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concreteburialplot · 1 day ago

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Friendsgiving

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x F!Reader

Masterlist: Here | Crossposted: ao3 | Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: You and your best friends decide to have Friendsgiving in their parent’s lake cabin. When one friend embarrassingly reveals a secret you’ve been keeping, Jake offers to help :)

Warnings; alcohol, weed, college au, porn w a little plot, virginity loss, oral (m & f receiving), sexual activities outdoors, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda cliché, kinda fluffy, reader has a nickname, 18+ MDNI

A/N; my first jake fic and first ever thanksgiving fic, hope you enjoy 🩷

Every year your best friend Josh would gather you and his brothers, along with any close friends or partners for a Thanksgiving bonfire. It had begun as a rebellious excuse to swipe some booze, get drunk, and escape suffocating family obligations. But by this third year in college, Josh and his brothers had finally convinced their family to let them host Friendsgiving at the family cabin. You were of course grateful for this tradition, especially since your family was…not your favorite to be around – but the night and the beer were slowly catching up to you, starting to fill your limbs with a slight numbing feeling. True to form, Josh was determined to wring every last drop of energy from the night, his boisterous voice and endless antics keeping the group alive.

The once eventful night dulled down into another Friendsgiving tradition Josh had concocted. This entailed gathering everyone – usually at their drunkest – to share one thing you were grateful for and one thing you want to let go of. What started as a cheesy joke had somehow evolved into a yearly ritual, with Josh waxing poetry about offering up your ambitions to the gods or some equally absurd sentiment.

Warmth snaked up your arms as you watched the bonfire flames flicker and sway, their hypnotic dance casting fleeting shadows across your face. Your eyes drifted over to your other best friend and Josh’s twin, Jake. He wore a flannel that was your exact favorite shade of red over some black band tee, paired with a dark multicolored knitted beanie. The edges of your lips curled into a subtle smile at the way the beanie was so lopsided on his head.

His attention was fixed on the acoustic guitar resting in his lap as his fingers idly plucked out a Fleetwood Mac tune. The gentle strumming mingled with the crackling fire, until a sharp pop from the flames broke the rhythm. Jake’s head lifted, his eyes moving to the burning flame before shifting to meet yours which were already on him.

The small grin that spread across his face made your cheeks flush with heat, an involuntary response that you desperately hoped could be blamed on the chilly air. You quickly looked away, silently thankful that the cold had already painted your cheeks rosy.

“Your turn, Y/N.” You heard a nasaly voice call from across the circle around the fire. Your gaze landed on the dark-haired girl perched comfortably on your friend Danny’s lap. Lorna. She was a coworker from the on-campus pizza shop where you both worked, and unfortunately for you, the girl Danny had decided to fall for.

Lorna was, without a doubt, one of the most irritating people you’d ever met. Still, spending so much time together at work had somehow turned her into one of your closest female friends since you only really had the boys. To her credit, she’d mellowed out a bit over time—just enough to make her tolerable. Tonight, however, the slur in her voice and the glazed look in her eyes made it clear she was far past her limit.

You sighed because you’d been dreading this question all night, you had a list of things to be thankful for but you couldn’t think of a single thing to let go of and you knew Josh wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Uh, well.” You cleared your throat. “I’m thankful for this fantastic cabin.” Your arm flung outward towards the house behind you. “And I’m thankful for surviving midterms.”

“…And?” Josh predictably pressed.

“Oh, I don’t really have anything to let go of this year.” You chuckled nervously waving the notion away.

“Oh, come on, Star, if I have to answer, so do you,” Sam, the youngest brother, protested from beside Danny, using your nickname as he lazily held a thick blunt between his fingers.

“Yeah, there’s gotta be something you wanna get rid of.” Josh pushed.

Your eyes bounced across everyone surrounding the bonfire, each one with urging faces casted in a fiery glow. It was almost overwhelming, daunting – suffocating. Suddenly, you felt backed into a corner you never wanted to be in. It wasn’t the simple question that intimidated you, it was the answer. One you didn’t want to share, at least not truthfully.

But with the alcohol buzzing in your veins and the unspoken demand hanging thick in the air, you finally caved. “Okay, fine,” you exhaled, the words carrying a mix of resignation and defiance. “I want to get rid of… something. Something very personal.” You deliberately stopped short, letting the finality of your tone tell them that was all they were getting.

At least, that was your plan—until a drunken cackle erupted from your left.

“Ha!” Lorna slurred, her laughter loud and unabashed. “Your virginity!”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at her drunken outburst, your cheeks blazing hot as the embarrassment spread down to the tips of your fingers. The heat intensified when you caught Jake’s gaze out of the corner of your eye, his attention fixed squarely on you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but the suffocating silence that had fallen over the group—save for Lorna absentmindedly cackling.

One late night after work, over a few too many drinks, Lorna had somehow pried your biggest secret out of you. Well, second biggest secret. You just never imagined she’d announce it in front of your closest friends. Your silence was also telling, confirming what she said was true.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Josh spoke up, “Oh, sex is overrated anyway! Jake your next.” He announced swiftly.

It was clear he was trying to help, to move past the awkwardness of the moment, but your throat felt constricted, like it was lined with barbed wire, and your eyes stung with the threat of tears. Before Jake could respond to Josh, you shot to your feet, the sudden movement making your heart race. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for a reaction, you weaved your way out of the circle, your steps quick and unsteady as you headed in the opposite direction, away from the back porch.

Jake’s frustrated scoff reached your ears as you walked, and when you glanced back, you saw him glaring at Lorna and Danny. With a sharp exhale, he gently set his guitar aside before rising from his chair to follow.

But you didn’t care. You couldn’t. The emotions swirled inside you—embarrassment, frustration, confusion—but all you could do was keep walking, heading toward the dark expanse of the forest that bordered the icy lake. Only as you neared the trees did it hit you how pointless it was to walk deeper into the cold, how ridiculous it would look if you turned back now. But the thought of being alone, even in the freezing silence of the woods, felt like the only thing that made sense. And that’s all you wanted right now, to be alone.

“Star!” Jake’s voice called after you, and you nearly flinched at the sound of it. He was the last person you wanted to talk to after everything that had just happened.

“Leave me alone, Jake. I’m fine,” you croaked, but the weakness in your voice betrayed you, revealing just how vulnerable you were.

“You’re obviously not fine,” he shot back, his footsteps persistent as he followed you toward the tree line.

“Just go back! Go have fun,” you snapped, swiping at a tear that had slipped down your cheek as you quickened your pace, weaving around a nearby tree.

"I’m not going to have fun while you’re out here, lost in the forest." His voice softened, but you could hear the frustration beneath it. "Just come back with me." He kept pace with you, effortlessly moving through the trees as you tried to dodge him.

"Just leave me alone!"

"You can’t outrun me." His tone shifted, and in the next breath, he was right behind you, his presence a quiet force that made you stop in your tracks. "Just talk to me."

You rolled your eyes at his persistence. “There’s nothing to talk about, Jake.”

“C’mon, just head back with me. Everyone’s drunk no one will remember.” He rationalized.

But you’ll remember – you wanted to say.

If you had stayed calm, he’d probably be right, but you had to go and cause a whole scene. You were sure that everyone, especially Jake, would remember now.

“It’s not like it’s even true.” He continued, confidently.

You glanced up at his words, immediately regretting it as your eyes met his, even if only for a fleeting moment. You could’ve just gone with that, you could’ve lied, you could’ve brushed it off – if you hadn’t looked at him. He always had a talent for seeing right through your bullshit.

His brows and eyes softened at the realization, “…Is it true?”

You groaned, dropping your arms to your sides. Whenever strong emotions hit you, pacing was your automatic response, so that’s exactly what you did. The weight of the alcohol from the night crashed over you like a tidal wave, and suddenly, it was like a dam inside you broke wide open. Your secret was out and as humiliating as it was, it was also oddly freeing.

“Well, it’s not like I’m some prude,” you blurted out, your words tumbling out faster than you could think as you paced, the crunch of leaves beneath your sneakers punctuating each step. You turned to face him, your arms thrown wide. “It’s not like I don’t want to do those things, you know?”

“…Sure?” He responded slowly, his gaze following you with a mix of uncertainty and caution.

“I’m 22 years old of course I want to fuck!” You exclaimed and if you had been sober, you’d be mortified. “I mean I watch porn but that’s not enough. A little blue bullet and my fingers are not enough!”

Jake brown eyes widened at your confession, not just because it was jarring but because it was stirring thoughts in his head that he usually tried to fight around you.

“And for god sakes, I want to suck dick!” You threw your arms out as if you just told him something as casual as craving a slushee.

His eyebrows lifted at your statement. The visual of it alone was enough to cause a slight tightening in his pants.

“I chose that to get rid of because I just want to get it over with!” You nearly spat. It felt so liberating to get it all out in the open, to finally spill the feelings you’d been hoarding in your lonely heart.

When you met his eyes, the air between you was unexpectedly different.

“And what’s stopped you?” He asked smoothly, his voice now like velvet.

“I- uh,” Suddenly, you were flustered, and your cheeks blushed. “I-I don’t know.” Your shoulders lifted to a shrug. “I was never comfortable enough with anyone… I guess.”

He took a step towards you to which you mirrored with a step back, landing right into a tree. “Are you comfortable with me?”

Your eyes rounded at his question, “What do you mean?” Because of course, he couldn’t possibly be insinuating what you thought he was.

“Answer the question.” He replied firmly as he stepped closer. It made your tummy flutter because you’d never heard him speak like that.

“Um, yes?”

Jake knew he was walking a thin line; he shouldn’t be using this for selfish reasons. But if it was for the sake of helping you, he could set aside the way he felt about you for the moment. He was sure that if you agreed, it would be purely a transactional favor and nothing more. That it wouldn’t mean anything to you. He tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t mean anything to him either.

But, after he heard all the firsts you were missing, he was determined to be the one to provide them for you. He thought, if he couldn’t make you love him, he at least knew he’d be able to give you an experience you wouldn’t forget. Maybe he’d give you something to return to, something to think about all alone, with your hand between your legs. That thought alone was enough to satisfy something somewhere in him. If he couldn’t have all of you, at least this way he could claim one part—his choice.

“Then let me help you.” He offered simply, like he was asking to help you sweep.

“Help me what?” You questioned with furrowed brows.

“Lose your virginity.” He stepped closer until he was right in front of you, his cold breath billowing out between you both.

You blinked up at him dumbfounded as a silent war waged inside you. On one hand, you’d absolutely die at the chance of having him in that way. You’d be lying to yourself if you said there wasn’t some locked away part of your heart that always wished it would be him. Maybe you’d accidentally been waiting for him this whole time, with the hope that he’d fall in love with you somewhere along the way. But on the other hand, you were petrified of being that vulnerable with him. It’s not like he’d ever shown any interest in you before, who knew if he even found you attractive. Maybe this was just some cruel pity favor.

“I-I,” you began weakly before squaring your shoulders defiantly. “I don’t want to be some sort of charity project.”

“Does it look like I just whip out my dick for charities?” He half joked.

The comment made you giggle first before warming your cheeks at the reality of the agreement you were about to make. “No.” You shook your head at the hypothetical question.

The air between you thickened, charged with tension as your eyes locked in a silent stalemate, each of you waiting to see who would make the first move.

“You wanna suck dick?” The cashmere quality of his voice made the question sound like the most casually appealing thing in the world.

After a moment, without allowing yourself too much time to think about it, you replied, “Yes.”

“Then get on your knees.” He ordered and the authoritativeness in his tone settled a buzzing in your core.

“What? Now? Here?” You nearly shrieked. “It’s freezing cold, Jake! We’re in a forest!”

His face was stoic in a way that was almost infuriating. He was the most unbothered you’d ever seen him.

“Our friends are right there!” you protested, pointing toward the trees, though your words were just a delay tactic. With the distance and the cover of the trees between you, you knew they wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

“Do you want to suck my cock or not?”

His verbiage made your eyes nearly pop out of your head and it only worsened the wetness pooling in your panties. Wordlessly, you slowly sunk to your knees in front of him. You were silently grateful that it hadn’t snowed that day.

“I do.” You whispered, looking up at him beneath your lashes. He looked beautiful from this angle, chiseled and radiant.

“Okay then. Stop fighting me.” His voice dipping back into the Jake you’ve always known. “If you want to stop at any point, tell me, okay?” When you were a bit too overwhelmed to reply, his hand softly found your jaw to tilt it up at him. “You promise to tell me? If you can’t say anything just pat my leg, okay?”

You nodded.

“Nuh-uh, I need to hear it.” He shook his head but kept his gentle grip on your face.

“Yes.”

He leaned down to hover just above your face, “And, if something feels good, I want to hear that too.” He whispered with his eyes intently on yours before straightening back up.

You nodded again but quickly corrected yourself, “Yes.”

It was almost embarrassing how quickly you were learning to bend to him.

“Good.”

His fingers slowly began to undo his belt buckle and you were ashamed of how much your mouth was already watering. You watched his digits as they diligently worked on getting his zipper down and unfolding each side of his jeans enough. You could tell he was planning on just keeping them just below his hips, but you decided to take executive action and tug them all the way down.

“Eager, are we?” He flashed a deadly smirk that made your chest clench.

“Maybe.” You replied honestly.

“You’ve never given head before?”

You shook your head in response.

“Give me your hands.” He held out his palms to take yours in.

You complied and he took over your hands, moving them for you. He brought them to the band of his black boxer briefs and hooked your fingers into it to pull them down. Your eyes widened when his half-erection sprung from the underwear. While it wasn’t fully hard yet, it was already bigger than what you expected.

He held one of your hands palm-up in order to lean down and spit into it before bringing it to his shaft. His own hand guided yours to grip it to his desire. Your eyes met his as he began moving your hand up and down gently. Below your fingertips you could feel him hardening by the second, his veins beginning to bulge and his tip starting to swell.

You watched as his chest tightened with every movement of your hand. Once he saw that you got the hang of it, he left your hands. You continued the momentum he’d began, even pulling off to spit again to relubricate. You watched it pulse in your hand, and it made you feel powerful. He could pretend he was in charge all he wanted but when it bounced in your palm, you knew that you were the one really in control. In the obscenest way, you’d even consider it beautiful – how perfectly it was shaped and how it was duo-toned, darker pink towards the tip and paler at the base. It also had the most perfect slight curve up to it that made you wonder how that’d feel inside.

You snapped out of your daze and pumped him in your fist a couple more times before sinking it down to the base, holding it in place. You leaned forward and placed a gentle lick at his tip, causing it to bounce on your tongue and it made you smile wide. You did that to him.

When you finally placed his tip into your mouth, it nearly filled it entirely. But you persisted and slowly took him into your mouth. As you sunk down on him, he let out a low groan from the pit of his stomach. You found that to make you feel the most powerful of all. It only made you want to keep making him sound like that.

You took as much of him as you could and used your hand to stroke the part you couldn’t reach.

Unexpectedly, you felt his fingers rake through your hair, moving it away from your face. You gazed up with your mouth full of him and he looked almost drunk on you.

“Fuck,” He breathed out. “Keep looking at me like that and I won’t last much longer.”

The statement made your heart swell, even though it might’ve just been him lost in lust, the idea of him being that turned on by you made this questionable decision worth it.

You could tell that his words were true by the way his cock was twitching in your mouth. Taking it as a sign, you quickened your speed and began to let his tip land into the back of your throat. The groans that this elicited from him were heavenly and you didn’t want to stop.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groaned, watching you with an intensity that made your skin burn. “Stop if you don’t want me to cum in your mouth.”

You decided in the moment that this was in fact the experience you asked for and you wanted the whole thing, authentically. So, you just blinked up at him, signaling that stopping wasn’t an option.

“Fuck.” He dragged out the word, letting his head fall backwards with his jaw slung open.

Not long after that, his fingers tightened in your hair and his milky release spilled into the back of your throat.

You pulled away with wide eyes up at him, he looked so fucked out with half lidded eyes. “My god.”

You winced, bracing for harsh criticism. “Oh god, was it bad?”

“Bad?!” He exclaimed. “I can’t believe that was your first time. That might’ve been the best I’ve ever had.”

The grin that pulled on your face was wide with overbearing pride. “Really?”

He leaned down and grasped your cheek the way he did before, “Yeah. You did so good.”

Out of everything you’d experienced thus far tonight, that was undoubtedly the best one yet. It filled you with a feeling like you’d do absolutely anything to hear him say that again.

Once readjusted and tucked back into his pants, he held out a hand. You took the offer and let him help you to your feet and kept you steady when you were a bit wobbly on your stiff legs. You both laughed at the interaction, feeling like normal you and Jake. It was odd to feel that way while just having him in your mouth.

Once steadied, he asked you a question that made your knees weak all over again. “Have you ever been eaten out?”

The air vacated from your lungs and by the smirk growing on his face, you took that he knew the answer already and just wanted to see you riled up.

“You’re really cute when you’re flustered.” He admitted.

Rosy pink bloomed on your cheeks, and you were exceedingly grateful for the mostly darkness surrounding you, save for the glow from the bonfire. “Shut up.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice was smooth as butter again. “Has anyone ever eaten your pussy?”

The blatant wording made your clit begin to pulse. That wasn’t something you even expected would be on the table and now that it was, it was all you could think about. You shook your head with bright red cheeks.

“Nuh-uh.” His fingers went up to hold your chin in place. “I told you I need to hear it. But since you don’t want to listen, now I really want you to use your words.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me you’ve never been eaten out before.”

Feeling a bit emboldened with a mischievous nature, you decided to one up him. “No, but I want you to eat my pussy.”

By the way his eyes rounded it was obvious he wasn’t expecting that answer. You took it a step further. “I want you to eat my pussy and I want you inside me.”

His eyes raised a bit at your bluntness but ultimately nodded, “Okay. That can definitely be arranged.”

