#but its really just a stomach ache its nothing

[in-silver-lake]

everything's different now.

warnings: sa (not actually described, but there's flashbacks), angst, hurt/comfort, could be read as bsf!billie, no clearly happy ending bc i'm sorry but absolutely not. a/n: okay slight switch up - i actually wrote this for myself a long time ago, it's also not really proofread. please please please do not read if you think it's gonna trigger you in any way - always prioritise yourself and your health. take care lovelies.

3.5k

what do I do? what the fuck do I do now?

i’m outside the house, surrounded completely by white-walled mansions and rounded hedges and sickening ornate front gates feeling like an absolute fool. the late hour turned the night air cold, and i watched each puff of white air fade in front of me with every gasp I drew in, feeling strangely detached from myself. i looked behind me at the house - before, it seemed elegant, but now, its pointed roof seemed menacing, the concrete exterior entirely too cold and impersonal, and all i wanted to do was put as much distance between it and me.

i had been so excited for tonight, to celebrate my friend’s birthday, to see old friends from school i hadn’t seen in forever, to just relax and drink and get out of my head. i had rambled uncontrollably about it all day, worn my favourite little red dress - the one that’s almost too short in the back, that hugs my waist just right. i listened to tupac and dr. dre with my friends as i did my makeup, layering on highlighter like i was going to a concert, giggling with them like we were sixteen again with nothing to loose. we had practically run out of the house to the Uber with an enthusiasm that now felt so overwhelming foolish i wanted to throw up. 

i could still feel his breath on my lips, the bruising ache of my shoulder blades pressing into the tiled walls, the searing burn of his hands sliding low and his mouth on my neck.

i couldn’t go home yet, it’s still hours from when i was supposed to be back and the thought of facing my parents made me feel sick to my stomach and my face burn with shame and sickening stupidity. no, home was definitely not an option right now. i reached into my pocket to check the time: 1:36am. my phone screen looked blurry in front of me, reminding me of the shake in my hands and the tears in my eyes as i desperately tried to compose myself. step one, i thought, was to get the fuck away from this place. so i started walking down the street, my bare legs chaffing through the rip in my tights as i passed rows and rows of identical houses, letting them all blur in my peripheral until i saw redbrick instead of white and grey, neon CLOSED signs instead of flawlessly manicured front gardens. 

i had no idea how long i had been walking for, but the blare of car horns woke me out of my stupor. i looked around to see strips of lit-up take-away shops, groups of drunken strangers swarming as they sought out a late night meal, car lights so bright they turned by vision blurry, and i realised i had no clue where i was. with rips in my tights, tangles in my hair, surrounded by strangers on a street i didn’t know, in a body i no longer felt comfortable in, i had never felt more deeply, dizzyingly vulnerable.

i opened my phone, trying to find someone i could call who wasn’t my parents or still at that party. before i knew what i was doing, i clicked billie’s contact, craving something familiar and safe. i lifted my phone to my ear hearing it ring once, twice, belatedly remembering the time and that she could be asleep, but before i could hang up the line connected.

“hey baby girl, you ok?” she asked, her voice light with a slight laugh, but i couldn’t hear any loud noise in the background, so at least I wasn’t interrupting a night out. i struggled to keep my composure, my voice wavering as i replied, “I don’t know?”

“baby?” her voice got lower, tighter. there’s no trace of the amusement from her initial greeting. “are you good? what the hell’s going on?”

“i, um, i was at this party, and then i left, and now i don’t know where the fuck i am and i can’t go home and i don’t know what to do-”

“hey, hey, calm down, calm down, it’s okay. send me your location, i’m coming to get you.�� in the background of her call i hear the low voice of finneas asking if it was me on the phone.

panicking now, realising i’d interrupted them, that she was probably comfortable at home, i quickly responded, “no, no, you don’t need to do that, i promise, i’m so sorry for interrupting you, i didn’t think about how late it was-”

“baby, stop. send me your location.” she said firmly, no hesitation. “finneas, get up, you’re coming with me-”

“no! wait, um-” i cut her off, rudely, not knowing how to say that the thought of being in such a small space with another man right now made my heart jump to my throat, “um, it’s all good, finneas you really don’t need to come.”

“baby girl, it’s all good, he doesn’t mind, he wants to make sure you’re okay just like i do-”

“no, please, just, finneas just please don’t come,” i plead. there’s a moment of silence before i hear billie’s soft, but somewhat confused, response of, “okay, alright, it’s all good, he’s not coming with me.”

“okay, okay, thank you,” i breathe before i brought my phone away from my ear to share my location with her. when i brought it back up to my ear, the static had intensified, and i knew she had connected to her car.

“I just sent it.”

“alright, i’m on my way, i won’t be long, okay? are you by yourself?”

“uh, yes.” 

i hear her draw in a breath, “okay, okay, i’m coming soon, okay? but love, what made you want to roam the streets at two in the morning by yourself? i don’t want nothin’ to happen to you, baby.”

my breath hitched as i tried to figure out what to say, the irony of that statement hitting me hard. i knew, logically, that i shouldn’t be embarrassed, but my shame still shut me up, and so instead i tried to play it off, but Ii couldn’t keep the waver from my voice as i responded, “ah, well, y’know, i didn’t really, um, plan on it…”

“love? what happened?” i could hear the concern in her voice, and it made me want to cry.

“i just don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? please?”

all i heard was silence for a moment, and i worried that i had offended her, but instead she just said “okay, that’s okay. i’m fifteen minutes away, alright? hold on.”

and so i stood there, listening to the slight static through the phone and the occasional muffled thump of billie changing gears as she drove.

eventually i see her car pull over, and i briefly catch a glimpse of myself in her tinted windows - my frizzy hair, the faint runs of mascara down my cheeks - before i opened the door and was immediately engulfed in the familiar scent of her cologne. i turned to her, mustering up what i hoped was a normal-ish sounding hey, watching as her sharp blue eyes took in my dishevelled appearance, as they flickered down to my ripped tights and settled back on my face. my face went red as i pulled at my dress, desperately willing the material to cover them.

“baby,” she whispered brokenly, the combination of her soft tone and the knowledge that i was finally somewhere safe overwhelming me, grounding me, as if my body had finally been given a chance to recognise what had happened. i tried not to sob as i drew in shaky breath after shaky breath, and i brought my hand up to cover my mouth, as if i could somehow force the emotion back down. i caught her eye, and she was looking at me with an overwhelming sadness that didn’t make keeping my composure any easier. 

“what can i do?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper, eyes glassy.

“take me back to yours, please, i don’t want to go home,” i mumble, looking away, unable to meet her eyes and instead focusing on the mud on my boots - when did they get so dirty?

she simply replied with an okay, and i was so grateful she didn’t question me or fight me on it, i didn’t think i had it in me to talk or argue right then. she pulled out from the curb and started driving back the way i had walked. i focused on my hands in my lap, fiddling with the rings on my fingers and picking at the skin around my nails. she kept glancing over at me, her sharp blue eyes taking in every detail, subtly looking me over, checking for any cuts or scrapes or outward signs of injury. i didn’t tell her that i don’t think i’d be able to feel any of it, anyways.

she offered her hand to me, palm up, and without hesitation i grasped it, squeezing hard, and she squeezed back, not saying anything about the discomfort my tight grip had to be causing.

instead, she simply whispers, “i love you, baby,” and i only hear the slightest waver in her voice. we sat in silence all the way back to her house, and i concentrated all my energy on her hand in mine, a hand that was so reassuringly different from his, memorising the curve of her wrist, her short, clipped nails, examining her tattoo and tracing the thin black lines with my eyes.

“we’re here,” she said softly, slowly untangling her hand from mine before she got out. i looked up, dazed, trying to orientate myself, not even realising that she had walked over to my side before she was opening the car door.

she crouched down, offering her hand as she spoke quietly, “come on, love, let’s go inside.”

i immediately grasped it again. even though i knew i was in her home, that i was in a safe place, i needed something to ground me. i barely noticed what was around me as i walked through the garage door and through her house, looking up to see we were in her kitchen, with finneas sitting at the island on his phone.

“hey, billie, you’ve got to see this, it’s so fucking stupid, someone edited this photo, they swapped me and claudia-” finneas turned around, laughter on his lips, before he abruptly stopped when he saw me. i watched him take me in, not dissimilar to the way billie did, and saw how he stiffened, saw the realisation dawn on his face.

before he could say anything, i started rambling nervously, “i’m so sorry for this, for imposing, and i was so rude to you on the phone, i feel stupid, and i know it’s so late…” billie squeezed my hand, cutting me off, but before she could say anything, finneas cut in, “nah, nah, please don’t worry about it, you’re not imposing…is everything okay?” his eyes flickered between me and billie, trying to gauge the situation.

“i just, i really needed help, so i called billie.” i reply quietly, and an uncomfortable silence settled around the three of us.

“finneas, do you reckon you could give us a second?” billie asked, shifting and stepping forward slightly, placing herself as a physical barrier between me and finneas.

“yeah, yes of course. holler if you need anything, okay?” and just like that, finneas left the room, no questions asked, and headed upstairs. billie walked me over to a stool at the bench, and as i sat i stared at the shiny white marble in front of me, following the lines and swirls, wondering how the fuck they make marble, anyways?

she pushed a glass of water in front of me, and i brought it up to my mouth with shaky hands.

“baby girl, i love you, okay? you don’t gotta tell me what happened if you don’t want to, i just wanna know, do you need to go to the hospital?”

i shook my head, “no, no, i’m…no, i don’t need to, it’s okay.” upon hearing my words, billie let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, before she continued, “okay, that’s so fine. do you need anything then? do you have any cuts or anything?”

although i hadn’t really felt much of anything since i left that house, at least until i got into her car, in the warm, safe glow of her kitchen, i realised my wrist was throbbing.

“um…do you have any ice?”

“yeah, yeah, of course, hang on.”

i watched as she reached into her freezer, pulling out an ice pack and grabbing a tea towel from the counter, laying it out flat on the bench. i watched as she folded it over the ice pack, carefully, almost reverently, before handing it to me. i pulled up the right sleeve of my dress, revealing a ring of red around my wrist that would turn purple the next morning, wincing as i pressed the ice pack to it to try dull the low, thumping pain radiating from it. billie drew in a sharp breath as she caught a glimpse, her head dropping between her shoulders as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“baby…”

“i just feel so stupid,” i started, staring at this one spot on the bench where the marble thickens, “so stupid.”

“baby girl, no, you’re not stupid, you’re so incredibly smart and brave. i don’t know what happened, but i don’t believe for a second that you’re stupid,” she insisted, locking her eyes with mine as she tried to get her point across, a furrow in her brow and frown on her lips. i drew in a heavy breath, focusing on smoothing over every word i said in an attempt to stop my voice from breaking, “i was at this party, and it was great - i was chatting to people i hadn’t seen in ages, everything felt so…light. i was sitting in the living room, and someone tripped and spilled their drink on me, so i went to the bathroom with one of my friends to try and dry my dress a little.”

billie swallowed, seemingly steeling herself, but she didn’t break eye contact, and reached over to grip my hand, so i kept talking.

“and he was talking to me as i was trying to dab at my dress, and i was only half listening, y’know? but then he starts telling me how pretty i am, how good my body looks in my dress, and i didn’t know what to say, i even laughed at him a little - i mean, i’ve known this guy for so long…”

my breath hitched, and i couldn’t keep the tears from rolling down my face, but i needed to keep talking, and billie was so steady, her gaze never faltering and as her hand maintained its pressure on mine.

“i didn’t see him when he came up behind me, but he put his hands on my waist, telling me he’s wanted this for so long, and i didn’t believe what was happening, i thought - i thought he was joking or something, but then i was against the wall, and i was trying to push him off, but he - his hands were on me, everywhere, and he wouldn’t stop, he - he was kissing me, pulling at my tights and he -i felt -” 

i started to get worked up, my breathing speeding up and all of a sudden it was all too much, and i could feel him on me again, feel the sting of his nails digging into my skin and the claustrophobic press of his body against mine, smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath and hear the drunken slurring of his words, c’mon, you know you want to…

i felt the frantic thump of my heart, i could feel it in my throat. as if from very far away, i heard billie’s voice, barely making out what she was saying, trying desperately to focus on the tangible sensation of her hand gripping mine, of that firm pressure. 

