#but every time i notice it i just sigh and shake my head like a tired parent because that's not what I'm going for
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plaidcowboy · 1 day ago
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work wife
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( synopsis ) — emily questions a married!reader, not knowing the very man standing behind the two of you was your husband.
( warning ) — none! a lot of people liked this on my old writing acc so i thought i’d repost it here, 3k is the most interactions ive ever had on something other than my rafe fics lol
( bot link ) — here
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"You're married?" Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.
She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like she's afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.
"How have I never noticed this before?" she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.
You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. "It's not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashy, unless you're actively staring at my hands."
Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.
Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setup. Neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse she's only now just discovered.
"No picture of your husband anywhere?" she asks, clearly surprised.
You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. "Nope. I see him every single day. I don't exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while I'm working."
Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. "Wow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like." She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.
Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to go cup next to your keyboard.
"Did you know she’s married?" Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.
Hotch doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah," he says plainly. "I proposed a couple of years ago."
He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, "They were out of hazelnut creamer, so l got you caramel."
Emily blinks and there's a pause one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.
"Okay, very funny," she scoffs. "Good one, Hotch."
"I'm not joking," he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.
Emily's laughter dies immediately. "Wait. What?"
"There's no way in hell she would marry you," she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.
Hotch glances down at you with a look that's equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.
"Oh, you poor thing," you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. "That was so mean!"
Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.
Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. "Oh my God," she breathes, shooting to her feet. "I am so sorry, Hotch. I didn't know- I thought you were kidding.. You're not the kind of person who jokes like that!"
Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesn't bother responding— he's far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.
"Poor baby," you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips.
"Don't listen to her. I'm very happy to be married to you."
Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emily's wide eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like she's trying to physically take the words back.
He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk that's rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.
"Put a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow," he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. "Please?"
You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. "Promise," you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once more, quick and sweet, before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.
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docrobinavitch · 2 days ago
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force of nature, pull of gravity | part two
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dr. robby x f!attending!reader PART ONE masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, the entirety of this fic navigates grief in depth, death of mentor (adamson), death of a child/family member, swearing, canon medical events, angst, angst, and more angst words: 8.7K synopsis: we learn a bit more about the origins of reader and robby's relationship in flashbacks, reader and robby continue to butt heads during shift, and robby comes to terms with his feelings while reader tries to figure out how to break some news to him. a/n: well!!! we are back and we are still not done. i really wanted to contextualize their relationship some more for you guys so i ended up writing some flashback scenes that i really adore and while they are a bit angsty as well, i think they are a bit lighter than Present Day so it should break up the trauma i am inflicting i think lmao. also i like purposely took some liberties with the timeline in the season hope thats cool pls suspend ur disbelief anyway!! i think one more part should do it. as always enjoy and my inbox is always open to yap. pls yap with me about them. i beg. <3 syd
The both of you were in and out of Mr. Spencer’s room over the next hour. Robby thought about telling you you didn’t need to follow him back in every single time, but if he was honest, it was your presence keeping him from spinning out. Kept him from seeing Adamson in that bed instead of Mr. Spencer. 
When you rushed out of the room after he called time of death on Mr. Spencer, Robby thought about following you, making sure you were okay. He wasn’t okay, for a myriad of reasons, one of which being that after he was sure you hated him, you had extended an olive branch. 
It was so like you, to try and martyr yourself for him, it had only made him hate himself a bit more, watching you desperately trying not to spiral in that room. For him.
And when you slipped your hand into his, it felt like forgiveness.
He knew things weren’t back to normal. He wasn’t even sure what normal looked like anymore. 
But it was enough, for now, that you reached for him. 
The next time he saw you, you were at central with Jake. He wasn’t sure what the two of you were talking about, but you were smiling. Laughing, even. The sight of it nearly knocked him out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you really, truly smile.
It had to have been before Adamson, before the pandemic. When things were easy between the two of you. When he could touch you whenever he wanted and you would pull him closer instead of pushing him away. 
“Robby,” Jake called out to him when he spotted him and Robby watched as the smile faded off your face. Watched as you stood from your seat and walked off.
He acted like he hadn’t noticed, but it had been fucking him up that the sight of him alone seemed to ruin your mood. He looked down as you passed, caught a whiff of your shampoo as you did and had to close his eyes against the memory of you in his bed. The way his pillows would still smell of your shampoo even a few days after you had left.
“I thought she moved to the night shift?” Jake asked as he nodded in the direction you had walked off in and Robby looked up, shaking the thoughts from his head.
“Uh, yeah… Yeah she, just. We were understaffed so she’s helping out.”
He nodded, “It’s been like… Four years since I’ve seen her?”
“Yeah,” Robby nodded, “Yeah, she’s um, she’s been busy.”
Jake smiled, “I’m not a kid anymore, man, you don’t have to lie to me.”
Robby frowned, shaking his head, “What’re you talking about?”
Jake shrugged, “I mean I think it’s obvious that you guys were dating or something and it went bad—“
“No, it’s not— It’s not like that—“ He sighed, “Look, let me get you the tickets, okay?”
As Robby stormed past the hub again, Trinity watched and then looked to Perlah and Princess, who were also watching and murmuring in Tagalog,
“You guys know about everything around here, right?” Trinity asked.
The two nurses turned and smirked, “Obviously.” Princess said.
“What’s up with Robby and Y/N? Are they sleeping together or something?”
“Oh, old news.” Princess said.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Perlah said, “Ancient history. Long and tortured. There was a bet going for a while, before the pandemic, if they would finally get together. Officially.”
“What are we talking about?” Langdon asked, leaning over the hub.
“You remember the betting pool on if Robby and Y/N would ever get together?”
He nodded and sighed, “Yeah, I think we all lost that one.”
Princess smirked, “I don’t know. There’s still time.”
“You think?”
Perlah nodded, exchanging a look with Princess, “Adamson was always right about this kind of thing. He had $100 on them getting married one day.”
The smiles they exchanged were tinged with a note of sadness. Adamson was always right about this sort of thing.
“Well, now that she’s back on the day shift, maybe it’s time to revive the betting pool.” Frank smirked.
***
“So, what’re you up to this weekend?” You and Robby were walking home from a shift. Your place was about a block away from his and so he had taken to walking you home. You were a third year resident now, Robby an attending.
Your feelings for him had waxed and waned, never completely smothering, but you had dimmed the embers enough that they became just white noise. He never seemed to notice.
You sighed, “My cousin’s getting married tomorrow, but I… I actually don’t know if I want to go.”
“Why not?”
You bit your lip, “I checked off the plus one option six months ago thinking that Josh would come with, but…” Josh had been your on again off again boyfriend for the last year. Right now, you were decidedly off.
But he would call again. Whenever the girl he left you for got bored of him.
“I could go with you.” Robby said and you looked up at him, narrowing your eyes, “Yeah, I don’t have anything going on.”
“Really?” You had made it to your apartment, and you stopped outside the multi family home. You could hear the cicadas and the distant sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the evening.
He nodded and smiled, hands shoved in his pockets, “Yeah, why not? It’ll be fun.”
And it was fun, toting Robby around to meet your family, gently correcting them when they referred to him as your boyfriend. But he was a good sport about it all, bragging about how good of a doctor you were to anyone who would listen.
“You’re embarrassing me,” You hissed, but secretly you were pleased. You never tired of hearing him tell you that you were good. That you belonged.
“Why? You’re not used to people speaking highly of you?”
You frowned, “That was mean.” You said softly.
“I didn’t mean it to be.” He said gently, “I just meant… Doesn’t he ever brag about you?”
“Who?”
“Josh.”
In truth, you hadn’t thought about Josh all night and it irritated you to hear Robby bring him up like this. You rolled your eyes, “What does it matter? We broke up.”
One side of Robby’s mouth turned up and he ran a hand down his beard. The beard was relatively new. It had been an effort to keep your infatuation stifled as he had grown it out. You didn’t think you liked beards until he grew one. It was insufferable the way he made everything look so sexy.
“Yeah, I know, I know. But I also know you’ll pick up the phone the next time he calls.”
You shrugged, grabbed a flute of champagne from the waiter who was floating them through on a tray, “He might not call again.”
He laughed, “Right.”
“What?”
He shook his head, “He’ll call.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
A slow song began to play and couples all began to drift to the floor. Robby placed his champagne on the nearest table and extended his hand to you, “Dance with me?”
You fought a smirk, but put your hand in his all the same and let him lead you to the floor. He took your free hand and placed it on his shoulder. Sliding his other hand around to your lower back, he gently pulled until you were nearly flush against him.
This close, you tried not to show how much it flustered you. If you moved your face just a few inches, you could kiss him.
“He’ll call,” Robby said softly, “He’d be an idiot not to.”
You hummed, “Right. Which as my friend is something you have to say.”
“No,” He shook his head and then bent your foreheads together. “No, I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re smart, funny, compassionate… absolutely stunning.” You swallowed and had to break his stare for fear he’d be able to look right through you. To see effortlessly how much his words affected you. 
“Your only flaw is that you always take the last protein bar from the break room and never replace them after.”
You laughed softly, “But I always split the last one with you.”
He huffed a laugh, “See? Generous as well. The whole package.”
You allowed yourself to look back up into his eyes as the two of you continued to sway gently to the music, “Thank you for coming with me.”
He nodded, “I’ve got you.” 
You watched as his eyes tracked across your face, down to your mouth. You were still so close, his hot breath fanned your lips.
And when you bit your lip you heard his breathing falter. So slowly, you almost didn’t notice it, he leaned closer to you.
“What are you doing?” You whispered. Your lips were almost brushing. But you didn’t move away, didn’t make any indication you didn’t want him to kiss you.
His eyes darted up to yours, pausing. You couldn’t read him, what it was he was thinking. But maybe he could see it in your face, the way you wanted him. Maybe he had known this whole time.
He didn’t answer your question, but pushed his lips into yours. It was soft and chaste, you barely got a taste of him. He pulled back and you moved with him, chasing his lips with your own. You had waited for this for God knew how long and he was going to tease you like this? No, no you wouldn’t allow it. 
When you deepened the kiss, your tongue sliding against his, he groaned into your mouth and pulled away again. When you tried to follow a second time, he laughed before tugging your hand, “Not here.” He said and then began pulling you away from the dance floor.
Your heart pounded as he headed down abandoned hallways, searching for an empty room, which he found after a couple of minutes. 
It looked like an abandoned rehearsal room. Wooden floors and the far side wall were floor to ceiling mirrors. You noted the redness around your mouth from where Robby’s beard had rubbed against you.
Chairs were stacked up against a wall and a dusty piano and bench sat in the corner.
Robby closed the door behind you before he was kissing you again, pushing you up against a wall immediately. There was no talking, only frantic panting and desperate moans. The occasional murmured curse he pushed into your mouth, always a hint of disbelief behind it, like he wasn’t quite sure this was happening either. 
He hitched one of your legs up to his hip, his hand sliding greedily up the exposed skin of your thigh and under your dress until his fingers brushed against the lace of your panties.
The heat of his touch made you feel lightheaded. He gripped your jaw and pushed your face to the side so he could kiss down the column of your throat.
“Do you… Do you have a condom?” You asked breathlessly.
His hands froze and he pulled back marginally so he could see your face. And when you looked back at him you thought you saw fear there. For a second, you were sure his panic mirrored out of your own eyes. You seemed to have broken some sort of spell and you could see him retreating behind his eyes. Going somewhere you couldn’t follow.
And then the door opened and Robby jumped away from you, your previously hiked up dress now cascading down your legs. Erasing all evidence of Robby’s want. Though you could still feel his phantom touches on your skin like burns.
“Oh—Shit—Sorry—!” Someone stammered and then there was a giggle. Another couple looking to do what you and Robby had just been doing. 
The door closed again and Robby ran a hand from the back of his head, down to his neck, “Do you know them?”
Wordlessly, you shook your head.
He nodded, but wouldn’t look at you. Then, he started pacing, hand to his mouth, long strides in front of you. You watched him for a few moments, picking at your cuticles.
“Could you stop that? You’re freaking me the fuck out.”
He stopped and looked up at you, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—“ He raised his hands as if to touch your face, then thought better of it and dropped them, “I’m sorry.”
He was apologizing. You wanted him so badly you couldn’t see straight, and he was apologizing, the regret dripping off him. Like he could sweat you out of his system if he tried hard enough.
You shook your head, stomach dropping with every second that passed. You were starting to feel nauseous, “It was that bad, huh?” Your tone was joking, but you dropped your head and looked at your hands.
“No.” He said emphatically, “No, it’s–It’s not you–”
“Really?” You scoffed, “Because it kinda feels like it is.”
He pressed his lips firmly in a line, “It’s not, I just–I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
You nodded slowly, prayed that the pain of the rejection didn’t flash on your face like a neon sign.
“It was just a kiss, Robby,” You said more dismissively than you felt, “It’s fine. It doesn’t have to be this big thing. I’m not a kid.”
You pushed past him, needing to get out of the room so you could breathe again. 
He followed a few steps behind, “I didn’t say you were, I just—I want to make sure we’re on the same page because your friendship is really important to me—“
“Robby,” You interrupted, turning to face him. You didn’t want to hear anymore about your friendship when his hands had been up your dress just minutes ago, “Message received, okay? We’re good. I promise.”
Those brown eyes looked you over sadly, searching, as if he were trying to figure out if he believed you or not. Finally, he nodded, “Okay.” 
The drive home from the wedding was quiet except for the erratic drumming of Robby’s fingers against the steering wheel.
When he pulled in front of your place, he got out of the car before you could tell him not to, coming around your side to open the door.
Silently, you got out, let him walk you to the door.
“I’ll see you Monday?” He asked, hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugged up to his ears.
He was nervous, you realized. Maybe thought you were mad at him. But you weren’t, not really. You were more upset with yourself for believing for just a second that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him.
If he wanted to just be friends, you could take that. Because the truth was, you hadn’t had a friend who understood you the way he had in years. Maybe ever. 
So you smiled at him and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you Monday.”
He nodded back and looked like he was about to turn and walk off, but instead pulled you into a hug. Head resting on his chest, you sighed and closed your eyes. He kissed your hair before pulling away and walking off, hands still shoved in his pants pockets.
You watched him go before letting yourself inside.
Robby had been right. Josh did call you that night. And when he slipped between your sheets, the only way you could come was squeezing your eyes shut tight and pretending it was Robby’s hands on you. Robby’s tongue in your mouth and between your legs.
You didn’t see Josh again after that.
***
You were walking towards the ambulance bay for a quick break when Cassie McKay called out to you.
“Hey, McKay,” You smiled, “What’s up?”
“I—“ She shook her head, “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I’ve already talked to Robby about it and… And I just think that he’ll be more likely to listen to you—“
“Listen to me about what?”
After a moment, Cassie launched into a story about a mother who had self induced vomiting to get her son to bring her here so she could get him help. Help because she feared he might do something awful.
“He has a… list. Of girls.” Cassie shook her head, but you didn’t need her to finish. You knew exactly what sort of list it was.
“And you think Robby isn’t handling it correctly?”
McKay sighed, “He hasn’t called the cops. The kid ran out of here hours ago and his mom can’t reach him. Says he never showed up at school.” She shrugged hopelessly, “I don’t know, I just. It doesn’t feel right.”
You nodded and swallowed. It didn’t feel good to you either, “I’ll talk to him. Thank you.”
It didn’t take long for you to find him, he was talking to Samira about something when you came up beside him.
Perhaps more out of habit than anything, you put a hand on his arm to get his attention and his eyes zeroed in on you immediately. 
You pulled your hand away, “Could I talk to you for a second?”
He nodded eagerly and it sent a pang through you for a moment, seeing how badly he wanted your approval, your forgiveness, “Yeah, of course.”
You led him into an empty exam room and closed the door, but before you could say anything he had started talking.
“I know you brought me in here to… To talk to me about something care related probably, but I just wanted to say that…” He sighed, “I… Really appreciate you helping out with Mr. Spencer. It felt like… like old times. Having you there.”
It stumped you for a second, hearing him so clearly communicate what he was feeling. It hit you then that he was trying. Really trying, maybe for the first time since you had known him. 
Once the surprise wore off you gave a short shake of your head, “Yeah, of course.” You swallowed and met his gaze, “I’ve got you.”
And you meant it. Pushing all the bullshit aside, you could never not care about him. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to turn off the instinct to run to him if he was falling apart.
He looked at you now with those big, sad eyes and it took everything you had not to open your arms to him.
He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I know that’s not why you grabbed me, so what d’you need?”
You nodded, “Yeah, so I heard there’s a mom here who made herself sick to bring her potentially dangerous son here and now he’s eloped?”
“Well,” He said slowly, “He was never a patient here so I think ‘eloped’ might be an unfair characterization—“
“Robby, why haven’t you called the police?”
He stared at you for a moment before scoffing, crossing his arms, “Since when are you itching to call the authorities?”
“McKay said he had a hit list.”
“That’s not—“ He ran his hands over his face, “We don’t know that, alright? Calling the police in prematurely could ruin his life—“
“How so?” You said, and now it was your turn to scoff, “I mean, can we be fucking serious for a second here? He’s a white man, a kid. If we’re wrong and there’s no evidence of him planning an actual crime, then the worst that happens is he comes in for a psych eval.”
He was shaking his head, “Involuntary psych holds can be very traumatic as you know—“
“I think prison and a bunch of dead teen girls would be worse, don’t you?”
He was irritated that you were calling him on this, you could tell. It was rare for the two of you to disagree on how to handle patients. When you did, it tended to get ugly. Quickly. Both of you were prideful and stubborn.
“While I appreciate your professional opinion,” He said slowly, “It is just that: your opinion. Which I will take into consideration, but I’ll remind you it’s my call as senior physician.”
You barked a laugh, “Okay, sure, pull rank—“
“I’m not pulling rank—“
“Adamson would’ve called the cops by now.”
The silence that fell was painful and ugly and part of you wanted to take it back when you saw the look on his face. It was too far and on today of all days. It would have been kinder for you to have hit him.
“Wow,” He said finally, and raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, turning away so he didn’t have to look at you, “Really? Is this what we’re doing now?”
You swallowed, “You are failing that kid and his mom and those girls every second you let pass without calling the police.”
He nodded, still not looking at you, “Yeah, thank you for your advice. Is that all or did you have any other wisdom you’re dying to impart?”
“You don’t have to be an asshole about it,” You said, skirting around him to get to the door, “I’m just trying to help, which is what I thought you wanted.”
He laughed humorlessly as you opened the door, “Right, yeah. Very helpful.” 
You sighed and turned back to him, “If you’re wrong about this, could you live with it? Because with the way you blame yourself for literally everything, I don’t think you could. And I fucking care about you, believe it or not, and I don’t want to see you falling down a hole you can’t climb out of.”
He scratched at his beard and finally looked back at you, a rueful smile on his face, “A bit late for that, I think.”
He pushed past you then as Whitaker called out for his help with something.
***
Robby’s eyes were glossy as he stared at you from across Central, hands gripping the chart in his hands too tightly.
Adamson came up beside him, followed his gaze to you and the new general surgery fellow, and stifled a smirk. 
He had watched the two of you do this will they/won’t they dance for years now, quietly hoping the both of you would get it together eventually. You were good for each other, he thought. Balanced each other out, listened to one another. Robby always knew when something was bothering you long before Adamson had picked up on it. He was the only one who seemed to be able to get through to you when you allowed self doubt to take over your every action and treatment plan. And you glowed under the light he shined your way. 
In turn, you were able to get through to him when he was being hard headed and self absorbed. When he couldn’t see past what was right in front of him to the bigger picture. You broadened his perspective, made him a better doctor for it every day. Made him a better man. 
Before you came along, Adamson worried about the way Robby tended to carefully pack away any unpleasant feelings, assuming that once packed away they could no longer damage him. He seemed to let you in more than anyone else, but not quite enough.
Adamson thought you could get there with him, though. Once Robby stopped packing away his feelings for you along with everything else.
“Something on your mind, Dr. Robby?”
Robby straightened and looked to Adamson, blinking away the glazed over look he’d had just moments ago when staring at you, “No, no, I, uh–” He looked back at you for a second then again to Adamson, shaking his head, “I just, the new fellow’s been down here a lot, seems sort of unnecessary, don’t you think?”
Adamson smiled slightly and turned his attention to you and the fellow. You were still discussing a patient, he thought, but the fellow was standing very close to you. And you made no move to widen the distance. In fact, when he leaned in to say something quietly in your ear, a hand on your upper arm, you leaned into him.
He sighed and turned back to Robby whose jaw was now clenched, “I think he’s doing his job, if a little flirtatiously. Maybe you should be honest about what’s really bothering you.”
Robby balked, “I–” He couldn’t stop himself from looking at you again, that wide smile on your face as you looked at the fellow, “It’s not like that with us, you know that.”
Adamson nodded, “Right. And how did your romantic weekend getaway to the mountains go?”
Robby flushed bright red as he looked back at Adamson, “We went as friends. I wanted to show her the new cabin I bought. We slept in separate rooms.”
It wasn’t technically a lie. You had slept in separate rooms, separate beds. But that hadn’t stopped him from railing you in the shower, eating you out on the floor in front of the fireplace, or pushing himself inside of you while you sat on his kitchen table, begging for more of him, deeper, harder.
Adamson shrugged, “Okay. If that’s what you need to tell yourself.” Robby was still staring at him, slack jawed and blushing, “Look, I don’t want to meddle in your personal life. But I feel as someone who has known you both for a number of years… It’s just obvious to me that you love her and I don’t know why you don’t do anything about it.”
“Of course I love her,” Robby scoffed, “So do you.”
Adamson tilted his head knowingly, “Not the way you do, son.”
Robby knew that there was probably some truth to what Adamson was saying, but that scared the shit out of him. Being friends with you, he could handle. He was good with being your emotional support in the hospital and occasionally outside of it. Regularly sleeping with you, he could also handle, and was in fact, very good at it, as it turned out. But being in a relationship with you, admitting that he was in love with you, he wasn’t sure he could be good at that. He didn’t think he was capable of the vulnerability that would require. You would get sick of constantly begging him to open up to you, to communicate how he felt clearly. And then he would lose you fully. He would lose everything.
So he shook his head at Adamson and started backing away, chart in hand, “It’s not like that.”
But still, he showed up at the bedside of a trauma patient you were caring for, the fellow across the gurney from you. 
You looked at him strangely when he gloved up and pulled on a surgical gown, “Robby, I think we have enough hands on this one.”
“Oh, I know, I’m just observing,” He said smiling, “Seemed like an interesting case.”
The new fellow didn’t catch on to what was going on, but you were pretty certain this was Robby being jealous. His arms were crossed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes weren’t on the patient, they were on you. And he had that fucking hungry look in his eyes, the same one he had the first time he finally gave you what you wanted, pressed you into a wall and made you come with his fingers. His eyes had glazed over as he watched you come undone.
It was fucking unfair of him to be looking at you like that now, just when someone else was giving you romantic attention. It was also unfair that it turned you on.
When the patient was stabilized, the three of you began to walk from the room, but the fellow put a hand on your arm, slowing you to a stop, “Hey,” He ripped a piece of paper from his notepad and handed it to you, “If you… Ever need anything outside of the hospital, that’s my number.”
You tilted your head, smirking, “Need anything like what, an emergency thoracotomy?”
He laughed and looked down, a flush working its way up his neck, “Uh, no, I was thinking more along the lines of… dinner, sometime, maybe?”
Before you can answer, Robby’s hand is on your shoulder, “Sorry, champ, Adamson needs her, it’s pretty urgent.”
He steered you away and walked quickly, arm around your shoulder.
