open. Heeseung stepped in, his tie loosened, exhaustion etched into his face.

“Daddy!” Angel squealed, throwing her arms out. He forced a smile, scooping her up from her chair. She beamed, pointing at you. “Daddy, we baked a cake with Mommy!”

You stood, smiling softly, expecting him to laugh or say something sweet. Instead, his eyes narrowed, a cold edge to his gaze that made your stomach drop. He kissed Angel’s forehead, set her down and muttered, “I’ll put her to bed.” When he returned to your shared bedroom, the air crackled with tension.

“What the fuck is she doing awake at 11 p.m.?” he snapped, his voice low but sharp. “She’s five years old. She should’ve been asleep hours ago, not waiting up to see me stumble in late.”

Your eyes stung, tears threatening to spill. “Don’t shout at me, Heeseung. She wouldn’t sleep. She kept asking for you. I was trying to keep her distracted until you got home.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Sometimes you forget you’re not her real mother. I don’t even blame you. You don’t have kids of your own, so how could you understand?”

The words sliced through you, deeper than anything he’d ever said. You stared at him, breathless, the room spinning. “I… I’ve raised her with you for five years,” you whispered. “I love her like she’s mine.”

He didn’t respond, just turned away, stripping off his jacket and climbing into bed. You stood there, frozen, before retreating to the bathroom to cry silently behind the locked door.

Days passed in silence.

Heeseung avoided you, and you avoided him, the hurt festering. You kept up appearances for Angel, but inside, you were breaking. Had you been fooling yourself all this time? Were you just a placeholder, a stand in for someone he’d never truly wanted?

It was a Saturday evening when everything changed. Angel was at a sleepover, leaving the house eerily quiet. You were curled on the couch with a book, trying to distract yourself, when Heeseung walked in. He didn’t sit. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

You looked up, startled. “What?”

He met your eyes and for the first time in weeks, you saw the Heeseung you’d fallen for. The vulnerable, open boy beneath the mask. “I’m sorry for what I said. For how I’ve been acting. I… I was wrong.”

You set the book down, heart pounding. “Heeseung, you hurt me. You made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I’m not part of this family.”

He winced, stepping closer. “You are this family. You’re everything to Angel and to me. I’ve been a fucking idiot, pushing you away when I should’ve been holding you closer.”

Tears welled up, but you fought them back. “Then why? Why have you been like this?”

He exhaled shakily, sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. “It’s not an excuse, but… I’ve been scared again. Angel’s growing up and I keep thinking about how I almost lost her, how Hana left us. And then I look at you and I realize how much I’ve relied on you, how much I need you. It freaked me out. I didn’t want to admit it, so I pushed you away instead.”

You swallowed, processing his words. “You didn’t have to push me away. I’ve always been here.”

“I know,” he whispered, reaching for your hand. His fingers laced with yours, warm and familiar. “And I don’t deserve you. But I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve even let myself admit.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and sweet. Your breath hitched. “You… love me?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah. I think I always have. It just took me losing you, almost losing you to figure it out.”

A tear slipped down your cheek and he caught it with his other hand, cupping your face gently. “I’m so sorry I hurt you,” he murmured. “Let me make it up to you. Please.”

You searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity. Slowly, you nodded and he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You kissed him back, letting years of pent up longing spill out.

The kiss deepened, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. Your fingers tangled in his hair and he groaned softly against your mouth, the sound sending heat through you. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathed, lips trailing down your neck. “Wanted you.”

“Me too,” you whispered, tugging him back to kiss him again. The world faded away, leaving just the two of you, years of unspoken love finally breaking free.

He stood, lifting you effortlessly and carried you to the bedroom. He laid you on the bed with a tenderness that made your chest ache, his eyes locked on yours as he hovered above you. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he said, voice low and husky.

“I don’t,” you replied, pulling him down. His shirt came off first, then yours, clothes discarded in a quiet rush until there was nothing between you. His hands roamed your body, reverent and slow, like he was memorizing every inch. You shivered under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach.

He kissed you again, deep and unhurried, as he settled between your legs. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm. You felt him press against you and your hips arched instinctively, a soft whine escaping your lips.