“Okay.” A bit of shyness began to fill your limbs like sand. A brief awkwardness fueled the air between you at the realization of what just happened and what you just said. It was a small window of clarity into what you were doing and while a part of you was ashamed, another part was on fire. You saw yourself through the glass and realized that you’d never felt more alive.

The glow from the bonfire that had once bathed the forest in warm light began to fade. You both peeked through the trees, watching as the group slowly began to douse the flames, signaling the end of the night.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” he whispered, his voice low even though there was no chance anyone else could hear him. “It looks like they’re leaving the outdoor lights on for us, so we’ll wait until they all head inside and get settled in their rooms. Then, we’ll sneak in and go straight to mine, alright?”

“Okay,” you whispered back, a nervous excitement curling in your stomach.

Once the fire was completely out and the last of the group made their way indoors, Jake slipped his hand into yours, guiding you through the trees. You stifled a laugh when he stumbled over a branch, the sound of his quick, “Shut up,” making you giggle even more. Halfway through your journey is when you realized your hands were tied and it made your heart flutter.

In that moment, you felt like a teenager again—sneaking back into your house, adrenaline racing through your veins as if you were getting away with something you weren’t supposed to. The excitement, the secrecy—it was almost intoxicating.

The path to Jake’s room felt like something out of a late-night adventure, every step echoing too loudly in the stillness of the house. Once inside his room, you pressed your body against the door to shut it quietly, the tension of your movements almost comical. As soon as it clicked into place, both of you burst into laughter, doing your best to stifle the sound so the others wouldn’t hear.

Everything felt so ridiculous—sneaking around like this, hiding something that, in the grand scheme of things, felt so absurdly trivial. That this was all about him helping you lose your virginity, of all things, made it even more surreal.

The giggles faded the second your eyes met. Before you could overthink anything, he took your face in his hands and pulled you into a kiss. As cliché as it was, it felt magical, like sparkles spiraling themselves around you. It was everything you’d ever dreamed it’d be. He felt amazing against your numbing lips.

He pulled away just enough to catch your eyes again. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked earnestly.

“Yes. Definitely yes.” You confirmed. While you were still drunk you knew you would never have the courage to do this sober. There was no way you’d regret the courage the alcohol was supplying you.

His eyes darted across your face and his thumb swiped across your bottom lip. “And this is okay?”

“Absolutely.” You breathed out as he leaned back in to meet your lips again.

The kiss quickly deepened, entwining your tongues in a heated dance. Your hands immediately found his flannel, nearly tearing it off of him. He helped you by flinging it off his arms to the ground without parting from you, but your hands were already trying to pry his shirt off.

He parted from you with a devious smile as he tugged the band tee over his head. “God, you’re impatient.” He chuckled and used his finger to tilt your chin up so he could kiss you. “Can I take something off you?”

Pink tinted your cheeks at the question. “Sure.” You shrugged. “I won’t be nearly as impressive as you.”

He scoffed at your words, “You’re fucking insane if you think that.” His fingers found the hem of your hoodie indicating that he wanted it off.

Your eyes widened when you remembered just how little you actually had on. “I um, I’m not wearing a shirt….or a bra.”

His eyes flickered up to yours, “You’ve been braless all night?”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip and nodded.

“Fuck that’s hot.” He muttered and paused before beginning to lift the hoodie over your head. Your nipples pebbled the second the cold air hit them. You thought you’d be significantly more self-conscious about them but by the way he was looking at you as if you were a full course meal, you felt almost confident.

His hands slid down your bare sides, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind. “God, I need to taste you, like,” he swiftly guided you towards the bed. “Like right now.”

You took that as a sign to sit down where he set you. He softly guided you into a more proper position, laying you down flat with your legs dangling off the bed. His lips found your neck and you thought you might even be able to cum just from the way he nipped and sucked at your skin. Your hand tangled into his long hair, tipping his beanie off his head and you tossed it to the ground. “Jake.” You breathed out in an attempt to get his attention. “Jake.” You repeated, more sternly this time. “Jake you can’t leave a mark on me.” Your voice came out shakey and quiet.

“And why not?” He countered, popping his head back up.

“You know why.” You sighed. “They’ll know.”

A smirk tugged at one edge of his lips, “So? I don’t care if they know.”

“Jakey it’s embarrassing!” You squealed.

“Okay okay.” He relented with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss below your ear. “I’ll just give you ones they can’t see.”

He trailed down your skin, smirking into each small kiss knowing how flustered he was making you. His lips landed on your breast and did something you didn’t expect – he took your nipple into his mouth and began to lick at it. “Oh.” Your eyes widened at the sensation. Between this and the work he’d left on your neck, your panties were soaked with anticipation. Your hand curled in his hair as his hand found your other breast and began to knead the flesh in his fingers. The feeling of it all was foreign but incredibly delightful.

He pulled off your nipple with a pop and with eyes so full of lust, “I’m going to eat your pussy now.” He informed you. He pressed open mouth kisses down your torso, taking extra time to suck marks into your hipbones.

Finally, he sunk to his knees in front of you and helped you out of your leggings until you were finally completely bare to him.

His eyes were fixated on your core like he was in a trance. “Can I touch you?”

“Have you not been touching me this whole time?” You asked rhetorically, propping yourself on your elbows.

“Just making sure.” He pressed a kiss to your thigh without his eyes leaving your cunt. Slowly, he made his way up your thigh until he was pulling you to the very edge with both arms. His fingers experimentally spread you open. “Fuck. You’re so fucking wet.”

Your cheeks heated red hot at the comment. “Shut u-” you went silent when you felt his tongue meet your cunt. It began at your entrance and moved its way up to your aching bud, lapping up all your wetness. “Oh.” You all but moaned.

His tongue expertly began rolling against your clit in a soft rhythm. It was by far the most pleasurable thing you’d ever felt. If you had been sober, you would’ve been so caught up in your head about so many things, but drunk you was only concerned about feeling good.

You let out a moan when he started making ‘S’ patterns against your buzzing clit. The sound made him buffer and let out a moan against you in return. The vibrations of his groan nudged you towards your edge. It was a little embarrassing how quickly he was able to get you there. Your hand plunged into his hair, grabbing hold of it. “Jake, I think- oh, oh.”

He did a small nod against you, indicating that he understood. His hand gave your thigh a small squeeze urging you on. His speed increased marginally, just enough to tip you over. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Your volume increased which made you grab a pillow to expel your noises into. Your thighs clamped around his head as you felt yourself let go. Electricity sparked across your entire body, filling it with a feeling you’ve only ever felt alone. It was a vastly different experience climaxing by the hand of another person. You never wanted the moment to end but you soon felt yourself returning back to earth.

Jake tapered off of you slowly then made his way up to your face. He gently took the pillow from your grasp, revealing his smiling face. Rosy pink tinted your cheeks at the sight of his face covered in your slick. He smiled as if he’d just won some competition. “You tasted fucking delicious, I could eat you all fucking day.”

You could’ve playfully hit his arm and told him to shut up but your fucked out brain only had one thing in mind. Your hands scrambled to his belt buckle beginning to undo it. Your glossy eyes looked up at his surprised ones. “I need your cock.”

“Okay, okay, slow down.” He chuckled at your hasty actions. His hands found yours to slow them. “There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You nodded bashfully. “Okay.”

He allowed you to continue on your plight of stripping him from his belt, hissing it through the loops of his pants, then tossing it to the floor. “Should I get a condom?”

“You have a condom?”

He shrugged, “I keep one in my wallet.”

You mulled it over, it was probably the smart thing to do, but you wanted the full experience. You shook your head, “Don’t need it. I’m on birth control.”

“Okay.” He confirmed, slowly peeling himself out of his dark skinny jeans. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the sight of him this way. The least you’d ever seen him in were swim trunks and this was about to be so much better than that. He slowly pulled his boxer briefs down past his hips, letting his length spring free. Compared to in the forest, this time he was hard enough for it to smack his lower tummy. It was even better in the light instead of the faintly lit wilderness. You figured this would be a one-time thing between the two of you, but the thought of never having this again with him was almost excruciating. Thoughts of what tomorrow would look like for both of you began to creep in, but you quickly shelved them. That was a problem for tomorrow-you, right now-you was about to lose your virginity to the boy you’d been in love with since 5th grade. He may not love you back but in this moment you didn’t care. Tonight would forever live as an anomaly in your heart.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt him brush his tip between your folds. “This might hurt.” He warned. “I’ll go slow but if you need me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

You took a deep inhale and nodded. Carefully, he aligned himself with your entrance and pushed his head in. He was right, it did hurt, more than you had anticipated. It didn’t help that he was quite large, definitely larger than average. “Breathe for me, okay?” His hand soothed your hip, giving it a little squeeze.

You blinked the burning from your eyes and took a deep inhale as he continued to push into you. It felt what you imagined what being torn in half would be like, your body being ripped apart from your most sensitive part.

“How does that feel?” He asked curiously, seeing the wince on your face.

“Painful.” You exhaled, “Full.”

“Oh,” His voice was both cautious yet smug. “I’m nowhere near done filling you up.”

Your eyes widened at his statement and while it was terrifying it was also thrilling. You could feel the flesh of your walls part for him, you felt all of him in great detail. He finally bottomed out, careful to not jam himself into your cervix.

Blinking at the ceiling, you processed everything you were experiencing. You took a mental picture of the moment, even though it was incredibly uncomfortable, it was exactly what you’d asked for. It was a moment you’d remember for the rest of your life. You’d forever compare any sexual experience to this moment. You were suddenly grateful for the events of the night – while they had been exceptionally humiliating, it led you straight to this. You didn’t lose your virginity to a random boy; you lost it to your best friend. You lost it to Jake. You gave it to Jake.

His gentle hand on your side grounded you, “You okay?” He asked softly.

You smiled genuinely at him, “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” He mirrored your authentic grin. “I’m gonna move now, okay?”

You nodded and laid your head back down. His hips began to slide in and out of you incredibly slow, just to let you get comfortable with the sensation. After the 3rd or 4th thrust, the burn started to feel good. Then as he sped up marginally, it started to feel really good.

“Oh.” You said absentmindedly, letting your thought spill from your lips.

He smirked and ran his hand up your thigh. “That feel good baby?”

Baby?

You weren’t about to dissect that now.

“Uh-huh.” You breathed out, leaving your focus from the ceiling to meet his face. “Feels really good.”

“Good, good.” He softly lifted your knee up and placed a chaste kiss there. “Now, you told me you watch porn?” He asked and it shocked you right back into reality.

“…Yeah?”

“So, you touch yourself while you watch?”

Your eyes widened, though you shouldn’t be embarrassed, you offered that information up to him. “Yeah?”

His hand went up and tenderly picked up your hand, bringing it to your center. “Show me.”

You blinked at him, that being the last thing you ever expected him to say. He picked up on your hesitation and clarified further. “It’ll help. It’ll make it better.”

While you knew it was the truth, being in the spotlight was little intimidating. But you did as he asked and began using two fingers to roll circles into your clit, just like you did alone. And he was right, suddenly everything intensified and became significantly more pleasurable. The sensation made you wetter which eased the process of him fucking you.

He intently watched your hand work on yourself, “Fuck.”

The moment quickly moved into a more comfortable yet heated rhythm. It was clear that once he knew you were feeling good, that he let himself get lost in you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned and you remembered just how heavenly the sound was.

You felt a knot begin to form in your lower belly and you knew you were close already. With the way his brows were curved up and his head thrown back, you could tell he was near his end too.

“Jake, I’m close.” You informed quietly, barely hanging on.

“Me too, baby.”

There it was again – baby – perhaps he just let it slip, maybe he called everyone baby during sex. Either way, you couldn’t help the way it made your heart swell in your chest.

You closed your eyes and focused on the feeling growing beneath your fingertips. You’d never came with something inside you before and it made you a little nervous to find out what it would feel like.

“C’mon baby, cum all over my cock, will you?” His voice smooth and caring which was in vast contrast to how he was drilling into you and the words he was saying. But it was enough to cause the knot in your belly to snap.

White hot euphoria washed over you, filling your entire body with static buzzing that felt immaculate. The feeling of his cock filling you up while you pulsed around him was one of the best things you’d ever felt. You weren’t sure how you’d ever be able to live without him filling you up completely.

Shortly after, you felt him throb and twitch inside you, filling you with a warmth you’d never felt before. It was vaguely comforting and satisfying.

He stayed like that for a moment, letting you both come down slowly. When he pulled from you, he left you with an emptiness like never before. You didn’t feel whole anymore without him inside you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Let me clean you up.”

You nodded weakly, feeling exhausted.

He rummaged around and found a towel he was planning to use for a morning shower. In the gentlest manner, he spread your legs open but hesitated before bringing the towel to your core.

“Something wrong?” You lifted up on your elbows.

A shy smirk graced his lips and shook his head. “Just, you look so good being so full of me.”

Peach coated your cheeks at his statement, but you were too overwhelmed to respond.

He carefully used the towel to wipe you clean as best he could before cleaning himself off and tossing it aside. You watched him go into his suitcase and pull out a shirt and sleep pants. When he handed them to you, you blinked in surprise, your cheeks warming at the unexpected gesture. “Thanks,” you murmured, clutching the clothes to your chest. He nodded, already pulling out his own sleepwear to change.

The two of you changed in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier replaced by something softer, more intimate. Selfishly, you didn’t want the moment to end, so you lingered. Settling onto the corner of the bed where the walls met, you wrapped your arms around your knees, sitting quietly, almost shyly.

As if he had expected you to stay, Jake climbed into the bed and slid over to your corner. Without a word, he opened his arms in invitation. The unspoken warmth in his gesture made your heart ache, and you didn’t hesitate to lean into him. Nestling yourself into his chest beneath the covers, you let his body’s warmth melt away the night’s leftover tension.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence between you comfortable and steady. Then, his voice broke the stillness, soft but filled with something vulnerable. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You tilted your head up, furrowing your brows in confusion. “Fuck me?”

His laugh was quiet but genuine. “Kiss you,” he corrected, though his lips curled into a teasing smirk. “And, well... yeah, that too.”

Your stomach flipped and your gaze narrowed slightly as you studied his expression, wondering if this was some sort of twisted prank. “You wanted to kiss me?”

Now it was his turn to blush. His cheeks tinted a faint pink as he nodded. “Yeah. For a long time.”

You stared at him, still trying to make sense of it. “I’ve wanted to kiss you,” you admitted, though your voice was soft and hesitant, the words feeling like a secret you weren’t sure you should share.

His eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. “You have?”

Biting your bottom lip, you nodded, suddenly feeling nervous under his gaze. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the mutual confessions hanging in the air. Then Jake’s hand found yours under the covers, his fingers brushing softly against your palm before curling around it. “Guess we’ve been idiots for a while then, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in his voice making your chest ache in the best way. “Yeah,” you said, settling back against him. “I guess we have.”

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, tucked away beneath the covers. The weight of your confessions hung between you like a fragile, shimmering thread, and all at once, the space between you felt much, much smaller.

You caught a wide grin pull at his lips before nudging you lightly. “So… does that mean you had a good time?”

You laughed and nudged his chest in return. “Was it not obvious?”

His chuckle was warm and teasing. “No, it was definitely obvious.”

“Shush,” you murmured, curling back into his chest and letting his heat seep into you. “I don’t want to leave here,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you intended.

His arm wrapped around you, tugging you closer. “Then don’t.”

“But the others… in the morning.” You mumbled, toying with a loose string on his shirt.

“What about them?”

“They’ll know.” You frowned, assuming he wouldn’t want them to find out.

He chuckled as he started tracing circles on your back. “They already know how I feel about you silly.”

Your eyes snapped up at him with knitted brows. “What?”

His gaze softened as he met your confusion with a small laugh. “Star, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who doesn’t know.”

Bright red heat bloomed across your cheeks, and you groaned, burying your face in the crook of his arm. “Am I really that oblivious?”

Jake laughed again, a deep, genuine sound that made your chest feel impossibly full. “You’re definitely that oblivious.”

Before you could summon a reply, a sleepy yawn escaped your lips, cutting off any protest. Jake’s hand on your back stilled, shifting to a soothing rhythm. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

The weight of his warmth, his words, and the steady beat of his heart lulled you further into comfort. “It’s been a long night. Let’s just get some sleep,” he added softly.

The sound of his voice, paired with the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, was enough to quiet your thoughts. You snuggled deeper into his arms, feeling more at peace than you had in a long time. And as sleep pulled you under, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope flicker in your chest for what this all meant for the two of you.

The morning light filtered softly through the blinds, and you stirred awake before Jake did. His arm was still draped over you, heavy with sleep. For a moment, you just stayed there, your head nestled against his chest, listening to his even breathing. But as the hazy comfort gave way to clarity, reality hit—you needed to change. The thought of anyone catching you leaving his room in his clothes was mortifying. You reached over and tapped to wake the screen of his phone to check the time and found it to be way earlier than any of them usually wake up.

Carefully, you slipped out from under his arm, trying not to disturb him. Jake mumbled something incoherent but didn’t wake, and you smiled softly at his peaceful expression before tiptoeing to the door. Once outside, you made a beeline for your own room, keeping your head down to avoid any potential early risers.

Unfortunately, luck was not on your side. You turned the corner and collided directly with Josh, who was strolling the hallway in his robe, a mug of tea in hand.

“Star!” he exclaimed, his grin wide and immediate. “You’re okay!”

Your cheeks flamed as you smiled sheepishly, awkwardly thumbing over your shoulder. “Yeah, Jake helped me.”

Josh’s grin morphed into something much more mischievous as his gaze drifted over your borrowed sleepwear. The smirk on his lips was nothing short of wicked. “Oh, I’m sure he did.”

Your face burned brighter, and you sputtered, “It’s not—it’s not like that!”

Josh raised a brow, his expression practically screaming that he didn’t believe you. “Mmhmm,” he said, drawing out the sound with exaggerated suspicion. “So, you just happened to end up in his clothes? After sneaking back inside together last night?”

