#and maybe; then; I can finally start to like him a little more (okay; let's not go that far now)

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dog Tags (2)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You're still keeping his Dog Tags safe.

Disclaimer: This is Part 2. Part 1 can be found here. Mentions of injuries and blood, Bucky helps carry you to safety (kinda), little angst/hurt/comfort moments, some fluff moments plus friendship moments with Wanda and Kate. Not Proof Read.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked you for the millionth time. “It’s just that those arrows…I know I make them but sometimes I can put a little too much after kick- Clint tells me I need to find a substitute but the black market-”

“Kate,” you smiled and held your hand on her arm. “I promise you, I’m okay.”

“But that blast was big. Like, big big.”

You nodded. “I know. But I’m okay, I promise.”

“Kate!”

She turned and looked down the jet. 

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

She looked back at you, “You swear?”

You nodded, “I swear.”

Once Kate finally left, you let the wall drop for a moment. You didn’t blame her. The kick had been big, but it had also saved your life. Maybe you got a few bruises to remember it by, but you knew you’d be okay. 

It would just hurt in the meantime. 

“Here.” A voice spoke somewhere above you.

You looked around you until you found where the voice was coming from. Bucky. 

What the hell did he want?

You looked down at the hand where he was holding an ice pack. “Take it. For your ribs.”

You swatted his hand away, “I’m fine.” 

Bucky just stood and rolled his eyes. Even watching you lift your arm to swat him away looked painful. He’d seen the blast with his own eyes, which also meant he knew that if it was him in your position, he wouldn’t have walked out completely unscathed. 

“You’re not fine.” Bucky broke the ice pack before shaking it as he crouched in front of you. 

For a moment, you recoiled back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m gonna help you. Would you let me help you?” 

This time Bucky didn’t fully wait for an answer before he placed the ice pack against your ribs for you. And, for a moment, you recoiled from the cold until your body melted into it. 

Okay. Maybe you were hurt, a little. But that still didn’t mean you needed his help. 

“I can hold it myself.”

“You can barely lift your arms.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Bucky shrugged, “You’re getting it anyway.”

“Why?” The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. But it was a reasonable question. 

Save for a few questionable moments outside of the ten minute window you and Bucky could be alone, you weren’t two people that helped each other. Fought with was probably the more likely statement. 

“Because you need it.” 

It was the best explanation Bucky could come up with at that moment. But it still gained him something. 

You were looking him in the eyes. It was rare he ever got to be this close to you and actually see the colour of your eyes. He didn’t quite know how the feud between you and him had started out. But what he did know was that he would happily drown in your gaze. 

And it was thoughts like that, that sent him into a spin. 

So, regrettably, he looked away. But even that gained him something. 

You watched as a smile ghosted its way onto his lips and you followed his eye line to the metal chain around your neck. 

“You’re still wearing them.”

The Dog Tags. The one’s he thought he’d lost nearly three months ago, only to work out you’d had them all along. It had nearly been almost two months, alone, since that night in the training room. 

You raised a hand to touch your chest. You could feel the outline of the tags underneath your clothes. “You told me to keep them safe.”

You watched as a corner of Bucky’s mouth slanted up slightly and, just for a moment, you let your mind wonder what it would be like if you kissed him right in that spot. 

You shook your head and this time, you looked away. You dropped the hand from your chest just before a rattle came over the jet. 

“We’re coming into landing.”

You just nodded, not trusting yourself to use words at that moment. But you gained them again when you stood to get off the jet only for Bucky to put your arm over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing? I can walk on my own, Barnes.”

“You’d only collapse three feet from here. Thought I’d save myself the trouble of catching you.”

You scowled, “Like I told Kate-”

“So help me, God, if you tell me you’re ‘fine’ I’m gonna call Sam. You’ve got a sprained ankle, a few fractured ribs, if not, broken, and a lifetime of bruises to remember today by. And that’s just what I can see.”

You just looked at Bucky, your arm still over his shoulder, his hand still clasping yours. You didn’t know how or why, but you let him help you off the jet. 

But when Wanda asked you about it later on, you just told her it was because you were too tired. 

“It was a moment of weakness.”

Wanda hummed as she sat on the edge of your bed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean, ‘maybe’? There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

Wanda chuckled, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you, Shakespeare.”

Wanda hit your leg before climbing up the bed to sit beside you. She grabbed a pillow and crossed her arms over it. 

“Oh, come on. You and I both know you have feelings for him.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, he’s a massive pain in the ass.”

“Those aren’t the feelings I’m talking about.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. “Stop reading my mind.”

Wanda was calm as she shook her head. “I don’t have to read your mind for this one.”

Your shoulders sagged for a moment and you looked at your hands, picking at your fingers. “It’s not like I meant to let it happen.”

“Nobody ever lets feelings happen. They just happen. It’s what makes you human.”

You just shrugged your shoulders. “He is still a pain in my ass.”

Wanda chuckled. “Have you ever thought to talk to him-”

“No! No. No, absolutely not. No. Never.”

Wanda hummed again. “Maybe it might help. Who knows? Maybe this isn’t a one sided love affair?”

You recoiled a little, again. “Love? Who ever said anything about love? I’m sure it’s just a stupid…work crush.”

Wanda looked at you. She didn’t have to read your mind to know that even you didn’t believe what you’d just said. 

“Hey,” Wanda tapped your leg. “Can I get you anything? You know, since Sam has banished you here for the next week.”

You chuckled. “I’m still allowed to leave…when he’s not here.”

When Bucky had taken you to the medical bay, you’d been given a full diagnostic. A sprained ankle, two fractured ribs, a little bruising around your internal organs that would heal itself, plenty of pulled muscles and, like Bucky had put it, enough bruises to make sure you remembered the day for a lifetime. 

Once Sam had found out, he’d doubled down on the Doctor’s orders to maintain bedrest. 

A few hours after Wanda had left, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. And for a while, you just started thinking whilst absentmindedly fiddling with the dog tags still around your neck. 

You thought about the ending of the movie you’d just watched with Wanda. You thought about the pain in your side. You thought about the feeling of Bucky’s fingertips gently pressing at your side as he held the ice pack in place. 

He’d been checking to make sure nothing was broken. That was how he knew. 

Then you looked at the dog tags. Like every night, your thumb traced over the letters. 

Little did you know, the next time someone else traced their thumb over the letters, it was because your blood had been splattered across them. 

[ijustwannabecool]

Media Day Mayhem

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary... What should’ve been a simple twenty-minute press conference turns into full-blown chaos when Charles brings the kids along—and then the kids get their own turn behind the mic.

Warnings: Pure fluff, kid chaos, dad!Charles, teasing, swearing mentioned by children (in French), banter, major secondhand embarrassment

A/N: you guys... the way I had too much fun writing this! I hope you guys enjoy this little story. I would love to actually see a moment like this in the future maybe. That would be iconic. I hope you guys enjoy it. Please let me know what you guys wanna see next!!

If you loved this story and want to support more F1 fics and soft chaos like this, feel free to buy me a matcha 🍵 or reblog/comment to share the love!

As always—happy reading, and have a beautiful day today

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy :)

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

The press conference was supposed to last twenty minutes. Just a few pre-weekend questions before FP1, some sponsor shoutouts, and a bit of media fluff. Charles had done this a hundred times. Easy.

What he hadn’t done a hundred times was a press conference with all three of his children clinging to him like magnets to a fridge.

“Mila, baby, don’t twist that,” Charles says quietly into his mic, gently removing his daughter’s hand from the cord running down his chest. She’s seated sideways on his lap, twirling the cable like it’s spaghetti. His twin boys, Luca and Jules, are squished on either side of him on the small bench Ferrari provided — all three with messy chestnut curls identical to their father’s.

“Charles, you’ve had a strong start to the season. What would you attribute that to?” a reporter asks.

Charles smiles, glancing down quickly at Luca, who’s trying to sneakily remove one of his shoes.

“Uh—consistency, for sure. And a lot of work with the team during the off-season,” he answers, his voice smooth despite the circus unfolding around him.

“I want to talk!” Jules blurts out, grabbing at the microphone in front of his dad. “I’m fast too!”

“You are very fast,” Charles replies automatically, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s temple as reporters chuckle.

“I beat Mila in the hallway!” Jules announces proudly.

“You cheated!” Mila screeches.

Charles coughs to cover his laugh. “Okay, okay, let’s not yell, we are live on camera, darlings.”

Another journalist attempts to move things along. “Charles, what’s your mindset going into qualifying tomorrow?”

Before he can answer, Luca pipes up: “Papa said the car was ‘a pain in the—’”

Charles snaps his fingers in front of him. “Luca! What did we say about telling secrets?”

Jules leans toward the mic. “Mummy says we can’t say ‘merde’ either.”

Charles hides his face with his hand for a beat as the media room loses it with laughter.

From the wings, you — Y/N — shake your head, arms crossed but clearly amused. Charles glances over at you like please come rescue me, but you're already motioning for the boys to come to you.

“Alright, boys, go with Maman,” Charles says, ushering them off the bench.

“Can we get snacks now?” Mila asks, hopping down and walking backwards toward you.

“Only if you stop tattletelling,” Charles replies sternly.

Jules makes a face as you crouch and hold their hands on either side of you, whispering something that makes them all go quiet and pouty at the same time.

Charles watches for a second longer than he means to—how you always manage to calm them down like magic—before turning back to the mic.

“Apologies. Where were we?”

“Honestly?” one of the reporters grins. “This is better than Drive to Survive.”

Charles laughs. “Welcome to my real full-time job.”

As he tries to finish the final question, he feels a small tug at his pants. Mila has snuck back on stage with her stuffed bunny.

“I forgot Bun-Bun,” she whispers.

He grabs it quickly and hands it to her with a gentle ruffle to her hair. “Okay, allez, go sit with Maman now.”

She nods seriously, then skips off.

Charles clears his throat. “Anyway—thank you all. I think I’m going to go find a quiet corner to cry in now.”

The media room erupts into chuckles again as Charles walks off, applesauce pouch tucked in one hand, baby wipes in the other, and you waiting with a knowing smirk and two giggling little boys tugging at your sleeves.

Charles barely made it three meters off the stage before Mila tugged on his sleeve and declared, “It’s our turn now.” He blinked, confused, until he spotted the row of miniature chairs being set up at the front of the room—and the Ferrari PR team, looking far too pleased with themselves as they waved the kids forward like VIP guests. Jules had already climbed onto one of the seats, Luca was dragging a juice box across the floor like it was part of his media kit, and Mila marched toward the microphone like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Charles stared for a beat, caught between horror and awe.

This was not on the schedule, he thought, eyes narrowing. Whose idea was this? Did Y/N sign off on this? Is this revenge for the broken espresso machine?

He looked toward you for backup, but you were already leaning against the wall, arms crossed and smirking like you’d known this was coming all along. When you caught his eye, you shrugged playfully and whispered, “You survived your press conference. Good luck surviving theirs.”

Charles let out a breath, resigned, and folded his arms across his chest. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered under his breath, watching his children take the stage with terrifying confidence.

Ferrari may build the fastest cars in the world, but nothing moves quicker than my own kids when there’s a microphone involved.

The Ferrari media tent is buzzing with cameras, press badges, and a surprising amount of juice boxes.

——

A journalist clears their throat. “Alright… first question for Mila. What’s it like having a Formula One driver as a papa?”

Mila: “Loud.” Jules: “Fast.” Luca: “Sweaty.”

Everyone bursts into laughter. Mila shrugs. “He yells a lot on the radio. I don’t think he knows we can hear it sometimes.”

Charles covers his face with both hands.

Another reporter tries to keep a straight face. “Jules, if you were in charge of Ferrari, what would you change first?”

Jules (serious): “Make the cars green.”

Luca: “And add rocket launchers!”

Charles chokes.

Mila (disapproving): “That’s not safe. I’d make the suits pink and add glitter so they sparkle on TV.”

Reporter: “What do you think Papa says the most on race day?”

Jules: “Merde.”

Mila: “No! He says ‘focus.’ And ‘where’s my drink?’” Luca: “And ‘WHY ARE THE TYRES GONE?!’”

The room is losing it. Charles is whispering something to Y/N, who is fully crying from laughter.

A hand goes up from a British reporter. “Luca, if you won a race, what would be the first thing you'd do?”

Luca (without hesitation): “Call my mumma.”

Everyone collectively awws—until he adds:

Luca: “And then eat a chocolate croissant the size of my head.”

Mila (muttering): “That already happened.”

Reporter: “Jules, do you like watching the races?”

Jules: “Only the start. Then I get bored and play Hot Wheels.”

Mila: “I watch the whole thing. I have a clipboard and give Papa scores.”

Luca: “She gave him a 6 last time and he almost won.”

Mila: “He messed up the overtake.”

Charles looks wounded.

Final question from a German journalist: “Mila, what advice would you give your Papa before his next race?”

Mila leans into the mic like a pro.

Mila: “Be brave. Go fast. And don’t cuss if the tires fall off.”

Everyone in the room breaks into applause as Charles walks forward, scooping Luca into his arms while Mila and Jules are immediately surrounded by press taking photos and asking for high fives.

Y/N slips a hand into Charles’, her smile wide. “They handled that better than you did.”

Charles grins, eyes still on his little trio. “They’re natural born media drivers.”

——

Back at the hotel that evening, Charles was flat on his back on the couch, eyes closed, two juice box wrappers on his chest. You were sitting cross-legged beside him, flicking through the photos already going viral online—Mila adjusting her mic like a pro, Jules midair off the chair, Luca holding up fingers like he was flashing a gang sign.

“Next time,” Charles murmured, eyes still shut, “we tell them I only have one child. Maybe two, max.”

You smiled, brushing curls from his forehead. “Sure, baby. But admit it… they kind of stole the show.”

He cracked an eye open, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m not even mad.”

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

[alliwritespuck]

Got It Handled [Will Smith]

𓂁 Summary: Will experiences you on your period for the first time since you've started dating

𓂁 Warnings: cursing, menstruation, alcohol, reader is of legal drinking age, maybe slightly suggestive? (let me know if I missed any)

𓂁 Word count: 2.7k

𓂁 A/N: This is my first fic! If you have any feedback or requests, please drop a message in my inbox!

﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏

“Y/N? Baby, where are you? Are you almost ready?”

You and Will were going to a formal dinner, a nice night out when his hockey schedule cleared a little.

“Upstairs. I’m almost ready,” you reply, panicking, hoping Will would stay on the other side of the bathroom door.

You had started your period, and while this was normal for you, it wasn’t for Will. You had bad PMS symptoms, but during your period, the emotional rollercoaster became ten times worse. You hurt, your emotions were running rampant, and Will, while sweet, could sometimes, unintentionally, get to be too much.

You cleaned up, slipping into your dress, putting the finishing touches to your mascara and final spritz of hairspray on your curls.

“Ready?” Will questions as you walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

“As ever,” you say, giving him a soft smile. The facade would hopefully be enough to keep him from asking too many questions.

The drive to the restaurant was pretty nice. Traffic was light, and Will played music from your favorite playlist.

“Two under Smith,” Will tells the hostess, who stares at him, unashamed of the fact that you are standing right next to him.

You narrow your eyes at her, but she’s too busy looking, gawking even, at Will. And you don’t blame her, he’s gorgeous. But come on, you’re right next to him for heaven’s sake.

She sets the fancy menus down on the table, candle lit in the middle, with a vase of a few flowers.

“This place is nice, right?” Will questions, but you’re too busy trying to stare down the hostess. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if this place was nice?”

“Am I blind? Of course this place is nice,” you say, albeit snippily, turning your attention to the menu, praying that Will would dismiss your little moment of absence.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

And as quickly as you thought that crisis was averted, another skinny blonde comes up to the table. And again, she also eyes Will.

“Hi, I’ll be your waitress tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” she asks, voice high-pitched and grating. And wouldn’t you believe, she’s looking at Will first.

“I’ll just have water.”

She turns her attention toward you, her smile dropping slightly now that her face is out of Will’s sight.

“I’ll have a whiskey sour.”

“Okay.”

She starts to walk away, but you speak again.

“Do you need to see my ID?” you ask, holding it up.

“No. You look old enough,” she says, turning on her heel and walking toward the back.

You scoff, muttering a quiet “bitch” under your breath and turning back toward the table. You hold the menu closer to your face, neck craned to hide your face more.

“Well that was rude,” Will says. You miss the concerned look on his face, instead opting for glaring holes through the fancy paper and leather booklet that comprises the menu’s physical structure.

She comes back with your drinks, setting them down.

“Do you know what you’d like for your meals?”

You zone out as Will gives his order, only paying attention when her grating voice asks you, “And for you?”

“New York Strip, medium rare, grilled asparagus and baked potato for the sides please,” you say, shoving the menu into her hand. If she replies before walking away, you miss it.

“Alright, what’s going on? You know her or something?”

“No, Will. I’m fine. She’s just being a little rude. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“If you say so,” he says, eyes saying otherwise, but you’re hoping that he drops it. And he seems to. He reaches a hand across the table, grabbing onto your right one and holding it gently. “I’m glad we got to do this. I know it’s hard during the season, but we have all summer.”

“I know. I’m just stressed with work. And I hate not having you there to help me calm down.”

“I know, honey. But we're almost done,” he says, gently squeezing your hand.

“Alright. We have the New York Strip,” the waitress interrupts, and before you can fully move your hand, she sets the steaming hot plate right on your hand and wrist.

“Ow, what the hell?” you mutter, looking up at her incredulously. She’s looking at Will, gauging his reaction, but he’s looking at you. You don’t have to see his eyes to know he's looking at you.

She looks at you before walking back to the kitchen, probably to grab Will’s plate.

“Let me see, baby,” he says, gently grabbing your forearm and pulling your hand towards him. He inspects the burn, noting the bright red color. He grabs his cloth napkin, pouring a little water from his cup on it, placing some of the ice cubes in it and wrapping it up. He gently sets it on your wrist, waiting for you to take hold.

“And here’s your dish,” she says as she returns, setting the plate down gently in front of him. And then she whispers, “You know, if you want someone younger, I’ll always be available for you.”

She slips him a piece of paper, and you assume her number is scrawled on it. She winks at him before walking away, leaving you to your meal. You see Will crumple the paper into a tiny wad, but it does little to calm the attitude brewing in you.

You eat in relative silence, minimal conversation made between you two. The only sounds predominating your experience are the ambient sounds of a restaurant: soft music playing over the speakers, clanking dishes from the kitchen, everyone else’s conversations.

As the waitress drops off the check, Will grabs it, setting his card down. And as quickly as she sat it down, she swoops back in and picks it up. She’s probably using it to stalk him on Instagram.

“Thank you for dining with us, have a great night,” she says, winking at Will.

“What the fuck?” you say, jealousy boiling inside you.

“What do we tip her?” Will asks.

“15 percent tops.”

“Y/N. She burned you. Intentionally. I’m not leaving her a tip.”

“Do or don’t. I don’t care,” you say, getting up without him and making your way toward the front.

Will scrambles behind you, grabbing your forgotten purse on the way.

You stand on the passenger side, hand idly waiting for Will to unlock the car. What was supposed to be a nice date night out, turned into an awful night because of some over-confident blonde and your jealousy.

You feel Will’s presence behind you, his hand coming to rest on your lower back, his other hand moving yours away from the door handle. He opens the door, letting you climb into your seat, watching you buckle in.

“Are you okay? And don’t brush me off. I know that waitress was rude, but I need to know that you’re okay,” Will says, hand running along your cheek.

You didn’t say anything, surging forward to kiss him. It takes a split moment for him to kiss back, to fully let himself go in you.

You deepen the kiss, pulling at the nape of his neck, forcing him closer to you.

