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hcneymooners · 4 days ago

Text

⋆ i was young and sweet, and then something happened.

truck driver!sevika x female!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you're back home after burning out your new york dreams. mississippi has been waiting for you and comes with the old and new—including the delivery driver that frequents your mother's boutique.

cw: truck driver!sevika, female!reader, age gap, older woman/younger woman, reader is in her twenties, modern!au, unresolved sexual tension, slow burn, strangers to lovers, returning to the hometown you worked to escape from, complex mother daughter relationships, non-sexual intimacy, mentions of grief and loss of a loved one, open (but very positive) ending.

notes: i hate this, just a bit. but please, please tell me what you think. send long asks, even. i love them. i love you.

It's the rat that skitters over your foot that sends you home.

You'd just climbed out of the endless well that is the New York subway, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with the man rocking back and forth right outside the stairwell. You feel a sense of shame as you refuse to look at him, a horrible aching feeling that speaks to you losing sight of your roots and where you came from.

Your most recently created playlist was blasting—aptly titled "songs that are what's wrong with me"—when you'd felt it. A heavy brush against your ankle and across the top of your foot. You looked down, almost in slow motion, and watched as the plump body of a well-fed city rat finished its travel across the top of your square-toe black flats.

You resist the urge to scream, cautious of seeming just as crazy as the man you keep refusing to look at. You hear him laugh and it makes you press your lips together until there are only two thin lines on your face. You contemplate dragging your heels out of your bag but you still have at least three blocks to go and you're tired and so sick of it all.

A billboard flashes across from you as you turn the corner: a woman's bright face with bleach-white teeth advertising a new aesthetic clinic that just opened approximately two streets away from where you live. You feel insane.

You open your phone and buy the plane ticket.

On the plane ride home, you dream of Talladega County.

You haven’t been in years. The last time was when your mother took you on a “girls’ trip” where she told you that she didn’t love your father anymore, that she was leaving him. You had started crying, begging to go home because you could feel somewhere deep in your gut that he’d be gone by the time you came home. She told you he wouldn’t, promised you.

You stared into her face, her features shadowed by the halo of the sun behind her head. She was tanned and beautiful—and everything you believed in. You’d calmed down, called him to tell him you loved him. He had said it back, his voice weary.

He was gone when you got home, somewhere out in the thickets of Alabama where you had been only moments ago.

In the dream, you stand in the fold in a tiny triangle bikini. It’s blue, but sometimes pink, and you have long black wet hair streaking all over you. Behind you, there's a field and dilapidated shacks—or maybe they’re houses only broken down by shame and time.

In front of you hovers a buck with tall antlers. He's come and found you, pushes forward until his face is against your stomach and your upper body is in between his antlers like a sun. It's only this close that you can see the other antlers trapped on top of his, dripping blood off the bone.

He's killed something. One of his own, maybe he’s gutted you. You begin to twirl in a circle as he herds you, Ethel Cain's throaty vocals invading you spiritually through your wired headphones until you settle your chin on a shotgun (when did that appear?) and look back at the buck.

But beyond him now. Someone is looking at you. Come to me. You don’t know which of you is asking, including the animal.

When you land, you text your mother about your dream. She tells you to go see her psychic, that you can drive there straight after she picks you up. You’re not here yet? You text her. She doesn’t respond. You don’t check her location. You were never one for seeking answers.

Welcome to Mississippi, the flight attendant tells you as you step out of the door. Her voice is chipper and bright, someone who clearly doesn’t see anything past the palm trees and pale Marlboro Lights. Thank you, you respond, for getting me here. You wonder if it's a little too intense to say thank you in this manner to someone who hasn’t talked to you for the entire flight.

But her eyes soften and maybe she sees something, maybe she knows that in your blood runs the waters of the Gulf Coast. Her mouth parts and out comes, welcome home.

🪽♱

Your mother is waiting outside baggage claim, leaning against her faded blue Cadillac—the one your grandmother always said would be the death of her. Her hair is different now, lighter where it used to be the same shade as yours, cut in a bob that frames her face and makes her look younger than her fifty-three years. You feel a sense of irritation at the change in color as if she’s taken something away from you. As much as she could annoy you, you loved that the resemblance between you used to be uncanny.

When she sees you, she straightens, takes one last puff of her bubblegum pink vape before tucking it into her denim shorts’ pocket, and bounces on the tips of her white sandals. You can see slight redness along her brow this close to her, and needle marks from where she’s gotten her “preventative” Botox. It’s only a matter of time before she starts suggesting you join the club.

"Look what the Gulf dragged in," she says, arms outstretched.

You let her sweep you into a hug, her perfume a perplexing mix of caramel and cinnamon. Maybe it’s the tightness of her hug, the silent admission that she missed you (because you never spoke about your feelings to one another) that causes your face to crumple and your body to shake. Your mother coos, the sound throaty from years of smoking, and rocks you back and forth. You’re blubbering about that fucking rat in New York, but she just knows you need this.

Somehow, she gets you into the car and stuffs a stick of celery into your mouth, depositing a tiny tub of ranch and breaded chili wings into your lap. The drive from Gulfport to Bay St. Louis takes you along the coast, windows down despite the July heat. Salt air whips your hair around your face as you stare out at the water. It's different here—softer somehow than the aggressive Atlantic you'd grown accustomed to. The Gulf looks like it's breathing, with gentle rises and falls that match the rhythm of your chest.

"Angels is doing well," your mother says, referring to the boutique as if it's a third person in the car. You nod to show your listening, your front teeth break apart the body of another piece of celery. "Tourist season's good this year. The snowbirds are spending money."

You nod, watching pastel-colored houses roll by, their wrought iron balconies and weathered shutters telling stories of hurricanes survived and summer loves forgotten. Spanish moss hangs from live oaks like old women's hair, swaying in the breeze off the water.

"Shit, we need to stop for gas. I knew I should’ve filled her up before leaving," your mother announces, turning into a station that looks like it hasn't changed since 1975. The sign—Silver Cove Gas & Grocery—flickers in the late afternoon sun, neon just beginning to glow against the darkening sky. "Get me a Diet Coke, would you? And whatever you want." Yeah, you think, on my card.

As you step out of the car, the humidity wraps around you like a blanket, familiar in its weight. The feeling makes you think of your childhood best friend Ella, a broad-shouldered girl who used to come up behind you and hug you with a quarter of her true strength. Last time you checked (you’re always checking) she was a professional athlete, free from this town.

The concrete beneath your feet is warm, and for a moment, you stand still, feeling the heat rise through the soles of your worn down ballet flats. It's nothing like New York pavement, which always feels cold somehow, even in summer. Maybe this is what makes you unlock your phone, find Ella’s Instagram, and send her a message. She probably won’t even see it, given she’s verified and has over two million followers.

The bell above the door chimes as you enter, and the cashier—a teenager with braces and freckles—nods in recognition. "You're Nina’s girl," she says. Not a question. It doesn’t need to be. You have her face.

You're picking up your mother's Diet Coke from the cooler, and grabbing a Cola Lacaye for yourself, when you hear it—the deep rumble of a diesel engine pulling into the lot. Through the window plastered with faded beer advertisements and fishing tournament flyers, you see it: a massive black truck, clean despite the dusty roads, commanding the space around it like it owns the whole town. Maybe it does. It’s been a long time since you were back anyway.

The driver's door opens, and a pair of heavy boots hit the ground first. Then legs in well-loved jeans, and finally, her—tall, with arms corded with muscle and dark hair pulled back in a short, practical braid. A scar runs down one side of her face, but it doesn't diminish her beauty; instead, it feels like a warning. This woman has survived things you can't imagine.

She walks steadily toward the store, and as she reaches for the door, your eyes meet through the glass. For a second, neither of you moves. Something passes between you—recognition, maybe, though you've never seen her before. Or perhaps it's just that you both seem out of place here, returned to a world that's both familiar and foreign.

The bell chimes again, and she's inside, the small space suddenly feeling smaller. She nods to the cashier—"Evening, Annie"—and heads straight for the cooler where you're still standing, Diet Coke clutched forgotten in your hand.

"Excuse me," she says, her voice lower than you expected, rougher. When you don't move immediately, one corner of her mouth quirks up. "Unless you're planning to buy all of those."

You step aside and say, “I was thinking about it.”

She smiles fully as you continue watching as she reaches for a Diet Coke of her own and a package of cream-filled cookies in a blue wrapper. As she moves past you toward the counter, you catch a whiff of diesel and something sweeter—maybe vanilla, maybe just the sea.

"You're new," she says over her shoulder.

"I'm home," you correct her, surprising yourself with how right it feels to say it.

She smiles again, and this time you smile back. You stand in line behind her, your mind following the thick lines of her back as she reaches for her wallet and counts out some bills. Soon enough, she’s finished, and you pay for your own things before slipping out the door. Your mother waves giddily from the driver’s seat and you laugh a little, slightly touched at how glad she is to see you over and over again.

“You’re Nina’s daughter?” that gravelly voice asks and you turn your head to look over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Your mom’s shop just got added to my delivery route. I see her every Thursday evening,” the woman says. “Guess I’ll be seeing you too.”

“Um, guess so,” you push out, your chest warming at the way she’s gazing down at you. She’s taller by a few inches, but the inches matter. You’re used to being the tallest around.

She eyes you for a minute longer before making her way back to her truck. You watch until she’s back in the cab, then walk quickly to the Cadillac. As you slide in, your mother presses a kiss to your temple in thanks for her Diet Coke.

“I see you’ve met Sevika,” she comments. “Strange little woman.”

“Little is not the word I would use to describe her.”

Your phone vibrates with a notification and you check it. It’s a rather sweet response to your Instagram DM. Hey, wow! This was a pleasant surprise. I’m doing great, how are you? You still look the same.

Sorry? You type back without thinking.

Lolll, don’t apologize. It’s not a bad thing. You always had a timeless face.

Maybe you aren’t forgettable. At the same time you receive the message, your mother laughs.

🪽♱

"Absolutely not," your mother says, setting down her wine glass firmly on the kitchen counter. "You're supposed to be resting, [Name]."

You tilt your head, watching the condensation gather on her glass. The kitchen is the same as you remember—blue and white tiles with little anchors, ceiling fan that clicks when it spins too fast, the refrigerator covered in magnets from places neither of you have actually been.

"I need something to do, Mom. I didn't come back to sit around and count the ceiling tiles."

"What you need is to recover. Work is what made you break down and come back in the first place."

You sigh, picking at the label on your beer bottle. "That was different. That was sixty-hour weeks with a boss who thought weekends were a suggestion." You look up at her. "I’m afraid despite my best attempts, I’ve been corporate-pilled. I will collapse without any work. Just let me take the opening shift. You know you hate mornings anyway."

She narrows her eyes, looking so much like you it's unsettling. "Only mornings?"

"Only mornings," you agree. "I'll have the place ready when you come in at noon. Or one."

Her eyes narrow at the extra hour you’ve added on, but she looks away as she considers.

"Fine," she relents. "But if I see those little crease lines between your eyebrows coming back, I'm firing you."

