#bot x reader

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - S.H

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, so much fluff, teacher!steve and mom!reader. No descriptions are given of reader or abbey, other than that abbey has curly hair, steve and reader are the same age (about 24-25), set early-mid 90's

AN - i don’t write for kids often so i hope this reads well and is realistic. i don’t have a clear end for this series in mind, so i’m gonna keep writing it for as long as y’all want it :) feel free to send requests for blurbs for this AU if you so wish and as always, thank you - emma

“Moooooom,”

You hear a tiny voice whisper in your ear. Most mornings started this way, if not all of them. Whoever said getting children out of bed in the morning was difficult had clearly never met Abbey. Every day you peeled your tired eyes open to see the miniature version of them staring back at you, the only difference being they were much wider, and lacking the distinct fog of leftover sleep.

Today her hair was sticking up in all different directions; frizzy curls here and tangled knots there. Your daughter takes after you in many ways, one being that she’s an active sleeper and it shows when she wakes up. Her bed was always disheveled; embroidered blankets strewn across her bedroom floor and little red lines indented in her cheeks where they had been smushed against her pillow.

“Mornin’ Ab,” you say, voice gravelly with disuse. “Have you made your bed yet?” you eye her suspiciously.

You know she hasn’t and she confirms as much when she spins on her heel and dashes for her room down the hall. Truthfully, you couldn’t care less if her bed was made or not, it was merely a guise to buy you a few extra minutes of peace and quiet each morning.

︵୨୧︵

When she doesn’t reappear, you assume she’s gotten distracted and decide to make your way downstairs to scrounge for something to eat. You never ate breakfast before you had Abbey; either for lack of time or because the smell of food so early in the morning made you nauseous. Eating three meals a day was just one bullet point on the long, running list of changes in your routine since becoming a mother.

Two bowls of Frosted Flakes were set out on the table after deciding there was no time for anything more nutritious.

“Abbey!” You call, “Breakfast!” 

You hear the sounds of sniffling and small feet padding on hardwood as she enters the kitchen– pouting. You try not to gape at the utter monstrosity of an outfit she's put on. She whines, “I don’t know what I want to wear!”

You sense a meltdown coming already, on today of all days. Pre-school was easy, as Abbey was a fairly agreeable kid. Or at least she used to be. Lately it felt like you had to battle her about anything and everything. 

“You look so beautiful, Ab!” you reassure her, attempting to deescalate the impending tantrum. She has on pink corduroy pants and a frilly forest green blouse. For accessories she’s sporting a chunky plastic necklace that definitely came with a dress-up kit, along with a tutu. You have no idea where the tutu came from.

Eventually she decides not to fight you, at least not on her outfit. However, as she climbs into the kitchen chair, she scowls down at the soggy cereal in front of her and asks in the most darling tone she can muster,

“Can I have Scooby fruit snacks instead?”

“How about I pack some in your lunchbox today and you can eat them at snack time?” you try to barter.

Sneaking a glance at the clock, it mocks you with its unforgiving hands– you’re going to be late and your daughter will have skipped supposedly the most important meal of the day. Some mother you are.

“But I want them right now!” Her petite fists bang against the wooden table and she’s a heap of dramatics wriggling in her chair.

“Hey, what did we talk about? Yelling is not nice, even when we’re frustrated. Right?” She acknowledges you with a teary nod along with more crying and petulant moaning that can be heard as you run to the bathroom and grab a hairbrush with two bows. When you return, she’s still moping over her breakfast, but taking bites nonetheless. A win is a win.

You begin detangling the mess of knots and snarls at the back of her head. “Ouch, Mommy!” she cries when you try to comb through a particularly tangled section.

You place one of your hands over the crown of her head like a claw in a poor attempt at keeping her from squirming, “The more you move the longer it takes, sweetheart,” 

“Hmph.” she pouts, folding her arms over her chest. When all is said and done, your daughter has her hair parted and tied into two high pigtails, secured with little pink bows, and you’re rushing her out of the front door with haste.

︵୨୧︵

In all the hubbub, you realize you’ve barely gotten yourself ready. Reaching over to buckle Abbey into her carseat, she asks,

“When can I sit up front with you?”

“When you’re this many,” You hold out both your hands to display all ten fingers.

She mimics you with her own smaller fingers, “Ten?”

“That’s right!” You smack a kiss on the crown of her head as you pull back, she smells like her strawberry scented shampoo.

“Watch your feetsies,” you warn and she tucks her legs unnecessarily far into her chest as you close the door. 

The ride is filled with the usual nonsensical ramblings of a five-year-old. She beams back at you through the rearview mirror, eyes sparkling and nodding fervently when you ask if she’s excited to make some new friends today. Your social butterfly, the complete antithesis of you. 

The elementary school is only a few miles from your home, and before you know it you’re circling a crowded parking lot and preparing to drop your only child off for her first day of kindergarten. The rush of emotions you feel are indecipherable, something like a mix of somberness, excitement, relief, and anxiety.

As you walk towards the front of the building, you’re surrounded by dozens of kids aged five through twelve greeting their teachers and saying ‘Hello’ to friends they haven’t seen all summer. The teachers are holding laminated signs that indicate their name and what grade they teach; thank God for that. Abbey’s little fist squeezes around your index finger and you can tell she’s becoming nervous, despite her previous unbridled anticipation.

“Hey, it’s okay,” You assure, “Look, I think that’s your teacher right there,” you point towards a tall, brunette man standing near the double doors.

A shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips when she sees the teacher in question. He’s dressed in a striped button-down shirt and khakis, with a lanyard dangling from his front pocket; the typical teacher attire.The sign he’s holding reads, ‘Mr. Harrington’ and just below that, ‘Kindergarten’ with a little cartoon apple printed next to his name. He looks young compared to the rest of the staff, closer to your own age. This must be his first year teaching.

As you approach him, Abbey treks in front, eager to meet him. Her backpack is adorned with sparkly butterflies and it covers nearly her entire torso; bumping the backs of her knees with every step she takes.

The man crouches down to her level and greets her, “Hey there,” he offers a warm smile, “what’s your name?”

“Abbey,” she says timidly, twiddling her fingers and flashing a toothy grin at him. She doesn’t bother with her last name, honestly you’re not positive that she even knows it.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Abbey,” he holds a gentle hand out for her to shake and she does so hesitantly, “My name’s Mr. Harrington, and I’m going to be your teacher this year. How does that sound?” The way he’s so patient and attentive with her stirs something within you that you haven’t felt in years, but he’s a teacher, for goodness sake. He looks up then, locking eyes with you and rising back to his full height.

This time, it’s your turn to shake his hand. “I’m Steve.”  He flashes you a smile directly out of a Colgate ad and you hope you’re not blushing as much as you feel like you are.

You must look nervous because he immediately assures you that Abbey’s in good hands this year. “We’re having an open house tonight, I hope to see you both there,”

You glance at your daughter, “What’d you think, Ab? That sound fun?”

“Yes!” She squeals and almost falls over from the weight of her backpack.

“Okay then,” With that, you crouch down to give Abbey one final hug. It’s clear that she’s itching to go socialize with the other kids, so you try not to delay her with your sappiness.

“Be good today, okay?” you give her a tight squeeze and a smacking kiss on her little cheek, “I’ll be back to get you at two-forty-five.”

“What will the clock say?” She asks inquisitively. Her favorite question.

“It’ll say ‘two-four-five’,” She nods in understanding, “But I bet you’ll be having so much fun that you won’t even remember to look.”

She’s already on her way to the door when she calls, “Love you, mommy!” and blows you a kiss with her lips puckered. You blow her one back and fight the tears threatening to surface. When did she get so big?

A pang of insecurity settles in your chest when you chance a look around and see all the children accompanied by two parents. You begin the walk back to your sedan before the thought has a chance to fester.

︵୨୧︵

Six hours goes by alarmingly fast when it’s spent running around your house in a frenzy, trying to catch up on all the cleaning you aren’t able to do when there’s a rampant five-year-old on the loose, making a brand new mess where you just cleaned an old one.

Before you can even register the time has passed, it's two o’clock and you need to pick Abbey up in a mere forty five minutes. Looking around your house, you feel satisfied with the progress you were able to make on tidying and call it a day.

This time, you decide to try and appear more presentable before visiting the school, and firmly remind yourself that it has nothing to do with how flustered your daughter’s kindergarten teacher makes you. By the time you’re dressed and have pulled your hair up into a halfway decent top knot; it’s time to go.

︵୨୧︵

The line for pickup wraps around the front of the building, aided by crossing guards and supervised by a few teachers. Twenty minutes into waiting, you regret not having gotten here a little sooner. ‘Tomorrow’ you think. Soon, you catch sight of two little pigtails bobbing up and down as your Abbey skips over to you, grinning ear to ear while Steve watches from the doors she just exited.

“Mommy!” she shouts as she bounds towards you. You place the car in park and run around to greet her.

“Hi, Bug!” you exclaim as you bend at the waist to pick her up. She gives you a tight squeeze around the neck, and you catch a split second of Steve’s gaze over her shoulder before he’s disappearing back inside the school

Plopping her as gently as possible into her carseat and fastening the straps over her chest, her mouth is already moving a mile a minute– absolutely ecstatic to tell you all about the activities she got up to while you were gone.

“What is ‘open house’ ?” she asks, kicking her feet like she can’t possibly contain all the excitement inside her little body.

“It’s just a chance for all the mommies and daddies to meet your teachers,” you explain, “And you get to show me around your new school, fun right?”

Her face lights up like a christmas tree at the prospect, “Are we gonna go?!”

“Yes, but first we have to eat dinner. What sounds good?”

Without missing a beat, she yells a little too loudly, “McDonalds!”

You want to say yes, of course you do, but your shifts at the ER barely cover the minimum of your living expenses. Your resolve begins to crumble, however, when she looks at you with those saucer-round eyes, and her bottom lip juts out in the most precious pout. Who knew she could be so harmlessly manipulative?

“I don’t know, Ab. I think we have some chicken nuggets in the freezer at home, though,” you say, with an air of hopefulness that she might accept the compromise.

“Not the same,” she whines, “Please, Mommy! I’ll be extra extra good please–”

And with that, it’s over.

“Okay! Okay, fine,” you feign annoyance through a smile, “We’ll stop on the way home,”

You can still hear her squeals of excitement when you close the door and walk around to the driver's seat.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey dresses a little more cohesively for the open house than she did this morning. This time she’s clad in a thrifted pair of overalls overtop a little purple blouse. She leads you, hand in hand, inside the school like she knows exactly where she’s going– despite only having spent six hours here.

Steve’s classroom looks exactly how you’d expect. The walls are a light, mint green and it’s as if a character from Sesame Street threw up all over it. Abbey leads you to a reading nook in the corner of the room, surrounded by books and complete with several bean bag chairs, and proclaims this is her favorite spot. She shows you where her desk is– right in the very front of the classroom– and on it, a laminated sticker with her first and last name sits neatly near the top. The walls are lined with colorful letters in alphabetical order, accompanied with numbers just underneath them.

“Abbey!” you hear a familiar voice call, “I’m glad you and your mom could make it!” turning to you then, “I’m actually not sure I ever caught your name,” he chuckles awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the fact that he doesn’t know it yet.

“Oh, it’s–” and before you get the chance to tell him, Abbey pipes up and tells him your first and last name with a confidence that she certainly didn’t have when it came to her own introduction this morning. You’re relieved that she feels so comfortable around him already.

He repeats your name back to you and holds out his hand for you to shake, “It’s nice to meet you,” You pay no mind to the way your heart beats a little faster in its cage at the sound of your name on his lips. His palm is surprisingly soft when you grasp it in your own.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you grant him a polite smile, “Abbey could not stop talking about you on the way home,” you pinch her side, teasing, and she giggles in that contagious way that kids do.

“Is that so?” he feigns surprise when he looks at her.

“Nooo!” her giggles amplify as she becomes increasingly bashful.

He crouches down to meet her at eye-level, exactly like he did this morning, “Well, that’s a shame, because I think you might be one of my favorite students,”

Now, she’s a heap of laughter and has a blush spreading from the apple of her cheeks to the tips of her ears. You can’t help but feel enamored by how great he is with children, silently wondering if he comes from a big family, or if he has a child of his own.

“Did you introduce your mom to Nibbles?” he asks her when her laughing mostly subsides.

She gasps like she can’t believe she would’ve forgotten such a thing, then she hauls you by the arm over to a tiny cage on a table, presumably for an even tinier animal.

“Mommy, look! This is Nibbles,” She’s peering between the metal bars of the enclosure and encouraging you to do the same, when you lean in closer you see a small, tan gerbil sleeping in a little nest of bedding.

“He’s our friend and he helps us learn, so we have to be very careful with him,” she tells you with a sudden seriousness that's amusing to see displayed on such a young face. It’s obvious she’s parroting Steve.

You turn to see Steve observing from a few feet behind you, both hands shoved in his pockets, “I didn’t think teachers actually had class pets,” you breathe a huff of laughter.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles with you, “I brought him from home, actually. Figured he could use some socialization. With dozens of children.” he informs you sarcastically. God, he’s funny too.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you to be a hamster guy,” you tease.

“He’s a gerbil, first of all,”

“Right, sorry, my bad,” you smirk.

“No time for a dog, I guess,” he shrugs, “thought I could use the company,” he’s clearly still bantering, but there’s an underlying melancholy in his tone that you can’t quite place. Before you can think about it for longer than a second, an impatient five-year-old is tugging on your arm and begging to show you the library.

“Okay, alright,” you laugh, “better get to it, the library awaits,” you shoot him an apologetic look for having cut the conversation short. You feel less guilty, however, when you see more parents and children start to funnel into the classroom, busying him in yours and Abbey’s absence.