“Please,” you whispered and that was all he needed. He slid into you slowly, filling you completely and you both gasped at the sensation. He stilled for a moment, forehead resting against yours, breathing ragged. “God, you feel so good,” he groaned.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him closer and he began to move. Gentle, steady thrusts that made you tremble. It was vanilla, sweet, nothing wild or rushed, just the two of you connected in a way that felt raw and real. His hands found yours, pinning them above your head as he rocked into you, each movement drawing soft moans from your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice breaking with emotion. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you gasped, your body tightening around him as pleasure built. He whined at the feeling, his thrusts growing just a little faster, a little deeper, but still tender, still loving.

“I want to give you everything,” he panted, kissing your jaw, your throat. “A family. Another baby. Wanna put one in you- fuck, you’d be such a good mom.”

The words tipped you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you as you clung to him, crying out his name. He followed moments later, a broken moan spilling from his lips as he came, filling you with a warmth that made you shudder. He held you tight, hips stuttering as he rode out the waves, whispering your name like a prayer.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away. He stayed inside you, pressing soft kisses to your face, your lips, murmuring apologies and promises. “I’ll never hurt you again,” he said, brushing damp hair from your forehead.

The night stretched on, wrapped in each other’s arms, the past fading into a future bright with hope.

You’d always wanted to be a good mother and now, with Heeseung by your side, you knew you could be. Together.

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devilish-cherry · 3 days ago

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geto relationship headcanons ♡

ᨳ♡₊➳ geto x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff, slightly toxic towards the end

ᨳ♡₊➳ my other works

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: geto time babyyy. finally handing the mic to everyone's favorite problematic cult leader. hope you enjoy!! 🖤

₊⊹. suguru geto does not know how to be normal about you. like, not even a little. you so much as blink at a stranger for 0.3 seconds too long and this man is smiling like he's mid homicide. "ah," he says softly, like he's admiring a flower. "you're being reckless again." you just thanked the barista. but to him? that was treason. he kisses your temple sweetly, then glares holes into the guy's soul like he's personally responsible for the decline of the jujutsu world. "i should've cursed him," he mutters. you laugh. he is not joking.

₊⊹. geto is terrifyingly sweet to you. like... disgustingly sweet. he brushes your hair out of your eyes mid-conversation. he memorizes your favorite bath temperature. he also knelt in front of you once, cupped your cheek, and whispered, "i would burn this world to keep your hands warm." you were cold because you forgot your gloves. he was dead serious. you now own four pairs. he carries them around like they're your epipens.

₊⊹. despite his commanding presence, geto becomes embarrassingly domestic around you and the girls. once, nanako and mimiko insisted on a tea party, complete with frilly aprons and stuffed guests. you expected him to refuse, but nope. suguru geto, notorious curse user, sat cross legged on the floor, pink apron tied neatly around his waist, sipping imaginary tea from a tiny plastic cup with dead seriousness. he caught your amused stare and lifted an eyebrow challengingly. "something amusing, love? i'll have you know mr. fluffybottom here finds my company delightful."

₊⊹. you don't have to ask him to take out the trash. it's already done. dishes? sparkling. did the lightbulb in the hallway burn out? replaced before you even noticed. one time you said, "thanks for doing the laundry" and he just blinked at you like you told him oxygen was optional. "of course," he said, baffled. "why would i let the person i love fold their own socks when i am clearly available?" he's already operating like you're in a 20 year marriage with matching grave plots.

₊⊹. geto has two moods: soft spoken menace or dramatic house husband. there is no in between. he'll be sipping tea in a peaceful garden and then go, "that man is breathing too close to you. should i permanently rearrange his lungs?" while also reminding you to drink more water.

₊⊹. he packs your lunch like he's preparing for a romantic picnic, daily. if you protest, he insists. and the note inside? not just "have a good day" no. it's a mini love letter in perfect calligraphy that somehow makes you blush in the break room.