“I—uh—” You struggled for an explanation, but Josh was already enjoying your discomfort far too much.

“Relax, Star,” he said, chuckling as he sipped his tea. “I’m just messing with you. Well… mostly.” He winked before stepping aside, leaving you standing there flustered and mortified.

As you hurried back to your room, you couldn’t help but groan internally. You knew Josh wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon. And worse, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the smirk on his face would spread to the rest of the group before breakfast was even over.

But despite the overwhelming embarrassment that flushed through you in waves, something else lingered beneath it—a warmth that wrapped around your chest and made your heart beat just a little faster. You couldn’t deny the spark that had ignited between you and Jake, or how it made you feel both giddy and alive. The night had been raw, vulnerable, and thrilling—far more than you'd ever expected, but not a single moment of it felt like a mistake. You were scared, sure, but a part of you was also eager for what came next. There were still a lot of unknowns—what it meant for you and Jake, what your friends would say—but deep down, you knew you’d never regret what had happened. If anything, it was a new beginning, and despite everything, you felt a strange sense of peace with that.

A/N; thanks for reading! i’d love to know your thoughts 🩷

Comment or send an ask to be added to any future taglists 🩷

#jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fluff #gvf fic #gvf fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fluff #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #concreteburialplot works #jake kiszka rpf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #jake kiszka gvf #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fanfic

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rhiannonsknife · 1 day ago

Note

Imagine that when the cabin burns down, Shauna is so busy trying to grab her journals and Jackie's doomcoming dress that she doesn't even notice that we aren't with her until it's too late. Maybe us dying/getting burned in the cabin fire? Also, i love your writing so so much

— warnings: major character death (reader dies). angst. hurt/no comfort. why do you guys love to see me suffer.

— a/n: i can’t believe i forgot to post this?? this has been in my drafts for a hot minute guys…

it’s the smell of smoke that hits shauna first, faint but insistent, seeping through the cracks of the cabin. instantly, her alerted eyes snap open, the moonlit cabin barely visible beneath a strange orange haze that seems to dance across the walls that surround her.

her journal.

the thought comes to her sharp and sudden, slicing through the slow realization of what’s happeing.

jackie. the dress.

she scrambles to her feet, shoving the tattered blanket aside. jackie’s dress is hanging on the far wall, its soft fabric tinged with the flicker of approaching flames. it’s all she that’s left of the girl she once knew. this, and the words she’s written in her journals, her only way of keeping jackie’s voice, her movements, the memories that still weigh heavy on her chest. the only way she has to remember her at all, whenever the memories begin to fade, to blur like everything else seems to for as long as she’s out here.

the smoke thickens, curling around her throat. shauna coughs as she stumbles toward the wall. her fingers close around the fabric, yanking it free. the dress slips through her hands like silk, unmarked by the heat now. protected and safe.

she turns toward her bunk, pulling out the little journal with frantic movements. her hands shake as she gathers it up, clutching it tightly to her chest.

your lungs burn first.

the smoke clings to the inside of your throat, thick and clawing. you wake choking on it, hands scrabbling for the edge of your bunk as the heat presses closer. you can hear the fire. the snapping of wood. the low growl of it devouring everything in its path. it’s everywhere.

“get up!” shauna screams as she stumbles toward the door. her voice breaks against the crackling roar of the flames as her fingers fumble with the latch until it gives, spilling her into the freezing air of the night.

the cold slams into her, finally allowing her to breathe. shauna blindly stumbles into the snow, wheeling back toward the cabin once she’s caught her breath. “fire!” she shouts, her voice ragged. “wake up! the cabin’s on fire!”

at last, figures emerge in the shadows, their movements sluggish at first, then frantic as they realize what’s happening. lottie is the first to scream, the sound high and piercing. someone, perhaps tai, is dragging van out by the arm, half-carrying her as the others stumble into the clearing and join shauna out in the freezing cold.

the fire is everywhere now, flames racing up the walls and across the roof. shauna’s chest heaves as she stands in the snow, clutching jackie’s dress and her journals.

at least she has saved her this time. at least she kept her safe.

your feet hit the floor. the cabin is too hot, your vision swimming in orange and red. everything is too hot, burning to the touch. you stagger toward the door, but the fire has already reached it, eating through the wooden frame. there’s no way out, you realize.

there’s no way out.

you scream for help, but the smoke catches the sound in your throat, reducing it to a broken cough. the heat presses closer. everything burns.

shauna’s gaze sweeps across the huddled figures that have made it to safety. they’re coughing and shouting, their faces streaked with panic. there’s a headcount she’s doing without even realizing it.

nat. tai. van. misty. lottie. and-

where are you?

the thought hits her like a punch to the gut, scattering the pieces of her relief into jagged fragments of panic. she turns back toward the cabin, flames licking at the roof that’s already collapsing inward.

“where’s…” she chokes on your name, the sound catching in her throat. “guys- where’s-“

you hands reach for the bunk again, fingers brushing the worn edges of the wood. you can barely see anything at all now. you want to scream, but there’s nothing left in your lungs.

“where’s shauna going?” nat shouts. she’s the first to notice her panic.

“shauna!” misty grabs her by the arm, but she pulls away, stumbling forward. the heat of the flames instantly forces her back, her face stinging with its intensity.

that’s when they realize.

“you’re not…she’s gone, shauna! you can’t-“

“she’s not gone!” shauna’s scream tears through the clearing. you’re not. you can’t be.

your legs give out beneath you. the heat presses against your back, your chest, your hands, and everything blurs.

you swear you can hear jackie’s voice. soft, distant, calling your name like she used to, back when everything was simple, before the crash, before the cold, before the fire. it’s enough to still your panic, at least, to pull you toward something like peace, even as the smoke closes in.

“you’re okay,” it whispers. you think you see her too, just barely, her figure shimmering at the edge of your vision, her arms reaching out as if to hold you. you can almost feel her touch, her hand brushing your cheek.

the heat doesn’t hurt anymore. everything feels warm.

everything fades to black.

the roof caves in with a deafening crash, sending a plume of sparks into the night sky. the sound silences everyone at a once. for a long moment, there’s only the sound of the fire and the crackle of collapsing wood.

shauna’s knees hit the snow, cold against her skin, burning in its own way. jackie’s dress slips from her fingers, landing in the frost beside her as her breath leaves her in short, broken sobs.

“i didn’t know,” she cries. “i didn’t- i thought you were outside. i thought you were safe”

the others don’t respond. there’s nothing left in the fire’s wake but silence and ash.

everything feels hollow.

the fire has long since died out. shauna hasn’t moved.

you find her there, curled in the snow at the edge of the wreckage, jackie’s dress clutched tightly in her hands. her breaths come in bursts. her shoulders tremble with each broken sob that escapes her throat.

you want to hold her. you want to tell her that it’s not her fault. that you don’t blame her for running. but the space between you is vast, no matter how close you try to get.

you kneel beside her anyway. you don’t feel the cold anymore. your fingers brush the frozen edges of her hair, though she doesn’t feel it. she never will.

“shauna,” you whisper, the sound barely more than the wind threading through the trees that surround you.

her sobs hitch. for a brief moment, you think she’s heard you. but then she curls tighter into herself, her fingers twisting into the fabric of the dress as if it’s the only thing anchoring her to earth.

you lie down beside her in the snow. you wish you could wrap yourself around her the way you used to on nights when the cold seeped through the walls of the cabin. your hand hovers over hers, aching to touch, but there’s nothing to touch anymore. nothing but air and memory it’s all that you are now.

she keeps saying your name, over and over, like a prayer to someone who isn’t listening.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. maybe it’s the only thing that will reach her now. “i’m so sorry”

the night drags on. you can’t leave her. you won’t. so you stay, curling yourself against her as the frost edges closer.

you press your lips to her temple, knowing she’ll never feel it, and still, you stay.

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x female reader #shauna shipman x fem!reader #shauna shipman x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x female reader #yellowjackets x you

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saphiccarma · 2 days ago

Text

- The Red Means I Love You

Relationships - Mob Boss!WandaNat x Reader

Summary - Natsha isn't very happy when she finds out about what happened at your last outing and you aren't very happy with the result of your latest mission

Warnings: mentions of sex. Murder of side characters. Let me know if I missed any

Pt.1 Pt. 2

You woke up slowly, first registering the lack of bodies around you, and sat up. Blinking away sleep, you pouted when you noticed Natasha and Wanda were gone from bed. Your thighs ached as you slid out of the bed and threw on an oversized shirt and snagged your discarded panties off the floor. Memories of last night made your cheeks heat as you made your way down the stairs.

Natasha firm grip, her slender fingers, her hot breath in your ear. It left you breathless all over again.

Wanda hadn't participated, supposedly away on some task, but she had come back once you were finished, slipping into the bed next to you. You had tensed, wondering if you should leave, but Natasha had only tightened her grip around your waist and pulled you closer. You think at some point you had snuggled up to Wanda, but you could hardly remember.

It had been a week since you had that weird encounter with that woman in the alley, but you had failed to mention it to Natasha, scared of her reaction. You had said the cut was a mere result of your clumsiness, but you could tell that Natasha didn't fully believe you.

Taking soft steps down the stairs, you meandered into the kitchen. Natasha sat at the counter, her arms crossed as she leaned forward and Wanda stood at the stove, a spatula in hand as she flipped some pancakes. Natasha's head jerked in your direction; a smirk firmly planted on her lips. You made your way over to her, letting out a surprised sound when she gripped your hips and pulled you into her lap.

You squirmed for a moment, getting comfortable, before settling. Her head rested on your shoulder, and you could smell her perfume. Warm breath fanned across your neck as she placed a tender kiss there. You hummed in content, tilting your chin to the side as she pressed another kiss on your neck.

"Sleep well?" she asked, her hands moving from your hips to rest on your thighs, rather high up. You wiggled in her lap, unsure if you were able to do this right now, but Natasha pinned you down.

You forced an answer past your lips, brain still foggy with sleep, "Yeah."

She hummed in content with your answer and pressed a soft kiss to your neck again. Wanda rolled her eyes as she faced the two of you, turning off the stove and reaching up to grab a plate out of the cabinets.

"Breakfast is ready if you're done teasing her Natasha," Wanda gave you a look that could be described as pity, but you also detected amusement in her eyes. You blushed deeply, your cheeks a light shade of pink.

Natasha groaned dramatically against your neck before placing one last kiss and releasing you with a pat on your thigh. You hopped off her lap, legs shaky beneath you, and grabbed a plate off the counter. You loaded a couple pancakes onto it and grabbed a couple sausages that you just now noticed. Wanda and Natasha followed, placing food on their own plates, and you sat down on the table. It was silent as you dug into your food. The quiet was somewhat uncomfortable, but also nice.

You shifted in your seat while you finished the rest of your food, clearing your throat awkwardly, and Natasha glanced up. She cast a sideways glance at Wanda who hardly paid her attention as you poked around the crumbs on your plate. Licking your lips, you peeked at Natasha, hesitance shimmering in your eyes.

"If you have something to say, say it," Wanda sighed, fixing you with a stern look.

You flushed, dipping your head back down, "Uhm- I maybepossiblygotsnuckuplastweek." When you were given two exasperated looks that told you neither women understood your gibberish, you cleared your throat once more, and quietly mumbled, "I got snuck up on last week."

There was a tense silence that enveloped the room, and you could feel the anger radiating off of Natasha in waves. Out of the corner of your eye you saw her gripping her knife tightly, and Wanda was clenching her jaw. You fidgeted in your seat, shifting and bouncing your leg as you waited for an answer. Natasha had trained you better than that, you were meant to be able to handle yourself.

"Who?" her voice was low, filled with a sharp danger that cut through the silence.

"I'm not sure," you shrugged, but that clearly wasn't the right answer because her glare turned to you and you scrambled for a response, "It was a woman, she had a knife."

Realization clicked in Natasha's eyes, and you could tell she was angry at you now. You sunk into your seat, shoulders rising to your ears, and lips pursing nervously. She shoved out of her seat with a harsh exhale of air and stomped up the stairs. You sat frozen in your seat, listening to her unusually heavy footsteps upstairs, before she came storming down and was out the door in a flash. Wanda spent the whole time casually finishing her food, seemingly not caring for her wife's sharp temper.

When Natasha left, Wanda glanced up at you, a pitying smirk playing on her lips, "She just cares," her voice was light, but it held a tone of warning, "She'll be expecting you later."

You nodded, somewhat numbly, and cleared your plate. Heading upstairs, you got dressed in your clothes from last night, choosing to wear fresh clothes when you got back to base, and prepared to spend the day with an angry Natasha.

^_____________^

The wooden floor was warm as it pressed up against your stomach, a thin cat suit the only thing in between, as you stared down the scope of your rifle. A shaky exhale escaped you as you adjusted it once more. Natasha stood below, her arms uncrossed, one propped on her hip and the other dangling. She looked frightening with her red lipstick that shone in the pale light and her hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She wore tight clothing, not too tight, but if you looked closely, you could see all her curves outlined.

Bucky stood next to her, his arms crossed and metal fingers glinting. He wore a gun strapped around his back, unashamed, while Natasha's were hidden in her boots. She was making a trade deal with Tony Stark, or at least, it was supposed to be that. Supposedly, he had agreed to give Natasha the money, but for some reason you didn't believe it. In the one instance you had met the man, he seemed prideful, unwilling to surrender to Natasha so easily.

Which was the reason you sat up in the rafters, hands clenched tightly around a gun, and one eye closed as you exhaled slowly. You were backup. Although you highly doubted that it would be needed, Natasha was perfectly capable of caring for herself, and Bucky was an absolute machine when he had to be. The door to the building open, a man in a black suit entering. His goatee instantly helped you label him as Stark, and two people trailed behind him. You hadn't seen them before, but they both had handguns strapped to their thighs, and large, bulky statures. One of them carried a suitcase.

You saw Natasha raise a perfect brow; annoyance written across her face. You could tell by her clenched jaw and fisted hand. She had given Stark the explicit instruction to bring no one, and if there were two then there had to be more. Your heart picked up in speed as Tony neared your boss and you saw Bucky's stance tense.

"Stark," she greeted starkly (pun intended), "Do you have the money?" Her tone was clipped, sharp and impatient. It was clear she wanted nothing more than to leave. Since that morning, Natasha had been in a snappy mood and had hardly spoken to you aside from ordering you onto this mission.

Your finger hovered over the trigger as Stark waved his hands around dramatically, "You could say that."

One of the men with the briefcase stepped closer, hauling the luggage to be propped up in his arms, and despite him being occupied, you still rested your pointer on the trigger. He was awfully close to Natasha. The butt of the gun dug into your shoulder from how much you leaned forward. The briefcase was popped open with a satisfying click that even you heard from your perch, but you could hardly see what was inside. Based on Natasha and Bucky's reaction, it was something interesting.

Your breath caught in your throat as Natasha took a step closer, her upper lip curling in distaste. Wiggling so that you leaned over the edge a bit more, you tried to peer into the box, but the lid was still obscuring your view.

"A brand-new arm," Stark gestured again, pride carrying through his tone, "For your little dog."

You could see Bucky conceal a flinch, his eyes hardening and shoulders tensing. Natasha looked up at Stark slowly.

"I asked for money, Stark." She spat his name like it was poison, a curse. The man shrugged flippantly, scoffing. He clearly had no regard for his life, addressing Natasha like that.

He placed a hand over his heart, "I'm hurt. I made this just for you and you don't want it?"

The man behind him shifted his hand to his gun. Your own finger pressed down on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, you aimed the gun towards him. Aim small miss small. You didn't actually want to shoot him; it was just a precaution if he tried anything. Natasha stepped forward, past the briefcase, and grabbed a fistful of Stark's shirt.

You hardly had time to process before you heard a gunshot ring out. For a moment you thought it was one of your people getting shot, but instead Bucky had shot the man with the gun. The one with the briefcase had dropped it, the object falling to the floor with a thud, and his hand was on his gun. Before you could think, your gun was swiveling in his direction and your finger was pressing down on the cold trigger.

The gun sounded off loudly in your ears as you watched the bullet whiz through the air. It pierced the man's head, blood splattering everywhere, even against Bucky's cheek. The brunette looked up at you, shocked, before nodding in approval.

"I'll be getting my money," Natasha snarled, her face right up in Stark's, both unfazed by the two deaths, "Whether I have to force you or not."

She dropped him to the floor, and you faintly saw the man roll his eyes. Natasha turned around, stomping off with Bucky following. Scrambling from your perch, you made your way down. There was a ringing in your ears and a haze coming over your mind.

You had killed a man. Numbly, you climbed into the car, your hands shaking as you buckled yourself and placed the gun next to you. Bucky and Natasha were unfazed by the blood that stained their clothes, the latter too caught up in her rage to notice your current state. You stared down at your hands. You had killed a man. He was going to kill Natasha. But you killed him. His blood had splashed out painting the floor with red droplets, and it stuck to Bucky's chin. You risked a glance up. Red specks dotted his face and there were a few on Natasha's clothes. Your hands were shaking violently.

Desperately, you clenched them into fists, trying to get the shaking to stop. Your rifle laid across the seat next to you.

Natasha had said you would have to kill. She said it wouldn't be easy; it would be shocking. But you hadn't expected it to rock you to your bones and send such a strong feeling through you. A man was dead because of you.

You had killed someone. The thought made your heart clench and you suppressed the thick lump in your throat.

He could have had a wife and kids. He could have- he could have- Your breathing increased rapidly. You tried to reign it in, calm yourself, and it just barely worked, allowing you to keep it together temporarily. In your dazed state, you hardly noticed the way the car was going until it pulled into Natasha's parking lot and the redhead was guiding you out of the car. Her hands were firm against you trembling form as she whispered soft words into your ear.

You heard Wanda ask a question, but the words were no more than nonsense to you. You had killed a man. It was inevitable, you knew that, but it still made anguish pulse through your veins. It was to protect Natasha, you told yourself, although the words did little to snap you out of your state. Guiding you up the stairs, Natasha put you on the bed, disappearing for a moment. Water started flowing in the bathroom. A bath.