“See ya, “ he waves. 

“Bye, Mr. Harrington!” Abbey yells, already halfway down the hall. 

︵୨୧︵

In the library you have to shush Abbey several times, much to her dismay.

“We use our inside voices in the library, Ab,” you remind her for the fifth time. She frowns but it’s temporary when she spots her favorite section: the picture books. Abbey is ahead of a kindergarten reading level now, and it's one of her favorite hobbies, but you can still never go wrong with a good picture book.

You’re about to follow her when you hear someone call your name. 

You turn, “Stephanie?” you ask, puzzled.

“Oh my gosh! It’s been forever!” an old friend from your shared high school, Stephanie, pulls you into an unreciprocated bear hug. Squeezing and swaying back and forth for an awkward amount of time.

“Hey,” you draw out the last syllable and try to paint your voice with a nostalgic excitement, “How have you been?” you ask, even though you’re sure you’d rather be shot than continue this conversation.

You don’t know if you could really call Stephanie a ‘friend’, or if you ever could. The only reason she even knew your name being the shared, piranha-esq social circle you both ran in years ago. She reminded you of your past– who you used to be– someone who you’re not particularly proud of.

“Oh, I've been just fine!” She gestures wildly with manicured nails. Her lips are overlined and her hair is still damaged from bleaching and too many perms. Evidently, not a lot has changed. You ponder if she’s still the mean girl she always was underneath all that makeup, or if at some point in your adolescence she decided to mature.

“Todd and I just bought a house over on Maplewood, are you familiar?”

“Oh, no, not really– my daughter and I live across town,” You don’t like how ashamed you feel, “I’ve heard it’s beautiful over there, though,” you attempt to smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“That was your daughter?” She’s trying not to sound taken aback and failing, “With–?”

“Yes,” Your teeth grit ever so slightly. You hate that she won’t say his name, as if speaking it into existence would somehow break you. Like you’re fragile.

“I was terribly sorry to hear about what happened, Hon,” Her sudden sympathetic tone irritates you, whether it’s genuine or not. You don’t need pity, especially not from Stephanie Nettles.

“It’s okay, Steph, really,” losing patience by the second, nothing about it was okay. “It was a long time ago, Abbey and I are doing fine,” you assure her.

“Oh,” she fawns as she presses her bony hands against her chest above her heart, “Can I meet her? Would you mind?" Her tone is saccharine sweet. You figure it can’t hurt, but when you turn around to retrieve Abbey, she’s not where you left her. The spot on the rug that she was previously occupying is empty and her book is abandoned on the floor.

“Abbey?!” Calling a little too loudly for the setting you’re in but you can’t bring yourself to care. You search row after row, it’s not a big library, and after every shelf you’re expecting her to be there– browsing novels and you’ll feel silly for overreacting.

But that doesn’t happen, and you realize with mild panic that she definitely left the library; somehow without you noticing. You suppose this is the safest place for her to go missing, but the thought doesn’t soothe you for long as you still have no idea where your daughter could be.

Stephanie is staring at you with concern, but still making no effort to help you locate Abbey. You don’t speak and neither does she as you rush out of the room and begin to pace the halls, still calling out for her. You check the bathrooms by the gym, a couple of empty classrooms that aren’t locked– she’s not there either.

When you’ve checked every available room and potential hiding spot in the near vicinity and still see no trace of her, that’s when the real dread sets in. What if she’d wandered outside and been taken? Or worse, there had been an accident and she’s hurt? She could be miles from here by now, she could be–

“I think this might belong to you,” a mellow voice rings out.

Steve and Abbey walk leisurely towards you, hand in hand. A complete contrast to the frazzled mess of anxiety you are right now. You hurl yourself in their direction and wrap Abbey up in a hug, lifting her off her feet.

“Oh my God, Abbey,” normally you’d be fuming at her for wandering off like that when you know that she knows better, but you can’t feel anything other than relief in the moment.

“Found her on the swings,” Steve continues, “Isn’t that right?”

Your relief does eventually morph to frustration, “You know better, Abbey Jane. Don’t stray off like that again. Do you understand?”

She succumbs to her guilt and you can tell her short-lived freedom has lost its novelty. “I’m sorry, mommy,” her little eyes well with tears. “The other kids were going to the swings, I wanted to go,” she pouts.

“We could’ve gone, baby, but you have to ask first, okay?”

Her meek response is muffled in the crook of your neck, “Okay,”

She’s still sniffling into your shoulder when you remember Steve is there, and your surroundings come back into focus.

“Thank you for finding her, Steve–”

“--His name is Mr. Harrington, mom,” she corrects like she can’t believe you’d embarrass her like that by calling her teacher the wrong name.

“--Mr. Harrington,” you stifle a laugh for your daughter's sake, sending him a knowing look.

He returns the expression, “Anytime,” he smiles, sweet . “Think that's enough scaring your mom for today, huh?”

Instead of acknowledging with words, she simply nods her head, eyes glued to the floor, ashamed.

“I think someones getting sleepy, might be time to head home,” you drag a gentle hand down her back soothingly.

“Will you carry me?” she asks too adorably to say no, despite her being ever-so-slightly too big for it. Grunting as you pick her up, you say, “Thanks, again,”

“No need,” he ruffles Abbey’s head lightly as you pass, “See you tomorrow, right?”

“See you,” her eyelids are heavy already. You make your way back to the car slowly but surely, arms growing more numb with every step.

︵୨୧︵

Abbey manages to bargain a bath out of you and four books before bedtime instead of the usual two. How you ever say no to her, you’re not sure. By the time you finally tuck her in, it's well past nine o’clock.

“Did you have a good day today?” You ask as you bend down to kiss her forehead.

“Yes, Mr. Harrington is my favorite teacher,” she proclaims drowsily.

“He’s your only teacher, Ab,” You snicker.

“But he’s still my favorite,” she replies in the same cadence one would say ‘Duh’.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to go to sleep super fast tonight so you can see him sooner, right?”

You can practically see the lightbulb turn on above her head like she’s just had a groundbreaking revelation and nods fervently. You tuck her in tight on both sides, and give her a kiss on each of her cheeks and once more to her forehead for good measure.

“Love you, Abbey girl,” you tell her on your way out, “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight, mommy,” she says wearily from underneath her princess bedsheets.

The door closes with a soft click and you make your way to the living room. You never had the chance to ask Stephanie what she was doing at the school– from what you knew, she didn’t have any children. Perhaps she was a teacher. It didn’t matter as long as you didn’t have to interact with her again.

As you lounged on your old sectional, you couldn't help your mind wandering back to thoughts of Steve. You wanted to know more about him. Where he came from, what made him want to work with kids, why he needed a gerbil to keep him company. Distantly, you imagined what he was like outside of an elementary school setting. You hoped one day you’d find out.

He was Abbey’s teacher, sure, but what was the harm in a little crush?

taglist - @soulxiez

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

[ysaona]

Her arms, I’m going insane.

[teojira]

I saw that you had transformers on your fandom list, will you be willing to write a 'bot of choice x human reader jealousy/protectiveness fic? Like in that one scene from Transformers 2 where the Deception Pretender tried to seduce Sam but Bee absolutely wasn't having that but had to stay in car mode?

[Aren't you supposed to be more mature than this?]

Summary: Optimus knows better than to get attached to you (too late), he can't help but side eye you and a stranger interacting. (Based on Knightverse Optimus, after ROTB!)

Word count: 800+ words!

Pronouns: They/them

Warnings: Optimus is bad at feelings, Optimus being down bad, extremely self indulgent. Mainly Optimus' Pov as well! Lmk if I need to tag anything!

A/N: Everyone who knows me knows of my obsession and love for this man it's so bad, I have him tattooed and have a whole ass shrine I love HIMMM, Thank you sm for the request! He is the love of my life.

Optimus Prime has been called many things, many of which are true, things he'd accept with pride.

A great leader, a good friend, a valuable teammate, A war criminal.

A jealous bot was never one of them, until recently.

He wasn't sure when he started to take a shine towards you. Was it after Unicron? When he held you in his servos, cradling you to his chest as he transformed back into his bipedal form, only letting go of you after the confused looks from Bee and Mirage.

Maybe it was a while after that, when you offered to help clean him up, Noah was too busy rebuilding Mirage to offer his services to the big man himself.

Optimus could never wipe the feeling of your small hands gently running across his frame, taking extra care to mend any scratches you found, constantly checking in to make sure he was comfortable.

He's ashamed to admit, but he kept shuddering under your touch, his senses overwhelmed by your presence. Every time his cooling fans turned on, he'd wave it off as it was just hot outside. (it's 60 degrees out, liar.)

He tries to recharge that night, but the feeling in his chassis makes him restless. He can see his sensors go haywire at the mere thought of you. He is so fucked, he shuts his eyes and groans deeply, his mask shooting up to mask the sound, lest he wakes the others.

Primus help him.

With his new revelation, Optimus tries his best to distance himself towards you, always making excuses as to why he can't drive you home or to work (a flicker of jealously when Arcee offers, no one catches his digits curling ever so slightly into his palm), saying he must go on patrol for the time being. He waves you off when you try and care for him, asking if he'd like any help with any scrapes and dents, saying he can live with them, he's been through worse.

Its only natural that you'd give him some space, that's the kind of person you are, kind, loving, respectful, loyal to a fault, but it doesn't escape his notice when your smile falls after he politely tells you you're not needed, his spark aching when you turn around to go find another bot.

Optimus watches you now, stationed on the street.

He has no right to be upset when you're stopped outside of the garage by an older man, the man so clearly taking interest in you while you're very politely listening and nodding, shooting that oh so pretty smile to a man who he's sure is not fit to be anywhere near you, not worthy of the warm smile you wear.

It makes him seethe in jealousy, and it's scary.

He can not remember a time when he had ever been jealous. He's a prime. He was supposed to be a calm and collected leader and yet. And yet, he's so close to blowing his hor-

You suddenly whirl towards him. If he was any better of a man, he wouldn't immediately think of how cute you looked, how your lips moved as you let out a yelp.

It isn't until that thought passes his mind that he realizes he used his truckers horn. Embarrassment trickles through his body, although now he has your attention, and you are making your way towards him. The man following behind you keeps the conversation going, not catching a hint.

Optimus is ready to honk again, especially if this man keeps following so close behind you, way too close for comfort.

You beat him to it, turning around as you rest a hand on Optimus’ cabins door handle, shooting the man a polite smile.

“Sorry about that, but my husband is actually here to pick me up, so I have to go. Have a good day!” And You hoist yourself up, quickly buckling your seat belt, gently patting the dashboard in hopes Optimus fucking drives before you're bothered anymore.

Optimus’ processor buffers, his engine revving as he goes on autopilot to tale you both away. Does he know where to drive to? Certainly no, but you're with him now. He's sure you could ask him to take you to distant planets, and he'd make it work for you and only you.

“Thank you for the save, big guy.” You smile brightly at his steering wheel, your eyes lovingly trailing across the autobot symbol that sits in the center.

“It was nothing, I am glad to be there to assist.” The cabin rumbles with his voice, soothing your anxiety. You curl into your seat, resting your head.

“Where are we going?”

“If I'm not mistaken, you mentioned wanting to go to upstate New York to drive along some scenic routes? I'll gladly be your escort.”

He is so ridiculously falling for you, but he can't bring himself to hate it, especially when you excitedly hop in your seat.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏ��ᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[kyumisyumi]

Nikto who just doesn't let you leave his home after a one night stand.

You had a general idea of how one night stands went; you get in, you fuck, you get out. It wasn't really something you did often but when your neighbor who, in all honesty, has had your interest for a while asks... It was hard to keep your mouth from saying 'hell fucking yes'. Prior to this your interactions consisted of little more than pleasantries but you knew, from other neighbor's accounts, that he was more talkative with you than anyone else. And now you knew why.

Your neighbor did not disappoint. Nikto fucked the senses right out of your skull. Your clothes crumpled and discarded along with your inhibitions. You'd be feeling him for days; between your legs, in your mouth, in every bruise left on your skin and random twitch in your thigh. It was one hell of a good time but you knew how these things ended. Knew that once the breathing died down and the adrenaline left your senses it was time to put your clothes back on and skedaddle.

However Nikto finds every excuse for you to stay;

You shift to leave the bed but his arm casually wraps around you, pulling you back against him. You look back at him confused but his eyes are already closed and he only says one word. "Sleep."

The next morning you go to put on your clothes only to find they're nowhere in the room. Instead one of his shirts was left on the side of the bed you slept on. You tug it on and when you find him, he's doing laundry. "Hospitality. I clean them for you." He grunts. And so you end up chatting with him in the laundry room, helping out by seperating the clothes.

When that's all done you make one last trip to his room to double check you've left nothing behind. You announce your departure but Nikto stops you from in the kitchen, declaring he's already made breakfast for two. "Don't waste food." He says putting a plate in your hands. To his credit; it was a good hearty breakfast.

Another attempt to leave? He's rented a movie you mentioned, it has to be watched within 24 hours. "You wanted to see this, da. Come, we watch now?"

And another? "You've been wanting to learn how to bake, da? Let me teach you this recipe."

Another one? You can't leave without letting him show you one of his collections

Another? How about another movie?

And the final attempt? "It's too late to be out, better to just spend the night here." He says as if your home wasn't a hop, skip and a jump away from his.

You caught on, of course, but you don't really mind. It's been a while since you've felt wanted and the flattery had you beaming inside. You probably should be alarmed but he hasn't used any force, no intimidation, just a socially inept man trying to convince his pretty little neighbor to move in in the most roundabout way possible.