“Where are we going?” You asked, annoyed, “I know this isn’t about Adamson.”
He said nothing until he had pulled you into an empty on-call room, closing the door shut behind you and then pushing you up against it.
Immediately, his mouth was on yours, hungry and desperate, teeth digging into your lower lip. Despite your annoyance, you immediately melted into him, reaching your hands up to knot them in his hair which was longer than usual, beginning to curl around his ears.
“You’re so fucking insufferable,” You murmured and tugged on his hair for good measure, “Got you so worked up over some general surgery fellow I don’t even like–”
Robby pulled away for a moment, ignoring the way you whined at his absence, “You don’t like him?”
You sighed, “Not really, he tries a bit too hard.”
A smirk stretched across his face, “You like men who play hard to get, then?”
You rolled your eyes, “I would’ve thought it obvious.”
He kissed your neck and slipped a hand between your thighs, rubbing you over your scrub pants, “I’m not hard to get, look how easy it was for you to get me in here.”
Your lashes fluttered at his touch and you swallowed hard, “You don’t really want me, though, not the way–” You cut yourself off before you could finish; not the way I want you. There was no point in admitting it when he didn’t feel the same. In fact, he might cut everything off if he knew how you felt in some fake chivalrous attempt to protect you.
He pulled away again, “What? What were you gonna say?”
You shook your head and tried to pull him back to you, “Nothing, keep kissing me, please.”
But Robby remained firm, searching your eyes, “Not the way that guy wants you?”
You sighed in relief that he hadn’t seemed to catch what you really meant to say, “Well, you don’t,” You said, “This is just fucking” You said, gesturing to the space between the two of you, “He wants to date me. Take me out to dinner.”
He nodded slowly, “You can date whoever you want, you know? Just say the word and I’ll back off.”
You dropped your head so he couldn’t see the irritation on your face. You don’t know what you expected, that he’d offer to take you on a real date? He’d finally admit to being in love with you? Obviously he wasn’t, maybe he just liked the way your desire made him feel.
“So you won’t act like a rescue dog with food insecurity the next time someone flirts with me in front of you?”
He smirked and leaned in again, kissing up to your ear and catching your earlobe gently between his teeth, “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”
Robby got down on his knees, pulling down your pants as he went and looked up at you. Your breath hitched in your throat. He had done this many times now and it was your favorite way that he made you come, which was saying a lot, because he was pretty excellent at making you come in a variety of different ways. But there was something about the way he moaned and sighed into you with his mouth on you that felt reverant, like worship. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine those moans sounded a lot like I love you. 
“You have to be quiet,” He said, kissing the skin of your inner thigh as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulders, “Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”
A shiver ran down your spine, but you nodded, “Yes.” You whispered.
With one of your hands knotted in his hair, you stifled your whimpers as he licked and sucked, and fucking moaned into you. When you looked down, he was stroking himself simultaneously and you thought you might combust. The thought of him being so turned on by your taste and your pleasure, by the idea of someone else getting to have you, it drove you wild. 
He could love me. You thought, desperately, muscles beginning to tense low in your belly, He could love me and he could be mine and we could do this every day and I would never tire of it. You bit down hard on your free hand to muffle your moans. In your mind, you imagined what it’d sound like if he whispered I love you into your mouth. And then you came, hard, hips grinding into his mouth. He had told you to be quiet, but he moaned loudly against you when he felt your release, and then he was coming too, moans turning to whimpers that made your skin tingle.
You cleaned up and redressed quickly in silence. When you went to open the door again, he pressed a palm to it, closing it again, “Did you want to grab take out after shift from that Chinese place you like? We could rent a movie or something, you can stay the night at my place.”
Yes, normal things to do with the guy you were just fucking who didn’t love you. You forced a smile and nodded, “Sure.”
Maybe one day Robby would fall in love with you or maybe one day you’d meet someone who’d make you forget all about him. But until then, you weren’t sure you’d ever be strong enough to say no to him.
***
Robby was on edge. He was snapping at people. He had reamed McKay out for going to you, even though he thought she had probably been right for doing that. 
And what upset him the most was that he still hadn’t gotten around to apologizing to you, like he’d been meaning to do for days now. Instead, he had made it worse, like when he fucking brought up Jack to throw in your face.
You were close by and yet always out of his reach, slipping by during a trauma, carefully avoiding brushing against him. It was fucking with him.
Because if this were a few years ago, he wouldn’t have had any qualms apologizing to you. It wouldn’t have been so difficult. He had groveled for you time and time again in the past. But it felt different now. There were now years of silence and tension between them and he was afraid of what he’d find when he cut through it.
Maybe you couldn’t see past this one. And of course, he’d understand that. Even if he said otherwise he could see that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. When he needed you most. It was why he was so eager to deflect it off himself, because most days the guilt of it threatened to eat him alive.
And then if you didn’t forgive him what would he do? How was he expected to keep going after losing both you and Adamson? He couldn’t fathom his life without both of you in it, wasn’t sure who he was without you.
Adamson would have called the cops by now. It hurt spectacularly when you said it. But with you out of the room, out of his reach, he was able to see that you were likely correct about that. 
As much as it stung for him to admit, you and Adamson had always been on the same page about social issues and how best to handle them in the ER. Robby was empathetic to a fault, couldn’t see past the patient in front of him. You, on the other hand, had always had this almost supernatural ability to predict every outcome and how best to avoid or bring them to life.
Robby wasn’t bad at this stuff necessarily, but of the two of you, he was more likely to get it wrong. And Adamson would’ve wanted him to listen to you.
So after much contemplation and standing at the hub with his head in his hands, he picked up the phone and called the police.
It had been a couple of hours since then and he had been pulled from case to case with no end in sight. But finally, finally, he got to the hub and saw the police speaking with David’s mom. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Dana, “Have you seen—“
“Yeah, she’s with the pediatric drowning.” Dana looked up at him, concern written all over her face, “I wanted to grab you earlier, but you’ve been all over the place.”
A pediatric drowning. Fuck. Fuck. “Where?”
Dana pointed to the trauma room behind him and Robby was immediately grabbing a pair of gloves and pushing the door open. The girl had to be only six or seven. She had been intubated, a nurse using an ambu bag to administer oxygen. Whitaker was on top of the gurney performing CPR. Bags of warm saline were strapped to the girl’s chest. The girl’s parents were by her side, in tears as they murmured reassurances to their little girl.
You stood a few strides away from the gurney, face pallid and eyes bloodshot. Your hands were clasped in front of you, but they still shook.
“She feels warmer,” Her mother said, “That’s good, right?”
A nurse did a temperature check, called out a number above ninety degrees. You swallowed, “That’s warm enough for her heart to respond.” Your voice shook, “Rhythm check, Whitaker, pause compressions.” 
When Whitaker lifted his hands, you closed your eyes at the sound of the long, single tone, “Still asystole,” You said, and your voice sounded broken, “Resume compressions.”
Robby stood himself next to you and leaned down slightly to murmur in your ear, “I can take this one, why don’t you go get some air.”
You shook your head, “This is my patient. Her parents trust me. I’m not going to shove them off on a doctor they don’t know on the worst day of their lives.” You said quietly.
There wasn’t time to argue, and besides, you were right. For the best patient care, consistency was best. Especially when it looked this bad. That didn’t mean he liked it though. His hands itched to drag you out of the room, but he clasped them behind his back instead.
The phone rang and your eyes followed Mateo when he picked it up, “Potassium level’s back. 12.2.”
Robby watched as your chin gave the slightest wobble, and then you shook your head slightly before taking in a shaky breath.
Hands still clasped, you walked behind Robby to get to the girl’s parents. You lowered yourself to their level, eyes unfocused as you stared at that girl on the table.
If you blinked, it was your niece on the table instead, hair still wet from the pool. The temporary tattoo of Doc McStuffins you had given her a few days ago had begun to peel and fade from her upper arm. It was your sister and her husband sitting next to her, wailing when you told them there was nothing else they could do.
You blinked again and you’re back in the present. You squeezed your hands together when you felt them shaking again. Steeling yourself, you shifted your gaze to the parents.
“No one has ever survived a cardiac arrest with a potassium level over eleven. There is absolutely no chance for recovery. I am so sorry. Amber has died.” Your voice broke on the last sentence, but it didn’t quite matter. You weren’t sure her parents had really heard you. Immediately they were hyperventilating and sobbing and it took everything you had not to run from this room. You clenched your jaw, “Before we stop, do you think her sister would like a chance to say goodbye?”
“No,” Her dad said tearfully, “No, she shouldn’t see her like this.”
You nodded, your own tears threatening to choke you, “Okay. You can stay with her for as long as you like. We are going to stop now.” You nodded to Whitaker who lifted his hands, the monotone beep once again filling the room, “Resuscitation efforts discontinued at 1751.”
You rose to standing and waited for Mateo to turn off the alarms, “Excuse me,” You murmured as you pulled your gloves off and then you were leaving the room.
Vaguely, you heard Robby call out your name behind you, but you didn't stop until you were in the ambulance bay. You backed yourself into the wall and sank to the ground, desperately trying to level your breathing, but you continued to shudder and hyperventilate with your head between your knees.
There was a shadow in front of you and you didn’t need to look up to know it was Robby, lowering himself to the ground beside you. When you felt his arm around you, you didn’t pull away, you pushed yourself into him instead. He responded by basically pulling you into his lap, your tear stained face pressed to his neck.
“I’ve got you,” He said softly. One of his hands was in your hair, scratching gently at your scalp, “It wasn’t your fault.” He said, and you knew he wasn’t talking about Amber. He was talking about your niece, Gemma.
He had been there that day when the EMTs wheeled her in and you were on top of the gurney, soaked to the skin and performing chest compressions.
It was her pool party, her birthday. And because it was her birthday, she had decided she was a big girl now and didn’t need her swimmies. No one saw her take them off. No one saw her drift to the deep end. It was only when your sister had called out to her that it was time to blow out the candles that anyone realized she was missing. That no one had been watching her. At that point, it had been at least twenty minutes since the last time anyone could remember seeing her. It was anyone’s guess how long she had been underwater.
But you had seen miracles before. People whose hearts had stopped, had been underwater for far longer than should be compatible with life, and their hearts had restarted. Gemma’s could restart too. It was you who dove in and pulled her from the pool, calmly shouted instructions to the people around you as you started compressions.
When Robby pulled you into the family room to tell you that her heart was still in asystole, that her potassium level was too high, you had shaken your head in denial. “No,” You said simply, “No, keep trying, it’ll… It’ll go down.” You both knew that wasn’t true. A potassium level that high indicated irreversible cell rupture.
“Honey, I’m so sorry.” Robby had said with bloodshot eyes, shaking his head, “I told you first in case you wanted to be the one to tell your sister. But I’ll do it if you can’t.”
You had done it, chin wobbling, and voice breaking. You had taken it when she screamed at you that you needed to do more, just saying you were sorry over and over as you looked at Gemma’s still body, tears streaming down your face.
You don’t think your sister blamed you exactly, for what happened to Gemma. But you did think she could no longer look at you without seeing how you hadn’t been able to save her daughter. Your goddaughter. She had stopped calling years ago and you had stopped trying.
Now Robby’s holding you, kissing your head, repeating that it wasn’t your fault over and over until your breathing slowed and settled.
Eventually, you sat up, pulling away from him sniffling, “Sorry,” You said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have fallen apart like that. It’s been years.”
He gave a slight shake of his head, “That’s not something you just get over.”
You stared intently at your fingers, picking at your cuticles, “Thank you. For trying to help.”
“Always,” He said, his voice rough. When you looked at him, his eyes were red rimmed as well, but he was smiling softly at you, “That’s what we do, isn’t it?”
You sighed, and turned away from him, looking back down at your hands, “I wanted to talk to you about something–”
“If it’s about David, the teen with the… list, I called the police. They haven’t been able to find him yet, but they’re looking.”
You blinked in shock, “You called them?”
He nodded, “You were right. You’re always right about that sort of thing. I need to listen more, to… Lean more on my staff for support,” He smiled sadly, “I’m not used to having you on shift anymore, I forget what it’s like to fully trust another doctor at work like that. I’m sorry for not listening.”
You tried to smile back, but ended up biting your lip instead, turning away from him. He wasn’t making this easy, “That’s good, that you called. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
“Okay, what’s up?”
You rose to standing again and waited until he followed suit, “Um, I wanted you to hear it from me first, before… Well, before people start talking.”
Robby’s heart rate was beginning to pick up. What the fuck were you about to say that would have you so nervous, so scared to tell him? Were you… Were you seeing someone? And then a different, larger fear took over, that maybe you were engaged. Or married, even. He hadn’t really spoken to you in about three years. It could be true.
And he was shocked to find out how much the prospect of it sent dread curdling in his stomach. 
He had always known, even before your falling out, that it was a possibility. Likely, even, that some day you’d fall in love with someone else and maybe you’d box him out of your life completely. Surely, your complicated history would make any romantic interest uncomfortable. He wouldn’t blame anyone else for not wanting him in your life. But it had never happened and he suspected it may have partly been because you were a little bit in love with him.
Now, though, you said you still cared, but there was a guardedness about you now he had never seen before. Maybe you had found someone who would love you the way he hadn’t been able to. It would break his heart, but he could be happy for you. He owed you that much.
“I’ve accepted a job offer at Presby,” You said, “I’m putting in my two weeks with Gloria on Monday.”
He thought maybe he’d heard you wrong and so he waited. Maybe for you to clarify or for his brain to fully process, because there was no way that’s what you had said. That you were leaving. Just when he had gotten you back. Just when he was starting to feel like there was a path back to not being so hostile all the time.
But you didn’t correct yourself, just stood there staring at him, waiting for him to say something.
“No,” He said softly, then again, “No, you can’t.”
You tilted your head, looking at him sadly, “Robby–”
He felt like the world was imploding around him, “I know–I know I fucked up. With Adamson, with the way I handled everything, with Collins. I’m sorry. I–I should’ve been there for you, I should have let you in. I should have gone to grief counseling–I’ll go to grief counseling–”
“Robby, please,” Your eyes were watering again, “Please don’t do this.”
“This is what you wanted though, isn’t it?” His voice was frantic even to his own ears, panic coated every single word, “I can still do it, I can be better. I’ll be better, but you can’t– You can’t go, you can’t leave me here. I don't know how to do this without you.” He swallowed, “I don’t think I can do it without you.”
“Yes, you can,” You said softly, “You’ve done okay the last three years.”
“No the fuck I haven’t!” He laughed incredulously, “I’m a fucking wreck without you.”
“And you’re a wreck with me, Robby. Fuck, we’re awful for each other! Can’t you see that?” Tears were streaming down your face.
“That’s not true,” He said, shaking his head, “We’ve had a bad few years, but that’s my fault and I can work on it–”
“Like you promised to work on it four years ago?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, “I get it, I understand why you’re angry, that I’ve hurt you, but I’m telling you, we can fix this. All I want,” He said, voice breaking, “is a chance to fix this.”
You looked at him sadly, chin wobbling, “It’s too late.”
“It’s not–”
“Yes it is–”
“I love you.” He said, shaking his head, “Please don’t say it’s too late.”
You blinked at him, “I love you too, Robby, but it–”
“No, not–” He sighed in frustration, “Not like that. I’m in love with you and… And I know I’ve been avoiding it for almost twenty years now, but I’m… I’m ready now. To try. With you.”
You stared at him for a moment and rubbed at your eyes, “You don’t mean that and it’s fucked up of you to say that to me to try to get me to stay when you know how I feel about you. How I’ve felt about you all these years.”
“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you either, but it’s not like I have a choice now–”
“Yeah, you do!” You shouted, throwing up your hands in exasperation, “You could have continued to fucking push it down the way you have for years instead of doing this to me now when I’m finally trying– When I finally feel able to–” Your voice broke, “When I finally feel like I can close the door on us.”
You looked desperate in front of him, tears streaming down your face. He hated this, that it had come to this. He had been so stupid for years and years, convinced he could never get you what you needed, but never willing to try to be that for you. Maybe it was unfair and selfish of him now, but he couldn’t just walk away.
Carefully, he lifted his hands up to cradle your face and was shocked when you didn’t move away from him, but bent your foreheads together, nudging your nose against his.
“Please don’t,” He said softly, pleading, “Decline the job offer. Let me try just one more time and then… I swear if I can’t do it this time, I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never hear from me again, if that’s what you want.”
You sighed heavily, closing your eyes. Robby kept his eyes on you, though, watched as you wet your lips with your tongue.
“Let me go.” You murmured softly, and he heard the tears caught in your throat.
He shook his head against your forehead, “Never.”
Your chin wobbled, but eyes still closed, you inched your mouth towards his. You tasted just like he remembered, except for the saltiness of your tears. He held you to him with a hand on the back of your neck as he kissed you deeply, hoping you could feel it, that he meant it this time. That he was trying. That he would do anything to keep you here, with him, like this.
You whimpered as you opened your mouth to him and he sighed into you, his hands shaking as they touched you, explored you like they used to–
The ambulance bay doors slid open and the two of you sprang apart as Dana walked outside. If she noticed any weirdness between the two of you, she didn’t say anything. 
She looked from Robby to you and then back again, her expression unreadable as she held a phone to her ear, “There’s an active shooter at Pitt Fest.”
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queersyourgender · 16 hours ago
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hi! could you do something with Robby x diabetic reader. Maybe something where their blood sugar drops and Robby has to help them get it back up!
HR Violating Sweetness — Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x GN!Reader
Notes: Fun fact— diabetes runs in my family! I have no idea if it skipped me or not, but I sure as hell don't want to find out LMAOO
———
Being a charge nurse is no easy job. It's a grueling, heavy task, and as such, not for the faint of heart. You've always been good at prioritizing who needed earlier care than who, minimizing the amount of time wasted deciding what happens when, and directing your fellow nurses and medical assistants to getting the job done, all with the frightening efficacy of a drill sergeant. It's practically the perfect job for you.
Sometimes, though, your body disagreed. With all the stress it puts you under, you're bound to buckle every now and then, and you hate when that happens in front of others. It's kind of on you this time, though, because you'd been late for the first time in decades, and had rushed out of your home without taking your breakfast, blood sugar, nothing. You didn't even have your morning tea.
As such, it doesn't surprise you when two hours into the shift, you start feeling unwell. Your eyes refuse to cooperate and focus on the patient board, and just craning your head to look up at said board was making you feel all types of wrong. Without noticing, you lean back on the nurse's station counter, your breaths shallow and your gaze glassy.
Perlah does notice, though, because you're not leaning on the counter, you're leaning on her. “Woah, hey, you okay?” She asks you, her concern spiking immediately when you try to say something but end up muttering slurred gibberish in her general direction. Quickly, she gets to her feet, holding you up to support you and looking around frantically for the patient's food cart.
But it's busy as fuck today, there's so many people walking and buzzing about, and she can't see it anywhere. “Fuck, could I get some help over here?!” Perlah finally relents, knowing you were probably going to chew her out for it later but not particularly giving a damn at the moment, not when you're about to slip into hypoglycemic syncope.
It's not an uncommon sentence to be yelled out in the ER, but it's who it's coming from that makes Robby immediately drop everything and bound over to the nurse's station at an embarrassing speed. “I'm fine,” is the first thing you say when he swims into your vision, trying to shake your head but just making yourself more dizzy. “Just need something to eat.”
“You haven't eaten?” Robby inquires, his voice sounding far away but still clear enough for you to pick up on his incredulity. You go to say something, only for him to suddenly take something out of his pocket, hurriedly unwrapping it and shoving it into your hands. “Here, take this.”
You blink at it unfathomingly for a moment, because why does he just have that at the ready, but take it from him with shaky hands anyway. The moment you bite into the chocolate bar, you can feel your body rebalance itself, feel your feet become steadier on the ground and the strength seep back into your knees.
“You walk around with chocolate bars in your pockets?” You say, finally sounding a little more like yourself, and both Perlah and Robby sigh in relief. At the question, though, Perlah also turns to the attending, a knowing and teasing smile on her face as she watches him to see how he's going to answer.
Robby flushes slightly, his cheeks dusting a soft pink as he scratches at his beard and looks back at you with a sheepish grin. “They're for you,” he settles on revealing  because how the hell was he going to get out of this one? No lie would be believable. “Just in case.”
Your own face heats up in surprise at the words, before you suddenly adorn a shit-eating expression and laugh. “Aww, Robby,” you coo playfully, waving the chocolate bar between you two and winking. “If I'd known you were this sweet, I'd've just kissed you instead.”
And oh, the HR violation is so worth the way his entire head erupts into a violent shade of tomato red, you can practically see steam coming out of his ears to cool off. Perlah throws her head back and laughs, nudging you in the shoulder and turning away to go back to work. She's obviously trying to sneak away before you give her the aforementioned chewing out, but for the moment, you allow it.
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darlingdreadwrites · 2 days ago
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Playing House
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pairing: Ticci Toby x GN!Reader
summary: Another victim, another free place to stay. Toby decides to make this house a home with you.
contains: fluff, kisses, angst, tobias “malewife” erin rogers, established relationship
warning: 18+ suggestive themes, light smut under red divider (mostly dry humping), name calling
word count: 3k
masterlist
a.n: I MISSED WRITING I MISSED TOBY!!!! im giddy as FUCK uploading this
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Toby had made an offhand joke last night. One that hadn’t hit you even as you wrapped the body, or even as he kissed you so sweetly before bed. “This could be a good home,” he’d said. You were too preoccupied swatting his hand away from your ass to see the genuine fondness behind that smile.
Well, you did have to stay here for a couple days. And despite the mess you two made during the attack (no thanks to Tobias), it was the homiest place either of you had ever been. Neither of you could remember what a home was, but you could guess this was pretty close. It was clearly lived in – there were trinkets dusty with memories, and pictured remnants of a once full family.
But your heart nearly drops to your ass the second you smell something burnt. Sitting upright, your hand reaches blindly for the hunting knife under your pillow. Your eyes snap in search of Toby, mind racing through every possibility. It’s still dark, even as a speck of sunlight hits your cheek.
This guy had no living family, you tell yourself.
But there is someone clanking things together in the kitchen. Was the information you received about the victim wrong, and he did have a family?
Or – even worse – he had come back to life.
“Good morn—”
Thwack – the blade hits the doorframe just next to the head of an unbothered Toby.
“—ing, huh-honey!” he beams, holding a stack of charred pancakes on a floral plate.
He’s wearing a frilly apron over his usual hoodie – stained cuffs and all. You’re reigning in that shake from your survival instincts before you can fully connect the dots on what the fuck was happening. Toby cooking. Toby calling you honey. Toby wearing an apron. Toby waking up before you?
“Why are you a housewife?” You can’t help but ask, voice still a little shaky.
“Just trying this place out.” He shrugs. He’d said it so plainly – like you two were playing house at every home you’d broken into.
But in reality, none of this is normal. At least, it isn’t normal for you two. These extended jobs would usually end after the second night after some stealing or even fooling around. You didn’t think twice about it at this point. These people were dead, most of their items had no use to you, and neither of you had ever used the stove. It is beyond stupid to leave evidence of further life after the death of a homeowner.
But the rustling of the duvet being pulled down by your boyfriend has brought you back. He is still beaming (and you’d just noticed he wasn’t wearing his mask or goggles) and holding up his mountain of pancakes like a prize.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” you lament as the realization that you’d have to leave the most comfortable mattress you’ve ever been on hits you.
His grin only widens, blinking rapidly. “What, cuh-can’t a wife… make breakfast for her-her hardworking spouse?”
“You’re my wife now?”
“Uh. Duh.”