She came back a moment later, helping you strip off your clothes as you stared into space, before leading you into the bath. She tried to dip you down into it, but you clung to her stubbornly.

"сердечко," she sighed, her voice unusually soft, "You smell, let me give you a bath. It'll help."

Whining, you shook your head, clinging to her even more. You weren't sure what you wanted, but letting go of her certainly wasn't it. With an exasperated sigh, Natahsa wrangled herself out of your tight grip just enough so that she could wiggle out of her own clothes. You didn't even stop to pause and stare per usual, instead letting her lower both of you into the tub. Natasha spread her legs and let you sit in front of her, her hands splaying across your stomach.

She placed a tender kiss to your temple, "Let's get you washed up."

Her slender fingers were gentle as she washed you up, lathering shampoo in your hair and then rinsing it out only to be replaced with conditioner. Her hands roamed all over you in no way sexual as she scrubbed your body down. You soaked up her care, lost in your thoughts as you stared numbly into the distance.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her voice was soft and light in your ear, breath cold in contrast to the water.

You processed her question just enough to shake your head. Gently, her arms wrapped around you, and she pepper kisses to your neck. It was comforting, having her so close. There was no sexual intent to her movements, merely trying her best to provide a source of comfort that she didn't know how to give. The two of you sat in the tub until the water was cooling and Natasha's lips were turning blue and her teeth chattered. The famed mob boss didn't have the heart to force you out.

Your head lay against her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut every now and then, and chest rising and falling with content. It was moments later when Wanda entered, two fluffy towels in hand, and a slight frown on her face. She took in her wife's state and clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

"становится мягким?" The younger redhead tilted her head as she crouched next to the tub. (Going soft?)

Natasha glared at her as she shook her head. Wanda sighed but took hold of you under your armpits, ignoring your frustrated whines and attempts to cling to Natasha, and wrapped you up in the blanket. Time passed quickly after that, and when you were finally coming out of your daze, you were wrapped up in a warm blanket, a large hoodie draped across your shoulders, and pressed into Natasha's side.

You both lay on your sides, a hand slung over your waist as well, which you identified as Wanda's, and your breath caught in your throat. Natahsa must have noticed the light return to your eyes because she smiled down at you, her own eyes twinkling. A brief kiss was placed on your nose.

"I killed a man," you whispered, your voice raw and vulnerable. Saying the words out loud made the realization hit hard. You killed someone. What gave you the right? He could have had a life. A wife. Kids. People who loved him and cared about him, yet you disposed of him in mere seconds. Who were you to make that decision?

"Hey," Natasha's hand cupped your chin, tilting your face to look her in the eyes, "You were doing your job." Her words did little to comfort you, but when she pulled you closer, burying you into her, and Wanda pressed herself up against you, that helped. You sighed, somewhat content, and pushed away your emotional turmoil. "I'm proud of you."

You swallowed down the discomfort you felt as those words, instead humming happily and placing a soft kiss to her neck.

Taglist: @macaroni676 @gaylorvader @ashadash0904

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you

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d-z20 · 3 hours ago

Text

Neighbourly Care part 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You go home for Thanksgiving and who else joins your familiy but none other than their wonderful neighbours Agatha and Rio

-OR-

You struggle to make it through the meal and so does Agatha, but she "accidentally" spills her drink which means you fuck in the bathroom :)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, top Agatha, top Rio, fingering, oral, mention of humiliation kink

Words: 3.5k

A/N: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE AND KUDOS!!! to celebrate here is a bonus seasonal chapter :D Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate, and to those who don't enjoy the chapter ;)

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Master List

A Thanksgiving To Remember

As the morning light filters through the blinds, the hotel room is dim and quiet. You wake up slowly, feeling warm and content, your body still tingling from last night. You shift slightly, realising that Rio is already awake. She’s sprawled comfortably on her side, her head resting on the pillow, her hand absently stroking your arm. Her eyes flicker open as she senses you waking, and she smiles at you lazily.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Rio hums, stretching and running a hand through her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good thanks, how about you?" You smile, feeling the pull of her easy, bright energy. Was she always so upbeat in the mornings?

“I’m great. But she,” Rio gestures toward Agatha with a playful smirk, “isn’t a morning person.”

Behind you, Agatha just grumbles in response, muffling her face into the pillow and pulling you closer into her. Rio leans over, a mischievous grin on her face as she brushes Agatha’s hair from her face. “C’mon, darling, I’ll make you coffee,” she offers sweetly, but you can hear the hint of a challenge in her tone.

Agatha groans again but finally starts to sit up, stretching with an audible crack in her spine. “Fine, fine,” Agatha mutters. “But it better be good, or I’ll go back to sleep.”

Rio laughs and gets up to make coffee, leaving Agatha to rub her eyes before looking at you. You share a quiet moment, the lingering energy from the night before making the air between you feel heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As Rio busies herself in the kitchenette in the corner of the room, Agatha grabs her phone and starts swiping through it. Not wanting to bother her, you reach for your phone too. You’re happily scrolling when a notification pops up

MILF 1 has added you to the group chat.

MILF 1 named the group chat Check-In Group

MILF 1: There. You can’t ignore us now, sweetheart.

You’re smiling at your phone when you feel Rio standing next to you, coffee in hand

“What are you smiling at? Not another potential date, I hope." She meant it as a tease, but you can hear the hint of jealousy in her voice.

“No,” you chuckle. “In fact, it’s just the opposite; Agatha is making sure that never happens again.” You tilt your phone to show Rio the notifications.

She looks down at your phone, her eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. “Why do you have Agatha saved as MILF 1?” she asks, raising her voice loud enough so Agatha hears.

You laugh nervously and quickly glance at Agatha, who’s sitting up now and lazily sipping her coffee, her attention on the two of you. She raises an eyebrow at you, her eyes glinting with something more than just curiosity.

“Well?” Rio prompts, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You squirm under their combined gazes, feeling both flustered and slightly turned on. “It’s just the truth,” you admit sheepishly, your voice dropping as you fidget with the comforter. “She is a mom, and, well, I do want to f—” You stop yourself just in time, your cheeks heating as you look anywhere but at them.

Rio raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling on her lips. “Oh? And what am I saved as?” she teases, voice low and playful. “Please tell me it’s not just MILF 2.”

Your face goes hot, and you start fiddling with the comforter in your lap. “It might be.”

Rio bursts into laughter. “You really couldn’t think of something more creative?” she asks, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Agatha’s smile never fades, but her eyes darken, and she stands up, stretching slowly. “Okay, on that note, I’m going to go shower,” she says, cutting through the playful moment. She gives Rio a brief kiss on the cheek before heading toward the bathroom. “You two behave while I’m gone.”

As Agatha disappears into the bathroom, Rio sets her coffee cup on the nightstand and leans closer to you, her expression shifting. There’s an undeniable heat in her eyes as her lips brush against yours in a kiss that’s possessive and urgent. “So you like to fuck us, hmm?” she whispers against your lips, her breath warm as it fans over your skin.

Your breath catches as her words sink in, and your body reacts almost instantly, a tingling warmth pooling low in your belly.

When the bathroom door clicks shut behind Agatha, Rio doesn’t waste a second. She pushes you back against the pillows, her touch both gentle and commanding. The electricity in the air is palpable as her lips find yours again, her kiss deepening with every passing second.

You moan softly when her hand trails down your side, grazing your hip before slipping under your waistband. She pauses just long enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re already so excited for me. Do you like it that much when I humiliate you?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes you shiver.

Before you can answer, Rio presses her lips to yours again, cutting off any reply as her hand moves with a confidence that leaves you breathless. Her touch is slow at first, teasing, as though she’s savouring every little sound you make in response. The tension between you builds rapidly, and the air is charged with unspoken need.

Somewhere in the background, you faintly register the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Rio pulls back just enough to mutter against your lips, her voice low and dripping with desire. “I’ve got about ten minutes until she's done showering.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, the hunger in her tone unmistakable. You swallow hard, your pulse racing as you meet her gaze. “I don’t think we’ll need that long anyway,” you admit softly, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of her intensity.

Rio smirks, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction at your answer. She wets her fingers with your arousal before burying two of them inside you, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you completely. “So eager for me already,” she murmurs, her voice both teasing and utterly dominating. Her words make your breath hitch, the hint of humiliation in her tone only heightening your anticipation as she begins to fuck you.

There is no slow buildup, and Rio is mercilessly fucking you in seconds, pulling sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make; you’re pretty sure that the whole floor can hear you now.

She starts to pump her fingers faster, and you can hear how wet you are. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and bites down before soothing it with a quick swipe of her tongue. "Shhhhh, baby, try and keep quiet for me; Aggie can’t know what I’m doing.”

The idea that this sex was potentially forbidden pushes you over the edge, and you grip on to her shoulders for dear life as your orgasm comes crashing over you. You pull Rio into a messy kiss to try and dampen your moans as you wind down. She pulls her fingers out, humming with pleasure as she sucks them clean.

“Fucking hell,” you pant.

Rio looks at you with a devilish grin.

The sound of the bathroom door opening jolts you out of the haze. Agatha steps into the room, towel-wrapped and hair damp, her expression calm as she surveys the scene. Rio immediately freezes, her eyes widening slightly like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

But Agatha doesn’t say a word. She simply raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, before turning back to the closet to finish getting ready. Her calm, collected demeanour somehow leaves you even more flustered than being caught outright.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. After Agatha and Rio get you dressed, they drive you back to your college apartment; their voices light and playful. “Remember to actually text us this time,” Rio teases as she pulls up to the curb. “We’re not just for weekends, you know.”

“Yeah, text us, sweetheart,” Agatha adds with a soft smile. “We like hearing from you.”

“I will,” you promise, glancing at your phone, already thinking of what you were going to text them.

—

Later that evening, you’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone when you notice a new notification in your group chat with Agatha and Rio.

Check-In Group

MILF 2 changed the name to MILFs Anonymous

MILF 1: Rio!

MILF 2: Come on, just let me have this one thing :(

MILF 1: Fine, but Y/N, change our contact names now please

You roll your eyes at Rio’s antics but do as you’re told, not wanting to dissapoint Agatha; you still feel a bit guilty for having sex with Rio this morning.

—

Over the next few days, you find yourself texting with them more and more. The conversations flow easily—Agatha constantly checking in on you, always asking if you’ve eaten or if you’re doing alright. It’s sweet, in a way you didn’t expect, but it’s comforting. Rio, on the other hand, can’t resist sending her terrible dad jokes, which, despite your best efforts, always make you laugh.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 15:48

Rio: What do you call a group of crows that stick together?

You: Oh God, please stop

Agatha: Seriously. You’re not funny

Rio: VelCrows :)))

Agatha: Sometimes I wonder how I fell in love with you

Rio: It’s because I fuck you like there’s no tomorrow ;)

~ 21:17

Agatha: *click to open image*

Agatha: Huh, you don’t look like you’re doing much fucking to me

You drop your phone with a loud clatter. You were not expecting to see a picture of a Rio naked and tied to the bed with a vibrator pressed against her clit and by the looks of it, she had been like that for some time. You spend the rest of your evening fucking yourself to that image. Each time you think you’re done and can't cum any more, the image pops into your mind again, and you start to imagine all the things they would do if you were with them, and before you know it, your hand is back between your legs.

—

Thanksgiving break arrives faster than expected, and the familiar comfort of your parents' home feels like a welcome change from the chaos of college life. You arrive in the early afternoon, greeted by the warm aroma of roasted turkey and spiced pies wafting from the kitchen. It’s a little odd being home after everything that’s happened with Rio and Agatha, knowing they live just next door. You wonder if you’ll see them during your visit.

It turns out you don’t have to wonder for long.

A knock at the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and your dad answers with a cheerful, “Agatha! Rio! Happy Thanksgiving!”

Your stomach flips.

You appear in the hallway just in time to see them stepping inside, Agatha holding a neatly wrapped gift basket and Rio carrying what looks like a bottle of wine. They’re dressed casually but still look effortlessly gorgeous; Rio is dressed in a breezy striped blue shirt that’s half tucked into her jeans. The loose fit of the shirt somehow adds to her charm, her confident movements making it clear she’s completely at ease. Agatha, on the other hand, is the picture of sophistication, her fitted blazer in a warm mustard hue paired with a turtleneck and slacks giving her a commanding presence that turns heads—even in such a casual setting.

“We just wanted to drop this off,” Agatha says, her usual polished tone soft and warm. “A little something for the holiday.”

“Oh, nonsense, you’re not just dropping it off,” your mom insists, appearing behind your dad. “You’re staying for dinner. It’s the least we can do after everything you did for this one when they got locked out in the rain.”

Your heart nearly stops. You glance at Agatha, who meets your wide-eyed look with a calm, knowing smile.

“Really, it wasn’t any trouble,” Agatha says smoothly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I mean, we could’ve just let them in with the spare key, but... well, we thought they might prefer a warm bed and some company at ours instead.”

Your cheeks burn as Rio chimes in, her grin bordering on wicked. “And they didn’t seem to mind one bit.”

Your parents laugh, completely oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the exchange, but you feel like you’re about to combust. Agatha and Rio both throw you brief, pointed glances before following your mom into the dining room, leaving you standing there trying to steady your racing heart.

—

Dinner starts off innocently enough, but the air feels charged in a way you can’t quite explain. You’re hyper-aware of Rio sitting across from you and Agatha beside you, their presence consuming all your focus.

Rio’s long fingers wrap elegantly around her wine glass as she listens to your dad talk, but her gaze keeps drifting to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk every time your eyes meet. Meanwhile, Agatha takes every opportunity to lean close, brushing her arm against yours under the guise of reaching for the breadbasket or whispering a sly comment in your ear that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“You look a little flushed, sweetheart,” Agatha purrs at one point, her tone dripping with amusement. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, biting your lip to keep from saying something that would give you away. Rio catches the exchange and arches an eyebrow, her gaze flickering between the two of you knowingly.

It only gets worse as the meal progresses. Rio’s foot grazes yours under the table, lingering just long enough to send a thrill up your spine.

When Agatha pours herself another glass of wine, she tilts the bottle toward you with a raised brow, silently asking if you’d like more. You nod, not trusting your voice. As she leans over to fill your glass, her lips brush your ear so faintly it feels like a whisper of air. “Behave, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice so low and intimate that a shiver runs down your spine.

You clench your thighs and glance up at her wide-eyed, but she only pulls back with that same subtle smile, her expression calm and unreadable.

You do your best to stay composed, but your mind is spinning. Every touch, every look, and every smirk makes it harder to focus on anything else.

Then, as if the universe wants to test your resolve further, Agatha “accidentally” spills a bit of wine on her sweater.

“Oh, shoot,” she says, dabbing at the stain with her napkin.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” your mom says quickly. “Y/N, show Agatha where the bathroom is, and grab her a clean top from the laundry room, will you?”

You nod, your pulse quickening as you rise from the table. Agatha follows you down the hall, her calm exterior betraying nothing, but you can feel the tension radiating off her like heat. You scurry off to grab Agatha a clean top and quickly show her to the bathroom.

The moment you’re alone in the room, she closes the door behind you with a soft click and turns to face you, her expression shifting from composed to utterly predatory.

“Finally,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her voice low and thick with desire. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you all evening?”

Your breath catches as she backs you against the counter, her hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against her. Her lips are on yours before you can respond, the kiss hungry and demanding, igniting a fire in your chest that spreads through your entire body.

“Agatha, we—” you start to protest, your voice a shaky whisper, but she silences you with another kiss, her hands sliding up your sides to cup your face.

“They’re none the wiser,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “Now, let me have you for just a moment.”

Before you can respond, Agatha’s hands drift lower, deftly removing anything on your bottom half that will get in the way of her goal and letting the fabric fall to the tiled floor. Her gaze darkens as she sinks to her knees in front of you, her palms sliding down your thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, full of lust and mischief, as she leans in closer. “Dripping everywhere,” she murmurs, her voice husky and teasing, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Just like the first time we were in a bathroom together. Seems I have a knack for this, don’t I?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as her words hang in the air, her presence between your legs sending a surge of electricity through you.

It might be Thanksgiving, but your body feels like the Fourth of July when she drags her tongue from your entrance to your clit. She sucks it into her mouth and flicks lightly with the tip of her tongue before releasing it and going back to push her tongue inside you. The woman is on a mission and wastes no time in bringing you close to your climax.

Her hand clamps over your mouth, not willing to risk you letting the whole street know that you’re going to cum, and then, with a final flick of her tongue, you’re glad she did because the orgasm hits you like a fucking 18-wheeler truck, your legs start to shake, and you have to grip on to the sink to stop yourself from collapsing.

Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as the world tilts back into focus, your body still trembling from the intensity of what just happened. Agatha stands, her movements unhurried and precise as she grabs a tissue and delicately wipes the corner of her mouth, her expression one of calm satisfaction.

"Still as sweet as I remember," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing as she crumples the tissue and tosses it into the small trash can by the sink.

You blink at her, still clinging to the edge of the sink for balance, your legs shaky and your mind a hazy blur of aftershocks. Agatha’s hands are steady as she helps you straighten your clothes, her touch lingering just a moment too long, her fingers grazing the small of your back before she steps away.

She smooths the fresh top you fetched for her, giving herself a quick once-over in the mirror. Perfectly put together, not a single hair out of place. You can’t help but marvel at her composure, especially when you feel like you’ve just been turned inside out.

Agatha turns back to you, a soft, almost maternal smile on her lips as she gives your ass a light pat. “Go on, darling,” she says, her tone playful but firm. “Head back out there before they start to wonder. I’ll be right behind you.”

You swallow hard, willing your legs to cooperate, and make your way back to the dining room, still trying to regain your composure.