[delreystars]

──────── ୨ৎ JJ BRAGGING ABOUT YOU

──  ˙ ̟  !!    ꣑୧ ladybug!reader x jj maybank

MAIN MASTERLIST

cw: fluff, jjs sick in love btw

Pope’s in the middle of explaining how to fix the boat’s busted engine, spitting out some technical terms and wiping sweat off his forehead, when JJ interrupts him with the most random, unhinged grin.

“Yo, did I tell you she made blueberry muffins from scratch yesterday?” he blurts, leaning back like he’s proud of a championship win.

Pope blinks. “What—? No, man, we’re talking about the carb—”

“Bro. No, listen,” JJ pushes on, already pulling out his phone to show a picture. “She wore this little apron, right? With, like, strawberries on it. And she put the blueberries in with her hands, like all dainty and shit. And then—get this—she left a note on top of the Tupperware that said ‘for my boy.’” He laughs, wild and boyish, like he still can’t believe someone like you exists.

John B groans. “Dude. This is the fourth time today. You told us at breakfast.”

“And I’ll tell you again at lunch, so buckle up.” JJ tosses a piece of bread at him, undeterred. “Y’all don’t understand. She’s the real deal. She has, like, teacups named after her emotions. She knits n' She hums while she reads. One time I was losing my absolute shit about rent and she just held my hand and told me we’d figure it out together. Who does that? Who is she?”

Sarah, sipping water from her hydroflask, raises an eyebrow. “You’re obsessed.”

JJ shrugs with zero shame. “I am. I’m so obsessed I’d get her name tattooed on my forehead if she didn’t think that was ‘a little too intense for a weekday.’” He throws up exaggerated air quotes and winks. “Her words.”

“But I’m just saying—she’s a literal angel. She folds my tshirts because she says I ‘deserve soft things.’ I mean, come on. Who even thinks like that?”

Everyone stares at him.

JJ leans back, arms crossed, wearing the smuggest grin on Earth. “listen, I’m just saying'..”

[pittsick]

IN THE CAR.

summary: after a year of unresolved tension during their shifts at the PTMC’s ER, a young resident and Dr. Robinavitch finally gives in to their desires. A night at the bar, drinking some beers turns heated and they end up hooking-up in the backseat of a car. But it turns out to be way more intimate than they thought.

pairing: michael robinavitch x younger!afab!resident.

cw: +18. mdni. praise. fingering. protected piv. mutual pining. semi-public sex. dubcon (tipsy people). power imbalance (mild). multiple orgasms. emotional sex. use of the word “kid” to describe reader (non-sexual).

taglist: @blastzachilles @lvve-talks @jordiemeow @strfallz @222col @soulxinxthexsky @diyasgarden @jinxedbambi @lexiiscorect @religionlost @bluestrd @jclolz22 @destinedtobegigi @fwaist @imperishablereverie @lovefaist @shahabaqsa0310 @prismozo @jesuistrestriste @grimsonandclover @nozhdyved

It starts the same way it always does—with a glance across Trauma 2 that lasts too long.

Robby's hands are still gloved, speckled with drying blood as he tosses the surgical shears into the bin with a sharp clatter. He’s focused, grim-faced, sleeves rolled to the elbow, straight hair going crazy on his head. You shouldn’t be watching him, not when your own hands are wrist-deep in charting and your resident badge is still clipped too tight to your scrub pocket. But you do. Everyone does, when Robby’s in the room.

You’ve been working with him for a year. A whole year of tense shifts, slow nods of approval, the brush of his hand at your back when you edge past him in trauma bays, the infuriating way he never says anything more than strictly necessary—unless it’s at 7pm, after back-to-back code blues, when his voice goes quiet and kind.

“You did good today,” he’ll murmur then, just for you.

That’s when it burns.

Tonight, he doesn’t say anything at all until the end of shift, when the patient finally stabilizes and the buzz of adrenaline dulls to the usual fluorescent-tinted hum of the PTMC ER. You’re both still moving, wiping down carts, scribbling notes, both pretending not to watch the other.

“You heading home?” His voice cuts through the silence like a scalpel—low, casual, dangerous.

You glance up, and there’s that look again. That look. Like you’re already under him, flushed and ruined. Like he can imagine how you tease. “I was gonna grab a beer,” you say, too casual, too practiced. “You?”

He wipes a hand over his face, scratching his short beard, pausing just long enough. “Yeah. Yeah, I could use one.”

The bar is a dive, five blocks from the hospital, dimly lit with sticky tables and a jukebox that only plays tragically earnest ‘90s rock. You end up at a booth in the back, the kind with torn leather and a tabletop you keep accidentally brushing your knees under.

You’re not even halfway through your first pint before it starts.

The staring.

The laughing too hard at his dry, grumbly sarcasm. The way he pushes your beer toward you with his knuckles and murmurs, “Drink, kid,” like you’re already his.

“Why do you call me that?” you ask, fingers curled around the cold glass. “You know I’m not that much younger.”

Robby chuckles, and it’s not fair—his laugh is too soft, too rare, and it turns your stomach in the good, awful way. “You’re young. You still get excited about things like charting.”

You nudge his knee beneath the table. “You still get excited about good central lines.”

“Touché.”

He’s already unzipping his sweatshirt, the white shirt shirt his scrub is low enough to see a good portion of his throat, and you’re tipsy enough to be watching his Adam’s apple move when he swallows.

You should stop drinking. But you don’t.

Somewhere between the second and third round, things tip.

He’s leaning in closer than he should. His hand brushes yours when he goes to pick up his glass, and this time—this time—he doesn’t pull away. He watches you, eyes narrowed, lip twitching like he’s fighting something. You don’t dare say anything. You don’t dare breathe too loud.

But the silence gets thicker. He’s looking at your mouth now.

“I should…” you start, heart racing, “get going.”

He nods slowly, blinking hard like he’s waking up from something. “Yeah. Let me walk you to your car.”

The parking lot’s empty, dark, the street lamp flickering. The night is humid, windless. You pause by your car door, and he’s still beside you, too close again. You also can smell him. “Thanks for the drinks,” you say, trying to be polite, steady, professional. You even smile. It trembles.

Robby doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks down at you, expression unreadable, jaw tight. You can feel your pulse behind your ears, a low drumbeat of is this it, is this the moment, are you finally going to—

“You drive okay?” he asks, finally, voice rough. “You didn’t drink too much?”

You shrug. “Three beers. I’m good. Buzzed, maybe. But I’ll be alright.”

He nods. Then—quiet, soft, gravel-low: “You sure?” It’s not about driving. You know it. He knows it. The air between you practically warps with the weight of it. He shifts on his feet and so do you. Closer.

“Are you?” you ask, not moving anymore. Not unlocking the door. Not looking away.

Something cracks behind his eyes. He exhales, shaky. “Fuck. I’ve been trying so hard not to—”

You don’t let him finish. Your hand’s already fisting the front of his sweatshirt, dragging him in. The kiss is messy, half teeth, way too desperate. His hands cup your face, then your jaw, and then they’re gripping your hips so tight you gasp into his mouth. He groans, low and ragged, when you press your thigh between his.

“You have no idea,” he mutters, half against your lips, “how long I’ve wanted—”

“Then get in the car,” you whisper, drunk on adrenaline and beer and him. “Please.”

The inside of your car still smells like hand sanitizer and cheap coffee, but you don’t care.

Robby’s hand is in your hair before the door’s even shut. The moment the lock clicks, he’s pulling you toward him again, kissing you like he’s been starving for months. Like something broke open the moment you said please, and now there’s no stuffing it back inside.

His mouth is warm and commanding, tasting of beer and frustration and heat. Your hands slide under his scrubs and white shirt, fingertips brushing the soft hair on his chest, and he hisses between his teeth at the contact.

“Jesus, love…” His voice is frayed, guttural. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“You don’t want to?” Robby pulls back just enough to look you in the eye. His expression is dark, intense — eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, his breath hot against your cheek.

“I want this so bad it’s fucking me up.” You swallow hard, your whole body buzzing. “Then do it. I’ve wanted you for so long.” He exhales sharply, like that knocked the wind out of him.

“You’re tipsy,” he says, but he’s already running his hands down your sides, already letting his forehead rest against yours. His voice is lower now, rougher. “I should stop. I should let you go home. We should both pretend we’re better than this.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that,” you whisper, fingers moving to undo the strings of his scrub pants. “Neither do I.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes. “Okay. Okay, come here—”

Then it’s urgent again.

You clamber into his lap awkwardly, straddling him in the front seat–not even caring if someone passes by and sees you — knees pressing into the leather as he yanks your scrub top over your head, tank top following. His hands are trembling, but his mouth never stops. He kisses your throat, your collarbone, then lower, teeth grazing over your bra as you grind down onto the hard length of him through both your clothes.

He groans, openly now, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “You’ve been driving me insane for a year. Every damn day — those eyes, the way you walk past me like you don’t know what you do.”

“I don’t,” you whisper, breathless, head falling back as he licks a slow, wet stripe up your neck. “I didn’t know if you even noticed me like that.”

He actually growls. “I noticed everything.”

You can feel his cock pressing up through his pants, straining against the fabric of the scrubs. Your hips rock down instinctively, grinding into it, and Robby’s head thuds against the seat’s headrest with a long, shuddering moan.

“I used to jerk off in the shower after shift,” he admits, voice cracked and low. “Thinking about you. After rounds. After codes. Anytime you touched me accidentally.”

You whimper, dizzy from his words, from the weight of him beneath you.

“Say it again,” you breathe, tone almost begging.

“I touched myself thinking about you.” His hands slip beneath your waistband, fingers brushing the damp cotton of your underwear. “Is it alright like this?”

You nod frantically, your whole body arching into his hand.

He kisses you again — slower now, like he’s savoring it. The air inside the car grows humid, fogged up with your breath and his heat. When he finally pushes your underwear to the side, his fingers slip through your slick folds with a quiet, obscene sound.

“Christ,” he breathes, staring down between your bodies. “You’re soaked.”

“You did that,” you murmur, voice trembling as he starts to circle your clit with maddening slowness. “You’ve been doing that for months.” His eyes lift to meet yours — wide, dark, almost reverent.

“Let me take care of you,” he says hoarsely. “Just this once. Let me make you feel good.”

Your heart stutters.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Please.”

Robby kisses you like he’s trying to say thank you without words. Then he dips his fingers lower and pushes one inside you, slow and deliberate. You gasp at the stretch, your hips bucking forward instinctively, and he groans under you like it’s him getting fucked.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “God, you’re so tight. So warm around me.”

He adds a second finger and starts thrusting them, gently curling inside you, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit with practiced, devastating precision. You whimper, trying to ride the rhythm, but it’s too much — too intense, too intimate. The air between you is wet heat and shaking breath, and Robby’s eyes never leave your face.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Doing so good.” He praises you while his fingers gently do you, pushing against your walls in all the right places. Like he knows your body alright, like it’s a treasure he’s discovering.

You fall apart faster than you expect, way too soon for your own taste. Your orgasm crashes through you with a sob, your whole body trembling as you clutch at his shirt and cry out into his shoulder. Robby holds you the whole way through it, murmuring nonsense and praise into your hair when you clench on his fingers.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Been thinking about this for so long. You feel so fucking good.”

You collapse against him, panting, dazed. Your thigh brushes the hard length of him again, and you feel him twitch. “You’re still hard,” you murmur, eyes fluttering open. He chuckles, but there’s strain under it. “Yeah. You didn’t exactly help.”

“Do you have…?” You trail off, cocking an eyebrow. Robby nods, fishing in his wallet. “Yeah. Always.”

He pauses, the condom packet in his hand. “You sure?”

You answer by pushing his scrubs pants down his hips and pulling him out.

He hisses, throwing his head back as you stroke him — long, slow pulls of your hand along the heavy length of him, hand brushing on the hair of his pubic area. He’s hot and leaking pre-cum, flushed dark and twitching under your fingers.

“Please,” you whisper. “I want you inside me.”

Robby moves like a man possessed.

He tears the condom open with shaking hands, rolls it on quickly, and you lift your hips, guiding him to your entrance. The head of his cock presses against you — so big it almost hurts — and then he’s sliding in, inch by agonizing inch.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.

His hands grip your waist like a lifeline. “Shh, I got you. I got you, baby.”

It takes a minute to adjust; he’s thick, and the angle in the car is awkward, your knees are pushed inside the leather of your car seat and it almost burns already — but the heat and stretch of him inside you is perfect. When you finally start to move, rolling your hips in slow, desperate circles, Robby lets out a sound so guttural it doesn’t sound human.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he pants. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

“Faster,” you whisper, “Please, I need—”

He thrusts up into you hard, and the moan that rips out of you echoes off the fogged windows. The rhythm builds; slow at first, deliberate, his cock dragging along every nerve inside you. Then harder. Deeper. His hands are everywhere — your hips, your waist, your back, like he can’t believe you’re real.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, half delirious. “Been thinking about this for months. Fucking you. Making you mine.”

“You have me,” you whimper, bracing yourself on his chest as you ride him harder. “You’ve always had me.” Your hands move to wrap around his nape, eyes lowering between your bodies to look at his cock disappearing inside you.

Something snaps in him at that.

He grabs your ass, fucking up into you with punishing thrusts, cock hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over until you’re seeing stars. You’re close again — dangerously close — and he knows it. His thumb finds your clit again, pressing tight little circles as he murmurs filth and praise in your ear and that makes you dizzy.

“That’s it, baby. Come on. Come for me again. Let me feel you.” Robby praises and praises again, until he feels you clenching around his cock.

Your orgasm hits so hard it folds you in half.

You cry out, legs shaking, body spasming around him as pleasure wracks through you. Mouth open, eyebrows furrowed, unable to speak for a second. He groans, thrusting up once, twice more, then comes with a growl of your name — hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside the condom.