You don’t question it – you can’t. Because something about this display is way too endearing for you to really complain about. He kissed your cheek when you finally had the strength to get out of bed, and led you to the mess he’d made in the kitchen. You take and eat as much of the burnt pancakes that your body allows. And to your surprise – and dismay – watch as he takes out a carton of eggs. Like the pancakes weren’t already a nightmare to swallow, you sigh internally. You insisted on letting you help him, and he only obliged if you taught him how to do it himself… while hugging him from behind. And, yeah, you got elbowed a few times thanks to his tics, but it was still… sweet.
And when everything was settled – five ruined eggs later – you two sat at the small table in the kitchen.
“We’ll have to burn some documents today,” you remind him, stabbing at the yolk. “Saw some blood on the mantlepiece, but, otherwise, clean-up will be—”
“You m—… mean house chores?”
Easy, you want to correct him. It took you a second to realize he meant he wanted to call the usual routine of cleaning up evidence house chores.
Your lips twitch, and you try to tone down the dryness in your tone when you reply. “‘House chores?’ Yeah, we can call them ‘house chores.’”
You really tried, but Toby still caught on to the way your shoulders shook with barely contained laughter.
He scoffs, eyes narrowing and lips parting. “I sl-slave over a hot stove, make your-your eggs sunny-side up like you like ‘em—”
“I never said I liked them that way.”
“You do n—… now.”
You push the last unidentifiable chunk of burnt pancake or egg around your plate, eyeing him. His grin is all teeth, chin tucked down like he’s waiting for you to admit something.
“I’m begging you,” you mutter, dropping your fork. “Don’t ever cook again.”
Toby gasps, clasping a hand to his chest at your insult to his very honor.
You snort and lean forward to kiss the pout off his face, ignoring the crumb at the corner of his mouth. He still tastes faintly like syrup and smoke. His tics make the moment stutter – shoulders twitching, head giving a sharp jerk – but you just kiss through it.
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After breakfast, you both move into your so-called “house chores.” The body’s already starting to smell from the corner you’d left him in, so you get to work. Toby hovers at the edge of the living room, head tilted, watching you drag the tarp with practiced ease.
“Need huh-help with that?” he asks, strangely sheepish.
You glance up from where you’re crouched. “I wouldn’t want my wife getting dirty.”
Toby grumbles something, but the way his ears flush pink says enough. He grumbles all the way to the window instead, broom in hand.
“Fuckin’ raccoons,” he mutters under his breath as he starts sweeping up the glass.
You don’t have the heart to correct the story he’s decided on. The dead man in the tarp certainly isn’t going to argue. And, honestly, it’s easier to get through the day when you treat it like a bit. Toby’s always been good at that – leaning into the performance of it all. Like if he laughs while scrubbing blood off the floor, it’s not really there. Like if he calls it “spring cleaning,” then the fireplace isn’t currently burning someone’s mortgage, passport, and evidence that could lead to public discovery of that T̷̡̠̥͓̠̲͇̏H̴̳̥̝́̽I̶̢̮̙̥̘̹̩̰͙͒͒̏̽͋͠ͅN̶̛̼̋̄͆͌͜͝G̶̡͇̝̠̬̖̺͓͔̼͒̂̓̎͊͝ ̵̱͈̞̼̺̩̙͙̐͑̿T̶̛̳̰̳͚̬̩̲̕͜͠ͅȨ̶̡̼͇̱̣͋̇̆́̽̑̕͠͝T̴͈̹̈́͗̽̎̓͋̍͘H̸̭̬̽́̅̉͋͆͝͝E̸̫͔͈̥̥̘̳̔͝͝͝R̸̛̝̮̾̓͆̆̀̂̈́E̷̮̱̜̮͎̠̪̹̺̊͑̈̓D̵̥̱̬̮̦̂͒͋͒̑̾͑̄ͅ ̶̮̠͈̳̈́̉̑̀̉͘͜͝͠͝T̵̢̝̮̼̳̠̝̉ͅO̶̪̻̱͉͓͑͛̃̐̓͌̒̓̽̈́͜ͅ ̵̢̢͔̲̺̓̇̔̉̒̆͜Y̸̹̯̱̖͕̋Ơ̵̲̳͉̝̺̳̟̏̆́̔͜Ů̷̜̩͛̓́̀Ŕ̴̡̓̽͒̌̉̽̊̎̈́ ̴̛̥͋͛̉̓̒͗͒͠S̵̡͔̖̰̹̮͕̅̓̈́̊̃Ǒ̵̢̖̤͙͉̲̹̕͠U̵̢͈̟̜͉̓̈́̕L̵̨̡̬̭̠͓̩̼̑̿̀S̸̳͈͉͕̈́͐͊.
Toby glances over at you every few minutes, face glowing like he’s waiting to be praised. Every time you pass each other, it’s always something new.
“Don’t forget the-the receipts, babe,” he calls, flicking an old envelope into the fire. “You know we duh-don’t wanna… get audited.”
“Right,” you reply sarcastically.
Later, as you’re scrubbing the mantlepiece, you hear him behind you.
“If I m—… mop the floor, he starts casually, “do I get a kuh-kiss on the cheek like a-a good little homemaker?”
You turn and are met with him batting his lashes, his lips puckered shamelessly. You want to shove his face away and laugh out a “You’re unwell,” but you let him have you anyway.
You walk over, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek, and mutter, “You’re dumb.”
“Kn-knew you loved me,” he says way too loud.
But the next time you catch him in the kitchen, he seemed to suspend his performance. He stands quietly near the sink, staring down into a chipped porcelain mug. His thumb moves slowly across the faded floral print. He follows the raised vines like they’ll reveal whatever question floats in his mind.
You don’t say anything. You just watch him trace something he can’t quite name, remembering a version of a life he never got. And how badly he wants this one to be real.
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The bathroom is too small for the both of you, especially like this – half-naked, damp with sweat, hunched over the porcelain tub. The only light comes from the flickering fixture above the mirror, just enough to catch the faint red stains swirling through the suds. The blood’s mostly out of your clothes now… mostly.
Toby’s hoodie and undershirt are bunched in the corner of the tub, soaked and marbled with pink foam. His cargo pants are hung above your heads to dry, leaving him in a pair of dark boxers hanging low on his hips. Your knees and middle are sore from leaning over the edge, fingers raw from all the scrubbing and chemicals. Still, you work in tandem. Even as he (after giving up) perches awkwardly on the closed toilet lid, legs spread like he owns the place.
It’s gross – humid – quiet, save for the soft splash of water and Toby’s occasional vocal tic.
“M-missed a spot,” he says at one point, voice light. He points to a dark red smeak near the armpit of your hoodie.
“You gonna do it?” you ask without looking up.
“Nope,” he chirps. “Wife’s off duty.”
You huff out a laugh, and it echoes strangely between you. The walls are too close, the air too still. The mirror – fogged-over – watched you both like an eye that’s seen far too much.
Eventually, the tub’s full of pale pink water, and the worst of the stains are gone – at least enough to pass. You wring out the final shirt, your hands aching from the cold, and drape it across the bent shower rod.
And now… you wait.
Toby stands slowly, joints cracking. His skin is pale, mottled in places, and scabbed in others. You sit side-by-side on the edge of the tub, damp knees bumping once, twice. And, for a while, it’s quiet.
You’re not even sure why you say it.
Maybe it’s that hanging silence, or it’s the surreal feeling settling over your skin like a second layer. It’s wet fabric clinging to damp flesh – a reminder that the blood on your clothes was real, that someone died here, that your boyfriend is humming under his breath in a dead man’s house and calling himself your wife. Maybe it’s the way Toby keeps glancing at the mirror like he’s waiting to see something reflected that isn’t there.
Or maybe it’s the fact that you can see him clinging to this fantasy with a grip so tight it’s starting to leave marks.
You say it – you can’t wait any longer.
“You know this isn’t real, right?”
Toby’s still smiling, lips curled up at the corners and twitching more obviously where his gash exposes most of his teeth. It’s like you’d just told a joke he already knew the punchline to. But then it falters – barely, but it does. A flicker. Another twitch. It’s enough to expose the frayed edge underneath his composure. Like something inside him just tore a little.
His voice, when he speaks, is too soft to be teasing. “Why not?”
It has you hesitating. “Toby…”
He shifts on the lip of the tub, spine going ramrod straight, his shoulders pulled tight like a puppet’s. his fingers flex and curl against his thighs. The smile’s still there – but now it looks too sharp and stretched beyond his left cheek. It’s not quite manic or performative, just wrong. It’s a mask that’s beginning to peel away from the skin.
And when he looks at you – eyes wide – his whole body trembles. Not with the erratic tics and spasms that come and go without warning, but something quieter. It quakes beneath the surface, too deliberate to be a symptom.
It’s not his body reacting – it’s him.
He leans in, breath ghosting your jaw. He’s close enough you can feel the heat from his skin, close enough to smell the scorched sugar from those god-awful pancakes. His voice is low and trembling.
“Doesn’t… doesn’t it f-feel… good pretending?”
And – fuck – it does.
You want to deny it. You want to remind yourself what you’ve done, what he’s done, what you’re passed the point of. But the lie is too sweet. It’s in the softness of his hands when he passed you the dish soap. It’s in the way the fireplace crackled when you burned old bank statements together. It’s in the way his thumb lingered on that mug when you caught him.
It’s in the way he tucked you into bed last night with a soft kiss not meant as a joke.
You look around; the damp clothes, the ruined bath, the sound of water dripping from the tap into the silence. And it does feel good – horrible, fake, beautiful.
The quiet. The clean floors. The mattress with just enough give to feel like comfort. Toby sweeping up glass. The apron. The kisses. The food you choked down on because he made it with a kind of sincerity that frightened you more than his violence ever could.
It’s twisted. It’s yours.
He watches you now like a stray waiting to be told to leave. His beautiful brown eyes are hooded now, his chin tilted up just enough, waiting patiently for a slap or the meeting of your lips. Because if you say the wrong thing, he could vanish in a puff of smoke – or worse, he’ll stay and never quite come back from where he’s gone in his head.
You swallow down the lump in your throat.
“Let’s go to bed, honey.” It’s silly as it whispers out of your lips, like you were some husband in a sitcom.
But that’s all it takes.
His hands find your face, his fingers too rough and clumsy from years of scar tissue and nerve damage. He can’t feel the heat in your skin, but he whimpers against your lips like he can. His lips crash into yours, crooked and open and too wet. Your teeth knock, tongues licking into each other. All need, no finesse. Like he’s been married to you for decades and just clawed his way out of the grave to find you again. He’s not kissing you; he’s devouring you – starved of you. His hands grab at your shoulders, your waist, your arms, like he’s checking for seams. Like if he finds a zipper, he’ll uncover this moment was just a costume. You know he’d be devastated if it were true, but it’s the morbid curiosity of the moment. You feel his chest shake as he presses against you, and you don’t know if he’s laughing or sobbing.
You nearly trip over a towel trying to stand, and he’s already pulling at you, pulling you out of the bathroom by your wrist. You’re leaving wet footprints in your wake, and you don’t even make it to the bedroom before a folding table buckles under your backs as you slam into it. The collision sends a stack of unopened letters fluttering to the ground.
Toby doesn’t stop kissing you. His mouth is frantic, wet, bordering on painful with the way he’s gripping your face like it’s the last solid thing ina  burning building. His breath comes ragged, nose brushing yours, moaning softly into your lips every time your hips shift and something presses against him just right.
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His hips rut into you – again, again – like he doesn’t know what else to do. Not even with any rhythm, just pure instinct. Just needing to feel you, push into you, smear himself over you like he can fuse your skin to his and finally be safe somewhere. He fumbles at your waist, then your chest, then your hair. His twitchy fingers dragging, grabbing, squeezing you. He wants to touch everything at once and has no idea where to start.
You gasp when his teeth catches your lip too hard, and he jerks back instantly, pupils blown.
“Shit—s-sorry—fuck—I’ve never… done this as a wuh-wife before.”
“You’re terrible at it,” you manage to whisper, smiling and flushed from the sting and the heat coiling between your legs.
“Rude,” he pants. “Ungrateful bastard.”
You bark out a laugh, somehwhere caught in a moan and a choke. He groans, crashing his mouth back into yours like your laughter drew him in. You’re not sure if he wants to shove something down your throat or take something out at the same time.
He presses his forehead to yours – shuddering – and you feel his fingers twitch where they’ve curled into your damp waistband. His voice is unsteady, stuttering even in his breathing. He murmurs something that could’ve been your name, another apology, or a curse. But he lowers his mouth to your throat all the same.
Every kiss is hot and open-mouthed, dragging along your skin as if attempting to warm you from the outside in. His tongue flicks against your collarbone, glides up to your jaw, then back down to leave little gasps and twitches in his wake. He bites, then soothes, then kisses.
Your hips grind together – slow, awkward, messy. There’s not enough friction, and yet it’s still too much. You can feel him through his boxers, already straining, rutting into the thin fabric between you with mindless, embarrassing desperation. He pants your name into your neck.
“I’d-I’d be s-s-so good at it,” he whispers hoarsely, stammering. “If we h-had a real p—… place. If we ev-ever got out.”
You already are, you almost tell him.
Because he’s a mess above you, his body trembling with effort, his voice caught between sobs and laughter, mouthing at your skin like he can leave marks until the world is something better. For just a second, you believe it’s real. That Toby is really all yours, and you can go wherever you two decide. You can get that dog he’s always wanted. You can let him kiss you into embarrassment in public. You could get married at a stupid young age, or maybe even not ever. You’d have all the time in the world that you pretended you had now.
Pretending hurts less than the truth. And isn’t that obvious? Toby sure seemed to master it.
And you love him for that. For all of it.
For now, it’s enough to let him keep going. To push his boxers down his thighs and hiss against his mouth. To guide his hand between your legs and let him touch you like he’d learned to. And when you arch up and shudder, he sobs your name like he’s dying with you.
Maybe he is, and maybe he will.
126 notes · View notes
rafeslvbug · 2 days ago
Note
im reaaally loving your recent smau and the robin!reader <33 also curious on how do interactions with rafe and robin!reader goes
i. at her dad’s parties.
your eyes had drifted over to him too many times, always having to blink it back to focus on the conversation your dad’s business partner was having before your mom could lightly smack your arm. he was staring, blatantly. giving you a soft smile whenever you looked his way that caused a crimson blush to spread onto your cheeks.
then your mom suggests speaking to the camerons, and your dad agrees it’d be a good idea. but he does so, not without throwing you a look, because he knows– more than your mom– that you and the cameron boy have something going on. you don’t catch the glance. regardless, it was something you’d admit outright if you had to.
ward and your dad are deep in talk, finance and taxes. inflation and stock prices. rose and your mom discuss the upcoming galas, and you and rafe are standing off to the side. you’ve begun rambling about this bird whose wing had broken off by the lake, and rafe’s nodding along. though his eyes sit above your head, throwing glares at every judgemental person who’s listening into your conversation, horrified your mind isn’t filled to the brim with lace and the newest purse.
“rafe what are you looking at?” you rarely realise this type of thing, but you’ll notice anything about rafe. like you’ve studied him as well as those little insects on trees. your head whips around, eyes scanning over the people looking at you, and they keep going because you don’t see anything wrong with that.
rafe gently spins you back around to him, fingers hooking through the loop of the silk bow at the front of your dress. “just thinkin’ about how everyone here isn’t nearly as pretty as you,” he flatters, and you smile, accepting the compliment with as much grace as you can.
then you ask, blinking innocently up at him, “is the dress so pretty, that we can’t still go check up on that bird?”
rafe huffs out a laugh, “your mother’s gonna kill me if i take you.”
“well i’ll just go by myself otherwise,” you shrug, tilting your head up at him which he mocks.
“is she looking?” he mumbles out, and your eyes slip to the side before you subtly shake your hear. rafe breathes out a sigh, a moment of peace then he darts out the door, hand in hand with you.
ii. at the lake
(a. the party) his dress shoes trod over dried mud, rafe occasionally looking back to make sure you were okay in your high heels. but you were just fine. navigating through sticks and stilettos with ease, like it didn’t hurt. you dropped his hand, rushing forward towards the swing, hem brushing the ground. the bird was laying on it, wings tucked at it’s side. you were about to sit on the ground next to it, before rafe hastens to scoop you into his arm. “rafe!” you exclaim, trying to get out of the bridal hold while he sits down on the ground instead, gathering the fabric of your dress onto his trousers to protect them from the dirt. “i think i know how to sit by myself.” “oh definitely, but this dress i’m sure was expensive, and if i’m in trouble with my future in laws for helping you escape in the first place, i’m not trying to make shit worse,” he grumbles, arm around your back. letting you lean forward towards the wooden plank and injured bird, watching as you gently brush it’s feathers back.
(b. in general) you swung your legs from the branch you had perched yourself on, counting the ants in a line on the bark. “i don’t get it,” rafe groans, running a hand down his face. “you beg me to build a swing– i build the swing– now you don’t want the swing? you want to climb the tree!” his words travel through one ear and out of the other, too busy murmuring the numbers out loud. “nine….ten…..eleven..twe– did i count that one?” “what are you even saying?” he asks, looking up at you from his spot on the ground, palms faced up, hands out in surrender. “i’m counting the ants..but i need to start again!” you call back down, returning to the task as quickly as you can, because you never know if they’ll move. rafe’s face drops, rubbing his head as he sits down on the swing he made for you, waiting for you to finish your counting. “take your time, then.”
iii. random dialogues (bringing him a baked good)
“what is this?” rafe’s lip curls upwards when he opens the door. “a cherry pie!” you hold the dish out to him, little splatters of the cherry filling on the edge. “why the fuck have you brought me this?…no offence.” he adds. “well..my mom says baking for people might make them forgive me for my ignorance..so here!” rafe looks up at you confused, then softens. “you did nothing wrong, so no need for an apology or my forgiveness,” he mumbled, accepting the dish anyways, and tugging you inside along with it.
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note: also tysm to that anon <3
83 notes · View notes
keelt9 · 2 days ago
Text
BET A MOLE, BET A KISS Pt.2
Masterlist // Pt.1
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Nothing more relaxing than after 6 hours of sleep, a grosseri shopping in the morning; not the most healthy one.
Cookies, chips and some fruits too; after all it was a hard week. Plus Charlie is now at home too.
With a half of cookie in her mouth she realises in the hallway that goes to the living room, there is a black bag and brown suitcase.
“Morning.” Oscar perks from the stairs. 
“You're here!” Y/N runs upstairs leaving the bags crash on the floor.
Oscar hates that she runs on stairs, she could fall or hurt, silly but that's what it is. “Don't ru…”
She crashes with him taking all his breath away, as he laughs.
“Hi.” Oscar said as she saw his face. 
“Hi.” She has that cute smile on her face.
He notices next to his face there is a half red velvet cookie, causing her to giggle. “Really, you don't drop the cookie?”
“It's a delicious cookie.” Y/N eats the rest of the cookie, notices a strange sensation in her ribs. 
Looking down she finally saw two markers, red and black.
“Are you doing something?” Y/N taking a step back. 
“Well.” Oscar smiles to himself. “While I was winning, by the way…”
Every time, winning or not, Y/N makes sure to give him a special cuddle; sometimes it's a lovely hug, a face covered with kisses, refuse to leave his hands for as long as she can or his favourite, lately, that heart stop kiss. 
Like now, a kiss that is hard not to follow for the way she puts her hands at both sides of his neck as he's set the pace of the kiss, first goes tender until he makes sure to remember in detail every curve of her lips on his.
“Congrats champ.” Y/N said before giving him a last peck. “So are you making something?”
“Oh, right, well, while I was flying back home an idea with a twist came to my mind.”
“Ok.” Y/N switches her face, she concentrates now.
“I want to bet my moles.” Y/N laughs, she didn't mention it because she wants to try it, only because that causes curiosity in her.
Y/N grabs his face, giving him a peck. “I didn’t say that with a purpose, you asked me what ignited my curiosity and that was.” 
“I know, but I want to try it.” Oscar said, seeing her shake her head. 
“Why markers?” She grabs it, thinking, are we serious about doing this?
“How could I know you’re not cheating?” Y/N scoff rolling the markers among her fingers.
“Waterproof?” She scoffed. “Are you actually planning this, huh?”
Oscar nods. “Ok, but first, I’m hungry and I just left 3 bags of chips on the floor, so we have a few things to do.”
After an improvised breakfast as a quick cleaning, they go to the room with the markers, conscious they’ll be there for a long time.
“Wait…” Y/N stops, placing both of her knees at the side of Oscar's waist. “What if I win…”
Oscar smiles, that’s a question that already has a clear answer. “We can’t do anything you want me to do for a week, so…I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
Y/N smirks. “Anywhere?” 
“Anywhere.” She giggles. 
Oscar touched the side of her thighs. “What if you win?” 
“Oh, I want an honest answer and full will.” He licks his lips.
Y/N sighs. “My vacations are close, and for a month I won’t leave your side. Going to the race weeks isn’t that hard.” She leaned down to kiss his lips.
“It’s not about the race, it’s kind of dreamy from you thinking once you tell me you’re on vacation, I’ll leave you here.” Both of them giggle against each other's lips. “Nice try.” 
Oscar loves having her like this, without worries, just relaxing as she plays with each other's words. Outside of those four walls, the world could collapse and still, he will be holding her tight, like now. Her hands holding his face as he holds her waist.
“Is something more than a 3 second decision.” Y/N narrows her eyes. 
“Ok.” She opens the red market but Oscar realizes they miss an important specification. 
“Wait, tell me your range.” He stretched his hands to take the noteblock she has in her night table, taking the black market too.
Y/N scoff. “Do we actually need to write it down?” 
“It’s called being fair, my love.”
With names and numbers written down and glued to the headboard of the bed finally, the counting starts; with laughs, love touches and some of them are more naughty than others. 
For Y/N it was hard to focus from time to time, on the other hand, Oscar enjoyed the moments where her face burns red and the teasing is enough for she smiles sitting back as she takes a deep breath getting her focus again.
Her touches are so delicate and precise that Oscar needs to take deep breaths too to concentrate, just for making sure she’s actually counting and not cheating, the perks of having a surgeon as a girlfriend.
“Done!” Y/N sat back on his lap raising her eyebrows.
“Who wins?” Oscar sits properly, refusing to leave her standing from his lap.
Y/N smirks, making Oscar impatient, when she lifts her eyes from the note she previously took where she writes the number, she tilts her head with a smile. “Are you sweating?”
“A little bit.” Oscar giggled. “Having your girlfriend all over your body kind of makes you sweat, you know?” 
Y/N laughs but pouts. “I guess my dream trip must wait.” She turns around the note, the number that Oscar writes has a smiley face next to it.
Oscar sighs in relief, making Y/N push him softly due she misunderstands his sighs.
“It's not for that!” Oscar grabs her face and puts a kiss on her forehead. “Ready?”
Y/N nods with a calm face. “Remember to think about it deeply before answering, ok?”
“Oscar, I he…” Oscar takes out a small velvet bag from down on the pillow. “Do you have everything prepared, huh?” Y/N chuckles, still doesn’t get what the bag is related to the question.
“I have a good feeling about this.” She smiles but with a conflicted one, the circle shape marks in the tiny bag.
“You know I appreciate you giving me jewelry but…” She grabs his hands over the bag. “Most of the time my hands need to be free of everything and the tingle sounds on my neck are distracting but…”
“It’s not that type.” Oscar turns her hand making a delicate ring fall in the palm of her hand. 
Y/N hiss as her heart beating increases, the beeping on her clock announces it, Oscar takes a deep breath, preparing himself.
“Y/N… D…”
“YES!”