The two of you return to the dining room during dessert, the scent of sweet pies and coffee wafting in the air. Agatha looks completely composed now, her clean top fitting snugly as she takes her seat next to you. She even stops for a moment to dab a napkin at the corner of her mouth—the perfect picture of elegance considering she was wiping away the last remnants of your cum. You, however, can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you settle down, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze too directly.

From the other side of the table, Rio watches the two of you with a smirk that’s far too knowing for comfort. She raises her glass in a small toast, the corner of her lips quirking in amusement before she takes a slow sip.

“So,” she says casually, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with mischief, “did the mess get sorted out?”

Agatha doesn’t miss a beat, shooting her a calm, collected smile. “All taken care of. They were very helpful.” She says, draping an arm around the back of your chair.

Your mother beams, none the wiser. “Well, that’s sweet. Always good to know you’ve got a helping hand.”

Rio stifles a laugh behind her hand, her eyes meeting yours briefly. The heat simmering beneath your skin refuses to let up, and you can only hope that dessert wraps up soon—before someone else catches on.

-----

"we could’ve just let them in with the spare key"

*humming* it was Agatha all along

⚠️Remember⚠️validation saves lives (this fic dies when I believe nobody likes it anymore)

-----

taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @4theluvofsapphos

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sweets-library · 2 days ago

Text

care and consequence

Shouta Aizawa/reader. hurt/comfort. wc: 7.9k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: spanking, improper use of a hairbrush, punishment, heavy use of daddy as a title, heavy themes of discipline and D/S dynamics

a/n: holy shit guys, the reception on that last one was actually insane, thank you all so much! i hope you guys like this one too, I'm sorry it took so long! i have a lot of personal life drama going on rn, plus I'm sick again :/ anyways, enjoy and strap in, its a long one! ao3

You had regretted coming to the bar about an hour ago, though you’d never admit it. The music thrummed in your chest, matching the relentless pounding in your head. Around you, people were dancing, drinking, and laughing, lost in their own worlds. As much as you wanted to join in, your body felt like it was rebelling against you. Still, you clung to the idea that one more drink might just do the trick.

Navigating through the chaotic sea of heroes, you pushed your way to the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry with a shot on the side. Your last drink had taken a while to finish, but this one? This one needed to count. The bartender turned away, and just as you started to feel the room sway, the door flew open with a booming, "WHAT IS UP, PARTY PEOPLEEEEE!"

Ah, Mic made it!. He had been unsure if he could, with the radio show’s schedule, but he must’ve handed the reins to someone else to show up fashionably late. You watched as he carved a path through the crowd, greeting everyone with that infectious energy, before you turned your attention back to your drinks. Downing the shot in one swift motion, you grabbed your cocktail, setting your sights on Nemuri.

You found her in conversation with Kamui Woods and Mount Lady, her laughter carrying over the din. Sliding up beside her, you felt the brush of her nails as she pinched your side with a knowing grin. Without missing a beat, she continued chatting, but you knew she had clocked you. You were happy to wait, sipping your drink and letting its warmth spread through you, barely tuning into the conversation until Nemuri said her goodbyes.

She grabbed your hand, giggling as she pulled you onto the dance floor, and you let her lead—hoping the music might drown out how unwell you felt.

As the tequila and vodka settled into your veins, the world around you softened into a hazy blur of neon lights and pulsing bass. The club was packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat that rattled the floor beneath your feet. Strobe lights flickered overhead, casting quick flashes of colour across the writhing crowd, while smoke machines filled the air with a thin mist that clung to your skin. The music was loud, so loud that it vibrated through your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks.

You finally started to feel it, the carefree buzz you’d been chasing all night. The alcohol loosened your limbs, and you let yourself get lost in whatever dirty, hypnotic rhythm Nemuri was dragging you into. Around you, people shouted over the music, laughed too loudly, and clinked glasses at the bar. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faint hint of perfume mingling with something more electric. It was the kind of energy that pulled you in deeper, making everything else fade away.

A few songs passed in a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies. You floated from partner to partner, dancing with Thirteen, Snipe, and Nemuri again, before you found yourself twirled straight into the arms of Present Mic.

“Zashi! Hi!” you practically shouted, grinning at him with the same excitement that buzzed through the room. It felt like he was the only one who hadn’t made it to the party yet, and now, everything was perfect. You could imagine him being stopped by every person on the way in, catching up and spreading his contagious energy.

“Heya, baby, how’s it hangin’?” he grinned, pulling you in so close you could feel the bass rumbling through his chest. But even here, his voice cut through the noise effortlessly.

“Soooo good! I love dancing, I’m so happy you came! Thought you’d get stuck at the station,” you gushed, letting the sway of the music carry you from foot to foot.

He laughed and gave you a playful dip, sending you squealing in delight as the room spun for a brief moment. But when he pulled you back up, his smile faltered as you coughed into your arm, the noise cutting through the music like a reminder that not everything was as smooth as the party felt.

“Gave one of the interns the mic for the night. She was over the moon to take it,” Hizashi said with a chuckle, leaning in closer to cut through the pounding music. His usual energy seemed slightly tempered, though his voice still carried effortlessly. He lowered his tone as he added, “Didn’t think you’d make it out tonight. Shouta told me earlier you weren’t feeling so hot.”

At the mention of your boyfriend, you scanned the room out of habit, already knowing he wasn’t there. This kind of scene was never his thing; too loud, too crowded. Besides, he had patrol tonight.

“Sho’s just paranoid. I’m fine, see?” you replied, brushing off the comment with a lighthearted twirl under Hizashi’s arm. The movement made your head spin a bit, but you ignored it, flashing him a grin as you let go of his hand, intent on heading back to the bar for another drink. Before you could get far, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you back gently but firmly.

“Hey, you trying to leave me all alone out here? This party’s not even close to over,” Hizashi laughed, his voice rising just above the thrum of the bass. You joined in his laughter, not noticing how, with each song, he subtly steered you away from the bar. The colours around you swirled in a kaleidoscope of neon lights, flickering across faces and catching in the smoke-filled air. Every beat seemed to vibrate through your body, keeping you in a daze of music, movement, and heat.

As the hours blurred, so did the people. Dance partners came and went, their faces brief ly illuminated by strobe lights before they disappeared back into the crowd. But through it all, Hizashi never left your side, keeping a playful hand on your shoulder or at your waist as if he were your lifeline in the chaotic sea of bodies.

Then, a slower song melted into the speakers, and the mood shifted. The lights dimmed to soft blues and purples, and the frenetic energy on the dance floor calmed. Hizashi took the opportunity to pull you close, his arm wrapping around you with a gentleness that felt comforting against the heat of the room. Your head fell naturally onto his shoulder as the world seemed to slow down for the first time that night. The sway of the music was soothing now, and the chatter around you dropped to a murmur.

Couples paired off, holding each other close, moving in time to the slow beat, while others used the moment to catch their breath. The heavy scent of spilled drinks, sweat, and perfume lingered in the air, but here, in Hizashi’s arms, you felt an odd sense of calm. You giggled softly as he whispered in your ear, making quiet jokes about the unlikely pairings that had formed on the dance floor. His voice was steady and warm, grounding you.

But then, he stopped abruptly. The sway of his body stilled, and you blinked, the moment interrupted. Confused, you lifted your head to look at him, but his attention was no longer on the dance floor.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I think your song’s been played out,” Hizashi said softly, his voice taking on a tone that felt more final than playful. You lifted your head to question him, confusion crossing your face, but before you could get a word out, he spun you around; right into the arms of someone new.

Or rather, someone far more familiar than you would have preferred.

“Shouta!” you gasped, looking up to find him staring down at you, his dark eyes narrowed in that way that instantly made you feel small. His gaze wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was a sharpness in it that cut through the fog of your drunken haze. You straightened up, biting your lip as emotions flashed across your face, impossible to hide in your current state.

“I thought you had patrol?” you asked, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I finished early,” he said, his tone even but firm as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His grip was gentle, but the intention was clear as he began guiding you through the crowd and toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, wait, I gotta-” you started to protest, trying to twist out of his hold. But Shouta cut you off before you could finish, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“I paid your tab. You can see everyone another time,” Shouta said curtly, his voice as firm as his grip around your waist. The finality in his words made your chest tighten, but you huffed anyway, stubbornly digging in your heels.

“I promised Nemuri another dance, and I was gonna get another drink!” you protested, though the moment the words were out, you knew they were a mistake. Shouta’s gaze sharpened, his eyes darkening as they bore into you. It was a look that made your heart skip a beat and sent a nervous tremor down your spine. Your feet shuffled on instinct, your earlier defiance wilting under the heat of his stare.

“We are leaving right now, little girl,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. The words slid over you like a command, impossible to ignore. His hand drifted down to your ass, the touch firm and possessive, sending a shiver through your body. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continued, “Unless you’d like to get a head start on your punishment in the bathroom. Here. And. Now.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The heavy atmosphere of the club seemed to fade, the sound of the crowd growing distant. All that remained was the heat of his presence and the weight of his words. The tension coiled in your stomach, leaving you unsure whether to push back or submit.

“No… m’sorry. Let’s go,” you mumbled, your voice barely rising above the pulsing music, but your regretful look and the way you let him pull you along seemed to say enough. Once outside, the sudden quiet enveloped you, your ears ringing from the absence of sound. The contrast was jarring, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Shouta’s disappointment radiating off him like an invisible force.

He guided you to the car, and without even a hint of protest, you slid into the back seat. The cool leather felt grounding against your skin as he buckled you in silently, his focus unwavering. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, as he leaned in, resting his hand on the headrest. His expression softened slightly, a hint of concern breaking through his earlier sternness.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet urgency. You shook your head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, though the flutter of anxiety in your stomach made it hard.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours. “Start drinking this.” He handed you a bottle of water, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want at least half of it gone by the time we get home. And if you think you’re feeling sick, just tell me, and I’ll pull over.”

The seriousness in his voice made your heart race. You nodded, taking the bottle from him, the cool plastic a small comfort in the heated moment. As you unscrewed the cap, you could sense the shift in his demeanour. He was looking out for you, but there was a firmness in his words that reminded you of the line you’d crossed.

“Okay.” you mumble, staring at his chin to avoid the intensity of his eyes. He sighed and closed the door before climbing into the driver's seat and starting the journey home. The ride wasn't long but it was dead silent and it gave you enough time for some of the alcohol to wear off and the reminders that you were sick to kick in.

Shouta, of course, knew you at the very least, had a bad cold. That morning, he had taken charge, insisting you call off work and ordering you to stay in bed. He had been so sweetly concerned and caring. He had meticulously arranged everything, ensuring you had enough food and medicine at hand. You could still picture him moving around the kitchen, checking in on you with a watchful eye, his brow slightly furrowed in that familiar expression of worry.

Throughout the afternoon, he had kept in touch, sending periodic texts to check on your well-being. Each notification was a reminder of how deeply he cared. The messages were gentle nudges, urging you to rest and take care of yourself. You could almost feel his presence with each ping, as if he were there beside you, coaxing you to indulge in soup and reminding you when to take the next dose of cold and flu medicine.

But as the hours slipped by and daylight faded into evening, the excitement of your friends celebrating the end of the semester began to tug at you. The allure of laughter and music beckoned from the outside world, tempting you to leave the cocoon of blankets and soothing remedies he had encouraged you to embrace. You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Shouta, knowing full well the firm stance he had taken. He had told you when he left for his night patrol that you were to be doing nothing for the rest of the night but resting and getting better.

In a moment of weakness, you had chosen to ignore his guidance, allowing the crippling fear of missing out to get to you. Now, as the consequences of your decision loomed large, you felt a heavy weight settle in your chest, a blend of regret and dread creating a terrible cocktail with how awful you were already feeling physically.

As Shouta pulled into the driveway, the rush of emotions overwhelmed you. The tears welled up, unbidden and hot, as the guilt of your choices crashed over you like a wave. You hiccuped, desperately trying to swallow back the sobs, but it was futile. When he parked the car and came around to your door, you barely registered his movements, lost in your own turmoil. As soon as he opened the door, he unbuckled you and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as he felt you trembling against him. “I know you’re not feeling too hot. Come on, let’s get you inside and into some comfy clothes. Does that sound good?”

You nodded against his shoulder, the gesture almost instinctual as the weight of your exhaustion settled in. With a gentle yet firm motion, he hoisted you out of the car, his strength reassuring. You instinctively wrapped your limbs around him like a koala, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He adjusted his hold, securing you against him effortlessly as he maneuvered to get the door open with one arm, not even considering putting you down for a moment. The night air was cool against your skin, but Shouta's warmth kept the chill at bay. As he carried you inside, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

He took care of you mostly in silence, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he guided your movements. Gently, he slipped off your heels, his touch tender against your tired feet. Without a word, he helped you out of your dress, replacing the once-glamorous outfit with the softness of your favourite pajamas. His fingers were careful as he wiped away the makeup you'd used to hide the ruddiness in your cheeks and the shadows beneath your eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he worked, focused but gentle.

When he pressed the cool glass of water into your hands, you drank obediently, the quiet rustle of him preparing the medicine a comforting sound in the background. As he handed you the pills, his eyes softened, a silent reminder that he was looking out for you. After you’d swallowed them, he guided you to sit down at your vanity, still working methodically, brushing away the remnants of the night.

The makeup wipe brushed over your nose, tickling slightly, and despite the exhaustion and the lingering tipsiness, a small giggle escaped your lips. You leaned up, catching his eyes in the mirror, and smiled mischievously, asking for a kiss. He indulged you, pressing a brief, soft kiss to your lips before continuing, his attention shifting to your hair. The tender motions of his hands as he brushed it through were almost hypnotic, lulling you into a sense of calm as he completed your nighttime routine for you.

A thought bubbled up, slipping out before you could stop it. “How did you know where I was? Thought patrol didn’t end till 4?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur as he turned you to face the mirror. Catching his eyes in the reflection, you saw a flicker of irritation still lingering there, and the weight of it made you shy away. You broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the clutter of items strewn across the vanity from earlier in the night.

“Hizashi texted me when he got there,” he replied quietly, his voice steady but tinged with that edge of disappointment. You couldn't help but pout at the mention of it, feeling the sting of being caught, of letting him down. The weight of his gaze lingered on you, but you felt his concern just as deeply, even in the silence between you.

“Tattle-tale,” you mumbled under your breath, but before you could sink too far into your pout, Shouta’s fingers tipped under your chin, gently but firmly, guiding you to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“He wouldn’t have to tattle if you hadn’t been misbehaving, would he?” His voice held that familiar grumble, a mix of irritation and concern that made your heart skip. You swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze and the undeniable truth behind his words.

“No, sir,” you murmured, looking as contrite as you felt. His expression softened slightly, and he let out a quiet puff of air, almost a sigh, before pulling you up from the vanity.

With his hand steadying you, he guided you toward the bed, but your legs still wobbled beneath you. Dizzy, you tumbled onto the mattress, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you sank into the plush blankets. Shouta rolled his eyes, but there was a tenderness behind it, and with practiced care, he shifted you to the other side and tucked you in properly, smoothing the covers over you.

“Wait, Sho... you’re not... are you mad at me?” you asked, your voice suddenly small and sincere, cutting through the haze of your tipsiness. His brow furrowed at the question, and for a moment, you held your breath, waiting for his answer.

“No, baby, I’m not mad. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he assured you, his voice softer now. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up. Rounding the bed, he moved to his side, slipping in beside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that conversation tomorrow wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. But as Shouta’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against his chest, the heaviness of the night melted away. His familiar scent, the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his body drowned out any lingering bad feelings. For now, wrapped up in him, everything felt right, and you let yourself drift into the comfort of sleep.

The morning greeted you with a vengeance, leaving you feeling every bit as awful as you feared. Your head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, your sinuses were stuffed to the brim, and your body felt clammy and weak, so much more wrung out than you had been jus the day before. Groaning, you burrowed deeper into the blankets, hiding from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Despite the warmth of the covers, a bone-deep chill had taken root, making you shiver as you curled in on yourself.

“Wake up, baby. You have to take some medicine.” Shouta’s voice, calm and resolute, pierced your cocoon of self-pity. You whined in response, a pitiful sound muffled by the blankets.

“M’sleeping. No thanks,” you muttered petulantly, half-hoping he’d let it slide. Usually, this was when you’d hear him chuckle softly, maybe feel the comforting weight of his hand on your thigh as he gave you a few more moments to stir.

Instead, the covers were suddenly pulled back from your face, exposing you to the cool morning air and making you gasp at the loss of warmth. The sudden brightness forced your eyes to flutter open, though they quickly squinted against the light. Before you could protest, Shouta’s hand was on your face, gentle and deliberate, as he smoothed the strands of damp hair plastered to your clammy skin. The touch sent a shiver through you, the tenderness soothing away your irritation.

His expression hovered between stern and soft, his dark eyes scanning your flushed, pale face with an almost clinical precision. You could feel the weight of his worry as he brushed his thumb over your temple. Despite your exhaustion, guilt pooled in your chest, mingling with the sickness that had you pinned to the bed.

“It wasn’t really a request. Come on, sit up.” His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the firmness behind it. Before you could muster a protest, his strong hands slipped under your back and shoulders, lifting you with ease. The sudden shift left you disoriented, and before you knew it, you were propped up against the headboard.

Two pills rested on the palm he held in front of your face, his dark eyes steady and expectant. “Open,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Something in the commanding gentleness of his voice had you obeying instinctively, parting your lips without hesitation. He placed the pills on your tongue, and you grimaced as you swallowed them with a few sips of the water he pressed to your lips.

Just as you moved to push the glass away, his hand caught yours, steadying it. “Finish this,” he said firmly, guiding it back toward your mouth. The weight of his worry lingered in the way his fingers stayed wrapped around yours, ensuring you drank more.

You managed another sip, your movements sluggish and reluctant, before he spoke again, his voice softening. “Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, too weary to form words, and he nodded in quiet acceptance. “Okay,” he murmured, taking the now half-empty glass from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. His fingers brushed against your knuckles briefly, grounding you in the moment. “You can sleep a little longer until the meds kick in. We’ll talk when you’re feeling a bit better.”