For a long moment, the only sound is your combined gasping. Sweat, breath, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You can feel your heart inside your pussy.

You collapse forward into his chest. He wraps his arms around you like it’s instinct. Like that’s where you actually belong. Neither of you says anything right away. When you finally lift your head, his hair is sweat-damp against his temple. His cheeks are flushed. He looks dazed. Human. Beautiful.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He smiles, slow and lopsided. “That was…”

“Yeah,” you say, snorting softly. “That was.”

You shift, wincing a little as he slips out of you. Robby helps you clean up — fumbling for napkins in your glovebox, still breathless, a hand still on your hips to make sure you won’t disappear. You won’t. You both start laughing halfway through before you move onto the driver seat to give both of you some space.

Then silence settles again. The kind of silence that feels like more than just post-orgasm calm.

You glance over. Robby’s watching you with that same unreadable intensity from earlier — like he’s not sure if he fucked everything up or fixed something that was broken.

“I’m not gonna regret this,” you say quietly. “Not even a little.”

He exhales, almost in relief. “Me neither.”

You pull your scrub top back on, shifting in the now-cooled air. He zips up, pulls his pants up and leans back in the seat, arm draped behind your headrest. For the first time all night, he looks relaxed. Sated.

“You want to do this again sometime?” he asks, tone casual but eyes serious. Behind his eyes is something deeper. More than just sex, and you understand that.

You grin, cheeks flushed, forehead sweaty.

“Yeah. I really, really do.”

[fckmebarnes]

add a gold chain and my legs open wider

[chrattho1]

sub!chris loves it when you call him your good boy.

chris is smitten for your praises, he'd do anything for you to praise him just a little bit, just so he could get a small “just like that” or a “doing so good for me” out of you.

but when you call him your good boy. oh yeah.

he didn’t even know he’d like being called that until you said it once. and from that moment forward, his life changed.

since then, he does everything in his power to get you to call him that.

right now with his head between your thighs, his tongue laps at your slick folds and drags up to your clit, sucking and licking it. the accumulated saliva in his mouth dribbles down your pussy with your own juices. his eyes stay focused up at your face, looking at every single expression it makes to his actions. he’s been at this for almost twenty minutes now.

his own legs pressed together, thighs rubbing close watching you let out small moans of his name.

he knows he is doing good, he just needs to hear it from you.

his nose pressing against your flesh, he is out of breath but would never dare to pull off when he knows you’re so close to just saying it.

“chris, baby— fuck” his eyes fluttering but not looking away even for a second, his nails digging in the flesh of your thighs and knees lowered on the ground as he sits down between your spread legs on the couch.

your hips bucked up in his face and eyes rolling back, his hands sneak to the back of your thighs pulling them up on his shoulders and burrowing his face deeper. his hair tickling your stomach.

"oh fuck baby, so good, so fucking good f’me” you let out through gritted teeth, moaning and throwing your head back next. chris ate that up, literally.

his legs rub closer to each other, squirming on the ground hearing you praise him like that. it drives him crazy enough to rub one out in his pants.

“fuck, gonna cum baby, fuck” you screech pressing your eyes shut, legs quivering around him and face scrunched in pleasure. he pulls his head back just a tiny bit to get a proper look at you, his hair sticking to his forehead and eyes droopy. his tongue picking up speed and his lips moving along, all while trying to get some friction down in his pants.

“just like that, baby, fuck—” your body shakes, cumming undone and squirting all over his mouth creating a sloppy mess on the couch in the matter of a few seconds.

your lips caught between your teeth feeling chris lick and suck through your orgasm. his whole face damp and still buried in you.

when he does finally pull off, panting heavily he looks down at his own pants. well he kinda made a mess too.

your chest heaves and head falls back lazily on the couch, legs slumping on his shoulders.

chris lets out a deep exhale dropping his head on your thigh resisting the urge to kitty lick around it and clean you up. he stays still, taking a few deep breaths and letting you come down from your orgasm.

your hand reaches down to massage his scalp through his hair feeling chris sigh against your skin.

“such a good boy f’me” you spoke softly, voice hoarse and tired from screaming but he heard you perfectly.

“i am” he mumbles, letting out yet another soft exhale of relief and planting a kiss on your inner thigh

˗ˏˋ a/n ˎˊ˗ been on my mind all day so i wrote it and this is not proofread at all so. english is not my first language !

🏷️ @espressqe @ginswife @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @whore4chris @chris-halleluja @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo @slutformatt17 @realuvrrr @sweetxcheeryx @sturnl0ve @estellesdoll @glitterybtch @courta13 @mattsbitchh @slvtf0rchr1s @trevorsgodmother

[pnghoon]

심재윤ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⨾ 󠀠ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤwho knows? i might let you make me juno.

(🎼) ── 𝓢IM JAEYUN [제이크] ⁞ ㅤㅤ𝓰. fluff, crack, married au, humor, suggestive???ㅤㅤ୨୧ㅤㅤ warnings : est. relationship, not proofread, skinship, kissing, suggestive themes but nothing crazy, pet-namesㅤ⟡ㅤ!nonidol hubby !ikeu 𝔁 fem baby fever wife !reader ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤᯓ ꒰ wc : 1.6k꒱ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsynopsis .ᐟ in which your husband seems to be painfully clueless to your advances... ── 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ᡣ𐭩

juno's note ─ hehehehehehehhe i feel the baby kicking in me already while writing this!!! /j if you enjoyed reading this, please be sure to like & reblog !! ♡

you weren’t really sure when the baby fever started.

maybe it was that day your adorable niece fell asleep on your chest. or maybe it was when you passed by a store window and saw the tiniest pair of shoes imaginable, and your ovaries staged a coup. either way, it was happening.

the problem was: your husband. sim jaeyun, jake sim, seemed to think nothing of it. zero. zilch. absolutely no thoughts. you were starting to think your husband had no peripheral vision. either that or he had unlocked a state of zen so deep that even a flashing neon sign reading "put a baby in me" wouldn’t disrupt the peace in his goldfish-level intellect.

you wanted it. so bad. the whole messy, sleep-deprived, snack-packing, lullaby-singing adventure. and honestly? you figured jake would be on the same page.

he was not on the same page. jake wasn’t even in the bookstore.

you had tried everything.

you would bring up themes of raising a child any chance you could. even before bed when the lights were off. hell, you even started buying books about the jovial moments of motherhood. but still--nothing.

you were sure jake wasn’t dumb. i mean, the man built ikea furniture without the instructions once. he knew how to calculate the tip before the bill even hit the table. he even explained quantum tunneling to you using gummy bears and a freshly opened cereal box.

so why--just why--was he so blissfully, frustratingly, and painfully oblivious to the fact that you wanted a damn baby.

not a dog. not a car. not a plant. a full-fledged, tiny little version of the two of you.

you started simple.

"you ever wonder what our kid would look like?" you asked over breakfast one morning, twirling your spoon in your cereal while leaving no room for misinterpretation.

jake blinked up from his pancakes, "huh? oh, i dunno. maybe a mix of us? or like, 75% me, 25% you. no offense, baby, but my genetics are kinda elite."

you stared.

he kissed your forehead and stole your toast.

and that’s when you knew. it wasn’t cluelessness. it was arrogance. delusion. you married a mad man who thought his genetics were too good not to dominate the gene pool.

you glared at his retreating back as he happily munched on your toast, muttering something about "dominant jawlines" and "superior hair texture." you were this close to calling his mother and asking if he had always been this dense, or if marriage had fried his brain.

but you weren’t a quitter.

and if your husband wouldn’t see the signs? well, maybe it was time to make the signs a little harder to ignore.

you had it displayed on the coffee table like it was fine art. "nurture: a modern guide to pregnancy, birth, early motherhood--and trusting yourself and your body" the book was simple, with a soft off-white backdrop and a circular peachy hue design in the center.

you left it in the bathroom. nothing.

you left it on the coffee table. crickets.

you even left it on the kitchen island near his morning coffee. he used it as a coaster.

you felt like you were slowly losing your mind.

then one evening, you walked into the bedroom to find jake lounging with the book open on his lap.

you felt your pulse quicken.

"oh my god, you’re reading it?" you gasped, your excitement bubbling over like a shaken soda can.

he looked up, a soft smile on his face. "yeah, babe. it’s actually really insightful. i didn’t realize how much there is to know."

you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling like you might faint. "so... you’ve been thinking about it? about everything?"

he blinked at you, a confused expression crossing his face. "what? oh, no, i just had it here while i was eating snacks. It made a great surface for my chips, and the book’s sturdy--didn’t want to ruin it."

you stood frozen in the doorway, utterly speechless, as he nonchalantly reached for the bowl of chips sitting on top of your cherished book.

you considered divorce for exactly 2.5 seconds.

maybe you had to up the stakes.

every friday, you and jake had a movie night ritual. you’d alternate picking movies, and each time, you’d "accidentally" pick a movie that had a subtle theme of parenthood or babies--mostly romantic comedies with happy, chaotic families. but this particular friday night? you were taking no chances.

"so what do you want to watch?" jake asked, sprawling out on the couch, his arm slung over the backrest like he was ready for a good nap.

"oh, i was thinking we could watch baby mama tonight," you suggested, trying to sound casual as you pretended to scroll through the streaming options.

jake raised an eyebrow, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "that’s a classic, huh?"

"yeah, classic," you nodded proudly, pretending not to notice his lack of enthusiasm. "it's about two women and their...well, you know, their journey to becoming parents. super funny stuff."

he looked at you, still oblivious. "cool, sounds like a real feel-good movie. i'm all in."

as the movie played, you shot him a sly glance. "don’t you think babies are the cutest? i mean, especially when they giggle."

"yeah, babies are cool," he mumbled dismissively, munching on popcorn, clearly more interested in the snack than the conversation.

you sighed dramatically, thinking maybe, just maybe, this would be the night he'd catch on. but jake? nope. he just laughed at the jokes and passed the popcorn as if nothing had changed.

you sat there, defeated for the moment. you made a mental note to yourself: this wasn’t over.

you figured maybe you weren’t being direct enough. maybe you needed to turn the heat up.

and by heat, you meant lingerie.

the baby pink kind. with lace. and frills.

and little bows that screamed "breeder."

you strutted into the bedroom like a temptress straight out of a romcom, all hip sway and bedroom eyes.

he looked up from his sudoku puzzle and blinked. "woah. what’s the occasion?"

you leaned in, draped your arms around his shoulders, and whispered, "just thinking it might be fun to… try something new."

his eyes lit up.

progress.

he smirked. "ooh, like sudoku together?"

you nearly ripped your bow off and strangled him with it.

you were starting to get restless. either jake had a brain the size of a peanut or he just didn't like the idea of having a child with you.

you felt like you’d tried everything. baby books, baby movies, leaving your laptop open with your carter's cart filled with tiny onesies out on the coffee table. you even went as far as to borrowing your friend’s toddler for an afternoon. what did jake think? the second you walked in with chubby little noah propped on your hip, his eyes went wide. he stared at you like you’d just kidnapped a random baby--glancing nervously toward the door as if expecting the cops to burst in any second.

but despite all of it, the weird thing was--he was still the same jake. still kissed your forehead every morning. still left cute little notes in your lunch. still brought you that weirdly specific strawberry lemonade you liked without asking.

you knew he loved you. deeply. fully. unapologetically. but god, if he didn’t see your hints soon you were going to lose it.

and then one night, it all cracked.

you were curled up on the couch with a pillow under your sweater--mostly as a joke. another friday movie night, another baby-themed film. this time it was life as we know it, and you were two glasses of wine deep and high off frustration.

"ugh," you groaned, nudging jake with your foot. "i’d be such a cute mom."

he hummed. "you’d be the cutest."

"i’d give the best snacks. and i’d totally make our kid wear matching halloween costumes with us. no exceptions."

"you’d be so annoying about it," he laughed.

"do you think i’d be a good mom?"

he looked over, really looked this time, and your fake pregnant pillow belly shifted slightly under your arm.

his lips curled.

"yeah," he said, soft. "you’d be amazing."

you blinked. "so--so you’ve noticed?"

he reached over, pulling the pillow out from under your shirt, then leaned in to kiss your nose. "i’ve known for weeks," he whispered.

"i--wait--you knew?"

he grinned, that same stupid, lazy grin that made you fall for him in the first place. "babe. you’ve been naming hypothetical babies for three weeks, you’ve got a pinterest board titled 'nursery room ideas,' and then you called me ‘daddy’ during sex--only to immediately clarify, 'like, paternal daddy, not the kinky one. kinda hard not to know.'"

you smacked his arm. he kissed you again.

"i was nervous! besides, why didn’t you say anything?!"

"because," he murmured, flipping you onto your back with one arm, pressing soft kisses down your jaw, "i was enjoying the show."

you fell silent for a moment. "you liked watching me suffer?"

"no," he whispered against your skin, "i liked seeing how cute you looked trying to manipulate me."

you felt your ears go bright red. "you're still an idiot," you murmured out.

he chuckled at your half-ass insult, before leaning in to kiss you--properly this time. slow, deep, with a promise tucked right in the middle. "i love that you want this. i want it too. i was just waiting for you to ask."

you flushed. "so…?"

"so let’s do it," he said simply. "let’s have a baby."

𝓢igning off... @pnghoon

── 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 [OPEN 🗯] @onlyhees @amouriu @greentulip @enhluv1 @samiikeu @hoonwhile @dearrwoni @won4kiss @jakesangel

[jodoesnew]

Would buy them in an instant

[heavenlyraindrops]

☆ “ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ☆

☆ She said “fuck me like I’m famous”| Chapter one

☆ Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, awkward!reader, reader is literally a hermit, no established relationship, not proofread, porn with like a drop of plot, they get slightly awkward after doing it but it’s ok <3 ☆ Word Count: 3.3k | Available on Tumblr & AO3

“Out? For dinner?”