“baby, you’re not there anymore, you’re with me, you’re with billie, at my house. you’re sitting at my kitchen bench, finneas is upstairs, and you’re safe here, you’re so safe, alright?” faintly, i heard the muffled clunk of her freezer door opening, and then i felt something wet in my other hand. i focused on that burning cold, on the tangible feeling of her hand grasping mine, and eventually i calmed down enough that my vision cleared, and i could hear again, though i didn’t let go of the ice cube, the burn of the cold on my hand providing a clarity that i wasn’t ready to give up.

“are you okay?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper as her eyes followed mine.

“yeah, i - god, i’m so sorry, i don’t know why i’m freaking out so bad, he didn’t - he didn’t actually - i got out before he went all the way,” i breathed, feeling the slight tremor that still lingered in my hands.

“nah, nah, you can’t be minimising this shit, what you just went through was traumatic, it doesn’t matter how far it did or didn’t go, alright? being in that situation is terrifying.” her voice was low and her eyes serious as she spoke to me, her dark hair falling forward as she leant over the bench. 

“i’ve known him for so long, y’know? i’ve - i’ve called him my friend for years, he’s been there for me and i’ve been there for him, i just - how could he do this?” i plea, searching her eyes as if she could give me an answer that made any sort of sense. she just sighed, overcome with a defeated expression, and asked, “baby, is it ok if i give you a hug?”

i thought about it for a second, took stock of my body and how fast my heart was beating and how fast I was breathing before i nodded. without hesitation, she walked around the bench, held her arms out and drew me into her chest, my face against the soft cotton of her shirt as her arms came around me. with one hand on my back and the other softly stroking my hair, i started bawling, the overwhelming feeling of safety ripping down all of my emotional barriers - and she just stood there and held me, absorbing it all, softly kissing the top of my head. 

“baby girl, you’re so strong and smart and talented. i know this might mean nothing to you now, but i believe in you. i’m so proud of the person you are, and i’m so proud of you for telling me everything tonight,” she whispered into my hair. I let her words linger in the air for a few minutes, let them wrap around me, willing myself to internalise what she was saying. eventually, i spoke up, and, not knowing how to say thank you, i teased her instead, “wow, when did you get so sappy?”

“shut up,” she giggled, but her arms tightened around me and she was serious again for a moment as she said softly, “i’m here for you always, baby, no matter what, you hear me?”

after a moment, i whispered back. “yeah, i hear you.” 

we stood in silence for a while, and i felt my racing thoughts slowly settle. eventually, billie spoke up. 

“do you wanna stay here the night? or do you wanna go back home?”

“do you reckon - would you mind if i stayed here?”

“no, of course you can stay here. you wanna get changed?”

“i really, really want a shower, if that’s okay?” i asked, desperately needing to wash the night off my skin.

“c’mon, let’s go upstairs.” 

she kept my hand in hers as she lead me up dark wooden stairs and opened the second door on the right, showing me into her bathroom before she ducked out quickly to grab me some sweatpants and a big shirt, the spare pajamas that i always kept here.

“just call out if you need anything, okay? i’m only a shout away, i’ll just be in finneas’ room.”

i don’t know how long i was in the shower for, but at some point i realised the water was running cold, and that i should probably get out. i walked down the stairs into the living room to see billie settled into the couch, blanket over her lap as she scrolled on her phone. she looked up and put her phone to the side as i walked around and sat next to her, sinking into the couch. too tired to think or talk anymore, i reached for the remote and flicked onto some random sitcom re-run before i leant back into the couch, billie mirroring my actions unquestioningly. 

for the rest of the night, we watched episode after episode, sitting mostly in silence, occasionally poking fun at the characters as i let my mind relax into the comfort of billie’s presence. nothing was okay, yet, but for now i had this moment of peace.

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Sometimes I feel like celiac disease doesn't actually count as a disability since it's so easy and stress free compared to deadly allergies, but then I remember that I have to meticulously plan every trip I go to and play 4D chess with uni campus restaurant menus and for a brief moment there was genuine consideration if I should be put on growth hormones because I was so small from not getting enough nutrients

[fushiguho]

discord streamer geto who is so mean to his sweet little girlfriend on stream. his viewers seem to love it and you think you might too :o

warnings fem! reader, mean! geto, exhibitionism, fingering, light spanking, camera/livestream

“chat, should i let the pretty girl cum?”

oh.

suguru cracks a big, sleazy grin, curiously craning his head to eye the monitor that blinks red, live. the one that's angled toward none other than you, his pretty little girlfriend, and in all of your wet, messy glory too.

with a single hand to the nape of your neck, you're forced into the nastiest little arch for him and all of his sick viewers to bear witness. long, sinful fingers creeeep along your parting jaw; a greedy thumb dancing its way into your mouth and hooking against your salivating inner cheek.

another hand reaches between your trembling thighs, rudely teasing your aching cunt—spanking and pinching your swollen clit, sloppily fucking you up on his beckoning fingers, and utterly bullying that poor, weeping pussy.

you can hardly breathe, your pretty face shoved into the soft, mangled sheets, drool drip drip dripping from the corners of your stupidly gaped mouth and ruining the silk. you’re not there, not really—desperate hips canting, stomach caving, breath hitching. brain spinning and dizzied, reduced to nothing but a muddled haze of everything suguru.

suguru.

suguru.

and he’s stripped you completely bare; hair prickling, soft skin dripping. you’d almost feel embarrassed if not for the way you’re beginning to hump that pretty little pussy on his hand like that. like no one else is watching, like nothing else fucking matters.

like a whore.

breifly, suguru glances over his shoulder, eyeing the little red dot that flashes at the top of his computer, "what if i fucked her?" he contemplates the notion as an indulgent hand pulls at the soft mound of your ass, spreading you apart. "heh, she's wet enough for it. bet you horny fucks would loveee that, huh?"

“p– pleeaaaseee—mmph!”

a hand clamps over your trembling lips, effectively shutting you the fuck up.

“i actually didn’t fucking ask you,” you can hear the genuine spite that pierces his tone, yet the way your body reacts is concerning. “didn’t ask you a damn thing.”

you’re tightening up around his mean digits in response to his abrasiveness, a testament to your ineffable lust. suguru could do anything to you—tie you up, make fun of you, show that pretty pussy off to his loser friends—anything, and you’ll get wet all the same.

"pretty girls speak when spoken to, don't they?" a smile curls his pretty lips, but you know it’s not at all friendly—sinister, maybe. he’s taking your chin into the warm palm of his hand. "nod your head."

and you do.

messages flood the left hand corner of his dusty screen, pinging melodically with desperate requests of viewers begging him to grant you your sweet, sweet release, while others scold him for being too nice. suguru hums in deliberation, weighing his options while briefly skimming the rapidly updating chat box.

“awww, they think i’m being too nice, sweets,” he’s in your face now, shifted to hunch over your warm, writhing body, burly fingers still plugged deeeep inside of your sloppy little hole. “whaddaya think?” his lips have settled just below your ear, the timbre of his voice pitching deeper, raspier.

unsure whether to nod your head or shake it, you whine, “wanna cuuummm,” is all you can muster between gasping breaths and warbling cries. “god, pleaseee let me cum.”

“ain’t she puuurrrty?” he purrs almost mockingly, merely showing you off while his darkened gaze flits toward the recording monitor once more. a brazen hand is forcing your woozy head upright from the dampened sheets, long fingers tight against your scalp. “c’monnn, tell my girl that she’s pretty.”

digital_nomad she's so fucking pretty, plz let her cum :(

sukunathem0nsta make the pretty lil brat beg for it some more

glitchpr!ncess preettyyyy! does she like girlssss? x

fushiguho make her spread it a little bit… for research

gamerhardlyknowher literally the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen omg

satoruthegreat my dick is so hard i can’t breathe

satoruthegreat pretty as fuck

satoruthegreat ya’ll looking for a third? :p

suguru coos, “yeaaaah, she is a pretty, pretty girl, isn’t sheeee?” his fingers furl upwards, pressing against the sticky walls of your cunt and you mewl. “my pretty girl, huh?” there’s an unmistakable lilt of possessiveness that warps his tone as he skims the plethora of desirous comments. “you wanna cum for everyone?”

deliriously, you’re nodding your dazed head, rocking those wobbly hips into the curl of his unforgiving fingers. thick, dizzying arousal pools in your tensing core, whorling dangerously taut like an itch that must be scratched; a breath desperate for air.

“yeah? you wan’ me to make a mess out of this sloppy little cunt on camera?" several fingers are circling your pearly, aching clit; honeyed arousal dripping from the fat pads of his unrelenting digits. “wanna show everyone how a pretty girl is supposed to cum?”

“fuhhh— fuck yes, please," it's merely a breath huffed in a single, whiny puff. "oh god, i want it, i want that... wan’ you to m-make me cum."

suguru groans nasty and loud, fighting the gnawing urge to peel down his tightening briefs and fuck you into the ruined sheets until you're reduced to a dumb, slobbering mess, but he won't, not now. nobody needs to see you like that, not unless they pay of course.

"c'mon," your skin burns from the heat of his searing lips as they latch against the perspiring divot of your left shoulder, whispering, "cum all over my fingers, pretty. you can rock your hips like a whore if you want."

he follows the unpredictable veer of your body, fucking to the very back of your slobbering cunt with warm, restless fingers. and he's just toying your pretty lil' clit, swapping between rubbing and spanking and pinching. you're gone, whimpering into the sheets you gnaw on as you buck your desperate hips, hungrily chasing your release in 4k.

as you begin to suck him in harder, tightening around the base of his fingers, your toes furl in something ravenous. you're cumming, choking on your own bated breaths as you grasp for the sheets, for his hands, the roots of your hair—anything to ground yourself while you huff his name in fragmented syllables.

"that's a gooood girl cumming so pretty on camera like that," an unceremonious hand lands against the fat of your ass in a loud, resounding thwack! "for me and all of my perverted fans, huh?"

dazed, you nod your empty head; wide, glistening eyes threatening to cross as you endure the aftershocks of your long awaited orgasm.

suguru's eyes find his monitor for a final time, a sinister grin plaguing his maddeningly beautiful face. he sifts through the remnants of trickling comments, scoffing at the vulgarity of it all, especially that satoruthegreat, whoever that is.

"you guys are all sick, perverted fucks," suguru laughs breathily, carding a hard through his raven roots. "especially you, satoru."

satoruthegreat invite me next time... i'll show you a sick fuck ;)

oh?

[gf2bellamy]

HI!! LOVE YOUR WRITINGS YOURE INSANE!!! could i please request angst/fluff for spencer reid (later seasons) where spencer kinda gets mad at reader and she leaves his place thinking he’s super upset at her and something happens idk she gets in a fender bender or gets sick for a few days and has to go to the hospital but doesn’t answer when he calls bc she thinks he’s so upset he wouldn’t want to know and at some point he finds her in the hospital after he’s been going crazy because he couldn’t get a hold of her i’m so sorry this literally makes no sense i fear this came to me in a dream😣

accident — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , reader gets into a small accident, mention of a forehead injury / blood and a headache ( reader is fine though ), reader ends up in the hospital , argument between spencer and reader a/n: hai hai !! hope you like this <3

The silence in Spencer’s apartment was suffocating.

“I said I’m sorry,” you mumbled again, your voice barely above a whisper, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your sweater. The words felt hollow, even to you, but you didn’t know what else to say.

Spencer let out a slow breath, his long fingers raking through his already disheveled hair—a telltale sign of his frustration.

It had been such a small thing, really.

A misplaced book. His book.

One he had lent you weeks ago, one you had cherished, only to accidentally tuck it away in the wrong stack of papers. When you’d finally found it, relief had flooded you—until you handed it back, and instead of the soft smile you expected, his lips had pressed into a thin line, his words sharper than you’d ever heard them.

“You could have been more careful.”

The words stung. You hadn’t meant to be careless. You loved his books, loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about them, loved the way he’d underlined passages just for you to find.

But today, his patience was thin, his tone clipped, and now you stood there, feeling smaller than you had in a long time.

Spencer turned away, his back to you as he carefully slotted the book back into its place on the shelf.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say another word.

Your chest ached.

Swallowing hard, you grabbed your bag from the couch, your jacket slipping silently over your shoulders. “I’m going home,” you murmured, unsure if he even heard you.