You gulped and cast your eyes downward, unable to meet his steady gaze. The words he didn’t say lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, a reminder of the talk you’d hoped that you might avoid. Shouta, ever composed, didn’t press. Instead, his hand smoothed over your hair, the motion tender and familiar, as if to reassure you that his frustration didn’t mean he cared any less.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss between your brows, a soft, lingering gesture that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t fair how easily he could dissolve your guilt and stubbornness in a single moment of care. You couldn’t even summon the faintest trace of upset, not when his touch was so gentle, so grounding. Instead, your eyelids grew heavier, the pull of exhaustion impossible to resist. With a quiet sigh, you let yourself drift, surrendering to the lull of warmth and safety he left behind.

Time passed in a haze, unmeasured and weightless. When you woke again, the pounding in your head had dulled to a faint, manageable throb, and though your limbs still felt heavy, they no longer ached with the same intensity. The room was empty now, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks that painted the walls and the rumpled sheets beside you. If Shouta hadn't insisted on taking some medicine earlier, the light would probably be giving you the worst of headaches, but instead, you were able to enjoy the warmth. Of course, Shouta was right, as always. It was no wonder you let him take the reins so often; he had a knack for knowing exactly what you needed, even when you couldn’t see it yourself. It went beyond simple intuition, it was deliberate and unwavering care. It was why you trusted him so deeply.

If you didn’t know that, if you couldn’t feel it in the way he cared for you, you wouldn’t be in this dynamic with him in the first place. You wouldn’t be sitting here now, heart pounding in the quiet aftermath, debating whether pretending to sleep a little longer might save you from the punishment just a little longer, or if it would only make things worse.

But even as your thoughts tangled with uncertainty, you knew you wouldn’t trade this for anything. For all the moments like these, where guilt and the weight of your mistakes pressed down on you, there was always the unwavering reassurance that Shouta would steady you. He’d take you in hand, reminding you in no uncertain terms just how much you mattered to him.

He wouldn’t tolerate behaviour that diminished your worth, not in his eyes, and not in your own. It wasn’t just discipline; it was care, deeply rooted and uncompromising. And when all was said and done, forgiveness would follow, that was never an uncertainty. With Shouta, there was no lingering doubt, no unspoken resentment, only the quiet, steady rhythm of love in its most honest form.

It was about more than letting go; it was about giving that trust to someone who cherished it, someone who didn’t just take care of you but found joy in doing so. And in turn, you found joy in being cared for. It could be terrifying sometimes, to put that kind of trust in someone, but with Shouta it had always felt worth it.

You sigh and slide out of bed, resigned to your fate. The chill in the air bites at your skin, and the sickness still clings to you making you shiver. You rummage through the closet until your fingers find the familiar softness of one of Shouta’s sweaters. It’s an old crew neck, worn and slightly stretched out, big even on him and perfect for wrapping yourself in his warmth.

Pulling it over your head, you pad out to the living room on bare feet. The sight that greets you stops you in your tracks, drawing a soft, dreamy sigh from your lips.

Shouta is perched on the couch, papers spread across the coffee table in neat stacks. A faint furrow creases his brow as he grades with careful precision, the rhythmic scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. One of the cats is curled in his lap snoring, and a ray of sunlight streams through the window, bathing the scene in a golden glow that feels almost unreal. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

His sharp eyes flick up, catching yours as you linger in the doorway. Before he can say a word, you shuffle over and flop down beside him, burying yourself against his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed again. The familiar scent of him wraps around you, as grounding as the weight of his presence.

“G’morning baby.” you sigh, and his arm curls around you to tug you to his side properly.

“Good morning, my love. Feeling a little better?” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, vibrating gently against your ear. You nod, nestling closer into his shoulder, letting the comforting rhythm of his breathing soothe your lingering unease.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, the occasional scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. He finishes grading the last test on his stack, and you catch a glimpse of his expression as he marks something on the page. Oof. Poor kid.

You might have dozed off again if not for the fluttering unease in your stomach, a familiar mix of guilt and anticipation. The thought of the looming punishment makes it impossible to relax entirely, though Shouta’s calm presence keeps you from fully spiralling.

And then, as if he could read your mind, he sets the papers aside with a quiet sigh. The finality of it settles in your chest like a stone. He turns his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple as he speaks softly, a warmth and firmness interwoven in his tone.

“We need to have a talk, little girl.”

You bite your lip, the weight of his gaze settling heavily over you. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to find the right words. “I know. I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Shouta doesn’t immediately respond. He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, assessing. The silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

Finally, he exhales deeply, sitting back and crossing his arms. His posture is relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes keeps you rooted in place.

“Why?” he asks, his voice calm but piercing.

Your stomach churns. You know the answer, of course, you do, but the way he asks makes your guilt multiply. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. You glance down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your pajama pants, anything to avoid the weight of his disappointment.

“For… for not listening,” you whisper, each word sticking in your throat. “And going out when you told me not to.”

“That’s correct,” he says, his tone steady but no less cutting. “But more broadly, I’m extremely not thrilled with your complete disregard for your own health and well-being.”

The words land with a precision that makes your chest ache.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice softening but still firm. “I love taking care of you. But part of that is making sure you take care of yourself when I’m not there. I need to trust that when I tell you to rest and recover, you’ll actually listen. Instead, you put yourself in harm’s way, and for what? A few hours of fun?”

His gaze locks onto yours, and the weight of his disappointment has you nodding mutely.

“And,” he continues, his voice sharpening, “I have never, and will never, tolerate you lying to me.”

Your head snaps up, a reflexive protest bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t lie—”

The glare he fixes you with stops the words dead in their tracks. It’s a look that leaves no room for negotiation.

“What did you say,” he asks, his voice low and measured, “when I told you to spend the night resting and recovering before I left for work?”

Your cheeks burn as you break eye contact. His stare feels like a spotlight, illuminating every guilty thought you’re trying to suppress. You shift uncomfortably, your voice trembling as you admit, “I… I said, ‘Yes, Daddy.’”

The silence that follows feels deafening. You dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable. The weight of your admission hangs heavy in the air, and you shrink under the judgment you can feel emanating from him.

Finally, he sighs, the sound carrying more disappointment than anger. “You know what you did,” he says, each word deliberate. “Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Your stomach twists, dread pooling in your chest. His tone is calm, almost gentle, but it carries a finality that leaves no room for debate.

“I wouldn’t normally punish you while you’re sick,” he continues, leaning back against the couch, his voice even. “But since you seem to think that being sick has no bearing on your decisions, I won’t let it affect mine either. Stand up.”

Your knees feel weak as you scramble to obey, rising unsteadily to your feet. Confusion flickers across your face- why not just pull you over his lap like usual? Why make you stand?

“Go and get the wooden hairbrush,” he says, his voice low and dispassionate, the command sending a shiver down your spine. “The flat, square one. And lose your pants on the way.”

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it, your hands instinctively clutching at the waistband of your pajama pants.

He doesn’t budge, his expression firm, his gaze unwavering. “You heard me.”

The room feels colder as you move, your steps hesitant. The gravity of the moment weighs heavily with each step you take toward the bedroom. Your heart races as you reach for the brush, the smooth wood cool against your palm. Sliding your pajama pants down your legs, you feel your cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and anticipation. You decide to take off the sweater as well, knowing Shouta would have you sweating soon.

When you return to the living room, brush in hand and pants abandoned, Shouta’s eyes meet yours. His gaze softens slightly, a flicker of care visible beneath the stern exterior, but it does nothing to ease the butterflies raging in your stomach.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to come closer. You obey silently, beyond arguing at this point. There would be no getting out of this, Shouta cares too much about you to let you get away with this. You hand over the brush and he places it on the arm of the couch, and then you fold yourself over his lap obediently. Without another word he folds your shirt up to expose the entirety of your backside, and places his hand on it, making you squirm with dread.

“Safeword?”

“Red” you whimper, accepting your fate.

He doesn't hesitate any longer, steadily applying his hand to your ass with all the restrained muscle of a pro hero, just hard enough to make sure you know exactly where you belong. The first few swats land on your bare ass, and you already want to start crying. And then he starts talking.

“Let's go through each unfortunate choice you made yesterday, shall we?” he says, and you try not to tense up at his disappointed tone.

“First, you disobeyed me when I specifically told you to stay in bed while you weren't feeling well, and second, you lied to me and said that you would be home for the night. Third, you disregarded yourself and your health, which we will be going into great detail about with the hairbrush.”

As he laid out your actions, your ass got steadily reddened, and the tears started falling against your will. You fisted the fabric of the couch and willed yourself not to squirm, knowing it would only make things worse for you.

Shouta’s voice was calm but carried the weight of unshakable authority, each word landing like a stone in your chest. “Do you think I asked you to stay home for no reason? That I ask you to listen to me for my own amusement?”

Your stomach churned at his tone, the disappointment in his voice far worse than any raised voice could have been.

“You trust me to know what’s best for you, and in turn, I trust you to be honest with me. I specifically told you to stay home, to rest and recover. Instead, I get a text from Hizashi that you’re out, you’re drinking, and completely ignoring what I asked of you. What if he hadn’t messaged me? What if I had come home to an empty house, no idea where you were, and no way to ensure you were safe?”

The image his words painted made your chest tighten with guilt. You could hear the strain in his voice, the quiet upset that cut deeper than anger ever could. You knew how much this dynamic meant to him—not just as a way to care for you, but as a source of reassurance in a life that was chaotic and dangerous. Being a pro-hero came with enough unpredictability; this was one area of his life he could keep steady.

Even with that realization weighing heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help it. Against your better judgment, a pouty response escaped your lips, soft and stubborn, laced with defiance that you immediately regretted.

“I was gonna be home before you got back—” The sharp crack of his hand meeting your thigh cut off your words with a yelp, the sting blooming as tears welled in your eyes. His hand rested firmly on the offended area, grounding you.

“That is not the point and you know it. You dont get to have a bratty attitude with me about this, or the hairbrush is going to be followed by a long time out in the corner for you to fix it. Am. I. Clear.”

“Yes- ‘m sorry, I'm sorry sir.” you cry, your face soaked and dripping onto the cushion.

“Hm. As I was saying, this will not be happening again. You misbehave, you get consequences. For the next two weeks, you will be in this house and in our bed by 9 p.m. sharp. If I’m not home, I expect a picture of you in bed, and then you will put your phone in my bedside table.”

The shame of his words was almost as unbearable as the sting still radiating from your thighs. You sobbed into the couch, mortified at the level of supervision he felt you required. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

“I am not playing about this,” he pressed on, his gaze unyielding. “If I find out you’ve stepped foot out of this apartment, you had better have a damn good reason—or you’ll find yourself right back here, no excuses. If you can’t take care of yourself on your own, I will do it for you.”

You nodded again, your sobs turning into shaky, uneven breaths. The shame was overwhelming, and yet you knew he wasn’t done.

As the spanks land, the force behind them pulls a sharp gasp from you, and each strike feels like a wave of guilt crashing over you. His words pierce through the haze of pain. "I think this way you might begin to understand how serious your actions are. His disappointment lingers in your chest, making it harder to breathe.

The spanks stopped for a moment, and you gasped, your body trembling as you tried to catch your breath. Shouta’s hands, firm and unyielding just moments ago, softened as they rubbed soothing circles on your spine. His voice, low and steady, cut through the haze of your tears.

“Breathe, baby. Take a few deep breaths,” he murmured, his tone no longer sharp but filled with an unyielding care that made your chest ache.

You hiccupped, following his instruction as you sucked in shaky gulps of air. The relief of his touch warred with the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary. Your breath finally evened out, and your tears slowed, but they didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, though there was no warmth in his praise—just a steady, measured approval for doing as you were told. His hand drifted to your shoulder, squeezing gently before he continued.

“Now,” he began, his tone sharp once more, “let’s discuss the way you’ve been treating your health.”

Your stomach churned, and your heart thudded as the words landed. His hand left your shoulder, and you braced yourself for what was to come, dread building with every passing second.

The hairbrush came down with a crack, the sound cutting through the room and drawing a pained cry from your lips. Shouta didn’t bother to shush you; the punishment was meant to leave a lasting impression, and he doesn't want you to hide where you are at emotionally. The strikes weren’t as rapid as the earlier flurry of his hands, but each one was deliberate, the wide, heavy impact sinking deep into your already tender skin.

You sobbed with each blow, your cries punctuating the rhythm he set.

“I will never, ever stand for you treating yourself the way you chose to last night.” His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his tone felt like another lash, hitting somewhere deeper than just your body. “You were sick- you are sick- and the fact that you thought you could just disregard that to go party makes me think you don’t understand how seriously I take your wellbeing. Not to mention how seriously I expect you to take it yourself.”

The hairbrush came down again, and you twisted slightly, though his firm grip kept you in place. The dull thud seemed to echo in your chest, a physical reminder of just how much you had messed up.

“Every part of you is important, mind and body,” he continued, the cadence of his strikes steady and unrelenting. “One of our biggest rules is that you don’t disrespect yourself, and you know very well I don’t just mean self-deprecating words. I expect you to take the same care for yourself when I’m gone that I do when I’m here.”

The words hit harder than the brush, and your quiet whimper turned into a full sob. His disappointment was unbearable, an ache in your chest that far outweighed the sting of your reddened skin.

“Clearly, you can’t be trusted to do so on your own,” he said, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in.

The tears streaking down your face weren’t just from the physical pain; they came from the overwhelming guilt of letting him down. You knew how much he valued self-care, and how hard he worked to instill that same value in you, even when he struggled to prioritize it for himself.

You sniffled, hiccuping through your tears, and a treacherous thought flitted through your mind. Hypocrite. He barely looked after himself most days. Your attitude almost made itself known again before the next blow snapped you out of your thoughts, and you yelped, realizing too late that the silence had stretched on too long.

“Every day until you are one-hundred percent better,” he said, his tone unyielding, “you’re going to sit at that table and write me fifty lines, telling me exactly how well you’re going to take care of yourself in the future.”

You let out a soft wail of protest at the thought, but he ignored it, leaning in to speak into your ear.

“And trust me, little girl, you do not want to have this discussion again.”

And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The punishing rhythm of the hairbrush ceased, and the room settled into a heavy, tear-soaked silence. Your sobs, however, remained steady, shaking your body as it lay slumped over his lap.

Shouta’s hands shifted, their movements no longer firm and corrective but gentle, smoothing up and down your back and thighs. He didn’t rush you, letting you cry as long as you needed, his presence grounding you even as your emotions spilled over.

When your cries softened to hiccups, he gently helped you upright, maneuvering you so you were straddling his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your tear-streaked face into his shirt, soaking the fabric with every breathy sob. He didn’t mind; his arms held you just as tightly, encasing you in a protective warmth.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he swayed you gently. “Alright, you’re okay now. I love you so much, baby.”

His voice was soft, full of love and patience, and it was that tenderness that finally cracked the dam inside you. The moment you had enough air in your lungs, you blurted out in a desperate rush:

“I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry I fucked up—I didn’t mean to! I just—I wanted—I’m just so, so sorry,” you wailed, clinging to him like a lifeline. The words poured out of you like water from a broken dam, each one carrying the weight of your regret. You weren’t just apologizing for the mistake, you were apologizing for letting him down, for making him feel like his care wasn’t enough to anchor you. The thought of betraying the trust he put in you made the tears fall faster.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged you even closer. “Okay, okay. I know. Thank you, babygirl, I know you are. You’re forgiven now, okay? You did so good for me, you’re all forgiven.”

His words were a balm to your guilt, soothing and grounding you as you took shuddering breaths, gradually winding down. Your sobs quieted into occasional hiccups, and he gently tilted you back to examine your tear-streaked face. Shouta’s soft smile held no trace of the earlier sternness. He reached over, plucking a tissue from the side table, and methodically wiped away your tears, along with the snot and drool that added to your humiliation. He discarded the tissue without a second thought, his focus entirely on you.

“Let’s go take a bath, baby, clear up your sinuses,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing. He hoisted you into his arms with ease and carried you to the bathroom, grabbing two towels along the way. Setting them on the counter, he gingerly placed you atop them, your seated position making you just a little taller than him. He stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs, and studied your face with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice earnest and patient.

You took a moment to check in with yourself, cataloging the aches in your body, the tenderness in your emotions, and the lingering sting of your punishment. Eventually, you nodded and murmured, “Yeah, ‘m okay. I’m just really sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. Leaning up, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I know, sweetheart. I believe you.”

He didn’t push for more, understanding how fragile you felt. Instead, he gave you space, letting you sit quietly while he started filling the tub. The sound of water rushing against porcelain filled the room, and he quickly stripped down before helping you out of your oversized shirt. His movements were efficient but tender as if he were afraid to overwhelm you.

Once the tub was full, he climbed in first and extended a hand to guide you in, settling you between his legs with your back pressed firmly to his chest. The warm water enveloped you, and his arms encircled your middle, holding you close.

“There we go, my good girl,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your temple. The praise made you shiver, the tension in your body melting away as you nestled further into his embrace.

“Always my good girl, no matter what,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you so much.”

His words wrapped around you like the heat of the water, comforting and secure, and you let yourself relax completely. This was where you belonged—wrapped in his love and care, forgiven and cherished.

#aizawa thirst #aizawa/reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #daddy k!nk #daddy issues

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dtchloedecker · 3 days ago

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Chloe sighed and closed her eyes. She felt a warm tingling in her stomach that she only felt when she was truly happy. Today was full of twists and turns and she had no idea how it was going to end, but she was sure it wouldn't end in the arms of the man she loved. Especially since it began with him arriving at the crime scene with his girlfriend and threatening to go off to finding the killer on his own if Chloe wouldn't allow her to stay. Reflecting on it now, maybe Chloe did make the right choice because watching them almost have sex at an outdoor gym, Lucifer almost thrashing Tiernan, her explosion that led to a heated discussion in the parking garage, and the prophecy...it all led to him being here with her. Unfortunately, her stupid detective brain HAD to flip on and she remembered something from the discussion in the garage...