“Harsh,” you quip, but you squeeze her shoulder as you get up to begin washing the dishes.

Angels by the Sea sits at the corner of Harbor Drive and Magnolia Street, a converted Victorian house painted the palest shade of pink, like the inside of a seashell. The sign—written in your great-aunt’s handwriting and preserved all these years—hangs from wrought iron brackets above the porch. Two white rocking chairs flank the entrance, inviting passersby to sit and watch the Gulf waters in the distance. You think they shouldn’t sit down. People tend to get stuck here.

You unlock the front door at 8:15, earlier than necessary, but there's something about the morning light filtering through the stained glass transoms that feels sacred. Inside, the boutique is a carefully curated treasure trove: whitewashed wooden floors, antique display cases salvaged from a New Orleans department store, and clothes hanging from driftwood racks your grandfather made decades ago.

Nothing has really changed and the way the store seems to be waiting for you lances through your chest like a harpoon.

The inventory is eclectic—sundresses in gauzy fabrics, handmade jewelry from local artisans, vintage-inspired swimwear, and the salt scrubs your mother makes in her kitchen. Everything smells faintly of spice and sea salt.

You feel the urge to break down again, but you refrain. Instead, you slide off your converse and socks, let your bare feet rake in the unswept gravel from travelers’ boots as you flip the sign to "Open" and turn on the small record player behind the counter. You sort through the stack of vinyl until you find it—A dusty handmade pink vinyl, titled “Unreleased.” As the needle drops and "Dust Bowl (Demo)" fills the space, you can't help but sway, your hips finding the rhythm naturally.

Ethel’s rich voice singing about blood-stained blondes feels right for this moment—this return to something that feels like yourself. You let your arms drift above your head, spin once in the empty shop, bare feet sliding across the whitewashed floors. No one's watching, and there's a freedom in dancing without worrying about looking graceful or composed.

You twirl and twirl until you stop with a hand clutching over your stomach, dashing madly to the small employee restroom in the back to vomit into the rusted sink. You scrub it for the next twenty minutes with bleach, humming along as the record still spins. For the first time since stepping off the plane, you feel your shoulders drop.

Your outfit today—a simple white spaghetti-strap tank and low-rise jeans you found in your old closet—feels like a revelation after years of pencil skirts and blazers. You'd forgotten what it feels like to have your collarbones exposed to the air, to feel fabric that moves with you rather than constrains.

When the song ends, you're slightly breathless and barely smiling. You can't remember the last time you danced in New York—maybe at some corporate happy hour where movement was performative rather than joyful. You try not to think about it for too long, lest the sadness finds you again.

The morning passes quietly—a few early tourists browse without buying, a regular picks up a special order perfume, and you rearrange a display of sea glass earrings, picking a few out in between to try on. It's mindless work, but it's yours, and there's something satisfying about the way your hands remember how to tie the perfect bow on the pale green gift boxes.

The bell above the door chimes just before eleven, and you look up from the sales ledger you've been updating.

"We don't usually get deliveries until—" The words die in your throat when you see who's standing in the doorway.

Sevika fills the frame, a clipboard in one hand and a small package tucked under her arm. Today, her hair is loose around her shoulders, dark waves that catch the sunlight streaming through the windows. She's wearing a faded black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing more of those arms that seem designed for gripping steering wheels and lifting heavy things. You notice one of them is a prosthetic, and your gaze caresses it, tracking the graffiti-like doodles alongside it. It’s as if she’s allowed a child to paint all over it.

"Usually Thursdays, I know," she says, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Had to reroute today. Accident on the causeway." Her eyes move from your face to take in the rest of you, lingering for a moment on the strip of skin visible between your tank top and jeans. "Nina usually signs for these."

"Mom’s still in bed," you reply, moving toward the counter. "I'm covering mornings while I’m around."

She nods, crossing to you and laying the clipboard down. "Signature on the bottom line." As you sign, she glances around the shop. "Nice place. Never been inside before."

"Seriously? You deliver here every week."

"To the loading dock in back," she clarifies. "Never through the front door."

You hand back the clipboard and accept the package, your fingers brushing hers in the exchange. Her skin is warm and slightly rough.

“God, that’s awful. When I was younger, we used to give the drivers something sweet for the road, sometimes savory.”

“Yeah, well,” Sevika sighs. “People got creepier, meaner. Women got wiser. I’m fine without a treat if that means my customers feel safer.”

Your eyes soften minutely at that, and she notes the way you look down, your lashes brushing your cheek gently as if not to spook yourself.

"You settling back in okay?" she asks, and there's something in her tone that suggests genuine interest rather than small talk.

"It's... an adjustment," you admit. "But this helps." You gesture around the boutique. "It's quiet here."

"Too quiet for some," she says. "That why you left in the first place?"

The question is direct, almost intrusive, but she asks it without judgment. Just curiosity.

"Partly," you say, surprised at your own honesty. "I wanted to see what else was out there. Had dreams for a big life."

"And did you? See what else was out there?"

You think about the rat, the subway, the billboard with the too-white teeth. "I saw enough. Then life got…too big."

She nods as if this makes perfect sense to her. "Well." She taps her clipboard against her thigh. "Guess I'll be seeing you mornings now instead of your mother."

"Guess so."

She turns to leave but pauses at the door. "You know, there’s nothing wrong with trying something and it no longer being what you want."

"I wish someone told me that before now," you say quietly.

"I’m saying it now." Her eyes flick down to your outfit and back up. "Have a good day…"

“[Name],” you supply.

“[Name],” she repeats. “You seem like a sweet girl. Those big places? They tend to lure you in, then swallow you up. From the looks of it, you gave it all you got. And in some ways, you won the fight. You made it back home.”

Before you can respond, she's gone, the bell announcing her departure as clearly as it did her arrival. Through the window, you watch her walk back to her truck, the confident stride of someone who knows exactly who she is and where she's going. Maybe she could keep you on the path.

You look down at yourself—at the simple clothes that feel more like you than anything you've worn in years—and breathe in. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you didn’t fail. Maybe this was the true mission.

Or maybe, you think as you watch Sevika's truck pull away, there was no mission. Only the decisions you made.

🪽♱

It continues the same way for a while.

You see her in the mornings, and when you do, you talk more. Spend less time inside of yourself. The days bleed into one another like watercolors on damp paper—pink sunrises giving way to white-hot afternoons, then purple dusks that settle over the Gulf like a bruise. Through it all, Sevika arrives with the steadiness of tides, her presence an anchor in your drifting days.You feel more alive, less like a child with their face toward the wall.

You start collecting moments like shards of glass: the way morning light catches in the joints of her prosthetic. How she smells like motor oil and salt air and something sweeter underneath. The low rumble of her laugh when you say something unexpectedly sharp. You hoard them, these fragments, turning them over in your mind at night while ceiling fans spin shadows across your childhood bedroom. Sometimes you start crying, not understanding why its so difficult to allow yourself to want this.

There's something almost holy in the ritual of her arrival—the bell above the door, the heavy tread of her boots, the weight of her gaze finding yours across the shop. You're twenty-something and already tired of a world that promised more than it gave. She's forty-something—maybe you should ask—and somehow both weathered and unwavering, like the cypress trees that survive hurricane after hurricane.

You learn she lives out past the old lighthouse in a boathouse painted midnight blue. You ask her if she’s lonely. She takes a long sip of her Diet Coke, looks at you for a second too long, then says no. That the prosthetic came after an accident offshore—something with machinery and poor timing and the sort of pain that changes a person forever. That she keeps a three-legged cat named Commander who sleeps on her chest at night. That she has nightmares about drowning despite knowing how to swim since before she could walk.

You learn about her makeshift family, about Jinx and the way she and Sevika sort of fell together after some job they’d done in the military had blown out. We were mercenaries, she lets slip and you raise a brow in surprise. Are you supposed to be telling me that? You ask. Nope, she says, popping the ‘p’. You laugh.

She talks about Isha, the little runaway they found rooting around in their shed. Isha, who they adopted. Isha who got sick. Isha’s who’s gone.

“Jinx didn’t take it well,” Sevika says and you hold her hand. “She left, went somewhere. Called me to tell me she couldn’t come back. Told me—told me loved me. Took on some job and…”

You know what she’s about to say next, and you brace for it. You still flinch.

“Blew up. That’s what they said. I think she gave herself a way out.”

You tear up but manage to tell her about your dad. She strokes your back as you cry about the way he left, about how he’s well and alive and newly married. How the two of you are Facebook friends but never speak.

She learns about your failed escape, about the way New York chewed you up and left you hollow. About how sometimes you wake with your heart racing, convinced you're back in that cramped apartment with the subway rattling your windows. About the recurring dream of the buck with blood-soaked antlers, how he's started appearing with Sevika's face, her dark eyes watching you from between points of bone.

It's a Thursday in late July when something breaks open between you. The air hangs heavy with coming rain, pressing against windows like something desperate to get in. You've spent the day rearranging displays, moving in slow circles to music that feels like church—Ethel's voice coating the empty shop in honey and ash.

The day has stretched too long, customers sparse in the gathering storm. You're supposed to be closing, but instead you're dancing alone, barefoot on whitewashed floors, arms raised toward the ceiling fan as if in supplication. "American Teenager" fills the space, and you're spinning with your eyes closed when the bell chimes.

You stop mid-turn, eyes flying open to find Sevika standing in the doorway, rain-damp and beautiful in her severity. Water clings to her eyelashes and the sharp line of her jaw. Behind her, lightning splits the sky, illuminating her silhouette in electric blue.

"You're late," you say, breathless from dancing or from the sight of her, you can't tell which.

"Roads are flooding." Her eyes track over you—bare feet, tiny jean shorts, hair wild from spinning. Something in her gaze feels like hands on skin. "Should've been closed an hour ago."

"I got lost in it," you admit, gesturing vaguely to the record player, to yourself, to the empty shop that feels suddenly too full with her in it.

She crosses to you, boots leaving wet prints on the floor. Places a small package on the counter, but doesn't pull away. "You’re always lost in it, honey" she says, voice lower than usual.

"Yeah. I think it’s my way of staying alive." The words slip out, heavy with meaning you didn't intend but don't regret. Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn’t respond.

Thunder crashes outside, close enough to rattle the windows. The lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely. In the sudden darkness, all you can hear is the rain, the needle skipping on the record, and Sevika's breathing, closer than you expected.

"You can say," you whisper, the words a prayer in the dark. "The streets will be underwater."

Her silence stretches long enough that you think she'll refuse. Then her hand finds yours in the darkness, flesh against flesh, warm and rough with calluses. Foolishly, you think of asking her to go swimming.

"I'll stay," she says, and the words feel like a covenant.

You find candles in the storage room, arrange them in a circle on the floor. In their glow, Sevika looks carved from shadow and stone, all sharp angles and dark depth. You bring out the emergency bottle of bourbon your mother keeps behind the counter, two little shot glasses because there are no proper glasses. Your dad got them from when he’d served back in Vietnam.

"To all the light going out," you toast, and she echoes it, eyes never leaving yours as you both drink.