But the sharp click of the door behind you? That, he definitely heard.

The sound made him freeze.

For a long moment, Spencer stood there, staring blankly at the spines of his books, his breath uneven. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sank onto the couch, dragging a hand down his face.

What was wrong with him?

It wasn’t about the book. Not really. It had been a long day—no, a long week—of dead ends and sleepless nights on the case, of too much coffee and too little patience. And instead of dealing with it like an adult, he’d taken it out on you. The one person who had done nothing but be kind to him.

Guilt settled deep in his stomach, cold and nauseating.

Outside, the engine of your car rumbled to life. You were leaving. Because of him. Because he couldn’t keep his frustration in check.

Spencer’s throat tightened.

He should call you. Should run after you. Should fix this.

But his pride—or maybe his shame—kept him rooted in place.

Meanwhile, you gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, the streetlights blurring as you blinked back the burn in your eyes. You didn’t want to leave. You hated leaving things like this. But you hated upsetting him even more, and right now, space seemed like the only option.

You just hoped he knew you hadn’t meant to let him down.

An hour later, you were in the hospital.

It wasn’t anything serious—just a fender bender, a stupid accident born from exhaustion and bad luck. The woman behind you had been just as distracted, just as worn thin by the day, except she hadn’t braked in time. The impact had been sharp, sudden, your seatbelt locking as your forehead struck the steering wheel with a dull thud.

You’d assured the other driver you were fine, even as warm blood trickled down your temple. And now here you were, lying on a stiff hospital bed, the antiseptic sting of the air making your nose wrinkle.

The lights overhead were too bright, drilling into your already pounding head, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the throbbing to ease.

What a night.

Your phone buzzed against the bedside table. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Spencer.

Of course it was Spencer.

You stared at the screen, his name flashing insistently, the call vibrating through the hospital room. Part of you wanted to answer, to hear his voice—even if it was still edged with frustration. But the other part, the stubborn, bruised part of you, hesitated.

He’d had a hard enough night already. You weren’t going to add to that.

So you didn’t decline. Didn’t accept. Just let it ring.

The call eventually went to voicemail. The room settled back into quiet.

You exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead—gently, careful of the fresh bandages—and tried to ignore the hollow pang in your chest.

Time dragged. The hospital was busy tonight—understaffed, overworked—and what should have been a quick check-up turned into an endless wait. You stared at the ceiling, counting the speckled tiles, listening to the distant beeping of machines and the muffled voices of nurses rushing by. Your phone sat silent beside you. You wondered if Spencer had given up. If he thought you were ignoring him on purpose.

Then—

"Which one?" The voice cut through the noise of the ER.

His voice.

A nurse murmured something in response, and before you could even sit up properly, the curtain around your bed was yanked aside with too much force, the rings screeching against the metal rod.

Spencer stood there, breathing hard, his hair even more disheveled than before, like he’d been running his hands through it the entire way here. His eyes locked onto yours, then dropped to the bandage on your forehead, the dried blood at your hairline that the nurses hadn’t quite wiped away.

His expression did something complicated—guilt, fear, anger (at himself, always at himself)—before settling into something painfully soft.

You swallowed.

"Fender bender," you mumbled lamely, as if that explained everything.

His throat worked as he swallowed. "You should've called me immediately," he whispered, taking another step closer. The fluorescent lights caught the dark circles under his eyes, the way his cardigan was buttoned wrong - one side higher than the other. He must have thrown it on in a hurry.

You shrugged, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the bandage. "You had a bad day. I didn't want to make it worse."

Spencer made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, his hands finally lifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing feather-light beneath your eyes. "That doesn't matter. You matter. You're bleeding in a hospital and I—" His voice cracked. "How could you think I wouldn't want to know?"

A beat of silence.

Then, because you had to know: "How did you even find me?"

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Garcia."

Of course.

"When you didn't answer... I may have panicked. Slightly." His fingers traced the edge of your bandage with heartbreaking gentleness. "She tracked your phone. I owe her approximately twelve favors now."

You huffed a laugh, then immediately regretted it when your head throbbed. Spencer's expression darkened with concern.

"Hey," you said softly, catching one of his restless hands. "I'm okay. Really."

He didn't look convinced. "You're in a hospital bed."

"And you're here," you countered, squeezing his fingers. "That helps."

Spencer exhaled shakily. "Never do that again," he murmured. "Walk out, not call me, take the blame for my bad mood... Any of it."

You closed your eyes, breathing him in - the familiar scent of old books and that terrible cheap coffee he loved. "Only if you promise to talk to me next time instead of biting my head off over a book."

A pause. Then, quiet you almost missed it: "Deal."

The discharge papers took forever.

You sat on the edge of the hospital bed, swinging your legs slightly while Spencer hovered like an anxious shadow, reading every line of the doctor’s instructions twice before reluctantly letting you sign them. His fingers kept twitching toward you—adjusting the collar of your jacket, brushing imaginary lint from your sleeve—as if he needed constant proof you were really there, really okay.

The nurse handed you a packet of aftercare instructions with a knowing smile. “Someone’s eager to get you home,” she murmured, nodding toward Spencer, who was already holding your bag and car keys like a man prepared to carry you out of here himself.

You flushed.

The ride home was quiet. Spencer drove with one hand on the wheel, the other clasped firmly around yours, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin every time you hit a red light.

You watched the way his jaw clenched whenever you shifted in your seat, how his eyes flickered to you every few seconds like he needed visual confirmation you were still there.

"You're staring," he murmured, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Am not," you lied, even as your fingers tightened around his.

The apartment was dark when you arrived, the book still sitting innocently on the shelf where he'd placed it earlier. Spencer hovered as you toed off your shoes, his hands fluttering near your elbows like he wasn't quite sure where to put them.

"Sit," he ordered gently, nudging you toward the couch. "I'll make tea."

You wanted to argue—you weren't an invalid, just a little banged up—but the way his voice cracked on the last word had you sinking obediently into the cushions.

Through the kitchen doorway, you watched him move with frantic precision: boiling water, selecting chamomile (your favorite), digging through drawers for the honey bear he kept just for you. His hands shook when he poured.

When he returned, he didn't hand you the mug right away. Instead, he knelt before you, his knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. The vulnerability of the position stole your breath.

"I was an idiot today," he said, pressing the warm ceramic into your hands. His eyes were liquid in the low light. "Not just about the book. About everything."

You cradled the tea between your palms, letting the heat seep into your skin. "You were stressed."

"That's not an excuse." His fingers brushed the bandage again, so light it barely registered. "I hate that I made you feel like you had to leave. Like you couldn't—" His voice broke. "Like you couldn't come to me when you were hurt."

You set the tea aside.

Spencer didn't resist when you tugged him up onto the couch, didn't protest when you maneuvered him until his back was against the armrest and you were curled into his chest, your ear pressed over his heartbeat. His arms came around you immediately, one hand cradling the back of your head, careful of your injury.

"Next time," you murmured into his sweater, "I'll call."

He exhaled, long and shuddering, his lips pressing to your hairline.

"Next time," he negotiated softly, "I'll do better."

And when you woke the next morning, his arms still wrapped around you, the book was open on his nightstand—a new passage underlined, just for you.

[satellite-evans]

best friends

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando becomes best friends with your daughter after taking care of her when she's sick <3

Word count: 4.6k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was one of those rainy mornings when everything seemed to move in slow motion. The sky was a dull shade of gray, and raindrops trickled down the windowpane, blurring the outside world into a watercolor painting. The sound of distant thunder rolled through the air, a reminder that the storm had settled in for the day.

You stood in your living room, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of coffee, the steam curling up into the air like a ghost of comfort. The aroma was rich, but the exhaustion clinging to your bones made it hard to appreciate. You took a slow sip, hoping the caffeine would work some magic, but the fatigue from the sleepless night refused to loosen its grip.

On the couch, your four-year-old daughter, Sophie, was curled up beneath a thick blanket, her tiny form barely stirring. Her usually bright, mischievous eyes were shut tight, her breathing soft but uneven. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, her little hands gripping the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing tethering her to comfort.

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. The night had been long—hours spent checking her temperature, pressing cool cloths to her forehead, whispering reassurances into the dark. She had tossed and turned, whimpering in her sleep, too warm, too restless, too sick to find peace. And now, in the quiet of the morning, you were running on fumes, your body heavy with exhaustion, but there was no choice.

You couldn’t call in sick. Not again.

Your boss had been understanding the last time, but you knew there was only so much flexibility they could offer. And as much as you hated it, bills didn’t pause for feverish nights or exhausted single mothers. You had to push through. That’s what you always did.

Your gaze flickered to the clock. Less than an hour before your meeting.

Your stomach tightened as reality settled in—there was no way you could leave Sophie alone, not like this. The thought of walking out that door while she lay there, weak and vulnerable, made your chest ache with guilt. But what choice did you have?

You chewed your lip, fingers tightening around your phone. There was one person who might be able to help. Someone you weren’t sure you could ask yet.

Lando.

Your relationship was still new, fresh enough that you hesitated before burdening him with something this big. But he had always been kind, always made you feel like you weren’t alone in this, even when you were too scared to believe it. And right now, you needed help.

You took a breath and started typing.

Hey, Lando… Sophie is really sick today, and I have to go to work. I know this might be a lot, but… I don’t know who else to ask. Would you be able to help out for a bit? xxx

Your thumb hovered over the send button for a second, doubt creeping in. Was this too much? Would he feel obligated? Would this change things between you?

But there was no time to second-guess. You pressed send.

The seconds stretched unbearably as you waited for his response. You took another sip of coffee, your throat tight, your mind racing through backup plans—plans you didn’t have. Your gaze drifted back to Sophie, her small frame so fragile, her body lost in the folds of the blanket. She needed you. But she also needed the roof over her head, the food on her plate, the security you worked so hard to provide.

Then, finally, the ping of a message.

Your heart jumped as you unlocked your phone, your breath catching as you read his reply.

Don’t worry, I got you! I’ll take care of her. You’ve got nothing to stress about. I’ll be there in 10 minutes xxx

You let out a sigh of relief, but a small knot still formed in your stomach. The idea of leaving Sophie in someone else’s care, especially someone as new to your life as Lando, felt a little strange. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—you did. He had always been kind, patient, and effortlessly good with people. But Sophie wasn’t just anyone. She was your whole world, and handing over even a sliver of responsibility for her well-being wasn’t easy.

Still, you had no choice.

Not long after, a soft knock at the door broke through your anxious thoughts. You took a deep breath before opening it, finding Lando standing there, a concerned but reassuring smile on his face. He looked effortlessly casual in a hoodie and sweats, hands tucked into his pockets as if this was just another normal day.

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping inside. “How’s our little patient doing?”

You led him into the living room, where Sophie woke up and was curled up on the couch, watching TV with tired, glassy eyes. Although she was awake, she barely moved, fully focused on what was happening indient of her. The moment she saw Lando, she peeked up at him before quickly hiding her face in the folds of fabric, too shy to say anything.

You sighed, kneeling beside her and brushing her hair back gently. Her forehead was still too warm beneath your touch. “She’s still really warm,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else. Then, turning back to Lando, you handed him a small notepad filled with your rushed, yet meticulous, handwriting. “I wrote down everything you need to know.”

Lando took the notepad, his eyes scanning over it with careful focus as you continued.

“Her medicine is here—one dose every six hours. She won’t eat much when she’s sick, but she loves toast with honey and banana slices or the tomato soup in the fridge. She also only drinks apple juice or water, but try to get her to drink more water.”

Lando nodded, already taking mental notes. “Got it. Medicine, toast with honey and bananas, apple juice, and lots of water.”

You glanced down at Sophie, who remained silent but was clearly listening. “She likes Peppa Pig, but her favorite is Bluey,” you added, lowering your voice like it was a secret just for him.

At that, Lando chuckled. “Ah, a kid with taste. Oscar loves it too. Bluey it is.”

You smiled, appreciating how quickly he was absorbing everything. “She’s really shy at first, but once she warms up, she won’t stop talking.”

He grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

Your expression softened. “She also hates loud noises when she’s sick, so keep things quiet.” You hesitated before adding, “And… just call me if anything happens. Anything at all.”