You tore your eyes from your phone to look at Ami, who was watching Chiho roll around on the floor, immersed in whichever new game of pretend she had devised.

“Yes, dinner,” she repeated, then turned to look at you. “I’m meeting a… friend. Not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. And it would do you some good to meet new people, and to get out more.” She raked her eyes over you, from your baggy clothes to messy updo. 

“What’s that meant to mean? I get out plenty often. I’m out right now with you, aren’t I?”

“‘Chilling out’ at my house twice every week isn’t exactly going out, [name],” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood up, stepping towards the kitchen. “You’re like a hermit.”

You furrowed your brows together. “Maybe that’s how I like it.”

You heard water trickling as it filled up her glass, and her voice drift down towards where you were sitting. “I tend to wonder if I’m your only friend.”

At those words you stiffened, eyes opening wide and shooting up, back straight. “What? Friends?” You spluttered. “I have friends. I have plenty of friends. You’re not my only friend.” The words tumbled out of you hastily, and then you paused, flashing her a charming smile, trying to distract her. “You’re just my favourite one!”

She rolled her eyes as she sat back down. “Well, you have awful taste.” She handed you a drinks can. Your favourite.

“Hardly,” you uttered

“Just- you focus on work too much, okay? You need to find balance.” She took your palm, uncurling your fingers and placing the cold can in your hand. “Just come to this dinner.”

“…Fine.” You dug your finger under the tab, trying to get it open. “Who even is this friend, anyways?”

“Kenji Sato.”

You stared at her.

She must have mistaken your silence and blank stare for shock, or stupor instead of a reaction to what you considered to be an underwhelming statement, because she just sat back, letting her words sink in. They did, not that they meant much to you.

“Who?” You said blankly.

She blinked, then leaned forward. “Uh, Ken Sato? The really famous baseball player?”

You took a slow sip of the drink- the carbonation danced on your tongue. “No idea who that is. I don’t follow baseball.”

“You don’t follow anything,” she pointed out. “You’re completely out of the loop.”

You threw your hands in the air, exasperated. “Just- look, is he someone I should be impressed with? Like, am I-“

“I’ve mentioned him once,” Ami cut in. “Played in the States, moved to Japan suddenly? I was wondering why, and mentioned it to you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you weren’t listening.”

“No no, I was,” you said quickly, then frowned, furrowing your brow. “Wait, didn’t you interrogate him, once? Twice?”

“Thrice,” she corrected you. “And it's called an interview, not an interrogation.”

“Same thing,” you said indignantly, with another gulp of ice cold carbonated sugar. “And you’re sure he’s just a friend.” You eyed her, testing her for any telltale signs on her face suggesting otherwise.

She simply stared at you, unimpressed. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you said, stretching out the vowel, rolling it along your tongue. You stopped. “Okay, fine, I’ll come to your dinner thing.”

“Yes!” She said, sounding a bit too relieved. You stared at her. “Sorry, it’s just- I’m so glad you’re finally-“ she cut off with an excited, pleased noise. 

You looked at her, concern for yourself creeping into your expression. “Am I really that-“

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Now, please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night-“

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yes, do you have plans?” She didn’t wait for an answer, because she already knew it. “No? Thought so. Please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night, because it’ll be worth it.”

“Uh huh,” you said slowly.

“I wonder if you even remember how to behave in a social setting,” she mused, and you smacked her shoulder. 

That night when you got home and flopped down on your bed, pulling out your phone, your finger hovered over the search bar.

What was his name?

Kenji Sato.

You were typing in the words before you even realized it, and seeing the images, you froze.

Oh. 

Shoving down any sort of deranged thoughts that could have been formulating in your head, you buried your face into your pillow and tried to fall asleep.

-

“[name]!”

“Ami!” You stuttered. Ami came towards you, eyes lighting up as she took in your appearance.

“You look really different,” she said, taking in your appearance. “Really pretty.”

You didn’t often wear clothes that were form-fitting or flattered your figure, but you’d decided that since it was a dinner with basically a celebrity, you might as well have put in some extra effort into your looks. 

“Thanks,” you said, as she led you through the restaurant doors and to your table. Pausing, she turned to look at you. 

“You look sick,” she frowned. “And nervous.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe this really was a bad idea. I should have know you can’t handle-“

“No!” You almost burst out. “No, I mean, I can do this. It’s not that big a deal. I’m just meeting a new person, right?” 

She nodded hesitantly, still frowning at you.

“Right. So, not a big de-“

“Hey, Ami.”

You froze, shoulders stiffening.

“Kenji.” Ami turned to him. You still hadn’t looked at him yet, eyes fixed desperately on Ami’s face. “This is [name]. Name, this is-“

“Ken Sato.” He held out his hand to you, to shake. You stared at his long fingers, then slowly looked up to his face. He was wearing this easy, charming grin. Your knees almost buckled. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

You grabbed his hand and shook it. “N-nice to meet you.” You both held your stare a few seconds longer than you needed to. 

He raised a dark brow, and you could have sworn his expression had flickered with amusement before he turned back to Ami. “And here I was worried I was late.” He waved you both on towards the table, where you took your seats.

Ami was looking at you, frowning. You gave her a wobbly smile back. 

Oh, fuck this.

-

“So, what did you say you work as, [name]?” 

Kenji’s voice snapped you out of your haze, and you looked up at him, eyes widening. “Oh, I’m an, uh, I’m an author.” You stared hard at your food, then looked back up at him to gauge his reaction. 

He just leaned back against his chair. “Cool.” His eyes were set on yours. You flushed. “What sort of stuff do you write?”

“Uh,” your eyes slid to Ami, who was looking at you expectantly. “Romance, mostly.” The confession made your cheeks burn but you were too much of a mess to lie smoothly, not that it had even occurred to you in the first place- and Ami would have teased you about it later.

But Kenji just formed a small ‘o’ with his mouth, then smirked. “That’s cute.”

“Is it?” You had to fight to not make your voice sound like a squeak. He just nodded, taking a bite of his food like it was nothing. 

He’d said it so casually that Ami hadn’t even noticed, instead pouring herself more of her drink and commenting on how Kenji had healed up. You blinked, confused, and turned as he held his arm out, flexing it.

“Yeah, quicker than I thought,” he said. You could see the faint outline of his muscles through the fabric and were so prepared to just jump out the window, then and there. He must have caught you staring because, without turning his head, he locked eyes with you and fucking winked.

You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together and trying to ignore every instinct in your body screaming at you to throw yourself across the table. “You got hurt?”

He dropped his arm back to his side, rolling his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s fine now though.”

You didn’t press any farther, just eating your food in flushed silence, trying to ignore the burning you could feel in between your thighs. 

-

“How’d you get here, [name]?” Ami asked. You stared desperately at your phone screen.

“Cab,” you muttered, rubbing your hand on the back of your neck. The app was empty. “But there aren’t any available.”

You checked the time. Half past eleven. You shivered, the night air biting at your skin. Ami looked at you, concerned. “Should I drop you?”

“No. No.” Guilt ate away at your gut. “No, you need to get home to Chiho, and I’m in the completely opposite direction- it’s not worth it.” You stepped back, and you could feel Kenji look over your shoulder at your screen. He leaned down to your level, breath warm on your ear. You shivered again, but not from the cold. “I’ll just wait until something shows up.”

“What’s your address?” He tilted his face slightly towards you, before pulling away. You stared at him, then frowned at him slightly, opening your mouth to reply, but Ami cut in.

“Look, I-“ she glanced at her watch. “I really need to go.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, [name].”

You waved her off. “Don’t be.”

And she was gone, her car rolling off. You looked back at Kenji, and quickly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, mumbling your address.

He tapped something into his phone, and his face twisted into a satisfactory grin. “It’s on the way to mine. So I’ll just drop you.” He started walking down the street.

You stumbled after him. “Oh- are you- are you sure?”

He turned, walking backwards, in the same direction but facing you know as he shrugged, grinning. “Why not? Better than waiting around in the cold for a ride.”

“R-right.” 

He led you to where a motorbike was parked, and you blinked. “You rode here on a motorcycle?”

He shrugged his blue biker’s jacket off, and without warning, draped it over your shoulders. “Yeah. Surprised?”

“I… don’t know.” Your face was burning at the action. “Are you sure…” you fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

He waved his hand at it dismissively. “Take it. You look cold.”

You fell silent. Then: “I don’t have a helmet.”

He reached into a compartment, pulling one out. “Spare. For situations like this, I guess. Comes in handy.”

“Situations like this?” You echoed, as he stepped towards you, setting the helmet down over your head and fastening it tight. Your heart was going a million miles a minute.

“When I have to make sure a pretty girl like you gets home, obviously,” he said casually, but the look on his face betrayed his nonchalant tone. He clambered onto the bike. “Come on, then. Get on.”

You blinked, face burning even harder than before, but did as he told you to. 

-

“Thanks. For taking me home, I mean.” 

He looked up at you as you pulled the helmet off your head, imitating the action himself. A strand of hair fell in front of his forehead. “Don’t think about it,” he shrugged, and your grip on the helmet tightened as you clutched it to your chest. 

“Oh, but I will.” You dropped your voice to a husky whisper, and watched his jaw clench. Oh thank you god, I remember how to flirt. Kind of. 

Now it was his turn to become flustered, as he gave you another grin, shaky this time. “Really?” He asked, voice hoarse. You stepped back, towards your house.

“You should come inside,” you suggested. “It’s not that late.”

He raised his eyebrow. “It’s almost midnight,” he laughed, but didn’t object to your offering, licking his lips nervously. You paused your walk up towards your front door, turning and looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, fuck this,” he muttered, abandoning the bike and walking towards you. Your stomach exploded into a flurry of butterflies as you both hurried towards your front door. 

-

You bit back a whimper as his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with a hunger you hadn’t been met with before. The door hadn’t even shut before his hands were on your waist, dragging you close to him- and then it was, and he pinned you against it, your back pressing into the ridges of the wood. 

He pulled away, both of your breathing ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, eye contact unwavering. He cursed under his breath. “Sorry- I should have- I should have asked.”

You were barely able to move your mouth, shaking your head lightly. “It’s fine,” you breathed, and his eyes flicked back down to your lips, grip on your waist tightening. “You didn’t have to.”

“God, you’re-“ he choked on his own words. “You’re pretty.” 

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth was capturing yours again, heat burning all over as one of his hands wandered to grip your nape, holding you steady. His teeth grazed your lip and you gasped, but he pulled away, pressing kisses all the way down your jaw and collarbone, leaving a trail of blooming bruises in his wake. His other hand fell from your waist to hip, pressing you close up against him, and heat pooled in your core. 

“Ken,” you managed to whisper weakly through the dizzying haze clouding your mind. He paused, teeth pressed against your skin, and he leaned back up to you, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear, humming. “Are you sure this is a g-good idea?” Your voice was shaking. He frowned, pulling away, and his fingers dug into your hips. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” His voice was husky with desire, eyes trained on your every movement. You could feel his breath on your skin. You opened your mouth, searching for a reason, but couldn’t find any. He trailed his fingers down your neck, brushing over the marks, to the collar of your top, tugging at it. “Come on.”

You stumbled after him, shedding the jacket, ignoring it as it fell to the floor, and he pulled you down onto the couch with him, hands on your waist. You fell into his lap, straddling him. He grinned. “Still can’t find a reason?”

“…No.”

“Then just relax,” he told you, lips still pressed against your jaw, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your top. “Because I’m about to make you feel really good.”

At his words you bit back a moan, sucking in a harsh breath as you bit your lip, involuntarily rolling your hips against him. He hissed, tipping his head back. You were certain his hands were going to leave marks everywhere they touched, feeling them dig into your hips as you dove onto his neck, suckling and biting, anything to repay the affection he’d shown you earlier.

His hand fisted your hair, gently but firmly tugging you back and away. “Stop it,” he hissed. “Just let me do my thing, okay?”

You looked at him, confused, and slightly hurt, until he quickly pressed a reassuring kiss to your lips. “I said I’d make you feel good, so just sit back and let me, got it?”

You didn’t argue with him, not when he flipped you around so that your back was pressed against the couch, or when he sank to his knees, pushing your legs open, letting out a shaky breath as your skirt hiked right up your thighs. 

He let out a breathless laugh. “You’re wet,” he teased, his hot breath hitting your skin. He pressed a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, making you shiver, then another, each one lasting longer before the one before, leaving marks littering all over your inner thighs. You bit your lip- the mere sight of his face in between your legs was enough to get you dripping, even more than you were before, and he seemed to notice, because he let out an amused chuckle.

“Wh-what?” Your voice was broken, and hitched when he pressed his thumb to your clothed clit, sending a jolt of pleasure into your cunt. He smirked at your reaction. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your soaked panties, tugging them slowly down your legs. Your teeth pressed down on your bottom lip harder. His eyes flicked up to meet your expression. “What? Nervous?” 

You didn’t reply, just shaking, and he let out a slow breath, pressing his lips back against your inner thigh as his expression softened. “Don’t be, baby.” His lips curled back into his signature grin. “I told you you could relax, remember?”

You flushed, and nodded.

Without warning, he dove in, lips pressing down on your clit. You whimpered, not even enough time to react before his tongue licked a long strip up your entrance, making you twitch and spasm, throbbing pleasure aching. Your legs instinctively pulled together but he forced them back apart, tongue tracing slow patterns across your bundle of nerves, eyes hooded with lust as he watched your flinch and gasp. 