After a minute, he pulls away, smirk adorning his face, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Are you jealous right now?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Can’t help it. You’re so pretty, and every girl wants you. Need to make sure you’re still mine.”

“Y/N, baby, of course you’re still mine. You’ll always be mine. And I'm yours, always.”

And that puts a smile on your face. A smile that stayed in its place the entire way home. And when you both got into bed, and Will grabbed your waist and pulled you close, relaxing into the curve of your back, you knew, at least for a minute, you two would be alright.

﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏

The next morning, when you woke up, Will’s grip on your waist was tight, unwilling to let you budge a single inch. You tried grabbing at his arm, but that didn’t help any.

“Will, let me go,” you say, trying to pry his arm off.

“Mmm, no. You’re comfy.”

And you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why that angered you, because usually it would be sweet, but right now it just pissed you off beyond belief.

“Will, let me go,” you say, shoving his arm off, getting up and storming out of the bedroom. Will is left behind, shock on his face, clueless as to what made you so angry this early in the morning.

You two were good last night, and when you went to bed, you were fine. And now? He had no idea what was going on.

Will found you standing over the stove, one arm crossed over your front, the other extended, holding onto the handle of a pan of scrambled eggs.

“Y/N, honey,” he says cautiously, moving behind you, hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

You don’t say anything, continuing to cook your breakfast, trying to stay quiet to avoid saying something mean. It was imminent, but you wanted to avoid it as long as you possibly could.

And before you can even think of what to say, you speak.

“You do realize I’m in the best position to punch you in the guts, right?”

“Okay, okay. Noted,” Will says, taking his hands off your shoulders and backing away.

The beat of silence between the two of you washes over the room quickly, the air thick with tension, worse than any humidity you’d ever experienced.

“I’m going to go watch TV. Sorry for bothering you,” Will says, leaving the room.

And you immediately feel bad. Will had done nothing to deserve your anger, and yet, it was like you couldn’t stop yourself from doing so. You were in so much pain, and while that was no excuse, your pain demanded to be felt, and it didn’t care who was in the way or on the receiving end.

After you finished eating and doing the dishes, you walked down the hallway to the living room, standing at the entryway, not quite moving into the living room. You watch Will, his easy-going nature, his relaxed form laying on the couch, watching some TV show you’re sure you would never watch on your own.

You decide not to say anything, just walking back toward the bedroom. You flop on your side of the bed, sighing. You grab your heating pad from the drawer in the nightstand, plugging it in before rolling over to take a nap.

You’re awoken by the bed shifting under the weight of someone. Will.

“Hey sweetheart. It’s okay. Just me,” he says, going to pull you into his chest, but he stops, remembering your temperament from earlier.

“I’m tired. Just cuddle me. Please Will,” you say, voice groggy and full of sleep.

“Okay, okay. I’ve got you, baby,” he says, finally wrapping his arms around your waist.

And as he does so, Will feels the heat radiating from your stomach. The heating pad. And he feels like an idiot not having recognized it sooner. You were on your period. You weren’t trying to be mean, you just didn’t feel good. And Will felt like beating himself up for not having recognized this fact sooner. The jealousy, the anger, the exhaustion, it all made sense. Will grew up with an older sister, and even though he was more privy to period-related issues than some men, he knew that every girl was different. Grace wasn’t overly moody, wasn’t in a great deal of pain from what he could tell. But he knew you had issues with regularity in your cycle. And he knew that it was hard sometimes to figure out what each cycle would look like.

And Will, despite being warm and cuddled against you, couldn’t sleep knowing how much you weren’t feeling good.

And so he grabbed the body pillow from the closet, nestling it behind you to keep you comfy, and going on a mission to make you a period wellness basket.

Once at the store, he grabbed tampons, the ones he’d seen you say were the best because they were the most comfortable. He grabbed some of your favorite chocolate and other candy, and just for double assurance, he grabbed a pint of your favorite ice cream. He grabbed a little fluffy shark stuffed animal, thinking it would get a few laughs out of you because it would remind you of him, and the thought alone made him chuckle lowly.

As he was walking toward the self-checkout line, he called the local florist, requesting a bouquet of assorted flowers, insisting that your favorite flowers be amongst the mix.

And as he continued walking, a dainty gold chain caught his eye. It wasn’t anything super detailed or intricate, it was a simple necklace with a moon, a star, and a circular white stone. And on a whim, he put it in his basket and continued toward the self-checkout.

When he got home, he made sure you were still asleep before putting his gifts in a little basket on the counter, a messy note from him scrawled on a piece of paper set atop the gifts.

And as he made his way back out to grab the flowers, you, half asleep, made your way to the kitchen for water. You were parched.

And your eyes landed on the basket and the note, noticing all of the little gifts Will got you. You saw the baby shark, and you giggled lightly.

And you heard him walk in, tears welling in your eyes, turning around to see him holding a large bouquet of flowers.

“Will.”

“Shit. Sorry, I wanted you to see everything all at once,” he says sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly shy of the gift. He knew you didn’t like giving gifts to show your love for someone, but he couldn’t help but get you things to help you feel better.

“You bought me my favorite flowers?” you say, the tears thick in your throat and streaming down your face, sniffling. You saw the specificity in them, the arrangement clearly made to order. They were your favorites. He knew.

“Don’t cry baby,” he says, gently setting the flowers on the counter, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. “Of course I got you your favorite flowers. You’re in pain, and I thought you could use a little pick me up. I’m sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“No, no. You’re amazing. I’m sorry for being a bitch. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m so sorry,” you say through tears, now crying heavily. Not quite sobs, but definitely more than a couple of tears.

“Woah, shhh. It’s okay. I’ve got you sweetheart,” he says, running a hand up and down your back.

As you calmed down, you turned toward the basket, reading his note again, looking through the things he’d gotten. And as you were doing this, he grabbed the pints of ice cream from the freezer.

“Let’s go watch something,” he says, handing one pint and a spoon to you.

And as 10 Things I Hate About You played in the background, you ate your ice cream happily, cuddled into Will’s side.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with me like this. I know I’m a lot to handle.”

“Y/N, you’re a lot to handle on a good day. But I signed up for it. I’m sticking by you through everything, okay? I love you. I can handle you. All of you,” he says, dropping a kiss to your forehead. You tilt your head up, silently asking for another kiss, and he happily obliges, smiling as he places his lips on yours in a short and sweet kiss.

“I love you, too, Will,” you say, cuddling back into him.

And in the cafeteria scene, as Michael finishes talking to Joey, you and Will look at each other and quote, “I have a dick on my face, don’t I?”

And that was how the rest of your night went, laughter and cuddles shared between you two. And right then, you knew that you wanted him around for a long, long time. Even if you were hard to handle.

﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏

alliwritespuck © 2025

Do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own

[thatssofruity9]

Okay, could you guys imagine if the thing that finally got Ghost and soap together wasn’t some life or death situation where they’re forced to confront their feelings but rather Price's nosey, meddling wife?

F!reader X John Price and Ghost X soap

Authors note: This has been rattling around in my noggin for months.

“Hey, John?” you murmured as the two of you cleaned the mess left behind by the boys.

“Yeah, love?” John asks glancing up at you from the pile of dishes he’s working on

“You ever notice anything about Johnny and Simon?” you ask him in an almost cautious tone, these men meant more to him than he would ever care to admit.

“Yeah, drink their weight in liquor every damn time we have them over” your husband grumbled, you wonder sometimes if he’s willfully oblivious or just a man.

“No baby, like..” you thought for a moment. How exactly do you explain queer longing to your very straight husband?

“Okay like when Simon makes a joke he immediately looks at Johnny to see if he laughed. When Johnny has a question he only asks Simon. When Kyle says something stupid they look at each other like they have their language, like me and you do.” You do your best but John is all for minding his own business, he’s a pretty unproblematic guy overall, too old to care maybe.

“Lovie, mind your business, please. They’re grown men, if they have the hots for each other they can figure it out on their own.” John rolled his eyes at you and continued working. You didn’t love that, dismissing your want to gossip but it’s very John, makes you want to strangle him. You don’t bring it up again at least not for a few months, not until Kyle’s wedding, that was a very interesting trip as far as your snooping was concerned.

The moment Kyle and his beautiful wife said their ‘I do’s’ you glanced toward your husband in his fancy tan suit, remembering how that moment felt when it was the two of you standing at that altar. You can’t help the way your eyes drift from your husband to the blonde man behind him. Simon, much like you were looking at John, was looking at Johnny.

You knew from that point on you couldn’t let it go, they’re soldiers, they don’t talk about feelings, you know this, you sleep in a bed with one every night. The idea that they might miss out on potentially the greatest thing in either one of their lives because they’re either too stubborn or too stupid to realize what’s happening meant you didn’t have a choice, you had to meddle at least a little.

It started small, sitting in Johnnys seat when the group goes to a bar so he’d have to squish into the booth next to Simon, asking Johnny and Simon to watch the house while you and John were away for the weekend. Sure Kyle usually does it but he’s so busy with his new wife can’t you guys make the time? Asking Johnny, what is wrong with Simon when there is absolutely nothing wrong with him just so Johnny will have to pay more attention to figure it out.

You weren’t being malicious you were just trying to push them together, John was mostly unaware, although he occasionally gave you a look, specifically the time you asked Johnny if he thought ‘Simon’s haircut looked good’ (it did)

It eventually got a little more pushy. Not pushy in the sense that you were being mean or even trying to push them into something they didn’t want, because they want it. It’s just you knew soldiers, you knew these boys. They are dumbasses.

“Hey Simon?” you asked one Sunday afternoon. Simon had come over to watch some game with John, not unusual, although it is unusual for him to not have Johnny with him. This was your moment, John had gone to the bathroom so you wouldn’t have to hear “Stop being nosy, love!” You can just continue with your plan.

“Mm?” The quiet man asked you turning his head from the Telly to look at you. He’s not uninterested so much as he’s just quiet, you have known him for long enough to know that.

“How long have you and Johnny been dating?” You asked, you knew they weren’t dating. All part of the plan, all part of the plan.

“What?” He looked confused, you know him, maybe not as well as your husband but you know him. He can’t hide his facial expressions for anything, it’s probably best he wears a mask on the field.

“What?” You give the same facial expression as if trying to understand where his obvious confusion is coming from.

“We’re not dating, why did you think we were dating?” Simons interrogates you, it’s so rare that he says so many words you almost feel a little guilty.

“Oh, I’m sorry I just assumed.” Your tone is light, an honest mistake Simon, so sorry for the inconvenience.

“Why? Why did you assume that?” For the first time all the time you’ve known him he seems flustered.

“Oh, I just… you guys live together, always touching, talking quietly to yourselves, it’s just exactly like me and John. I just assumed dating, shouldn’t have.”

Your statement is made with kindness and a smile but one day you’ll tell him how you conned him into being in love.

“We’re not” Simon stated leaving no room for your argument. There was a long stretch of silence before he spoke again.

“Do you think he thinks we’re dating?” Well you didn’t expect that question, Johnny lacked common sense sometimes but he’s not stupid, no you did not believe he thinks they’re together.

“Yeah probably, I would.” LIES, one day you’ll have to confess to this but not today.

He left not too long after that conversation, and you kind of felt like you may have messed something up. But you shouldn’t doubt yourself, you know this, you’re like a wizard in the art of getting in other people’s business. Your self-doubt is as squashed the minute Johnnys' silly little contact photo popped onto your phone. A phone call, you answer.

“Hello?” You barely have time to start speaking before Johnny starts in. Poor guy.

“Si just texted me and said he talked to you bout somethin’ and it made him ‘realize some things’ that hell’s that about?” Rambling is funny on him, he’s always so calm and collected, now this is where you kinda hesitated, do you tell the truth or do you stir the pot? You settle on stirring the pot. For the greater good of course.

You ended up telling Johnny everything you and Simon spoke about, leaving nothing out, you simply just finished off your little story with a

“Who knows maybe it made him think hard enough he’s going to tell you how he feels.”

Johnny stays silent for a long moment on the other end of the line, mulling it over probably.

“So Si has the hots for me aye?”

You wish he could’ve seen your eye roll but you’re sure he heard your sigh.

“Just a hunch” you add maybe you could get him to make a move, he’s probably easier to work on than Simon anyway.

“Aye, good hunch, lass.” You are acutely aware that your husband still in fact doesn’t know you’re trying to convince his soldiers to break “no fraternizing” rules. But he will only be annoyed until he sees his mates so happy.

Your phone call with Johnny doesn’t last much longer. You feel like a Disney villain for a couple of minutes but then John put on his reading glasses so you kinda got a little distracted and ‘forgot’ to mention to him that you were psychologically manipulating his best friends for their good. You let fate do its thing now, you pushed enough.

Weeks maybe even months go by, and you haven’t seen the group in a bit, you and John are off in the kitchen making drinks while Kyle and his new wife make googly eyes at each other in your living room.

When Johnny and Simon finally decide to grace the group with their presence, you see it immediately, holding hands, nothing is different except for that. You and John rejoin the group at some point, talking and laughing like always, they don’t mention it, you don’t ask and neither does anyone else. But everyone knew something had changed, thank the gods.

You’re poor dumb husband looks at his two best friends after a while, once the food was mostly gone and the drinks had been flowing. He looks at them and then back to you before ducking down and whispering in your ear.

“Love? I know That’s your handiwork.” yeah NO SHIT, John. But they look so happy.

Horrifyingly years later once the whole story had been recounted they told that story at their wedding, which was, yes embarrassing but the thought that you helped bring these two beautiful souls together eased that pretty quickly.

[attyy]

'ONE FOR THE BOOKS!'

desc: suna x reader, suna's version of asking you to watch his game. one game, one block, one photo later— he's never living it down. but maybe, he doesn't really mind.

suna: hey 

suna: i have a game

suna: if you’re interested 

suna: its js the nationals

suna: no big deal

y/n: is this u asking me to watch ur game 

suna: maybe

y/n: fine, i’ll go 

suna: i got the huzz

y/n: nvm

GAME DAY: 

The gym buzzed with energy, sneakers squeaking and crowd roars cheering. It was the final set. To no surprise, Inarizaki was in the lead. With one point left. You were on the edge of your seat, heart pounding. 

Atsumu’s serve flew over the net. The other team scrambled to return it. Suna quickly read the setter’s moves and jumped. His feet barely touched the floor, his arms extending.

BLOCK. 

BUZZ. 

Game over. 

The gym erupted in cheers. As the team bowed, Suna looked up— only at you. 

—

You waited in the hallway, letting the crowd flood out. Suna appeared and walked over, catching his breath, coming off the adrenaline, and glowing from the win.

“Congrats,” you said, smiling. “The last block? Insane. I didn’t know you were that good.”

He blinked, a bit surprised you came. “Thanks. I didn’t know you were serious.”

“You invited me. Of course I’d watch.” You teased,  “Did you win for me?”

He shrugged, acting casual, “Would’ve scored more if I saw you earlier.”

Before you could respond, a voice yelled out.

“YO, IS THIS HER?”

Suna groaned. “God,” He muttered. “Who summoned the gremlin.” Atsumu jogged over with a sneaky grin, followed by the rest of the team. 

Aran gave Suna a knowing look. “Sorry about Atsumu. I forgot to bring my leash.” Kita offered a polite nod. I’m Kita, nice to meet you. Thanks for watching us today, it means a lot.” 

“Don’t scare her off,” Aran said. He looked at you, amused. “My bad, y/n. I couldn’t stop them. They were insisting on following Suna.” 

“Shut up,” Suna muttered under his breath. 

You laugh, “You were all amazing out there.” 

Atsumu beamed. “Finally. Someone with taste.” Osamu nodded. “You fit in already.”

“We’re adopting you,” Atsumu added quickly. “Sorry. No refunds.”

Suna sighed, “You guys are so embarrassing.”

“Well, now that we know she’s real…” Osamu grinned, “And since this is a historic moment,” Atsumu added, “We need a photo! We need evidence.”

Aran rolled his eyes. “Give them some space first, will you?”

“I just need one,” Atsumu insisted. “ONE picture and I can live my days in peace. That’s all I ask.”

Kita deadpanned, “You just want blackmail.”

“Suna has loads of blackmail on me! So..same thing.”

Suna glanced at you, with his eyes asking the question: Is this okay?

You gave a little nod, and he relaxed next to you. “Fine. But just one.”

“Smile!” Atsumu grinned, then snapped the photo. “There. Our little Suna has rizz. Atsumu declared. 

“Kill me,” Suna muttered. Aran smirked. “Alright, we’ll give you two a moment. As the team started to walk away, Atsumu called over your shoulder. “Don’t forget to give us your number too!”

Suna rolled his eyes. You let out a laugh, “They’re fun.” He exhaled. “They’re loud.” He added, “I’m glad you came, I needed some sanity around here.”

“Me too. Who knows? I might even come again.” 

He smiled. “Then I’ll keep winning.”

AFTER:

“Give me the photo, sumu.” He said casually. 

Atsumu froze, then slowly turned with the biggest grin on his face. “Which photo?”

Suna gave him a look. “You know which.”

Atsumu smirked, “You tryna make it your lockscreen or somethin’? Frame it? Make it your family heirloom? Put it in yer’ wallet like it's 2015?”

“The bears should've eaten you, goldilocks."

“Damn, down bad.” Osamu chimed in. 

As Atsumu airdropped it, and as Suna clicked on the photo, him beside you, flushed and all awkward, he didn’t deny it. 

He saved it, and later made a new album. Safe to say it’s one of his favorites.

all works belong to @attyy, do not copy, steal, or plagiarize my works.

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 4

Summary: After weeks of rainchecks, Spencer invites Reader and Maddie to a museum. Flowers, dinosaur facts, and a shared afternoon paintings lead to quiet feelings neither of them are ready to name.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+)

Content Warning: A sickening amount of fluff, Emotional vulnerability, brief discussions of fear of commitment, soft angst.

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: The upcoming week is final exams week, so I probably won’t have any time to write until Friday, so enjoy this one because the next chapter might take a while.

Series Masterlist

I hadn’t meant for it to become a habit.

But over the past few weeks, texting Spencer had become the quiet part of my day I looked forward to the most. Sometimes it was Maddie-related—funny things she said, books she liked, questions she asked that I didn’t know how to answer. Sometimes it was just… thoughts. A passing detail. A photo. A line from something I was reading that I thought he’d appreciate.

He always replied. Not immediately, but reliably. Like clockwork.

Sometimes, he even started the conversation. He’d send a picture of a book and caption it, “This reminded me of Maddie,” or text me out of nowhere just to make plans. And every time my phone lit up with his name, something in me would still flutter a little. Stupid, I know. But it did.

Honestly, I thought that would be the end of it—after that moment.

The woman in the café had smiled at us so innocently when she said it—“You guys make a cute family.” Like it was a compliment. Like she hadn’t just dropped a live grenade on the table between us.

Spencer had gone quiet. I had definitely paled. And Maddie, bless her, just beamed like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

The silence afterward only lasted a couple of days, but it was long enough for me to spiral. I was convinced I’d ruined whatever fragile, gentle thing we were building. That maybe I’d let things feel too comfortable. Let the illusion get too close to something real.

But then he texted.

No mention of it. No awkwardness. Just a quiet message asking if we were free for lunch. Like nothing had happened.

Like he didn’t mind the way Maddie clung to his hand.

Like he hadn’t noticed the way I looked at him a little too long when I thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Since then, we’d gone on a few more outings. Parks. Coffee shops. A kid-friendly restaurant with a giant chalkboard wall Maddie still talks about. She always wanted to come along, and I never had the heart to say no. I couldn’t just leave her behind—wouldn’t leave her behind. Spencer never once asked me to.

Still, it all stayed... spaced out. Like we were dancing around something neither of us could name. Like we were orbiting each other on our own time zones.

And maybe that was okay.

Maybe that was safer.