“I will,” he assured you, his voice steady and certain. “You don’t have to worry. We’re going to be just fine.”

You wanted to believe that, and maybe you did, but leaving still felt wrong.

You turned back to Sophie, kneeling beside her once more. Her tiny frame barely shifted beneath the blanket, but when you smoothed her hair away from her face, she blinked up at you, her watery eyes full of unspoken words.

“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” you promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her warm forehead. “Be good for Lando, okay?”

Sophie’s lower lip trembled, and she clutched the blanket tighter. “I want you to stay,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Your heart clenched painfully. You stroked her cheek, trying to fight the wave of guilt rising in your chest. “I know, baby,” you murmured. “I know. But I have to go to work, okay? Lando’s going to stay with you. He’s really nice, remember?”

She didn’t answer right away, her little fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. Then, slowly, she gave a tiny nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Lando crouched beside you, keeping his voice soft and light. “You know, Sophie, I was actually thinking I could use some help today.”

Sophie peeked at him through her lashes, wary but curious.

“You see,” he continued, as if sharing an important secret, “I don’t know the first thing about Bluey. And I heard you’re the expert. Think you can teach me?”

For a moment, there was nothing. But then, finally, Sophie nodded again, just a fraction more certain this time.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Giving her one last kiss on the forehead, you stood, grabbing your bag and coat. Before heading out the door, you turned to Lando one last time, meeting his gaze with quiet gratitude.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

His smile was warm, unwavering. “Anytime.”

For the first hour, Sophie was quiet, keeping her distance on the couch while Lando sat nearby. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t try to force a connection—he simply sat beside her, arms resting casually on his knees, watching Bluey with an easy, relaxed expression.

The sound coming from the TV filled the quiet space between them, the rain outside creating a gentle rhythm against the windows. Every so often, he could feel her eyes on him—brief, cautious glances before she quickly looked away, burying herself deeper into her blanket.

Lando pretended not to notice at first, letting her come to him in her own time. But when he caught another quick peek out of the corner of his eye, he finally spoke, keeping his voice light and playful.

“You know,” he mused, as if sharing a secret, “I have a friend named Bluey.”

Sophie blinked at him, intrigued but skeptical. “You do?” she asked softly, her voice raspy from sleep.

“Yup,” he nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. “She’s blue, just like this Bluey, but she’s actually a little stuffed toy my friend keeps in his car for good luck.”

Sophie’s lips twitched, and then, to Lando’s delight, she giggled—a quiet, sleepy little laugh, but still, a laugh.

“That’s funny,” she murmured, curling further into the blanket.

Lando grinned, feeling the tension between them start to melt away.

A little while later, when Sophie’s tummy let out a small grumble, he took it as his cue.

“Sounds like someone’s ready for a snack,” he teased, standing up and stretching dramatically.

Sophie hesitated before nodding. “Toast,” she mumbled, rubbing at her tired eyes.

“Coming right up, ma’am,” Lando said with a playful salute, making her giggle again.

He moved into the kitchen, following the notes you had left. He spread a thin layer of honey over the warm toast, slicing up a banana just the way you had instructed. As he placed the plate in front of Sophie, he watched with amusement as she immediately picked at the crust first, nibbling at the edges before moving onto the softer center.

He tilted his head, noticing how familiar the habit seemed. Then it hit him.

“You eat your toast like your mommy does,” he remarked casually.

Sophie paused mid-bite, eyes flicking up to him in surprise. “Like mommy?”

Lando nodded. “Yup. First time I saw her do it, I thought maybe she was just being fancy. But now I know—it’s a family thing.”

Sophie seemed to like that answer because she grinned before taking another bite.

A few moments later, she pouted slightly as honey dripped onto her fingers. Lando reached for a wet napkin, handing it to her with an amused smirk.

“Sticky fingers, huh?” he teased.

She nodded solemnly, wiping her hands with small, deliberate movements. “Mommy doesn’t like sticky fingers either.”

Lando chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “You and your mommy are a lot alike, you know?”

At that, Sophie smiled—really smiled this time—and it was the kind of smile that made Lando’s chest feel unexpectedly full. She looked at him for a moment, her tiny body finally relaxing as if she had decided he was safe. Then, with a small yawn, she snuggled deeper into the blanket, inching closer to his side.

Just as her eyelids started to droop, she mumbled sleepily, “Mommy says you has pretty eyes.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. “Oh, really?”

Sophie nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “She told her best friend, Louisa. She said they’re ‘so dreamy.’”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Did she now?”

Sophie made a soft noise of agreement, already half-asleep. “She likes you.”

Lando’s heart swelled at her innocent words, warmth spreading through him in a way he hadn’t expected. He glanced down at her peaceful face, looking exactly like you.

Gently, he brushed a stray curl from her forehead and whispered, “I like her too.”

As the day stretched on, Sophie’s initial shyness melted away, replaced by giggles and small moments of trust.

At first, she was cautious—watching Lando out of the corner of her eye as he sat on the floor beside her tiny play area. But with patience and gentle encouragement, he managed to pull her into small activities. They built a pillow fort in the living room, carefully stacking cushions and draping a blanket overhead to create a cozy hideout.

“This is the best castle ever,” Lando announced dramatically, lying on his back inside their creation. “I think we should declare this as The Kingdom of Sophie.”

Sophie giggled, adjusting the stuffed animals she had lined up as “guards” at the fort’s entrance. “And you can be the knight,” she declared.

Lando gasped, clutching his chest. “Me? A knight? That’s a huge responsibility.” He leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Do I get a sword?”

Sophie considered this very seriously before nodding. “But only a soft sword,” she said, picking up a plush toy and handing it to him. “No hitting, just protecting.”

Lando chuckled, accepting the stuffed animal with a solemn nod. “I will guard this kingdom with my life.”

After their castle adventures, Sophie pulled out her collection of books, choosing her favorites and snuggling into Lando’s side as he read to her. She listened intently, her little fingers playing with the hem of his hoodie while he brought each story to life with silly voices and exaggerated expressions.

“You’re funny,” she told him at one point, peeking up at him with a sleepy smile.

“I try to be,” Lando admitted. “But between you and me, I think you’re the funniest one here.”

She giggled again, clearly pleased.

Later in the afternoon, when her energy dipped, they settled at the coffee table for a quiet coloring session. Lando grabbed a handful of crayons while Sophie carefully worked on her masterpiece.

“What are you drawing?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

Sophie held up the paper proudly, revealing a childlike drawing of three stick figures. One was clearly her, with curly scribbles for hair, another was you, and the last one—labeled “Lando” in wobbly letters—stood right beside you.

Lando’s heart clenched in the best way possible. “Wow,” he said, genuinely touched. “This might be the best drawing I’ve ever seen.”

Sophie beamed. “It’s Mommy and you! And me!”

“I love it,” he told her, nudging her playfully. “You’re a real artist, Soph.”

After a fun-filled afternoon of pillow forts, storybooks, and coloring, Lando noticed Sophie beginning to slow down. Her energy had dipped significantly, her tiny body slumping against the couch as she blinked sluggishly at the TV.

He frowned, reaching out to feel her forehead the way he had seen you do earlier. The warmth against his palm made his stomach twist uncomfortably—she was still running a fever.

“Alright, kiddo,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl away from her face. “Time for a little check-up.”

Sophie groaned, her response muffled by the blanket she had pulled up over her nose. “Noooo.”

Lando chuckled. “Come on, your mom left me very strict instructions to make sure you’re feeling okay. I don’t mess around when it comes to doctor duties.”

Sophie peeked out, her cheeks flushed from the fever. “Are you a real doctor?”

Lando gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I am Dr. Lando, and I am very serious about my job.” He reached for the thermometer you had left on the coffee table. “Now, open up, little miss.”

She pouted but obeyed, letting him slip the thermometer under her tongue. Lando sat patiently, watching the numbers climb before it beeped. He pulled it out, checking the screen.

“Not bad, but still warm, Soph,” he murmured, concern flickering in his eyes.

Sophie just hummed sleepily, curling further into her blanket.

Lando glanced at the notepad of instructions you had left, then back at her. “Alright, first order of business—water. Your mom said you have to drink some, and I’d rather not get fired on my first day as a babysitter.”

Sophie groaned but didn’t argue when he grabbed her little cup of water and held it out to her.

“Just a few sips, okay?” he coaxed. “I’ll even let you have a super exclusive VIP sip while sitting in the fort.”

That got her attention. She let out a weak giggle before reaching for the cup with small, clumsy fingers. Lando helped guide it to her lips, watching as she took a few tiny sips before wrinkling her nose.

“Bleh,” she mumbled.

Lando smirked. “Not a water fan, huh?”

She shook her head, but Lando tapped the cup gently. “I get it, but we gotta make sure you don’t turn into a little raisin.”

Sophie giggled at that, taking one more sip before handing the cup back.

“Good job, kiddo,” he praised.

Next came the medicine, which was a slightly tougher battle.

“Noooo,” Sophie whined, pulling the blanket over her head when she saw Lando grabbing the small bottle.

Lando sighed, shaking his head. “C’mon, Soph. Your mom told me you have to take this.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Okay, what if I take some too?” Lando bargained.

Sophie peeked out, squinting at him. “You don’t have a fever.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I could be getting one,” he said with mock seriousness. “Better to be safe, right?”

She stared at him for a moment, considering his words. “…Okay.”

Lando grinned in victory and poured the correct dose into the little plastic cup. He handed it to her, watching as she took it hesitantly before scrunching her face at the taste.

“Bleh,” she groaned again.

“Yeah, medicine’s the worst,” Lando agreed, setting the cup aside. “But you’re a champ.”

Satisfied that he had followed your instructions, he helped tuck her back into the couch, adjusting the blanket so she was snug and warm.

He sat beside her, ruffling her curls lightly. “Feeling any better?”

Sophie hummed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “A little.”

“That’s good,” he murmured, watching as she yawned and curled closer to him. He reached for the remote, lowering the TV volume. “Alright, you just rest now, okay? I got you.”

Sophie peeked up at him, blinking slowly, her eyelids heavy with sleep. “Mommy was right,” she whispered, her voice thick with drowsiness.

Lando tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he tried to hide a small smile. “About what?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.

She yawned again, her tiny body curling further into the warmth of the blanket. “You’re nice,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re officially my new best friend.”

A warmth spread through Lando's chest, more than just the gentle feeling of Sophie’s innocent words. He smiled to himself, his fingers brushing a stray curl from her forehead as he whispered, “That’s an honor, kiddo. You’re my new best friend too.” His voice was so soft, so sincere, and Sophie’s breathing soon evened out, signaling that she was finally drifting into a peaceful sleep.

Lando stayed where he was, right by her side. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of Sophie’s breathing. He glanced around the room, ensuring she was comfortable—making sure the blanket was tucked just right, keeping the environment as calm and secure as possible. He knew how much you’d want this—how much you’d want her to feel safe and loved.

And just as you walked through the door, everything around you seemed still, frozen in a sense of calm that made your heart swell in a way that took you by surprise. The living room was serene. The TV played softly in the background, a nature documentary flickering in the corner, but all your attention was drawn to the sight before you. There, curled up against Lando’s side, was Sophie—utterly content, her tiny hand resting trustingly on his arm. The sight was simple but perfect. She had found comfort in Lando's presence, just like she always found in yours.

You stopped in the doorway for a long moment, frozen by the unexpected tenderness of the scene. Lando moved with such deliberate care, adjusting the blanket around Sophie’s shoulders. He tucked it in gently, making sure she was warm and settled in, completely unaware of how much it all made your heart swell.

It was a moment of quiet beauty, and you couldn’t help but feel a soft rush of emotion rise in your chest.

Lando caught the sound of your footsteps and looked up. His lips curved into a quiet smile, one that spoke volumes without needing words. “Hey,” he whispered, careful not to disturb Sophie. “She did great today.”

You set down your bag, your voice warm with admiration. “Looks like you did too.” Your gaze softened as you looked at them, the scene too peaceful not to melt your heart.

Sophie stirred, the gentle sound of your voice pulling her from the last remnants of sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked a few times before her tired gaze landed on you. Her little voice was still thick with sleep when she murmured, “Mommy…”

You knelt down beside her, brushing a few stray curls from her forehead. “Hey, sweetheart. Did you have a good nap?” you asked softly, your heart full.