And that's why I broke Julian's back.

Lucifer said that. Lucifer broke Julian McCaffrey's back.

Somehow, Chloe missed that confession earlier, but unfortunately she remembered it now. After she insisted to Dan that Lucifer would never do something this bad, it turned out that he actually did and he wasn't the least bit sorry about it. Earlier, she would've been angry about it, but that was because he was acting like a self-entitled prick, but now she had a feeling why he did it and it wasn't just because of Eve. Earlier last night, Julian managed to get away shooting Joan Ramirez aka Rookie Joan on his way out. Chloe knew Lucifer blamed himself. He didn't say so, but he didn't have to. He was practically catatonic until he went home.

"Lucifer," Chloe pulled back again, still not breaking his hold on her. "We need to talk about....Julian McCaffrey.....you broke his back...why.....you've NEVER gone that far. What happened?"

@lucifermorningstxr

Simply being this close to Chloe, sharing his full vulnerability with his human, made Lucifer feel infinitely better as it pertained to the prophecy. She must be right because how could evil incarnate be so fortunate to have Heaven on Earth in his arms after all he'd done? Her touch, her scent, and her voice felt like home in this moment. Always one to talk too much and ruin the moment, he decided it was best in this moment to just hold her close and rub her back and shoulders gently. "Thank you for everything, Detective." He held her close and hoped to Dad that this would never end.

#lucifermorningstxr #lucifer morningstar #partners 'til the end

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sassenach77yle · 2 days ago

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7x09 “Unfinished Business”

JENNY & YOUNG IAN

AS THE TIME GREW SHORTER, Ian found it impossible to sleep. The need to go, to find Rachel, burned in him so that he felt hot coals in the pit of his stomach all of the time. Auntie Claire called it heartburn, and it was. She said it was from bolting his food, though, and it wasn’t that—he could barely eat.He spent his days with his father, as much as he could. Sitting in the corner of the speak-a-word room, watching his father and his elder brother go about the business of Lallybroch, he couldn’t understand how it would be possible to stand up and walk away, to leave them behind. To leave his father forever behind.During the days, there were things to be done, folk to be visited, to talk to, and the land to be walked over, the stark beauty of it soothing when his feelings grew too heated to bear. At night, though, the house lay quiet, the creaking silence punctuated by his father’s distant cough and his two young nephews’ heavy breathing in the room beside him. He began to feel the house itself breathe around him, drawing one ragged, heavy-chested gasp after another, and to feel the weight of it on his own chest, so he sat up in bed, gulping air only to be sure he could. And finally he would slide out of bed, steal downstairs with his boots in his hands, and let himself out of the kitchen door to walk the night under clouds or stars, the clean wind fanning the coals of his heart to open flame, until he should find his tears and peace in which to shed them.One night he found the door unbolted already. He went out cautiously, looking round, but saw no one. Likely Young Jamie gone to the barn; one of the two cows was due to calf any day. He should go and help, maybe … but the burning under his ribs was painful, he needed to walk a bit first. Jamie would have fetched him in any case, had he thought he needed help.He turned away from the house and its outbuildings and headed up the hill, past the sheep pen, where the sheep lay in somnolent mounds, pale under the moon, now and then emitting a soft, sudden bah!, as though startled by some sheep dream.Such a dream took shape before him suddenly, a dark form moving against the fence, and he uttered a brief cry that made the nearer sheep start and rustle in a chorus of low-pitched bahs.“Hush, a bhailach,” his mother said softly. “Get this lot started, and ye’ll wake the dead.”He could make her out now, a small, slender form, with her unbound hair a soft mass against the paleness of her shift.

Speak o’ the dead,” he said rather crossly, forcing his heart down out of his throat. “I thought ye were a ghost. What are ye doing out here, Mam?”“Counting sheep,” she said, a thread of humor in her voice. “That’s what ye’re meant to do when ye canna sleep, aye?”“Aye.” He came and stood beside her, leaning on the fence. “Does it work?”“Sometimes.”They stood still for a bit, watching the sheep stir and settle. They smelled sweetly filthy, of chewed grass and sheep shit and greasy wool, and Ian found that it was oddly comforting just to be with them.“Does it work to count them, when ye ken already how many there are?” he asked, after a short silence. His mother shook her head.“No, I say their names over. It’s like saying the rosary, only ye dinna feel the need to be asking. It wears ye down, asking.”Especially when ye ken the answer’s going to be no, Ian thought, and moved by sudden impulse, put his arm around her shoulders. She made a small sound of amused surprise, but then relaxed, laying her head against him. He could feel the small bones of her, light as a bird’s, and thought his heart might break.They stood for a while that way, and then she freed herself, gently, moving away a little and turning to him.“Sleepy yet?”“No.”“Aye, well. Come on, then.” Not waiting for an answer, she turned and made her way through the dark, away from the house.There was a moon, half full, and he’d been out more than long enough for his eyes to adjust; it was simple to follow, even through the jumbled grass and stones and heather that grew on the hill behind the house.Where was she taking him? Or rather, why? For they were heading uphill, toward the old broch—and the burying ground that lay nearby. He felt a chill round his heart—did she mean to show him the site of his father’s grave?But she stopped abruptly and stooped, so he nearly tripped over her. Straightening up, she turned and put a pebble into his hand.“Over here,” she said softly, and led him to a small square stone set in the earth. He thought it was Caitlin’s grave—the child who’d come before Young Jenny, the sister who’d lived but one day—but then saw that Caitlin’s stone lay a few feet away.

This one was the same size and shape, but—he squatted by it, and running his fingers over the shadows of its carving, made out the name.

Yeksa’a.

“Mam,” he said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.

.“Is that right, Ian?” she said, a little anxious. “Your da said he wasna quite certain of the spelling of the Indian name. I had the stone carver put both, though. I thought that was right.”

“Both?” But his hand had already moved down and found the other name.

Iseabaíl.

He swallowed hard.“That was right,” he said very softly. His hand rested flat on the stone, cool under his palm.She squatted down beside him, and reaching, put her own pebble on the stone. It was what you did, he thought, stunned, when you came to visit the dead. You left a pebble to say you’d been there; that you hadn’t forgotten.His own pebble was still in his other hand; he couldn’t quite bring himself to lay it down. Tears were running down his face, and his mother’s hand was on his arm.

“It’s all right, mo duine,” she said softly. “Go to your young woman. Ye’ll always be here wi’ us.”

The steam of his tears rose like the smoke of incense from his heart, and he laid the pebble gently on his daughter’s grave. Safe among his family.It wasn’t until many days later, in the middle of the ocean, that he realized his mother had called him a man.

83 COUNTING SHEEP ~ An Echo in the Bone

#the frasers #outlander #outlander series #outlanderedit #outlander fanart #outlander starz #outlanderedits #outlander book #outlander books #jenny murray #young ian #john bell #outlander season 7b #outlander 7x09

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youknowwho-mustnotbenamed · 2 days ago

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November 24: The Black Lake | word count: 786 | @wolfstarmicrofic

Nearly the entire population of Hogwarts is enjoying the warm summer weather on the grounds. Most of them are crowded around the shores of the Black Lake, talking with friends, splashing in the water, or tossing a ball back and forth. It is entirely too loud, but Remus won’t turn for the castle while the warmth of the sun warms the chill in his bones and the clear air fills his lungs.

He sighs and shifts his back against the rough bark of the tree, abandoning his textbook for a moment to watch James and Sirius. They are on the shore of the lake, shirtless, and wrestling in the shallows. At one point, they had a frisbee, though Remus doesn’t see it anymore. Though he can hardly focus on anything else when Sirius is right there. Sirius, who has water droplets scattered across his torso, catching the light and drawing Remus’ eyes in, no matter how much he tries to pull them away.

He is helpless but to watch as Sirius’ head falls back in a laugh, exposing the pale column of his throat. There is a primal part of him that wants to burrow his nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent. Remus desperately needs to know. Does he smell like the scent that always surrounds him, or is that just his cologne? He probably smells really good, like something earthy. Sandalwood maybe, or maybe even something smokey, like tobacco?

He feels heat rush to his cheeks, and forcefully tears his gaze away, burying his nose in his book instead. He’s being foolish. Sirius would never look twice at him that way. Not only is he dangerous halfblood werewolf, but he is a boy. Even on the off chance that Sirius did feel the same, Remus could never risk their friendship, one Sirius would probably be better off without anyway. So he will admire from afar, admonishing himself every step of the way. It’s better this way. It’s better than broken hearts and lonely nights. He doesn’t care how selfish it is. If he can’t have Sirius in the way he wants, he will take whatever he can get.

“Enjoying the view?” Lily asks, leaning against the tree next to him. He hadn’t even noticed her approach. See, this is a problem. There is a war going on. If he is too focused on his stupid crush on Sirius, he could compromise not only himself, but whoever he is working with.

“Bugger off.”

“Still?” She gasps. “Remus, it’s been years.” She slides down the tree until she is sitting next to him.

“I know, Lils. I’m pathetic.”

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

"We've had this conversation before, Lils. I know you are trying to be supportive, but he's straight."

“What if he isn’t?”

He scoffs. “Are we looking at the same person? Sirius is the straightest boy I know.”

“You said that about James.”

“Yeah, well, I’m right about this one.” He insists. She should know better than to get his hopes up like this. It will only lead to him crying alone in the middle of the night over an unrequited love. Like Echo and Narcissus, one forever forced to live in the shadow of the other who would never look twice and the former.

“Remus…”

“I’m not going to risk him looking at me like I’m repulsive. I’d rather live in ignorance.”

“You never chose ignorance.”

“This time I do.”

“Well, if we are jumping to conclusions today, I also have an unrequited crush.”

“You do?”

“Well, you see, I could ask her, but… you know, I might be disappointed by the results of doing so.”

“It’s different and you know it.”

“Really? How so?”

“She’s not your friend. And you’re not a werewolf.”

“Come on, Remus. You have to get over that.”

“Get over it?! I have to live with this forever Lily! I can’t just… just forget about it.”

“You may not be able to forget about it, but you can’t use it as an excuse. If I used being muggleborns as an excuse, I would hardly be the top of our class, would I? No, instead I used it to prove them wrong about their base assumptions toward me. You are more than a stereotype, Remus. And if Sirius can’t see that, then he isn’t the one for you.”

“Sometimes, you are a bit too perceptive, Lils.”

“That’s why I’m your best friend, because I don’t let you feed me the same lies you feed everybody else, including yourself. You have to stop hiding behind these walls, Remus, otherwise you will be stuck right here for the rest of your life.”

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders era

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slippinmickeys · 2 days ago

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The Unseelie Court (5/16)

They had awoken early, before sunup, and Scully had drifted through the dark passage of the connecting door and into her own room, closing the door behind her. She met Mulder outside an hour later, tying the sash of her light woolen coat.

When Mulder turned the engine over to get the heat going, he looked over at her.

“Sheriff’s office or morgue?” he asked.

“Sheriff’s office, I think,” she said. “We need to submit the leaf into evidence before the chain of custody gets murky. Then maybe we can all head over to the morgue together and figure out just what the hell is going on. I had the diener run another set of dental X-Rays on the new body.”

“The old body,” Mulder said.

“The body,” Scully conceded, somewhat testily.

Though it was past sunrise, the light was moody and Mulder turned on his headlights before he swung out of the motel parking lot. The radio gave a squelch of static and Scully reached forward and snapped it off, a heavy sigh briefly fogging up the passenger window, hiding the gray day on the window’s other side.

“You okay?” Mulder asked as they bumped over the curb and onto the roadway. It was something he probably wouldn’t have done before they’d started sleeping together, but a newly vulnerable part of him worried he’d done something wrong.

“Fine,” she said. Of course.

Mulder sighed himself, his mood suddenly matching that of the weather.

The sky wasn’t overcast; it was depressed, the cloud cover drooping so low it seemed to lean on top of the trees.

The drive was short, no more than five minutes, and they were out of the car and strolling through the front doors of the Sheriff’s office before they’d had time to figure out a game plan.

The deputy who’d met them at the morgue the evening before was sitting behind the duty desk, and he seemed just as startled to see them as he had twelve hours prior.

“Deputy Miller,” Mulder said. “Before we talk to the Sheriff, I have some evidence that needs to be added to what the forensic unit pulled from the lakeshore yesterday. Can you see me back to the evidence room, please?”

“Um,” the deputy said. “Can I see your badge again?”

Mulder and Scully both flipped them up.

“Alright,” Miller stood. “Okay. Um, follow me.”

For lack of anything else to do, Scully followed them, through the still fairly empty bullpen and into a back hallway, where Miller fumbled with a ring of keys before finding the right one and unlocking the evidence room door.

The deputy led them to a bankers box and handed over a clipboard to Mulder before removing the lid off the top and taking a step back. Mulder stopped writing when he looked down inside.

“This is the wrong box, son,” Mulder said.

Intrigued, Scully moved around his other side and peered in. Inside the box, encased in sealed plastic evidence bags, were the red toy bucket from near the body on the beach, as well as the beer bottle and coins. But the bottle was that of a weathered Bud Light, and the coins from Daly’s pocket were just a handful of dull pennies. The iron ingot was nowhere to be seen.

“This is the box from yesterday,” Miller said, going pale. “It says so right here.”

“The victim had a pocketful of rare coins and an iron ingot, and the beer bottle near the body was not Bud Light,” Mulder said.

“Excuse me,” said a loud voice from the doorway. “Can I help you?”

All three of them turned to see the Sheriff standing in the doorway looking thunderous.

“Miller, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said, taking a step inside. “No one but law enforcement is allowed inside the evidence room. If the Prosecutor’s office finds out about this—”

“They’re FBI!” said Miller, at the same time Mulder said:

“Sheriff Cox.”

The Sheriff stopped his rant, cocking his head at Mulder.

“We were just logging in evidence we got from our initial examination of Daly Carmichael in the morgue,” Mulder explained. “We ran into a bit of a situation last night and were hoping for your input.”

“You’re here about Daly Carmichael?” the Sheriff asked. “I didn’t think the FBI had jurisdiction, but I’d be more than happy to accept your help with the case.”

“Sir?” Scully said, confused.

“I don’t know who called you, but—”

“You did,” Mulder said, setting the evidence log book down on top of the file box. “You called me. Yesterday morning.”

“I think you must have mistaken me for someone else. Did one of my deputies…”

Mulder turned and looked down at Scully, exchanging confused looks.

“Yeah,” Mulder finally said. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened. It must have been one of your deputies.”

“Mulder?” Scully said quietly. He shook his head at her, just a quick motion and moved toward the Sheriff, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder and steering him out of the evidence room.

“Why don’t you tell me about the case?” Mulder said.

***

“Mulder what the fuck ?” Scully said, the very second they had walked out of the Sheriff’s office doors and into the brisk outside air. She had not called out Mulder in front of LLE for not pushing back on the collective amnesia they all seemed to be suffering, but she sure as hell wasn’t waiting any longer. He’d gone right along with it, reintroducing himself to deputies they’d spoken with yesterday, getting the full run-down on a case they were already investigating. She was appalled.

“Did you see that?” Mulder said, excitedly. “No memory of meeting us yesterday. None of them! That rookie deputy, Andy, standing there in the bullpen. No idea who we were. And Deputy Avery, the relief on his face when the Sheriff asked him to give us the file and I told him we already had it? Avery had no idea where the file was and thought he was about to get his ass handed to him. Probably thinks we saved his career.”

“How do these people have no memory of yesterday, Mulder? It makes no sense .”

“I wonder if your diener Aeon remembers,” Mulder said. “Or if they got to him, too.”

“If who got to him? Mulder .”

Scully stopped short and grabbed Mulder by the arm, pulling him back toward her.

“Mulder, explain to me what you think is going on. Because I’m about to march back in that building and demand an office-wide drug test. Or, I don’t know, look for a hypnotist in the closet! You didn’t press them on the fact that none of them seemed to remember anything about yesterday other than the fact that they found the body of an alleged missing person, nor the very important fact that evidence from the crime scene was very clearly swapped out .”

“Magic,” Mulder said. “I think we’re dealing with some kind of magic. And it started last night the moment you took this out of Daly Carmichael’s mouth.” At this he produced the evidence bag with the leaf in it.

“You didn’t log it in?”

“Under the circumstances? No,” he said.

Scully blew out a breath. She couldn’t argue with that particular decision.

“The Sheriff is going to follow us to the morgue,” Mulder said a little more gently. “Let’s…see how this all plays out.”

He was walking to the car before Scully had a chance to fully register the word “magic.”

***

“This is the body that was found on the beach yesterday morning?” Scully asked, still in her business suit and wool coat. She was standing at the head of the examination table looking down at the older body that had appeared the night before. “In exactly this condition?”

“That’s him,” the Sheriff said. “The techs from Richmond finished up at the scene and we shipped him over here. You said you took a look at him yesterday? Any idea what killed him?”

The Sheriff was standing not far from the table’s other side with Mulder flanking him to the right. Avery stood patiently just inside the door

“I haven’t had a chance to perform the autopsy yet,” Scully said. “All that’s been done is trace.” She turned toward the door. “Where’s the diener?” she asked.

Aeon hadn’t shown his face yet, though the body and everything else was prepped and ready, and the dental X-rays were up and waiting to be looked at in the light box. The Sheriff assured her that copies had been sent to the state forensic dentist.

The night before, Aeon had been just as baffled as Mulder and Scully by the aged state of the body and had agreed to run another set of dental X-Rays.

“Crazy that he was wearing the same clothes he went missing in,” Sheriff Cox said. “All these years later.”

“Assuming this is Daly Carmichael,” Scully said.

“I mean…you don’t think it is?”