The bourbon burns sweet down your throat. Outside, the world drowns, but in here, you're closer to floating.

"Tell me," she says after a while, voice rough with liquor and something else, "what are you running from? Really?"

You stare into your cup, watching amber liquid catch candlelight. "I’m not sure. I guess mainly the feeling that I've already used up all my chances," you admit. "That I'm in my twenties and already failed at the only thing I tried to be."

"And what's that?"

"Someone who matters. Someone who left a mark." You look up at her, finding her closer than before, drawn into your orbit through some gravity you don't understand. "I thought New York would make me real. Instead, it made me into a ghost. Everyone could see right through me."

She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. Her prosthetic catches the candlelight, metal warmed to gold.

"I think a lot of New York is faking it. You’re real, and it’s hard to recognize the disingenuous when you only ever are real," she says, and the words feel like truth.

You feel something fall away inside of you, and you put down your glass before leaning forward. When her lips find yours, it's like breaking the surface after too long underneath a lake. You gasp against her mouth, hands reaching to hold yourself in the solid reality of her—fingers digging into her shoulders, sliding into her rain-damp hair.

She kisses like she does everything else: with absolute certainty, with a focus that makes the world still. Her prosthetic arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you're nearly in her lap, the heat of her body burning through your thin tee.

"I've been watching you," she confesses against your throat, words pressed into skin like secrets. "Since that first day."

“Me too,” you murmur. “I watched you get in your car.”

It’s an intimate confession, and the candles gutter around you, wax pooling on the floor like offerings. Outside, the storm rages, but it's nothing compared to what’s been building inside of you. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, so you shift until you lie beside her on the floor, your head on her chest, listening to the steady drum of her heart.

"Are you ever going to stop driving?" you ask, voice small in the vastness of night.

Her fingers trace constellations on your bare shoulder, connecting beauty marks like stops on a roadmap. “I don’t know if I could.”

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her—rain and metal and skin. “Would you take me with you?”

She says nothing, and then,

“I’m not sure, baby. Will you ever be happy right where you are?”

🪽♱

Eventually, your mother asks you about her. Well, she more so asks you what’s wrong.

You weren’t aware something was wrong with you, and tell her as much. She gives you a look as she sucks a cloud of apple from her pen.

"I'm not stupid," she says, exhaling sweet vapor that curls around her face like morning mist over the bayou. "You've been floating around this house like someone cut your anchor. One minute you're singing in the shower, the next you're staring at the wall like it's showing you visions."

“Maybe they are.” She lets out a dry laugh, and you was more time picking at a loose thread on the couch—the same floral pattern that's been there since you were fifteen, though faded now where the sun hits it through the blinds. "It's nothing."

"It's that Sevika lady." Not a question. Your mother has always seen through you like water, clear enough to count the stones at the bottom.

"I don't know what we are," you admit finally, the words tumbling out like shells from a broken net. "I don’t know what I’m doing. I always know what I’m doing, Mama.”

Your mother shifts and brings you to lay your head against her chest. You close your eyes and sink inside of her skin to the best of your ability.

“She's rooted here but always moving. I came back home because I couldn't survive out there, but I don't know if I can stay forever either."

Your mother sets her vape down, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear the way she used to when you had night terrors. "Baby, there's a difference between running away and moving forward. One's about fear, the other's about growth."

The ceiling fan clicks above you, marking seconds with metallic persistence. Outside, cicadas scream their summer chorus.

"When your daddy left," she continues, eyes fixed on something beyond the window, something maybe years away, "I thought I'd never breathe right again. But then I realized I'd been holding my breath our whole goddamn marriage."

Her accent slurs around the admission, and you think about Sevika's truck disappearing down lightly flooded roads, about her callused hands on your skin in candlelight. About her question: Will you ever be happy right where you are?—that's been haunting you like a malevolent spirit.

"I think I could be happy with her," you whisper, more to yourself than to your mother. "Maybe even without her. But I don't know if it's fair to either of us that I’m unsure."

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. Sevika's name appears—no contact photo, just her name in plain text. Delivery tonight. Meet me at Silver after your shift?

Your mother watches your face change as you read it, catches the slight upturn of your lips you can't control. "Go," she says with a sigh that's half exasperation, half fondness. "Figure it out. But remember, staying isn't the same as giving up."

You stand, watching the smoke haze around her face as she blinks up at you. It forms a murky halo around her head, so you bend and kiss her cheek. You stay there for a minute, tilting your head so that your cheeks press together and share their warmth. This close, you swear you can hear her pulse. You hope she never dies.

“I love you, Mama,” you whisper, like its some great secret. In a way it is.

She says nothing, only kisses your temple and cradles your head. You know what she’s thinking.

🪽♱

Silver Cove glows neon against the twilight sky when you pull in, your mother's Cadillac purring beneath you. The same teenager mans the register, barely looking up from her phone as the bell announces your arrival. You still tell her hello and call her by name to let her know that you see her. You grab a Diet Coke from the cooler and add a package of the cream-filled cookies you've seen Sevika buy before and a Mountain Dew.

When you step outside, her truck is there, massive and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She leans against the hood, arms crossed, waiting. In the harsh overhead light, the scar on her face looks deeper, the lines around her eyes more pronounced. Sometimes you forget she carries a whole life before you in her bones—years of things you'll never touch or understand.

"Thought maybe you wouldn't come," she says as you approach, voice graveled with something that might be hope.

You hand her a Diet Coke, fingers brushing hers in the exchange. "Why would you think that?”

She smiles for some reason. You continue.

“I've been thinking about what you asked me. During the storm."

She takes a long sip, eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the bottle. "And?"

"I don't know if I'll ever be completely happy anywhere," you admit. "New York was crushing me, but sometimes I still wake up missing the noise. The possibility. I don’t think this could be my life forever. It couldn’t sustain me."

The night air wraps around you both, thick with moisture and the scent of gasoline. A moth batters itself against the nearest light, desperate for something that could destroy it.

"I'm not asking you to stay forever, honey," Sevika says finally. "Just asking if you can be present while you're here."

You step closer, until you can see the flex of muscle in her jaw, the pulse at her throat. "What if here doesn't have to mean one place? What if it just means wherever we both are?"

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition. She sets her drink on the hood of the truck and reaches for you, prosthetic arm cool against your skin as she draws you between her legs.

"I have routes that go to Mobile, to New Orleans. Sometimes farther," she says, her breath warm against your temple. "Doesn't mean I don't come back."

"I could go with you sometimes," you suggest, fingers tracing the tattoos that wind up her flesh arm. "See places without having to leave for good. Or you could find me halfway. Like a long-term scavenger hunt."

She laughs, the sound vibrating through your shared space. "Never thought about it like that. Being alone for so long…staying or going were the only options I saw."

“Me too,” you tell her.

Above you, stars punch through the darkening sky, more visible here than they ever were in New York. You think about constellations—how stars can be millions of miles apart but still form a picture when viewed from the right angle. You think about how scientists have heard black holes sing. Sometimes, your heart feels like a black hole. Sometimes, you sing.

"I'm scared," you confess, forehead pressed to her collarbone. "Of getting it wrong again."

Her hand—her real one—tangles in your hair, holds the back of your head like something sacred. "Getting what wrong?"

"Life. Love. Whatever this is. My daddy was a carpenter. I don’t do well without a plan, a blueprint."

Sevika tilts your face up with gentle pressure, studies you with eyes that have seen oceans rise and machinery fall. "There's no wrong way to build a life that lets you breathe, baby."

When she kisses you this time, it feels different from the thunder-charged intensity of the boutique floor. It feels like an option, a detour, rather than an escape. Like coming home to a place you're still building.

"So what now?" you ask against her lips, tasting hints of her soda and what feels like mint.

"Now…we could get in my truck and drive somewhere. It could be down the coast, could be to my place. Could be just around the block until we figure out the next step." Her prosthetic arm traces your spine, sending shivers despite the summer heat. "I'm not promising forever. Just promising to keep showing up as long as you want me to."

You think about what your mother said—about staying versus giving up. About the difference between running away and moving forward. About how sometimes growth means finding new ways to be rooted.

"I can work with that," you say, and it feels like the truest thing you've said since coming home. “But I don’t want to leave my mom just yet. We need each other right now.”

Sevika lifts you easily, sets you in the passenger seat of her truck with a gentleness that belies her strength. As she rounds the hood to the driver's side, you watch her move through the gauzy light of Silver Cove—solid and certain and somehow yours, at least for now.

The engine rumbles to life beneath you, vibrating up through your bones like a second pulse. Through the windshield, the Gulf Coast stretches dark and infinite, full of places you might go, places you might return to.

"Ready?" Sevika asks, hand on the gearshift, waiting for your answer before putting the truck in drive.

You reach across the console, lace your fingers through hers—flesh against flesh, blood against blood.

"Yeah," you say, and as the truck pulls away from Silver Cove, you feel something inside you flatline—not with the finality of death, but with the quiet understanding of choice. “Take me home, please.”

⚚ wife tag: @s-4pphics

#mine ; 🐎.#arcane.#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika x female reader #female!reader #fem!reader #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x reader #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #arcane fanfic #sevika fanfic #sevika x oc

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unintentionalseductress · 5 months ago

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Natural Breeding Clinic: Patient 1

warnings: MDNI, breeding kinks, use of pet names, piv sex, medical kink, clitoral fingering, nipple play, slight oral (male receiving)

a/n: Here it is. Enjoy ya filthy sluts (said with love). Join the taglist here! Edit: Thank you tumblr for flagging this even though there was nothing wrong with it! guys let me know if there's an issue or you can't read it.

Prologue - Patient 1 - Patient 2

You’re seated awkwardly on the edge of the examination table, trying not to fidget with your hair. Your insides feel like they’ve been tied into knots and your blood won’t stop growing hot in your veins, rushing through your ears so loudly that you feel like you might’ve been at the ocean. After years of trying and failing to find the perfect man, you’d finally given up, content to live as a single woman. But there was one unfulfilled desire you harbored that unfortunately required a member of the opposite sex; a child. After numerous inquiries and health examinations, you finally stumbled across the Jujutsu Fertility Clinic and decided that you might as well experience the entire process of a natural pregnancy.

Your heart is already beating faster than normal, something that Shoko, the kind nurse who had done your vitals, took note of before giving your hand a reassuring pat. “It’s very typical to have a slightly elevated heart rate. It’s all the anticipation. But if you feel like you’re having a panic attack, please don’t hesitate to push your call button. Your doctor will be in soon to start your session.”

Shoko had cheerfully left the room and now you couldn’t help but feel like a horndog, imagining all the different scenarios that might play out today. You were certain you had picked the right doctor. He came off as well-spoken and kind as he’d shared details about himself while also listening to your side of things, taking note of the intimate snippets you told him as though you were discussing the weather that day.

Breathtakingly handsome and highly educated, you knew you wanted him to be the one who would father your child. Each tele-visit had left your panties drenched and you and your Hitachi wand had become better friends recently, locking yourself in your bedroom once the visit was over to run the rounded head of the toy against your needy clit, imagining the day your breeding session would be booked and you’d feel your doctor in the flesh, fantasizing what his cock would look like and how it would fill your cunt as he put a baby into you.