Sophie stretched slightly, but stayed nestled against Lando, unwilling to leave the safety of his side. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep as she spoke again, her words slow and deliberate. “Lando’s funny,” she said with a yawn. “And he said Bluey is his friend.”

You chuckled softly, amused by her observations. “Did he take good care of you?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Sophie nodded, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Mhm,” she murmured, her voice drowsy but content. “And…” She paused, clearly considering her next words carefully, before her face shifted into a mischievous little smile. “He has dreamy eyes. Just like you said.”

Your whole body locked up, the blood rushing to your cheeks in an instant. Your heart skipped, and your mouth went dry. Your mind raced as you scrambled for a response, but no words came out. Instead, you opened your mouth—then closed it—before finally opening it again, only to find yourself completely lost for words.

Lando, on the other hand, had zero plans of letting this moment pass without teasing you mercilessly.

His smirk spread slowly, his eyes glinting with amusement as he turned to you. “So… dreamy, huh?” he teased, his voice low and full of mischief.

You groaned, immediately burying your face in your hands. “Oh my God, Sophie,” you whined, your voice muffled by your palms. “I’m never speaking in front of her again.”

Lando chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of your embarrassment. “No, no,” he teased, “don’t stop now. I’m very interested in this topic.” His voice was playful, but there was a warmth in it that made you feel as though he wasn't teasing in a hurtful way—just in a way that made everything feel even more genuine.

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks still burning with heat. “I hate you,” you muttered, but the words came out softer than intended.

Lando reached over and gently took your hand in his, his fingers squeezing yours. The teasing smile faded into something warmer, something more sincere. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “I think it’s adorable.”

You exhaled, still flustered but unable to stop the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. It was impossible not to feel a little bit lighter with him beside you.

Lando lifted your hand and pressed a soft, playful kiss to your knuckles. “And just so you know,” he added, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, “I think your eyes are pretty dreamy too.”

Eventually, as much as you secretly didn’t want him to, Lando had to go. It was already getting late, and though Sophie had been asleep earlier, she was now awake and clinging to his hoodie with surprising strength for a four-year-old.

“Nooo,” she whined, her lower lip jutting out in the most dramatic pout. “Don’t go, stay.”

Lando smiled gently, crouching down to her level. “Hey, I’ll come back, okay? I promise.”

Sophie crossed her arms, her little face scrunching up in stubborn defiance. “Pinkie promise?”

Lando grinned, holding out his pinkie. “The strongest pinkie promise ever.”

She eyed him for a moment before looping her tiny pinkie around his. “You have to come back soon.”

“I will,” he assured her. “And next time, we’ll build an even bigger pillow fort.”

Sophie gasped as if that was the greatest thing she had ever heard. “With lights?”

Lando chuckled. “With lights. And a secret entrance. And maybe even some snacks.”

Sophie giggled, finally releasing his hoodie. “Okay… but don’t take too long.”

Lando ruffled her curls. “Deal.”

Sophie then turned to you and grabbed your hand. “Come, Mommy. You have to walk him to the door.”

Lando arched a brow, clearly amused. “Oh, do I get an escort?”

Sophie nodded seriously. “Mommy has to say goodbye properly.”

Your cheeks warmed again, but you didn’t argue, letting Sophie lead the way as the three of you walked to the door.

When you reached it, Sophie turned to Lando. “Bye-bye, Lando.”

He smiled, bending down to give her a quick hug. “Bye, kiddo. Sleep tight, okay?”

Sophie nodded before stepping back, watching intently as if she was expecting something.

Lando turned to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for trusting me with her today.”

You exhaled, offering him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Lando took a small step closer, tilting his head slightly. “Anytime.”

For a moment, you both just stood there, caught in the quiet, comfortable tension between you.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

Lando froze for half a second, his breath hitching ever so slightly—but when you pulled back, his lips stretched into the slowest, most heart-melting smile you had ever seen.

“Was that a thank-you?” he teased, though his voice was lower, warmer.

You laughed softly. “Maybe.”

His eyes flickered between yours, something unspoken passing between you, before he lifted a hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“I really like being here,” he admitted quietly.

You swallowed, your heart skipping a beat. “I really like you being here.”

And then, before you could completely process it, Lando leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, tender kiss.

It was soft and warm, hesitant yet sure, the kind of kiss that left no doubt about where things were heading between you.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “So… should I expect Sophie to tell you stuff about me too?”

You groaned, laughing against him. “Oh God, she totally will.”

Lando grinned, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips before pulling back. “Guess that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

From behind you, Sophie giggled. “Mommy likes you sooo much.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Sophie.”

Lando only laughed, giving your hand one last squeeze before stepping outside. “See you soon.”

And as he walked down the path, you stood in the doorway with Sophie, watching him go—your heart already longing for the moment he would come back.

[kakashisbabymama218]

lol so this ended up being wayyy longer than i expected, just under 3k

Also, not edited so hopefully there aren’t many mistakes! If so I’ll fix it when I wake up cause ya girl is sleepy lol.

You can read part 1 here

you were barely halfway through your shift when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. you decide to ignore it for now, instead getting back to the task you were working on.

its ten minutes later when you're able to take your break, you head out towards the parking lot, seeing your car parked in the middle of the sea of cars and walk over towards it, unlocking the door and sitting down in the drivers seat.

you pull your phone out from your pocket and open it, noticing a new text message from katsuki. your fingers instantly click on the notification only to see its a video he sent.

you remember he said something about going to a party with eijirou and denki and figure its just a video of the three of them drunk off their ass and yelling into the camera or something like it usually is.

however, when you click play it doesn't take long for you to realize that this is not anything like the normal videos you receive. your eyes widen instantly and your head snaps up, looking back and forth and even behind you just to be safe, making sure no one else is in the parking lot before your eyes are dropping back down to your phone just in time to see katsuki pushing his pants down on his hips and his cock springing free.

your mouth waters at the sight, your legs squeezing together instinctively, eyes glued to the phone. you swallow as he takes his length into his hands, letting his hand drag up and down his dick and your ears perk up at the sound of him groaning softly in the background, hands instantly moving to turn the volume up all the way, wanting to hear each and every sounds that falls from his lips as he pleasures himself.

his thumb rubs at his tip, smearing the precum that dripped from his tip along the purplish tip and you can practically taste him on your tongue.

katsuki lets his dick go, and you watch , eyes moving along with it as if hypnotized, as it bounces up and down softly before settling. movement above catches your attention and you watch as katsuki begins racking his nails up and down his stomach, something you know he loves when you do it to him.

the hand that isn't holding your phone moves down to your legs, rubbing your thighs as you continue to watch katsuki touch himself.

you jump the first time he says something, not prepared for him to talk.

“fuckkk pretty girl—” and shit he already sounds so fucked out and he's barely even started.

your hand begins to slip inside the waistband of your pants, wanting nothing more than to give throbbing clit the attention its begging for when the quiet rumbling of an engine pulls your attention away from the video, your head raising as you see a car pull into the spot directly next to you and you immediately click out of the video, pulling up a random app you have on your phone as your cheeks heat up at the fact that you were really about to play with your pussy in the parking lot of you job.

after a minute or two you glance over at woman in the car next to you, wishing she'd hurry up and get out already so you can keep watching the video, but she's looking down at her phone and you can tell she's not going anywhere anytime soon. you let out a groan and look around the parking lot wishing she parked literally anywhere else.

your damp panties cling to you uncomfortably and you squeeze your legs together to get some sort of friction to your throbbing clit, silently reminding yourself that you are in fact in public so you cant actually make yourself cum.

the sound of a car door opening pulls you from the ache in your pants and you see the woman getting out of her car, closing the door behind herself and walking in the direction of your job.

alone again, you do another quick sweep of the parking lot, making sure there's no one around before your clicking back over to the video.

“wish it was you bouncing on this dick”

and fuck so do you, you wanna feel the fullness you feel everytime you sink down on katsuki's fat cock, the stinging stretch you feel no matter how many fingers katsuki uses to stretch you out or how long he preps you for. he's just so... thick, that it always brings a painful kind of pleasure.

 “don’t worry pretty girl, imma come stretch that pussy out when you get off”

at the reminder of your job your head raises. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, debating.

you leaving early wouldn't really be that bad, you guys were overstaffed for it to be such a slow night, and you have complete faith in your coworkers that they can handle the rest of the night without you.

it doesn't take you long to make you're decision, you're completely exiting off of the video and stuffing your phone back into your pocket, not bothering to finish the video, you'll be getting the real thing soon anyway.

you head back inside of your job, going towards your managers office and knocking. after telling her some shitty excuse about having a family emergency and how you have to go you grab your stuff, calling out a goodbye to your coworkers before you back outside and speed walking to your car.

you know katsuki is at his place because of the message he sent you after sending the video.

this party sucks. going back home, come over when you get off.

luckily his apartment wasn't too far from your job and in less than ten minutes you're pulling up to the familiar building. you park and hurry towards the door, using the key katsuki gave you to let yourself in.

you take the stairs up to the third floor, not bothering with the elevator until you're standing in front of katsuki's door. you fumble around with your keys a little before finding the right one and pushing it into the key hole, twisting it until it clicks. You walk inside, toeing your shoes off at the door.

its dark inside, the only light inside coming from the small space under katsuki's bedroom door. you hear him curse before he's calling someone a shitty extra and you figure he's playing his game.

you make your way to the door, pushing it open, flooding the dark hallway with light. katsuki's head turns at the sound of his door being opened and a surprised look crosses his face. he turns his headset off and sets it down before turning back towards you.

he glances up at the clock on the wall above your head and back down at you.

"what are you doing here so early? I thought you didn't get off for three more hours." he says but you don't respond, instead you're taking his controller in your hand and tossing it onto his bed before crawling into his lap.

your hands tangle in his blonde strands as you press your lips into his. katsuki's hands find your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you back, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip. your lips part instantly and katsuki doesn't hesitate, pushing his tongue into your mouth and slotting it against yours.

he tastes like mint with the lingering taste of weed and you moan at the combination, tugging on his hair as you grind yourself down against his growing erection, groaning at the clothing barrier that separates the two of you.

you pull away to mess with the strands of his sweatpants, untying them before trying to push them down. katsuki lifts his hips off of the chair, helping you pull his pants down enough to free his cock.

"you didn't answer my question" he says, watching you spit in your hand before wrapping it around his length. "what are you doing here so early?"

you don't answer, too focused on pumping him fast, your grip tight as you stare down at his cock.

he takes your jaw between his hands, squeezing your cheeks together and forcing you to look up at him. the hand you have wrapped tightly around his cock pauses as you stare into his red eyes, darkened with arousal.

"don't tell me you left work early just to get some dick. fuckin cock slut."

the words are mean but they're completely true, you did leave work early to get fucked and you were a cock slut— his cock slut.

"i saw your video" you tell him, as you begin moving your hand again, slower this time but your grip still just as tight. katsuki smirks.

"yeah?" he questions, tilting his head to the side. you hear him suck in a breath when you begin thumbing at his tip, smearing his precum the same way you say him do in the video.

"yeah. got so turned on i was ready to finger myself right there in the parking lot. probably woulda if someone didn't park next to me"

katsuki's dick twitches in your hand at the mental image of your spread out in the backseat of your car, fingers pumping in and out of your tight pussy as you watch him jerk off for you.

you let out a surprised yelp when katsuki places his hands on your ass before lifting you both out of the chair, he walks the few steps over towards his bed. he tosses you onto the soft mattress before pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere in the room.

he crawls onto the bed, settling himself between your legs, his head directly in front of your clothed cunt. he drags his finger up and down your slit, feeling the warmth even through the layers of clothes you have.

in one swift motion, he has your legs pushed up with your knees by your head, pulling both your pants and panties down at the same time until they're pooling at your feet, you kick them off the rest of the way, letting the drop to the floor as katsuki takes his place between your legs once again.

the first lick against your sensitive clit was too much, after being ignored for so long the pleasure of finally being touched is almost enough to make you cum right then and there. your back arches off the bed, hands yanking at katsuki's hair.

his eyes are focused on your face, watching as your mouth falls open in a long moan when he takes your clit between his lips and starts to suck and slurp at the bundle of nerves.