Because the truth is, I still haven’t learned much about him. He’s good at steering conversations away from himself without ever making it feel like he’s hiding something. But I can feel it—there are parts of him I’m not allowed to see yet. Parts he’s still keeping folded up in the quiet. All I really know is that his name is Spencer, he likes reading, he knows magic tricks, and he wears mismatched socks. Maddie started doing that too, ever since he told her it was lucky.

But I want to know more.

And that… that’s the scary part.

It’s one thing to text. To share pancakes and crayon drawings and small talk.

It’s another thing entirely to let someone in.

And it’s not just me. It’s Maddie too. Bringing someone into our life means giving them a seat at the table we built from scratch. It means risk. Change. The kind of hope that creeps in slowly and then dares to stay.

I don’t know what Spencer wants.

But I know how I feel when I’m around him.

And that’s what scares me the most.

Because I can feel myself inching toward something I haven’t let myself want in a long time. Something soft. Something safe. Something that could break if I held it too tightly—or worse, if I let it go too soon.

And lately, with each little pause between messages, with every canceled plan, I’d started to wonder if maybe I was imagining it. If I’d read too much into a handful of slow afternoons and a few gentle smiles.

After the third reschedule in a row, I’d braced for the silence. I thought maybe that was it. That he’d let things fade the quiet way people do when they don’t know how to say goodbye.

But then, last week, his name lit up my phone.

[21:06] Spencer: I owe you both a raincheck or two…

[21:06] Spencer: Any chance Maddie likes museums?

Maddie had been counting down the days.

Literally. She made me draw boxes on the calendar so she could “X” them out every morning. And today? Today, she was vibrating.

She hadn’t stopped talking since she woke up—about the museum, about what she would wear, about whether Spencer would bring his magic tricks (I told her probably not, but she packed two small toys and a glitter pen in case she could convince him).

Getting her ready was a challenge. Every pair of socks was the wrong socks, every braid was too tight or too fuzzy, and somewhere in between breakfast and the meltdown about her shoes, I’d forgotten to get myself dressed.

By the time I finally did, I had seven minutes to spare, hair still damp, mascara uneven, Maddie sitting cross-legged on the couch in a sparkly skirt and mismatched socks, humming a song I didn’t recognize.

We were waiting in the living room when the doorbell rang.

Not a text. Not a honk. Not a call.

He rang the doorbell.

I blinked—thrown for a second. Every guy I’d ever gone out with sent a “here” text at best. One even asked me to meet him at the curb because he didn’t want to parallel park.

But Spencer? He got out of the car. Came to the door. And waited.

And it sounds stupid—maybe it is stupid—but something about that simple act made my chest tighten. Like I'd spent so long lowering my expectations that I forgot how to react when someone raised them without being asked.

I opened the door, still half-wrestling Maddie into her jacket, and froze.

He was holding flowers.

A handful of them. Nothing showy. Nothing polished. They weren’t wrapped in cellophane or tied with a bow. They looked like he’d picked them carefully, worrying if they said too much—or not enough.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

It mattered more than I wanted to admit.

Because no one brings flowers when they think you’re temporary. No one shows up like this unless they mean it—even if they don’t know they mean it yet.

For a second, my heart was too loud in my ears. I barely heard my own voice when I asked, “Are those for me?”

Spencer looked at the bouquet, like he’d just remembered he was holding them, then back up at me with this almost-bashful expression.

“Uh—they’re for both of you,” he said.

It wasn't smooth.

It wasn't practiced.

But it was real.

And it unraveled something small and secret inside me.

Maddie gasped beside me, clapping her hands. “I love flowers!”

Spencer smiled, relieved. “I hoped you might.”

We stepped out together, closing the door behind us. I held Maddie’s hand in one and the bouquet in the other, feeling strangely, stupidly off-balance.

He opened the passenger door for me. Not in that showy, performative way—just... quietly. Thoughtfully. Like it occurred to him that I might appreciate it, and so he did it.

I helped Maddie into the backseat, buckled her in while she mumbled something about wanting to see “real dinosaur bones,” and handed her the flowers to hold on the ride there. She clutched them carefully with sticky fingers and sleepy reverence, like they were a gift from royalty.

Spencer rounded the front of the car, still fiddling with the keys in his hand. He hadn’t said much since the door. Just smiled that small, nervous smile like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.

I slid into the passenger seat, heart still unsettled. Still processing the fact that someone had shown up for me—not just shown up, but done it kindly. Gently. Like I was someone worth showing up for.

He climbed in a second later and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

The drive was quiet at first.

Not uncomfortable—just… still.

Spencer had one hand on the wheel, the other resting awkwardly on his knee like he wasn’t sure where to put it. He kept his eyes on the road, focused, but every so often I’d catch the flick of his gaze in my direction. Quick, subtle. Like he wanted to say something and wasn’t sure if now was the time.

Maddie was humming in the backseat, still cradling the flowers in her lap like they were made of glass. She’d calmed down a little now that we were on route, her excitement softened by the slow lull of the car.

I’d been too in my head to speak.

Too focused on the weight of the morning—on how different it all felt. On the fact that Spencer had shown up. That he hadn’t honked or texted or waited in the car, but had come to the door, flowers in hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t. Not for me.

People don’t usually show up like that.

Not in my world.

Most of the time, it was all me. Me getting Maddie dressed, packed, calm, fed, out the door. Me smiling through exhaustion. Me covering up the gaps, the silences, the absences. Every date I’d ever gone on before had started with me calculating how much I was going to have to explain—and how little I could afford to feel.

But Spencer didn’t ask for anything. He just… arrived. Quiet. Awkward. Thoughtful. The way someone does when they’re not trying to impress you—just trying to be honest.

And that scared me more than any grand gesture ever could.

I kept staring out the window, pretending I wasn’t overwhelmed, when Maddie’s voice cut through the quiet from the backseat.

"Spencer... have you ever seen real dinosaur bones before?"

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, smiling faintly. "I have. A long time ago."

Maddie gasped, clutching the bouquet tighter. "Were they huge?"

Spencer chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. "Bigger than this car."

Maddie let out a soft whoa, completely awed, and went back to staring out the window like she was preparing herself for greatness.

I watched the exchange quietly, something knotting up and unfurling in my chest at the same time.

He didn’t talk to her like she was a kid he had to tolerate.

He didn’t talk down to her, didn’t correct her, didn’t rush to change the subject back to the adults in the room.

He answered her. Carefully, Thoughtfully. Like her questions deserved real answers. It was such a small thing, barely a ripple in the morning.

But to me... it felt enormous.

Because if there was one thing I'd learned in four years of doing this alone, it was that small things never stay small. They grow roots. They make space.

And somewhere deep inside me, in a place I'd spent a long time pretending wasn't empty, I could feel something beginning to take root.

“Mommy, did you bring my notebook?” Maddie piped up from the backseat, her voice pulling me gently out of my thoughts.

I smiled, twisting slightly in my seat to glance at her. “Yes, sweetheart. And your flower pen too.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked toward me, curious. “Notebook?”

“She likes to take notes,” I explained, trying not to sound as fond as I felt. “Drawings, mostly. But sometimes it’s very important information. Like how many birds she sees at the park, or which dinosaur skeleton is her favorite.”

Maddie beamed like I’d just announced her life's greatest achievements. “I'm gonna write all the dinosaur names today.”

Spencer chuckled, his hands steady on the wheel. “That sounds like serious work.”

“It is,” Maddie said, very seriously. “I’m gonna be a dinoscientist.”

I bit back a laugh. “Paleontologist, baby.”

“That too.”

Spencer smiled wider, a soft huff of breath escaping him. “Dinoscientist has a nice ring to it.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, the corners of my mouth still tugged up, and watched the city slip past the window.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself be still.

Not anxious. Just... here in this car. With Maddie humming to herself, and Spencer glancing over at me like maybe—just maybe—he was feeling the same thing I was.

The car rolled forward through the city, the hum of the tires against the pavement filling the spaces between us.

Maddie kept herself busy in the backseat, whispering to her notebook, practicing how she was going to introduce herself to the dinosaur bones. Every so often, I'd catch snippets of her "speech" — mostly promises to take good care of them if they needed it, and an offer to let them live in our apartment if they ever got tired of the museum.

Spencer chuckled quietly under his breath once or twice, but he didn’t interrupt her.

He just listened. Like what she was saying mattered.

And every time I caught him smiling to himself, it felt like something small and tender tugging at the edges of my heart.

The city slowly gave way to wider streets, older buildings, familiar signs. We were getting close now. Maddie must've sensed it too, because she started bouncing lightly in her seat, hugging her notebook to her chest.

“We’re almost there, right?” she asked, practically buzzing with excitement.

Spencer glanced at her in the rearview mirror and nodded. “Just a few more minutes.”

She squealed, kicking her feet a little.

“Maddie,” I said, fighting a smile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

She huffed in that way only a five-year-old could, but obediently clicked the buckle back into place, clutching her notebook tighter like it might launch itself out the window if she let it go.

Spencer glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh. Like he was soaking all of it in — the little chaos, the energy, the way the air inside the car felt full in a way that had nothing to do with noise.

And me?

I was soaking him in too.

The careful way he drove. The way he tilted the rearview mirror so he could see her better. The way he didn't act like any of this was too much.

I wasn’t used to that. I wasn’t used to someone easing into my world without me having to make all the room.

He didn’t look out of place here. Not next to me, Not in this car. Not with Maddie babbling about dinosaurs and pens and flower bouquets.

He looked... right. Like he belonged.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, I didn’t feel like I was dragging someone into my life.

It felt like maybe—just maybe—someone was choosing to step into it on their own.

Spencer turned into a side street, the museum parking lot coming into view just ahead.

Maddie gasped the second she saw the giant banners hanging from the front entrance—one with a T-Rex, another with a sprawling star map—and I swear her whole body lit up like a firecracker.

“We’re here!” she cried, already reaching for the door handle.

I laughed again and reached back to steady her. “Hold on, baby. Let’s park first.”

Beside me, Spencer just smiled. Small. Soft. Like maybe he was feeling it too.

Maybe he was a little dazzled too.

As we pulled into the museum parking lot, Maddie’s excitement practically boiled over. She bounced in her seat, craning her neck to look up at the enormous banners fluttering over the entrance.

“There’s a real T-Rex in there!” she squealed.

Spencer chuckled, turning off the engine and shifting in his seat.

I unbuckled and turned around to check her straps, but she was already wriggling free, too excited to stay put.

“Alright, adventurer,” I said, laughing as I grabbed my bag. “Just remember you can’t actually touch the bones, okay sweetie?”

She nodded fiercely, already halfway to the door.

Spencer got out first, rounding the car without hesitation, and opened Maddie’s door for her with the same easy gentleness he’d shown all morning.

No grand gestures. No heavy-handed attempts to impress.

Just a man, showing up.

And somehow, that meant more than anything he could’ve said.

The dinosaur exhibit was exactly the kind of chaos you expect when you mix kids and ancient bones.

Maddie darted from display to display, her notebook clutched to her chest, peppering Spencer with a steady stream of questions he answered with more patience than I thought humanly possible.

We spent nearly two hours winding through towering skeletons, reconstructed habitats, interactive fossil digs. Maddie was determined to "catalogue" every dinosaur in existence, and by the end of it, even Spencer looked a little overwhelmed.

I thought that would be the end of the day—grab a juice box, head back to the car, call it a win.

But just as we were making our way toward the exit, Maddie spotted a set of signs advertising a newly opened exhibition upstairs.

Gustav Klimt.

My heart stuttered a little.

“Mommy that’s your favorite isn’t it?”

Maddie chirped, tugging at my hand.

I froze for half a second, caught between a smile and something heavier.

It wasn’t something I talked about much—art, favorites, the pieces of myself that existed outside of work and grocery lists and getting Maddie to preschool on time.

Spencer looked at me curiously, waiting for me to confirm or deny.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said, a little more quietly than I intended. “He’s… always been my favorite.”

Spencer’s mouth tugged up at the corner in a soft smile. “Then we should go.”

He glanced at the sign, adjusting the strap of the bag he'd offered to carry without asking, then looked down at Maddie. "You up for one more room, kiddo?"

As soon as we stepped into the Klimt exhibition, Maddie practically vibrated with excitement. She clutched her little notebook to her chest and announced, loud enough to earn a few amused glances, that she was going to copy all the paintings.

"Can I, Mommy? Please?" she asked, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The gallery was wide and open, the flow of people calm and easy to track. After a quick sweep of the room, Y/N gave a soft laugh and nodded. "Stay where we can see you."

Maddie took off without hesitation, setting up camp in front of the nearest painting with her crayon poised like a little scholar.

We found a bench nearby, where Y/N and I sat, watching her from a distance. Every few minutes, Maddie would dash to a new painting, plop down cross-legged on the floor, and start scribbling furiously in her notebook — her hair bouncing, her entire body committed to the task like it was the most important thing in the world.

“So,” she said, tilting her head toward the entrance of the exhibit, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What do you know about Klimt?”

I opened my mouth automatically, ready to recite something — dates, movements, facts. It’s what people expected from me. What I expected from myself. But the truth was, I didn’t know much about him. Not really. Not beyond the basics you could find on a museum plaque.

My hand found the back of my neck, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to break. “Actually… I’m not too familiar with him,” I admitted.

She blinked at me, visibly surprised. But she didn’t tease. She didn’t laugh.

Instead, she smiled. Something soft flickered across her face—something I didn’t quite know how to name. And for reasons I couldn't fully explain, the way she looked at me in that moment — like my flaws didn’t scare her at all — made something in my chest go strangely, stubbornly warm.

“I have this one book about Klimt,” she said, her voice picking up that soft, thoughtful rhythm that made it impossible for me to think about anything else, “Talking about Klimt’s work, life story, etc… But what I really like about his work, is that he didn’t just paint pretty women with gold leaf. Most of his famous works were about femmes fatales.”

I blinked, trying to keep up, but mostly just stunned by the way she talked. The way her eyes lit up at the sight of the paintings, and talking about how she interpreted them.

“Dangerous women. Women who were beautiful and powerful, beautiful, sensual and a little terrifying.”

I barely heard the rest.

I nodded along, but the truth was—I wasn’t processing most of the words.

Because I was too busy watching her. The way her hands moved when she talked. The way her eyes lit up when she described the paintings, her voice dropping into something soft, almost reverent.

She kept stealing little glances at me like she was trying to see if I cared.

I did.

I cared more than I could explain without embarrassing myself.

I opened my mouth—wanted to say something smart in return, “Did you know—”—but every single fact I had ever known about anything scrambled in my brain like a thousand puzzle pieces tossed into the air.

I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry and I wasn’t even sure I could nod without giving myself away.

She turned toward the biggest painting in the room—the one even people who didn’t know Klimt's name would recognize.

The Kiss.

“Let me guess…” I said, tipping my head. “The Kiss is your favorite?”

“It’s more than just The Kiss being my favorite,” she replied, smiling softly, like she knew a secret I didn’t yet.

“What do you mean?”

“Well... it holds a lot more symbolism than you might think,” she said, her voice warming. “Sure, it’s beautiful. The technique is brilliant. But it’s more than just a beautiful painting.”

“Do explain,” I said, leaning in without meaning to.

She glanced back at the gallery, then at me, her voice dropping a little, like she was letting me in on something sacred.

“My favorite thing about Klimt’s work isn’t just the paintings themselves. It’s the way they fit together. The whole collection tells a story — a subtle one. About the femmes fatales... They keep appearing, over and over again throughout his work.”

I watched her, completely, helplessly captivated. The way her voice curled around each word, the way she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear without even thinking about it.

“Sometimes it’s the same woman, painted in different ways... different poses, different moments. But this one—” she nodded toward The Kiss, her voice dipping even lower, “—this is the only time he shows the woman surrendering.”

She turned back to me then, and there was something unguarded in her face. Something almost reverent.

“But it’s not weakness,” she said. “It’s not defeat.”

Her eyes held mine.

“She’s giving herself to him. Choosing to. Choosing to give yourself completely to someone — whether it’s physical or emotional —” she paused, her smile tilting almost shyly, “—I think it might be the most romantic thing ever.”

And I knew, in that moment, that if I lived to be a hundred years old, I would never—never—recover from her.

My knees felt weirdly, ridiculously weak.

Like if I didn’t keep shifting my weight from foot to foot, I might just sink into the floor and let the museum tiles swallow me whole.

I wanted to say something.

Anything.

But all I could manage was a whisper.

“That’s beautiful…”

She smiled — a little sad, a little knowing — like maybe she could see right through me.

“It is, isn’t it?” she said, voice quieter now. Then, before I could catch my breath, she asked, almost too gently, “It’s also scary. Giving yourself completely... Have you ever felt that way about anyone?”

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Have I ever felt that way about anyone?

Yes, my brain supplied instantly. Too fast. Too loud.

Once.

But the words caught somewhere between my chest and my throat — tangled up in everything I was too terrified to admit out loud.

I glanced down at my shoes, like the scuffed leather might offer an answer.

"I... I don't know," I said finally, because anything more honest felt too dangerous. "Maybe. I think... I think I wanted to..." I swallowed hard. "I don’t think she wanted me to, though."

When I looked up, she was already watching me — so intently it made the back of my neck burn.

Not judging. Not pitying. Just seeing me — with all the sharp, unfinished edges I usually tried so hard to hide.

"Wanting to matters," she said quietly.

Her words landed softer than I deserved. Like she wasn’t trying to fix me. Like she wasn’t expecting more than I could give.

I shifted my weight, needing somewhere else to put all the feeling buzzing under my skin.

“What about you?” I asked, before I could think better of it.

She smiled — small, almost bittersweet — and turned her gaze back to The Kiss.

"I have," she said. Her voice was steady, but there was something behind it — something tired and tender and breakable. “To Maddie."

The way she said it — not as a shield, not as an excuse, but as the absolute, sacred truth — cracked something open inside me.

“I have given myself completely, body and mind to her since she was born. She’s my everything.”

I swallowed, struggling to find the right words, because how do you respond to something like that? How do you look at someone who has already poured everything they are into someone else — and still dare to want more from them? I didn’t know if it was admiration or something closer to longing that tightened in my chest, but I knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was, it was irreversible.

"That’s..." I started, my voice rougher than I intended. I paused, searching her face for some kind of anchor, and found nothing but honesty looking back at me. "That’s the bravest thing a person can do."

For a moment, she just looked at me — really looked — and I had the distinct, terrifying feeling that she could see right through me. See the parts of me that wanted things I wasn’t sure I was allowed to want. Things like this. Things like her.

She smiled, a small, worn thing that hit me harder than it should have. "You say that like it's a choice," she said. "It wasn't. Not really. She needed me. That was all it ever took."

I nodded, even though a part of me still marveled at it — the way she said it so simply, like it wasn’t extraordinary. Like giving yourself away so completely was just breathing. And maybe for her, it was. Maybe it was just in her nature to love like that, fiercely, even when the world had given her every reason to guard herself.

"I think that's what makes it so rare," I said after a moment, my voice lower now, quieter. "Most people spend their whole lives afraid of giving too much."

She tilted her head at me, studying me in that way she did sometimes — curious, but patient. Like she wasn’t afraid of whatever answer she might find.

"And you?" she asked. "Are you afraid?"

The question landed heavier than I expected. I shifted my weight, glancing back at The Kiss like maybe it would save me, but all it did was remind me that once, once in all his paintings, Klimt had dared to show someone surrendering — and it had looked like this. It had looked like choosing to fall.

"I think I am," I said honestly. "But... maybe not as much as I used to be."

Her mouth softened at that — not quite a smile, but something close. She turned slightly, facing the painting again, and for a few seconds we just stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the same quiet, golden air.