Y/N grip the ring throwing her arms around his neck, not even letting him ask and more less thinking for more than 3 seconds, Oscar laughs holding the back of her head.
He softly whispers at her. “Can I at least ask you properly?” She laughs splitting, in her eyes are already tears but she takes a deep breath.
Oscar takes the ring of her hand. “Y/N, would like to …?”
Y/N sobs, nodding as Oscar softly puts the ring where it belongs, tingling his finger with hers.
“It was worth it, right?” Y/N wipes her tears with confusion. “Bet my moles.”
Y/N shakes her head laughing. “I love you so much.” She said kissing him over and over again. 
“It’s not a soft lunch, NOT AT ALL!” Charles almost ripped his neck from Oscar's body, when he found it in Austria.
Oscar laughs consciously that outside of the building, a lot of cameras are waiting, not precisely for all the drivers. 
“We haven’t said anything.” Oscar insisted for the 1947 time of the day.
“You hav…” Charles takes a deep breath seeing Albon walks and reaches them. “It’s not like you need it!”
“You post a story where you can clearly see her, so cute by the way…” He lifts his phone, showing him the screenshot he took. 
Oscar laughs, shaking his head. “We were having breakfast, and, yeah, holding our hands.”
Charles bluffs. “I went with you to buy that ring, I know what it means!”
“Not counting the rock in the middle.” Albon chuckles seeing his phone. “Where is she? I want to congratulate her, well, both of you.”
“Somewhere in the hospital working.” Was the last words of Oscar before a swarm of drivers found him hugging him as they congratulated him for the big news.
They haven't said anything but a photo speaking more than a thousand words.
“Ok Oscar, take one last look please…” Tom mentions approaching him with a tablet in his hands with a mischievous smile on his face.
On the screen you can see Y/N arriving at the McLaren garage as under the line of her name you can read it, Oscar Piastri’s fiancé.
Oscar smirks as his cheeks turn pink. “Sadly you need to get into the car, like 10 seconds ago, so people make sure she is there when the race finishes.”
Oscar nods, putting the helmet on adjusting to his balaclava, going inside of the car, as people surround him.
Tom leans on the car. “Side note Oscar, it will be nice if you win this time.” Oscar's eyes narrow, a sign of a smile before Tom walks away to his spot.
“Box, box.” Y/N hears Tom's voice, as multiple mechanics run to their places with all they need. 
Her anxiety began when the left back tyre wasn’t coming out, the sound of the cars passing and the anxious glances from the main console isn’t the most relaxing thing.
For the cameras you can see the mechanic hit the tyre a couple of times before finally coming off; quickly Oscar rushed himself reaching the rest of the cars, still, the clock of the pit stop set 3.5 seconds. 
“Ok Oscar. Verstappen, Lando, George and Leclerc ahead. 13 laps remaining.” Tom mentions as the full team moves around the control panel setting the strategy that put him back in the first place.
In the first laps, Oscar passed Charles in one soft movement around a corner. Reaching George was tough, he had warm tyres and Oscar barely put him on temperature, still he managed to pass him seeing Lando so close; he could take the risk and push him or wait until the tyre warms, still 6 laps remaining. He pushes him, overtaking in a beautiful move that leaves Lando confused as Oscar passes at his left.
“Verstappen, 1.4.” Tom indicates Oscar. “Soft tyres.”
Oscar mumbles something as Y/N bites her nails, only 4 laps remind and Max is pushing trying to increase the gap.
“He will make it right?” Mark laughs seeing her walking to the limits of the wires allows her.
“OH! Max blocked him in the 2 corner!” Y/N hears, seeing the replay of Max blocks, closing the space in that corner for impeding the pass of Oscar. 
Y/N mumbles twisting her fingers “Let’s go babe, three more laps.” 
Max doesn't hesitate but he tends to let his emotions push him, in the straight he tries to increase the gap…until the car decides another thing, turning slippery causing him to lose for a second the car as Oscar pushes this time blocking the corner.
“I can’t see!” Y/N tries to cover her eyes leaving a gap between them observing the last laps, it’s like a pure haunting decided for .101 of difference.
When the flag waves, Oscar was the first one to cross that line.
“Great, great race Oscar, well done.” Tom congratulated him.
“Nice job guys.” Oscar's heavy breathing is heard. “Can you make sure my fiance is watching?”
Y/N's face is about to explode when she hears Oscar, hiding her face in her hands as Mark told her to follow the guys to the podium. 
With the helmet on after celebrating with the team, Oscar walks to the left side where Y/N is waiting with a red face and wide smile. 
She hugs him tightly as he laughs lifting her from the ground. 
“That’s not a soft launch.” Y/N claims as Oscar takes the helmet off. 
Y/N touches the lines of the helmet left on his face as Oscar giggles. “I can’t kiss my fiance properly with that.”
Y/N smiles as he leans capturing her lips in a soft kiss, hands on her waist as hers taking the helmet trying to cover their faces from the cameras, a small issue the ring is at plain sight for photos.
70 notes · View notes
lipglossanon · 3 days ago
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I’m So Lonesome, I Could Cry
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(Multiple) Leon S. Kennedy x puppy!reader
Commission requested from @puppy-princ3ss 🥰
Word Count: 2.5k
Warnings: MDNI, reader hybrid, puppy!reader, nothing but fluff here folks ☺️, Leon’s referred to as daddy, pet names, slight angst, happy ending 💜
proofread but any mistakes are my own 😪 titles taken from the Hank Williams song of the same name
Divider: @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more
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You hear a door shut somewhere, and it nabs your attention away from straightening up your room. Floppy ear cocked back, your head tilts as you listen for any more noise. The faint tread of feet makes its way from the front door to what sounds like the study. Your brows pinch together before your whole face brightens with a smile, tail wagging happily. 
Leon’s back! Chief, as the rest of the household has taken to calling him. His nickname makes you giggle every time you hear it, so it’s kind of stuck around longer than the last one. You remember old-timer wasn’t something he even cared to be called, but he’s the eldest, so he couldn’t really argue the point. Regardless, he’s back home, and you’re so excited to see him. It’s been too long!
Quickly making your way downstairs (walking, not running—pups aren’t allowed to run in the house), you head to the study. Leon’s broad back is turned to you, and you stand there a moment, hands clasped and ever eager to run up to him, but you don’t want to rush him just as he’s getting home.
Leon stills his movement and turns his head to the side—stumbled jaw, straight nose, and one blue eye coming into view. Catching sight of you, he fully turns to face you, and you notice the reading glasses perched on his nose.
“Hi, sweetheart,” his low voice sounds bleary to your ears.
“Hi, Daddy!” You smile widely, finally allowing yourself to bound over to him and wrap him in a hug.
Giggling, you rub your nose against his, jostling his glasses, and he cracks a tired smile.
“You been good while I’ve been gone?” He ruffles your ears, and your tail thumps against your legs excitedly.
Bobbing your head, your ears flop. “Yep! I’ve been so good!”
“Promise?”
“Pinkie promise!” You nuzzle the side of his face and lathe a wet stripe of your tongue against his cheek. “C’mon, Daddy, let’s go play!”
A frown pinches his brows together, and he rubs his chin, stubble rasping against his palm. “Sorry, baby, but I’m pretty wiped. Plus, I’m not even finished with work just yet. Still got my report to type up.”
Your tail and ears droop, smile dimming at his words. “Oh.” The excitement of seeing Leon bleeds out into soft disappointment. “Okay, Daddy, I’ll see you later.”
“Later, pup,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.
You huff a little sigh and leave him in the study. Since you’re closer to the garage, you decide to peek in and see if your grumpy daddy is there or not. Reaching the doorway, you ease open the door and see a dark blonde head of hair peeking over the side of a Ducati. Tail twitching, you perk up with the promise of hanging out with Leon as he works on his motorcycle.
As you walk over to him, he must hear you since his head pops up over the saddle. He gives you a little grin. 
“Hey, troublemaker.”
“Daaaddy,” you pout, tail swishing twice behind you.
“Just teasing ya, sweetheart,” he chuckles, wiping the back of his gloved hand across his face, smearing a line of grease across his cheekbone.
Walking over to him, you reach for the rag he keeps near his toolbox.
Handing it to him, you tease, “Messy, messy. You know you have to come into the house with clean paws.”
Shaking his head, he takes the proffered cloth. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“Uh-uh, it means bath time,” you giggle.
Wiping his face, he tosses the rag onto his toolbox. He kneels back down at the side of his back and continues to work on it. You fidget in place before kneeling down, fiddling with a socket wrench in his pile of tools. Twisting the wrench, you try to click it faster and faster until a hand suddenly squeezes yours, preventing you from moving.
“Why don’t you go see what pretty boy is up to?” Your grumpy daddy offers up, lips pressed into a thin line, straining to smile but only coming across stiff.
Pouting again, you give him your patented big puppy dog eyes. “I was just sitting here.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he sighs, eyes flicking to the wrench and back to your face. “But Daddy doesn’t need any help right now. And I don’t want you to get all dirty.”
Standing up, you give Leon a weak smile. “Okay.”
“C’mere, give me a kiss.” He angles his head, and you lean down, loudly smacking your lips against his fuzzy cheek.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, “now, don’t get up to too much mischief.”
“I won’t,” you promise. You watch as he goes back to fiddling with the Ducati, the sound of him working on his motorcycle following you out of the garage.
Taking his advice, you wander further into the house, slowly making your way to your pretty daddy’s room. At least, that was the plan, but you hear something thud in the rookie’s room. The door to his office is ajar, and you poke your head through. 
He’s sitting at his desk, piles of folders spread out across the surface. A few seemed to have fallen off the side, spilling across the floor, explaining the noise you heard moments ago. His hair looks messy, like he’s run his hands through it a dozen times, and his lips move while he reads along with the words on the page. You stifle a happy laugh at just how cute he looks!
Stepping further into the room draws his attention up. He beams at you, blue eyes lighting up. 
“Hi, sunshine, what’re you up to?”
”Nothin’ much,” you answer, shrugging. 
“Oh, yeah,” his voice trails off, eyes dipping back down to the papers in his hand.
“What’re you doing?”
You move over to stand by his chair, looking out over his messy desk.
“Trying to organize all these files, shred the ones I don’t need anymore, that kinda thing,” he replies mindlessly, attention still focused away from you.
“Daddy,” you mumble, draping yourself over his shoulders, your head digging into his shoulder. “I’m bored.”
“I’m sorry.” He reaches back and rubs your ears, making your tail wag back and forth. “Wish I could spend some quality time with you, princess, but I really got to get this done.”
Rubbing your face against his shirt, you whuff sadly. “Can’t you take a break?”
“Aww, I really wish I could.” He drops the papers and swivels his chair to face you. “Listen, how about this? Once I finish up, I promise we’ll head out for some ice cream.”
You perk up, tail wagging a little faster. “Really? Even if it’ll be late?”
He nods firmly. “Even if it’ll be late. I won’t let the others railroad me into not letting you get a treat for being such a sweet, patient girl.”
“Daddy!” You squeal happily. “Thank you!”
You kiss him sloppily on the cheek, and he flushes under the attention.
“But,” he holds out a finger, emphasizing his point, “that means you have to be good, or else it’ll be a no-go, okay?”
“Okay,” you agree quickly. “Cross my heart.” You draw a big X over your chest. 
“You’re such a good girl,” he coos, bringing both hands up to pet your ears. “Now, remember what I said.”
“I will,” you sing-song. 
He gives your ears one last stroke before turning back to his desk. With a promise of future ice cream, you skip out of his study. You make your way to the last Leon’s room, picking back up on the suggestion from your grumpy daddy of visiting the pretty boy. You roll your eyes at the nickname. All of your daddies are pretty.
Arriving at Leon’s door, you knock before swinging it open (a bad habit you’ve yet to break). It’s a testament to how often you barge into rooms since Leon barely flinches at the sudden entrance. Flicking his eyes over to you, he sends you a quick wink and goes back to packing his bag.
“Are you leaving?” You rush to his side, plastering yourself against him and nuzzling his temple. “Daddy, don’t go.”
You whimper and lick his jaw. He hums sympathetically, dropping his shirt on top of his luggage, then turns toward you and pulls you into a hug.
“Sorry, squirt, but duty calls,” he jokes, trying to lighten your mood. “I know it’s not what you wanna hear, but I won’t be gone too long.”
His hands rub across your back, broad sweeps of his palm meant to soothe. “We’ll head to that park you like when I get back. How’s that sound, kiddo?”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” he murmurs gently. “Now, as much as I wanna squeeze you in here with my socks, I don’t think you’d fit.”
He pulls back to catch a watery smile. Leon ticks his forefinger under your chin with a grin.
“There’s my little sunshine.” He smoothes his thumbs across your cheekbones. “I promise we’ll hang out so much when I get back that you’ll be sick of me.”
“You better,” you affirm, eyes squinting and stern.
He chuckles and ruffles your ears, turning back to his luggage. “You know I’m good for it, squirt. Now let me pack, and I’ll say goodbye before leaving.”
Chuffing pitifully, you drag your feet as you leave Leon’s room. Eyes cast down, you miss his concerned look. You shut the door behind you, and it’s like the dam breaks. Your body sinks in on itself, shoulders pulling inward and ears flattening against your head. Sadness creeps into your thoughts, and you decide to just go back to your room.
Once there, even the bright colors and decorations do nothing to cheer you up. Taking in the rainbows scattered everywhere and the cute stuffies dotted around your room, you feel too miserable to enjoy it at all. Usually the cheerful nature of your own space is enough to pull you out of your funk, but today isn’t one of those days. 
You crawl into your pen, snuggling deep under your pile of blankets and pillows. The soft throws cocoon you, almost like you’re being swaddled. Sniffling, you don’t actually cry, although you feel on the verge of tears. Every single one of your daddies is too busy for you. Thinking back on the last few weeks, it’s been a lot of the same. They’re all too busy; they have a mission to prepare for; they promise once they’re finished working that their schedule will open up. 
And yet…
You snuffle deeper into your fluffy blankets, sadness plucking at your heart and sending your thoughts down a spiral. Maybe they’re mad at you, and this is just a subtle way of expressing it… You don’t mean to be messy when you’re outside on your walks. And you sometimes forget to clean your room, and one of your daddies has to remind you to straighten up.
You promise yourself to do better—you just get distracted every now and then. Maybe the Leons are tired of having to tell you to clean up. 
Maybe…
You squeeze your eyes shut, a few tears slipping past your lashes. 
Maybe they won’t treat you like their sweet pup anymore. Too busy with their own individual interests, you’ll just fall to the wayside. Just a ghost haunting their presence, an afterthought in their minds. Burying yourself even deeper in your blankets, you wallow in your misery for hours, totally clueless to what’s happening with the rest of the household.
Unbeknownst to you, there’s a quasi manhunt going on to find you, with all of the Leons working together to suss you out.
Lee checks one of your favorite hidey-holes near the couch. “I feel bad I didn’t let her stick around. I was only working on some files.”
“Ease up on yourself, rookie; we’ve all been pretty distant. Slacking in our own ways.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Chief. But I still feel bad.”
A tired sigh from the eldest, “Me too, honestly.”
“Nowhere on this side of the house.” A different Leon enters from the kitchen. “She obviously wasn’t in the garage with me, but the kitchen and laundry are clear, too.”
“Pretty boy, you find her yet?!” The grumpy one calls out.
“No!” A voice calls back from upstairs. “But, I think that just leaves her room.”
All of them meet up with him at the top of the stairs and make their way to your room. The rookie raps his knuckles on your door a few times, but when you don’t answer, he pushes it open. At first, it doesn’t look like you’re in your room, either. It’s not until Chief kneels down to your pen and sees the lump under the covers that they find you.
He looks over at the group, and they nod, all on the same page. Reaching out a hand, he gently touches your leg where it’s sticking out from the blankets. Jumping, you flail in your cocoon, twisting and whining until Leon helps you free yourself. You raise up, one ear flopped back on your head, and tear tracks cover your cheeks.
“Oh, little shadow, come here,” Chief croons, pulling you from your pen and into his arms.
You sniffle and whimper, nuzzling against his stubbled cheek. “Hi, Daddy.”
“‘m so sorry, baby,” he comforts you. “We all are.”
“We?” You pull back from his arms enough to look around. Catching sight of the others, you offer up a teary smile.
That’s permission enough for them all to swarm you, hands petting your back and ears with apologies. 
“We’ll do better, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I know we’ve all been busy—” 
“But that’s no excuse. You’re such a sweet pup to put up with our—”
“I’ll take you out for ice cream as much as you want, sunshine.”
“And I’ll take you out to your favorite park. Spend the whole day out there.”
Your tail wags so hard, it beats like a drum against your daddies as they squish you in a group hug. Yipping happily, you lick their hands and faces with a giggle. Showering you with praise and sweet words, your heart feels close to bursting. The silly thoughts from earlier dissipate like mist on a sunny day.
“How about we go snuggle on the couch and watch a movie?” Chief cuts into the noise, eyes locked onto yours.
“That sounds nice.” You duck your head shyly, and they all coo.
“So sweet.”
“A perfect pup.”
“Such a sweetheart.”
The rookie grabs your hand and pulls you up on your feet. Chief follows after with a low groan, knees popping from kneeling so long.
“You okay, Daddy?”
“Right as rain, baby.” He smiles at you. “Now, what’re we going to watch?”
You snuggle into his side, walking alongside him to head downstairs. The other Leons crowd around you, arguing over movie choices and if it’s worth it to pop any popcorn. Tail wagging a mile a minute, you feel over the moon, surrounded by the best daddies in the world. 
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outtathisworld-imagines · 18 hours ago
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Every second counts
——🍴——🍴——🍴——🍴——
Pairing: Richie Jerimovich x F!Reader
Warnings: Suggestive/mature themes briefly mentioned at points, swearing because Richie 🥲 fluff. Not proofread.
A.N: has anyone watched the new season of the bear because it truly is *chefs kiss* 😌 and I am a sucker for Richie 🥲
Please let me know what else you guys would like to see me write! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨
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——🍴——🍴——🍴——🍴——
The first time Richie caught glimpse of you was at the corner supermarket.
You had a basket full of groceries while he tried to proudly carry everything in his arms- undermining just how much he had to get. He dropped a bag of chips in a matter of seconds and hesitantly contorted his body and limbs in attempts to pick them up.
“Ah shit,” he looked at the rest of his groceries and knew everything would fall if he bent down. That was until the chips were placed in front of his face on top of his pile of shopping. “T-thanks.” He sent you a brief smile.
“You want me to grab you a basket?” The eyes peering over the mountain he held in his arms asked. He almost dropped everything when he looked into them.
“Uh, I’m good!”
“Alright,” you drawled out “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you drop everything in aisle six.” You chuckled and walked away. Richie remained in the same spot.
He walked forward slowly and steadily, watching you grab something, ponder over it then toss it into your basket. You glanced down to the bottom of the aisle and saw him standing there and smiled, shaking your head and moving on after a few seconds.
Richie groaned trying to pick up toothpaste, wondering what he would be willing to sacrifice for it. He found a moment of strength and reached for it but it was already gone. A soft noise brought his attention to the chip bag that was balancing on top of everything with a tube of toothpaste sinking into the centre of it. Richie turned and saw you next to him, you raised a brow and he sighed in defeat. “Okay. Maybe a basket.”
You giggled “I like how proud you are.” You placed down your own between your feet and his, walking down and grabbing him a basket. You helped take a few things from him and placed it in the basket before he dropped everything else from his arms into it. “Better?” You asked watching him shake his strained arms. He nodded yes with a small smirk. “Good because next time you play grocery store Jenga I might not be here to help you.”
“Well where would you be goin’?” He asked, now following you, becoming intrigued with you- the beautiful mysterious shopping stranger.
“Wouldn’t be goin’ anywhere, would be laughing my ass off by the cash registers watching you instead.” Richie barked out a laugh, first time he remembered doing that in weeks. The stress of work and his failed marriage took a toll on him.
“Well, I usually shop at this time so if you want a show…”
You stopped and turned on your heel “I’m guessing you’re giving me a front row ticket to your shopping shit-show?”
Richie smirked and held out his hand, introducing himself to you. You took it and introduced yourself with a grin.
Over the next few weeks, you often bumped into him, walking side by side with him down aisles and making casual conversation- mainly about how ridiculous the price was getting for groceries. How he longed for each second, each minute, he spent with you to last longer. Then you parted ways after paying, heading in opposite directions out of the store only to meet up days later again at the exact same place.
Richie was cursing the sudden rain as he ran to pick up milk, getting drenched by the downpour. His old work t-shirt he grabbed by the door now clinging to him.
As he reached the corner store he noticed you outside with your groceries by your feet and a wet paper bag that had ripped to shreds around it. You tried scooping everything up in your arms, he was reminded of the first day he met you and was struggling to carry everything.
“Hey, hey, hey, here let me help!” He bent down and helped you pick things up- he completely forgot about the milk he needed.
“Jesus, you need reinforced paper bags here!” You yelled over the rain and the faint rumbles of thunder in the distance. “Here let me-” you tried taking some bits from him but he held onto them, as much as he loved the little miss independent act, he knew you needed help. “I got it Richie.”
“No, let me help you home with these, you get another paper bag it’s just gonna fuckin’ end up the same way.”
“I’m the opposite way from you, I don’t have a car and you’re already soaked. I don’t want you getting a cold.” The gentle caring tone almost made him melt right there and then in the street.
“I’ll be alright.” He walked in the direction you always did before turning back to you, looking for guidance to your house. “We doin’ this or what? I don’t know where the fuck you live.” You laughed and jogged to catch up to him.
The pair of you walked quickly through the rain back to your apartment, coming to it after almost ten minutes of walking and getting drenched. “C’mon up,” you motioned your head to the stairs and he followed up behind you, trying his best not to stare at your ass.
He hated to admit it but he actually looked forward to seeing you at the store, after a month after first meeting you, he wanted to get to know you better. He felt like a teenager again with the crush he had on you, he felt excited again, he felt there was hope.
You opened the door to your apartment and stood to the side to let him in. You told him where the kitchen was and to just leave everything on the counter top, he did just that and then took in the space around him. A low whistle left his mouth “Shit, nice place you got.”
You bashfully smiled, placing down the armful of items you had “Thanks.” You looked him up and down “Fuck, you’re soaked right through,” you pointed to him. “Stay until the rain is off and I can dry your stuff. I have a sweatshirt you can borrow and old sweats that might fit.” You looked him up and down again. “Maybe.”
He laughed, deep from within his chest. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Richie,” your soft scolding made him bite down on his lip. How his name left your mouth so effortlessly made him feel things he thought died inside him a long time ago were now suddenly resurrected. “Let me get you a drink, dry your clothes and keep you from the torrential rain outside- weather says it’ll stop by five, surely you can spare two hours?” A loud rumble of thunder made him agree, those seconds and minutes he once longed for to spend with you suddenly granted to him like a wish come true. He stood awkwardly in your apartment, taking in all the art on the walls as you quickly changed into sweats and a jumper, grabbing some bits for Richie along with a towel and passing them over to him. “Bathroom is just there, just give me your stuff when you’re ready.”
He nodded, sending you a thankful smile. He changed in your bathroom, it smelt like cotton and lavender. He let out a deep exhale, feeling relaxed for once despite the nerves that bubbled inside from being in such a close proximity with you.
He handed you his wet clothes and you put them in the dryer, but before asking him about his t-shirt. “What’s ‘Original Beef of Chicagoland’?”
“We’ve changed name, it’s The Bear now, it’s where I work- front of house. You never been? It’s an institution.”