₊⊹. geto is subtly obsessed with physical touch. he's constantly grazing your fingertips with his, tracing soft circles on your wrist, or casually resting his palm on your thigh during meals. but when you once teasingly suggested he was clingy, he dramatically withdrew, arms folded in mock indignation. "fine," he sighed dramatically. "i'll simply suffer alone, tragically deprived of my partner's warmth." exactly five minutes later, he's practically glued to your side again, murmuring into your ear, "i lasted long enough to prove my point."

₊⊹. he is insanely good at remembering everything about you. your favorite boba order? he's got it, custom adjusted for seasonal flavors. the exact date you muttered something about wanting to see hydrangeas? he drags you out to a garden and acts like it's a total coincidence. but when you call him out, he just shrugs, "it's natural to prioritize the needs of one's family."

₊⊹. geto's texting habits are wild. one moment he's giving you poetic affirmations, "Good morning, beloved. May today bring you as much joy as you bring to me." and the next he's texting you a selfie with a pigeon captioned, "Found your twin."

₊⊹. when geto catches someone else eyeing you up, he places a hand firmly on your lower back, guiding you closer while his serene expression quietly promises retribution. later, when you jokingly accuse him of jealousy, he feigns scandalized innocence. "jealous?" he tsks softly, brushing your hair back tenderly. "my dear, why would i be jealous of someone who can't even recognize they're looking at what's mine?"

₊⊹. his flirting is insane. geto will look you dead in the eye mid-argument and murmur, "your anger is beautiful. almost divine. you should get mad at me more often." you were trying to scold him and now you're completely flustered. he smirks like he knows he just pressed your emotional self destruct button. "you're very cute when you threaten me," he adds.

₊⊹. geto's version of "date night" is him gathering his inner circle and announcing, "tonight, we discuss volume 16 of chainsaw man, as chosen by my beloved." his followers are traumatized. you're honored. he nods solemnly as if you've just solved world hunger by shipping the wrong characters. "you have excellent taste, love. anyone who disagrees, speak up." no one ever does. shocker.

₊⊹. he loves zaru soba. he tries to get you to love it too. you once said, "it's just cold noodles," and he looked at you like you'd personally betrayed japanese culinary history. "it's elegant simplicity," he said. you apologized to the soba. he forgave you. barely.

₊⊹. geto has an unmatched talent for stealing kisses at inappropriate times. like when you're midrant about someone cutting you off in tokyo traffic, he'll gently grasp your chin, silencing your complaints with a lingering kiss. pulling back, eyes glittering mischievously, he whispers, "better?" you narrow your eyes suspiciously. "no," you lie. he grins smugly, leaning closer again. "guess i'll have to try harder, then."

₊⊹. everyone else fears his army of nightmare fuel curses. you? geto brings out his most docile spirit (it looks like a cross between a jellyfish and a sad axolotl) and lets you feed it rice crackers while he watches, arms crossed, proud as hell. "they only behave for you," he says, voice low. you laugh, but later you catch one of his followers sweating bullets as you handfeed a curse.

₊⊹. he's not just a boyfriend; he's an unhinged soccer mom when it comes to his girls (and you). nanako and mimiko once are upset over something and suddenly geto's entire schedule cleared. "we're going for crepes." the man will banish anyone for daring to look at you sideways, but also panic when you sneeze. "are you ill? did a monkey infect you? point to them. i'll handle it." he says it so seriously you almost believe he'd unleash a cursed spirit on the entire tokyo subway if you get a cold.

₊⊹. when you fall asleep before him, geto just stares at you for a minute. not in a creepy way. in a "how did i get this lucky" way. then he adjusts your blanket, moves your phone out of reach, puts a glass of water by the bed, turns off notifications, locks the door twice, then lies down next you and wraps his arms around you. you sleep like a baby. he sleeps like a man guarding the last phoenix egg in existence.

₊⊹. in public, geto is the definition of "they're mine, touch them and die." but behind closed doors, he's the biggest sap. he'll braid your hair (and he's weirdly good at it), press kisses into your neck when you're cooking, and let you drape yourself over him.

₊⊹. geto has a habit of leaning casually against doorframes just to watch you get ready. arms crossed, his head tilted with a smug, self satisfied grin as he murmurs commentary like a sports announcer. "and now they're applying eyeliner, folks. a truly riveting moment. can they achieve symmetry or is today destined for raccoon cosplay?" you tossed a lipstick at his head once, but he caught it midair and smoothly returned it to you with a gentle kiss on your forehead. infuriatingly charming.