"shit katsuki—fuck" you grind your hips up against his face, one of your hands coming to push your shirt and bra up over your chest, freeing your tits to the cool air circulating throughout the room, knowing katsuki likes the cold. your nipples harden even more when the cold air hits them and you take one of them between your fingers, pinching and rolling the nub as katsuki laps at your clit.

it doesn't take long— it never does, not when katsuki is sucking on your clit just right—for you to feel the familiar tightening in your tummy, your toes curling as you moan out a pathetic broken version of his name. two of katsuki's thick fingers plunge inside of you, he doesn't give you time to adjust as he curls his fingers upwards, looking for that spot that'll have you screaming out his name in seconds.

he knows he's found it when you're crying out and trying to close your legs around his head. he focuses his thrusts on the same spot, over and over again until your back is rising off the bed completely and your screaming out his name.

he continues lapping at your cunt, drinking down every drop of slick that gushes out of you as you cum on his tongue. his fingers slow down but never stop moving as he helps you ride out your orgasm. you're panting by the time he moves his head from between your legs, instead moving to lay next to you on the bed, his hand stroking his cock as he spreads his legs.

"cmon pretty girl, want you to ride me" he says, licking his lips and patting his lap.

you swing your leg over his, feeling his hard cock under your cunt and you grind back and forth, hissing and letting your head fall against his shoulder when it rubs against your overly sensitive clit.

you lift yourself up as katsuki lines himself up with your opening. you moan out in unison as you begin sinking down onto his cock. katsuki has to stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest and fucking up into you fast and hard.

he'll let you take the lead... for now that is.

your hands find his chest, feeling his muscles under your fingers and you barely have to think before you're dragging your fingers up and down his pecks, letting them slide down to the tiny red marks on his stomach from where he scratched himself earlier at the party.

you lift yourself up on shaky knees, before sinking right back down, still not taking the whole thing inside yet but slowly moving down inch by inch.

"fuck kats', your so big'" you whine out when you finally take him in to the hilt. you feel so full, your tight walls clenching tightly around him as you let yourself adjust to the stretch.

katsuki tisks, thrusting up into you—hard. "thought i told you to ride me" he says with hard slap to your ass. you whine out again at the sting but lift yourself up anyway. you begin properly riding him, sliding yourself up and down on his length, grinding your hips against his, moaning as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

katsuki lifts his head off of the pillow and pushes his face into your chest, taking his lips and wrapping them around you nipple, one of his hands coming up to toy with the other one.

he can tell you're getting tired when your movements become sloppy, so he takes that as his que.

"hold on tight" he murmurs against your chest.

you barely hear him, grabbing onto his shoulders at the last second before your breath is stolen right from your lungs.

katsuki wraps his arms around your middle and plants his feet on the bed below him. he holds onto you tightly as he pounds into you, the sounds of skin slapping against skin immediately bounces off the walls at the pace he fucks you.

"ka— kat-suk-iiii fuckkkkk" you cant even think straight, the feeling of katsuki's cock plunging in and out of you rapidly must have your brain all jumbled because the only thing you can think of is dick dick dick dick dick, the word repeating itself over and over again in your head as you claw at his shoulders hard enough to draw blood, but katsuki barely even notices, too busy using you as a human fleshlight to worry about something as trivial as a few drops of blood.

he's close, dick twitching deep inside of your walls and he can tell by the way your squeeze him so tightly that you're close too. he slows down, dragging himself out slowly, leaving nothing but his tip in before snapping his hips forwards, knocking the wind out of you with each thrust, trying to hang on just a little long so that the two of you can cum together.

he flips the two of you over, laying you flat against the mattress with your head resting on the pillow.

"play with your pussy" he tells you, pulling away from you just far enough to let your hand slip between your legs, fingers ghosting over your clit.

"i'm not gonna last much longer" you tell him as you apply pressure to your clit, moving your fingers in circular motions.

"me— shit, me either" he tells you, hips stuttering a bit as you clench down tightly around him, fingers speeding up the assault on your clit. "gonna cum with me pretty girl?" he asks against your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"mhmm... yeah fuck"

katsuki pulls back, angling his hips and hitting your gspot head on. thats all it takes for you to cum, body convulsing as your orgasm crashes into you, your toes curling as katsuki continues to fuck your through your orgasm.

it doesn't take long before you feel his warm seed shooting deep inside of you, pushing further inside of your walls as katsuki continues to thrust into you until he's positive he's emptied his heavy balls inside of your cunt.

you feel as it begins dripping out of your hole the second he pulls out, flopping down on the bed next to you, breathing hard and sweating. he looks over at you, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

he leans down and pokes your cheek "i can't believe you really left work just to come get some dick"

[mercvry-glow]

He's got eyes, but he can't see | In Another Light (1)

In Another Light masterlist - Jack Abbot x Ex!reader

warnings. age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 27), exes to lovers, slow-burnish, jack and reader are really bad at feelings, reader is hinted to have some forms of depression and anxiety, more to come as series continues

summary. Night shift had once been your solace—a strange, electric kind of sanctuary where the world felt quieter, darker, and somehow more honest. Now, on your first official night back, everything and nothing feels the same. The hospital still hums with its familiar tension—beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, the low murmur of exhausted voices—but the comfort is gone, replaced by a dull ache that settles in your chest with every fluorescent flicker and passing gurney. You used to move through these halls like you were part of the machinery; tonight, you're a stranger in a place that once felt like home, and as the hours stretch ahead, thick with memory and unspoken resentment, you wonder if the night can ever truly be yours again—or if Jack’s shadow will always linger in its corners.

notes. AHHH it's here guys! Our official chapter one is here and ready for y'all to read! I'm pretty happy with this, so let me know what you guys think for the future of In Another Light!

wc. 2200+

It was 6:45 p.m. when you finally got the courage to step out of your car to leave the employee section of the PTMC parking garage. Sitting in your car, trying to stomach your six-shot iced oat milk vanilla latte, was easier than facing whatever the hell was going to happen tonight.

Jack’s truck was parked four cars to your left, and that already left a churning feeling in your stomach. He was here before you. You knew he would be—he always was. Routine ran in his blood like caffeine ran in yours. Still, the sight of his gray F-150 made your chest tighten like a pulled muscle.

You walked past it without looking twice, but your body noticed anyway. The crunch of your white sneakers on the concrete. The way the overhead lights buzzed just a little too loudly. 

Deep breaths in. 

Out. 

Then in again.

Mentally, you were already triaging yourself. Discomfort: chronic. Heart rate: elevated. Emotional reserves: low. 

You weren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were from anxiety or dread or both, but you swallowed them down with some more of your latte and pushed open the glass door.

PTMC’s entrance was quieter at this hour—day shift winding down, night shift still dragging their feet. You scanned your badge at the side entrance, the little green light blinking you in with an almost welcome.

The elevator ride down to the first floor felt like purgatory. Too short to fully breathe, too long to avoid thinking. The lounges were dim, a few night shifters already tucked in their corners, half-dressed in layers, sipping burnt coffee from the provided mismatched mugs.

You tossed your bag into your usual locker, the motion automatic. Your hands moved without you—pulling on your issued quarter-zip over your black scrubs, clipping on your badge, repositioning your pen light.

Parker leaned back against the wall next to your locker, having put her own stuff away, “Wow. Look who’s back.”

You gave her a dry look. “Miss me that much?”

“Like a hole in the head,” she grinned. “But you’re prettier.”

“Flatter me some more and I might actually stay.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and glanced at her watch. “We’re already one down. Tony called out too. So you’re jumping right in, and Abbot’s making Shen take triage.”

Of course he was.

You turned toward the clock on the wall. 6:59 p.m.

One more minute of quiet before it officially began.

You took a breath, steady and sharp, and told yourself: You’ve done this before. You can do it again. You do it every day.

Even if the ghosts of your past were waiting behind every curtain and trauma room door.

The board hadn’t changed much since yesterday.

You approached the nurse’s station slowly, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets as if that could somehow brace you against the rest of the night.

Little comforts, right?

Robby stood behind one of the desks, one hand balancing a coffee cup, the other flipping through a chart like it would suddenly change information. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Which probably meant he hadn’t.

“You’re early,” he said, not looking up.

“Hard to be late when you’re actively dreading it,” you replied, leaning a hip against the counter.

That got a tired huff out of him. “Still on that oat milk battery acid?”

“Still drinking it. Which says more about me than I’d like.”

He finally glanced up, brown eyes scanning you. There wasn’t judgment there—just something like quiet concern wrapped in too much familiarity.

“I want you with Shen tonight. Bay two is your guys when we get hit. Ellis and Abbot are taking one if multiple roll in.” He tapped the Ipad. “We’ve got two holdovers from earlier—MVA and a dumbass who fell off a roof trying to do some TikTok thing.”

You raised a brow. “Humanity’s finest.”

“I’ll walk you through them. Come on.”

You followed Michael around the desk and into the curtained bays. He talked through the cases, voice low and even. You nodded, asked a few important questions, scribbled notes on your pad like you weren’t here sometime yesterday. 

It should’ve been fine. It almost felt fine.

Until you glanced up—out of habit really—and saw him.

Jack.

He stood down the hall by north-six, his posture all sharp lines and quiet command, chart in hand, talking to someone you didn’t recognize. Gray quarter-zip pushed up to his elbows, scrub pants tucked into his usual work boots. Like nothing had changed.

Like a year ago hadn’t happened.

The sound around you dulled, just for a second. Your breath caught in your throat, lodged somewhere between memory and muscle. He didn’t see you—not yet—but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

It was like seeing a ghost. 

Only worse. 

Ghosts didn’t get to keep existing without you. 

“You good, kid?” Robby’s voice pulled you back, grounding and aware of who you were staring at.

You blinked, tore your gaze away. “Yeah. Yeah, just tired.”

His eyes narrowed just a bit. “You sure?”

You nodded once. “I’ll live.”

Robby didn’t press you. He never did when it really counted.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s check on TikTok guy before he tries parkour off the bed.”

You followed him, one foot in front of the other.

But your pulse still beat loud in your ears.

And down the hall, Jack was still there.

Still himself. Still okay without you.

Jack leaned against the counter with a pen between his fingers, chart open but untouched. He wasn’t really reading it—hadn’t been for the last three minutes, not since he saw you walk in.

Across the floor, you were already helping an older woman with her oxygen cannula, crouched just enough to meet her tired eyes. Ellis stood beside you, chart in hand, but it was clear you were leading the interaction. Calm. Steady. Kind in a way that never felt performative.

“She’s good, all settled for the night.” Robby said, walking up beside his fellow attending.

Jack didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Robby took a sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving you. “Go easy on her tonight,”

That made Jack glance sideways, jaw tight. “You planning to lecture me?”

“Nope,” Robby said, popping the “p” casually. “Just reminding you of who she is,”

Jack exhaled through his nose, short and humorless. “Not your business.”

“Unfortunately,” Robby said, tapping his badge against his chest, “everyone’s business becomes mine eventually.”

Jack said nothing.

Robby watched you laugh at something Parker muttered, hand briefly brushing the patient’s arm in reassurance before you stood to check the monitor beside the bed. You looked lighter on your feet now—different than a year ago—but there was still something careful in the way you carried yourself. Like you were always bracing for an unknown impact.

“Don’t know how ready she is for this,” Robby said, softer this time. “But she didn’t miss a beat.”

Jack’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “She’s good at compartmentalizing.”

Robby turned to look at him fully. “No. She just has no choice.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that settles between men who know there’s so much more to the conversation but choose, for now, to let it lie.

You were walking back toward the station now, tapping notes into the tablet cradled in your arm, focused and steady. The same soft ponytail. The same familiar way you chewed the inside of your cheek when you were thinking.

The same you—and yet entirely changed.

Robby nudged Jack with his elbow. “Don’t be weird tonight, alright?”

Jack didn’t answer.

Robby smirked. “I’m serious. Don’t screw up my best third year again,”

Then he pushed off the counter, dropped his empty coffee cup into the trash, and started down the hall. “Text me if the ER catches fire,” he called over his shoulder. “Otherwise, I’m pretending I’ve earned a full night’s sleep.”

Jack stayed where he was.

And when you passed him a moment later—eyes straight ahead, posture composed, not even a flicker of acknowledgement—he felt the space between you like an open gaping wound.

A quiet, barley-hidden one.

But it bled all the same.