"You know," she said after a moment, almost playfully, "you still haven’t told me what your favorite piece is."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, grateful for the shift. For the way she gave me room to catch up when my heart was still tripping over itself.

But before I could, Maddie wormed her way between us, her little hand reaching up to grab mine. She squeezed my hand. A simple, tiny squeeze.

My pulse spiked so fast I actually felt it behind my eyes.

I’ve been shot at, drugged, kidnapped, nearly killed… and somehow this—this—is what sends me spiraling.

She reached for her mom’s hand too, linking us together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

But my heart?

My heart absolutely could not handle it.

I could feel it hammering against my ribs, loud and hot and fast. My whole body went warm—too warm—and suddenly the sweater I was wearing felt like it was trying to suffocate me.

Without thinking, I tugged my cardigan over my head in one quick, awkward movement, ruffling my hair and nearly dropping Maddie’s hand in the process.

I was still trying to recover when Maddie piped up brightly, “I’ll put it in my backpack!”

Before I could object, she yanked the sweater from my hand with surprising strength and stuffed it into the tiny purple bag hanging off her shoulder like it was a prize.

I stared at her, dazed. Then looked up.

And saw Y/N watching me.

Smiling.

Not laughing at me.

Not teasing.

Just—smiling. Soft and a little surprised. Like maybe she was seeing something she liked.

And I stood there, overheating in the middle of an art museum, absolutely done for.

We wandered the Klimt exhibition a little longer after that, Maddie skipping ahead sometimes but never letting go of either of our hands for too long. Every once in a while, Y/N would point out a detail in a painting, her voice low and reverent, and I'd pretend I was listening when really all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.

By the time we made it to the exit, Maddie was starting to flag—her steps slower, her voice quieter.

We passed by the museum gift shop on the way out, and predictably, she lit up all over again.

"Mommy! Spencer! Look!" she cried, tugging us toward a display of postcards.

There, right in the center, was The Kiss.

She pointed at it like it was a treasure chest. "Can I get this one? Please?"

Y/N started to answer, but I was already moving—reaching for the postcard and bringing it to the register before either of them could argue.

As Y/N wandered the shop with Maddie, I caught her picking up a small Klimt keychain—gold and black, understated, but somehow exactly her.

She turned it over in her hands once, then tucked it back onto the rack like she didn’t really need it.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed it too.

At the register, I set both the postcard and the keychain down.

The cashier smiled at us warmly. "That'll be it for you three?"

Y/N opened her mouth, already shaking her head. "Actually, it's separa—"

"Yes," I said, before she could finish. "That's it for us."

There was a flicker of something in her eyes.

Surprise. Maybe a little softness too.

She didn’t argue.

The cashier bagged the items with a knowing smile, and I followed them both out into the sunlight, my heart doing something stupid and unmanageable in my chest.

The drive home was quiet.

Maddie fell asleep halfway there, her head tilted awkwardly against her car seat, clutching the little bag from the museum like it was a lifeline.

I stole a few glances at Y/N while I drove. She was staring out the window, one hand resting lightly on her knee, the sunlight catching in her hair.

I didn’t know how to name what I was feeling.

I just knew I didn’t want it to end.

When we finally pulled up outside their apartment, I parked carefully and turned off the engine.

Neither of us said anything right away.

Y/N unbuckled and climbed out, circling around to Maddie's side to lift her out of the seat with a soft, practiced motion. Maddie stirred only a little, murmuring something I couldn't catch before settling back against her mother’s shoulder.

I got out too, awkwardly patting my pockets like I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

When Y/N reached the door, juggling Maddie’s weight and her bag, I hurried to open it for her.

She smiled at me—small. Tired. Soft around the edges.

"I think she had a really good time," she said quietly, adjusting Maddie against her shoulder.

I swallowed, my throat feeling too tight. "I did too."

For a moment, we just stood there — caught in a long, heavy pause where I didn’t know if I was supposed to stay or leave.

Didn’t know if I was allowed to ask if I could come inside. If I even wanted to, considering how flustered I still felt from the museum.

The entire Klimt exhibit was still buzzing under my skin like static, and I knew if I stayed, if I crossed that threshold, I’d probably say something ridiculous.

I might need weeks — months — to recover from today.

Y/N smiled then, just a little. A soft, knowing thing.

Like she could hear every panicked thought rattling around in my head... but decided not to call me on any of it.

She didn’t say anything else.

And neither did I.

I just gave a small, awkward wave — fingers fluttering up and falling almost immediately — before backing away toward the steps, feeling like I was leaving a part of myself behind.

The drive home was agony.

Every song on the radio sounded like her. Every red light stretched too long. I couldn't stop thinking about her — not for a single second.

Her words clung to me, looping through my mind.

Her face — the way she smiled, the way her eyes softened when she talked about surrender and choosing love — made my heart thud so hard it almost hurt.

I kept picturing her painted into one of Klimt’s works — all gold and light, beautiful and powerful and untouchable — like if I reached out, I might smudge her into something even more breathtaking.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was convinced I wouldn’t sleep for a week. Maybe longer.

And maybe she was thinking about me too.

Because as soon as I stepped inside, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

[19:34] y/n: Hey, you forgot your sweater in Maddie’s backpack.

[19:34] y/n: We’ll be at home all day tomorrow. Feel free to drop by for your sweater.

I stared at the screen, a smile tugging stupidly at my mouth before I even registered it.

[19:35] Spencer: I’ll stop by :)

I locked my phone and stood there for a long moment, sweaterless and half-delirious, grinning like an idiot in the middle of my empty kitchen.

Tomorrow suddenly felt like the only thing worth waiting for.

Previous Chapter │

taglist : @smithieandy @kspencer34 @person-005 @diffidentphantom @23moonjellies @reidssoulmate @imaginationfever13 @measure-in-pain @Reidrs @un-messed @rhinelivinglife @Skye-westwood @xxfairyqueenxx **@alrat13 @saskiaalonso**

[sturniololuvz]

Can u do one where chriss daughter (14) gets involved with drugs and drinking ect and gets caught

“The Wake-Up Call”

Chris never imagined it would be his kid.

He always thought he’d done a good job—he was present, loving, maybe a little overprotective. He packed her school lunches, drove her to practice, left notes in her bag when she was having a hard day. He wasn’t perfect, but he tried. God, he tried.

So when the school called on a Thursday afternoon, his world tilted.

“Mr. Sturniolo,” the principal had said, voice too formal. “There was an incident. We found alcohol and vape cartridges in your daughter’s backpack. We’ve also been informed by another student that she may have experimented with marijuana on school property.”

He hadn’t spoken for a full minute. Couldn’t.

It felt like someone had yanked the air out of his lungs.

By the time he pulled into the school parking lot, his hands were still shaking.

⸻

She sat in the office like a stranger—shoulders hunched, hoodie pulled over her head, face blank. Not scared. Not crying. Just… gone. Checked out.

Chris crouched in front of her, gently pulling her hood down. “Y/N,” he said, quiet. “What’s going on?”

She wouldn’t look at him.

Chris’s heart broke right there.

He signed whatever papers the school gave him, apologized to the staff, and walked her out to the car in complete silence. He didn’t yell. Not yet. He couldn’t. His mind was spinning too fast.

When they got home, the silence was unbearable.

“Talk to me,” he finally said, standing in the doorway of her room. “Please.”

Y/N shrugged, sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyes on the floor. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Chris echoed. His voice was trembling now—not from anger, but fear. “You’re fourteen. You had drugs in your bag. You had alcohol. That is a big deal.”

She rolled her eyes, and that was it. Chris snapped—not in rage, but in desperation.

“What is going on with you?” His voice cracked. “You used to tell me everything. What happened? What did I miss? Did I do something wrong?”

That made her falter. Her face shifted, her lip quivering slightly.

“You don’t get it,” she whispered.

“Then make me get it,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “Let me in. I need to know what’s hurting you so bad that this feels like the answer.”

There was a pause. A long one.

And then—like the crack of a dam—she broke.

Tears started falling. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel like everyone at school expects me to be perfect. And I’m not. I mess up. And then I try to numb it out and—everyone else is doing it too and I thought—I thought maybe I’d feel better.”

Chris sat down beside her immediately, pulling her into his arms.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he whispered into her hair. “You never had to be. I don’t need a perfect daughter. I just need you. Safe. Here. Breathing. Alive.”

She cried harder.

He held her through it all—letting her get it out, letting himself feel everything he’d been bottling up since that call. He wanted to yell. To scream. To ask who gave it to her, who thought they could drag his daughter into that world.

But none of that mattered more than this moment. This soft, broken version of his daughter who was finally letting him back in.

“Things are going to change, okay?” he said quietly once she’d calmed a bit. “Not to punish you. To protect you. We’re getting you help. Therapy. Support. I’m not letting this swallow you.”

She nodded against his chest.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “And nothing—not this, not anything—could ever make me stop.”

There would be hard days ahead. Trust to rebuild. Conversations to have. But Chris wasn’t going anywhere.

He was her dad.

And he was going to fight for her, every step of the way.

⸻

[isabella-2025]

Forbidden attraction: Warnings: Cursing, infidelity and mentions of difficulty getting pregnant.

Solo Sikoa X Grace (OC)

Plot: Grace and Jimmy have been married for 3 years and they have some exciting news to share. Everyone seems happy for the except Solo. Solo has been carrying a secret for years but how will Grace react? Read to find out.

Let me know what you guys think. Should I do a part 2? Let me know. 😊😊

Grace sat in the bathroom of her home she shared with her husband jimmy. She was nervous the pregnancy test sat on the counter she had to wait one more minute until she could see the results. Grace and Jimmy have been trying to conceive since they got married but sadly try after try and nothing. Grace was devastated and Jimmy was there for her every step of the way. This time though something felt different and real like it was actually going to happen. Her timer on her phone beeped and she looked at the test it read POSITIVE. She put her hand over her mouth and cried tears of joy happy that her dream of being a mother would finally come true. She calmed herself down and got herself ready to head back downstairs to the backyard. The bloodline was hosting there annual barbeque and she had slipped away about five minutes ago. she walked downstairs and into the backyard Jimmy saw her and said

" Baby, where did you run off too."

" Oh i just had to use the bathroom babe its okay." Grace said.

" Oh okay well that's good the girls wanna talk to you." Jimmy says

" Okay I will talk to you later babe." Grace says

Grace walks over and mingles with the other wives and they laugh and tell stories. The grace goes to get her a drink lemonade specifically and she saw Solo and said.

" Hey Solo how are you doing I haven't seen you the whole time."

" Oh yeah I'm okay just not feeling very talkative today I guess." He says looking around nervously.

" Oh okay i have days like that to but are you okay you act nervous." Grace says

" Uh what yeah I'm okay just feeling a little off I guess." he says

" Okay well you know if you need anything you can talk to me okay. "grace says as she gently places her hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

" uh yeah I know." He says clearing his throat.

" Yeah sorry if I made you uncomfortable just come find me if you need to talk okay. Grace says

" Yeah, I will do that." He says smiling at grace as she walks away.

Solo let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. You see he has had a crush on Grace since before jimmy started dating her. Hell Solo liked her first and Jimmy knew it but Jimmy got to her first and he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable so he said nothing. The feelings started off casual but then he noticed the little things like how her smile would light up when she was doing something she loved like singing or cooking and the way she loved people unconditionally even when they didn't deserve it always captivated him. He recently found something out that could hurt Grace deeply and he was waiting for the right time to tell her. He thought maybe I will tell her after the barbeque. He walks over to the table and finds his seat and his eyes automatically find Grace its funny every room he's in his eyes automatically go to Grace every time.

Grace sat beside Jimmy at the end of the table laughing and smiling. The food was ready and everyone bowed their heads as Jacob said the prayer. The whole family ate and laughed and after the plates were cleared Grace clinked her glass with her fork and says

" Everyone I have an announcement to make."

Everyone looks at her with curious eyes.

She grabs Jimmy's hand looks at everyone and says

" Well the bloodline is going to have a new member in about nine months. "

Everyone smiles but it takes Jimmy a minute to actually process what she said. When he finally comes to his senses and realizes what she's just said he picks her up and spins her around. She squills he gently places her on the ground and kisses her gently. When he puts her down the whole family gathers around hugs her and congratulates her. Her best friend Trinity comes up to her last hugs her and whispers.

" I am so happy for you, congratulations."

" Thank you I cant wait." grace says

What Grace doesn't see is Trinity and Jimmy smirking at each other. Solo notices this though that is why he stayed back and did not approach Grace. Jey notices this and walks up to Solo and says

" Uce you aint gonna go congratulate her."

" I will later." Solo says

" Okay, but tell me what's wrong because you aint right." Jey says

"nothing is wrong…… okay something is wrong but if you wanna know exactly what be in graces living room in about an hour." solo says

" Okay, I'll be there" Jey says confusedly.

The whole family has left and gone for the day and now it is just Grace and Jimmy in the living room alone. jimmy looks at Grace and says

" Wow we are actually gonna be parents after all this time trying."

" I know, I cant believe it but I am so happy that this is finally happening." Grace says

" Me too baby me to." Jimmy says as he pulls her in for a gentle hug.

They just sit there holding each other in silence enjoying the moment. Jimmy looks at his phone and says

" Hey babe I got to go handle something right quick I will be right back okay."

" Um yeah okay baby do what you got to do." Grace says

grace lets Jimmy go and walk out the door. Grace started tidying up the living room when there was a knock at the door she says

" come in."

The door opens and Jey and Solo walk in and sit down on the couch. Grace looks at them confused and says

" Um hey guys what are you doing here."

Solo and Jey look at each other Solo fiddles with his fingers nervously and says

" We need to talk to you about Jimmy."

" Oh okay is it about the baby and how Jimmy is taking it or what? " Grace asks

Solo and Jey look at each other Jey clenches his fists angrily and Solo looks at Grace solemnly and says.

" you need to sit down."

" okay" Grace says as she sits down.

" I found something out about Jimmy." Solo says

" Okay what is it." Grace says

" Jimmy is well he…." Solo says

" hes what." Grace says

" He has been seeing Trinity behind your back." Solo says

" What no he wouldn't do that to me not now I'm pregnant with his baby." Grace says

" He is Solo has pictures, show her Solo." Jey says

Solo pulls out his phone and there is a video of Trinity and jimmy having sex in the back of YOUR car. Grace immediately drops to the floor and sobs. Jey wraps his arms around her gently and whispers.

" Its gonna be okay we're with you okay."

Grace just sobs and sobs.

Jey holds her tighter and whispers kind words in her ear and Solo just clenches his fists angry at Jimmy for causing you so much pain.

Grace has finally calmed down and she looks at Jey and Solo and says.

" What am I supposed to do now, I cant raise this baby by myself."

" You wont be raising it by myself." Jey says

" Yes I would I am not letting that bastard back in this house or in my life after what he did." Grace says

" I know you're not and we understand that but we will be here for you every step of the way, okay." Solo says gently

Grace just nods and before anyone can say anything the door swings open and Jimmy walks in. He sees the situation and says

" What's wrong."

Grace looks at him and says

" What's wrong, What's wrong is you……………."

to be continued.

@trippinsorrows @acute-crashout-jeyuso @empressdede @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @femdisa @mytribalnightmare @eringobragh420 @southerngirl41 @officialeve24 @usoinked @bossbitch-22 @madhatterbri @purplementalitybluebird @bloodlinemadness @holycollectivekitty @jstarr86 @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @duhitzkay380 @bloodlinesbabe93 @theusotwinzcom @thebigredmonster

[aliwritex]

stepdad!franco thoughts: he crosses a line.

notes: this is more to myself than anything because no one asked for this but i’m having a baby fever so i needed this. baby’s name is Alex, he’s two.

You knew it was coming, Alex had been a little off all day, more sensitive than normal. You weren’t sure what it was but it had been building up for a couple days. That past week's post daycare routine hadn’t been easy. He was on the edge at all times, his pacifier almost always in his mouth as his blankie not leaving his fist.

It was friday night, so Franco had come over to your place for the weekend, like he usually did. So you were having dinner together, Alex sat on his high chair in the head of the table, you and Franco on each side.

You were trying to get Alex to eat something but he wasn’t having any of it, his eyes were wet already, and anytime you tried to feed him the spoon his lips quivered. Then Franco sighed, tired of the boy’s whines. You looked at him confused, wondering why he thought he could act like that about your child.

“Come on, Alex. It’s just dinner, not a big deal” Franco spoke and a frown formed on Alex's face immediately. “Jesus. Every little thing turns into a meltdown with him lately.”

You stopped in your tracks, dropping the plastic spoon on the plate as tears started rolling down his face. “What did you just say?”

Franco looked up. “I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t talk about him like that, have you lost your mind?” you start, already pulling your crying child from his chair.

“There you go, you’re coddling him again so he just cries all the time. Maybe if you didn’t treat every single thing like it was a crisis-”

“Get out.” you cut him, getting up from the table.

That stopped him cold “What?”

“I said get out.” you told him again, pointing to the front door. “You don’t get to come into my house and talk about my child and my parenting choices!”

“Wait, come on, you know-“ he tried but you were already walking him towards the kitchen door.

“Franco, get the fuck out of my house!” you told him again, not even caring that you swore in front of the child that sat on your hip.

“Fine, I’ll go!” he told you, turning his back to you.

You stayed in the kitchen, holding Alex and only hearing Franco pick up his jacked and his keys before slamming the door on the way out. You also had tears in your eyes by the time he left. You sat Alex on the table, sitting in front of him and pulling his hands away from his face.

“Baby, it’s okay now, yeah?” his face was red and wet, it hurt you more than anything. “You’re okay, love. You’re just tired right? Having big feelings right now?”

Alex nodded, hugging your neck and wetting your hair with his tears. You held him close for the rest of the night, even while preparing his bottle. You let him skip his night bath, took him to your bed and fed him right there, letting him sleep in your embrace. And he was still hiccuping but the time he finally drifted off.

Franco texts you late that night but you’re not sure what. You ignored him.

But the next morning he comes to your door, full of bags, fresh breakfast from the bakery down the street and a wrapped gift.

“I fucked up” it’s the first thing he says “I know I should’ve never said anything about your son, I completely crossed a line, that’s not my place. I’m sorry I can be stubborn sometimes. I know it doesn’t fix it, but I’ve brought breakfast, chocolate croissant for him, and the gift I was saving for his birthday. I wanna apologize, please”

You took a deep breath, reading the honesty in his face. “He’s in my room, you can wake him up while I set the table.” you said and he sighed deeply, walking in through the door. You stopped him before he could make his way to the stairs, “He better really like that present. Be gentle with him and give him his paci back as soon as he wakes up” you said and passed it to his hand.

Franco made his way up slowly, his movements careful as he opened the door to your room, the lights were off, the only light coming in was from the window. He slowly made his way to the bed, lifting the covers to find Alex sleeping soundly. He pressed the pacifier to his lips, waiting for him to take it before sitting on the bed.

“Hey, nene. Good morning!” he whispered when Alex stirred. “I have something for you” Alex climbed on his lap, barely remembering what had happened the night before. “Pipe, I was mean last night, I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, okay? I’m really sorry”

“Bad Franco” he mumbled around his pacifier, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, I was bad. But now I’m apologizing, and I brought you something.” he told the child, holding him close on his lap as he reached for the box. “You wanna open it?”

Alex just nodded, still slow from the morning. He reached to rip out the wrapping and when he saw the print on the box his jaw dropped, the pacifier falling from his mouth. He turned back to Franco immediately, hugging his neck as thighs as possible.

“Do you like it?” Franco asked with a smile on his face. He felt the toddler nod on his shoulder before turning track to the box.

After Franco had opened the toy tool box and showed him how to use every single one of them he managed to lure Alex down stairs with the chocolate croissants. The table was set and he sat Alex on his chair before walking to you.