₊⊹. he refuses to let you open jars yourself. it's gotten to the point where he's lurking silently nearby anytime you reach into a cabinet, like a jar opening ninja ready to strike. one time you managed to pop open a pickle jar on your own, and geto looked genuinely heartbroken. he took the jar, twisted it tightly shut, and handed it back with solemn eyes. "now, let me fulfill my purpose." you have never laughed so hard at a grown man clutching a pickle jar.

₊⊹. whenever you jokingly threaten to break up over minor inconveniences (like him stealing the covers again), he only smirks serenely. "how dramatic," he sighs with exaggerated patience, tugging you back against him. "but who else would put up with you, hmm? better keep me around." he's insufferable, but you grudgingly admit (only in your head, obviously) that he's right. damn him.

if you're a non-sorcerer, however...

₊⊹. it's complicated. no, worse. it's a romantic psychological thriller. the relationship is a different beast entirely. geto is unbelievably frustrated with himself for being attracted to you like, "i could forgive myself for mass murder, but this?" it gnaws at him. he'll scoff at your ideas, call you naive, ruffle your hair but then wrap you in silk robes and say, "i'll protect you from the world. you'd never survive without me."

₊⊹. he calls you "pet" like it's both an insult and a love confession. every time you speak with confidence, he smirks and says, "that's adorable. you think you have agency." it should piss you off more than it does. but he treats you like a pampered, overfed cat: expensive, adored, and only allowed to do what he permits. you told him he was being condescending once and he laughed. "of course i am. i know better, sweetheart."

₊⊹. despite his initial disdain, he secretly craves your adoration – though he'd never admit it. when you compliment him sincerely, geto freezes for a heartbeat before regaining his smug composure. "careful, little monkey," he drawls smoothly, trying to mask his pleasure behind his condescending smirk. "flattery won't earn you extra privileges." but you notice the faint flush staining his cheeks, the brief softness in his usually sharp gaze.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk scenarios #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk reader insert

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alloftheimagines · 2 days ago

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abby anderson | it's you, part ii

masterlist | part i

words: 2.8k warnings: 18+, hangover, alcohol, vomiting, blood, injury, quiet sapphic pining, baadly written action bc i'm tired. cliffhanger, sorry. this was supposed to be the RESOLUTION and instead i created MORE PROBLEMS for them but don't worry i think the next part will be the last. also, curvy reader <3 synopsis: you have no memory of drunkenly confessing your feelings for abby last night, but she does — which could just serve as a distraction that puts you both in harm's way when on patrol.

The morning light is too bright. Your eyes tear like they’re full of grit, and you moan when your head begins to pound. Fuck, you can’t remember ever feeling this awful, except maybe when you got food poisoning a few years back. And everything smells weird. Not yours. Your duvet isn’t as scratchy, the mattress not as lumpy.

“Fuck,” you hiss, because you feel like you’re going to throw up, and also like you already have, tongue dry as sandpaper and throat burning like somebody’s poured acid down it.

“Easy,” a voice soothes. A bucket is shoved into your lap just in time, though all that leaves you is bile and water. The retching merges with sobs as the pain hits you at all angles. “You’re okay. Get it all up,” somebody is saying, like you have a fucking choice. A hand draws slow circles on your back, and you don’t know if it makes things worse or better.

It feels like eons before it passes and you can finally figure out who’s taking care of you. And then time stops altogether when you lock eyes with Abby, of all people. Not only that, but you recognise her room, not yours.

“Shit.” Last night flashes through your mind in fragmented images. Drinking that god awful beer. Seeing Abby and trying to forget her. And then, it’s all… blurred.

“You okay?” Abby is all concern, her brown eyes creasing at the corners as she wipes a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

“How’d I get here?”

“Not easily. I ended up carrying you most of the way, but it was easier to stop here than drop you down the hall.”

“Oh my god.” You groan, embarrassment washing over you. “I’m so sorry. Shit, how much did I drink?”

“Enough to put Manny to shame, I think.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “Here. Got you some painkillers.”