The first few hours of your shift passed in a blur of motion—nothing dramatic, just the usual chaos that brewed under fluorescent lights and the buzz of cardiac monitors.

John had been decent company as always. Never quiet, but sharp. Efficient and funny was his personal motto. You handled the procedural tasks while he managed some of the floor, the two of you slipping into a rhythm that felt vaguely comforting.

Just like riding a bike.

By the time 9 p.m. rolled around, the ER had cooled just enough to breathe.

You stood at the nurses’ station once again, flipping through an empty triage packet when Shen handed you a fresh set of vitals.

“Room four’s post-fall. Nothing major—glucose crash and a bruised ego.”

You gave a tired smile. “Copy that.”

“Want me to take it?”

“Nah, I’ll knock it out.” You glanced at the clock again. “Might refill my water first though.”

He just nodded and wandered off, already charting something else. You made your way to the break room, tugging on your badge as you continued on your short adventure. The soft click of the latch gave way to the familiar quiet—a rare, sacred kind of silence in a place like this.

Inside the breakroom, the hum of the old refrigerator and the ticking wall clock were the only sounds.

You leaned against the counter for a second, letting your shoulders drop. The muscles in your neck ached from standing too stiffly. Your back protested in all the usual places. You grabbed your bottle, placing it under the watercooler tab for a few seconds, before taking a drink without looking up.

The door opened.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Something in your body went still—recognition without welcome. You focused on the water tumbler in your hand.

Jack stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, he worked here too for christ's sake. His steps paused briefly when he saw you, but he didn’t speak. Just moved to the counter next to you and pulled open the top drawer where the extra coffee pods were always stashed.

You watched the bottle twist around in your fingers. “You’re still drinking the hazelnut ones?”

His hand stilled on the drawer handle. “Yeah.”

You didn’t say anything else. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick but not hostile—just full. Like everything neither of you said since your last encounter had gathered into the empty air around you.

Jack moved slowly, methodically—cup under the Keurig, pod locked in, button pressed. The smell of cheap coffee started to rise.

“You look tired,” he said finally, voice low and even.

You let out a quiet breath. “You still open with that line?”

“Only when it’s true.”

You glanced at him then—just for a second. His hair was a little shorter than you remembered. He hadn’t grown back the stubble he used to keep, jaw freshly shaven like he was trying to keep everything clean and simple.

“You gonna be okay tonight?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re here,” you raised an eyebrow, “Plus John and Parker, even if we’re down a few people you three can hold down the fort.”

You hummed an affirmative. “Robby seem to think we’re the dream team.”

That earned the smallest twitch of a smirk. “He’s getting delusional in his old age.”

You didn’t dare tell him he was getting old too.

Jack took his cup and leaned back against the counter, a few feet from where you stood. The room felt smaller now, like the walls had pushed everything a step closer.

Neither of you looked directly at the other.

“You doing okay?” he asked quietly, like it was an afterthought. Like he already knew the answer.

You took another drink of your water. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jack didn’t push.

He just stood there for a moment longer, sipping his coffee like it wasn’t burning his tongue. And then, with a soft nod and no goodbye, he pushed off the counter and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you were left with the silence again.

Alone, just like when he left you the first time. 

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Heartbeat

Summary: dean's in love with your belly.

Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Dean, Established Relationship, pregnant reader, Mild language, pregnancy themes, soft!Dean

WC: 627

Read on ao3!

A/N: idea came from a prompt from this list!

-

Your feet hurt.

That was the first thing Dean noticed when you walked through the bunker’s door—shoes in hand, a scowl between your brows, and your other hand bracing the small of your back. The pregnancy was nearing its final stretch, and your body had made its rebellion known in every possible way.

Dean was across the war room in two strides. “Hey, hey, come here.” He swept the shoes from your grip and helped you ease into a chair like you were made of porcelain. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“I went to the store, not war,” you huffed. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

Dean crouched beside you, hands already on your calves, fingers moving to rub the arches of your aching feet like it was second nature. He was obsessed with touching you lately—not in a weird way but more like he couldn’t believe you were real. Couldn’t believe this was real.

“I just don’t like you carrying anything heavier than a craving,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your knee before looking up at you with those damn forest-green eyes. “You okay?”

You softened. Always did with him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nodded, reaching up to cradle your belly with both hands. Your shirt was stretched tight over it now—his shirt, really, soft cotton with an old Zepp logo, permanently claimed by you months ago. His thumbs traced light circles on either side of the bump, reverent.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I can feel her kick now. Stronger than yesterday.”

You smiled. “She’s definitely your kid. Already throwing punches.”

His jaw ticked slightly, and there was that look again—the one you were starting to recognize. It wasn’t just awe. It was something deeper. He looked at you like he was scared the world would take you from him. Like he was scared of being happy.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up,” he confessed, voice low. “Like this is all some dream I’m not allowed to have. You. Her. A home.”

You reached down, fingers sliding into his hair. “It’s not a dream, Dean. You built this.”

He leaned into your hand. “No. You built this. I just… I’m the guy who got lucky.”

You both were quiet for a moment. Then his hand shifted again, thumb brushing just under the curve of your bump.

“I’ve got this list,” he said suddenly, eyes still fixed on your stomach.

You blinked. “List?”

“Of things I wanna do before she’s born. Stuff I wanna be ready for. I, uh…” He looked a little sheepish. “I read all the books. Sam caught me watching a diaper tutorial on YouTube the other night. Thought I was watching porn or something.”

You laughed, heart swelling.

Dean grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanna be good at this. Better than I ever had. You know?”

You cupped his cheek. “You already are. She’s lucky, Dean. We both are.”

His eyes shimmered just a bit. He didn’t cry��Dean Winchester didn’t cry, at least not where you could see it—but you felt it in the way he kissed your palm, slow and grateful.

He stood and pulled you into his arms, careful but close. “Swear to God, Y/N, I’ve faced monsters, angels, Lucifer himself—but nothing terrifies me more than the idea of not doing right by you and her.”

You leaned your head against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heart.

“Then stop worrying,” you said softly. “You’re already doing everything right.”

His arms tightened just a little.

And when the baby kicked again, right against his ribs, you felt him smile against your hair like it was the best moment of his entire life.

[webism]

★ sometimes, sukuna makes you ride his thigh instead of his lengthy fingers, or his sharp face or prodigious cock.

it's meant to be a punishment, a deprivation of what so often leaves you breathless and stupid, but you can't find fault in the muscled ridges of his thighs. maybe if your sharp-toothed lover was less active, less built, you'd struggle a bit more to find pleasure in his thigh.

you don't even know why you're being punished. it could be for your sharp tongue, or for touching yourself unpermitted, or for some other perceived sin. but as far as the space between you and ryomen stretches; he is the church and you are to kneel over his thick thigh and repent.

so repent you do. you rock your hips, grind down against his bare thigh as if seeking your own climax is apology enough for wronging your lover. if you wronged him, that is—sometimes sukuna punishes you unprovoked, the protests you give when you've really done nothing wrong get his dick hard. though you've cum more times you can count now, surely he can't punish you longer.

you can practically taste his cock it's so close, hard and throbbing and resting against his stomach just waiting to be doted on. you could reach out and grab it, and your fingers ache to feel the weight of his length against them, as does your tongue—but you know your ministries wouldn't go unpunished. and touching him when you're not permitted to doesn't reward you with the fun punishments like fucking yourself on his thigh; your ass would be sore for days.

"faster," his voice is steeled, painted nails digging into your hips. it hurts, how harshly he holds you, but it hurts in a searing way you'd miss if he were to let go. his touch is mean, you love it about him.

you oblige, rock your hips faster despite the sweat that pricks at your skin and the increasing work it takes for your lungs to provide you with enough oxygen to stay clear-headed. sukuna tsks, though, bares his teeth and forces you down harder against his solid thigh. it's a mess of your lust, glossy with your slick and you don't doubt he'll have you clean him up once you're too fucked out to think. perhaps with a cooling bath; perhaps with your tongue.

"you're a mess," he chides. "fucking filthy. stupid brat, so dumb and you're not even taking my cock. you couldn't."

harder, he presses your cunt against his thigh, pulls you to grind down on him. your desperation isn't lost on you, but sukuna's words prick at your stomach.

"i could. let me, please, i want—"

"you want?" he growls. "you don't want. you need my cock, brat, and i'm denying you a necessity."

you know he gets off on using you like this, playing with your threshold for pleasure. just how many orgasms can he rip out of you using his thigh alone? he's controlling your movements like you're the toy despite the lack of physical stimulation he gets from this. he's fucking you mindless and all he's doing is sitting nice and still for you.

when he manages another orgasm out of you, the slurred mewls of 'too much' falling of his deaf-by-choice ears, you realise your punishment isn't pleasure. it is the denial of himself: your newfound addiction, his reverent touch. he won't give you his cock, his tongue, his fingers or even the heel of his palm. all you get is his thigh, and you unravel from that alone. he finds it pathetic and all too erotic in the same breath.

is there really any denying you if he can draw pleasure from you using just the frame of his build?

thanks sutton for star hehe its so fun. i need to write more two-dick-sukuna writing him with one dick here felt wrong

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[thyme-in-a-bubble]

what i say goes

a/n: ...i didn't really mean for this to turn out so cum focused, but oh well, it's not like i'm complaining about the result, it's stupid hot, it was just kind of an accident lol. whoops, welcome to cum city i guess. apparently i am your mayor. 

summary: sucking in a sharp breath, your weary head lifted slightly to make out in the low light, streaming in from the hallway through the open door, who it instead could be that had stirred you from your dreams because they couldn’t resist having a midnight snack. 

warnings: frat!ari levinson x innocent!reader x frat!andy barber, stepbro!steve rogers, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, college au, polyamory, kissing, corruption kink, somno, fucking while someone else is alseep in the bed right next to them, crying, dacryphilia, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, impact play, pain kink, oral, fingering, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 4294

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

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A strangled whine crawled its way out of your lungs as you were drawn out of your slumber. Half asleep, it took you a while to realise that the sensation tickling at your core wasn’t a part of some dream. Goosebumps prickled your flesh as you noticed the duvet had been peeled from your naked form.

“S-Steve…” you hazily slurred, eyes still shut as your legs faintly shifted against the burly form, slotted in between them. A hot mouth was latched on your clit, still all sensitive and swollen how your stepbrother had railed you to sleep. 

As he sucked down harder, his beard rubbing your petals raw, your quivering hole clenched around nothing, causing another drop to leak out of the cum Steve had greedily filled you up with before he’d flopped down on the bed beside you and passed out nearly as quickly as you had.  

Though as his silky tongue swirled over your puffy pearl, sloppily making out with your sore cunt, your tired eyes finally blinked open, just enough for you to vaguely take in the dark surroundings of Steve’s room. But then when your head began to tilt to the side, twisting on the pillow from the scorching kisses smothering your tiny bundle of aching nerves, your squinted vision landed on your stepbrother, still softly snoring on the mattress beside you.

Sucking in a sharp breath, your weary head lifted slightly to make out in the low light, streaming in from the hallway through the open door, who it instead could be that had stirred you from your dreams because they couldn’t resist having a midnight snack. 

Your cunt immediately throbbed beneath his ravenous tongue as your gaze discovered that the man lying on his stomach, snugly between your thighs, was none other than the president of the fraternity. 

However, as soon as his eyes found your panicked ones in the dark, the quick reflexes that had made him a legend on the football field allowed him to then soar up and clasp a broad hand over your lips. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he swiftly hissed, his eyes scanning your own as you panted behind his palm. Hovering above you, he murmured, “don’t scream, okay?” before a faint nod then slowly tilted your head. 

“…Ari?” you whispered when he then slowly slipped his hand from your mouth, “wh-what are you doing?” 

“Doing my taxes,” his eyes on you promptly narrowed brashly to a squint, “what do you think I’m doing?” 

Shifting carefully to glance back over at Steve sleeping directly next to you both, you muttered, “but–”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Ari arrogantly cut in. 

“What?” you still struggled to comprehend the reality you’d woken up to, “I–”

“Hey, I am in charge around here,” he caught your chin and tilted your head back, forcing your wide eyes back upon him, “what I say goes, so I can do anything I fucking want, and what I want, is you,” he gazed down at you as if you were the only two in the bed, “and I say that your big stepbrother has kept you to himself for way too long. So what if he said that none of us could have you yet.” 