You shook your head slowly, humming lowly as you went to the kitchen. “I’m not from around here.” You said. “Wine or instant coffee- that’s all I got.” You told him and he asked for coffee.
“Where you from?” Richie asked from the other side of your kitchen being tactical at trying to remain a distance where he wouldn’t be tempted to just pounce on you.
“New York originally, came here for work about six months ago.” You explained as you put the teapot on the stove. “I work for The Art Institute as an assistant manager but I’m a specialist on mid-century art and I sometimes guide people around when we are short. Talk about the pieces to people who don’t really give a shit most of the time.” You humourlessly chortled.
Richie nodded “I see that. From your place I thought you’d be a creative kinda gal. It’s a pretty place you got, but I already coulda guessed you would have a place like this.”
You let out a snort “What makes you say that?”
He shrugged a shoulder “Pretty girl, pretty apartment- just made sense in my head.” The whistle of your tea pot coming to boil filled the space between you both as a silence hung between you both. You blinked at him in surprise and he scrunched his nose “What? I might be stupid enough to not grab a basket, but I ain’t blind to the fact you’re...” he cleared his throat, eyes trailing slowly up your body. “Pretty.”
You took the teapot off the stove when it finished. You abandoned the coffee as you closed the space between you both, Richie’s palms starting to sweat the closer you got- his tactical strategy now going out the window. “I just got out of wet clothes,” you lowly said, bringing your face to within inches of his. Richie practically steadied himself with a hand on your waist. “And yet, I’m soaked again.”
“Oh?” Richie’s brow furrowed in confusion before a wicked smirk graced his lips. “Ohh…” he let you make the first move, the feeling of your lips against his made him hum in delight. The faint taste of smoke and nicotine from him got you addicted almost instantly, your hand coming to the back of his neck as you brought him closer to you, pressing him against you even further. “Don’t know why you gave me spare clothes, got a feeling they’re just gonna come off again,” he chuckled against your soft skin, you took a fistful of your sweatshirt and dragged him to your bedroom.
—•—
“I want you to meet Eva.” He said one night in bed as he held you in his arms. The seconds turning into minutes and hours spent wrapped up with each other. He wanted each moment spent with you to count.
You turned your head and tilted it to see him better, the smile on your face spreading from ear to ear. “Really?” Your excited tone made his heart skip a beat. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
It had been about three months since you and Richie got together, since then the pair of you were almost inseparable and he felt himself falling further each day. He asked you out officially after your impromptu afternoon together and after your third date, despite him not wanting any ‘labels’ because he was ‘too old for that shit’ he asked you to be his girlfriend.
He had some important people he wanted you to meet, his daughter Eva of course and the team at The Bear- two significant factors in his life. He thought he’d soften the blow with Eva first before throwing you to the wolves in his work.
“I appreciate how excited you are.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead before giving you another on your lips.
“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s a massive part of your life. I think you sometimes expect me not to think you had a life before me. I like that you’ve lived. I like finding out more about you.” You traced a finger down his chest. “I’m just glad I get to be part of this portion of your life.”
His smile was soft, sincere. “I hope a lot longer than just a portion.” He told you before rolling you over onto your back and peppering kisses all over your face.
You arranged for Richie to bring Eva to your work, his daughter was turning into a bit of a creative type much like you so you both thought the gallery would be an ideal place to meet. You told him to get you by the door with her after the museum had closed.
You smoothed out the nerves and the creases on your dress seeing them both walk hand in hand towards you. “Hi there!” You greeted them with a wide, nervous smile.
“Eva, this is my good friend Y/N,” Richie introduced her to you, a little unsure of what to introduce you as, but he thought that was a safe choice.
You bent down to her level and extended your hand out. “Hi,” she shyly shook your hand.
“Hi Eva, it’s so lovely to meet you. I love your light up shoes.” Your compliment was an instant hit with her and she giggled, grabbing onto Richie’s leg bashfully before hiding behind it. You stood up straight again, Richie shooting you a silent wink. “Well, shall we head in?” You asked and motioned to the museum.
Richie’s features crinkled “Ain’t it closed for the night?”
“Not for Eva it isn’t,” you said to him, his heart about to burst in his chest at your kindness towards her. “Access all areas.” She gasped in delight and practically dragged Richie inside.
“Steady, sweetie! Steady!” He all but ran to catch up with her. “Perks of an assistant manager huh?” He asked you and you nodded. He let go of Eva’s hand so she could see a painting, and so he could have a moment with you. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. For both of you.” You told him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He took your hand in his and brought it to his chest, just above his heart as he walked side by side with you to Eva who was admiring the pieces on display.
Richie had wandered off to check out a piece of art, when he turned the corner he almost cried with happiness at the sight before him. You were sat down next to Eva in front of a painting explaining it to her, she watched you intently and with complete dedication. He then watched as Eva stood up and extended her hand out to you, you stood and took it with a smile before she dragged you to the next piece on display. “Ah shit…” he muttered to himself. He was in deep. He knew he was in beyond deep. Richie followed closely behind you both “There’s my girls!” You turned your head and grinned at him, your hand still wrapped around Eva’s.
“Let’s go this way!” Eva pulled you to another room as Richie tried to keep up.
After almost two hours of wondering, she was getting tired. “I should get someone home,” he said and picked her up in his arms. “Have fun, sweetie?”
“The best time!” She tiredly yet excitably replied.
You watched him interact with her, how soft he was as a father. How loving he was. “Well it was lovely to meet you Eva, I’m glad you had a great time! Just gimme a second to get something.” You jogged off to grab a gift you got for her. “I got a bracelet making kit that your dad can help you with. He told me you liked Taylor Swift and I know she sings about them. You can make a little more art at home.” She gasped with wide eyes and grasped it with both hands. “Let me know when you get home, okay?” You asked Richie and he nodded, blowing him a discreet kiss as he left.
He carried Eva in his arms back to his car, the young girl looking at the kit in awe. “I love her, Daddy!” She told him.
Richie looked back over his shoulder, the smile on his face that he struggled to once find now there all the time. “Yeah, me too.”
—•—
“You should uh,” Richie nervously scratched the back of his neck “Come by for dinner once you get off.”
The two of you were having lunch outside the museum on a bench. “Sure, need me to pick anything up?”
He nervously chuckled, the baptism of fire he was about to throw you had been terrifying him since the day he developed feelings for you. He wanted you to meet the team, especially Carmy, it was important to him. “N-no, I mean like…dinner at The Bear.” You pursued your lips nodding, another leap in your relationship. Since meeting Eva, Richie was integrating you more and more into his life. He was now a massive part of yours, he made Chicago feel like home. He was home.
“You want me to pop by tonight? What if you’re still working?” You asked.
Richie let out a chortle “Then be prepared for the best fuckin’ dinner service you’ve had in your life!” You laughed loudly, passersby turning thier heads to look at all the hilarity, the noise was like music to Richie’s ears. He looked at you in awe, you silently questioned him with just a look, Richie becoming accustomed to all your mannerisms that he just now knew. “I know it didn’t deserve it, but I’m glad Chicago has a smile like yours in it.” Your smile faltered so discreetly that he didn’t notice, his words filling you with nothing but joy on an immeasurable scale. “I’ll let you get back to work.” He stood and helped you up, watching as you gently brushed the crumbs off your skirt. You craned your head up to his, accommodating for the height difference to embrace a kiss from him. He took your face in his hands and opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue that never came, he simply kissed you instead, hard and with conviction. “I’ll save a table just for you.”
You nodded and headed back into the museum, blissfully unaware that was his way of telling you he loved you without actually saying those three words.
Richie’s eyes were locked on the windows all night trying to catch a glimpse of you, the restaurant had died down and the guys were embracing the lull. “Yo, Rich-”
“Not now!” He looked to the clock, each second being dragged out far too long. You would have finished about a half hour ago. Typical that when he looked up, the door opened.
His hardened stern expression softened instantly at the sight of you. You’d changed since he met you earlier in the day, a coat hid the majority of your floaty dress that he hoped he would be taking off you later that night when he got you home. “Hey,” you smiled at him. “You scrub up well.” You motioned and admired his suit.
“Hi,” he softly greeted you. “You look fuckin’ unreal.” He couldn’t quite believe his eyes or his luck that you were standing in the doorway of a place that he dedicated so much of his life to. “Stunning.” You glanced over his shoulder and saw many pairs of eyes looking back at you. Richie caught your line of sight and saw everyone there trying to catch a glimpse of you, he cleared his throat and remained professional.
He had mentioned you once or twice, the team always trying to believe deeper but he tried to his personal life to himself.
“You think that’s her?” Syd asked.
Marcus snorted “Are you for real? Is she even real?! She’s too pretty to be his girlfriend!”
Carmy had a small smile on his face, his eyes darting between you and Richie. “That’s her alright.”
“Will they stare at me all night?” You quietly asked.
Richie tightly smiled “Probably.”
“Well, table for one and many onlookers I guess.”
Before he took you to the table he reserved just for you, he extended out his hands. “Let me take your coat.” You shimmied out of it and he almost let out a groan at the sight of you. “Fuck,” he lowly uttered and swallowed hard seeing you properly in the dress he was definitely taking off you tonight.
He sat you down, poured you a wine and handed you a menu. You looked up to him through your lashes, deciding to have a little fun with him. “What does my incredibly handsome sex-god of a waiter recommend because I don’t see him on the menu…” you teased and he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, pleasantly flustered by your comment.
“You’re makin’ me blush, honey.” He tried to sound tough, stern even, but instead his words were laced with excited nerves. He leaned forward and pointed at things he recommend to you. “Can’t kiss you right now because I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.” He quietly told you and you nodded in understandingly with a large grin in your face. “Those are my suggestions, get whatever you like because dinner is on me.”
You placed down your menu and rested your chin on your balled fist, elbow firmly on the table. “Then let me at least treat you to breakfast.”
“Where we gonna go?” He asked.
You let out a laugh, loud enough to capture everyone’s attention again. “Jesus, do I have to spell it out for you? We’ll have breakfast at my house.”
“Okay, what time you want me over for?”
“Richie…”
“What?”
You lowly laughed shaking your head. “You won’t be leaving my house…”
“Why wouldn’t I be- oh! Ohh…” he glanced over his shoulder, mouthing ‘fuck off just now’ to the group of piled up chefs in the doorway.
“If you’re lucky, I might even make you pancakes…naked.”
Richie choked on thin air. “Oh keep that information to yourself, sweetheart.” He leaned down, dropping his tone. “Don’t be teasin’ me here or else I’m gonna have to tuck a napkin into my collar and spread you wide open on one of those tables and eat you out like I know you want me too.” You tried to hide your smile but couldn’t at just how he could make something so dirty sound so sweet. He stood up straight, fixing his tie and an aura of professionalism washing over him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He went to the kitchen, many eyes still on you. You wiggled your fingers, casually waving at his team who were staring you down. When Richie came out he had someone in chef whites beside him. “Y/N, this is Carmy,” the man with a curly, floppy head of hair extended his hand to you. “Head chef and closest thing I got to family. My cousin.” He smirked at him proudly, gripping onto his shoulder.
“Nice to finally meet you Y/N,” Carmy warmly smiled “I’m happy you guys are together. God knows it’s improved his mood- massively.” He playfully jibed, Richie rolled his eyes and you giggled at their dynamic. Richie was called to the kitchen, leaving you with the head chef. “You’re good for him. So thank you.”
“He’s good for me too, makes me happy beyond anything you could ever imagine.” You looked off into the distance until your eyes found him again.
Carmy smiled at what you said before looking at Richie. “Glad he can do that for you, I’m just glad he’s found love again.”
You blinked. Your breath hitching.
“Love…?”
Carmy casually glanced back to you before his head fully snapped around, realising what he said. “Shit!” He hissed, mentally kicking and cursing himself. “Forget what I said. Fuck! I thought he told you already!”
You laughed, loudly, Carmy trying to shush you when Richie furrowed a brow at all the commotion and what the hell Carmy could have said to make you laugh as hysterically as you were. “I-I’m sorry, I-” you took a deep inhale and exhale. “That’s just made my night. But don’t worry, I won’t let on. He better say it soon though because I don’t know how much longer I can go without saying it to him because each second that passes is a second less he knows.” You longingly sighed “I love Richie.” You confided in Carmy. “I need him to know because life is unpredictable and I need to make each moment, hell each second, with him count.”
“Okay so we got-“ you looked up to Richie with glistening eyes and he hesitated putting the food down in front of you. “What he do?” He glared at Carmy “Don’t think I won’t kick your ass in front of my girl, cousin.” Carmy stood with a small smile, his hands defensively raised out as he made his way back to the kitchen. You let out a blubbery giggle. “What?” He asked placing down the food.
You looked back and forth from the plate to him. “This is missing something.”
Richie’s eyebrows furrowed as he closely examined the plate. “Missin’ what?” You beckoned him closer with just the wiggle of your fingers. He leaned down and you captured your lips with his. You felt his lips part in surprise before he smiled into the kiss. “You’re trouble.” He murmured before pressing a forceful kiss to your lips and pulling back, a small choir of ‘Ohhh’s’ coming from the kitchen at the sight.
“You love it.”
He looked deep into your eyes as he replied, his heart practically on the table in front of you. “I do.” He smiled, his own eyes now becoming glossy. “I love you.”
You leaned forward and kissed him again, Richie not giving a damn about getting teased by the team for the foreseeable future about it. “I love you too.” You brushed your nose against and peppered kisses over his lips. “What time do you get off?”
“We’re just about closin’ soon.”
“Good because the second you’re off, I’m gonna be getting you off.”
Richie slowly stood up straight, tensing on the spot at your promise. He cleared his throat, trying his best to hide his reddening cheeks.
“Yo guys,” his voice cracked. “We’re closing. We need this food wrapped up to go! Now!”
20 notes · View notes
elisedonut · 2 years ago
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i keep trying to throw Colin into another Percy ship for a polyship but everything ive written so far just keeps feeling
very age play
very "little now has two caretakers" vibes
which is not intentional for this so I keep having to try again
7 notes · View notes
pixiefelixie · 2 months ago
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⭑.ᐟ MAKE HIM SNAP: LEE FELIX (NSFW / 18+ ONLY)
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: ̗̀➛ pairing: lee felix x brat fem!reader (a bit of seungmin x reader) : ̗̀➛ word count: ~8k : ̗̀➛ content: fluff, smut, felix is the sweetest thing but so mean, reader actively tries to make felix mad, minor injury in the kitchen
part 2 is out!
you make a bet with seungmin: you've got one week to get your boyfriend, felix—who seems completely incapable of getting mad at you—to finally snap. after a series of failed attempts, you figure if anything’s going to work, it might as well be in bed.
author's note: i’ve been on a writing grind lately so here’s a second fic in one sitting because apparently i have no self-control. i’m shitting my balls. i need felix like yesterday. enjoy! ♡
smut warnings below the cut!
: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: hard dom!felix, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), reader has the biggest degradation kink, brat taming, slight edging, light bondage, power play, unprotected piv (don't), missionary, doggy style, semi-voyeurism
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you’d always thought of him as sunshine.
everyone did.
even when he wasn’t smiling, felix had that glow—warm and unbothered, with freckles that danced across his cheeks like constellations and a voice that made people turn around just to hear him speak again. he was soft. gentle. sweet in that quiet, domestic way. the kind of boy who folded your laundry before you even remembered you’d done it.
even in bed—he was gentle. worshipful. like every touch was a question and you were the only answer. he was all murmured praise, soft sighs, slow hands. he loved you softly. every time.
which is probably why no one—including you—had ever seen him mad.
not truly.
you were perched on the edge of the couch in the boys’ dorm, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. it was felix’s, naturally—oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like his laundry detergent.
you were here because you’d accidentally taken something you weren’t supposed to. a usb, to be exact. felix had handed it to you earlier in the day along with your own, and in your rush to leave, you’d pocketed the wrong one.
“i just feel so bad,” you groaned, glancing toward the hallway. “he said he needed it for something tonight. like, deadline-needed.”
seungmin was sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, eyes on his phone. he barely glanced up as he responded.
“you’re being dramatic.”
“no, like—really bad. i shouldn’t have—”
“honestly?” he cut in, finally looking at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “i don’t think he’s even capable of getting mad at you.”
you blinked. “what?”
he chuckled, flipping his phone over. “i mean, come on. you could probably punch him in the face and he’d apologize for getting in the way of your fist.”
you laughed despite yourself. “that is so not true.”
“isn’t it?”
you opened your mouth to argue—but then the front door opened.
felix stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his eyes found you immediately.
“hey,” you said, standing. “i brought it—sorry again, i seriously didn’t mean—”
“shh.” he was already moving toward you, gentle hands coming up to cradle your arms, thumbs brushing soothingly against the fabric of his hoodie—the one you were wearing. “don’t stress, angel. it’s okay.”
“but you said you needed it for tonight,” you mumbled, guilt creeping up your spine. “i should’ve double-checked—”
“and i should’ve labeled mine.” he gave a small laugh, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin with that easy warmth that always made your chest flutter. “it’s not a big deal. really.”
you swore you saw seungmin choke on a laugh in your peripheral vision.
your eyes flicked sideways—just in time to catch him turning away, phone suddenly so interesting he might’ve been reading the terms and conditions. his shoulders were shaking, just barely.
felix either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.
“i’m gonna head out again to drop this off,” he said, voice still soft, fingertips lingering at your elbow for a second longer before letting go. 
you nodded, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “right. of course.”
“thanks for coming all the way back,” he added, gaze warm and fond, like you’d just done something heroic instead of, you know, returning the thing you accidentally stole. he gave your arm one last squeeze. “text me when you get home, yeah?”
“i will.”
then he was gone—door shutting behind him with that soft click that always left the room feeling quieter somehow.
and the very second it closed, seungmin’s voice rang out from behind you.
“god, that was disgusting.”
you turned.
“excuse me?”
he didn’t even look up from his phone. “you took his drive and somehow walked away with a hug, and a thank you.”
you opened your mouth to argue.
then closed it.
“okay, but—”
“nope. don’t justify it.” seungmin pointed his phone at the door.
you rolled your eyes, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, but the words stuck with you. warmed you a little too much. annoyingly so.
still, you couldn’t help yourself.
“he’s still a person. he’s not, like… impervious to irritation.” you muttered, half to yourself, half to the room. “if i pissed him off enough, he’d crack,”
seungmin didn’t even flinch. “tell me when that ever happens.”
you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “you know i’m gonna try to, just to prove you wrong.”
“mhm,” seungmin said flatly, not even looking up. “60 bucks. you have a week.”
“60 bucks,” you repeated. “i’m gonna find his limit,” you said, dead serious. “he has to have one.”
“good luck.”
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you’d been thinking about it for days—how to do it, how to gently prod at the edge of felix’s emotional limits without actually hurting him. you weren’t trying to be cruel. you just wanted to see something other than that unwavering calm, that endless warmth. you wanted to prove he could feel sharp things, too. that he wasn’t made of clouds and soft blankets and chamomile tea.
jealousy. that was your angle.
was felix ever jealous? you genuinely didn’t know. he’d never so much as blinked when people flirted with you—though to be fair, you’d never exactly flirted back. you never had a reason to. you didn’t want to.
but now, you needed a reaction.
just enough to light a spark. not enough to burn the house down.
so when your company hosted a casual dinner event—open to significant others and friends—you didn’t hesitate to bring felix. he looked unfairly good that night, dressed in soft black slacks and a black button up that hugged his frame a little too well. his hand found yours under the table the second you sat down, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your palm like always.
you were seated at a long table with a mix of coworkers and guests, plates being passed around, wine glasses clinking gently, soft laughter filling the room.
he was beside you, of course—close and warm and always tuned in to you.
but the guy on your other side?
friendly. talkative. a little too charming in that “business casual” way. you leaned into it. not too obvious. just enough to let felix notice.
you laughed at something the guy said—tilting your head just slightly, touching his arm in that way that could maybe be seen as flirty. maybe. you were careful. just close enough to the line to toe it, not cross it.
felix didn’t say a word.
he was smiling, even. still soft-spoken. still squeezing your hand every now and then. still brushing your thigh under the table with his when he shifted in his seat. he even leaned in at one point and murmured, “you okay?”
you nodded, playing it cool. “mhm. just chatting.”
felix grinned. that same soft, sunny smile that always made you feel like you were the only one in the room.
“alright,” he said, brushing your cheek with his knuckle before pulling back like nothing was even slightly off.
he went back to being quiet and polite. still engaged in the conversation going around the table, nodding at someone’s story, chiming in with a laugh when appropriate. he didn’t stiffen. didn’t narrow his eyes. didn’t even glance at the guy beside you like he might be competition.
you sat there smiling and nodding at whatever work guy was saying about his vacation to bali, but your stomach was knotting. tighter by the second.
because you knew what you were doing. you knew exactly how much you were leaning. exactly when you let your laugh ring just a little louder, your fingers trail just a little longer.
but felix wasn’t reacting.
or at least—he wasn’t reacting the way you expected.
he was just… him. gentle. warm. steady. and he could’ve been using this moment to get back at you.
there were plenty of chances. the woman across the table who complimented his accent. the one seated diagonally, sipping wine and laughing just a little too brightly at his jokes. one even asked him how his skin was so clear and if he worked out—which, in fairness, was a valid question.
felix didn’t take the bait. he was polite, as always. gracious, even. gave small answers. thanked them with a nod and a soft smile. but he didn’t engage.
didn’t lean in. didn’t flirt. didn’t offer even a flicker of attention that could be mistaken as anything more than manners.
and slowly—almost like he was aware of your internal panic creeping in—he started leaning in closer to you. gradually, without showiness. his knee pressed against yours beneath the table. then reached for his water glass and poured some into yours before you could even realize it was empty.
this wasn’t going to work.
you weren’t going to rattle him. you weren’t going to get that flash of possessiveness, that glint of sharp jealousy in his eyes.
because felix didn’t play games.
not with you.
he loved you out loud, completely, and without keeping score. he didn’t need to punish you or mirror your actions to prove a point. he didn’t flinch under pressure. he didn’t crack under quiet provocations.
he just was. wholeheartedly. constant. grounded.
this wasn’t going to work.
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it had been a few days since the whole work dinner experiment—since felix had gently, unknowingly, demolished your plan by doing absolutely nothing except love you the way he always did. respectfully. consistently. infuriatingly.
but you weren’t done.
not yet.
jealousy didn’t work, sure. but irritation? that had potential. everyone had a limit, and you were determined to find felix’s.
you were at his place now—well, technically his and seungmin’s—kitchen lights warm, sleeves rolled up, and flour already dusting the countertop like early snow.
the goal today was mild sabotage. nothing irreversible. nothing that would actually ruin the cake. just… enough sugar to make it way too sweet. enough to maybe make him sigh. maybe scold you a little. maybe just something.
you waited until he stepped away to grab a new mixing bowl, and then—quickly, quietly—you dumped in an extra quarter cup. maybe a little more.
by the time he came back, you were standing innocently with the spatula, “gently folding” the batter like you hadn’t just committed a culinary crime.
he paused. looked at the bowl. then looked at you.
“…did you add too much sugar?”
you blinked up at him. “no?”
he hummed. scooped a bit of batter on his finger. tasted it.
and then—smiled. not annoyed. just… amused.
“if you wanted it sweeter, you could’ve just told me,” he said, voice playful, handing you a towel to wipe your fingers off. “i’m gonna balance it so it doesn’t taste like pure syrup.”
you sighed loudly, dramatic, flopping back against the counter. “this is so annoying.”
he laughed and leaned past you to grab a lemon from the fruit bowl.