From the nightstand, she offers you the pills, and you’re quick to down them with a glass of water. Everything tastes bad, sour, and it’s an effort to keep it all down. But you’re not going to embarrass yourself in front of her anymore than you already have, so you sit straighter. “What time is it?”

“Just after six. I gotta get going for patrol, but I’ll cover for you, okay?”

As if it couldn’t get any worse. You hadn’t even thought about fucking patrol last night. “You can’t do that. I’ll never hear the end of it. Just… give me a few minutes.” When you try to sit up, your stomach lurches and your head ends up in the bucket again. “Okay, maybe like fifteen,” you decide when the water and pills you’d just downed make a reappearance.

Abby frowns. “You can’t work like this. Just take the day off. I’ll tell them you caught some flu.”

“They’ll know I'm hungover like everyone else, and Jesus, I am not going to be that idiot. Thank you for taking care of me, Abby, but I don’t need coddling, okay?”

And to prove it, you finally stand, using the wall as support when your knees buckle. Abby tries to catch your waist, but you bat her away, in search for your clothes. Which are not on your body.

Your eyes widen, and you cover up the parts that aren’t hidden by your underwear. “Wait… We didn’t...?”

“No! No, god, no.” As though only now realising your bareness, she turns around, her cheeks smattering pink in the dawn light. She cuts a perfect silhouette in front of the window, broad and hewn from stone, her braid snaking down her back — a little messier than usual. You resist the urge to tidy the stray hairs.

Judging from her current reaction, she’d fucking hate that. You can’t help but take offense at how disgusted she is at the very idea, heart squeezing its usual reminder: she doesn’t want you. She’ll never want you.

“You, uh, just got a little hot in the night, I guess.” Sure enough, she pulls back her duvet to reveal your clothes, cargos crumpled and shirt smelling too much like last night’s beer. When you grimace gingerly, she takes a grey sweater from her pile and drapes it over your arms.

She’s still making a special effort not to look at anything below your neck when she says, “Here. Should fit.”

It won’t fit, because Abby is Abby and while she’s all muscle, you’re all curves, but you peel it over your head, grateful that it’s dry and vomit-less. And it smells like her, you realise: faint musk and that citrus soap she always tries to hunt down on supply runs. For a minute, you’re drowning in her, and the sickness ebbs.

“You should get downstairs. Don’t be late because of me,” you decide, because you can’t breathe with her here and you’re so fucking mortified that you’ve ended up hungover and naked in her bed. In fact, you might still be drunk. The beer is spitting through your pores, vision blurred.

She shrugs, like she isn’t usually the first to be ready every damn day. “I don’t mind. I just… Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” you snap. You’re tired, hurting, wondering why you always have to make yourself look so pathetic in front of her.

“All right. Suit yourself,” she mutters under her breath, and moves to get her bag ready. Only then do you wonder where she slept last night: Manny’s bed is as rumpled as ever, and Abby has only ever joked that she might catch something if she went anywhere near it. But there’s nowhere else in this tiny apartment…

“I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble last night.” Your voice shakes.

Abby shakes her head. “I consider the fact that my carpet and bed are clean a win. You’re fine.”

But it doesn’t feel fine, not when she shifts from foot to foot like there’s something more to say. Whatever it is is lost when she shrugs her backpack over one shoulder. “Meet you down there?”

“Sure. Thanks. And… I’m really sorry, again.”

Abby hums and is gone, like she can’t get rid of you fast enough. You’re left with only the sourness of your breath and questions about what else might have happened last night. Maybe it’s better you don’t remember.

***

Since you’re in no fit state for breakfast, Abby nabs a granola bar from the canteen that she hopes you might want to nibble on later. She doesn’t like that you’re coming, and not just because you’re sick. You’re a distraction she doesn’t need when tensions between the Scars and the Wolves are this high. Try as she might, she can’t forget your words.

I’m not in love with you. Only a little bit.

It’s clear you don’t remember, or maybe you don’t want to remember, but she… she can’t stop. Did you mean it, or should she do the smart thing and brush it off as drunken ramblings?