“Thanks for letting me do this. I’m really sorry for last night, I love you both so much, I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You really upset me last night, I’m hoping that won’t happen again, I’m not sure I could put up with that. You’re not his dad, you do not need to step into something like that. I just need you to be gentle and nice to him.” you whisper, too close to him.

“I promise. I love you and I love him. Please let me make it up”

“I love you too.” you whispered, kissing him softly.

[tanobatcher]

heyyyy!! looking for a hurt/comfort + angst + soft!Hunter fic where the f!reader starts to notice how overstimulated he gets sometimes. how he winces at loud noises, flinches under bright lights, or rubs his temples when he gets overstimulated. she gently asks about it one day, but he brushes it off like it’s nothing. but later she finds him alone in his quarters, trying to quietly ride out a brutal headache caused by sensory overload. this time, she doesn’t ask any questions. she just helps him. maybe she dims the lights, speaks softly, massages his scalp, sits beside him in silence. something intimate but comforting like that. would love if he eventually lets his guard down, maybe whispers something like “you don’t have to do this,” and she responds, “you don’t have to deal with it alone.” just all the soft, quiet vulnerability stuff. thank you <3

waves

hunter x fem reader

summary: basically what the request says lolz sorry writing summaries is actually my worst nightmare so i will take advantage of the detailed-ness (??) above <33

warnings: none

a/n: i decided to make this more pabu civilian brainrot because post tbb finale life is all i think about tbh. also sorry for the delay on this, im wrapping up finals season 🥲

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

You haven’t seen Hunter in a while. A little over one day, to be exact, but that feels like a long time when his presence is usually so noticeable across this tightly acquainted island. It’s unfair to say that he and his brothers stick out like sore thumbs in any crowd, and yet, it’s also true. There must be a different reason why your eyes always search for his specifically, though, lighting up when you’re successful. For this same reason, a pestering observation has caught your attention during moments he believes go largely unnoticed or ignored.

He’s oddly sensitive, not just to the weather but also to sounds that often fall into background noise for you and anyone else. He doesn’t like being in the sun for too long, only holding out for Omega when she spends her afternoons at the beach. “Did you sleep well?” You frequently ask him whenever he’s near enough for a conversation. And to this, he often shrugs before answering, “Better than what we’re used to.”

“It’s quiet here,” you would say back, thinking that makes this place the easiest in the galaxy, “Is it quiet for you, too?”

But again, it’s only quieter than what he’s used to. He doesn’t bother explaining that it’s almost too quiet, for he can hear skittering footsteps and the brush of wind against walls much better than the average person. He doesn’t bother telling you that he’s far from normal in that way, simply dealing with the noise as he always does. His discomfort extends beyond little irritations that he’s lived with his entire life, though. Sometimes, you find yourself craning your neck to look for him when he disappears like he needs a break from…everything. The last time you followed to ask if he was okay was the last time you tried to talk to him.

And now, according to “intel” you extracted from word of mouth, he’s holed up in his room on an exceptionally bright and hot summer day. There’s no response when you knock on his door, but you know he’s inside. The silence is worrisome, just like his sporadic absences, so you gently twist the knob while saying, “Hunter? It’s me.”

The room isn’t dark enough for you to miss the shape of his figure lying on the floor with his arm draped over his face. You’re unsure if he’s aware that you’re even here, standing under the dim light as all your questions about why he’s not outside like everyone else drain away. These curiosities are only replaced with more concern. He’s so still and calm, but he looks like he’s in pain. You frown, not knowing what to say, so you don’t say anything at all. Kneeling before him, you reach forward to touch his cheek, stopping when he catches your wrist in his other hand.

His eyes are still closed, and his voice is hoarse when he tells you, “Leave. Please.”

You ignore the way your stomach hollows out at this, wiggling yourself free from his grip to touch the back of your hand to his forehead. His temperature isn’t particularly alarming. Touching him might have been a mistake, though, because you can’t bring yourself to pull away anymore. You’re hesitant as you sit on the floor with him, gently pulling his head into your lap before swiping some of his messy hair out of his face. His eyebrows twitch in reaction, but he doesn’t fight you off like you expected. He lets you run your fingers through his hair, silent other than the sigh he exhales when you begin rubbing circles along his temples.

Some sunshine casting across the floor draws your attention away from his face to his window. The curtains are slightly strewn apart, letting this sliver of light paint a long line through the hardwood. You’re about to get up to close it more tightly when he notices your hands have slowed down and whispers, “Don’t stop.”

You relax your posture again, shifting him even closer as you whisper back, “I just want to close the window.”

He opens his eyes and looks up at you. “It’s fine.”

His stare makes you squirm, so you turn away from him a bit and sweep your gaze across his room. It’s emptier than you thought, with most of his belongings packed away in boxes and left to your imagination. Perhaps he still isn’t fully settled in yet. Your thoughts are startled when his fingers brush against your jaw, lingering until you glance at him in surprise. He meets your eyes with a certain heaviness behind his own before closing them, sinking into your touch despite his instinct to push you away before. It doesn’t seem like he’s fully processed this moment, maybe treating it like a dream as he simply breathes at the pace of your touch. Slow and patient, waiting for nothing in particular except for more.

“What happened?” You ask quietly, “Why are you down here?”

“Just dizzy.”

“You didn’t fall over, did you?” You slip your hands into his hair again, feeling for any signs of collision.

“No,” he nearly smiles, “But that feels good.”

Your cheeks warm, and the room is silent once again from your lack of response. You’re unsure how to carry this conversation forward until you look at him again and decide you don’t need to. He appears to be more at peace than just a few moments ago, as the lines across his face loosen like the rest of him. You feel that you can watch him this closely forever. Minutes pass into the double digits from the time you lose track of until you notice that his breathing is now a little quieter and shallower. Maybe he’s close to falling asleep, so you try to figure that out for yourself without disturbing him. Leaning downward, your heart seizes in your chest when your mouth positions itself to be hovering over his. He looks even prettier up close, where you can see the dark coloring of his tattoo absorbed into his tan skin. There are some creased indentations here and there, too, and you imagine him laughing loudly with his family—people he might have less trouble opening up to, at least. You’d like to be one of those people, one day.

Your next decision surprises even you as you press your lips to his forehead so lightly that you don’t think he feels it. Not until you pull back a bit and find his eyes open, heavy-lidded but still staring at you. Your faces are still close as you murmur, “Let’s get you back in bed.”

He doesn’t protest as you sit him up slowly. You pause before guiding him toward his bed, realizing that he’s far from weightless. Still, you manage, and he rolls onto his side with a slight groan. You assume he’s not watching you cross the room to close his curtains, but his eyes follow your movements despite pulling against his fatigue. They’re sealed shut when you return to his bedside, sitting at the edge of the mattress while wondering if you’re taking up too much space already. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you trail a gentle caress down the side of his face and look at him closely.

“Does this happen often?” You murmur.

He adjusts his position so that he’s lying on his back now, which forces your hand to fall toward his chest. Blowing out a breath, he answers, “More or less.”

A frown tugs at your lips at this. “How do you deal with it?”

“I just wait it out. It comes and goes.”

“I see.”

Pressing his head back into his pillow, he sighs and says, “I’m fine now. You don’t have to stick around.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you reply.

He opens his mouth to respond, wincing sharply instead of saying whatever he had in mind. Startled, you shift forward and cup his face with both hands, swiping your thumbs back and forth to soothe him out of whatever is bothering him at the moment. He’s breathing a little heavier now, staring at you as he calms the rise and fall of his chest. You don’t say anything as you lean over him and begin rubbing his temples again, occasionally stroking his hair since he seems to like that. The silence must feel better for him, too, since he finds the energy to rasp, “You don’t have to do this.”

You steal a touch to the tip of his nose while reassuring him, “You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

He closes his eyes and releases a halfhearted chuckle. “It’s nice outside.”

“It’s nice in here, too. I…like what you’ve done with the place.”

“You can skip the flattery,” he mutters under his breath.

“No,” you stifle your laugh, “No, I mean it. Truly.”

“Uh-huh.”

You let him have the last word, smiling to yourself as the lines on his face relax more and more from the passing time. Any twitches of discomfort don’t slip under your radar, to which you respond with a soft whisper that reminds him you’re here. At one point, you find yourself curled up beside him while brushing your hand across his cheek and skimming the wilder parts of his hair. There’s enough space between your bodies for you to know he’s probably not planning on touching you in return—maybe he isn’t even thinking about it. Or so you believe when you pause, believing he’s sound asleep and safe from his pain. Just when you’re about to retreat, he reaches quickly and laces your fingers together before placing your joined hands in front of his lips. You feel the ghost of a kiss against your knuckles, but it spreads flaming goosebumps through your skin as if it’s something more.

You think you’re quiet enough when your breath hitches, but he hears and opens his eyes. He sees you so clearly despite the hazy darkness. Your vision hasn’t fully adjusted to capture the dark pupils staring right at you, seemingly telling you something you’re not sure you understand beyond this moment. Nonetheless, you feel his observation—his desire to keep you close. And he feels you, skin to skin, with only your palms and pulses. He feels your heartbeat quicken and leap, somehow controlling what he doesn’t know he has full access to. He feels your body like it's his own, vaguely hearing the ocean below pulling and crashing in the distance. In waves that collide before subsiding, like the way he imagines you. So near, and yet so far from the distance he tries to create himself. You would cross any island to prove him wrong, though. And you’d stay right there with him.

[theartofwoompwoomps]

I never knew we could coexist together 

Shadow x reader

Summary : shadow is surprised to learns that humans understand grief. And he learns it from the human that’s the most tolerable and happiest in his life. 

———————————————————————

“Do you really think you could ever understand.” 

His voice ragged and tight from the anger. There’s no way anyone could understand what he lost. Especially not you…

You have everything. A happy family, friends, a place in this world. 

 he had nothing…

Sure others may have accepted him, yet it has never been the same and it hasn’t ever taken the pain.

Someone as happy as you wouldn’t and shouldn’t ever understand his pain. 

His grip getting tighter in his hand, he can feel himself shaking a bit as he lowers his eyes to the ground.

He feels bad for snapping at you. He wasn’t expecting to have all his pent up anger explode on you. Finally the shame starts crawling it’s way and he was getting ready to leave. He didn’t want to see your face.

Not right now, when he feels so angry with you even though you’re the only one thats stuck around. 

All his emotions are spinning all over his head just waiting for another opportunity to explode, and he does not want you to be at the end of it.

Without saying anything else, he keeps his head down as he turns to leave. 

But just as he’s a few steps away his are is pulled back quite forcefully towards you again.

“What do you think you’re doing—“

You hugged him.

Holding tight making sure you won’t let go of him. He tenses a bit not fully processing what you’re doing. 

Why are still trying? Why do you still care even if he hurt you? He doesn’t deserve you.

Before he realizes it, he’s holding you close as well. 

Nothing is said between either of you, he’s simply shaking a bit in your arms as you rub his back a bit.

Memories come back to him. Those of maria, his actions, and of you.

Small tears roll down his cheeks but he could care less at the moment. “It hurts.” His voice broken and tired from all the pain that never goes away.

You hugged him a bit tighter as you whisper a bit into his ears, “I know shads, i know.” Not daring to let go or abandon him in this moment, you wait it out. Feeling your own tears slowly dropping as well as his cries intensify.

He feels like he just got ran over, but at least you’re still there, holding him. Both of you more calmed down from the whole ordeal. 

He finally decides to let go from your embrace and you let him. 

He sits on the ground and you follow along and sit next to him. Just waiting to see who’ll be the first to speak.

Surprisingly after a few minutes shadow softly starts speaking, “i don’t want to talk about it.” His brows furrow a bit, “i appreciate your kindness, but I don’t like speaking about my pain.” 

He feels you caress his hand. “That’s okay,” holding it firmly when turns it offering you to continue your action of affection, “i understand that pain can be hard to share.”

He turns to see you, eyes glazing over you face wondering what ever could have caused you pain to make that expression.

“You might be surprised but humans suffer from many things. Some of us are just a little better at pretending nothing’s wrong.” 

“Doesn’t it hurt to do that?”

You look over, seeing his worry through his eyes. “Of course it does. Suffering is always painful.” Your eyes and hands never leaving one another. Sharing more emotions this way than any words could describe.

You lean a bit onto him, “but you know,” he reciprocates as you continue, “i think that’s a reason why there’s so many of us in the first place. Maybe so we could  help each other through the pain… it’s too bad many seem forget the value of this”

He shifts a bit as he feels you move again. This time you’re kneeling a bit in front of him. 

“That’s why I’m so glad that I at least have you in my life.”

His heart twinges a bit, feeling guilty for trying to ever push you away. And you notice it before he even says anything.

“Please don’t shut me out,” you’re hugging him again.

And he hugs you back, holding you softly as he feels your breath on his shoulder. Your actions and words melting all the doubt and numbing the pain. He’s comforted knowing that you’re not going nowhere, staying right there with him.

“Im glad that it’s you, and not anyone else at my side.”

———————————————————————

masterlist

[rainverry]

pretty boy. (preview)

PAIRING  ☆  nakamoto yuta x cisfem!reader

GENRES  ☆  fluff, angst, smut, a bit of crack?, enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au

WARNINGS  ☆  18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. profanity, substances (alcohol consumption, one mention of weed), light smut (oral [f receiving]), use of nicknames (baby, babe, princess), reader wears glasses and has a pet cat, yuta has red hair in this, more tba!

SUMMARY  ☆  college life is full of uncertainties, but there is one thing you know for sure: nakamoto yuta hates your guts, and the feeling is mutual. so when he goes to you and asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend, you start to realise that maybe you were wrong about him too.

ESTIMATED WORD COUNT  ☆  25k

AUTHOR'S NOTE  ☆  i started writing this in january, took a little break and now it's almost complete !! anyway do let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3

“I NEED YOU TO FAKE DATE ME.”

You stop in your tracks. 

“What?” you stutter out. “You’re kidding, right?”

You know he’s not kidding, not when he’s staring at you so intently – not when you had heard his voice as clear as day, and with no trace of irony in his words.

“Y/-”

You burst out laughing. You laugh and laugh until your sides hurt, all the while Yuta is still kneeling in front of you, and you’re clutching your stomach at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“You want me to fake date you? Seriously? That’s what you need my help for?” you manage to finally say after your laughter dies down, wiping tears of mirth off your cheeks. “Oh, Nakamoto. That’s funny. Like that’s ever going to happen. I mean, what would I even get out of it?”

You can see Yuta’s cheeks are lightly shaded pink after seeing your reaction to his statement, but he replies without a hitch, “You can show off your hot-ass boyfriend to everyone else.”

“Yuta!” you smack him with your novel, and he grunts at the impact. “I’m serious. How would that benefit you? More importantly, how the hell would that benefit me?”

“I don’t know!” Yuta grumbled, softly rubbing the spot on his arm where you had smacked him. He finally gets up from his kneeling position and starts pacing around. “Listen, so many girls have been–”

“Oh my God, I know, there’s no shortage of girls that want you–”

“Let me finish!” Yuta snaps, his hands balled in fists when he glares at you. His face and voice softens after a beat, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “Girls have been messaging me left and right asking me to go out with them. And–” he runs a hand over his face. “–I’m tired of it, okay? I’m not interested. And they’re not getting the message. I thought that maybe, if I get someone to act as my girlfriend, they will back off for a bit.”

You scoff. “Then get an actual girlfriend, you dick! Why get a fake one?”

“Because like I said, I’m not interested,” Yuta repeats slowly. “I’m not looking for an actual relationship right now. And, like… I came to you because I know for a fact that you won’t want an actual relationship from me. I don’t know…” he sighs again, staying silent for a moment. “Just… think about it, okay?”

You stare at him silently, still in disbelief at the words he had just said. You’re almost convinced that you had fallen asleep while reading your book a while ago and this is just some strange hyperrealistic dream. Yuta honestly, genuinely believed that there was a chance that you would help him and go along with his crazy request. You don’t know how you feel about that. 

What you do know, though, is that you don’t want to be tangled up in Nakamoto Yuta’s business in any way.

After a long pause, you shake your head.

“I’ll give you my answer now, Yuta. Thanks, but no thanks.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and stand up from your seat, romance novel in hand. You can’t resist the temptation of looking over your shoulder and commenting one last time.

“Rejection doesn’t feel so good now, does it?”

You relish at the sight of his red cheeks before leaving the library.

© rainverry 2025

[thatonecrookedsmile]

I would say that, considering his history, he's not that wrong, but even I have doubts as to whether that would be right. But at the end of the day, this is just a joke that's been in my head for a while, sooooo…eh.

Oh hey, an attempt at a comic? Made by me? That I didn't give up during the process or lost all motivation? What was my only attempt at this, 2019? Damn, it's been a long time.

I thought about leaving this here without editing or any colors, just the natural ones from the paper and pencil. But something in my head said "HAHAHA, no" so I went back to work. I had to put this idea down on paper this time (literally). If another year passes without me being able to execute this idea, I would lose my mind.

This scenario was inspired by this video by Jehtt, inspired by the original meme by Windii. Credits to both of them.

For a long time I wanted to joke - especially on the anniversary - that I wanted Sammy to only have less than 5 seconds in the next game (or in other words, take his screen time in DR, and shorten it even more). You know, just for the funnies (unless..?) But,thanks to the news released at the beginning of January this year about The Cage, I legally can't do this joke anymore…this year. Don't worry, after that comes out (and finally gives Sam the screen time he wants,hopefully) and we start to crawl into the Bendy 3 production era, I'll make this joke when I can.

Anyway, happy birthday Sammy Lawrence. You may not be my favorite character in this franchise, but there are some things I can actually appreciate about you. Plus, you made me laugh a few moments before (you know what I'm talking about) so there's that.

And happy 7 years to Chapter 2, and by extension, Susie, Norman, Alice, the Searchers, (Johnny????), and Beta Ink Bendy. (I would mention Jack too, but he was only introduced with the release of CH4, so technically it's not his birthday yet, but I'll consider him here).

And now? May I be able to do something for CH4's anniversary. Wish me luck,cus I'll need it.

(it might be really late now, but it's still the 18th where I live, so it's still his birthday, so I still won)

[lamefish]

when fratboy!satoru takes your virginity you kind of expect him to be an ass about it. he's cocky as it is, and has a habit of gassing himself up too much when it comes to his... skills in the bedroom. if you're not listening to him talk about how he's the strongest, you're listening to him talk about how he's the biggest.

being the only virgin of your friend group was starting to grate on you and... a small part of you might've wanted to find out if there's any bite to satoru's bark. it's not like the two of you were dating or anything, but you felt comfortable enough to walk up to him one day during lunch and ask, in front of his best friend:

"will you take my virginity?"

maybe you expected him to blush. or freeze up. or at least trip over his words. but instead, the stupid white-haired prick looked up at you with the most relaxed expression possible and shrugged.

"okay."

and that's how you ended up here, sitting criss-cross applesauce on his messy dorm-room bed with his tongue halfway down your throat. a few empty cans of beer and abandoned cheat sheets lay strewn over his floor, and you hate yourself for letting this be the backdrop of your entry into the sex-having life.

but you can’t hate yourself for long because as he runs a hand up your thigh and under your skirt, you start to feel more excited than you thought you’d feel. he pushes you back, slots his knee between your thighs and bites at your bottom lip before trailing down to your throat.

still, it’s satoru, so when he pushes your panties to the side and feels just how wet you are for him, he laughs. “you get this wet when you touch yourself or is all of this just for me?”

“shut up,” you groan as he nips at the skin of your throat and gently runs his finger through your folds and up to your clit. you’re surprised he knows where your clit is, even.

and he’s not wrong—you’ve never been wet like this before. you can feel just how damp the fabric of your panties are you as satoru pulls them down your thighs and hikes your skirt up to get a clearer look at your soaked cunt.