“go chop up some of the fruit, okay? i’ll deal with this.”
you looked at seungmin, who hadn’t said a word. he gave you a look that screamed pathetic.
you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to the cutting board, muttering under your breath.
great. jealousy failed. chaos failed. sugar sabotage failed. what were you supposed to do now? bake the cake upside down? hide the eggs?
you didn’t know.
you really didn’t know anymore.
your plan—whatever it had been—was unraveling, slipping through your fingers like flour dust in the air. and the worst part? you kind of… didn’t want to push anymore. felix had been so patient, so kind through all of it, and suddenly, you just felt silly. immature. you had something good, and you were trying to poke holes in it just to see if it would leak.
lost in thought, you didn’t even realize how close your fingers were to the blade until it was too late.
the knife slipped.
there was a sharp sting.
you yelped, the sound cutting through the warm haze of the kitchen as the knife clattered onto the counter and fruit scattered everywhere.
“ah!” you gasped, clutching your hand. blood was already rising.
felix’s head snapped up instantly. “what happened?”
you stepped back, breath shallow. “i—i cut myself—”
he was already there. crossing the kitchen faster than you’d ever seen him move, his hands reaching out to check your fingers—but the moment he saw the blood, something in him shifted.
“what were you even doing?” he snapped, voice sharper than the knife that slipped. he grabbed a towel with jerky, frustrated movements, wrapping it around your wound with practiced precision but no softness. “were you even paying attention?”
your lips parted, stunned. “i—i don’t know, i was just—”
“you weren’t thinking,” he cut in, tone clipped.
his voice rose, not yelling, but full-bodied, biting. that low, velvety rasp he usually used to whisper sweet things into your ear was now slicing through the air like it had teeth.
“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “i asked you to do one simple thing. not play with the goddamn knife.”
you stared at him, completely disarmed. not just by the tone. but by how he looked.
chest rising and falling under his fitted sweater, sleeves pushed back just enough to show the flex of his forearms. his jaw clenched, eyes dark with something deeper than just irritation. he looked… furious. unshakable. and so hot it was almost insulting.
your mouth went dry.
you couldn’t stop staring—at the way felix was breathing, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to bite back whatever else he wanted to say. his hands, still stained with flour, flexed at his sides. every muscle in his jaw was tense.
seungmin stood up, crossing the kitchen to the cabinet.
he grabbed the first aid kit, crouching beside the chair you’d sunk into. he opened it like this wasn’t the most charged atmosphere he’d ever stood in. like felix hadn’t just snapped for the first time in recorded history.
“here,” he said, pulling out some antiseptic and a few band-aids. “don’t bleed on the tile. it’s ugly enough already.”
you gave him a weak glare, but he just smirked.
felix hadn’t moved. he was still standing there, looking at the floor now, his expression twisted with something like regret.
seungmin didn’t let up.
“you got really worked up there, man,” he said, tone light but clearly pointed.
that finally made felix move. he blinked like he was coming out of something, then turned toward you—eyes wide now, softer, voice quiet.
“i’m sorry, baby” he said.
you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, still a little stunned by the whiplash.
but even now, with his shoulders slumped and his tone apologetic, he still looked good. still had that raw energy simmering just under the surface. still had you simmering.
you swallowed hard.
“it’s okay,” you said slowly. 
seungmin raised a brow but said nothing, silently peeling the wrapper off a band-aid.
felix crouched in front of you, his hand ghosting over yours. his voice was soft again, almost too soft.
“i won’t yell like that again,” he murmured. 
you blinked at him, and for a second—just a second—you wanted to say don’t promise that.
because god, the way his voice had cracked when he was angry. the way he looked at you like your carelessness hurt him. the way he shook with something that wasn’t just rage, but deep, desperate concern—you hadn’t expected it to do something to you. 
but he was still doing everything out of love.
even when his voice rose and his hands tightened and his eyes darkened—he was still the same felix. still checking if you were okay. still apologizing even though you had started this whole mess.
and somehow, that made it worse.
you hadn’t even pissed him off correctly. not really. he didn’t yell because you were annoying. he yelled because you were bleeding and he didn’t know how else to handle the sudden fear curling in his gut.
and now he was kneeling in front of you, shame written in every line of his face, like he had done something unforgivable.
you wished he hadn't come down from it so fast.
you wished—maybe more than anything—that he knew he didn’t have to keep being perfect for you to love him.
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you didn’t know what else to do.
jealousy had failed. sabotage had failed. even blood hadn’t done it right. every attempt chipped at something inside you—your confidence, your ego, your grasp on what you were even trying to prove. and yet…
seungmin had texted you the evening of the baking incident: [ that was a close one ] [ but it didn’t count. try harder. ]
you'd stared at it for a long time. not because he was wrong—but because you agreed.
so now? one last attempt.
if you couldn’t get felix to be mad at you, then maybe—just maybe—you could make him lose control somewhere else.
which is why he was between your thighs right now.
you were sprawled across his bed, hips twitching, sheets clutched in your fists.
felix was eating you out like it was a mission. like you were something sacred, and he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.
his mouth was obscene—lips slick, tongue working you open so slowly you wanted to scream. and he kept murmuring things between licks, low and reverent.
felix’s tongue traced a slow, reverent line up your slit, lips closing over your clit with a tenderness that made your hips twitch. he groaned softly into you, the sound vibrating through your core like a low hum of devotion, and his arms curled tighter around your thighs, anchoring you in place. every motion was soaked in patience, in worship. you were trembling, half mad with need already, and all he’d done was kiss you like he loved you—which, of course, he did.
“taste so good, angel… always so sweet for me, aren’t you?”
“f-felix…” your voice broke on his name, hands knotted in the sheets. he just hummed again, content like he could spend the rest of his life here, lips gliding over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, perfect circles that had your thighs quivering. he was gentle, god, so gentle. like you were the only thing in the world worth touching delicately.
and maybe that was the problem.
you were panting, already so close—too close—and he hadn’t even slipped a finger inside yet. you could feel your orgasm mounting fast, could feel the heat blooming in your belly, the ache curling in your spine, and you knew what would come next. he’d hold you through it. he’d kiss your thighs, murmur praise, make you feel like you were the center of the universe.
you were already trembling, one hand fisting in his sheets, the other tangled in his hair, breath coming in staggered whines. he didn’t speed up. didn’t deviate. tongue curling soft and hot over your clit again and again until your hips twitched and a ragged moan slipped out without your permission.
and then he paused. just for a second.
his eyes lifted to yours, warm and glassy, lips shiny with you.
“shhh, darling…” he whispered, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. “seungmin’s in the living room, remember?”
your chest heaved. right. right—he always told you. always so careful to remind you, not because he was annoyed, but because you’d confessed once—embarrassed and flushed, the sheet pulled up to your chin after a particularly loud session—that you hated the idea of his roommate hearing. and since then, felix had always made sure to keep things quiet. to warn you. to soothe you when your voice got too high, your cries too desperate. he’d press a kiss to your throat, a hand to your mouth, shushing you.
but tonight, something twisted in you.
you weren’t going to hold back.
so when his mouth dipped again, lips closing over your clit in a slow, gentle suck, you let it out—a high, shaky moan that cracked on the end, followed by a breathless, “fuck, felix—!”
he froze.
lifted his head.
his mouth was still glistening, chin slick with you, flushed and beautiful in that way that always made your stomach twist. but his brows were drawn, just slightly, and his voice—when it came—was low and firm, not scolding but edged with something new.
“hey.” his thumb stroked up your inner thigh, slow but deliberate. “quiet down.”
it wasn’t a question. wasn’t a soft reminder like before. it was a command.
and it did something to you.
your breath hitched, thighs twitching around his shoulders as the authority in his tone settled in your chest like a stone dropped into water—rippling outward, stirring everything.
still, something in you bristled.
not in defiance. not exactly.
but you couldn’t stop yourself.
you pouted. just a little. “why?”
his eyes narrowed. there was a flicker of disbelief there, a tension that rippled beneath the surface like he didn’t quite believe you were pushing this boundary.
“because seungmin’s out there,” he said, slower this time, more deliberate, as if you’d forgotten. “and you hate being overheard.”
you shrugged, arching your back slightly, enough to grind your hips closer to his face again. “maybe i changed my mind.”
his eyes flicked to your cunt, glistening and swollen and shamelessly on display, then back up to your face. his expression had shifted. no longer just disbelief. something darker had crept in now—possessive and sharp, curling like smoke at the edges of his voice.
“well i don’t want him to hear you.”
the words were quiet. flat. measured.
you blinked, breath catching.
“i don’t want anyone hearing what you sound like when i’ve got you like this,” he continued, leaning in until you could feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh. 
you bit your lip, the heat rising in your face. in your chest.
“but…” you started, trying to keep your tone airy. “you always do what i want.”
that did it.
you watched his jaw clench tighter, watched the tension rise in his shoulders, watched the composure crack. just a little.
felix rose—slowly, smoothly, like a tide pulling back before it crashes—and settled over you, forearms bracketing your head, chest brushing yours as he leveled his face just above yours.
you felt it instantly.
that shift.
gone was the usual ease in his posture, the warm, pliant softness you always leaned into. what loomed above you now wasn’t your sweet, sunny felix—it was the part of him he always held back, the part that simmered under the surface like magma, always contained, until you poked at it.
and tonight?
you’d done nothing but poke.
he leaned in again, slow, like a tiger in tall grass, and planted his palm flat against the mattress beside your head. his voice was soft now, but laced with something that made your spine arch—authority, finality, control.
“you really think i don’t know?”
you swallowed hard.
“that you’ve been bratty for days,” he said, like it was fact. like it was math. “flirting with that guy at dinner. cutting your hand because you couldn’t stand that i didn’t break. ”
your cheeks flamed, breath catching, but you still held the edge in your smile.
“i was just distracted—”
his hand moved fast, gripping your jaw—not hard, just enough to make you stop talking.
“don’t,” he said. “don’t give me that look.”
your heart kicked up behind your ribs. he’d never grabbed your face like that before. never interrupted. never spoke like that.
it made your thighs press together. instinctive.
and he noticed.
he dipped closer, forehead brushing yours, and you could feel his heart beating in time with yours—hard, steady, controlled.
“you think i haven’t been watching you push?” he hissed. “every little act.”
you whimpered, lips parting—but he kept going.
“you’ve been begging for this,” he said, biting out the words. “not out loud. but with every goddamn thing you’ve done.”
you shivered.
“and you think i don’t see you?” he growled. “you think i don’t know exactly what that look means?”
his hand grabbed your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face toward his—close enough to kiss, but he didn’t. he just held you there, breath brushing your lips, eyes burning through you.
“tell me the truth,” he said, voice a warning, a promise. “tell me what you want.”
you could barely breathe.
your voice came out thin, cracked around the edges. “you, like this…” your eyes were wide, lashes wet, trembling as you looked up at him. “this is what i want.”
felix didn’t flinch.
didn’t soften.
he just stared, his grip on your jaw unrelenting, eyes dark and unforgiving as they searched your face—saw the way you shook beneath him, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked little gasps.
“of course it is,” he said flatly.
you blinked.
he tilted your face up a little more, enough that it hurt your neck to hold the position. his voice dropped, hard and disgusted. “look at you. shaking like a leaf, soaking the fucking sheets—just because i stopped being nice.”
you winced.
but your cunt clenched hard.
the words cut. not because they were cruel—but because they were true. and he knew it. you weren’t just turned on. you were unraveling. dripping and desperate, your body buzzing from the tension, your shame crawling over your skin like fire ants—but still, the burn felt good.
“you’re pathetic,” he said, letting go of your jaw like your skin burned his fingers. 
he pushed you back roughly, your bound wrists catching against the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress. his hands were already on your thighs, spreading them open without care. not reverent. not gentle.
like you were his and he was sick of pretending otherwise.
“you want to be hated, don’t you? love isn’t enough for you?” he muttered, gaze locked on your slick cunt as he stroked two fingers through the mess between your legs. 
your hips bucked.
“well,” felix said, voice like gravel dragged slow across glass, “if that’s what you want…”
his fingers sank into you—two at once, fast, merciless. your body jolted, a high cry tearing from your throat before you could stop it. he twisted his wrist, curled just right, and you felt the tremble start in your toes.
“i’ll give it to you.”
you gasped, back arching. “y-you don’t mean that,” you choked, words splintering on a sob. “you love me—”
he laughed.
dark. sharp.
“i’m gonna fuck you like i don’t.” he said, without softness. 
his fingers pulled free. you barely had a second to breathe before he shoved your thighs wide, leaned over, and pressed his cock to your dripping cunt—still wet from your own need, from the tears and the shame and the way his voice had stripped you bare.
he held there.
right at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing just enough to make you squirm, to make your hips buck in desperate little jerks that only dragged the moment out longer. he could’ve slammed in. could’ve torn the rest of you open in a single thrust, left you breathless and sobbing.
but he didn’t.
because under all that dark fire, under the roughness and anger and heat, he was still him. still sweet. still good. still felix.
his jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he looked down at you—ruined and trembling, legs spread wide, wrists bound and face flushed with lust and tears and something more fragile. he blinked, and for a second, just a second, you saw the question flicker through his expression.
“is that what you want?” he asked.
his voice had dropped low. he was still offering you a way out. still giving you that choice.
you knew it for what it was.
you nodded, frantic. fast. moaning as you tried to roll your hips, tried to force him inside again, but his grip on your thigh only tightened.
“talk to me,” he rasped, a thread of control still clinging to him.
you blinked at him through the haze, a smile curling on your lips—half brat, half breathless.
“yes,” you said, voice thin and greedy. “yes, i want it. i want you to fuck me like you’re sick of me. like i finally got under your skin.”
he cursed.
low and vicious.
you saw it—the moment that final wall crumbled, the way the storm in his eyes finally spilled over. his cock pushed in deep, slow at first, like he wanted to draw it out, make it last.
but then your cunt clenched—tight and wet and fluttering around him—and he snapped.
“you did,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in hard enough to make the bed jolt, your cry piercing the room. “you fucking did.”
his hips snapped forward again—louder this time, harder, brutal enough to knock the air from your lungs, the rhythm punching out soft, choked sounds from your throat with every thrust. not words. not anymore. just ragged little whimpers, helpless and high, your whole body jostling beneath him as he used you—fucked you—with none of the gentleness you’d always known.
“you wanted this,” he spat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your chest as he folded you tighter, pushing your thighs up toward your shoulders to drive in even deeper. “you fucking asked for it.”
you sobbed—quiet at first, then louder, messy and wet as the tears finally spilled. they streaked hot down your cheeks, dripping into your hair, your jaw slack with pleasure too sharp to feel good and too good to survive. your wrists twisted uselessly in their binds, fingers curling tight as your whole body tried to keep up with the pace of him.
it was too much.
it was everything.
he growled—an actual growl, raw and guttural—as he looked down at you, at the tears rolling over your cheeks, at the way your mouth opened and closed, begging silently for something neither of you could name.
his rhythm never faltered.
not once.
even as your body broke beneath him—hips arching, wrists straining, cheeks soaked with tears that burned like proof—he kept going. kept fucking you with that same relentless pace, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, the sound obscene, wet and cruel in the dark.
he watched your face twist with every thrust—watched you come apart, watched the edge of pleasure curdle into panic and drag you right back down into need.
and even then—you didn’t stop.
you couldn’t stop.
your lips trembled open around another sob, your voice half-hoarse, but still you met his glare with a shaky smirk, eyes glazed and bratty to your last breath.
“i never knew you were capable of being mean,” you gasped, voice cracking as you arched under him.
he snarled, something between pain and disbelief, and slammed in so deep you screamed, your entire body jolting up the bed from the force of it.
“because i love you,” he growled, voice so low it scraped the inside of your chest. “i’ve only ever tried to treat you well. like you matter. like you’re everything to me.”
he leaned in closer, one hand pressing hard into your hip, the other curling around your throat.
“but that’s not what you wanted, was it?”
you sobbed. not an answer. just a broken, keening sound.
he dipped lower, lips barely brushing yours. “you wanted this. you wanted me mean. you wanted me to use you, and now you’ve got it.”
his cock dragged out slow, thick and aching—and then drove back in so hard your moan broke on your tongue.
“you never wanted soft.”
you blinked up at him, tears hot and sticky down your temples, your mouth quivering.
“i was—” you panted, a hiccupped cry catching in your chest, “i was trying to prove a point—”
he sneered, not stopping, not relenting, pounding into you like he wanted to fuck the brat right out of your soul.
“to who, y/n?” he hissed, words snapping like whips.
you moaned—high and messy and wrong, because you were still so turned on, because the way he said your name made your body sing even while you trembled.
“who?” he shouted again, voice rising with disbelief and something deeper—something unspoken that cracked open in his throat like it hurt to say.
and you said it.
whimpered it.
half-mindless, but not mindless enough.
“seungmin.”
felix went still.
then he laughed.
it was low. bitter. a hollow bark of disbelief as his hand slid up the length of your thigh, slow and mocking, his cock still throbbing just barely inside you.
“fucking knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than you, jaw tight as he gave a small, almost deranged shake of his head. “you and him. the way you bicker. the looks.”
his hand curled around your throat again, thumb dragging over the mess of tears smeared across your cheek. not to wipe them.
just to feel them.
“and of course you’d moan his name out while i’m balls deep in you.”
you gasped, breath stuttering under the press of his palm, legs twitching around his hips.
he laughed again—sharper now, teeth flashing in the low light. “fucking pathetic.”
you whimpered.
“here i am,” he snarled, voice dropping to a whisper, “treating you like you’re mine—spending months giving you everything. folding your laundry. holding you when you cry.”
he slammed into you again, cruel and sudden.
you screamed, head snapping back.
“and you’ve been pushing me,” he said, voice quiet, almost calm—but beneath it, something was cracking. something brittle. 
another thrust, hard and fast, punching a choked cry out of your lungs.
“all of that just to prove a point to kim seungmin?”
your mouth dropped open—useless, silent, your head lolling on the pillow as his cock hit that deep, devastating spot again and again, your body unable to hide how badly you were still enjoying it.
he sneered. “do you even understand what you’re doing?”
your eyes flicked to him—blurry, swimming, lashes soaked—and your lips moved, trying to form a denial. but you couldn’t lie.
not with your cunt sucking him in so greedily. not with the moans that still clawed up your throat even when you bit down on them. not with the guilt chewing holes through your stomach while your body begged for more.
“i—i wasn’t trying—” you whispered, but he cut you off.
“you weren’t trying?”
he laughed. dark and sharp and filled with something that sounded like it hurt his ribs to release.
“god, you’re worse than i thought,” he spat, pulling out just enough to let the next thrust slam in deeper. “you don’t even know what game you’re playing. you’re playing me, you’re playing him—”
you didn’t know anymore.
if he was really mad. if this was just another version of his anger wrapped in arousal, or if something had actually shattered under the weight of everything you’d done. you couldn’t tell if he meant the things he said—or if he was just saying them because it was what you’d asked for, begged for, pushed for until something inside him snapped.
all you knew was that your head was spinning, your lungs barely worked, and your body couldn’t stop trembling around him.
“i’m close,” you whimpered, your voice a rasp, broken and high and soaked in panic, “felix—please—”
he didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder.
you were sobbing now, face sticky with tears, wrists straining in the binds as your body shook from the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly.
“i don’t think you deserve to cum,” he hissed, biting the words like they tasted foul. “not after what you did. you little bitch.”
the word slapped.
“i’m sorry,” you cried, the words tumbling out, raw and hoarse and true. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—i didn’t—felix, please, i’m sorry—”
and for a second, just a second, something shifted in his face.
his brow twitched. his grip faltered. his eyes—not all the way, but just a little—softened.
he looked down at you, at your flushed face, your tear-soaked skin, your body trembling and still trying to push back against him, even through the guilt, even through the shame. begging for him.
he cursed under his breath. a low, ragged sound.
then he pulled out.
you whined—sharp and instinctive, your whole body lurching, chasing him.
“no—please—”
but he grabbed your hips and flipped you, fast and rough, until you were flat on your stomach, then dragging you up to your knees with no gentleness, no care. 
he leaned in, lips at your ear, voice back to that quiet, dangerous whisper.
“all fours.”
you scrambled to obey, tears still dripping from your chin onto the sheets, your ass high, back arched, your pussy swollen and dripping and empty.
he stared for a long second.
then, flatly:
“prove it. prove your sorry.”
he didn’t move.
not even a little.
just knelt behind you, one hand resting heavy on your lower back, the other wrapped around the curve of your ass—fingers digging in, spreading you open so wide the air hit your cunt like ice. his cock stood thick and flushed against your thigh, glistening with everything he’d already taken from you. close. so close.
but he didn’t move
“you want to cum so badly?” he said, voice low and flat, unreadable, like it didn’t matter either way. “then do it yourself.”
your breath caught.
you blinked, stunned.
he gripped your ass harder, a sharp squeeze that made you jolt forward, but he didn’t move to stop you. 
“come on,” he said, the cruelty now bitter instead of sharp. “you were so good at playing games earlier.”
your whole body shook.
you whimpered once—just one broken sound—and then moved. slowly. shamefully.
you rocked your hips back. tentative at first. your slick folds kissed the head of his cock and you moaned, soft and strangled, before pushing further, inching down onto him until the stretch began to burn again.
it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t like when he took care of you.
it was work.
every inch felt like a trial. your legs trembled under the weight of it, thighs threatening to give out as you lowered yourself onto him, your breath coming in ragged sobs, your cunt pulsing with how close you were, how desperately your body wanted him to take over.
but he didn’t.
“make yourself cum,” he snapped, voice tighter now. 
you nodded, rocking your hips again—sliding down fully this time, burying him inside, your body jerking as your sob turned to a long, high cry. your knees were slipping, your arms too bound to help you balance, and every time you moved your hips, your body twitched with the effort.
he just watched.
watched you ride his cock without rhythm, without grace—just need. just ruin. his hands stayed on your ass, holding it open, holding you wide for him to see.
but he didn’t help.
you were doing it alone.
“felix, i can’t—”
“you wanted this.”
and so you kept going.
kept fucking yourself back on him, over and over, your movements messy and broken, your body trembling with the weight of everything you’d done—everything you’d wanted.
and as you cried, he gripped your ass harder, dragging his thumbs over the skin, watching your hole stretch around him like it was all you were good for.
your thighs were giving out.
completely.
each roll of your hips got weaker, sloppier—your knees buckling inward, your movements more tremble than thrust, the sheer weight of him inside you unbearable. 
your arms were still bound, chest pressed into the sheets, your cries muffled now—raw and constant, more sob than sound—as you tried to keep going. but your body wouldn’t move. 
you shook your head, weakly, voice cracking as you rasped, “i—i can’t… i can’t do it…”
you felt his exhale first—long and deep. then the weight of his hands on your hips shifted. and his voice followed, low and so done.
“of course you can’t.”
you shivered.
“you couldn’t even fuck yourself properly,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips with new purpose. “you begged for this. cried for it. ruined both of us trying to prove something—and now you can’t even finish what you started?”
you sobbed but that was all he gave you time for. because he snapped his hips forward. you screamed, head slamming into the pillow, the thrust knocking your whole body up the bed.
and then he didn’t stop.
he fucked into you from behind, deep and punishing, dragging you back onto his cock with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin wet and violent, your cries rising in pitch until you couldn’t hold anything in anymore.
“isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, voice right at your ear now, one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it burned. “to get used like this? to cry on my dick and act like you’re sorry?”
your throat was raw, your eyes stinging, your body screaming with the oncoming wave, your orgasm building so hard it almost felt like pain.
“felix—fuck—i’m gonna—”
his pace didn’t stutter.
didn’t falter.