But there’s a nagging at the back of her mind. It’s been… odd between you two for a while. An electricity sits between you, even when you’re focused on your patrols. Even when you’re fighting. She’s aware of you always: every step, every breath. She knows it’s not just her who feels it, because you’ve changed around her. It’s like you’re always trying to hide.

She just wants to see you again.

When she gets to the truck, she grunts at the sight that awaits her. Fucking Richie. She at least gets to relish the sight of his bruises, left there from when she’d punched him the night before. Clearly, he remembers everything perfectly, because his glower is sharp enough to cut glass.

“Ouch. Looking a little worse for wear, Rich,” she jabs, feigning innocence as she climbs into the back of the truck and lounges on the bench across from him. “What happened?”

His fingers curl tight around his rifle. “Fuck you, Abby,”

If she wasn’t worried about you, she might chuckle, but she doesn’t know what went down last night before she stepped in. Only knows she can’t trust him, and if he touches you…

She digs the heel of her boot into his toe hard. “No, Richie, fuck you. If you mess up today, you won’t have any teeth left in that empty skull of yours. I told you to leave her alone last night. Y’think you can follow orders properly this time and do your fucking job without making it harder for everyone else?”

Richie grinds his teeth, face grotesque with hatred. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Don’t test me, asshole. I swear to god.” Given the chance, she’d love to fucking kill him, but since she’s surrounded by colleagues who expect better from her, she plants herself back down. Right on cue, you haul yourself into the truck with Alice, who wags her tail happily.

Your gaze brushes over Richie without any acknowledgment. “We good to go?”

“You look like shit,” he says, and she decides that he will not, in fact, have any teeth left by the end of the day.

But you’re better than her at blocking it out, so you sit down, running your shaky hand through Alice’s fur. And as the truck pulls out of the gates, Abby is too aware of the space between you on the bench. What it would feel like to close it. Then the broken ruins of the city rise up ahead, and she remembers that there are more important things to focus on.

***

The two of you fall into step as you begin your patrol, the spring wind rattling through dilapidated apartment buildings. Alice ambles ahead, ever-fixed on her duty to protect, just like Abby. Maybe Richie wasn’t wrong with that little insult he’d thrown out about her being your bulldog last night.

She looks down, kicking a stone across the concrete with the toe of her boot. “So, you don’t remember much from last night I guess.”

As though defensive, your gun is pulled tighter to your body, and you scour the buildings like you’re purposely trying not to look at her. Again. “I think I prefer it that way,” you admit. “Do I want to ask how badly I embarrassed myself?”

Abby smirks, though something inside her clenches. It’s stupid, but she wishes you remember, just to know what you’d say sober. Or, more accurately, how you’d say it. She doesn’t know what she expects: the two of you have never paid interest in anyone when it comes to dating, but…

But she imagines it, sometimes, when your hands brush as you deal her cards during game nights, or when you talk about your old home with a sad, watery smile. It’s been a while since anybody has touched her, spoke softly to her, paid attention, and if she wanted anyone to do that, it would be you. Not fucking Owen, like you assumed. She still had to talk to him about that later. Couldn’t have him thinking she still wanted him that way, not with Mel pregnant.

And now you’re wearing her sweater, and it’s slack around your arms, stretched around your waist, and it might be the hottest damn thing she’s ever seen. She hopes you don’t wash it before you give it back, hopes your scent remains long after you do so that she can at least keep the ember of want inside her alive.

Pathetic, she knows, but she’s been… tethered to you for a long time. Unable to take her eyes from you when you’re not looking. You have a way of moving through the world like rain: gently, but you make everything shine. She’s often wondered what would happen in your storm; thinks maybe she saw a taste of a torrent last night, because something other than the drink was wrong. Maybe still is.

“I mean, Richie was being an ass to you,” she decides finally, because the rest feels like it should be hers alone, and she doubts you’d want to talk about it.

You roll your eyes. “Well, that’s something new and different. Since my hand is still functional, I’m guessing I didn’t do that to his face.”

Abby showed off her bruised knuckle with a flourish. “Defended your honour.”

“Oof, then I’m sorry it’s all a blur. Would love to savour that image.”

“I can recreate it sometime.”