Now the day was finally here. Shoko’s instructions had said to wear whatever made you feel attractive, so here you were, dressed in a demure wine-colored dress that accentuated your boobs, with little bits of cream-colored lace lingerie underneath. You were starting to question your choice of undergarments now, knowing that you were probably already wet, a telltale patch of moisture surely present on the crotch of your panties. What would your doctor think? Or perhaps he was used to this? After all, you couldn’t have been his only patient who got turned on at the prospect of sleeping with him.

Just when the pulsations between your legs start becoming unbearable there’s a knock at the door and your heart skips a beat as you hear your name being called before your doctor enters the room. Tall, with perfect teeth, snowy locks, and aquamarine eyes, he looks at you and gives you a casual smile. The pictures paled in comparison to how personable he looked in real life. He extends a large hand with beautifully long, masculine fingers towards you, and you place your palm on it, feeling the warmth seep into your slightly clammy hands. He presses a kiss to the back of your hand before speaking.

“I’m Dr. Satoru Gojo. It’s very nice to meet you at last. Now, I know that most patients are anxious to start the insemination process right away, however, there are a few more verbal formalities we need to get out of the way before we can actually begin. This portion does need to be recorded, as I’m sure Shoko would have mentioned to you when she set up the camera.” He points towards a small camera and you nod, remembering what the dark brunette nurse had told you.

“I can also promise you that your insemination process will not be recorded in any way. We won’t even be in the examination room as it happens. There have been a few rare instances where the patient wanted to be recorded but it was part of their sexual profile.”

He grabs the clipboard on the desk and gives you a reassuring smile. You, on the other hand, are trying not to salivate all over the floor like a rabid animal, your appetite even more whetted after his appearance in the room.

“To confirm once more, you, F/n L/n, are giving me, Dr. Satoru Gojo, permission to breed you, and were not manipulated or coerced in any manner into making this decision, correct?”

Practicing restraint, you look at the camera. “Yes.”

“You have undergone all the necessary testing as well as physicals needed to assess your body’s condition to carry a baby and were given all the information before you chose to move forward and meet with me correct?”

“Yes.”

“You and I extensively discussed turn-ons, turn-offs, use of toys, and preferences for positions, as well as spoke about kinks in an effort to better understand how your breeding needs can be met. After these discussions were done, we mutually agreed to move forward and set up this insemination, correct?”

You lick your lips and try not to appear too eager. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” Satoru moves over to turn off the camera. “Let’s move to a more comfortable spot shall we?” He offers his hand again and you take it before hopping off the table, letting him lead you out of the room and down the hallway where he stops in front of a different door and starts punching in a code. It swings open and he gestures for you to enter. Your eyes widen as you step inside. It has the look of a posh hotel room, with a large king-sized bed set in the middle. Low-lit lamps made for romantic lighting were scattered across the room as Satoru follows you and the door locks closed behind you with a click.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him right behind you, then wraps his arms around you, drawing you against his well-toned chest. “You’re so tense sweetheart. Don’t worry.” He presses a kiss on top of your head. “Just focus on enjoying the process. We’re going to repeat it after all, until your womb quickens with my seed, growing the thing you want the most.” His voice is a deep, sensual purr in your ear, said so gently yet carrying such a dirty undertone that it sent a jolt of pleasure straight into your clit.

“You said you like cuddling prior to your sexual escapades. Shall we?” He glances over at the large bed and you swallow, nodding.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Please. We’re going to get quite intimately acquainted now. Call me Satoru. Trust me it helps.” Licking your lips, you take his lead and he guides you to the bed, laying you down gently on the pillows before settling behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his long legs brushing against yours, causing every nerve in your body to be on high alert.

Though you had said you enjoyed cuddling which led to foreplay, your body was already sensitized from the knowledge that a sexual encounter was going to happen and you weren’t quite in the mood for cuddling. Still, you allowed yourself to be wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, a kind of fresh, watery musk, and feeling his breath on your ear. His hands entwined with yours, gently flexing your fingers with his in the spaces in between, nuzzling the crook of your neck, making you feel like you were about to spontaneously combust. One of his hands leaves yours and begins to wander down your collarbone, delicately stroking, before dipping lower, tracing the neckline of your dress down to the swell of your breasts, letting his fingertips drag teasingly over an already hard nipple before resting on your belly, playing with the soft squish of it, feeling the way your body reacted to his touch.

Rushes of heat keep darting under your skin, and far too soon, your rounded ass starts to arch back, grinding shamelessly into his thighs, stifling a wanton noise when you feel hardness pressing back against you. A low chuckle, punctuated by a soft nibble on your ear. Unsure, you pause, wondering if you’d somehow done something funny.

“It’s perfectly normal to feel like you need to bring some movement in response to being touched.” Satoru’s hand comes back to stroke your breast over your dress, the light petting sending little erotic skitters along your skin. “Don’t fight it,” he says reassuringly, then slides his hand onto your hip and pulls you against him, subtly thrusting into your plump rear. “Just do whatever you’d normally do.”

A sigh of longing leaves your throat and you start to rousingly roll your hips against Satoru’s erection, feeling a spike in your confidence as he lets out a soft groan. “There you go, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

Fuelled by his encouragement, you roll over to lay face to face, seeing those hypnotic eyes watch you intently, and trace a finger across his jawline, shyly tipping your face up to his for a kiss. He obliges, dipping his head down and capturing your lips, and you revel in the way his mouth feels. You’d been dreaming about it for what felt like ages, and now to finally experience it was a heady rush. Your mouth opens to accept his probing tongue, the wet slip gliding over yours, sampling his taste, feeling the softness of his lips. His hands play with your hair, running enticingly down your back, cupping your ample bottom and pushing, drawing you closer to his heat and growing erection.

Your kisses grow impatient as he continues to tease you, squeezing and tickling your trapped flesh over your dress, hands slipping just low enough to flirt with the hem but not quite low enough to actually get under it. You whine, pulling away from Satoru’s mouth, and notice he’s observing you, eyes concentrated on your face.

“What is it?” He pushes your hair away from your face, softly brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Are you feeling ok?”

You nod, trying not to let your frustration show, but your clit clenches almost angrily now, the intense need to be splayed open and touched taking over all your rational thinking. Satoru presses little kisses onto your forehead, the tip of your nose, and your now closed eyelids, the soft gestures doing little to cool your aching desire. He drags his tongue along the column of your throat and places open-mouthed kisses as he goes.

The sigh that leaves your throat is full of lust, your hands getting impatient as you finally find the nerve to grasp the fancy knot in his tie and loosen it. A low hum leaves him as he comes back to your face. “There you go. I’m yours for now. Do whatever you want with me.” He draws circles into the skin of your upper thighs, exposed from your wriggling, the skirt of the dress hiked up provocatively. His voice drops to a sultry purr. “After all, we’re here to make sure you’re satisfied. I’m here to ensure you get the maximum pleasure your body needs in order to welcome my seed into your body.”

Gaining courage, you slip the tie off Satoru’s neck, then turn your attention to his buttons, fingers trembling from anticipation as you begin to undo them, revealing more and more of his pale skin, and his toned chest and abs. Of course he is in perfect shape, and your eyes drink in the vision that he is, watching the way his skin ripples as he draws in a breath. Could you have picked a more handsome doctor? It seems impossible. You reach out to stroke his skin and he sucks in a breath before drawing you against the expanse of his body.

Satoru’s mouth drops to the crook of your neck, giving it a gentle nip that sends a hot shiver down your spine. “I think you’d make a great mother.” He kisses along the length of your collarbone before hooking a finger into the neckline of your dress and dragging it down your arm to expose more of your shoulder. “I bet you’d look so cute, with a little round baby bump, your breasts becoming fuller each day, your hips growing wider.” A breathy sigh escapes your lips and he kisses the heated skin, sucking on it hard enough to leave a little red mark.

“Heh. That was a cute sound. You’re so responsive.” He takes advantage of the exposed skin and kisses just at the top of the swell of your breasts and you let your impatience get the best of you, looking up at him pleadingly to take off your dress.

He obliges, finally grabbing the rumpled fabric bunched at your hips and pulling the silky material off your body. When it’s gone, he gazes down at you in your pretty lingerie. “You dressed up for me? That’s so sweet.” He licks at the valley between your breasts pushed up by the tiny strips of lace. Air hits you at various places, and you can feel an unmistakable stripe of wetness seeping from your cunt onto the lace thong you’re wearing. The tiny piece of clothing had soaked through, making the already revealing thong practically see-through. Satoru sweeps a long finger against it, feeling moisture against his digits. “You’ve been wanting to be bred for a while now huh?” He pops open your bra, feasting on the display of flesh. He cups your tender breasts and gives soft squeezes, perking up your nipples even more, gently tweaking and pulling at them.

“Waiting so patiently for someone to finally fuck you the way you deserve. To fill your sweet cunt with enough cum to finally get your body in the mood to grow it. Disappointed by so many cocks.” His crude words accompanied by the erotic stimulation of his hands make you moan. The thought of being filled with this man’s baby, to carry it inside you till it grows was pulling at your primal mating instincts. “Till you met me. Don’t worry. Your body will do everything it can to make sure you grow what I give you. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll push it in real deep, ensure it all goes into your womb.”

Chuckling at the way your expression contorts from his fingers, he admires how hard your nipples are, the way they respond to his touch. He palms the creamy flesh of your breasts, and you feel rushes of heat skittering through your body. “Oh, baby these are gonna get so round and full once I fuck you properly. Bet that milk would taste divine.”

Satoru lowers his mouth and draws an aching nipple into his mouth, drawing a strangled cry from you. The texture of his tongue over the stiffened peaks immediately heightens all your senses, feeling pleasure radiate from the center of your breast, feeling it mirrored between your legs where your clit pulsed and throbbed irritably from the madness of needing to be touched. His free hand rests at the top of your other nipple and pushes it in circles, building up your arousal to a fever pitch.

Your blood is hot and running like whiskey through your veins, throwing a punch of heat into your gut, a dizzy spiral of want floating from your throat down into the wet and awaiting folds of your cunt. Satoru takes his time with you, acutely aware of the way your body is already tingling with the desire of wanting to be taken like a bitch in heat. He sees the need of wanting to be filled, to have those soaked walls stroked with his fingers and cock. This is what he was hoping to see.

Changing nipples, he teasingly bites the other one while his free hand snakes down towards your navel, your muscles tensing under the tickling sensation of his wandering fingers, stroking your belly before finally dipping lower to cup your mound under the flimsy fabric of your panties. With a smooth movement, Satoru hooks his finger into the waistband and drags it off, tossing it away. All your senses become alert, waiting in tortured agony as you feel him part your slick flesh, and his fingers probe the very outer edges of your dripping folds.