“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a rasp, full of hate and heat and something so possessive it twisted your stomach. “that’s right.”
his thrusts turned vicious, his cock pounding into you, his voice ragged and shaking.
“cum then.”
and you did.
you came with a scream—full-bodied, wrecked, your spine arching like it was trying to tear free from your skin. it hit so hard you thought for a second you might black out. your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and pulsing in rhythmic spasms, gushing slick down his cock in hot, wet waves that soaked your thighs and his lap and the sheets beneath you.
felix groaned—a sound ripped from the very pit of his chest, primal and deep, his pace faltering for the first time as he felt it. felt you soak him. felt you break.
“fuck—” he hissed, slamming into you again—chasing it now, rutting through the mess of your orgasm, the loud slap of his hips against your soaked skin. “you’re dripping, baby—fuck, you’re making such a mess—”
you sobbed into the sheets, body twitching, overstimulation crawling up your spine like static. but he didn’t stop. wouldn’t let up. not now. not after all of it.
and then—slowly, like the fire had finally started to burn itself out—his rhythm began to falter. just a little. his groans turned heavier, strained, his thrusts rougher but less precise. his body hunched forward, chest heaving, cock throbbing inside you as he buried himself one last time.
he shuddered against your back, hips twitching as he came inside of you, the warmth of it spilling deep and raw, filling you in heavy bursts. he stayed there for a moment, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your hips, breath ghosting against your shoulder.
then, gently, slowly, his body folded over yours.
his forehead pressed to the space between your shoulder blades. his chest to your back. one hand slid forward—shaky, tentative—and rested just beneath your ribs.
he stayed there, breathing with you.
then, without a word, he eased back.
his chest lifted off yours, his grip on your hip released fully, and for a moment, the loss of contact felt colder than the air in the room. he slid one palm down the arch of your spine, a soft, absent stroke. then came the slow shift of his hips—his cock slipping out, careful and deliberate, so tender in contrast to everything before.
you whimpered from the loss and the mess—his cum already spilling out of you in lazy drips, sliding down your thighs, thick and warm, clinging to the backs of your knees as gravity pulled it down. you twitched from the sensitivity, your body still trembling in little aftershocks, your hips useless, your arms limp where they lay tangled and bound under your chest.
you heard the faint shuffle of a drawer, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of warm water being poured. your eyes fluttered closed, head sinking into the pillow, your whole body too loose to lift.
you barely registered the soft wet cloth between your thighs until it was there—warm, soothing. he held you gently, one hand under your hip to tilt you, the other cleaning you with slow, careful strokes, wiping away the slick, the sweat, the release still dripping out of you.
he then settled you on clean sheets, wrapped a new blanket over your shoulders.
still nothing.
not a single word.
but he lay beside you, close but not pressed in, his fingers brushing soft through your hair, over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. you blinked slow and you opened your eyes.
and there he was.
your felix.
bathed in the low light of the room, hair a tousled halo of gold against the pillow, freckles blooming soft across his cheeks, lips pink and parted just barely. he looked tired. beautiful. like something that shouldn’t exist outside a dream.
you loved it. all of it. the softness now. the brutality before.
the way he made space for every version of you. the way he let himself be more than just the sun.
“i love you, felix.”
his hand stilled, resting against your cheek. his eyes softened then blinked, and they turned glassy.
“i love you too,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, still thick with the weight of everything.
you gave a little smile, lids already starting to droop again, your limbs heavy under the blanket he’d wrapped around you.
“i wouldn’t want you any other way,” you murmured.
that made him laugh—quiet, breathless, a sound like surrender.
and then you laughed too. barely a sound, more breath than voice, your smile curling into the pillow as your eyes slipped closed again.
he stayed beside you.
his fingers returned to your hair, softer than ever now, smoothing it back from your face as your breathing evened out, your body finally letting go.
and when you fell asleep, it was in silence.
the next morning, you woke slowly—warm, sore in all the right places, and still tangled in the soft scent of felix. the sheets around you were a little crooked, the pillow beside you empty.
you blinked blearily and reached for your phone, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your eye.
there was a note. folded and sitting neatly on the nightstand.
recording right now, but i’ll be back soon. pour yourself a cup of coffee. i love you! – lix ♡
you smiled—small, sleepy, still a little ruined from the night before. the words made your chest ache and flutter all at once. he hadn’t said anything heavy. no apologies. no over-explanations. just soft and simple. just felix.
you stretched out your limbs, wincing slightly at the ache before dragging yourself out of bed and into one of felix’s oversized sweaters and boxers. 
barefoot and quietly smug, you padded down the hallway into the kitchen.
and there he was.
seungmin.
leaning against the counter in sweats and a hoodie, eyes fixed on his phone, coffee half-drunk on the table beside him. he looked up when he heard you—expression unreadable—and you did what anyone would do after getting absolutely obliterated in the next room over by his bandmate.
you pretended nothing happened.
“morning,” you said, voice light, moving straight to the coffee pot. “didn’t think you’d be up.”
“i’ve been up,” he said simply.
you nodded and reached for a mug—felix’s, the pale blue one with the tiny chip in the rim—and poured yourself a cup. steam curled up around your face, and you focused on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
and then you felt it.
his presence. he stepped closer. closer.
you didn’t dare turn around.
then, casually—like it was nothing—he reached over your shoulder and set something on the counter in front of you.
sixty bucks in cash.
you stared at the bills for a second.
then turned.
slowly.
seungmin was already taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his mug.
“congrats.”
your mouth twitched, the corner pulling into the smallest smile.
you looked down at the cash again and without saying anything, you plucked the bills off the counter and shoved them straight into the front pocket of felix’s hoodie like you’d just been handed your trophy.
“you really thought i wouldn’t pull it off?” you asked, turning back to your coffee, tone breezy.
“i hoped you wouldn’t,” he deadpanned. “i was rooting for the soft boy.”
you huffed a laugh, lifting the mug to your lips. “he’s still soft.”
seungmin gave you a long, dry look.
you shrugged, eyes twinkling over the rim. “...just not all the time.”
he snorted.
then leaned back against the counter, sipping slow from his mug. “so,” he said casually, “how’d you do it?”
“do what?”
“make him snap.” 
you licked your lips, fighting another smile. “i might’ve… slipped your name in there a few times.”
his eyes narrowed, slow. “yeah?”
“just—it got him pretty worked up.” you said, laughing as you set the mug down. seungmin stared for a beat.
then—he rolled his eyes. “of course it did.”
there was a long pause. not uncomfortable. just tension.
he said, quiet but clear, “tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”
you nodded.
“i will.”
you stepped back slowly, letting the silence hold, and turned toward the hallway—when the front door clicked open.
both your heads turned.
felix stepped in, hair tied back, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, a little windblown from the walk. his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.
“hey, angel,” he said, smile so warm it melted straight into your ribs.
you crossed the room in a few slow steps, rising onto your toes to meet him halfway. your hand curled around his jaw, thumb brushing the skin just below his cheekbone, and you kissed him.
his other hand found your waist immediately, like muscle memory, pulling you in as he smiled against your lips. he pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around you, tucking you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, breath warm as it fanned through your hair.
you melted into him, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin at his waist. his heart beat steady against your cheek, and you let yourself breathe him in.
then, behind you, a shift in the air.
felix’s gaze lifted—over your shoulder.
met seungmin’s across the room.
you didn’t see what was unraveling between the two of them.
after a moment, you pulled back slightly, enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes.
felix looked down at you with a smile. and that was all you needed.
4K notes · View notes
et6rnalsun · 5 months ago
Text
SHOWIN’ WHAT’S MINE
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rafe hates when you dare cover up one of the vulgar hickeys he leaves on your neck while he's deep inside you. he hates it with a burning passion, and would happily let them be permanent just to show everyone that you’re already his.
that’s why every time you do it, he goes crazy.
you climbed into his truck with a small sigh from the rush you had to make to be ready on time, and unconsciously ran a hand through your hair—an action that revealed your strangely smooth neck, without any marks. his blue eyes lingered on that detail as he leaned down to kiss your lips with narrowed eyes, his hand resting on your jaw. “hi, baby”he greeted you, returning your sweet smile with a small one. he couldn't look away from your neck, his gaze darting from side to side because he was pretty sure that somewhere there had to be a hickey he'd left the day before.
“you playin’ at cover up?” he teased, adjusting in his seat. he had no intention of leaving until he understood. you frowned at his words, tilting your head as you took in his uneasy and searching eyes, scrutinizing you like there was something wrong. “what do you mean?” it was a sincere and genuine question, totally lost.
his thumb moved up to trace along your skin, his tongue dragging along his dry lips. “there was somethin’ here yesterday, doll,” he reminded you, pressing a little harder on the spot. “how come it disappeared, huh?”
oh. you let a small giggle escape your lips, and moved your head to give him more room to continue whatever his accusatory touch was. “i need to cover it, rafe. my mom would be so fuckin’ furious,” you huffed, a small pout on your lips as it was the tenth time you’d reminded him of this in a month. “y’know i want to keep it, but it’s too visible” and it was true, the neck was such an easy space to look at, to notice every little detail. and you, your parents' sweet little girl, with a hickey? absolutely not. unforgivable. a painful scandal.
rafe clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head as he stopped touching your neck. “but i don’t care” his head fell slightly to your shoulder, snuggling into you with his arm around your waist. “i really, really don’t care. your mom would understand” his voice was muffled against you, and you could feel his lips dragging down.
“no, rafe, she would never understand. are you crazy? she’d give me a monologue about how i need to have more decency, and how girls my age—“ your monologue of words that he wasn’t even listening to was interrupted by the feeling of his teeth slowly sinking into your soft skin, making your eyes widen briefly in surprise. the sting was stronger as he moved his head to get closer, his mouth closing further around the chosen piece as he switched from biting and licking to straight sucking. “rafe” you tried to stop him, but your hand on the back of his head only pulled him more closer, betraying your words.
his lips, warm and slow, felt too good — with a deliberation that made you lose your train of thought. you felt the heat growing on your skin, a sensation that mixed neediness and the rational side and thoughts. but rafe’s grip tightened on you anyway, not wanting to stop, everything a contrast to the delicacy of the way he left those marks with his mouth, each bolder than the last.
only when he pulled away you took a shaky breath and you looked up at him with big eyes and red cheeks from embarrassment. “tell me it’s not what i think” you murmured in desperation, but his smirk spoke volumes as he finally looked at the sight he truly liked; your marked up neck, barely any normal skin in sight.
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@secretlocket @waitforyrlove @sirenedeslily @freshloveee @sosasturns @zweigsangel @sturn777 @carvedtits @sweetestpoetic @sturniolossss @ilovedanielcaesar @jetaimevous @fallbhind @marrykisskilled @lacysturniolorevamp @mattsturniolover @slxtarchive @bluestriips @alesturniolos @rafespreciosa
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iekeu · 17 days ago
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❛ STUCK WITH YOU ✶ 西村力
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⸺ IN WHICH he is the most touchy person
﹙ 1032 ﹚ loser ! nr 𖹭 𝒻em. reader — fluff best friends to ?? skinship ℳORE ❜
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your best friend, riki, although it doesn't seem, it is a very, very clingy person, especially when it's about you.
like today, that he didn't let you go in all day, following you around. every time you got up, he was behind you, and his deep voice would say, “where are you going?” every. single. time.
you were pouring some water on a glass, facing the kitchen, when you felt two hands slipping through your sides, wrapping around your waist, squeezing your body against his. you felt his chest on your back and his chin slowly resting on your shoulder.
back hugs were his favorites, so he did this like a thousand times a day.
closing your eyes and shaking your head, you two walked like that to the sofa, his hands still wrapping around your waist.
“niki, seriously..” you sighed when you sat down on the sofa again, still feeling his head resting on your shoulder, making himself comfortable.
“you know that i love you because you're my best friend, but.. you're particularly touchy today, don't ya?” a straight line formed on your lips as you turned your head to look at him, finding his dark eyes staring back at you.
he scoffed, putting his hands away from you and hiding them in the pockets of his hoodie.
“fine. i won't be in your personal space anymore, huh” he clicks his tongue, sitting straight, without touching your body. you smirk because of his attitude. what's up with him today?
“well, i need to go now,” he said all of a sudden, standing up after looking at his phone. you raised your head, looking at him.
“wait, are you mad?” you look at him confused as he put his jacket on. niki shook his head with a tiny smile.
“of course not, dumbass. do you remember that i told you i had this meeting with that girl?” his voice shakes a little at the end. you slowly nod, remembering your talk of yesterday.
“that's called a date, niki” you laugh, standing up so you can be "at his eight." he bit his bottom lip, nervous, and you notice that, so you pat his shoulder, trying to give him some comfort.
“okay pretty boy, go. it's getting late.” he nods.
and he was about to kiss your cheek as he always does, but then he remembered what you said just a minute ago, so he just nodded again and rushed to the door, giving you one last smile before closing the door behind him.
you stood there in the middle of your living room, still with a smile, but with a strange feeling invading you, like.. jealousy. no, it can't be. you were happy about your friend's date, although it was a date that your other friends organized behind his back and told him just yesterday about it.
but he seems to like the idea, so yeah, you were happy for him.
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today was saturday night, and you were at your friend's house since she had organized a sleepover. and you haven't seen niki since yesterday when you saw him go on his date, so you were constantly looking at the door, expecting him to arrive.
the last time you saw the clock was 9 pm. so you thought that maybe he wasn't going to come until you finally saw his dark hair appearing at the door next to sunghoon.
“oh, there he is! welcome, loverboy. how was your date?” you heard the playful tone of jake, then he wrapped an arm around niki's neck, smiling. the rest of your friends made teasing noises. and you find yourself expecting his answer.
“well, it didn't go very well..” you stare at him in silence when his eyes finally meet yours when he finishes the sentence. you blinked, breaking eye contact.
jake and the rest of your friends noticed that something was happening, so he just left the topic there, and everybody started talking about something else. so when that happened, niki made his way to your side, sitting on the couch too.
“hey.” he looked at you, showing his signature smile.
“hey.” you also smiled at him, turning your body to meet his eyes better.
“i'm turning the lights off! try not to make a mess with the food.” your friend said a couple of minutes later, marking the last sentence, looking at jungwon. the blonde just laughs ashamed, remembering the last sleepover.
the rest of the guys made comfortable on the other couch, the floor, and next to niki, so he was literally stuck to you.
“if you don't want me to stay this close, i can sit on the floor” he whispered next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
you turned for face a little, looking at him.
“what are you talking about? if it's about yesterday, forget it. it's weird not having you bothering me” you rolled your eyes, pushing him with your shoulder.
his smile widened, and just after that, he made himself comfortable, putting his head on your shoulder, like always. and you could feel the warmth of his chest on your back and his breath on your cheek.
“you just love me so much,” he said in a playful tone as he looked at the tv screen.
the movie had just started, and the rest of your friends were also whispering, so no one was paying attention to the two of you.
“no, you love me more. we both know that.” you nodded, staring at the screen too, now feeling his hands and arms wrapping around your waist, cuddling you.
you tried your best to ignore the sound of your own heart.
“mhm, if you say so..” he whispered again.
thanks to the lights being off, nobody could see his red ears, and neither you, well also because you weren't facing him. and what niki didn't know was the fact that you also were fully flushed.
the rest of the night, you tried to hide the smile on your face. and both of you fell asleep on the couch in each other's arms.
the next day be prepared to be mocked by all your friends.
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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months ago
Note
How about some silliness.....reader/you is superrr drunk from a night out with friends or high from anesthesia and the guys are trying to take care of them and we are all like "get your hands off me or my husband will kick you ass!" Or "omg you're so hot are you single??"...and they are just dying laughing like "I am your husband!"
I just watched one too many tik toks of this 😂🤣
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Oh, I love this. I don't think I've actually seen these videos before (at least on TT) but I do know what you're talking about. Maybe I've seen it more in other media? Like movies and television? Anyway, I understand what you're asking for, so I hope you enjoy what I've cooked up!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, established relationship, fluff, mild alcohol use, shenanigans due to drunkenness & anesthesia
Word Count: 800
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
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John Price
John stands beside you on the passenger side of the car. The car door is open, and all you need to do is slide inside. Instead, you’re arguing with him, insisting that you can get in yourself, and that you don’t need help.
“You just had surgery,” chides John.
“Minor surgery,” you correct.
“It’s still surgery.” John sighs, and then places his hand on your back. “Let me help you.”
“Hands off, sir. You’re not my husband.”
John does not move his hand. “I don’t remember us getting a divorce, love.”
You wave him off and John snorts. “He’ll kick your ass,” you insist. “Punch you right in the nose.”
John’s stern demeanor cracks, dissolving into a wide smile and a soft chuckle. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m your bloody husband. You’re stuck with me. Forever.”
“I’m serious,” you say. Turning, you attempt to jab him in the chest with your finger. Everything tilts, and you only hit air.
John sighs, exasperated. “Get in the car, love.”
“No,” you groan, pushing at his chest. You surrender to him, allowing John to help you into the front passenger seat.
“I hope you remember this after the drugs wear off.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
You’ve been out with your friends all evening, and you have no idea what times it is. It’s dark, and you didn’t leave until the bar closed, forcing you to make an exit. Someone called for a car, and you all piled in, dropping each of off one by one.
As you enter the dark bedroom, you kick off your shoes, slightly stumbling to turn on the bedside light. You turn it on, and immediately wince. Vision swimming, you rub at your eyes, and then notice the massive lump in your bed.
“Turn off the bloody light, will you?” mumbles Johnny.
A devious plan forms in your head.
You climb onto the bed, crawling toward him. Noticing, Johnny turns toward you, eyes dreary with sleep.
“What?” he asks just before you flop your entire body onto him.
“Hi,” you whisper.
“Hi,” he deadpans.
You wiggle over him, pressing the tip of your nose against his. “You seeing anyone, handsome?”
Johnny arches an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head or something? I am your husband.”
“Lucky me.”
Johnny blows raspberries. With one good shove, he flips you onto your back on your side of the bed.
“Go to bed. You’re drunk.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Your liquor-addled brain tells you to do it.
Across the bar is danger, the kind you want to play with—to sink your teeth into. Why resist temptation when it’s clear that the masked man across the bar can’t seem to take his eyes off you? Every time you glance in his direction, his gaze is focused and intense, daring you to approach him.
Which is exactly what you do.
He follows your every step, even if there is a slight sway in the way you walk. As you approach, he leans back in his chair, legs widening as if in welcome. It’s easy to reach out, to place your hand on his shoulder, to straddle his thighs, and stare into his eyes.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you slur. “Plan on going home with anyone?”
“I am,” the masked man replies.
“And who might that be?”
“My wife.”
You turn in his lap, looking around at all the other patrons in the bar. “Don’t see her.”
“Course you don’t,” he chuckles. “Because she’s sitting in my lap.”
You blink. “Is she?”
“You’re my wife,” he whispers.
“I am…aren’t I?”
He shakes his head. “I’m cutting you off.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
The alcohol is an enabler. You shouldn’t have had as many drinks as you did, but this is a party, and you’re not the one driving.
Why not have a bit of fun?
“Hi.”
Kyle arches an eyebrow. “Hi,” he replies, drawing out the greeting in slight confusion.
You cozy up next to him, shoulder brushing against shoulder.
“So,” you begin, head tilting toward him like you’re about to whisper all your secrets. “I’m going to be a bit bold…”
“Go on.”
“But I think you’re cute. Wanted to know if you’re seeing anyone.”
Kyle’s single raised eyebrow becomes two. There’s a long pause, so long that you notice the absence of conversation.
Kyle’s confusion cracks, becoming a wide smile, followed by his adorable, familiar laughter. “You’re taking the piss, love.”
“I’m not joking.”
He laughs harder, clutching his chest like he can’t breathe.
“I’m your husband,” he manages to say between wheezing breaths.
“I know,” you reply. “Just checking to make sure you’re still loyal.”
He waves his hand in the air before him. “You’ve had enough. Give me that.” He plucks your beverage right out of your hands.
“Excuse me,” you protest, but Kyle is already downing it.
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magical-reid · 5 months ago
Text
Yours, Whether You Know it or Not
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Setting: Falcon and the Winter Soldier Timeline
Word Count: 1K
Summary: You’ve been running missions with Sam and Bucky for a while now, and everything was fine—until John Walker started showing up and taking an interest in you. Bucky isn’t having it. Not because he’s jealous. Definitely not because he’s jealous. He just doesn’t trust Walker. Right?
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Unwanted Attention
You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking, but you knew Bucky was beside you—silent, brooding, and absolutely vibrating with tension.
Again.
It had started a week ago. After the whole Flag Smashers fiasco in Munich, John Walker and his annoying sidekick, Lemar, had started appearing more often. They were always just there, cocky and insufferable, flashing that stolen shield like they had any right to it. But that wasn’t what had been bothering Bucky the most.
It was Walker’s interest in you.
Ever since you’d first been introduced, Walker had made it painfully obvious that he found you attractive. The first time, it was a comment—something about how you were “too pretty to be running around with these two grumps.” You’d rolled your eyes, but Sam had snickered, and Bucky had muttered something under his breath that you hadn’t quite caught.
Then, it became touches—a hand on your lower back, a brush of fingers against yours when he handed you something, a lingering grip on your wrist after a mission. It was all casual enough that you couldn’t really call him out on it, but you weren’t an idiot. Walker was testing boundaries. And every time, Bucky got pissed.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
At first, you thought it was just his general hatred for Walker. But then you noticed other things.
Bucky started standing closer. His arm would “accidentally” brush against yours when you were walking. He’d place a firm hand on your back before Walker could, guiding you away without a word. And, most notably, whenever Walker so much as looked at you, Bucky’s jaw would tighten, his fists clenching like he was barely keeping himself from decking the guy.
Which led to this moment right now.
You, Bucky, and Sam were walking back to the safe house after a tense meeting with Walker and Lemar—one in which Walker had, yet again, spent way too much time trying to get your attention.
“You don’t have to act like I’m gonna drop dead if he talks to me, you know,” you said finally, breaking the silence.
Bucky didn’t look at you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on.” You stopped walking, turning to face him. “Every time Walker so much as breathes in my direction, you look like you’re about to rip his throat out.”
Bucky scoffed, looking away. “I just don’t trust him.”
Sam, who had been trailing a few steps behind, smirked. “Right. That’s what this is about.”
Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam just shrugged.
“Man, you’re jealous,” Sam said. “It’s written all over your grumpy little face.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You’re so jealous.”
“I—” Bucky cut himself off, taking a deep breath like he was trying to calm himself. “He’s an asshole.”
“No arguments there,” you said. “But if you don’t like him flirting with me, there’s a pretty easy solution, Barnes.”
Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours. “Yeah?”
You smiled innocently. “You could just tell me why it really bothers you.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, blue eyes dark and unreadable. Then, with a sharp shake of his head, he muttered, “Let’s go,” and kept walking.
Sam sighed. “Man, you are hopeless.”
You didn’t disagree.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
A Game of Possession
The next time you saw Walker, things escalated.
It was supposed to be a simple recon mission—stakeout, gather intel, get out. But, as always, Walker found a way to insert himself where he wasn’t wanted.
“You know,” Walker said, sidling up beside you, “we’d work a lot better together if you ditched these two and joined Lemar and me.”
Bucky, who was standing just a few feet away, tensed immediately.
You sighed. “Not interested.”
“Come on,” Walker pressed, flashing that annoyingly charming smile. “I’d take good care of you.”
Before you could retort, a heavy, warm weight settled around your waist.
Bucky.
His metal arm wrapped around you in an unmistakably possessive gesture, tugging you snugly against his side. His fingers splayed against your hip, and when he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.