You both chuckle, though Abby isn’t joking.

“So, you seemed to be avoiding me last night,” she pointed out.

“Not very well, since I ended up in your bed. You sure about that?”

“I mean before you got too hammered to walk. You said you didn’t wanna talk to me. Any particular reason?”

You take a breath, dabbing the sweat from your brow. “Abby…”

But she never gets her answer, because a distant whistle has you both on high alert. Alice’s ears perk up, and Abby beckons you toward the nearest building. Your guns may be more effective than the Scars’ arrows, but the bastards have been creeping up on your perimeters recently. Shooting your men before they can so much as blink.

You hop inside the broken window of a destroyed barber shop, creeping up to the second floor, where an apartment is covered in debris. “Let’s try to get eyes on them before we make a move,” Abby whispers. “D’you know which way it came from?”

You shake your head, lip pinched between your teeth. She tries not to look at the pink, dented flesh. Fails.

I’m not in love with you. Only a little.

You squint into the scope of your rifle, scanning the area – like she should be, except she's still fixated on you. That little bunch between your eyebrows. The strained muscles of your shoulder beneath the tail of the gun. “I don’t see anyone.”

Shit, she needs to focus. She peers out, then falls into deathly stillness when figures begin emerging from half a dozen different buildings along the street, all of them with their bows poised.

“It’s a fucking ambush,” Abby whispers. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

The three of you creep back downstairs, avoiding the shattered glass in the barbershop as you head into the back office.

“Thank fuck,” Abby says at the sight of an exit. “C’mon.”

Her muscles strain as she thrusts open the rusty door, guiding you out first. You both keep low, dashing down a dingy alleyway that smells like shit, and she can’t help but notice that your breathing is laboured, stamina depleted after last night’s antics. She laces her fingers through yours, afraid that if you have to run, you won’t be able to keep up. That’s when Alice barks at something behind them, and Abby twists to find a Seraphite rounding onto the alley, ready to take aim. She whistles with fierce determination. You shoot your gun, but your aim is piss poor, and you hit her thigh instead of anything vital.

“Run,” Abby orders, because there’s no time to try again, and then you bolt at the next turn.

Another Scar lies in wait, and you shout her name as an arrow flies through the air. It misses, this time, but you trip shakily as she yanks you back from where you came, taking another path in the opposite direction: towards the danger instead of away from it.

She tries. She tries so fucking hard to get you out, but you’re like deadweight in her arms, and a million arrows are flying at you as you fall back out into the open.

“C’mon,” she begs roughly as you duck over and over behind her. Alice defends you as best she can, but you’re overwhelmed, outnumbered, and the other Wolves are nowhere in sight.

You skip across the road, using cars as your cover. Abby scans you frantically, unsure if you’re hurt or just exhausted. Sweat is soaking through your — her — sweater, and your eyes are wide. Foggy. She knew you shouldn’t have fucking come.

“Did they get you?” she asks frantically.

“No, no I’m fine, but I’m slowing you down. You need to go.”

“Shut up,” she barks. She isn’t doing this now. She’s getting you both out of here. Alice, too. Her eyes snag on an exit route up ahead, a break in a wire fence that will take you closer to base. If you can stay low, you can make it. “Get up there. Cover me.”

“Abby—”

“Just do it!” she yells, and this time, you obey, rushing ahead. She shoots one Scar down; two, three. She’s so focused on the ones on the ground that she doesn't see the arrow flying from the second floor of an apartment building across the street.

So focused on getting you safe that she doesn’t feel it plunge into her shoulder until pain splinters through her seconds after the fact.

You scream her name, but she’s gritting her teeth, ploughing forward because it’s all she can do, and somehow, you make it beyond the break in the fence, running on heavy limbs. Now, you’re faster, sharper, the one throwing shots back as you sprint through courtyards and backroads towards home.

And she thinks that if she’d just been smarter, focused — if she hadn’t let you come in the first place — this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t be gushing out blood, and you would be safe.

But you’re ready to catch her when her legs give in minutes later. Ready to scream for help when Richie and another Wolf appear in the distance. And Abby tries to hold on because you beg her to.

Because she is always holding on for you.

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