You let out a broken whimper of his name, and felt him tense under you- but he didn’t stop his movements, slipping his tongue in between your folds, stretching you out with his fingers. You bucked your hips, but he grabbed your hip with his other hand, pinning you down to keep you from moving. “Shhh,” he whispered, his low voice sending vibrations into your core. You let out a desperate moan- it took everything in you to not desperately start grinding against his face. He chuckled slightly at your pitiful state, turning his attention back to your dripping cunt, slipping a finger inside. Your back arched, hand flying to your mouth to clamp over it. A finger slipped inside, curling to hit that sweet spot- you almost saw stars.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, screwing your eyes shut. “I think I’m gonna cum-“

He simply hummed at your words, the vibrations of his voice sending another shockwave through you, lapping at you like he was hungrier than before, fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. You knew what he was saying.

Go on. Cum. 

And you did, a broken cry of his name slipping past your lips as the orgasm crashed over you, legs shaking as he drew out your high for as long as possible. And when you finally came down he pushed himself up, towards you, capturing your lips in another feverish kiss. 

You could see the shaky movements of his chest as he breathed heavily, feel his boner pressed up against you, his face flushed and burning to the touch. You pulled away. 

“Are you… shoud I…” You reached for his zipper, despite the fact your voice was heavy with fatigue but he just shook his head, laughing breathlessly.

“No, no, I… don’t worry about me.” He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll just- where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the corridor, first door on the left,” you mumbled, slumping back. He stood up, adjusting your head on the couch.

“Okay, I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

You heard his footsteps hurry away and the door shut.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed, with you laying on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you heard his footsteps approach you again. You looked up at him drowsily.

“Hey.” Your voice was barely audible. “You should stay here for the night.”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t object, even when you waved him over to lay next to you. You settled on top of him, laying your head on his chest. His arm looped around your waist. 

“[name],” he muttered. You lifted your head. “Is this just a… one time thing?”

You tilted your head. “Do you want it to be?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

You smiled. “Me neither.”

☆ A/N: visit either the first tag or the pinned post to find the other chapters!

[snugglysnoopystyles]

AFTER SCHOOL SHE RAN TO ME

harry styles x fem!reader ( based on this c.ai bot )

warnings: smut!!! penetration, oral (f&m receiving), protected sex (birth control), praising, squirting, spanking if you squint,ecc...family issues? age gap (18-22).

summary: it’s supposed to be casual—no labels, no promises—but she keeps coming back, leaving pieces of herself in every corner of his life. Their relationship is a push-and-pull, marked by intense physical chemistry and banter. While there's a clear deep affection between them, Harry insists it’s just a fling, even as his actions int at something deeper. She’s already fallen, wanting more than stolen time and careful avoidance. Something this intense was never going to stay simple, because love unspoken still leaves scars.

note: hi, loves! this is the first story I’ve ever written, so I’m super excited (and a little nervous) to share it with you! feel free to leave any questions or constructive criticism—just remember to be kind 🥹 I love you all, enjoy it! 💗💗

I’m slouched on the couch, one leg tucked beneath me, glancing at the clock like I can make time move faster just by staring at it. 1:00 PM. This is a ritual now—our ritual—me waiting, anxious, you showing up after school like you're mine, even when we both know better. The door clicks open, the rattle of your keys. A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes just in time to see you appear—same uniform, same messy bun, same flushed cheeks from walking too fast. You look like yesterday—and the day before—but still, somehow, better. There’s something intoxicating about the way you carry yourself like you belong here.

You glance toward the living room, a smile breaking over your face the second your eyes meet mine. Your bag drops by the door, shoes kicked off, you walk down the hallway like this is your home and maybe, in a way, it is. You reach me and I guide you down gently. You curl into me without a word, like muscle memory, your legs draped over mine, head resting against my chest like you’re trying to become part of me.

“How was school?” I ask, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, letting my hand linger too long.

You shrug into my chest. “Boring, as always.” I remember hating school so much I barely finished, started bartending just to have something that felt like mine.

I’m 22. You’re 18, just old enough for this to be legal, just young enough that it still feels like a sin. Your parents don’t know or maybe they just don’t care enough to ask, always away, always working, always too absent in a way that bruises. You started coming over after school, sometimes a few hours, sometimes the night, when your parents are gone, entire weekends. My apartment became your escape, our secret. You’ve left things here—your pink toothbrush beside my green one, your favorite hoodie slung over my desk chair, a pack of pads in my bathroom drawer, you even stocked my kitchen with your favorite snacks. You keep saying you’ll take them back, but you don’t. I try to pretend we’re nothing official—no labels, no promises—but we laugh like lovers, cuddle like couples, dress in matching outfits like we’re something soft and stupid and real. We’ve never had the talk but I know you’ve already fallen, I see it in your eyes and if I’m honest, I’m falling too—quietly, carefully, like it might hurt less if I don’t say it out loud, but it still hurts.

“I missed you,” I murmur into your hair.

You go still, just for a second. “I missed you too,” you whisper, voice small. Then you lift your head, your smile warm and wide and a little too trusting.

I trace a finger from your arm to your jaw, tilting your face up. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, more confession than compliment.

Your lips part, eyes flicking down to mine. You lean in, slow, waiting for me to meet you halfway but I pull back. I clear my throat and drop my hand. “Go change out of your uniform,” I say, voice hoarse. “I’ll order food.”

You blink, hurt flickers behind your eyes, just for a moment, but you nod, soft and obedient. “ ‘kay,” you say, already adjusting your skirt, already walking away.

I watch you go, watch the way my t-shirt hugs your body when you return minutes later, socks pulled up to your knees, pink lace panties peeking out beneath the hem. “Pizza?” you ask, standing in front of me like temptation in bare legs and cherry lip gloss.

I nod. “Yeah.”

You straddle my lap without asking, arms looped around my neck, your nose brushes mine. “Ordered my favorite?”

“Of course,” I say and I don’t even try to hide the way I’m staring at you now.

You press a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, gentle, meaningful, dangerous. “Mhm...” you whisper, hopping up again. “I want a lollipop.”

And I swear—I don’t know what happens—but I’m following you like a damn puppy, watching as you bend over the drawer just a little too slow, your ass in the air, that pink lace doing absolutely nothing to keep me sane. You unwrap the cherry sucker and pop it between your lips like it’s nothing, like you don’t know what you’re doing.

But you know. God, you know.

“Stop teasing,” I warn, voice low.

You look over your shoulder, all fake innocence. “I’m not teasing.”

“Mhm. You’re in my shirt, no bra, sucking a lollipop like you’re practicing a blowjob.”

You smirk. “Maybe I am.”

I snap, in one breath I’m on you, hands on your hips, mouth on yours. The taste of cherry overwhelms me, you moan into the kiss, grinding against me like you need something only I can give. “Fucking hell,” I groan, lifting you off the ground and pressing you against the hallway wall.

My shirt rides up your thighs as my hands roam, sliding underneath to touch bare, soft skin. “Want something better to keep your mouth busy?” I murmur, voice rough, popsicle still in your hand. You nod, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed.

“On your knees.” You drop fast, obedient, like you’ve been waiting all day to be told to, the sight alone knocking the breath out of me. My shirt drowns your frame, slipping off one shoulder, barely covering the lace between your thighs.

My belt immediately hits the floor, my cock’s out—hard, aching—and your lips part like a prayer, soft and wet, pupils blown wide. I grip the back of your head gently, fingers tangling in that perfect mess of hair, guiding you like I know you want to be guided. You start slow, leaving soft kisses along the base, your tongue flicking up the side, teasing. “How long until the pizza gets here?” you whisper, lips brushing my skin.

I glance at my watch. “Twenty minutes.”

You smile and take your time, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the length, your tongue dragging up the vein until you reach the tip. You glance up at me as you swirl your tongue around it—teasing, tasting—watching for my reaction like it’s your favorite game. Your lips wrap around the head, warm and soft and so fucking good I have to brace myself against the wall in front of me. You moan around me like the taste alone does something to you and the vibration sends a jolt straight down my spine. My jaw clenches, my eyes flutter closed for a second and my hand tighten in your hair. Then you sink lower, inch by inch, you take me deeper, your throat opening with practiced ease, spit already slicking your lips. You gag just a little when you bottom out and it nearly undoes me. “Jesus Christ,” I groan, voice shredded. “Look at you.”

You pull back slowly, breathing heavy, strings of saliva clinging from your lips to my cock. You blink up at me with that glossy, wrecked look that makes my knees go weak. Then you smirk and go back down again, faster this time, more desperate. Your hands grip my thighs as you bob your head, lips stretched, cheeks hollowing with every stroke. Your spit drips down your chin, pooling at the corner of your mouth and you don’t care. You look like heaven or hell.

“God, your mouth-" I bite down a moan, my hips starting to move on their own, shallow thrusts into your waiting throat.

I try to hold back, I really do but then you hum around me, tongue teasing underneath the shaft while your fingers slide up to cup my balls and I fucking lose it. “Shit. I’m gonna-” I barely get the warning out before I pull back, trying to give you a chance to breathe.

But you shake your head, grab my ass and pull me back in. You want it, all of it. I come with a ragged moan, hips twitching, eyes rolling back as you swallow every drop without flinching, still sucking me through it, like you don’t want to waste a single second of it. I watch you, eyes hazy, chest heaving, until you finally pull back, licking your lips slow, dragging your hand across your mouth to wipe the mess off your chin.

“Still got fifteen minutes before the pizza gets here,” you murmur, eyes twinkling with mischief.

And fuck, I’m already getting hard again. I pull you to your feet, kiss you deep, the taste of me still on your tongue, your breath still uneven. My hands slide under my shirt, finding bare skin, warm and soft and mine. “You’ve no idea what you just started,” I whisper into your mouth.

You just smile. “Then show me.” I kiss you like I’m starving, like I just got everything I wanted and still need more. Your mouth is still warm, lips slick with spit and me, and when you let out a soft little whimper into the kiss, I snap. I spin you around, press your chest to the hallway wall, your hands bracing flat against it.

You gasp, hips jutting back instinctively, your ass grinding against my cock desperately. “You think you’re in control, huh?” I growl into your ear, hands already bunching the oversized t-shirt up around your waist.

“No,” you breathe, but your tone betrays you.

My hand comes down hard on your ass, the sound echoing off the walls, you yelp, hips jerking forward. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not- fuck-” you choke on a moan when I do it again, this time kneading the flesh in my hand afterward, soothing the sting.

I drop to my knees behind you, gripping your thighs to part them and you lean further into the wall like you already know what's coming. “Stay still.”

“Mmhm,” you hum, hips trembling as I hook my fingers in the waistband of your lace panties and drag them down slow, watching the fabric peel away from your soaked skin.

“Jesus, you're dripping.” you whine, rocking your hips back, trying to tempt my mouth closer.

“Be patient.” I spread you open and lean in, dragging my tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate. You gasp, your legs nearly giving out.

I grip your thighs tighter, holding you in place as I start to devour you—flicking, sucking, licking in deep strokes. You moan, loud and unfiltered, one hand slamming against the wall while the other reaches back to thread through my hair. Your body starts to shake when I focus on your clit, alternating between gentle flicks and firm suction. “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—” you pant, voice pitching higher, but I pull back.

“No,” I growl, standing up behind you and pressing my chest to your back. “Not yet.”

You whimper, trying to rub against me, but I grip your hips tight. “Beg.”

Your breath catches, your forehead rests against the wall. “Please.”

“Not enough.”

You turn your head slightly, voice ragged and wrecked. “Please let me come. Please, fuck, please touch me, I need it, I need you.”

I groan at how fucked out you sound already. I line myself up, tease your entrance with the thick head of my cock, rubbing it through your slick folds, not pushing in yet, just letting you feel it. “You want it, baby?”

You nod desperately. “I need it.”

And that’s all it takes. I push in, slow and deep, both of us groaning at the stretch, the heat, the way you grip me like you were made for it. “God, you’re so tight,” I hiss, bottoming out with one deep thrust. You cry out, knuckles white against the wall, back arching as I fill you completely.

I start to move—long, hard strokes—hands gripping your hips like handles, dragging you back onto me with every thrust. Each time I slam into you, you let out a helpless moan, loud and shameless, echoing down the hallway like you don't care if the whole world hears. “You like this?” I pant, one hand sliding up your back to grip your shoulder, the other sneaking between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit. “You like me fucking you like this, with your mouth still tasting like me?”

“Y-yes, fuck, please don’t stop!” you clench hard around me and I know you're close again.

“Come for me,” I command, grinding deep into you, fingers working faster. “Let go.”

You shatter around me, moaning so loud it borders on a scream, your body shaking violently as you come hard on my cock, legs trembling and struggling to hold you up. But I don’t stop, I fuck you through it, chasing my own release, the heat and tightness and the fucking sight of you undone in front of me pushing me right over the edge. With one final thrust, I bury myself deep and come inside you, groaning into your neck, both of us breathing like we’ve just survived something. We stay like that for a moment, pressed together, flushed skin and heaving lungs, before I pull out, slow, watching your pussy flutter and my load drip down your thighs.

“You okay?” I murmur against your shoulder, placing a soft kiss there.

You turn to look at me, cheeks flushed, eyes hazy, lips parted. “I’m perfect,” you whisper, then the doorbell rings.

“Pizza’s here,” I say, brushing a damp lock of hair from your cheek.

You smirk, legs still shaky, t-shirt still bunched around your waist. “Mh, I'm starving.”

You’re on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, biting into your second slice of pizza like you didn’t just get railed against my hallway wall. You look stupidly pretty like this—bare legs dangling off the edge, my shirt hanging loose on your frame, still not bothering to fix your messy bun. You catch me staring and smirk around a mouthful of pepperoni. “What?” you say, chewing slow just to be a brat. “Wipe that look off your face, you already came.”

I grin, leaning on the counter in front of you, pizza box between us. “Didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t have to, you’ve got that stupid face.”