“pretty,” he licks his lips. “wannna taste her, that okay baby?”

his eyes search yours for consent and you’re stunned for a moment as he waits for ‘enthusiastic consent’. you didn’t expect this sort of check-in from a frat boy. your nod seems enthusiastic enough to him, but just for clarity—“use your words.”

“yes. please, gojo.”

“satoru,” he corrects you. “want to hear that name when you cum on my tongue. cant believe no ones tasted her before.”

the use of referring to your pussy as ‘her’ is odd but quickly overlooked when he delves into your pussy like he’s dehydrated. tongue flat against your heat just to flex and circle around your clit. he sucks and bites a little and pulls you to your first orgasm in nasty speeds.

you cum on his tongue whilst his eyes bore into yours from between your thighs. white hair pulled out of his face by your hand as you tug the strands in hopes that he’ll stop licking at your overstimulated clit. it takes until you’re shaking for him to finally pull back and free his angry cock from his pants.

you think you gasp when you see it. he said he was big but you didn’t think he was a truthful man in the slightest. his cock is so heavy it doesn’t even stand at full mast—it fights gravity. satoru sees the look on your face and instead of sporting a shit-eating grin like you expect, he climbs over you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“let’s stop here?” he asks. “we could watch a movie. oooh what about die hard?”

you giggle, your nerves melting a little at his words. “i’m okay, i want this. i am not graduating as a virgin.”

satoru snorts and, after rolling a condom on, gently pries your legs apart enough for him to slot his wait in between them. he guides your ankles to link behind his back and slowly runs the tip of his cock through your slick folds. “tell me if you need me to stop,” he says. “just relax. i’ve got you, baby.”

you actually manage to relax a little, focus on the feeling of being stretched as satoru slowly pushes into you until his tip is completely hidden in your cunt. it’s uncomfortable, but not unbearable. “keep going.”

one of his long fingers dips down to rub soft circles over your clit to relax you a little more as he pushes deeper. you’ve never felt so full, so sore yet desperate for more… you wonder if it’s always going to feel like this, or if it’s just because satoru is the one breaking you open to find pleasure in your insides.

he lets out a pretty moan as he bottoms out inside of you, the weight of his heavy balls resting against your ass as he stills and catches your lips in a wet kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes against your tongue as he slowly draws out of you and then, with a grunt that you taste, snaps his hips forwards into you.

that hurts, but there’s an odd stitch of pleasure in the way he’s broken you open. “sorry,” he speaks against your lips. “it’s better that i just got it out of the way, it can start feeling real good soon. gonna make you cum on my cock, baby. you want that?”

you nod, eyes staring into his as your foreheads meet. satoru nods back, licking his lips and smiling. “yeah? you wanna be stuffed full, huh? always knew you were filthy. but i’m the only one that gets to see it.”

his arrogance pulls at your lips. “until i fuck the next guy.”

snap. his cock splits you open at that, and though you wince and screw your face us, you’re letting out moans made for porn too. his finger on your clit starts working a little faster as he draws back again just to drive into you even harder.

“no,” he dips his head down to bite at your neck. “not until you fuck the next guy. i mean you can try, baby, but it’s not happening.”

“ngh, what do you mean?”

another thrust into you sends you further up the bed. you’re sure you look a mess but satoru looks down at you with such wide blown eyes that you could be convinced you’re from the heavens. “not giving you up that easy,” he groans. “you know, i fucked someone last week just because they had your name. got to moan it without being slapped. again.”

your hand flies up to his chest, almost in an attempt to slow his now mean pace. “wait you—ngh god—you like me?”

“i’m far fucking past like,” he moans, hips starting to stutter. any discomfort has faded into glorious pleasure. your stomach starts to tighten again and you know you’re close enough that he’s going to try and time your orgasms. “you’re so perfect. so much better than i imagined.”

your eyes roll back a little at the thought of satoru fucking his fist late at night to the thought of you. how nonchalant he was when you asked him to take your virginity, you wonder if he went home last night and stroked himself to the sheer anticipation of being inside of you.

“satoru i’m gonna—”

he cuts you off with a deep kiss. it’s sex and want and lust, but it’s also soft in a way you can’t describe—maybe even a little anxious after his confession. it might just be his pending orgasm, but you swear his lips tremble between yours.

his cock throbs as he drills it into you, hits your most sensitive spot with every single thrust. it’s like he already has you mapped out, because you’re both cumming in tandem with each other before long.

a part of you aches to feel his cum spill into you instead of the condom he wears, to be claimed and filled by his seed over and over. would he fuck it back into you? clean you off with his talented tongue? would he plug you with his cock until he’s ready to overfill you with a second load?

he moans into your mouth and pulls back a little to revel in your fucked out expression. your legs still wrap around his waist, boxing him in and keeping him close. you worry that in typical frat boy fashion he’ll make an excuse and run off to recount the fuck with his friends. but satoru pecks at your lips, then your chin, then down your neck again.

“what are you doing?” you ask, vision slightly blurred from the intensity of your orgasm.

“gonna make you cum again,” he smiles against your skin. “didn’t you hear?”

“hear what?”

he pulls back to look at you, a soft smile pulling at his pretty lips. “that if you cum at least five times when you lose your virginity, you’ll fall in loooove.”

[screampied]

ʚ FINISH INSIDE HER ?! ɞ

ᡴꪫ sum. what the hell is a full nelson? no worries, luckily underground boxer toji shows you a hands-on demonstration. although, you want choso to try it with you too. not only are you a slut visual learner, but you also think you can take them both - not in a fight though.

wc. 5.8k

warnings. fem! reader, boxer! au, boxers toji & choso, 3sum, choso walks in on you and toji, unprotected, full nelson, manhandling, brief ōral (f + m), quickie, size diff, finger sucking, praise, dirty talk, choking, they fight over you, whiny choso, squırting, impact play, slight nıpple play, premature ejac, spıt.

an. kind of based on this ask!

“upsie daisey, uh huh. biiiiig fuckin’ stretch,” your mouth drops open once your thighs gets sprawled apart. your back slumps back against the fighter — toji, you’ve been training with him for a while. not only were you training with him but you’ve also been a bit of a fan. you mentioned to him on how you wanted to strengthen your ‘flexibility’ a bit more and of course, he had just the right thing to help you. out of curiosity, you asked him about a certain position you watched him perform on his rival, choso kamo. full nelson, it was considered illegal in some rings if not all. toji would always perform a specific choking move where he’d pin choso down with ease, burly buff arms putting him in a head lock - preventing him from moving a single inch. the entire crowd always goes wild at it every single time—so you wanted to try it out for yourself. “easy, easy. don’t tap out on me jus’ yet, okay? y’er a big girl.”

bobbling your head to give him a nod, an airy breeze shoves you back into his chest. the stretchy fabric of his boxing shorts tickle against your skin upon impact. “o- okay,” you breathe, gasping once he hooks two big arms underneath the undersides of your thighs. he’s got such a good taut grip that seconds later, you felt yourself throb a bit at the feverish, hot friction. “you’re not really gonna, heh, choke me out right?”

“not unless y’er into that, princess,” he jibes, a throaty husk of a chuckle leaving out of him. and as you’re spread all out, limbs extended—yeah,

you were probably fucked.

after what seems like hours of meaningless stretches and exercises to prepare your limbs, toji’s finally got you in the position — you were sprawled right in his lap, being in a safe firm chokehold.

his voice was roughly gruff, and as he spreads your legs just a bit further, you feel the cottony bandage that wraps around his arm ghost up against your thigh. his touch was gentle and you intake a sharp breath, further continuing to lean into his touch - his grasp. “mhm, seems like y’er a bit more flexible than i thought. this comfy?”

“no,” you let off a sheepish snort, starting to feel a brief pang on your thighs from the position. to be fair — not only was full nelson uncomfortable but it was dangerous. just one wrong move and snap. but toji was a professional, he’d make sure you’d keep all your pretty little limbs in tact. probably. clearing your throat, your eyes scan around a plethora of trophies and plaques he’s won throughout his career. “but um, have you ever tried this position with no clothes on?”

toji grows quiet, allowing you to lie back on his chest. black curly strands of chest hair fondle against your skin before he murmurs gruffly into your ear. “maybe.”

the growing bulge that hid underneath his boxers had you almost feral. you felt its presence—how it was just there, poking right against your shorts.

you prepare for yet another sharp drawn out breath, taking in his loud axe cologne that wafts through the entire studio. “can we try nude?”

and that was probably dumb to ask.

it was very dumb to ask.

your lewd filthy thoughts loved to make themselves known out of your lips at the worst times. your heart raced the moment you blurted that out, feeling the tips of your ears burn a scorching temperature. he’d say no, you were almost sure of it. you were just a dumb fan who managed to be a favorite, surely he wouldn’t—

“why the hell not,” he snickers, sliding his hands toward the smooth curvature of your hips. “i’ll go easy on ya for today. let’s get rid of these,” he pulls on the string of your panties, already discarding your shorts with such quickness. “i’ll try not ‘ta break you too bad.”

but that was a lie—

not only did he break you but he stretched you out in all the ways possible.

you had the most dumbest expression, tongue lolled out, legs spread, gushing all over the velvet red boxing mat - time and time again.

pink luminescent lighting shine back against the centers of your irises as you stare up at the ceiling’s lights. you’ve never felt so weak. spit slick lips of yours were all swollen and numb from being chewed on constantly like candy. within minutes, your knees were already surrendering, bucking at his very mercy.

“fuck, tooooji.” you’d drag out his name in cute elongated syllables.

the infamous elastic stretch of his cock has you writhe and spasm all over his lap. ludicrously, your voice bounces across the cheap walls of the building. nevertheless, you can’t lie to yourself, you’ve rubbed a few out at the thought of having this moment with your favorite boxer.

unprofessional, maybe. but he didn’t care and neither did you. besides, he was helping you with your flexibility after all. even if it was a bit more intimate than most regular methods.

your heart races, thumping out quick hurried beats as he’s shoving his cock in and out of you. you’re in such a submissive position that you were just a bobble head, a doll. he treated you like one — using your body, bouncing you up and down and manhandling you all over the mat.

he gruffly cackles behind the plushy shell of your ear, watching right before his eyes as you’re jouncing on his dick. your skin was so warm, so hot, the recoil stings for a few seconds before your ass ricochets off his sharp pelvis.

the smacks and paps only grew louder, and so did your sweet melodic moans and whimpers.

a creamy pearl of a ring coats around his base and he grunts, still having a beefy arm around your neck. his muscles flex and you fight the urge to bite his bicep. “easy, good girl. lean right into me. y’er a natural.”

his words went straight to your cunt. toji was a dirty talker, never a sweet talker.

he knew how to get you wet, whether it was with his slick mouth, his tongue, or even his cock. his voice was always so low, timbre and all. the husk that it carried never failed to make you soaked. embarrassing,

oh, it definitely was embarrassing.

he’s got a free hand gripping onto your thigh, kissing your ass with his palm - rough rude spanks.

the cute flinches of your rear bouncing back against his lap makes him slide a tongue over his lips, including sliding over that notorious scar that slides down the right side of his mouth. “fuck, so fuckin’ sloppy. got the mat all soaked. should make ya lick it up, huh.”

you couldn’t even reply . . you tried, but babbles of inaudible squeaks came out instead.

it just felt too good, he felt too good.

you’re panting heavily, the repetitive pop song that blared through the boxing ring’s broken speakers gets stuck in your head. you hear the moist wails of your pussy squelching time and time again, entirely soaking yourself with your own beloved filth. a free hand of toji’s creeps its way in front of you. hand so big that he could easily cover it over your entire face if he could.

with glossy half-lidded eyes, you stare at his palm, feeling your mouth water.

thick long fingers, he knew what he was doing.

toji’s just casually waving his hand around in your face in a slow mesmerizing motion as you bounced on his cock. they were so lengthy and thick, his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrist to the edge of his arm, you saw the veins poking out. he was so built that you couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t help but drool. “what a sloppy little girl. i could really snap you in half, heh,” he huffs, clenched abs pressing against your back. it’s hard, rock hard . . they feel like bricks.

you knew underground boxers like toji had to keep up a strict workout routine but damn.

“but you’d like that, huh,” he murmurs, bringing another smack to your slick wet folds. you moan at the stretch of your limbs, craving for more of his rude spanks against your swollen cunt. you throbbed from not only his words but his touch too, and the thought of him literally breaking you had you a bit more soaked than you thought it would.

this was a workout of its own - rutting your weight up and down against him. he’s got a secure hold on your body, holding your thighs up in place.

you were stupid, not even acknowledging that you’d already grab ahold of his wrist, stuffing his fingers into your mouth. you moan the second the dry bandaged digits delve past your lips and makings way down your throat. as your ass steadily rocks against him in sloppy rhythm, you feel the very tips of his fingers prod against your puny uvula. you almost gag at the unexpected feeling—a cobwebby trail of saliva that was translucent pours down the side of your parted lips.

“no manners, tch,” he scoffs and his ripped abs continue to brush up against your back. “sloppy baby. got some nerve showin’ up to train being this fuckin’ nasty ‘n soaked.”

the hot skin against skin contact rubbing off against each other had your panties in a bunch, despite them already being technically pulled to the side and abandoned.

you were already still sensitive, swollen achy cunt sobbing out its own pleas of pleasure.

haphazardly, your knees buckle and he snatches his fingers out of your mouth. he does this solely to get a taste himself, swirling his pink pointed tongue against his slippery digits all thanks to you. “startin’ ‘ta think you came here for more than to just get an autograph ‘n work out with me, pretty girl.”

and as the plump crown of his cock molds you a tiny brief bulge from just his size alone — it repeatedly thrashes up against your sweetest spot. you shudder, about to collapse backward before you hear the jingling bells of the front door sound off.

“h- hey, toji man. did i leave my . . gloves . . ?”

choso, toji’s rival and regular training partner stares at the erotic scene and his face twists.

“oh,” and he’s flustered right away.

you stop bouncing and your eyes widen as big as saucers—yet, you weren’t even embarrassed. you were in awe, you knew all about choso kamo.

the choso kamo, anyone would be crazy not too. he was the most recent up and coming boxer, and after beating toji with a brutal close score of 58-57.

as you’re reclined back against toji—you finally get a good look at the other dark haired boxer.

he was slim yet also well built, choso was known for fighting opponents with his iconic ponytails but as of currently - he started to wear his hair down. sometimes he’d pin it up, a bit of a wolf cut that flew down his broad shoulders.

as his bashful gaze met yours, he grew nervous. very nervous.

black sable hued shorts cling onto his hips whilst he was shirtless, a few past battle scars painting the entire canvas of his perfectly chiseled body. “am i . . interrupting something?”

“nah. c’mere, ‘cho,” a husky voice calls out and he pauses in his tracks. the air suddenly clouded its way with imaginary thick smoke of lust and tension. it’s so thick you could cut it with a knife.

he swallows—dragging his bare feet across the crimson red mat toward you both, ducking underneath the stretchy multicolored bars before gawking at you. he was far pretty up close once he entered the practice ring, he runs a hand behind his neck before averting his eyes away from your nude body out of respect.

“he’s always been kinda shy,” toji purrs to you, still buried deep into your cunt. you shiver, every movement he makes makes—even just sitting up makes you let off a soft noise. you chew the inside of your cheek, feeling a stickiness stick between your thighs. dark green eyes flicker at choso and he hums, tilting his head. “choso, you know how to do full nelson too, yeah?”

“y- yeah, of course i do why?”

“you’re avoiding eye contact again.”

choso gulps - burying his hands into the burrows of his shorts pockets. a sheet of sweat marinates across his forehead before he glances at toji, rephrasing. “eh, yeah i know how to do full nelson. why?”

“because,” toji smacks his lips, a hand prying its way between the valley of your legs. you moan, still feeling full from tepid hot dumps of his cum practically oozing out of your puffy slit. “we’ve got a new opponent ‘n she wants to experience what it’s really like on the ring.”

“toji, we do full nelson all the time,” choso timidly runs a bundle of fingers through his buzzed undercut, a timid smile curling against his lips. “we never usually do it um . . naked though.”

the boxer underneath you deadpans. he could be so dense, choso stands still before a small gasp wrenches out of his pink glossed lips.

“oh.. oh,” and his face turns into a flustered tint.

you’ve watched a bit of his interviews and it seemed not only was he shy with the press but he was also very shy in person. it was cute, regardless.

as you’re busy being trapped up in your own thoughts, choso can’t help but peek down toward your legs. you were all exposed and being stretched out by his rival. he sucks his teeth in longing, briefly staring away before feeling himself grow a bit . . aroused. “i feel disrespectful for looking, ‘m sorry.”

“no, it’s okay,” you murmur in coy reassurance, and a hand tugs onto his wrist. choso’s breath hitches at your touch, and you felt his dark eyes flicker back toward you. there’s this look in choso’s eyes, it’s mainly lust-driven. his pupils were blown and his heart raced, you looked so pretty. it’s not like he didn’t exactly not know you. he’d see you every so often when you were ‘training’ with toji. not only that but he’d spot you attending almost every boxing match. always in the front row with a vip lanyard. secretly, you were more of a choso fan but toji didn’t have to know that. “do you wanna touch me too?”

“yes,” he blurts out almost right away and his face flushes a deeper shade. a rumble from toji shakes his shoulders - he’s chuckling, and you feel a big arm wrap around your torso. you bite down on your lip, still feeling yourself sit in a creamy puddle of filth, warm cum still plugged into you. choso starts to pant, watching you slither a hand between your thighs, spreading your soppy pussy lips. “i mean.. oh, that’s..” and he’s barely able to think straight, watching as you toy with yourself whilst still being full of toji’s thickset cock. his head starts to spin before he inches closer, kneeling down after your cute hand gestures to come here. “a- are you sure you want me to—”

“it’s okay, go ahead.” you hum, guiding his wrist.

“choso, she’s not gonna bite ya,” toji snickers, bringing your legs back down. as of now — you were currently straddling him with your back facing his chest. choso rubs his neck once more, growing sheepish yet again. it’s adorable, but again, he’s seen you at his matches and face offs. choso being choso though was far too shy to say anything or thank you for your support. but now, maybe he could thank you in another way. toji crosses his arms, cocking his head as he glances at the scene. “atta boy.”

a scowl forms on the timid boxer as his fingers resume to brush up against your drooling cunt. “s- shut up, toji,” and you let off a moan at his gentle strokes. you continue to lie back against toji - staring at choso, ogles as two plump fingers of his partner’s play up and down against your soddened entrance. choso’s mouth starts to water the more he stares, admiring how full you were—you had a few remnants of toji’s cum oozing from your slit and he swipes it up, bedaubing it against your pussy to make it sheeny again. “f- fuck, you’re so pretty.”

“you can t- touch me more, choso,” you lightly pause his hand by grabbing his wrist. his eyes meet yours and he felt the tent in his boxers tighten. oh, he was already whipped from the sound of your voice. with half lidded smoky eyes, he huffs out a single breath before glancing at your lips. you climb off of toji and a brief pop exits your cunt - dragging choso closer. “are you hard, choso?”

“he’s definitely hard,” toji tchs, averting his jade green eyes toward his partner’s shorts. it was hard to not notice the presentable bulge that’s sticking right in front of his leather everlast brand shorts. “cute.”