“She’s already taken care of.”
The air went thick with tension. Walker’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered.
“Oh yeah?” he challenged. “By who?”
Bucky’s grip tightened. “Me.”
Your heart stopped.
Walker raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Didn’t peg you for the type to settle down, Barnes.”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.”
Walker let his gaze linger on you for a beat too long before smirking. “Alright, alright. No need to get your vibranium arm in a twist.”
And with that, he strolled off.
Bucky didn’t move. Neither did you.
Finally, you found your voice. “So. That was… something.”
Bucky let out a breath through his nose. Slowly, his hand eased away, though his fingers brushed lightly against your side before leaving entirely. “Sorry.”
You turned to look at him. “Are you?”
He hesitated. Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he admitted, “No.”
You bit your lip, heartbeat unsteady. “So… am I actually taken?”
Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Do you want to be?”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stepped forward, closing the space he’d left between you.
“I wouldn’t mind,” you murmured.
Bucky swallowed hard. His eyes flickered to your lips. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to touch you again.
Before either of you could do anything about it, Sam’s voice rang out from across the way.
“Hey, lovebirds! We’ve got work to do!”
You pulled back, trying not to grin. Bucky just sighed.
“This is your fault,” he muttered.
You smirked. “If you say so, boyfriend.”
Bucky groaned, but the tips of his ears burned red. And you had a feeling that, jealous or not, he wasn’t going to let the title go.
Not anymore.
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salvagemarch · 2 months ago
Text
Lay It on Me
joel miller x reader
3,114 words
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summary: you are absolutely smitten with joel and everything about him, specifically everything he has going on in his pants. you know it’s unrealistic to have access to him at all times, so you come up with a solution.
continuation of this blurb but can be read as a stand alone
warnings: reader literally makes a dildo in the shape of joel’s dick, female and male masturbation, unprotected piv, cowgirl, creampie, reader is unhinged, insatiable, and sex crazy but joel likes it, sort of jealous joel, my attraction to blue collar workers is kind of shining through in this…
a/n: i wrote this solely because my first ever anon requested it…this is all for you babe
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To say you were pissed would be an understatement
You knew it was unfair, Joel was a busy man with a busy job and a lot of clients to make happy. But he was your man, and you deserved to be happy too.
Here you were, feeling bad for yourself after he cut your usual morning sex short because his brother needed him at work earlier than usual. You were still laying in the same spot in your shared bed, naked, sweaty, and wet, with no Joel there to help you.
Sighing, you knew you could finger yourself, use a vibrator, take a cold shower, do whatever the hell you needed to do to rid yourself of your unbearable horniness, but you didn’t want to anything but fuck Joel.
As you sulk in your bubble of sexual frustration, your mind begins to wander and you remember a friend of yours telling you about a “stupid gag gift” her boyfriend bought her for Christmas. It was some sort of diy clay kit to make a mold of his penis, and in the moment you laughed at the idea. But now, with your spread legs and your poor, unsatisfied groin, it seemed brilliant.
You grab your phone to text your friend.
“Hey, how much did that dick mold kit cost?”
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“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Joel, it’s an amazing idea! Just do it, it’ll be worth it!”
You told Joel about your genius plan as soon as he sat down to take off his work boots, which you began to regret as he looked up at you with tired eyes and a sweaty face. The regret quickly dissipated when you noticed his damp biceps and your arousal for him took over everything else.
“Don’t you want us to be closer? This is a great way for us to bond,” you sit down beside him, getting in his personal space to try and convince him to do what you wanted. It always worked.
He continued untying his boots and wiped his hands on his pants. “I already fuck you every damn day and night, how much more close can we get?” you ignore his remark to gawk at his big hands, imagining them on your body.
He sighed as he sat up to stretch his back, glancing over at you with irritated eyes. “You ain’t gonna let this go, are you?” you shake your head with a big smile.
“Jesus christ. Go get in bed, girl. I’m gonna show you I’m better than any dumb toy.”
You cum 6 times that night. It doesn’t deter you from your plan.
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Two weeks pass when you get a knock on your front door, and when you open it you find what you’ve been waiting for. The kit. You yell for Joel to come down into the kitchen and when he walks in, hands dirty from wood working, you hold the box up in all its taboo glory.
“It’s beautiful,” you smile.
“It’s stupid. I can’t believe you’re makin’ me do this,” he crosses his arms and leans against the counter, watching as you open the box and glares at the big Clone-A-Willy name on the package.
“I’m not making you do anything, you’re choosing to do it because you love me.”
Joel finds himself lying on the bed with an annoyed expression and spread legs, his jeans thrown somewhere on the floor and his boxers pulled down to his ankles. You take a second to admire his pretty cock before wrapping both of your hands around it and stroking up and down to get him hard.
It really was beautiful. Almost eight inches, wide, had veins and ridges in all the right spots. It’s like his body was made just for you. You swallow down your saliva as your mouth watered.
“Okay, step one: Coat the penis in clay mixture,” you read from the instruction paper in front of you and begin spreading the mix you made earlier around Joel’s dick. His breath hitches as it hits his sensitive skin.
“Shit, you didn’t tell me it was gonna be cold! And it’s slimy, too,” he grimaced at the feel of the clay, and you had to hold back a moan as his appearance grew more disheveled. His thighs tensed and his neck strained at the discomfort, but holy hell did he look hot when he was irritated.
“Sorry, hon. I’m just following instructions,” you explain as you continue working the mixture onto his length.
He frowns at you, clearly unimpressed with your excuse. His cock twitches slightly as you continue smearing the cool, thick clay mixture along him. Despite his obvious discomfort, his cock grows harder and harder under the clay coating.
"Following instructions, huh? Those instructions are shit," he grumbles, shifting his hips restlessly on the bed. "My balls are starting to get numb here."
You bite your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how hot he looks sprawled out like this, all rugged and masculine despite the weird clay situation. His stomach rises and falls with each breath, drawing your eye to his sturdy chest.
"Almost done, baby. Just need to make sure it's fully coated," you say.
“Okay, all done. Step two: Wait for clay to dry on penis. Shouldn’t be hard at all, right? Hard? See what I did there?”
He frowns at you. The clay continues to set around his dick, creating an oddly textured surface. “You ain’t funny, smartass. No shit it shouldn't be hard. Though I guess you're doing a good job of changing that," he says wryly, nodding towards his straining erection barely contained by the stiffening clay mold.
After a few more minutes of awkwardly waiting, he sits up slowly, the clay slightly cracking and flaking off in places. “Alright, I think it's dry enough. Can I please take this thing off now? My dick feels like it's trapped in concrete."
“Be careful!” you reprimand him. “I don’t want to break. I need it all in one piece to be able to use it,” you place a hand on his stomach and push him back down, opting to take the cast off yourself. His dick grows harder.
He sighs heavily, looking exasperated by your enthusiasm. With great care, he helps you peel away the clay mold, moving slowly to avoid breaking it. As more of his dick is revealed, you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.
"There, I got it off in one piece. Happy now?" he asks once the mold is complete, holding it up for your inspection. It's creepily similar to Joel’s length, replicating every ridge and vein in detail. He sets it aside on the nightstand before turning back to you with a raised eyebrow.
"So, uh...why exactly are you makin’ that thing anyway? Because I gotta say, this whole ordeal is pretty weird. Even for you,” he takes a tissue from the nightstand and wipes his clay covered hands, making an effort to avoid touching the clone of his penis.
“I already told you, I’m gonna use it when you’re away and I’m horny. And you know I’m always horny.”
Joel shook his head, a mix of frustration and fondness in his expression. "Yeah, I know you're horny all the time, but that doesn't mean this is the only solution. What if my brother goes snoopin’ around and sees that you have that? You know he likes the run his mouth," Joel starts overthinking. "You're gonna be the talk of the town, aint't ya? 'Did you hear Joel’s girl has a plaster replica of his cock?' Christ, the rumors will be flying," he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.
You bite back as he spirals. “Yeah? Maybe I can use it right now if you’re so ashamed of me, let it take your spot completely.”
His smile faltered at your words. "Whoa, hold on a minute. I'm not ashamed of you, crazy girl. I just...I don't know, it's weird, okay? Seeing my own dick in a fucking mold, knowing you're gonna use it on yourself..." He trailed off.
Joel exhales shakily and runs a hand through his hair, struggling to articulate his feelings. “God knows how horny you are, and there ain’t nothin’ that makes me happier than gettin’ to take care of that whenever you need. But this...this is different. It's like you're replacing me."
Despite his hesitation, you can sense an undertone of desire in his voice. He's torn between his possessive nature, and the thrill of watching you pleasure yourself with his likeness.
You sit on your knees and scoot closer to him. “Aw, is baby jealous? You really think I’m trying to replace you?”
Joel scoffs, but there is a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Me, jealous? Of a goddamn sex toy? Please. I'm just sayin’, this is crazy." He crosses his arms while he wallows, his cock still hard and on full display.
He pauses, seeming to take a moment and think over his next words. “I guess I have to be honest. Seein’ you touch yourself with my dick, even if it's just a copy...it is kind of hot. Knowin’ that I can make you feel good like that, even when I'm not around..."
He trails off, a flush creeping up his neck as he meets your gaze. There's an intense look in his eyes. "Just don't start expecting this to become a regular thing, okay? I'm still the one who gets to be inside you.”
You bite back a smile as Joel reassures himself, reminding you of your need for him more for his peace of mind than yours. “Of course. It’s just for when you’re unavailable, I promise.”
He nods, accepting your terms and letting his jealousy subside. A small smile plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you eagerly eyeing the toy. “If that's what you want, go on and use it.”
He gestures towards the nightstand where the replica sits, awaiting its inaugural use. “Just don't forget whose it really is when you're done playing with it,” he says, eyeing your covered cunt.
“You wanna watch or something, perv?” you tease.
“Me? A perv? I’m just curious to how you’re gonna use the thing. ‘Sides, it’s only fair considering the fact I had to deal with having my dick covered in clay.” He leans against the headboard, crossing his arms behind his neck. “Put on a show for me. I deserve it.”
You lean forward to grab the toy off the nightstand, sitting back to look at Joel. You’ll give him a show.
As you position the clay piece between your legs, Joel’s eyes don’t leave your body once. His gaze is trained to the space hovering over the cockhead of the toy, and you can sense his arousal growing at the promise of watching you get off. “Don’t forget to stroke the real thing later,” he says, reaching down to palm himself.
You bring your bottom lip between your teeth as you begin to rub your panty covered center on the molded cock, watching Joel rub his dick. “Fuck me, why don’t ya just put it in already? I wanna see you ride that thing,” his words come off as a command but you know better, sensing the desperation beneath them. Joel was always just as horny as you were.
With a huff you toss your shorts off and pull your panties to the side, wearing nothing but them and your tank top. You fit the tip between your wet lips. “You need to be patient,” you scold him as you ease yourself onto the toy.
Joel’s free fist clenches at his side, fighting the urge to pounce and yank you onto his lap. The sight of your slick entrance welcoming the dildo into your body makes him want to moan, and the vision of you was almost too much for him to handle. “You,” he pants, “are testin’ my limits, sweetheart.”
You let yourself sink fully onto the toy, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room and simultaneously making Joel’s actual tip leak with precum.
You breathe lowly as your eyes roll closed, spreading your legs to fully take in the feeling of the toy. The familiarity of the shape comforted you, but the inhuman smoothness to it gave you something new to explore.
The moan that leaves your lips makes Joel throb painfully, his dick begging for relief as he gawked at the sight before him. “Jesus, fuck…look at you, so damn sexy taking that thing so deep…” he wasn’t even really aware of what he was saying, letting his dirty thoughts come out of his mouth freely as he tugged on his cock.
“You like that, don’t you? Like bein’ able to have my dick buried inside you at all times?” he mumbled, continuing to stroke himself and watch you through hooded eyes, “I bet you can’t wait to cum all over it, can you?”
His words just made you whimper, encouraging you to slide up and down the toy, “Feels so good, Joel,” you leak more arousal onto the sheets below, “Love your dick so much.”
A guttural groan comes from Joel’s throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as if he was following the motion of the toy inside you. “Don’t I know it, baby,” he reaches out with his free hand, trailing his thick fingers over your thigh. “Keep goin’, work that thing in and out of ya. Show me how much you love having my cock inside of you.”
Before having sex with Joel, you didn’t think it was possible to cum in under five minutes. Now, even with a fake version of his dick, you already felt your stomach getting tighter. “So deep,” you moan out, “‘M gonna cum, Joel.”
As your climax began consuming you, Joel surged forward and planted two beefy hands on your hips, pulling you down onto the toy. The lewd squelch of your pussy gripping onto the mold filled the room, punctuated by your moans growing in pitch and Joel’s words of praise.
“That’s it, cum for me,” he grumbles. “Let go, baby, Give that thing everything you got.
His grip on your hips tighten, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he helped you piston up and down. The toy plunged in and out of your dripping cunt, making you whimper loudly as you gushed around it. Joel tugged you down, hard, one final time as he held you in place and grinded you against the base of the dildo.
As you rode out the aftershocks, Joel held your shaking form against his body and stroked your hand gently, shushing you as you came down from your high.
“Will you fuck me now?”
Joel breathed out exasperatedly. “First, you make me sit through having my dick turned into a sex toy, and now you’re askin’ to fuck me after cumming on said sex toy?” Despite his shock, Joel knew he wanted to give your body as many orgasms as it could handle. He eyes his own crotch, knowing he was still hard.
“I suppose I should give you somethin’ in return for that performance…” he trailed off before grabbing your body as if it weighed nothing and laid back on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. “Come on, up ya go. Show me what you’ve got.”
You smile breathlessly, still feeling your walls twitch and clench around nothing. You throw your legs over his waist and sit right over his cock.
Joel slides his hands up your thighs to your hips, grasping them and sliding you onto his tip. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” your previous orgasm still drips from between your thighs. His hands moved to grip your ass cheeks, pushing you to sink down. You both gasped and groaned as you took his length in, Joel thrusting up to meet your downward motion.
“That’s it, honey,” he encouraged, “Use me however you want. Jus’ don’t stop.”
He loses himself in the feeling of you bouncing above him, the weight of your breasts pushing against his chest and your moans like a bird song to his ears. You whimper and rest your hands on his strong shoulders, finally having his dick back in you after fucking the replica. Nothing is better than the real thing.
“Love your cock so much, Joel. So perfect for me,” you praise him mindlessly, letting your horny brain do all the talking as his dick filled every space inside your pussy.
He slid his hands up your torso while you rode him, letting his thumbs hike your shirt up to reveal your breasts. He moved one hand down to steady your hip, and used his other to reach for your tits, taking turns to palm each of them softly. “You are so fuckin’ sexy like this,” he groaned out, “Can’t believe I get to call this body mine.”
Your moans turn into full on whines, letting Joel consume you entirely as your second orgasm began forming. You rolled your hips downwards, letting his dick fill you as deep as it could as your slick walks gripped him tightly.
“I’m cumming again, Joel,” you warn, sliding up and down. Despite your words, Joel makes no move to stop you, his body surrendering to yours.
“Go ahead, baby, get it nice and wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick and heavy with desire. You comply as Joel moves his hand from your breast to your clit, rubbing circles on it with his fingers. You clench around him before your ears start to ring, finishing with loud whimpers.
With renewed urgency, Joel grips your hips and bucks up into you, the force of his thrusts rocking your body and making the bed creak. His balls draw up tight against you, and with a powerful thrust, he buries his face into your neck and lets out grunts into your ear. You feel him cumming inside of you, feel it spilling out of you as he gives slower thrusts. Your tiny whimpers of satisfaction fill the room as he pants, wrapping his arms fully around your torso and bringing you with him down against the bed. He feels something nudging his back, but he ignores it as you move over to nuzzle into his chest.
The both of you catch your breath together, basking in contentedness and the warmth of each other’s sweaty bodies.
Suddenly, Joel’s body jolts up when he hears a blood curdling scream coming from beside him on the bed.
“YOU LAID ON MY DILDO!”
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vxnuslogy · 10 months ago
Text
— pasalubong.
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pairing: kinich x gn!reader
premise: kinich wasn't a sentimental person at heart, until you left to travel. neither was he easily upset, but here he was, undoubtedly upset that you didn't give him a gift with your recent package.
— warnings: ooc-kinich and ajaw (still havent done the new aq), he's a bit down bad, and misses you dearly.
— author's note: this is not angst despite the premise LMFAO. art credits to @.n429g on twt. | 1.6k words.
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“delivery for kinich!” a mail man shouted, trying his best to not look down over the ledge the scions of the canopy is held. “delivery for ki—”
“i heard ya!” the small dragon yells, taking the sealed letter and small box from the man’s hands and throws a pouch of mora as thanks. 
the man sweat drops at the comical sight of the tiny dragonlord floating up to where kinich was. said man was dangling his legs over the ledge, hair swaying with the wind and an indifferent look on his face as he swats away his small companion and roughly takes the letter in his hands. he could only assume that the two had started another argument once again.
with a sigh, he cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, “thank you for your patronage!”
kinich looked in his direction and gave him a small nod. there were few postal workers here in natlan, so he made sure to at least pay the man generously—especially with how his legs shake and hand clutch the side of the mountain for dear life.
ajaw continued to punch and tug at his head but his attention had zeroed in on the envelope. it felt heavier than the last and you had sent a small package with it. ‘for my dearest, kinich & almighty dragon lord, ajaw.’ the small note said with your signature right below it as well as a wax seal at the corner. your penmanship makes kinich smile and before ajaw can open his mouth, he takes the grapple on his waist and zips away to find a secluded place to open your gifts. they were sacred to him and therefore had to be treated with utmost care.
when he lands on teticpac peak, he sits down by one of the rocks and gently peels away the seal. kinich makes a mental note to stop by a market to get a new container for all your letters, after all, his bedside drawer can only hold so much of you over the years. 
‘to my dearest, kinich,’
with just four words, you had him smiling like a fool. one hand propped behind his back to support his weight as he leisurely soaks in your stories like a sponge. ajaw sits by his shoulder, impatiently demanding him to open the box that came along with your letter. kinich was not even half way with reading before he relented—you always had a knack for making pages and pages of stories, but he didn’t mind. you have been away for nearly 7 years now and send only a letter or two every few years. kinich learned to appreciate the pages of your love every time they arrive.
“hurry up!” ajaw demanded, waiting with bated breath as kinich opened the box. “learn to be patient, ajaw.”
the dragon only huffed and turned around but it didn’t take long before he dove head first into the array of gifts. while his little companion drowned in material luxuries, kinich took out items in piles and made a mental note to give them to their respective owners.
kinich tucked the small pouch with xilonen’s name along with your letter for her at his side. he will deliver these to her first, he concludes. as he’s sifting through the items, kinich catches a glimpse of ajaw sitting on a toy fox’s head with a small note with kachina’s name. the final item that seemed important was a small box containing colorful seashells with mualani’s name on it.
his brows furrowed in confusion as he sets all the gifts down carefully and sifts through the package one more time. and again, and again, until his lower back felt sore. ajaw noticed his antsy behavior and decided to look at what all the fuss was about. kinich sat down, head lowered with his bangs covering his eyes—ajaw was beginning to worry (but he would rather die than verbally admit it).
“hey!” ajaw turned to kinich who had stiffly stood up. clutching at your letter as the sliver of expectancy in his eyes dimmed. “don't tell me they actually forgot about you?”
“let’s go back,” he says with a subtly sullen voice. “we have to deliver these to the others.”
ajaw makes no further comment and sits on his shoulder as they zip from one place to another. he doesn’t point out the way kinich’s eyes looked duller and the way a frown tugged at his lips—he was upset. 
“hmph! i'll be sure to show them a piece of my mind when they get back!" the dragon complains to him as they arrive back home. kinich beelined his way back to his residence, a bit more aggressive than he normally would.
he doesn’t want to admit that he was upset—it was stupid. so what if you didn’t get him a gift after not hearing from you for almost a year? but how come everyone else had one? hell even citlani and mavuika received one, so why didn’t he?
with a click of his tongue he pushed past all the people in his way, muttering half hearted apologies here and there as ajaw kept calling his name. kinich was not upset nor was he disappointed—he wasn’t a child chasing after the trail of gold you left behind anymore. he was an adult now, someone people look up to and admire. kinich was no longer the shy kid that always wondered if he could ever chase after you.
“kinich!”
with the shout of his name, he was taken back to memory lane. how you would call to him from the ground, a pair of wheels at your feet as you glided through the rocky terrain as if it were made of ice. the smile you flash him as you point to your finish line makes his heart skip a few beats, rendering him only to reply in a nod because his mind has turned into a mushy puddle. 
“kinich!”
you have always been golden in his eyes. smiles bright like the sun, kindness gentle like its morning rays, and hypnotizing in the starry trail you leave behind. kinich remembers the first time he tried his hands on rollerblades. he felt unwittingly afraid of standing on his own two feet, the possibility of his world turning upside down with one single step scared him. but you were always there to ward away his fears. it wasn’t long before he took them off and said with a dead expression that he will never try them again. the laugh that he managed to steal from your lungs made all his suffering worth it.
“kinich!”
he doesn’t like letting things go, not when you’ve taught him how to cherish every little thing. but he’d hate himself if he kept you from your dreams. so there he was, all those years ago, standing by natlan’s borders, unable to say goodbye as the rest bid theirs. you had to make him face you—gently cupping his jaw with both hands and flashing a small smile, giving him a tempting offer.
“let me stay,” you said. you were willing to give up your dreams if it meant making him happy. kinich didn’t want his happiness, he wanted yours.
“leave,” he said bluntly. it made you laugh because it sounded incredibly rude, but the way he held your hand in his shaking hold, lip bitten until it almost bled, everyone knew he was struggling the most.
“i’ll give you souvenirs,” you offered as consultation and it took every willpower he had to say he only wanted you. 
“i’ll keep them safe.” he replied and you smiled.
“kinich!”
urging you to travel has been the best and worst decision in his life—you were enjoying your life but he was stuck missing you. his longing for the sun in his life greatly outweighed his happiness for you. how can he be happy when happiness is spelled with your name? the way you smile, and the way you leave a golden trail?
“kinich.”
“ajaw, enou—” his sentence was cut off when he turned to look at the smiling faces of his tribe. brows furrowed in confusion as he searched the crowd for a certain green dragon, but all his eyes could see was gold.
the wind in his lungs was stolen as the images of smiling faces turn to fade, his attention solely on you in the distance, ajaw by your side as you both waved him over. as fast as the winds could take him, kinich ran straight in your arms—his home. your laugh ringed like morning birds and your hands felt warm like the afternoon heat. you were home; you were his gift.
“pasalubong, for kinich,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice. 
“pasalubong?” he repeats, hands coming to cradle your smiling face. “what does that mean?”
you smile wider and hold his hands with your own. “it means gifts given by homecomers. but,” you tuck away a stray piece of his hair behind his ear as you tempt him in another embrace. “it can also mean ‘to meet again.’”
kinich laughed—airy and bright, like the setting sun. this was so you, he thought, burying his head in your neck. trying to make up for all the lost physical contact he had missed. 
“thank you for the gift.” he said with a smile.
you pat him on the back and hummed in delight. “i came back just for you.”
“i’m honered,” he jests and takes a step back, not letting your hand go. “you should be! the trip back home is nothing short of tedious!”
he chuckles because kinich knows he’s a goner. no need for xilonen’s amused teasing, mualani’s persistence and kachina’s curiosity. everyone in his tribe and maybe even natlan knew, kinich would wait for you knowing you’ll eventually come home to him.
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