A keening moan of want leaves your mouth. His lips leave your moist nipple with a plop as his long middle finger slips to the apex of your pussy, finally giving your needy clit the attention it had been craving. He touches the engorged bud, applying light circles onto it that drive you wild, your sweet noises filling the room. Your legs part so willingly, planting your feet into the mattress, toes curling into the bedspread as he pets your clit tenderly. “Harder,” you manage to choke out, feeling the nub contract. “Please.” The word comes out as a whine as he continues those patient strokes.

“Good. It’s better when you’re so desperate like this. Your body will be more receptive to me breeding you this way. How much harder, sweetheart?” Satoru’s other hand takes over, holding the swollen folds of your sex apart, giving him better access to tease and toy with your delicate bundle of nerves. He increases the pressure of the stroke a fraction, making you squirm but also groan in frustration.

“More. It needs to be harder.”

Heeding your request, Satoru adjusts his hand, slipping his ring finger inside your dribbling hole, watching how it gets sucked in with no resistance, and replaces his thumb on your clit. Pushing down firmly onto the center he resumes the circling motions and brings a jolt of pleasure to your system. “Ooh Satoru…” You croon his name as he gets the pressure just right, each motion now bringing delicious friction into your core. Another finger joins the first, curling up to find that sweet patch inside your gummy walls, alternating with scissoring movements as he prepares you for what’s about to come.

Your body is tense, a bow drawn taut, waiting for the arrow to be let loose. Your hips move on their own accord to match his rhythm, nails sinking into the silky sheets, as though worried you might lose your orgasm if you dared let go. When your body finally gives you release, that pleasurable sequence of delightful spasms, your breath tears from your throat, each wave hitting you more intensely than the last, your core and clit clenching and relaxing as you ride out every last drop of pleasure.

His mouth covers yours as you orgasm, his kiss intense as he feels your spasms calm down on his fingers, pulling them out and inhaling before sucking them clean. “Delicious…” he murmurs before placing his fingers near your lips, which you accept, sucking the lingering taste of your pussy and his skin, watching the way his eyes darken as you do so.

“Perfect. You’re ready to be bred now.” Satoru’s hands go to his belt buckle and undo it, and you hear the whine of the zipper as he pulls off his slacks. You can see the bulge of his erection masked behind his underwear and your mouth waters at the size. The pants are discarded into a corner and he begins to slip out of his final piece of clothing, freeing his aching cock from its confines. The lovely engorged tissue was warm, his mushroom head leaking precum from the hole, impressively long with the veins popping from arousal along the sides. You can’t help yourself as you lean over, giving a teasing lick and hearing his breath strangle in his chest. He indulges you for a moment, letting you taste him, your lips catching the milky beads that form, but when you wrap your lips around his head and bob down, he quickly yanks you off him.

He’s panting, a sheen of sweat covering those chiseled abs, and shakes his head, his white locks dancing on his face before flashing you a grin. “You’re such a tease. But I can’t risk the insemination by letting you have your way, no matter how good it feels.” He lays back on the bed, beckoning you to lay over him, and you feel clumsy as you crawl over to him, resting a knee on either side of his hips. His arms wrap around you and encourage you to rest on top of him, the feeling of heated skin pressing together adding to your delicate state. He strokes your back and kisses you again, his tongue sloppy as it explores your mouth. When he pulls away, he adjusts his hands on your hips, ensuring you were comfortable laying on him.

“Take a breath.”

You follow his instruction and the exhale turns into a drawn out moan as he guides his cock into your aching wetness. The tip spreads you open followed by his incredible length, your body helplessly sinking onto him, impaled on the column of heated velvet. A long “oh” escapes your lips, his cock seated so intimately inside you, feeling him just shy of your cervix. He’s patient about it, letting you adjust and wriggle, your hands splaying out on his abdomen as you take a few breaths to clear your mind. He felt so good, so hard and manly, his veins pulsing inside you, adding a delicious layer of additional friction as he teasingly drew out. An animalistic growl leaves your throat at his retreat, his tip threatening to slip out of your lubricated core before he thrusts back up into you, the stroke filling the wet channel so satisfyingly.

Lost in the sensations, you allow him to cradle you on his chest, taking his sweet time fucking you, timing his thrusts to your breathing, which becomes shallow as your pleasure builds. Your cunt is dribbling from the heat, the scent of fecundity filling the room, his cock stroking your inner walls desirably. Your pussy clenches, sucking him further into you, pulling him closer to your womb where you needed him. With a moan, you raise up off his chest, using him as support, and start to ride him, his veiny erection slickened from your arousal.

“Oh that’s it my girl. Take it.” Satoru pushes your hair away from your face as you rise and crash down on him, your hips bucking like your life depended on it. His warm hands cup your bouncing breasts, watching your face contort as you use him for your own need.

“Fuck yourself on my cock. You like it huh? Need it in you…want it to shoot all that cum into your womb…” He purrs the words as those magnificent eyes look straight into yours.

The sound of slapping skin fills the room, both your moans mingling in the air. You did need to bred. You had waited long enough. Your mind is a haze of sexual disarray, nothing more important than getting what you need from him. To be bred like the good girl you were, to finally have your most deepest desire fulfilled. Your thigh muscles are tiring, you can feel them quiver in protest but primal instinct is driving you to keep moving, to bounce on his cock until he cums and fills you with his creamy seed…

You gasp in surprise as Satoru’s large hands squeeze around your waist, steadying you, and slowing you down before reversing your positions. He looms over you and has not slipped out with the transition. “Let me do it. You shouldn’t have to work so hard for this.” Angling his hips, he does a few experimental thrusts until he feels his head brush into the spongy knot of nerves inside your body, making you cry out, your eyes squeezing shut, fingernails sinking into the sinew of his perfect ass.

He surges forward, taking care to brush against it each time, his forearms and biceps rippling as he thrusts. Your legs wrap around his waist, wanton noise leaving your lips as you cling to him, feeling ecstatic rushes of delight humming through your veins. He murmurs frivolities into your ears as he sets up a comfortable rhythm, gspot first, followed by a soft kiss of his tip against your cervix. “Pretty mama. Gonna make you so round and full. You’ll be going home with a part of me inside you. I’ll give you enough today to last until your next round. Don’t worry if it drips. It’s just a sign of how well you’ve been bred.”

Your walls clamp down on him, feeling so full of him, imagining the vivid image he’d described, of becoming plump and glowy, growing life inside your body. “I want that so much,” you confess, glancing up at him and he makes a grunt of approval.

“Get ready then.”

His movements become faster, his balls slapping against you as he picks up his pace, panting, sweat forming on both your bodies. His abs are tight as he chases his orgasm, feeling his balls starting to draw up in anticipation. Your mouth is open, lewd noises falling from your lips as you wait for him to give you what you need, then feel the familiar spasms gripping your pussy and lose yourself as your body is rewarded with a second orgasm. Satoru lets out a moan as he finally falls off the edge, satisfied with your climax, and sheathes himself completely into your heat, pushing himself as far in as he can go, letting spurts of his hot cum dribble into you, shooting into your fertile womb. He stills, catching his breath, and to ensure that gravity doesn’t work against you, plugging you effectively until he’s sure enough time has passed before he can safely pull out. Satoru’s cock is semi-limp, as he frees himself with a soft squelching noise.

He draws you against him again, reassuringly stroking your back and smoothing your hair. “You did so well sweetheart. Take some rest now. A nap will give your body a little break and do what it needs to do. Just imagine your next insemination session as you rest.”

His words are a soothing purr in your ear and your eyes did feel heavy and you decide a nap wasn’t a bad idea at the moment. Cozying up to your warm doctor, you sigh against his skin and let yourself fall asleep. You wake up an hour later still snug in his arms. Satoru confirms your next appointment before helping you back into your clothes, and walking you to the reception.

“I hope this journey will give you everything you want,” he says courteously to you before stepping back into the clinic. You follow up with your remaining four insemination sessions, each more satisfying than the last.

Waiting was the hardest part. But finally, you take the pregnancy test, feeling your heart flutter when the double lines show up in the little window.

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annebaby · 8 months ago

Text

SAFE PLACE

hello everyone! i am back :) i have recently fell down the kate martin hole ( if you couldnt tell already) and decided to write. i have been working super hard in clinics and classes since you last heard from me, so i hope this isn't too rusty! love you guys!

warning: fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), making out, nipple play

i think that's it? let me know!

my divider is from here!

as i sat in my car with tears rolling down my face, i didn’t know who to call. the rain was pouring, a perfect parallel to the emotions flowing through my body. my vision blurred and my tears welled just thinking about it.

i had just been on a date. needless to say, it did not go well. i had been continuously let down by every man i deemed well enough for my attention. i guess i was just bad at picking ‘em out.

it always ended the same way.

“wanna come to my place?”

“dtf?”

“ohhh cmon. don’t be a prude.”

i couldn’t even gather my thoughts about the night as i scrolled through my contacts list. i was searching for somebody - anybody- that could provide me with any sort of comfort. however, i knew there was only one person who could make me feel better.

kate martin.

as much as i hated to say it, the girl had a comforting aura around her. something about her just drew me in every single time. imagine a bee to a flower or a moth to a flame - that was kate and me.

our past was patchy, the ups and downs of our so-called “friendship” had blurred the lines for boundaries too easily. whether we’d end up making out, staying over, or doing much worse, each time would end with one of us being heartbroken.

but i didn’t care right now.

i needed her scent and her eyes. i needed her hands and i needed her mouth.

i needed kate.

my fingertips scrolled relentlessly to the bottom of my text messages, finding the abandoned chat from a month or two ago.

tears splattered on my phone as i pressed the call button and brought it to my ear.

it rang once.

it rang twice.

it rang three times.

“hello?” kate answers.

“hey. kate im so sorry for calling you but i-,“ i stopped as tears continued to flow down my face.

“you know my address. just come on over. it’s just me here.”

god kate, i could kiss you.

“thank you,” i whispered.

i hung up the phone and placed my forehead on the steering wheel. thoughts of another night with kate kept creeping into my mind. the good ones and the bad ones.

nonetheless, i put my car and drive and headed her way.

every time i thought the tears were done, another pool of them welled in my eyes. every time i thought about my past few dates, my heart felt a pang of sadness.

i tried to push the tears and thoughts away as i reach kate’s apartment door, but my pathetically light knocking reminded me of how sad i really was.

i stood in front of her door for a few seconds, trying to keep it together until i was in the comfort of her home.

i heard the lock clicking and the door opened. kate stood there, worry filling her eyes and her face full of pity.

i looked up at her, letting the tears fall down my cheeks as she pulled me into her apartment and engulfed me in a hug. her arms squeezed around my waist as mine wrapped around the back of her neck. i cried into her, tears staining her iowa t shirt.

“im so sorry for calling you,” i sobbed, backing out of her embrace. i wiped my eyes with my hands, trying any attempt to get rid of the nonstop tears.

“i know we said we’d never do this again. i’m so sorry i just didn’t know who else to call-“ i was cut short as kate held my face and gently kissed me.

i placed my hands on her waist, my body savoring everything about her. the kiss was soft and sweet, full of love. there was no hunger or sinister desire about it - just pure comfort and affection.

my eyes fluttered open as she moved back, her thumb wiping a falling tear off my cheek.

she gently smiled and looked at me with her bright blue eyes.