“shut up man,” he repeats with a glowering scowl.

with a cute dramatic sigh, choso grumbles something under his breath - trying to pay more attention back toward you. he leans into your touch, closing the gap between your legs until he’s right between you. choso presses a chaste kiss against your collarbone before moaning into your tender skin. he couldn’t help but suck against your shoulder for a few seconds, relishing in your candied flavor.

you were so sweet - bandaged hands roam everywhere on your displayed body before he exhales deeply, staring at you with almost heart shaped pupils. “you . . wanna try full nelson with me too, princess?”

throwing your arms over him, you hum with a subtle nod. “yeah, ‘s okay. i can handle it.”

famous last words,

with choso . . he stretched you all the way out, probably even more than toji.

his cock was just as thick, maybe even more. his fat reddened tip swelters the inside of your sopping pussy so good until you’re whimpering his name on constant loop. it’s like a mantra, you’re so dumb that it’s like his five lettered name was the only thing your brain could comprehend to say.

he’s got you upright in the same exact position before, slinging two beefy arms underneath your thighs as your weight bounces and defies gravity.

“fuck, fuck,” he whines, the addictive squeeze your cunt had never failed to make itself known. he reached any and every area so deep. choso had a delicious curve to his cock that sent you straight butterflies. it expands through your walls, french kissing your insides until you whine. his base was repeatedly getting smacked from your ass, each ‘n every time you jerked up from his lap. “y- you’re so good. so warm, ‘m gonna pass out.”

“aren’t you the boxer though?” you try to tease, but your cheeky voice falters the second his slitted tip kisses against that spot.

your vision was merely blurry, seeing nothing but a kaleidoscope of stars. in almost defeat, your head falls back against his chest and toji watches the entire time, buff arms crossed and an amused cunning expression. seeing you milk his rival was something he didn’t know would turn him on so much.

choso doesn’t reply to your little jest, still pumping such fat inches inside of your gripping walls. he’s already dumb, knocked out cold with a solid punch - not necessarily from an opponent, but your pussy. “hang onto me, ‘kay? this position requires lots of um . . s- stamina.”

as you nod, your entire body dangles and bobs from the movement — parching hot friction gluing against each jolting limb before you spasm.

“chosoooo,” and your thighs collapse, coming to its pleasurable demise. his thrusts were sloppy, the squelches of your own body was so lewd. you heard it through and through, glancing down to see yourself flutter and clench around his cock. “fuck, fuck ‘m gonna get close again.”

“wait,” a gruff voice murmurs and you glance up to see toji standing over you. he cups your chin, a thumb caressing your quivering bottom lip. “such a empty mouth. hm, open for me, pretty. think you could use some throat training too.”

as choso’s still plummeting his cock into your swollen cunt - stretching you out dexterously, you part your lips open.

by your surprise, toji’s lips meets yours and he pulls you into a deep kiss. it’s a bit of a rushing kiss, sloppy and strings of saliva tangling between each mouths. you moan, feeling the weight of your breasts bounce as you’re making haste on the other boxer’s lap. fuck, you were quite literally living the dream. you whimper, feeling his broad hands grab against your tits, using thumbs to push squeeze pressure against your perky nipples. he was always so handsy, allowing his hands to wander everywhere and yanking against the remaining pathetic pieces of fabric that covered your body.

you were still layered . . partially,

his rough scarred hands slide underneath your blouse as he’s continuing to make out with you, curling his parted tongue beside your own before it turns into obscene sucking. your own tongue occasionally scrapes against his scar that located directly near the right side of his mouth - it tickles a bit—however, you whimper once choso’s dick created its own little kisses against your g-spot.

abruptly, toji who was just claiming your mouth a few seconds ago pulls away from the continued kiss to grip underneath your chin again. “ah, say ah,” and he hums at your obedience, staring at your pretty pink tongue rolling out of your mouth flat. “good, ‘m gonna train this throat a little bit for ya, sweets. that alright?”

“o- okay,” and you’re briefly cut off once he springs out his cock again, thwacking his pink pearly tip against your tongue. he lets off a gruff satisfied grunt, feeling himself harden up once you flick your tongue against his slit. you’re slow, making sure to savor his taste. he watches, smacking his lips and his left brow curls.

toji bites his lip, his abs curlings as he watches you try to suck him of fully — he smacks his cock all against your face softly, watching your needy pout before humming. “such a needy cock hungry slut,” and a thumb swipes against your lip, preparing to insert his hardened shaft down your throat. “aw, you want more, do ya?”

you nod before moaning, feeling choso kiss down your neck, yearning for your attention.

“y- you’re doing so good,” choso whines against your ear, clinging onto your jerking body. “ngh, don’t listen to toji. he’s just mean.”

toji rolls his eyes. he’d reply with a sassy remark but he was still feeling the after effects of sensitivity. his muscles were all tense and spasming from you just bouncing on him just a few minutes ago. you’re just grinding onto choso, feeling your hips ridiculously buckle and snap before he smears his cockhead against your lips like it was lipstick. his plump tip goes against your wet lips, only for him to smack it against your clean pink tongue. “mmph.” you lashes flutter, ogling as he buries a few fingers into your scalp for a good grip. toji grunts, briefly tossing his head back in rapture. his scent grows stronger as he gradually starts to sink his way into your mouth.

“t- toji, ‘m gonna cum. i can’t last,” choso babbles, facial expressions scrunching up the more you quicken your tempo on his lap. toji glances at choso who’s melting right underneath you — he’s got you in a secure hold, but it’s lazy.

one of his arms sling around your torso, another holding onto your thigh. “fuck,” he sucks against your neck, feeling the stretch increase. your walls were his own worst enemy, preparing to milk him for all of his worth. everything felt hot, his throat felt dry and he’s starting to shake right underneath you. “gonna cum, gonna c- cum.”

“not yet, ‘cho,” he grunts, watching as you lean in, adjusting your throat to his heavy size. your tongue swirls around the peeling slit and he huffs, a single hand tightening its hold against the roots that stick onto your scalp. “mhm, look at me. don’t worry about him, he’s just a crybaby,” and you can hear choso let off a scoff from behind you. toji’s sensitive cock was still dribbling a bit with a concoction of your previous juices and he groans at the image of you lapping it right up. “c’mon, little deeper. i wanna feel that slutty roof.”

whilst you’re having your mouth and cunt filled entirely—choso’s whining pitches louder and louder. so loud that it reverbs all throughout the thin walls of the empty boxing arena. thankfully, there wasn’t anyone here and it was usually closed on saturdays. he didn’t like be edged, he hated it.

but it felt good,

so fucking good.

especially due to the fact that he was so close to you, hearing your sweet whimpers follow in sync with his.

your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all.

every frantic spasm - you felt it, not to mention the few lightning type veins that run down the upward curve of his cock, you felt that too.

you rocked against him until your knees were at its last. he’s still holding you up but even he was about to tap out. choso had stamina - but he was no match for his rival, toji.

with murky low eyes—toji’s staring dead at you, bobbling your head and merely shoving you down just a little deeper.

you get sloppy, a puddle of drool trickling down the corners of your chin and down the valley of your chest before his tip hits against the roof of your mouth again.

it’s a rough rude hit and his cock gives the very back of your throat its own few jabs. a combo if you will — yet it’s more raunchy instead of sportsmanlike.

“eyes on me baby. yeah, yeah,” toji turns your head a bit, locking onto your sweet gaze. “get it wet, clean it up for me. make me just as much of a mess as you, girl.”

his words were so low - an almost growl. you were too focused on toji that you concisely forgot about the other boxer that’s sat underneath you.

choso came and it was so sudden—he couldn’t hold it anymore.

his grip weakens and he slouched back against the ring, spurts of hot cum pouring into you deep. he’s trembling, feeling a wave crash down on him as he’s succumbing to his high. choso can’t help but try to mimic toji, swatting the palm of his hand softly against your ass. even his spanks were respectful.

the worn out boxer pants, letting off an adorable finish. his vocals were quite loud despite having a deep bellow. “baby oh, fuuuck,” he mewls out, dark brows coming together. choso was about to lose it even more at the feeling your swiveling hips throwing itself around in a circle just because. toji watches the entire thing, how you were teasing his partner whilst having your mouth all stuffed full. as he’s stood tall before you both, his abs clench and you get a face view of it all. perfectly incised along the edges, you saw a few marks and scars coat against his skin and it’s never been more attractive. choso on the other hand found his hands grabbing onto your tits, gently brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipples before nuzzling into your neck. he was definitely pussy drunk — you could hear it. “babyyy,” a soft voice whines pussy drunkly against the lobe of your ear, and you depart your lips away from toji’s cock. he groans, viewing you lie back before you start to twitch out a bit yourself.

not only was choso close but so were you. as your legs were all stuck up in the air in its ideal position, you dramatically gasp once you feel it.

there’s a tugging pile of pressure that presses down on your tummy. your jaw drops—dangles and everything as you’re being pushed further toward the edge. your arousal steadily builds up until it finally comes.

just seconds apart from choso, you pant - a brief pang of electric shock ascending down right through you. you were speechless for a moment.

there’s nothing but a white noise blaring through each of your ears. it feels like an unpredictable wave, a powerful wave that ripples right through your entire body. it took you a long time to realize you were finishing - not only finishing but you were squirting.

“ohmygodddd,” you whimper out, feeling your legs vigorously shake. you gush out right onto the mat. feeling yourself grow hot — you’re even hotter because of choso’s body underneath you.

effortlessly, bodies stick against each other, snuggling in filthy warmth. as you’re leisurely coming to a halting stop of your rhythmic hips, choso’s cock remained tuck inside of you and you catch your breath, head cutely flopping back against his bare chest.

“did . . did you just squirt on me?” choso whimpers, a tremor in his voice.

his voice, it grew a bit raspier. although, you could still hear the softness lingering underneath it.

toji leans in toward you both, spreading your legs open just a bit more - he strums a calloused thumb down your opening, peering as you’re still fluttering out of arousal and was still sopping wet all the way from your needy clit.

“she fuckin’ did,” he coos, and he leans down, getting right on his knees.

you watch with low hooded eyes, still feeling surges of nirvana and euphoria overtake your body. toji purrs in contentment, wide open palms slapping against the foamy ring mat before sticking out his lengthy rosy tongue. you’re catching irregular heavy breaths right along with choso, full lungs preparing to collapse and give out before you pulse.

the moment toji drags his long tongue over the dampened spot of where you just made a mess—you felt yourself throb yet again.

so nasty, he had no shame at all. choso watched too, and he felt the exact same way as you did.

“what a mess,” and with another throaty chuckle leaving his lips, he cleans the mat off entirely before going between your legs. you moan, his palm gifting your cunt with a single abrupt spank. you’re so drenched that a few spurts of your slick coat onto his hand. toji stares at it, scoffing. “pussy tryin’ to talk back i see,” and he rubs his hand in a circular rotation against your cunt, maneuvering all kinds of shapes with his palm. you whimper, grabbing onto choso’s wrist. in awe, toji watches as dumps of cum ooze out of your opening and he even licks that up too, sticky black hair all unkempt and gluing against his forehead. the thin black bangs that run down his brows gives him a more alluring look and he hums, darkened eyes meeting his partner’s. “choso. don’t be a zombie. c’meree.”

you were definitely fucked—

being laid out, defeated and just stupidly stupid.

your legs sprawl outward as they’re both right between them. taking turns, flicking tongues of each against your swollen cunt. they took fighting over you to an entire new level. as they were drinking you dry — you couldn’t help but imagine the lewd thought of taking them both at the same time. you’d probably get crushed, you could barely even handle one as is, but two? that’d be an actual knockout for real.

as you’re still in a trancing daze, you watch both of the boxers with wide rounded eyes, grabbing both of them by the hair. there’s choso who’s really sweet and gentle, giving your pussy soft kitten kisses, softly brushing a thumb down your slit.

and then there’s toji . .

the clit biter - opposite of choso being the clit kisser, he doesn’t care.

with ravened brows furrowing up, he’s so rude to your pussy. every few seconds, he’d tenderly nibble against your pulsating nub, knowing that you’re sensitive there. with a smug grin, he shifts his eyes at you to stare at you dead in the face whilst he’s right between your legs. he’s messy too, moving his head from side to side, his scar swipes against your cunt every now and then.

not only was he messy but he was a hogger. he slurps you clean, luxuriating the tasteless flavor on his tongue before he hears choso cutely huff out in frustration.

“toji, you’re hogging her. ‘s no fair,” he grunts, dark eyes catching a glimpse at him from his hazy peripherals.

“cry ‘bout it,” and he spits on your cunt, hooked bump of his nose rubbing all against your slit.

already - toji’s chin was drenched, and so was choso’s. they both match with a slick of your sheeny arousal dripping down their perfectly chiseled chins. about a good hour had probably passed — then again, you were too dumb to acknowledge the time. all you knew was that you were soaked. you whimper, being nothing but a stiff shivering mess as they devoured you whole.

the numbness in your legs had your back rising up in ecstasy. you wanted more. sloshing slick tongues thrash and glissade against each other before they eventually . . tangle.

toji groans, accidentally meeting with choso’s lips and its brief. his eyelashes open and he has a sly smile at his rival. you watch the entire thing, the timid boxer versus the smug one. toji’s hand still remains on your folds and he’s multitasking, seductively licking choso’s bottom lip - still locking his gaze on him. he’s starting to taking his attention off of you. “hm, don’t tell me you wanted attention from me ‘n not her this entire time, ‘cho.”

a lump gets caught in his throat. choso grows flustered, hearing his own pulse shoot out through his ears as his lips made contact against his rival. “i—”

he’s hard, flaccid still, but definitely hard. there was a loud silence once a smack noise leaves there lips the second they each depart. choso’s got a pout, a longing pout before he tries to act tough.

“shut up, toji.” he grouses, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“how ‘bout ya make me,” and you’re just sat there dumbfounded with your legs still sprawled as if you weren’t just being fought over - invisible questions marks pop up everywhere over your head. what about you? what about you. with quick reflexes, he pins choso flat down on his back before snickering, having the most lewd back arch imaginable.

“our re-match is tonight after all, pretty boy.”

[sincerelyneo]

i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to fuck you | l.mk

“you are the girl that i’ve been dreaming of”

📀now playing: i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you by black kids

❯ summary: Asking your best friend to take your virginity because you have a crush on someone else and want experience is totally normal, right? Mark doesn’t think so. If he’s taking your virginity, it’s not for practice—it’s for him. He’s nobody’s wingman—especially not when it comes to you.

❯ pairings: mark x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, friends to lovers

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, corruption kink, loss of virginity, nipple play, fingering, hand jobs, praising, body worship, protected sex, back scratching, brief possessiveness, pet names, reader uses she/her pronouns, swearing, love confessions, just fluffy smut because it’s what i do best lol.

Mark swears he’s a good listener. Considering he’s been friends with Zhong Chenle for years, the world’s most dedicated yapper, he doesn’t really have a choice. He has to be a good listener. But Mark almost does a double take when he hears the words ‘my virginity’ and ‘you’ come out of your mouth.

His best friend. With the biggest, prettiest, most innocent eyes and sweet little mouth that could barely stammer through conversations about flirting—asking him about sex. No. Not just asking. Wanting him.

After nearly choking on his own spit, Mark tries to regain his composure—but fails miserably. Especially when your cheeks flush, and you start chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a crime. No, worse. It’s sin in human form. You’re sin in human form. Looking this cute, blushing like a maniac, like you didn’t just drop that question on him.

“You want me to take your virginity, Y/N?”

You cringe the second he repeats your question back to you. It sounded a lot better in your head—practical, reasonable, totally fine. But now, with his brows furrowed and that ‘are you insane?’ look on his face, you’re starting to think maybe you are insane.

But when you came up with this plan last night, none of that crossed your mind. All you knew was that Mark never says no to you. Ever. Not when you asked him to be your first kiss in middle school. Not when you made him take you to your first frat party. Not even when you guilt-tripped him into helping with your dissertation.

"Look, forget it—" you say, pushing to your feet, desperate to escape your shared living room that suddenly feels way too hot under Mark’s stare. "I totally crossed a line by asking. I’m sure I can find someone on Tinder—"

"No."

You blink. "No?"

Mark wants to curse himself for the hasty reply, but who could blame him? There’s just no way he’s letting you swipe right on some douche bag looking for a quick fuck—some guy who’ll take you to a lousy bar, probably make you pay for your own drinks, and then expect to take your virginity like it’s nothing.

It’s ridiculous. It’s not happening.

Not when you just handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.

“What I meant to say was,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, “Don’t you want to lose your virginity to someone you trust—someone you love?”

You nod without hesitation. “That’s why I asked you. There’s not a single man I trust more than you. And I love you—platonically, yeah, but it’s still love.”

Platonic. 

If Mark could rip that word out of the dictionary, set it on fire, and launch the ashes into space, he would. Anything to stop you from thinking whatever he feels towards you is platonic. Was it platonic when he kissed you when you were eleven? No. Was it platonic when he drove ten miles just for your favourite snack on your birthday? No. Was it platonic when he worked on your final thesis at the same time as his own? No.

And if he’s going to be the first one to have you, it sure as hell won’t be platonic. That’s for damn sure.

His eyes squeeze shut as he sits forward, clammy hands rubbing up and down his jeans. "Okay, so you want me, your best friend, to take your virginity? Why?"

You chew your lip. This was the part of the scenario that kept you up at night—explaining why. How the hell are you supposed to tell someone you want them to take your virginity just so you can be ready for someone else? There’s no handbook, no online forum, for this kind of thing.

So you settle for:

“It’s stupid. A dumb reason. Don’t even worry about it. Will you do it or not?”

Mark gives you a knowing look, exactly like you knew he would. He’s one of those perspective fuckers, especially when it comes to you. Normally, you love it. Right now, not so much.

“Y/N,” he draws out your name, “What happened to me being one of the most trusted men you know? Tell me.” 

You suck in a breath, trying to steady yourself. After all, it’s just Mark. Sweet, kind, nonjudgmental, Mark. 

“I have a crush on my co-worker, Xiaojun,” you blurt out. Mark just blinks, completely still, like he’s trying to process. You, on the other hand, keep rambling. “And there’s rumours that he’s amazing in bed, and he asked me out for drinks this Friday, and I just feel really…unprepared.”

Mark feels his blood pressure spike—because fuck your co-worker, fuck those rumours and fuck that little date your planning to gone on this Friday night. Look, he’s not a prude or anything. Mark knows people fuck on a first date—but not you. At least not you with some asshole making you think you need to be prepared for him.

"If that asshole makes you feel less than just because you're a virgin, Y/N, he’s not worth your time."

You narrow your eyes. "I don’t think your opinion holds any weight here, considering you don’t think any guy is worth my time."

Mark relaxes slightly and smiles at that—because it’s true. No man deserves to talk to you, touch you, kiss you—no one but him.

“Besides,” you perk up again, trying to sound more confident. “This isn’t about what Xiaojun or any other guy thinks. This is about me… being comfortable having sex with someone that isn’t myself.” You chew your lower lip. “I want to be comfortable having sex with other men.”

Mark almost growls, a caveman-like urge pounding in his chest at the thought of you wanting to be comfortable with other men. He’s changed his mind. He’d take the word platonic any day over hearing other men leave your mouth.

“Let me get this straight—you want me to teach you how to fuck, to please other men?”

Your cheeks flush, not just because the idea sounds so ridiculous when he puts it like that, but because it’s the first time you've ever heard him talk like that. Mark is always so careful, so delicate with you, keeping his foul mouth and sex life locked away. But hearing the phrase "how to fuck" leave his mouth in that deep, husky drawl,  sends a pulse right through you, straight to your clit.

You chew your lip again, hesitating. “I don’t know… I just wanna be good... at it… at sex.”

Mark’s head tilts back as he stares at the ceiling, a string of mumbled curses slipping out before his Adam’s apple starts bobbing against his throat. He pauses to think—and so do you. You can’t figure out why he’s interrogating you like this. The proposition is a lot, yes, but if you’d crossed a line and made him uncomfortable, he could’ve just said so, you wouldn’t have taken it personally. There’s no reason for him to poke and prod like this.