“Not without confirming his dental records.”

“I know you’re not a forensic dentist,” said the Sheriff. “But maybe you could take a look?”

Scully glanced over at the dental X-rays in the light box. The ‘70s originals from Daly Carmichael were significantly smaller–the edges of the film rounded and hoary. Scully shared a look with Mulder and he nodded at her. She blew out an unhappy breath but nevertheless moved over to the lightbox and turned it on.

The similarities were apparent the moment she looked at them. The second molar on the left side on all three X-rays showed identical amalgam fillings, each with an odd, distinct shape similar to that of Rhode Island. It wouldn’t take a forensic specialist to confirm that all three X-rays were of the same mouth-Daly Carmichael.

“These,” she said, sighing unhappily, “appear to all be from the same person.”

“Daly Carmichael,” Mulder said, clarifying.

“Yes,” Scully said. “Though I would still like confirmation from the forensic specialist.”

She knew it was a mere formality, but she was determined to do things by the book.

“Still,” the Sheriff said, smiling. “It’s great to get confirmation. And close a case.”

“We still don’t know what killed him,” Scully said.

“Can you find out? Your partner says you’re a forensic pathologist?”

Scully didn’t answer for so long that Mulder took a step forward. “Scully?” he said. “Can you?”

“I can try,” she said.

***

When Scully emerged from the locker room having changed into scrubs, the Sheriff and his deputy were gone and Aeon was back, cornered by Mulder, who appeared to be questioning him.

“So you remember us coming in here yesterday?” Mulder asked him.

“Of course I remember you coming in here yesterday,” Aeon said testily. “Hours after you should have been. And then all kinds of shit happened. You ruined my night.”

“Anybody else here yesterday? Where’s the local ME?”

“On vacation,” Aeon said. “This is a small county, Agent Mulder. It’s just the two of us.”

“Mulder,” Scully said, hoping to diffuse what was turning into a heated conversation.

Her partner turned to her. The diener took the opportunity to step around him.

“Do you need anything else before you begin your examination?” Aeon asked Scully.

“I’m good,” she said.

“I’m not done asking questions,” Mulder said.

“I think you are,” said Aeon, and Mulder’s phone trilled from his pocket. The little man gave him a satisfied smirk.

Mulder reached in and pulled out his phone. “Skinner,” he said, looking down at the display. When he looked back up, the diener had left the bay. Mulder let the phone go to voicemail. He’d call his superior back.

“I guess they didn’t get to your diener,” Mulder said. “Who I don’t think I like.”

“The feeling appears to be mutual,” Scully said. “I’m just glad whatever insanity is happening down there at the Sheriff’s office doesn’t extend to here.”

Mulder had to agree with that one. “Do you think the body has any answers?”

“If it does,” Scully said, reaching out and grabbing a scalpel, “it’s not going to be magic.”

Mulder wasn’t so sure about that. He had long ago accepted that their job turned them into ecstatics, subject to mystical experiences.

He thought about the dark opening into the trees by the lakeside, what he was now sure were Daly Carmichael’s footprints leading out of it.

“While you do this,” he said, moving to the door. “I’m going to go back to the crime scene.”

“Okay,” Scully said, reaching up to turn on the recording mic above her head, catching his eye before looking back down at the body before her. “Be careful, Mulder.”

“I will,” he assured her.

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #the unseelie court

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delusionalfanficwriter · 1 day ago

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Kristie & Her Firefighter (Ariana OG character)

The air smelled like roasted chestnuts and city streets—Kristie loved this time of year, the way the crispness of fall wrapped itself around everything like a warm scarf. She held Ariana’s hand tightly as they walked through downtown Seattle, both savoring a rare day off together. Ariana had been practically glued to Station 19 since she joined the crew a year ago, trading her cleats for turnout gear after retiring from soccer. Kristie couldn’t be prouder, even if she hated the late nights and early mornings that came with the job. Ariana was a hero, plain and simple.

“What are you thinking about?” Ariana asked, her voice low, carrying that calm confidence that had drawn Kristie to her in the first place.

“You,” Kristie admitted with a grin, bumping her hip against Ariana’s. “And how lucky I am.”

Ariana chuckled, squeezing Kristie’s hand. “I’m the lucky one.”

They turned a corner, and that’s when it hit them: the acrid smell of smoke, sharp and unmistakable. Kristie stopped in her tracks as Ariana’s head snapped toward the source. About a block away, a small house was engulfed in flames, the orange and red licking hungrily at the sky

“Oh my God,” Kristie gasped.

Ariana didn’t waste a second. “Call 911,” she said, her voice sharp and commanding. Her hand slipped out of Kristie’s as she started toward the house.

“Ariana, wait!” Kristie’s voice cracked, panic setting in. “You’re not on duty!”

But Ariana was already moving, her pace quickening as shouts erupted from the growing crowd of onlookers. A woman stood on the front lawn, screaming, her words fractured and frantic.

“My babies! Please! They’re still inside!”

Ariana froze mid-stride. Her breath hitched, her mind processing the weight of those words. Her feet moved before her brain could catch up, instincts and adrenaline taking over. She turned back to Kristie, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Call 911. Tell them there are kids trapped inside.”

“Ariana, don’t!” Kristie yelled, her voice cracking as Ariana broke into a full sprint toward the inferno.

The heat was immediate, pressing against Ariana’s skin like a wall of fire even before she reached the doorway. Smoke billowed out, thick and black, stinging her eyes and clawing at her throat. She crouched low, instinctively pulling her hoodie up to cover her nose and mouth. The roar of the flames was deafening, drowning out everything but the erratic pounding of her heart.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” she shouted, her voice hoarse and strained.

The muffled sound of crying cut through the crackling of wood. Ariana dropped lower, her hand skimming the floor as she followed the sound. She moved quickly but carefully, navigating through a haze of smoke and heat that seemed to cling to her like a second skin.

“In here!” a small, panicked voice called from somewhere in the back.

Ariana pushed forward, the heat intensifying with every step. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, the air thick with smoke and ash. She found them in the kitchen—a boy, maybe seven, and a little girl no older than three. They were huddled under a table, the boy shielding his sister with his body.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Ariana said, her voice as calm as she could make it. She crouched down, extending her arms. “We’re going to get out of here, I promise. Can you walk?”

The boy nodded, clutching his sister tightly. Ariana didn’t hesitate. She scooped the little girl into her arms and grabbed the boy’s hand, leading them toward what should have been the front door. But when she turned the corner, her heart sank. Flames had engulfed the entryway, cutting off their exit.

“Damn it,” she muttered, scanning the room for another way out. The fire was spreading faster than she’d expected, the structure groaning under its own weight.

They were almost there when the beam gave way, crashing to the floor inches from where they stood. Ariana shielded the kids with her body, her heart pounding as she scrambled to her feet.

“Almost there,” she muttered, more to herself than to them.

...

Maya Bishop jumped out first, followed by Jack, Travis, and the rest of the crew. Kristie ran to Maya, desperation etched on her face.

“Ariana’s in there!” she yelled.

Maya’s face darkened. “Of course she is,” she muttered. “She can’t help herself.”

“She heard there were kids inside,” Kristie added, her voice trembling. “Please, get her out.”

Maya nodded, already strapping on her helmet. “We will.”

Inside, Ariana was backing toward a window, shielding the kids with her body as flames roared around them. She felt her strength flagging, the heat pressing in from all sides, when she heard the faint but unmistakable sound of her team’s voices.

“Ariana! Where are you?” Jack’s voice boomed through the chaos.

“In here!” a small, panicked voice called from somewhere in the back.

Outside, Maya and Jack breached the front door, the heat and smoke hitting them like a freight train. They moved quickly, scanning the house for signs of life. Jack spotted movement near the window and shouted to Maya.

“There! By the living room!”

Maya nodded, motioning for him to cover her as she moved toward the window. Through the thick smoke, she saw Ariana, clutching a little girl with one arm while guiding a boy with the other.

“Ariana!” Maya called, her voice muffled by her mask.

Ariana’s head snapped up, relief flooding her face. “I’ve got them!” she shouted back.

Jack smashed the window with the butt of his axe, clearing the way as Maya reached in to help. They got the kids out first, handing them off to Travis, who waited outside. Then Maya extended her hand to Ariana.

“Come on, let’s go!” Maya yelled.

Ariana hesitated for a split second, her legs trembling from exhaustion. But she grabbed Maya’s hand, letting herself be pulled through the window just as another beam collapsed behind her.

The flames roared behind them as Maya and Jack helped Ariana through the shattered living room window, their movements swift and methodical. Once outside, Ariana leaned forward, hands braced on her knees, coughing a few times but quickly straightening up. She brushed soot from her face, giving Maya a lopsided grin.

“Not bad for a retired athlete, huh?” Ariana quipped, her voice raspy but laced with humor. She turned to Kristie, who was already rushing toward her. “You see that? Still got it.”

Kristie didn’t bother with words. She threw her arms around Ariana, holding her tightly despite the soot and sweat. “You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Ariana patted her back, chuckling softly. “Come on, babe. I’ve done worse. You’re dating a firefighter, remember?”

Jack, standing nearby, shook his head with a small grin. “She’s been one of us for too long—she thinks this is normal.”

“Definitely normal,” Ariana said, cracking a crooked smile as she wiped her forehead, leaving a streak of soot across her face. “Save some kids, ruin my hoodie, get yelled at by my girlfriend—just a day off.”

Maya smirked but kept her eyes on Ariana, her sharp gaze catching the subtle tension in her posture. “Yeah, well, don’t think you’re out of the woods yet. You inhaled a lot of smoke in there. We’ll check you out back at the station.”

“I’m fine, Bishop,” Ariana said, waving her off. “Stop mothering me.”

But as she said it, she wavered slightly, just enough for Kristie to notice. Kristie stepped back, her brow furrowing as she looked at Ariana more closely.

“Ari, are you sure you’re okay?” Kristie asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” Ariana replied, though her smile faltered. She took a shaky breath and blinked rapidly, her vision swimming for a moment. “I just... need a minute.”

The words barely left her lips before her legs buckled. She stumbled forward, and Maya caught her, lowering her gently to the ground.

“Ariana!” Kristie’s voice cracked as she dropped to her knees beside her.

Jack was at Kristie’s side in an instant, gently pulling her back. “Kristie, give them space,” he said softly but firmly, his arm steadying her as she started to panic.

Maya crouched next to Ariana, her voice calm but commanding. “Ari, stay with me. Can you hear me? What’s going on?”

Ariana’s head lolled to the side, her breathing shallow and erratic. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and she struggled to speak. “Just... tired,” she rasped.

“Her breathing’s too shallow,” Maya said, glancing over her shoulder. “Travis! Get me oxygen now!”

Travis sprinted to the truck, returning seconds later with a portable oxygen tank and mask. Maya placed the mask over Ariana’s face, adjusting it carefully.

“Come on, Ari, breathe,” Maya urged, her voice tight but steady. “Deep breaths. You can do this.”

Ariana’s hand twitched, as if she was trying to push the mask away, but her strength was fading. Maya pressed two fingers to her neck, her expression darkening as she checked her pulse.

“It’s fast, but weak,” Maya said. “She’s crashing.”

Kristie let out a strangled sob, and Jack tightened his hold on her, his voice soothing. “They’ve got her, Kristie. Maya knows what she’s doing.”

Kristie nodded, tears streaming down her face as she clutched Jack’s arm. “She was fine two minutes ago,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “She was joking with me.”

Maya’s voice cut through the chaos. “She’s compensating for something. We need to figure out what.” She leaned closer to Ariana, her tone softening. “Ari, listen to me. Did you hit your head? Do you feel any pain?”

Ariana blinked sluggishly, her lips moving under the mask. Maya leaned closer, straining to hear.

“...chest... hurts,” Ariana whispered, her words barely audible.

Maya’s jaw tightened. She looked up at Jack and Travis. “It might be smoke inhalation, but if she’s saying chest pain, we can’t rule out a cardiac issue. We need to move her now. We’re taking her ourselves. Jack, help me get her on the stretcher.”

Jack nodded, releasing Kristie and moving quickly to Maya’s side. Together, they lifted Ariana onto the stretcher, securing her as carefully as possible.

Kristie clung to Travis, her breathing ragged as she watched. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s tough,” Travis reassured her, though his own worry was evident. “She’ll pull through.”

As they loaded Ariana into the back of the truck, Maya turned to Kristie, her expression softening. “You’re coming with us. Get in.”

Kristie didn’t hesitate, climbing into the truck and taking Ariana’s hand. “I’m here,” she whispered, her tears falling freely. “I’m right here.”

Maya sat beside Ariana, her eyes locked on the monitor as they sped toward the hospital. Her hand rested lightly on Ariana’s arm, her voice steady as she spoke.

“Stay with us, Ari,” Maya murmured. “We’ve got you. Just hang on.”

The sirens wailed, the urgency of their mission echoing through the night.

The ambulance’s sirens wailed, drowning out the pounding of Kristie’s heart. She sat next to Ariana on the narrow bench, clutching her girlfriend’s hand as Maya worked efficiently beside her, her focus locked on the monitor displaying Ariana’s vitals.

“She’s still tachycardic,” Maya muttered, frowning at the screen. “Heart rate’s through the roof, and it’s irregular. Damn it.”

Kristie’s stomach twisted. “What does that mean? What’s wrong with her?”

Maya glanced at her, her expression professional but tinged with concern. “It’s likely from the smoke inhalation—carbon monoxide poisoning can cause arrhythmias. But until we run tests at the hospital, we can’t rule out other things, like if she hit her head or had some kind of cardiac event.”

Kristie’s grip tightened on Ariana’s hand, her knuckles white. Ariana stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before sliding shut again.

“Ari, hey,” Kristie said, her voice trembling. “Stay with me, babe. You’re scaring me.”

Ariana’s lips moved faintly under the oxygen mask, but no sound came out. Kristie looked at Maya, her panic bubbling over. “Why isn’t she saying anything? She was talking before.”

“She’s slipping in and out of consciousness,” Maya said evenly, though the tightness in her jaw betrayed her worry. “That’s why we need to keep her oxygenated and monitor her. If her rhythm worsens or her oxygen levels drop—” She stopped herself, not wanting to say the worst aloud.

Maya pulled out her phone, typing a quick text with one hand while keeping her other hand on Ariana’s wrist, checking her pulse. Kristie caught a glimpse of the name: Carina.

“Emergency. Ariana’s in bad shape. Meet us at the ER. Kristie needs you.”

Kristie blinked back tears, focusing on Ariana’s face. Her girlfriend’s usual fire and humor were gone, replaced by pallor and shallow breaths. “Come on, Ari,” Kristie whispered. “You’re tougher than this. You don’t get to scare me like this.”

Ariana’s eyes fluttered open again, glassy and unfocused. “Kris...tie,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

“I’m here,” Kristie said quickly, leaning closer. “I’m right here, baby. Just hang on.”

“Hurts...” Ariana’s hand twitched weakly in Kristie’s grip.

“I know, I know it does,” Kristie choked out, tears streaming down her face. “We’re almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”

Maya’s voice cut through the tension. “Her rhythm’s worsening—V-tach,” she said sharply, her hand moving to adjust the defibrillator pads already attached to Ariana’s chest. “I’m prepping for a shock if it doesn’t stabilize.”

Kristie’s world tilted. “Shock? What do you mean? Maya—”

Maya placed a steadying hand on Kristie’s shoulder. “If her heart doesn’t stabilize, we might have to shock it back into rhythm. It’s scary, but it’s what she needs. I won’t let her crash on us.”

Ariana stirred again, her eyelids heavy as she looked at Maya, her voice barely audible. “Bishop... bossy... as always.”

Maya huffed out a short, relieved laugh, though her eyes stayed on the monitor. “And you’re a pain in the ass as always. Stay awake so you can keep sassing me, Ari.”

Kristie let out a shaky laugh, relief momentarily breaking through her panic. “You hear that? You’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Ariana’s lips curved into a faint, ghost of a smirk before her head lolled to the side again.

“Damn it,” Maya muttered. She glanced at the paramedic driving the ambulance. “How much longer?”

“Two minutes,” the Travis called back.

“Two minutes might as well be two hours,” Maya muttered under her breath. She checked Ariana’s pupils, frowning at the sluggish response. “If she hit her head in there, we’ll need neuro imaging. But right now, the arrhythmia is our top priority.”

Kristie’s breath caught. “You think she hit her head? Maya—”

“We don’t know for sure,” Maya interrupted gently. “But the smoke, the heat, the falling debris—anything’s possible. Carina’s meeting us at the hospital, okay? She’ll help explain everything. You’re not alone in this.”

Kristie nodded, though her heart felt like it might shatter. “You texted her?”

“She’ll be there for you,” Maya said. “You’re part of this family now, Kristie. We take care of our own.”

The ambulance hit a bump, jostling everyone inside. Ariana groaned softly, her eyes flickering open again. “This... sucks,” she whispered.

Kristie let out a tearful laugh, stroking Ariana’s cheek. “Yeah, it does. But you’re going to be fine. You hear me? You’ve got too much attitude to go anywhere.”

Maya grinned faintly, watching the monitor. “She’s stabilizing for now. Let’s hope it holds until we’re at Grey Sloan.”

As the ambulance pulled up to the hospital, the doors swung open, and the trauma team rushed to meet them. Maya climbed out first, barking orders as they transferred Ariana to a gurney.

Kristie hesitated, frozen in the moment, until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Carina, her face calm but filled with compassion.

“Kristie,” Carina said softly, her Italian accent grounding. “Come. Let them work. You can stay with me. We’ll stay close.”

Kristie nodded, allowing herself to be guided as her world spun around her. “She’s going to be okay, right?” she asked, her voice breaking.

Carina squeezed her shoulder, her voice steady and soothing. “She’s strong. And she has all of us. We won’t let her go without a fight.”

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #uswnt fanfic #station 19 x reader #station 19 fanfiction #station 19

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