“you and i both know that we need each other more than we let on,” she said, sighing.

i leaned into her hand, my heart finally feeling at ease. she stroked my face with her thumb before pulling me into another hug and kissing me lovingly on my head.

she led me over to her couch with her hand on the small of my back.

“before i ask you to be my girlfriend, tell me all about the horrible date you went on.”

i paused, stopping in my tracks. kate turned me to face her, her hands moving to my hips. she smiled at me before speaking again.

“i know things have been rough between us ; on both ends.”

her hands move to cup my face as she brings me closer.

“but i cant seem to get you off my mind. ever.”

now, i seemed to notice how good she looked. her hair was down, her eyes wide as she stared into my own.

i smiled up at her as tears kept falling from my eyes. she leaned in slowly and kissed me. the kiss was sweet. it was filled with love and care and tenderness, everything she felt in her heart.

all for me.

i kissed her back slowly, feeling the despair and sadness in my heart melt away. she was so warm, so comforting. her fingers slid into the back of my jean pockets as she breathed in through her nose.

my hands hesitantly wrapped around her neck, tangling in the roots of her hair.

then suddenly, she was everywhere. gripping my ass, attacking my mouth with her tongue and pulling my body impossibly closer to her.

i broke the kiss quickly, looking at her wide-eyed. was this really something that we should be doing?

i pushed the thought out of my head hurriedly, the impulsiveness of her actions sending heat straight between my legs. then, she leaned down and began to kiss me again. she gently put her hands on my waist and backed me into her room.

she flipped me around and pressed me against the door-shutting it. her hands were traveling everywhere fast. she was on my waist, my breasts, my ass, etc. you name it and she was there.

i gasped out quietly as she began to leave sloppy kisses on my neck. i leaned my neck back, allowing her more access. she grinned against my skin.

“no man,-” she panted.

“will ever,-” she said, her fingers tugging on the bottom seam of my shirt. she leans in to continue kissing me.

she pulls my shirt off smoothly, her fingers digging into the exposed skin on my waist,

“make you-“ she kisses me again.

“feel like-“

her hands reach around to the clasps of my bra, her mouth moving to my neck.

she takes my bra off effortlessly, the material falling to her floor along with my shirt.

‘-this.”

her eyes travel down to my breasts.

i reach for her shirt seam as well pulling it over her head, i notice her sports bra and her toned abdomen. my fingertips trace up the sides of her body and swear i felt my mouth watering.

as if something snapped in me, i push kate’s shoulders until her legs hit her bed and she sits down. i crawl on top of her, sitting in her lap.

“you’re so pretty, kate,” i whisper.

she smiles and brings her hand to the back of my head, pulling my lips to hers.

i open my mouth invitedly, her tongue slipping in and fighting for dominance with my own. the fight for control caused kate to moan in my mouth. her hips buck up against mine, the friction causing me to tug on her hair.

“you like that?” she whispers against my lips. our noses touch and i open my eyes, looking straight at her. i nod my head frantically, encouraging her to keep going. her hands grip my hips, holding me down against her thigh. she starts to move my body back and forth, grinding my body against her thigh.

the friction is enough to make me throw my head back, and i feel her grip me tighter.

“god you’re so perfect,” she whispers. then, she stands up and switches us so she’s on top of me.

she’s quickly unbuttoning my jeans, wasting no time on teasing.

“damn, kate. are you excited or what?” i ask, laughing.

she looks up at me, staring me in my eyes.

“i haven’t tasted you in months.”

i don’t respond, instead i lift my hips up so she can pull down my jeans and underwear. im completely naked under her, something she’s admitted she likes before.

she crawls up my body, my legs parting and wrapping around her as she leans down to kiss my breasts. she kitten licks one of my nipples, her other hand harshly groping the other breast. my back arches due to the pleasure, a pornographic moan escaping my lips.

i feel her teeth slightly graze my nipple again before she switches sides. i can practically feel myself pooling between my legs.

she slowly licks down my torso, stopping to give me kisses on my inner thighs. i can tell she’s leaving hickeys, another thing she likes to do.

“kate stop it,” i plead. i needed her now.

my hips bucked upwards, her hands aggressively holding me down as she placed a singular kiss on my pubic bone, then another on the spot where i needed her most.

i look down at her, her blue eyes already staring into mine. her tongue darted out, hardly grazing me.

i snap my head back, my thighs subconsciously trapping her head.

then, she moves one of her hands from around my thighs, and she slips a finger into me.

before i can even make a sound, she begins to eat me out and fuck me with her finger at the same time, adding a second.

i moaned her name, my face scrunching up with pleasure.

“kate ohmygod,” i breathed.

she moved her head from side to side, my pleasure increasing tenfold - if that was even possible.

she took my ankles and set them both on her shoulders, pulling me closer against her in the process. i knew she could tell i was close. she started moving faster and curling her fingers inside of me.

“kate please,” i begged. i didn’t even know what i was asking for. she felt so good.

i felt her hum against me, completely sending me over the edge. pleasure ripped through me as my stomach twitched as i came down from my high. her hands moved to my hips again, holding me down as she cleaned me up with her mouth.

i stayed laying flat on her bed as she crawled on top of me. she took her fingers and placed them in my mouth. i sucked on them, tasting myself.

she smiled wide and licked the mess off her lips.

“you wanna be my girlfriend?"

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froggiewrites · 4 months ago

Note

Hii, I hope you're doing well, if not I'll hope things will go better!

I really liked your writing like it's so good!!

I have an sfw request about Ace.

So basically reader is feeling really sick recently so they spend a lot of time with Marco who gives them advices and all, and Ace gets jealous about this cause he thinks that reader is interested in Marco so one day when he's with the both of them he just says something like "oh I wouldn't want to be the third wheel" like something that clearly shows that he thought the two of them were now a couple and when he learns that they're not he immediately confess to reader?

I really hope it's not too precise, if you want to change things feel free to since you're the artist here, and I hope you understood (English isn't my first language) thank you so much for the other stories!

Take care, bye bye!

Hi, thank you so much for your well wishes and your request! Sorry this took so long, I burned myself out a little bit with the Halloween event and it took me a little time to get back into the swing of things. This one is short and sweet, and I hope you like it!

Third Wheeling It

Pairing: Ace x Reader

SFW

Summary: You've been spending a lot of time down in the clinic with Marco recently, and Ace gets the wrong idea. Warnings: Fluff, Misunderstandings, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort, Idiots in Love Word Count: 1.6k

You’re convinced you’re never going to feel normal again. You have a headache you just can’t shake, and a fatigue down to your bones. You haven’t been able to shake whatever it is, no matter how much you rest.

“Are you really sure I just need to take it easy? It’s been weeks.”

Marco gives you a sympathetic look. “I know, but you really do just need time. You burned yourself out. Recovering from that takes a while.” He had been telling you that since you first started making regular visits to his office a couple weeks ago. You had spent a majority of the last week curled up in one of the beds in the clinic, pretending to rest but really just bothering Marco to entertain yourself. You suppose it was rest, in a way, but you liked to pretend you were somehow tricking him, getting away with something. It made you feel less helpless, and helped ease the ache of missing your normal routine.

You throw yourself down on the cot you had claimed for your own. “But I want to be better now.”

He laughs. “Don’t we all. If desire were all it took, I would be out of a job.”

“You could still fight. You don’t need to be a doctor to be a pirate.”

“True enough. But my point still stands: if our bodies listened to what we wanted there would be no need for doctors. Sometimes there really is no magic solution other than time.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” He passes by your cot, ruffling your hair light as he walks past. “But you’ll pull through.”

“Will you sit with me? We can suffer together.”

“I have work to do,” he says, sitting on the edge of your cot with a slight smile anyway. “And I wouldn’t really call hanging out with you suffering.”

You smile sleepily. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You need to raise your standards.”

“My standards are sky high, thank you very much.”

“Oh yeah? What are they, then?”

“One, handsome. Two, nice to me. Three, end of list.”

He laughs. “God, the bar is in the ground for you, huh? Let me correct that for you: three, be Portgas D. Ace.”

You blush. “That–I–uh. Shut up!”

Marco is still laughing at you when you hear a throat clear in the doorway. You both look up to see the man you were just speaking of leaning against the doorframe, his eyes avoiding yours, a slight frown on his lips. “Sorry, I just–I heard you were down here again, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You smile at him, bright and earnest. “I’m doing alright, I guess. As well as I can be.”

Marco stands, moving away from your bed and back to his desk, more than willing to let Ace take his place at your sickbed. “They’re fine, really. They just hate listening to me.”

“I’d like listening to you if you had better things to say.”

“Ouch!” He puts a hand over his chest. “I’m just doing my job here!”

As you both giggle with each other, Marco trying to distract you and you trying to let him, you both miss Ace shifting uncomfortably and biting his lip. However, once you’ve come back down, you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you, a look far too intense to dismiss. It’s strange, somewhere half between hurt and resignation. Something flashes in his eyes, something pained, but before you can ask him what’s wrong he’s already turned his back. “I’ll leave you two to hang out. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re leaving already?” You can’t leave the sorrow out of your voice or the pout off of your face. “But I’ve missed you.” And you had, really. Spending most of your time down here with Marco means you’ve barely spent any time at all with Ace these past few weeks. You had missed everything about him, from his smile to his laugh to his loud, obnoxious snores when he passed out halfway through dinner.

His shoulders stiffen. His voice is tight when he speaks again. “You shouldn’t say things like that. You could give a guy the wrong idea.”

You sit up, wincing but forcing yourself through the discomfort. “What kind of wrong idea?”

“The idea that you might be…interested.”

“That sounds like the right idea, actually.”

He whips around, his face painted with hurt. “That isn’t funny.”

“Who’s joking?”

“I…really. This isn’t…this is cruel. Having to third wheel with you two is hard enough without…”

Marco finally speaks up, his voice filled with confusion. “Third wheel?”

“Yeah, watching you two get closer while I have to pretend I’m fine is hard enough, you guys don’t need to rub it in my face.” He doesn’t sound angry, really, just defeated and pained. “I’m trying to be happy for you, you don’t need to make it harder than it already is.”

You furrow your brow. “Happy for us?”

Marco can’t help the surprised bark of a laugh that leaves him. “You think we’re dating?”

Ace pauses. “You…aren’t?”

“Hell no!”

“Absolutely not!”

You and Marco both instantly refute the claim, perhaps a little more harshly than necessary.

Ace lights up like the sun. “You mean it?”

“Of course we mean it!” You cry.

“Why wouldn’t we mean it?” Marco chuckles, voice filled with the sort of weary but unwavering affection Ace tends to bring out in people.

“Will you go out with me?” Ace stares at you with wide, pleading eyes, already moving to beg on his hands and knees, as though he expects rejection.

“You aren’t really my type,” Marco quips with a laugh, before closing the curtain to give you two some privacy.

It’s your turn to be shocked, heart beating out of your chest and cheeks flushing. “You–I–What?”

He grins, on his knees in front of you, taking a hand in his. “I like you, a lot. Will you go out with me?”