Just as you're about to squash this whole thing, Mark speaks again. He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, his brows furrowed like he's still deep in thought, but his eyes, dark and blown wide, pin you in place.

"I'll teach you, Y/N," he says, standing up slowly. "I'll fuck you if that's what you want and if that’s what you're asking me for," he continues, moving closer until he's right in your personal space. "But I won't fuck you just to get you ready for someone else."

"Mark—"

"No, Y/N, I’m talking," he cuts you off, his long, tantalizing finger tracing from your cheek down to your neck before he whispers, "I don’t mind teaching you how to be good at sex with me, angel, but I’m sure as fuck not teaching you how to be good at it for someone else. If I finally get to fuck you, I’m gonna teach you how to be good for me."

Your mouth parts in a soft gasp, just from his words and that innocent touch alone. Mark’s eyes track the movement, and his irises darken with something you can’t quite name—want, lust, need... you don’t know. All you know is that it’s fucking hot, and it almost makes you miss what he just said.

"Finally?" you breathe out.

The corner of Mark's mouth twitches into a smile, and a low, silky laugh slips from him. "Don't pretend like you don't know I want you." His finger slides to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re too fucking smart to be playing dumb with me, Y/N. You know you could have me on my knees if you just asked. I’d do anything if you just asked.”

You always knew you had Mark wrapped around your little finger, but you never realized it was because he wanted you the same way you’ve wanted him. Yes, you’d only asked him to help you with this plan because you know he struggles to say no to you; but a small, twisted part of you wanted Mark to be the one to take your virginity. Because he’s him—hot, lean, experienced, sweet, loyal Mark. Your Mark. 

It’s all too much. His breath is too warm on your skin, his words too heated, his proximity too hot—he’s too hot. You whimper, and you watch as his pupils soften in response.

“Y/N,” he says softly now. “I need you to use your words to tell me what you want. If you don’t want to do this anymore—because, to me, it’s more than just practice—that’s fine. But if we do... this, us, it becomes real.”

Your mind goes fuzzy. Words? He thinks you have words after just confessing that this—that you—are something he wants? Almost like he senses your hesitation, he nuzzles deeper into your neck, his lips feather-light, dusting over your skin in a way that sets your nerves alight. It’s erotic, it’s intimate, it’s so damn sexy. 

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His voice is soft, breath scorching against your skin, thumb grazing over your collarbone like he’s memorizing you. “I’ve imagined you—craved you—for years. If you want me to take your virginity, I’ll do it. Happily. But I’ll be your first and your last—not Xiaojun.”

The mention of your coworker feels irrelevant now—a distant, meaningless fantasy compared to this. The stupid office daydream you’d clung to seems laughable because the man you thought only saw you as a friend is standing right here, offering himself to you. Completely. Utterly asking to be yours. And who are you to deny him?

“I want this—”

Mark doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t let you finish your sentence—because he’s wasted too much damn time already. Too much time waiting, hoping, aching to hear you want him. Not just need him for something, but actually want him. Crave him. Desire him.

He has to kiss you. Now.

It starts slow, soft, and sweet. Both your mouths take their time exploring one another as his hand tenderly cups your face, holding you to him. But in no time at all, the heat builds, kisses stretching longer, deeper, until it’s not enough for him. Not nearly enough for you. A hum of approval slips from you the moment his tongue grazes yours, and he takes it as permission, sweeping in and taking control.

“I have fucking dreamed about this,” he pants against your lips. “About kissing you. About touching you. Tell me to stop if it’s too much, Y/N.”

Stop? He’s out of his damn mind if he thinks you want to stop. You shake your head against his lips, legs winding around his, and he takes the hint without hesitation. His hands find your waist, lifting you with ease until you’re resting around his hips. His eyes are fully dark now, black, and locked onto you. They never waver as he carries you both to his bedroom.

Mark lays you down carefully, like you’d break if he was any rougher, but his gaze tells a different story—intense, burning, desperate. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and he just stares, eyes roaming every inch of you like he’s savouring the moment before he ruins you completely. 

You’ve never been this intimate with a man before. Sure, you’re no stranger to your own fingers, to vibrators, and okay—maybe you don’t mind the occasional steamy make out session at a party. But this? In his room, under his stare, is different. You’re not even naked yet, and somehow, you already feel so bare, so exposed. 

“I want to take my time with you, Y/N,” Mark murmurs, as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying flat, his body hovering over yours. “I want to savour every inch of this pretty little body of yours... and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, nodding at the same time, and Mark smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips.

His hands slide up your legs, gliding over the fabric of your sweatpants, until they reach the hem. His eyes search yours, silently asking for confirmation, and you nod, breath catching in your throat. He tugs at your pants, so slow, so deliberate, and when they finally slip off, he lets out a low, groggy "fuck" at the sight of the pink lacy panties you’d chosen for this—for him.

You suddenly feel self-conscious, heat creeping up your chest.

"Knew I'd say yes, huh?" Mark coos, his hand tracing the band of your panties as he looks over your body, studying it because it's the first time he’s seeing you like this. Displayed for him.

You blush, squirming beneath him, overwhelmed by how new, how unfamiliar this all feels. Mark senses your discomfort and smiles softly.

"Don’t go shy on me now, pretty girl," he murmurs, "I’m losing my shit knowing you wore this with me."

His hands graze over your hip bone, fingers brushing gently, soothing as they explore the small hint of flesh you're revealing to him. The softness of his touch, of him, makes you ease up just a little.

“I wore the matching bra too,” you say on an exhaled breath.

Mark groans, his eyes closing as he takes in a slow, intentional breath of his own, nostrils flaring slightly. “Did you? Can I see, baby? Please?”

You nod, and those exploring hands of his glide up your stomach, fingers brush over your skin as he tugs the tight fabric of your tank top over your head. When it falls away, you're left in nothing but the matching set. The pink bralette, almost see-through, giving him a clear, vivid view of your pebbled nipples.

"So fucking beautiful, Y/N," he says, his voice strained, almost painfully. "Can you take it off for me?"

You smile, teasing, as your hands find the clasp at the back. "After I went through all this effort to put it on for you?"

He shakes his head with a small scoff of laughter, the sound easing your nerves a bit. That familiar banter, the playful back-and-forth, reminds you why you asked him—why you wanted him to do this in the first place. You trust him. 

“Is this the part where I learn that you’re a fucking brat?” he mutters, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“I can be, if you want me to be.”

Something flashes in his eyes—dark, predatory—and he leans in closer, his tone dropping an octave. “Take the bra off. Now, Y/N.”

And you do, the flimsy fabric slipping from your breasts and meeting the same fate as your sweats and tank. You feel so exposed, which is ridiculous considering how little modesty the bralette was offering in the first place. Still, your hands instinctively cross over your chest. 

"Hey, don’t," Mark murmurs, his hand gently reaching up to move yours, his thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles around your wrist to reassure you. "You don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me, Y/N. If you want to stop—”

"No," you interrupt. "I mean, please... I want this... I want you, Mark. I’m just nervous."

His eyes soften at your words, and he licks his lips. "Can I touch you?"

You nod, and his hands steadily, gently travel up and down your stomach, hovering around your sternum before they rest beneath your breasts. You suck in a breath as his touch lingers. "Can I touch you here?" he asks, and again, you nod. 

Mark’s hands gently cup your chest, the softness and weight of your tits filling his palms. The pad of his thumb teases over one of your nipples (pretty peaked nipples that are practically begging for his mouth) in a steady rhythm that has you arching into him. He continues, flicking over the sensitive bud until he elicits the reaction he wants: quiet, breathless whimpers and tiny darling moans from your mouth.

“You’re so damn perfect, Y/N,” he mutters, his eyes glued to your body as he tests his touches, watching in awe as your eyes flutter, roll, or widen. “So damn perfect for me.”

You moan, and his head dips to the valley between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to trail a slow, heated path up your skin. His mouth, warm and wet, captures your pebbled nipple, sucking and licking with a hunger that makes your body shiver. It’s then that you remember why Mark is perfect for this—he’s experienced. 

“Pretty fucking tits,” he groans, “I’ll fuck these one day. Promise.”

He focuses entirely on your nipples, squeezing your breasts, and you swear you're already on the verge of coming undone for him, writhing beneath him. Terrified it’ll end too soon, your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him away from your chest to capture his lips in a desperate kiss. 

His chest hovers over you, so close to you, but still hidden beneath layers of fabric. His jeans, too tight, too impeding. You want to feel him—skin to skin. It’s not fair. You’re lying here in nothing but your underwear, exposed and vulnerable, while he’s still fully dressed—his clothes a frustrating barrier that keeps you from feeling him the way you need to. You can’t stand it anymore.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, desperate to rip it off and close the damn distance. "Mark," you breathe. "Take it off. Please."

“You want it off, huh?” He teases. 

You’re beyond patience now, body aching for him. “Yes. I do.”

Mark’s eyes darken at the desperation in your voice. He sits up slightly, pulling away from you just enough to shed his shirt, the fabric tugging over his head and revealing the toned muscles of his chest. You can’t help but watch, your eyes glued to the way his hands move, but he’s taking his damn time. Frustrated, you reach for his belt, but he stops you, his hand brushing yours as he undoes it himself. The sound of it unbuckling makes your breath hitch. 

Finally, his jeans slip down, revealing the taut curve of his thighs before he kicks them aside, leaving him in nothing but his black boxers. His bulge is prominent, straining against the tight material, and you swear you can’t take it any longer.

But before you can pounce, before you can touch him and feel him the way you want to, he’s hovering back over you, his body pinning you down, forcing your back flat against the bed.

“So eager, pretty girl,” he muses with a teasing smirk. “But you asked me to teach you, didn’t you? I’m in charge.”

He’s so controlled, so assertive, it sends a flood of need coursing through your body. His hands are back on you, gliding over your now fully exposed body. Well, not entirely exposed—his fingers toy at the edge of your panties, tracing, testing, taunting, as if waiting for your permission. And you’d give him it immediately, only he wants to ride this out, prolong it. 

His fingers move to dip just beneath the fabric, but then he stops.

“I know you said you wanted to be good at this, Y/N,” he hums. “But I want to be good for you. Tell me what you like. Tell me how to touch this pretty pussy.”

Heat floods your cheeks and pools between your legs. From the way Mark smiles, and the fact that he’s cupping you through your underwear, you know he can feel it too.

“I-um—”

“I already told you to stop being shy with me, Y/N,” he says. “Don’t think I overlooked that comment about you getting yourself off. You wanna learn, so do I. Let me be a good boy for you.”

Your eyes lock onto his, and you can see the seriousness. He wants to know what makes you tick, what works for you, what gets you off—wants to be the one to do it. His breath hitches as he studies you, chest contracting with focus. 

“I-I start with my clit,” you instruct, and his fingers follow suit, finally dipping under the fabric he’s been teasing for the last ten minutes right to the spot. You want to feel embarrassed telling him all the dirty ways you play with yourself, but you can’t. He won’t let you feel that way, because, like you said, he’s him—sweet, loyal Mark.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re dripping for me,” he groans, voice thick with need. “Aching for me, aren’t you, baby?” You nod pathetically. “Then tell me, what do you do to your clit? Teach me.”

“I like small circles,” you whisper, your breath shaky.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice low as he carefully follows your instructions. It’s almost too careful. Too slow. You need more—so much more.

“Faster, Mark.”

His fingers speed up, the circles on your clit growing faster, the pressure he applies intensifies with each stroke. You moan, squirming beneath him, your hips shifting in desperate need for more—more of him.

"Can I try a finger, baby?" he asks, and you nod, wanting everything he has to give right now.

Mark shifts his gaze from your face down to where his hands are stuffed inside your panties. He watches as he trails his index finger up and down your slit slowly until it’s circling around your entrance before finally easing it inside. You gasp, feeling the initial stretch, and his eyes lock back onto yours, waiting for the sting to fade and the lust to take its place again. Once it does, he begins to move, his finger sliding in and out, in and out, faster and faster until your breaths come heavier. 

“Mark,” you gasp on a moan, a thrill coursing through you as he picks up the pace. 

Mark adds his thumb back to your clit, the combination of his fingers easing in and out of your drenched pussy and the attention to your sensitive nerves send waves of pleasure crashing over you. Because cumming has never felt like this—so close, so quick, so desperately needed. Mark must sense your closeness too because his lips quirk, devilish and taunting.

“You gonna cum on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, but it’s clearly not a question. The cocky bastard knows you are. “Or should I say finger? Think you could handle two?”

Your mind is incoherent from the pleasure, the foreign stretch of his fingers. Any thoughts you have dissolve into a haze of need, only capable of a frantic nodding at him because you want more, need more, need to cum. He eases in his middle finger, both digits slowing down as you adjust to him. Then, the world around you blurs; all that matters is the rhythm of his fingers and the growing knot forming in your stomach as his pace picks up. Each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel the waves of your orgasms building, until it finally, deliciously, crashes over you. 

Your vision blurs, and sounds you didn't even know you could make slip from your lips. All you can hear is Mark's incoherent, muffled praise—telling you how pretty, how perfect, how good you are for him.

When you come down from your high, he’s watching you intently, his hand running through your hair as you refocus back on him with hazy eyes. You’ve never experienced an orgasm like that, and as you notice the strained bulge in his pants, a surge of eagerness wells up in you. You want to return the favour, to please him, to learn how to be good the way you asked him to twach you.

You reach for his boxers, fingers trembling as you strip them off, revealing the thick hard length of him. Your breath catches at the sight of his cock, angry and needy and desperate. Mark looks down at you with his own haze-induced eyes. 

“Please, Y/N.”

The heat radiating from him ignites a fire within you. You take a moment to admire the way he looks at you—hungry, eager. With a newfound confidence, you lean closer, your lips brushing against his skin, ready to give him the pleasure he’s so generously given you. You press soft, delicate kisses to his abdomen, watching as his stomach flexes in response.

You know you probably should suck his cock right now; that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Almost as if he can sense your hesitation, Mark’s fingers clamp around your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to, not yet, not ever if you don’t want to,” he says softly. “But you can touch it. Touch me, Y/N, please.”

That feels more like your speed, so you wrap a firm hand around his cock, giving it a slow, steady long tug. Mark's head rolls back from where he sits on the bed. Your hands tremble with nerves, this is all so new to you, and you desperately want to please him. But before you can overthink it, Mark’s words soothe your insecurities.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “Just like that... so fucking good, Y/N.”

He's like a fucking mind reader, because that one comment, that small ounce of reassurance, has you stroking him faster. Your hand moves in a messy rhythm, feeling the weight of his cock in your palm. 

As you continue to stroke him, you start to experiment with different techniques, trying out gentler touches and firmer grips. Mark's reactions are your guide, and you watch as his face contorts in pleasure, his eyes screwing shut as he lets out low groans. He sounds so sexy, you like it, you want more of him like this. 

You feel a sense of power, knowing that you're the one bringing him to the edge. Your strokes become more insistent, your hand moving faster as Mark's breathing quickens. You can feel his cock throbbing in your hand, the veins standing out as he gets closer.  Mark's body tenses, his muscles straining and that’s when suddenly, his eyes snap open. 

“You gotta stop, Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and husky as he pulls your hands off his length. For a moment, you almost feel scorned, but then he adds, “I want to last until I’m at least inside of you...”

You both laugh, Mark's eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckles, and you feel a flutter in your chest. He gently lies you back on his bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it underneath your hips. As he fumbles with his nightstand, he rips open a condom and slides it along his cock. You can't help but watch, mesmerized by the sight. It’s oddly sexy. Your body responds instinctively, your hips arching upwards as if seeking him out. 

As Mark positions himself between your legs, his head dips down to kiss you. It’s sweet, like the first time, and you think you could get used to them—you want to get used to them. The feeling of his lips on yours, on your cheek, the top of your head. 

When your lips finally break apart, he holds eye contact with you, aligning himself with your pussy. He teases you, brushing against your folds, occasionally grazing your clit—his eyes watching your reaction, a smirk on his lips. Sensitive, he notes. And he has to note because there will be a time for more, a time where he’ll make you work for it. But today isn’t that day. Today is about you and him—together.

“Tap my arm if it’s too much. If you want to stop—”

“Mark,” it’s your turn to be stern now. “Please, just fuck me.”

He smirks, liking this side of you—the impatience, the newfound dirty mouth of yours. Something else to note for next time, he thinks.

Rubbing himself up and down your slit for a final time, Mark presses the head of his cock to your entrance, hips shifting forward to slowly push into you. His nostrils flare, and his teeth clench because he has to be careful, he has to be in control. He cannot—he will not—hurt you any more than he has to. 

So, slowly. Torturously slowly. Mark eases into you, inch by tantalizing inch, until his tip coaxes past the small ring of resistance. You’re so tight—so impossibly tight—that he almost regrets letting you jerk him off before hand,  because he’s already teetering on the edge of cumming from merely the first few inches. He’s waited far too long for this moment; the last thing he wants is to blow his load before he’s even begun to move.

He shifts his focus from his own pleasure to your face, keenly observing for any signs of discomfort. When he catches the slight scrunch of your nose, he leans down to kiss you, wanting to distract you from the sting of you stretching around his cock for the first time.

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl. You were made for me.”

He feels your body relax into the mattress at the praise and your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer. It’s a silent invitation, a clear signal that you’re okay with more—that you need more.

His hips finally press flush against yours, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him, all of him. Your fingers dust up and down his spine as you get used to this, how full you feel, how complete. 

“Move, Mark,” you whisper barely above a whisper. “Please.”

And he does. He rolls his hips, pulling out of you completely before sinking back in, slow and sensual. You moan—right into his ear, because he’s buried in your neck—and he nearly loses the last thread of control he’s holding onto. Mark quickens his pace, keeping his body flush against yours—like he needs to be as close as possible. Needs to consume you the same way you’ve consumed him for years.

“Yes, Mark,” you cry, your nails raking down his back, scratching, digging, marking into his skin.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good. You have no idea how fucking perfect you are.”

He reaches for your hand, prying it from his back to lace his fingers with yours, pinning them to the mattress. It’s gentle, it’s sweet—it’s so Mark. He fucks you slowly, his hands holding yours as he kisses you. Intimate, tender, and so fucking hot.

You tighten around him, and the squeeze makes something flicker in Mark’s eyes—something determined, something feral.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper between ragged breaths.

“Fuck, yes—please,” he groans. “Cum around my cock, pretty girl. I need it. I want it.”

Hearing him just as desperate, just as needy as you, sends you over the edge. Your lip trembles, your lashes flutter, and then—your second orgasm takes over you, ripping a scream of his name from your throat.

It’s the prettiest thing Mark’s ever seen, ever heard—the best thing he’s ever felt. And he swears this moment will be etched into his memory until the day he dies. He holds you close to his chest as you ride your high, feeling every desperate breath you take, swallowing every moan with wet open mouth kisses. And when he senses you’ve finally come down, he chases his own orgasm—greedy for it, for you.

He becomes ravenous for his own release, his hips pistoning faster, harder, as he drives deeper into you. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his chest contracting as his fingertips anchor your hips in place. With every thrust his cock throbs with an almost unbearable intensity until he lets out a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering with pleasure. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispers your name, over and over again, like a mantra and he spills inside of the condom. 

The room fills with a silence, punctuated only by the sound of your mingled breaths as he comes down. Your hands are still entwined, hearts still racing, and you both can’t do anything but look at each other. Eventually, Mark leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away. He eases out of you, removes the condom, and tosses it into the nearby trash can.

You watch him as he moves, and when he turns back to you—his gaze a mix of awe and satisfaction—you can’t help but smile.

“You know when I said I loved you platonically?” you ask, and his brows knit together. He looks like he’s about to have a full-blown panic attack, so you quickly put him at ease. “I lied. I actually just love you.”

Relief washes over his face before it melts into a smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because, I love you too. Always have.”