“Which one?” I ask, acting innocently.

“The one where you look like you want to marry me because I gave you head.” I scoff and take a bite, chewing slow, trying not to laugh. It’s domestic, ridiculously so—pizza grease on your fingers, the soft sound of rain against the kitchen window. I hand you a napkin and you miss the pass entirely, making me wipe your cheek for you. You lean into the touch without thinking, too natural, too dangerous.

“You always make me eat after,” you tease, watching me through your lashes. “Is this part of some fucked-up care protocol?”

“You’re the one who goes feral on her knees,” I say, wiping your lip with my thumb. “I’m just refeeding you.”

“You say that like I’m a stray cat you found in the alley.”

“You kind of are.” You gasp in fake offense and swat me with your foot. I catch your ankle and lift it higher, pressing a kiss to the inside, just beneath the knee. Your whole body softens, just like that. I see it flicker across your face—that look, the one you don’t mean to give me, the one that says you’re falling even harder and you don’t know how to stop—but then you blink it away, because we don’t talk about that.

So you hop off the counter like nothing happened, brushing crumbs off your thighs. “Alright, let’s go. You promised you’d let me beat your ass in Scrabble tonight.”

“Delusional" I mutter.

“You’re just mad because I used ‘vexingly’ on a triple word score last time and you never recovered.”

“That wasn’t even a real word.” I murmur back.

“Tell that to Merriam-Webster, bitch.” you say walking out the kitchen, my eyes locked on your ass and I have to take a deep breath before following you into the living room.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the carpet, gloating over your win. I’m stretched out on the couch above you, shirt halfway unbuttoned, pretending I don’t care you just annihilated me by thirty points. “Rematch?” I offer.

You smirk. “You sure you want to lose twice in one night?”

My gaze drops to your thighs. "Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You roll your eyes and crawl over, climbing up between my legs, straddling my lap again like you were built for it. You cup my face in your hands, nose brushing mine. “You’re kind of annoying when I beat you at things,” you murmur, but you’re smiling.

I grab your waist, sliding my hands up under my shirt—your shirt now—palming the bare curve of your sides. You kiss me slow, deeper this time, less teasing, more want. You grind down just a little and I feel it—the warmth, the ache, the way you’re already wet again. You shift your hips and gasp into my mouth when I squeeze your ass. You press your forehead to mine. “Hey…earlier, when I said I missed you, you-” You pause. “Do you wanna talk about it now?”

My hands still, that thing in my chest pulls tight. I stare at you, heartbeat stuttering. For a second, I think about answering, actually answering, but then I lean forward, lift you by the thighs and flip you onto your back on the couch and I kiss down your chest instead. “I’ll take that as a no,” you whisper, breathless.

I don’t reply, I just spread your legs and bury my face between them like it’s the only thing I know how to do. You’re soaked, still sensitive. I lick slow just to be mean, watching the way you shiver, trying to keep quiet, but you can't. “Shit, f-fuck Styles” You squirm, one hand in my hair, the other gripping the cushion above your head. I press your thighs wider, tongue dragging flat across your clit before teasing your entrance with the tip.

Then I start eating you like I own you—like if I make you come hard enough, maybe you’ll forget what you asked. You cry out when I push two fingers inside, curling them up, my mouth never leaving you. Your hips buck, your moans are sharp, broken things. “Gonna make a mess,” I murmur into you. “Gonna come all over my mouth, huh?”

You nod wildly, hips chasing every movement. “Please, I need-” You fall apart fast, thighs squeezing around my head, moaning my name like it’s the only word you remember.

I give you a second to breathe, barely, then I’m unzipping my jeans once again, pulling your legs over my hips, sliding into you in one hard thrust that punches a gasp out of your chest. “Fuck, baby,” I groan, snapping my hips into you, slow and punishing. “You feel so. fucking. good.”

You arch, hands scrambling at my back, pulling me deeper. “Talk to me,” you whimper.

I shake my head, lips pressed to your throat. “Not now.”

“Why not?” Because if I say it—if I tell you how this feels like home, how losing you would kill me—I won’t be able to stop.

So I fuck you harder and you let me. I grip your hips firmly tight enough to leave marks, as I drive into you—hard, relentless. Every thrust echoes with the brutal slap of skin on skin, the room thick with sweat, heat and the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth. My thumb grinds into your clit, slow circles with just the right pressure and I don’t take my fucking eyes off you. Your lips are parted, whimpering, cheeks flushed, hair coming undone, strands sticking to the sweat slicked across your face. You look wrecked already—exactly how I like you.

“Fuck,” I mutter, watching your tits bounce with each thrust, hypnotized. “Look at you…taking it so fucking good.”

“You were made for this. For me. For my cock,” I growl, voice gritty with lust. “This tight little pussy, clenching like it knows who it fucking belongs to.”

“Harry—fuck!” you cry out, voice cracking, body shaking under the weight of it all. My thumb keeps circling your clit, merciless, your legs tremble, your moans getting high and desperate. “I’m—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” You’re choking on the words, voice strangled with pleasure and I feel it—your cunt starts pulsing around me, desperate, wild—this isn’t like before.

You’re about to fucking squirt. You’ve never done that with me or anyone else and the thought drives me insane. I start to pound harder, faster, practically snarling as I fuck into you like I’ve lost control. “Yeah?” I taunt, breath ragged. “Gonna soak me, baby? Gonna gush all over my cock like a filthy little slut?”

You nod frantically, mouth open, eyes watery and glassy. “Do it,” I growl. “Give it to me. Fucking make a mess for me.”

You let out this broken moan and then your body locks up, tight, and everything explodes. You scream, whole body convulsing as hot liquid gushes out of you in waves, soaking my cock, dripping down your thighs and onto the couch. Your pussy clamps around nothing as I pull out, dragging my soaked cock against your throbbing clit, drawing it out. “Jesus—fuck yes. That’s it. Look at this fucking mess,” I groan, watching you fall apart beneath me.

You’re shaking uncontrollably, gasping, tears streaking your cheeks. You’ve never come like that before and it shows—your legs are trembling, your belly soaked, couch drenched. You’re ruined, spent, absolutely perfect. “Oh my god,” you whisper, voice hoarse and wrecked, eyes barely open.

“I know, baby,” I say, panting, voice still rough. “I know it’s a lot. You took it so fucking well.” I grip my cock, still rock hard, soaked in you, and start stroking fast, staring down at your wrecked body—quivering thighs, wet skin, flushed face. You’re barely holding yourself up and I’m so close I can taste it.

“Fuck—gonna cum—” I can’t even get the words out. My hips jerk and I let go with a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum striping your stomach, your pussy, dripping down your slit as you twitch under me.

I lean over you, chest heaving, trying to come down. I brush your face gently, thumb dragging over your cheek. “You okay?” I murmur, still catching my breath. “Still with me, angel?”

You blink, slow and dazed, lips twitching into a sleepy, blissed-out smile. “I’m here…fuck. That was insane.”

I chuckle, voice wrecked. “Yeah, it was.”

We're curled up on the couch, your back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around you like I don’t want to let go. The room smells like us, a mix of sweat and something softer, something familiar now. Your head rests on my shoulder, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on my arm. We’re quiet, but the silence isn’t empty, it’s heavy, full of all the things neither of us says. “You’re warm,” you murmur, voice low, almost shy.

I smile and press a kiss to the top of your head. “Only for you.”

You shift, looking up at me with those big eyes that somehow always catch me off guard. There’s something fragile there, like you’re trying to hold back everything crashing inside. I know you want to talk, but you don’t know how. “Do you wanna finish that conversation we started earlier?” you ask, biting your lip.

I shake my head, not wanting to open up too much. “Not right now.”

You pout but lean back against me and I pull a cloth from the coffee table. Carefully, I wipe the mess off your skin. You’re on the pill, so I guess I’m just lucky to have you in every way. You close your eyes and I swear I can feel your breath begin to even out. “We should shower before we head out,” I say, my voice soft.

You laugh, nudging me. “Do I really have to clean up? I’m comfy here.”

I smirk. “You smell like trouble.”

You pout, giving me your best puppy eyes and I sigh, nodding slowly. “Do you want to eat the leftover cookies from last week?” I ask, raising a brow as my hand caresses your side gently.

You grin. “Cookies are probably stale.”

“So are we skipping sugar or was that just you calling me old in disguise?”

Your laugh echoes through the space and it does something to my chest—it’s light, unguarded. “You’re only four years older. Calm down, grandpa,” you tease, your eyes shining in that way that makes it hard to look anywhere else.

“You always get like this after,” I say softly, half-teasing. “Acting like we’re just...normal.”

“Aren’t we?” you ask, but your voice is quieter now.

I open my mouth to answer, but your phone buzzes, slicing through the moment. You glance down at the screen and sigh. “It’s my mom.”

“Want me to give you a minute?” I ask.

You nod. “Yeah, just-…wait for me in the shower, okay?”

I kiss your forehead and head toward the bathroom, giving you space. Your mom’s voice crackles through the line, she sounds distracted, like always. “Hey, honey. Just wanted to say your dad and I got extended for five more days, big client. You good on your own?”

“Yeah, totally,” you lie easily. “I’ve just been studying all day.”

“Mhm,” she says, barely listening. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

A pause, but she doesn’t push. “Alright. Love you.”

“Love you too.” The moment the line clicks dead, your stomach twists.

The water’s warm, steam rising around me as I let it beat against my shoulders. When you step into the bathroom, towel wrapped loosely around you, I already know something’s shifted. You drop the towel and step in. I don’t touch you at first, I wait, let you get under the water, your back to me. Together, we start rinsing the day off, but this is more than just a shower—it’s gentle touches, brushing hair out of your face, tracing the curve of your back. “What’s wrong?” I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

You shrug, voice low. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” I say, stepping closer, letting the water fall over both of us. My hands find your hips, steadying you and I turn you around gently.

“I hate them,” you whisper.

I frown. “What?”

“My parents. I mean…not hate. But..." You look away. “I hate the way my parents leave me alone, since I was thirteen it’s always been like this. They don’t know I’m with you, they don’t even know I…had my first time already. I get drunk sometimes, tried weed. They don’t care about what I really want, just school, uni decisions, pressure. They never see me."

You pause. "This, here, it’s the only place I can just be, but if they don’t deserve me, then who does? If I don’t have them, then I don’t have anyone.”

I swallow hard. “You’ve got me.”

That hits you like a punch to the chest. You pull back, eyes sharp. “No, I don’t. It’s temporary, casual. One day this will end and I won’t have you either.”

I flinch, but hold you tighter. “You have me now. I know it’s not forever, but at least you have me.”

You scoff, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall, your face hardening just a little. “That’s not enough.” You don’t mean it cruel, you mean it honest. "It’s not enough anymore, Harry. Not for me. Can’t you see? I know it started as something fun—secret, sexy, messy. Someone older, someone who kept my mind busy. But now? I need stability, someone in my life, because I have no one. And next year, when I move for university, the only person I can imagine being with is you.”

I flinch, not because I don’t want it, but because I do and that terrifies me. “I can’t give you what you need,” I say. “I’m not the answer to forever, I never was, I thought we both knew that.”

Tears spill over and you press your hands to my chest, desperate. “Why not? Why can’t you be my boyfriend? The one who meets my family, takes me on real dates, picks me up from school with coffee?” You choke on the next words. “Do you think flings are like this? Do you think flings keep toothbrushes in the bathroom? Keep snacks in the kitchen? Keep textbooks in the desk drawer?"

I look away. “I just can’t. It’s not what I want.”

You freeze, eyes locked on mine. “So you don’t want me.” You whisper, bitterly. “Of course,” you say, voice breaking. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. What a fool to believe I was more than some younger girl warming your bed, pleasing you when you’re bored. Fucking naive.”

You step out of the shower, dripping, grabbing your towel, not even bothering to wash off. My hands are frozen at my sides. “Wait, please,” I say, stepping out, not even grabbing a towel as I follow you into the bedroom.

“It’s done,” you say through clenched teeth, pulling on your uniform fast, hands shaking.

“Don’t go.”

“I was just a fling, I knew that from the start, I shouldn’t have expected more. I just didn’t think it would hurt this bad.” you say dressing fast.

“You weren’t just—”

You slide your shoes on, voice shaking. “What makes me angry is I opened up to you, talked about my life, my future, and you never stopped me. I hate you! I hate you ’cause you’re an asshole and I hate myself ’cause I’m such a fool.”

I take a step closer, desperate. “I know I’m an idiot, I messed up, but please, don’t go.”

You back away, glare sharp. “Don’t touch me!" I stop, chest heaving, hair dripping down my shoulders.

“You’re more than a distraction.” I choke.

"More? If I’m not your girlfriend or your distraction, then what am I?” you grab your school bag, ready to leave. "You don’t want me that way and I get it. It was good as long as I spread my legs and never asked for more. I’ll come for the rest of my things another day.”

“No, you...you’re more than just a friend." I say desperately as you turn to leave.

“Then say it,” you say, stopping.

"You’re more than just a distraction or than a friend...you're—” I want to say mine, but I can’t. You wait, eyes searching mine, hoping for more, hoping I’ll beg, say I love you, say you could change my mind.

But I don’t say anything.

Your jaw tightens, disappointment written all over your face. “That’s what I thought.” You nod slowly, bitterly. “It’s done,” you say, wiping tears away.

“Princess, please don’t go,” I plead.

You shake your head, open the door, step out and leave—never looking back, leaving me alone with my mistakes and the weight of how much I’m already in love with you.

If I hadn’t ruined this, maybe we’d be out with my friends now, partying, leaving this undefined mess alone for one more night, but I did ruin it and now I stand there, naked, wet and cold, knowing I’ve just let the only person who’s ever made this place feel like home walk out of it.