“This is so sudden.” You want to say yes, of course. Why wouldn’t you? But you weren’t expecting such a confession today, and your head is still pounding, and you can’t quite get over the thought that Marco is listening right behind the curtain. You know that Ace doesn’t care about any of those things, blind to anything but his goal in any situation, but you could never be so headstrong, so carefree. Could you?

“I’ve liked you from the moment I saw you.” His smile is growing ever wider, his eyes filling with hope. “I thought I had lost my chance, and I will absolutely never take that risk again. Will you be mine? Or, I guess, could I be yours?”

Your cheeks are on fire, and your brain is melting, but your mouth moves despite yourself. “Yes,” you hear yourself say.

You’re pinned to the bed as he throws himself at you, laughing joyously. “Yes? Oh my god, yes!” He tucks his face into your neck, and you can feel his smile. “I never thought it’d be a yes.”

“How could it be anything else?” Your voice is soft, more vulnerable than you’d like. But you would never understand how he could expect anything less than success. You don’t know how anyone could speak to Ace for longer than five minutes and not fall madly and deeply in love with everything about him: his smile, his humor, his confidence. He shines like the sun, and you don’t know how anyone could ever resist basking in his warmth for as long as they can.

“Well up until a couple minutes ago I thought you were in love with Marco.”

You laugh. “I’ve been sick, Ace. He’s a doctor.”

He doesn’t respond, and you can see a bit of pink at the tips of his ears. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You could have asked.”

“You should listen to them,” Marco calls from behind the curtain. “This was entirely self-inflicted.”

“Shut up!” He finally leaves your neck just to shout at Marco, cheeks hot. “Would you have asked?”

“Yes. I’m a grown man. I can handle a tough conversation.”

“Well–I–Shut up!”

Marco laughs, and you can hear the door slam shut behind him. Ace buries himself in your neck again, his strong arms pulling around you even tighter, and you can’t help but smile. He seems so delicate like this, so unlike his usual self, and you can’t help but admire him. He’s so charming even now, so vulnerable and small. “I would have been too nervous to ask too,” you quietly reassure him. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because you said it.”

He smiles against your skin. “I did say it,” he mumbles. “And you accepted.”

“I did.”

“I really like you.”

“I really like you, too.”

You don’t have a moment to react before his lips are on yours, slightly chapped and hesitant. You imagine this is what sunlight tastes like, warm and inviting. His hand rests on your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. He’s smiling as he pulls away. “And now I can do that whenever I want.”

You grin. “You can. You’re encouraged, even.”

And so he kisses you again. Marco leaves you too alone for as long as he can justify to himself, and when he finally interrupts you two again you find yourself more than ready to leave the clinic again, a warm hand intertwined with yours and your headache nearly entirely gone.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #ace x you #ace x y/n #ace one piece #one piece

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radiance1 · 1 year ago

Text

There was a new player in the Gotham.

An Underground doctor going by the simple name of Medic. He treats everyone regardless of if they're civilian, vigilante, or rouge.

Everyone including the Joker.

The Medic was a neutral force, mostly sticking to his own area and not really expanding too anywhere else. The place he stuck out in received some very good healthcare, most of the payment being either in favors, food, or other things instead of the usual money.

Not to say that he doesn't make money, he just usually takes favors or food instead of it most of the time.

For those few, most of the time various gangs, who tried to force him into compliance of being their own personal healer was sent running. Medic could fight and fight well with scalpels of all things.

===

So, Danny has been alive for a while now, outliving his friends and family. And because of his long he lived, he decided to test out some things.

Recently, however, he obtained a medical degree and could now go around claiming himself a doctor.

He guesses those lessons Vlad gave him came in handy indeed.

Where did he decide to put his clinic?

Gotham City.

Sure, with Vlad's backing he could sprout one wherever he wanted, but the wheel decided Gotham and that's where he'll go. He managed to score a place (With Vlad's money of course) that he then turned into a clinic.

Then he just opened for business and sat around, treating his neighbors injuries (most of them being homeless) and asking for favors in return and some occasional ingredients he doesn't want to make the trip himself for.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover

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v6quewrlds · 2 days ago

Text

TEXT ME, JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x vet!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀3.9k.

summary⠀⁎⠀crushes are heart-fluttering, pulse-racing, juvenile nonsense. so why is justin, a 26-year-old man, crushing on the new vet resident?

author's note⠀⁎⠀surprise! written in justin's pov, pining loverboy!justin warnings⠀⁎⠀3rd person (she/her), misconception trope, one use of y/n

Justin sighed, his gaze shifting from the off-white paint to the grayish cabinets lining the walls of the vet clinic's exam room. He checked his watch again. Nova purred contentedly in his arms, seemingly oblivious to the time. It wasn't like Dr. Ellis to take so long to see his furry patients, wasn't like his office to leave the pet owners in the dark about how long it'd be.

A soft knock on the door drew his attention. He tightened his hold on the cat, expecting to see the doctor's familiar face, only to be met with a pair of brown eyes and a gentle smile that didn't quite reach the woman's eyes. Dr. Ellis trailed behind her, a kinder, more wrinkled smile placed familiarly on his tanned skin. "Justin, this is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, our newest resident. She'll be handling Nova's check-up today."

She stepped closer, her eyes lighting up slightly as they met Justin's. She extended a hand, her grip firm and professional. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said. Her voice was accented with a curl of honey, so soft he nearly didn't hear her introduction. Justin took her hand, "Nice to meet you too," he managed, his own smile mirroring hers. From his place in his chair, he couldn't help but note the way her eyes darted away from his, that shy smile widening as she took in the sight of Nova, perched curiously in Justin's lap.

Nova, ever the socialite, took the opportunity to leap from Justin's arms, landing gracefully on the cold exam room floor. The sudden movement made her laugh, a sound so pure it seemed to warm the sterile room. "Bengal cat, full of energy, aren't they?" she said, crouching down to greet the cat with a gentle pat on the head.

Justin nodded, watching as Nova curled around her legs, purring. "That's one way to put it," he said, his voice thick with affection. "Nova's a bit of a diva."

Her smile grew, testing out the name. "Nova. That's beautiful. Would you mind placing her on the table for me?" Justin did as he was asked, watching as the cat went from purring contentedly against his hand to eyeing the vet warily. She moved with a calmness that spoke of confidence in her craft. Dr. Ellis observed from a small distance as promised, his hands gently clasped in front of him, nodding along with her instructions.

She began to check Nova over, asking him questions about her diet, exercise, and any recent changes in behavior. Justin found himself drawn to her focused demeanor, the way her eyes narrowed in thought as she listened to the cat's heartbeat, the gentle way she spoke to put the animal at ease. He couldn't help but notice the way her fingers moved deftly, the quiet confidence in her touch. Despite her earlier shyness, she was clearly in her element. It didn't hurt that Nova seemed to not just have taken a liking to her, but seemed to be at ease with her, tail swishing lazily as she prodded and poked.

"Well, she's a healthy girl," she said finally, standing up straight and washing her hands in the sink as she spoke. She made a note in Nova's file and turned to face him fully for the first time. Justin felt a jolt of something electric pass through him as she met his gaze. There was that soft, shyness in her words again. "She's getting up there in age so we'll want to keep an eye on her kidneys, but otherwise she's in excellent shape. You're doing a great job taking care of her."

Justin couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at her words. "Thanks," he said, standing up and scratching at Nova's head. "I'll make sure to keep on top of it."

She nodded, closing the file. "If you have any questions or concerns, don't hesitate to call." She handed Nova a treat, Justin's fingers brushing against hers for the briefest of moments. It sent a spark up his arm and he felt himself lean in slightly, but she had already turned to grab some pamphlets from a shelf behind her.

Justin took the pamphlets, his heart racing as he tried to think of something else to say, something that might make her laugh, or at least make her look at him again. "So," he began awkwardly, "are you here to replace Dr. Ellis?"

She looked up, her eyes meeting his for a moment before dropping back to the ground. "No," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I'm just here to assist for now. I'm still a resident. But who knows, maybe one day I'll take his spot." She nudged the older vet playfully, and he chuckled, patting her on the shoulder.

"I've loved having her here," Dr. Ellis said warmly, the pride in his voice clear as he watched her interact with the animals. "If I get to choose my replacement, she's top of the list."

Justin felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit, the idea of seeing her more often definitely appealing. "You're pretty good with animals," he said, hoping the compliment didn't come off too forced.

"Thanks, I try," she murmured, her eyes lingering on Nova before she turned back to him. "So, do you have any questions for me?"

Justin's mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, to keep her talking. But he came up with nothing. "I think that's all," he said, his voice a little disappointed. "It was great to meet you, Doctor."

She looked at him, her eyes searching his for a brief moment before she nodded. "You too, Justin," she replied, her voice a little softer than before. "Maybe I'll see you and Nova at your next appointment."

With that, she and Dr. Ellis turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind them. Justin stood there for a moment, feeling like he had missed his chance. He looked down at Nova, who was now grooming herself as if nothing had happened. "Well," he murmured, "looks like you're in excellent shape and I still have no game." He chuckled to himself and picked her up, heading to the reception desk to check out.

The lush greenery of the golf course stretched out before Justin. The afternoon light kissed his face, beating down and tanning his skin with the familiar warmth of the southern California sun. But he couldn't help but feel restless, his mind constantly wandering back to her. Her gentle touch, the oxymoronic shy confidence she carried with her, and the way her laugh brightened the dull gray of the exam room. He sighed, lining up his next shot. He had been thinking about her for weeks now, unable to shake the image of her from his mind.

Mitchell whistled lowly beside him, eyes squinting behind his sunglasses as he watched the arc of Justin's golf ball. "Good ball," he said, clapping him on the back.

Justin couldn't hide the distraction etched on his features as he took his golf bag from the cart. "Eh, could've been better." He mumbled, not really caring about the score.

Mitchell peered at him, "What's up with you, dude? You've been off your game all day."

Justin shrugged, "Just thinking about stuff." He didn't elaborate, hoping Mitchell wouldn't pry.

But in eldest sibling fashion, Mitchell knew better. "Stuff like what?" He prodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Justin sighed, his grip tightening around the handle of his golf club. "Stuff like a girl." He hesitated before adding, "It's stupid," with a shake of his head.

Mitchell's smile grew, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "A girl? Tell me more."

Justin rolled his eyes, taking a gulp from his water bottle. "New vet resident at the clinic. I met her when I brought Nova in for a check-up." His grip on the club loosened as he remembered her voice, the way she had looked at him.

Mitchell leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah? What's she like?"

Justin thought for a moment, trying to put into words the feelings that had been bubbling inside him since the first time he saw her. "Shy, but super focused," he said finally. "She was great with Nova, calmed her down immediately." He paused, taking in a deep breath of the fresh air. "Cute smile, soft voice, really into her work."

Mitchell nodded, his eyes still on the horizon. "Sounds like a crush," he said, his voice light with teasing.

Justin scoffed. "I'm too old for crushes," he said, his voice gruff. "It's just… I don't know."