@merylittlefreak @littlebvnnyhs @cherriesnkisses @xarviax @finelinemia @fallingwillow @harryslove13 @tillyshouse @misspossessiveharry @tpwkmr @hontpwk @c0wboylikeharry @sincerely-yours-marsbar @bebopbumblebee @evas1ncenewyork @maudie-duan @myonlyangelwrites13 @myonlyangel13 @patriwxlls @carolinaastyles @nanaisinmars @nikkihs @harrysslut7 @emmie2308 @lntrrys @vojdcamy13

[roryheartz]

this is so in character im crying

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - S.H

Single parenthood is no easy feat, but you and your daughter Abbey seem to be making it by just fine. That is, until the morning that you drop your daughter off for her very first day of elementary school and meet her teacher for the year: Mr. Harrington.

Contains - strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, early-mid 90's, teacher!steve harrington au, single!mom!reader, parenthood

*once the main story is finished, this au will be open for requests/blurbs/ thoughts etc!

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Epilogue

Bonus Features! -

your first official date with Steve your first time with Steve 18+ you celebrate Steve's birthday with him telling Abbey she's going to be a sister the birth of your son, Lucas steve comes to the rescue when you're feeling overwhelmed

[pittsick]

AFTER HOURS.

summary: this night shift at the PTMC feels so boring. no one's crying, screaming or threatening nurses. and you end up flirting with your boyfriend, jack, until you both finish in the storage room to have fun.

pairing: jack abbot x afab!girlfriend.

cw: mdni. +18. 1.5k words. praising. short blowjob. fingering. piv not protected. quickie sex.

taglist: @blastzachilles @lvve-talks @jordiemeow @strfallz @222col @soulxinxthexsky @diyasgarden @jinxedbambi @lexiiscorect @religionlost @bluestrd @jclolz22 @magicalmiserybore @destinedtobegigi @fwaist @talsorchard @lovefaist @shahabaqsa0310 @prismozo @jesuistrestriste

The night shift at the Pitt Trauma Medical Center is usually anything but quiet. But tonight? You could swear the walls are holding their breath.

No traumas. No alarms. No yelling down the hallway about vitals or blood types. Just the humming of the overhead fluorescents, the soft beeping from monitors in empty rooms, and the occasional shuffle of feet echoing down polished linoleum. It's eerie, almost. Like the hospital itself is sleeping.

You're propped up on the nurse’s station desk, chart in hand, trying not to nod off. The high of adrenaline has long worn off, and in its place is an itch under your skin—the kind that has nothing to do with being tired.

Across from you, Jack leans against the counter, arms crossed, his scrubs slightly rumpled from earlier rounds. He’s watching you. He’s been watching you for a while now, eyes trailing slowly from your hands to your face, pausing at your lips.

"You're making it hard to concentrate," you say, flicking your eyes up from the chart, lips curling just slightly. Jack grins, lazy and warm. “I haven’t said a word.”

"You don’t have to. You’ve got that look."

“What look?”

You tilt your head. “Like you’re up to something.” He shrugs, not bothering to deny it. “Maybe I am.”

It’s been three months since you and Jack started seeing each other—secretly, quietly, slipping into each other’s lives between cases and consults. It wasn’t supposed to get serious. Neither of you had the time. But something about Jack kept pulling you in. The way he softens when you talk about your worst days. The way his hands tremble when he's stitching up a child. The way he waits to walk you to the break room when he knows you’ve been crying in the stairwell.

Slow, careful, fragile—that’s been the rhythm. Neither of you rushing it.

But lately, there’s been tension. A thick, unspoken craving sitting just under the surface. Like both of you are waiting for a sign, for something to break the calm.

“Slow night,” Jack says now, voice low and thick. You nod, scribbling a half-hearted note before closing the chart. “Almost too slow.”

Jack moves toward you slowly, hands slipping into the pockets of his scrubs. “So what do we do with ourselves?” You hop down from the desk, pretending to brush past him—but your shoulder lingers against his chest a little longer than it needs to.

“We behave,” you say, over your shoulder.

Jack follows. “Unlikely.”

You stop walking, and he nearly bumps into you. You can feel the heat rolling off him, even through your layers. “You want to get written up?” you ask, teasing.

“I’d risk it.”

You glance down the hall. Still dead. The overnight nurses are logged in at the far end, engrossed in something on a screen. The lights are dimmed. There’s a cart stocked with IV bags parked outside an unused room. The storage closet is just past that.

Your heart kicks.

You turn back to Jack and lift an eyebrow. “Storage room. Five minutes. If you’re not too scared.”

His jaw tenses, and for a second he looks stunned—but then he steps closer, chest nearly touching yours, and murmurs, “Lead the way.”

You take your time walking there, half for the thrill of it and half for the game. You can hear Jack’s footsteps behind you—soft, measured, hungry. When you push the storage room door open, the scent of antiseptic and plastic hits you immediately. Sterile shelves. Locked cabinets. And just enough space to press someone up against the wall.

Jack closes the door behind you, and the click of the lock echoes in the small space.

Then silence.

Until he steps forward and says, “You know you’re driving me crazy, right?” You look up at him, and in the low light, his eyes are darker, hungrier. “That’s the idea.”

He lets out a soft, amused breath, hands brushing your waist as if asking for permission. When you don’t stop him, his fingers grip tighter, tugging you closer. Your chests meet, and for a moment you just stand there, bodies pulsing with heat, hearts too loud.

His mouth finds yours first—slow, then urgent, like he’s been waiting weeks. You kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in, hands sliding into his hair, tugging when he presses his hips against yours. You can feel him already, hard through his scrubs, and the rush of it makes your knees wobble.

“I think about this all the damn time,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing just below your ear. “You. In here. At work. Whispering my name like you’re trying not to get caught.”

“Jack—”

You mean to warn him, to tell him you should stop, that this is dangerous—but your voice dissolves into a whimper when his fingers slide under the waistband of your scrub pants, dragging them down just enough to slip between your thighs.

He finds you wet—already. The teasing, the secrecy, the low lights and the risk of someone knocking—your body responds before your brain can stop it. Jack groans into your shoulder. “Fuck. You’re soaked.”

His fingers start slow, circling your clit with practiced care, then slipping lower to press into you. You cling to him, biting your lip hard to stay quiet, but he’s watching you with something like awe.

“That feel good?” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “Been wanting to touch you like this since the first night shift we worked.”

You nod, too breathless to speak.

“You should hear the sounds you make,” he murmurs, fucking you slow with two fingers. “So pretty. So fucking pretty.”

Your hands scrabble at his waistband, desperate to return the favor. When you manage to get his scrub pants pushed low enough, his cock springs free—thick, flushed, already leaking. You drop to your knees on instinct, cheeks warm with want.

Jack hisses through his teeth, bracing one hand on the shelving unit. “Jesus…”

You wrap your lips around the head, tasting salt and skin and the warmth of him. He’s big, almost too much, and you gag just a little when he hits the back of your throat—but Jack groans like it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“You don’t have to—fuck—do that,” he mutters, already panting. “But if you keep going, I’m not gonna last long.” You look up at him, lips stretched around his cock, and he curses again, hand finding your hair.

“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers, voice wrecked.

You hum around him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder until he pulls you off with a gasp. His cock slips free with a wet pop, and he hauls you back up, kissing you like he needs it.

Then he turns you around, pressing you into the wall.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, voice softer now, threading a hand between your thighs again as he lines himself up behind you. “It’s not,” you breathe. “I want it. Want you.”

He groans, forehead resting against the back of your neck as he pushes in slowly, filling you inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside you. The stretch burns in the best way, and you clutch at the shelves to stay upright. “Fuck,” Jack hisses. “You feel—god, you feel so good.”

He thrusts shallowly at first, testing your limits, and when you moan—quiet but desperate—he picks up pace, hips slapping softly against your ass, the noise echoing inside the tiny storage room. Every movement pushes you harder against the cold wall, but you don’t care.

You’d let him fuck you right on the ER floor if he asked.

“Been thinking about this every time you bite your lip during rounds,” he pants. “Every time you laugh at something I say. Driving me out of my fucking mind.” You meet his rhythm, pushing back against him, chasing the high curling deep in your belly.

“I wanna make you come,” he whispers, sliding a hand around to circle your clit again. “Wanna feel you squeeze around me.” Those words makes you clench around his cock, tiny moans escaping your lips without you realizing. With each thrusts, Jack’s tip push against your walls and the spongy spot inside you.

You don’t last long after that. The combination of his fingers and his cock, the praise spilling from his mouth, the heat of his body caging yours in—it’s too much.

You come hard, eyes squeezing shut, a strangled moan breaking free despite yourself. Jack follows a few thrusts later, groaning your name into your shoulder, hips stuttering before he stills deep inside you. The only sounds afterward are heavy breathing and the distant hum of the hospital.

He pulls out slowly, hands still gentle on your hips. When you turn to face him, your cheeks flushed and lips kiss-bitten, he smiles like he can’t believe you’re real.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah. You?”

He kisses you again—slow this time, lingering. “Best shift I’ve ever had.”

You both laugh quietly, then start the slow process of straightening clothes, fixing hair, wiping away evidence. Before you unlock the door, Jack cups your face again, thumb brushing your cheek.

“You wanna come home with me after shift?” he asks, voice soft.

You lean into his touch. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[chrattho1]

employee!matt takes a week off and shows up with a beard

“our schedule for this month is still in the works, i’ll get back to you guys once i’m done finalising a few more things—” your eyes rake around the conference room, a room that is usually full of your employees and matt.

but since this past week matt hasn’t been around, he took the week off to visit his family in boston. when he came up to you with the request you almost denied it because you thought he was bluffing. his family lives in boston? matt never fails to shock you with small details about his life that you don’t ask for but wouldn’t mind to know.

“and after that, there are a few designs that we’ve got to clear for the launch—” your words get caught in your throat when the door to the room swings open and matt walks in with hurry.

at first glance you didn't recognize him, didn't recognize matt. you had to do a double take, stopping in your tracks as you paced in front of the long ass conference room table.

"matt?" your voice betraying you and letting that out naturally. your eyes squinting in his direction, amused.

"uh.. sorry my car kinda broke down, it was a whole thing and I came home late last night so I woke up late—" matt rambled on but you payed no attention to his words, your mind occupied by his mouth, more specifically his jaw.

he could grow a full beard like that? like i said he never fails to shock you.

his eyes flutter and his words come to a halt when he realizes that you weren't paying any minds to his excuses. his mouth hangs open looking at you with a dumbfounded expression. he doesn't even know what he is doing to you looking like that, standing there looking like a clueless puppy. with a beard.

"are you mad?" he asks softly, the room stands still as the interaction takes place, some people going onto their phones and some looking through their files.

you simply shake your head, wanting nothing but to dismiss everyone and have matt take you right there on the boardroom table.

matt takes a seat silently and fixes his suit before turning his attention to you again.

"I don't think we have anything else to cover for now. kate, get back to me with those reports before five, 'kay?" you spoke looking directly at her and turning around right before she could respond, almost trying to speed up this meeting.

you watched people get out of the room with their laptops and files, some loud sighs and exaggerated breaths were let out but you could care less when matt was right there, picking his briefcase up to make his way out with the others.

"matt." you call out, watching his eyes snap up at you.

people pass by matt and exit the room, leaving just the two of you. it had been a week since you'd seen him and him looking like that didn't help at all.

"yeah?" he tilted his head.

once the last person to get out closed the door behind them and you heard a click, your legs started moving to where matt was stood, you swayed your hips intently, your acrylic nail dragging along the table.

"how was your..trip?" you stood right in front of him, taking in his earthy cologne.

"oh.. it was great, I spent time with my parents and my dog trevor, got to see my brothers after a long time too which was fun I guess.." matt trailed off when he noticed how your eyes were fixated on his jaw.

"like it?" he asked under his breath, wishing you'd say yes because he did grow it out for you. and also because shaving in the office would be a task for him.

your hand reached up to cup his face gently, your thumb stroking his jaw. your eyes looking over his lips and at the small mustache above it.

matt's breathing growing heavier with each passing moment, his heart pacing and cheeks growing red. he loves to have your attention on him this way.

"can i..." he subconsciously leaned down, stating what he wants to do.

“mhm” a small smile tugs onto your lips and you nod before feeling his lips press onto yours. matt’s breath hitched and his body reacted almost immediately. his hands flying to yours hips and pulling you flush against him. your chests pressed and lips moving in favour of each other.

your hand stays on his jaw, pulling on it to feel his stubble graze your skin. your lip liner already smeared across his mouth.

the kiss gets sloppy, matt’s mouth open and sucking yours. his hands trailing behind your hips giving your ass and the back of your thighs a little squeeze, directing you to get up on the table. the beard reflecting in his personality. and you liked it.

he helps you pull yourself up on the table, not breaking the kiss or the contact in anyway.his hands pulling on your hips making you wrap your legs around him. your hands find their way in his hair, fingers tangling and pulling him closer. sloppy sounds filling the huge and empty room.

your body shuffles on the table making a pen fall off it, instinctively both your mouths pull off, eyes darting over to where the pen rolls on the ground. matt turns to you, his mouth hung trying to catch a breath and his lips swollen with your lip combo imprinted on it.

"your office in 10? please? m’missed you.." matt mumbles letting out a whimper, his fingers tugging and toying with the edge of your skirt, eyes big and desperate.

you nod letting out a soft chuckle, bringing your thumb up to wipe the lipstick off his mouth feeling the small and fuzzy hair around it.

read more about them here :)

˗ˏˋ a/n ˎˊ˗ missed writing for employee!matt :( dilf!chris tn too i think idk..again this is not proofread . english is not my first language !

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