Mitchell clapped him on the shoulder. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with that," he said, his tone more serious. "You're a good guy, and you deserve to find someone that makes you feel that way. Just gotta put yourself out there, you know?"

Justin nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a bit juvenile. He was a 26-year-old man, not some lovestruck teenager. "It's just, we met in a professional setting," he said. "She was working, and I was the client. It's not exactly the right place to shoot your shot."

Mitchell chuckled. "You can't control where you meet people, man," he said. "But you can control whether you do anything about it or not."

The words lingered in Justin's mind as they finished their round and made their way to the club's restaurant. The place was bustling with the after-golf crowd, the chatter of laughter and clinking of glasses mixing with the smell of grilling steaks and the club's signature shoestring fries. As they sat down at a table overlooking the golf course, the sight of a familiar figure caught his eye. It was her, sitting with a group of people, her laughter ringing out as she leaned into the conversation, her head nodding along to something the woman to her right was saying.

Justin felt his heart skip a beat, the sight of her in a casual dress, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing her beautiful neckline, making him feel like he had just scored the winning touchdown. She looked relaxed, happy, and utterly gorgeous. He nudged Mitchell, pointing her out. "That's her."

Mitchell followed his gaze, his eyes widening. "The vet?" He whistled. "Damn, she's stunning. You should totally talk to her."

Justin felt a rush of excitement and nerves. "Here?" He whispered, his eyes darting back to the table. "It's not exactly the right place."

"J," Mitchell groaned, throwing his head back and laughing. "You've been hung up about this girl for weeks. You gotta do something before you drive yourself crazy." He leaned back in his chair, his Nike cap still perched atop his head, an amused grin plastered on his face. "You were saying it sucked you couldn't make a move at the clinic, right?" He leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, now's your chance. She's relaxed, not working, and she looks like she's in a good mood. Make a move, dude."

Justin swallowed hard, watching as her eyes crinkled with amusement at something the man beside her said. He couldn't deny that he was attracted to her, but the idea of approaching her here, now, was terrifying. "What if she thinks it's weird?" He murmured to his older brother who simply rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smirk.

"Worst case, she says no," Mitchell said, his tone nonchalant. "But you'll never know unless you try."

Justin took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't believe he was actually considering this. He looked back at Mitchell, who nodded encouragingly. "Send something to the table," Mitchell suggested, "It's a casual gesture. You can feel out the vibes without it being too forward."

With a nod, Justin caught the waiter's eye and ordered a basket of fries to be sent to her table. His index finger tapped anxiously at the side of his water glass as he watched the server deliver the side. He could see her look up in surprise, then scan the room until her gaze fell upon him. She offered a tentative wave, which he returned with a sheepish grin.

Mitchell nudged him. "Looks like she's not completely uninterested."

Justin's cheeks flushed, and he took a gulp of his ice water. "She's coming over," he said under his breath, his voice a little shakier than he would have liked.

She made her way over, her eyes locked on his with a mix of surprise and curiosity. The man beside her followed, his hand resting casually on her shoulder. Justin's heart sank, the weight of his mistake hitting him like a ton of bricks. She had been out with someone, someone she clearly knew well.

As they approached, the man introduced himself as Dylan, flashing a grin that seemed too wide for his face. "Thank you so much for the fries," he said, reaching out to shake Justin's hand. "She ate all of mine earlier."

She playfully swatted his arm, "Dylan," she scolded, that sweetness in her voice still stirring something in Justin. "I thought we were sharing." She looked at Justin, her smile a bit embarrassed. "Thank you so much for the gesture. It's really kind of you."

Justin nodded, trying to play it cool as his heart sank. "No problem," he said, his voice tight. "I just wanted to thank you for taking care of Nova last week. You're really good with her. I've never seen her so relaxed at the vet."

Her eyes lit up, and she leaned slightly into Dylan's side. "Oh, I'm just doing my job," she said, more at ease as the conversation shifted to her comfort zone. "But I'm happy to hear that. She's so sweet and well-trained."

The tension around Justin's shoulders eased slightly. If she was with Dylan, then he could at least thank her without it being weird. "Yeah, she's special," he said with a smile, glancing over at the table where the rest of their group was now staring at him. "I guess I should let you get back to your friends."

She nodded, her smile still in place, but something in her gaze made him feel like she had hoped for more. "Thanks again," she said softly before turning to leave.

Dylan, on the other hand, hesitated, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before dropping it to his side. "Actually," he began, his eyes darting to the floor with a hopeful smile, "I'm a huge fan. Could I get a quick picture?"

Justin felt his stomach drop, but he managed to force a grin. "Of course, man," he said, trying not to let his voice crack. He rose from his seat, trying his best to duck his head as to not attract additional attention from the other club members. He posed with Dylan, throwing up a half-hearted thumbs up as she took the picture, a subtle roll of her eyes accompanying her countdown.

When they finished, she handed the phone back to Dylan, her eyes lingering on Justin a beat longer than necessary. "Thank you again," she murmured, her mouth opening to say something else but changing her mind when her lips pressed into a forced smile.

"No problem," Justin replied, his heart heavy as he watched her retreat back to her table. He sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. "What the hell was I thinking?"

Mitchell leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer and watching the exchange with amusement. "Well, at least you know she's not married or something," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

"You're not helping," Justin grumbled, dropping his hands and taking a wide bite out of his burger. He watched as she and Dylan sat back down at their table, the laughter starting again almost immediately.

Mitchell shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, she definitely didn't seem mad that you sent over the fries. Maybe she's just shy." He glanced over at the table, watching as she and her group continued to chat and laugh. "She didn't explicitly say that Dylan was her boyfriend. He could always be a friend?"

Justin took a deep breath, trying to push down the feeling of disappointment. "Does he look like a friend?" he grumbled, taking another bite of his burger.

Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "Well, you didn't ask, did you?" he pointed out. Justin's shoulders slumped, conceding the point.

The rest of their meal passed in a blur of forced conversation and sideways glances at her table. Every time he looked over, her eyes seemed to catch his, holding his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before she would look away, smiling faintly. It was torture, a silent dance of curiosity and regret that played out across the crowded restaurant.

"You ready to go?" Mitchell asked, his voice cutting through the fog of Justin's thoughts. He nodded, not taking his eyes off of her retreating figure as she and her friends made their way out of the restaurant.

As they stood to leave, Justin couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that she hadn't approached him again. He knew he should have said more, done more, but the sight of Dylan had thrown him off his game. As they walked out to the parking lot, Mitchell slung an arm over his shoulders. "Don't be so hard on yourself," he said. "At least you tried."

Justin sighed, his hands shoved in his pockets. "Yeah, I guess." He murmured, not entirely convinced.

Eggs, bread, milk, and… what was the fourth thing? He paused, fumbling for his phone as he came to a halt in the crowded grocery store aisle. The last minute decision to grab a few items on the way home from the gym had turned into a frustrating game of memory recall. The screen lit up, revealing a text from Mitchell: "Don't forget the kale." Right, kale.

As he turned to locate the produce section, a collision sent his basket flying. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" a soft voice exclaimed, and before he could even register what was happening, a pair of gentle hands were helping him collect his scattered goods.

That voice. The same soft, melodic tone that had filled his head for weeks. Justin looked up to find her, her eyes wide with concern as she bent to retrieve his groceries. "It's okay," he said, his heart racing. "I should've been watching where I was going."

She straightened up, her eyes wide with embarrassment. "No, it's my fault. I wasn't being careful. I'm so sorry," she mumbled, her eyes darting down to the floor before meeting his again. She looked as beautiful as she had at the golf club, but without the pressure of a public audience, she seemed more vulnerable, more… approachable.

"It's really no big deal," Justin assured her, his voice softer than usual. He took the items she had gathered and placed them back in his basket, his eyes lingering on her face. "But, uh, thanks."

She handed him the last of his groceries, straightening up to her full height as she gave him a shy smile. "No problem," she said, her eyes lingering on his for a moment before shifting back to the floor.

Justin felt the weight of his earlier failure lift slightly. Here was his chance, a casual run-in at the grocery store. No expectations, no pressure. He took a deep breath. "Hey, I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Justin. You took care of my cat, Nova, a few weeks ago."

She laughed lightly, the sound sending a rush of warmth through Justin's chest. "Oh, I remember you," she confirmed. "And the fries at the golf club. That was really nice of you."

"It's the least I could do," he said with a grin, hoping his nerves weren't showing. "How have you been?"

Her smile grew, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. "Good, busy with the clinic and studying," she replied, her eyes flicking to the logo on his hat. "How about you? I'm guessing your week's been a bit more… eventful?"

Justin laughed, feeling the tension ease. "It's the offseason, so I've got a bit more time on my hands," he said, shifting his basket from one hand to the other. "But you know, just keeping busy." He paused, taking in her shy demeanor.

She nodded, her eyes darting around the aisle before returning to his. "It's nice to run into you again, in a more relaxed environment," she said, her voice tentative. "I'm sorry if Dylan made it awkward at the golf club. I know you were with your brother and probably just wanted to enjoy your meal."

Justin felt a flicker of hope. "Yeah, it's all good," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "It's always nice to meet fans. Felt nice to do something nice for your boyfriend."

The words hung in the air, and he watched as a look of confusion crossed her face. "My what?"

Justin felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "I-I just assumed," he stumbled, "you guys looked pretty close."

Her expression grew even more confused. "Dylan? Oh, no, he's not my boyfriend," she said with a laugh. "He's gay, like super gay, and we're just friends. We went to college together. He loves sports, got me into golf, actually."

Justin's face lit up, his eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, I had no idea," he said, feeling his shoulders relaxed, the knot in his stomach lowly unwinding. "That's good to know."

She looked at him quizzically. "Is it?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Justin felt the words tumbling out of his mouth before he had time to think. "Yeah," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "Means I don't have to worry about embarrassing myself if I ask for your number."

Her smile grew, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Is that what you're after?" She teased gently, her voice a soft melody. "My number?"

Justin felt his heart thumping in his chest, his palms suddenly clammy. He took a step closer, his grin widening. "If you're willing to give it up, yeah," he said, trying to keep the conversation light despite the seriousness of his intentions.

Her eyes searched his for a moment before she nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. "I'd like that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She pulled out her phone, her thumbs moving deftly as unlocked it and opened her contacts. "But only if you promise to use it," she added, her eyes meeting his again. "Maybe send pics of Nova?"

Justin's heart skipped a beat as she handed him the phone. He took it with a trembling hand, his thumb hovering over the number before hitting save with a grin that felt too wide for his face. "I promise," he said, his eyes finding hers. "Anything you want."

"Anything?" she echoed, a playful glint emerging in her eyes. "You might regret saying that."

Justin laughed, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. "Bring it on," he said, handing her the phone. His phone buzzed shortly after, and he pulled it out to find a new message with her number. He tucked the phone back into his pocket with a grin.

"So, I'll text you?" he asked, trying to sound casual despite the excitement bubbling inside him.

She nodded, her eyes still sparkling. "You better."

#&. cassie writes.#justin herbert #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert x black!reader #justin herbert x reader #justin herbert fanfic

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