“He did what?” you gasped, your eyes briefly flying back to Steve’s broad back twisted towards you. 

“Oh, he’s just being greedy,” a shiver ran down your spine as he then pushed himself up to sit back on his knees, before his fingers then caught the waistband of his boxers, and he tugged them down enough for his hard cock to spring free of its binds and smack into his lower abs, “just don’t tell him… not that I think he’d actually do anything about it, I mean, what would he do? Deny his president? Not in a million fucking years. He knows better than to say no to me.” 

“…but what if Steve gets mad at me…” you blinked up at him as your stomach threatened to coil into aching knots. 

A bright grin then twisted up his features as he peered down at you, his girth throbbing in his grasp as he purred, “who in their right mind could ever be mad at you, huh?” before he then tilted closer and dragged the bulbous tip of him through the glistening seam of your cunt, making you whine softly into the night. 

“Alright,” you panted, “but just please be gentle,” your eyes flickered down to catch sight of his dick nudging against your puffy pussy, “I’m still really sore…” 

“Really?” a dark chuckle quietly slipped from his lips, “because to me, it looks like she wants it rough. She wants me to be mean to her, bully her so good, just like she deserves,” he smirked at the way that you squirmed as he tapped the weight of him against your petals, before then sweeping down to smear against the cream still slowly leaking out of your wrecked fuckhole, “look at that… shit, he sure did leave you fucking messy…” 

“B-but–, ah!” he narrowly managed to cover your mouth again as he suddenly slammed the entirety of his length inside of you, using the sticky load already inside of you as lube. 

“See?” a sickening squelch echoed throughout your stepbrother’s room as Ari then brashly rolled his hips, “doesn’t that feel better?” 

As you struggled to wrangle the moan that his impulsivity had forced out of your lungs, you tugged his hand away from your lips, just enough for you to squeak breathlessly, “o-oh my g-god! A-Ari! It’s too–, fuck!” 

But your whining only made him smirk as he continued to stare down at how you clenched around his fat girth, “damn, I thought you’d already been broken in! Apparently not good enough,” he then snapped his hips with more force, fucking through your tightness. 

“It's so much, it’s too much–” 

“Shh, shut up,” he clambered a palm back over your mouth as moans began to bubble up your throat, “be fucking quiet and take it,” he growled as he sloped down over you till his lips nearly skimmed against the back of his own hand, firmly clasped over the lower half of your face, “toys don’t talk.” 

You could barely keep your eyes open as your body jostled on the mattress at the rhythm of his greedy pace. 

“Holy fucking shit, you’re fucking strangling me here… gonna make me cum in no time,” he groaned, “such a perfect little pussy. What is this, your third time–, maybe fourth, that a cock’s stretched this tiny baby cunt out?” he croaked before you shakily held up six of your fingers in the sliver of space between you, “oh, this is only your number six, huh? He’s fucked you five times already and you still feel like this? Damn…” his hefty balls smack against your slick skin, “and you just let your big stepbro cum inside of your pretty pussy too, fuck… pump you full of cum… you gonna let me do that too, huh? Yeah, you are, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll fuck his load out of you first, before I fill you up…” 

Ari then abruptly pulled out only to smack the palm, that wasn’t plastered against your mouth, down upon your messy pussy, repeating the swift action till you were dripping even more and he then once more buried himself in your warmth. Though after the harsh stings, once his thick dick was yet again plugging you up, your cunt couldn’t help but clamper down around him.

“Look at you,” he swiftly began to chuckle, “you’re fucking squirting already?” his pace didn’t slow in the slightest as you gushed messily around his girth, “who the fuck gave you permission to squirt all over my cock, huh? Bad fucking girl. You just can’t help yourself from making a cute little mess, huh?” he kept on fucking you through it, dragging out your orgasm for what felt like an eternity as your body convulsed beneath him, “did I tell you that you could fucking do that? Did I tell you that you could cum? No,” his words barely seeped through your haze, “so you don’t fucking do it. Hold it, ask for permission, don’t fucking pull that shit again with me or you’ll regret it,” his intense stare imprisoned your weak gaze before he then sighed, “well, since nobody else has bothered to, I guess I’ll just have teach you some self-control myself…” 

Just then, your stepbrother suddenly shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his back and shifting just a tad bit closer to you both. Each of you froze up at once as your eyes darted off to the side, Ari’s broad hand still pressed over your mouth. 

And when the frat boy that stretched you out was sure that Steve was still asleep, he then began to pick his pace back up, gradually working his way back to the fevered rhythm he’d granted himself previously. 

Some movement then caught your vision, as out of the corner of your eye, someone passed by out in the hallway, before the figure then circled back to eclipse the doorway. 

“Fucking shit!” you then heard Ari moan quietly as he came undone, “that little pussy’s too fucking good, damn…” he finally slipped his palm away from your lips to instead smother them with a breathless kiss. 

“A-Ari?” you then patted his wide shoulder once the peck had ceased, before you weakly pointed to the figure by the door. 

“Oh,” Ari simply exhaled when he twisted his neck to spot who was standing in the threshold, “hey, Andy,” he smiled at his right-hand man, “enjoying the show?”

“Is he fucking sleeping?” Andy whispered as he nodded to Steve in the bed beside you both, “holy shit…” 

“Wait, why are you–,” a gasp slipped from your lungs as you glanced to Ari, “I thought this was supposed to be a secret.”

“Oh, Andy’s just Andy,” he simply shrugged, “my vice president won’t run his mouth if I don’t let him,” he uttered before glancing back over his shoulder, “will you?” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Andy’s head gently shook. 

Blinking between them a moment as you fought not to drown in the shock that washed over you, the two men kept up their alarmingly casual tone as Ari then offered. 

“You want a go? I already lubed her up for you,” and it took you a second for it to sink in that he was referring to the hot load that he’d just spilt into you, his cock still plugging you up and keeping his seed inside. 

“Not in here,” Andy shook his head as he smirked in your direction, “I wanna hear her squeal and moan for it…” 

As Ari then got up from the bed, causing the mattress to dip enough for you to shoot a nervous glance to your slumbering stepbrother, he then picked you up and draped you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, one of your palms quickly soaring up to clasp over your mouth to muffle the yelp that promptly bubbled out at his manhandling. 

Carrying you out to the hallway and into his own bedroom directly to the right at the very end of the corridor, he then dropped you down the bed in the middle of the room. For a moment as he let himself loom above you, standing tall at the foot of the mattress, the wild look in his eye made you think that he was about to ravage you all over again, but instead, to your amazement, his feet then began to shift away from you before he took a seat in the chair by his desk, swirling it around for his stare to stay glued on you. 

Shutting the door behind him, Andy then stripped off his clothes, each long step that carried him closer towards where you lied cost a single item of clothing. Once no more fabric covered his burly frame, he propped a knee up onto the mattress before joining you on the bed. 

Parting your thighs, he craned down to get an embarrassingly close look at your pussy. His touch sneaked up to ghost the broad pad of a thumb over your messy folds, making you jump slightly in sensitivity as his thick finger shifted down to your entrance, slowly leaking with Ari’s cum, “so fucking pretty…” he murmured before his digit stuffed some of the jizz back inside your haven. 

Andy then layed down beside you before he dragged your exhausted form up on top of his own. 

His grip drug into your hips as he then huffed, “well, go on,” before his broad palm swiftly collided with your bottom, “that dick isn’t gonna ride itself.” 

“Huh?” you panted as the sinful situation you’d woken up to had you feeling as if you were still dreaming. 

“Have you seriously already fucked that brain out of her?” the man below you shot a brief look over your shoulder at Ari.

“Well, she was kind of already half broken when I found her,” the frat’s president shrugged, “but sure, I’ll gladly take the credit.” 

Sweeping his hands up your frame, Andy then captured your face and tilted it for your eyes to feebly find his, “sink that little pussy down on my cock, sweetheart,” he repeated in a clear yet impatient tone.

Blindly, you clumsily reached down between your bodies as you shakily raised yourself up just enough to let your arm pass. As you found his hard length, your cheek smooshed further into his palm as he held your face steady before him instead of allowing it to crash down onto his chest, letting himself absorb and revel in each little twitch that flickered over your features as you nudged the tip of his dick against your opening. 

Weakly rubbing the thick cockhead against your dripping core, you then finally made your hips tilt, but just as the very tip of him carefully popped inside, you then lost your balance and came crashing down against him, the entire length of him slamming inside of you in one fell swoop. 

He didn’t seem to care how the tumble had knocked the wind right out of you or how whines escaped you as you tried to catch your breath, your poor pussy fluttering around him in an effort to comprehend the sudden stretch. 

“Come on,” he let go of your head to smack your butt, “bounce that ass for me.” 

And though you shakily tried, it was without success. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimpered against his chest, “I can’t…” 

“What? You can’t fuck yourself on my cock?” he uttered in a mocking tone. 

“It’s too much, I can’t, my legs they–,” your thighs quivered on either side of his hips as you fruitlessly attempted to raise yourself up once again, “I’m sorry…” 

“Aw, baby…” his thumb briefly found your cheek in a soft stroke, “look at you… too fucking exhausted to work for that nut, huh?” he ushered your hazy gaze to find his own as he peered down at you, melted down against his pecs, “but you want it, don’t you? You wanna be a good little cumslut and take my load as well, right? Or else you’ll just hurt my feelings…”

“No, I do,” your words slurred slightly as you blinked up at him. Though you feared your poor body wasn’t able to keep going, the burning desire not to make the devastatingly handsome man that you lied upon even a little bit sad, drove you to murmur, “I’m sorry, I just can’t–, ughh!” before his grip then dented your ass and he began to move your hips for you. 

“Well then I guess I’ll just take care of it myself,” he croaked as he began to fuck Ari’s cum deeper inside of you, “I’ve got you,” he simply smirked as he let you smother your face further into his chest, almost as if you were trying to bury yourself and hide from the intenseness as he kept on rocking you on top of him, “you can just rest.” 

The pattern he rapidly formed, of lifting your hips all the way up before sinking your pussy right back down onto his cock, was then shattered as his own hips began to move beneath you, bucking up into your warmth till you felt your eyes begin to roll in your skull. 

“Ari…” you weakly whined against Andy’s skin as even you began to hear how your cunt squelched sinfully each time the details of his cock dragged against your g-spot. 

“Yes, baby?” you heard from the other side of the room. 

“I think I’m gonna cum again,” you nearly cried as you dug your teeth into your bottom lip, “can I–… can I, please?” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he huffed, “sure, go ahead,” before you then squirted again, your quivering hole even forcing Andy’s dick out completely as your pussy continued to gush, “that’s it… that’s my girl…” Ari groaned before his fellow frat boy reached down to slip his cock right back in, only allowing you to be free of his girth for what felt like a second before he buried himself once more, although Andy did grant you the serenity of staying still once he’d sunk you back down onto his length, “and what do you say now?” you heard Ari fish. 

“Hm?” you hummed weakly as your velvety walls spasmed around Andy’s cock. 

“I just let you fucking cum, so what do you say?”

Your brow briefly knit together as you tried to scramble your foggy brain, “…t-thank you?” 

“Thank you, what?” 

“Thank you, Ari?” you tried in an unsure voice. 

“Well, I guess that’s good enough for now,” he chuckled lightly, “can always make you call me your president or sir another day,” his stare on your cunt then intensified, marvelling at how you clenched around Andy’s dick, “fuck… how does she feel right now? Because that pussy’s grip around your cock looks so fucking tight,” you could vaguely hear the slick passes of his fist as Ari was once again painfully hard and stroking his length.

“Dude, it’s insane…” Andy puffed beneath you, resisting the urge to pound through the throbbing descent of your high, “you wanna tap in again?” 

And the next thing you then knew, Ari had shot up from his seat before he’d plucked your frame off of Andy as if you were just a little doll in his grasp. Standing tall as he picked you up into his burly arms, a yelp then tumbled past your lips as he didn’t just readjust you in his grasp, but instead tossed you up even higher till he had you balanced on his shoulders and his face once again was buried against your puffy pussy for another taste. As he messily sucked your sore clit into his mouth, you feared momentarily that he might drop you, even though his strong grip on you stayed steady. 

As he safely slipped you back down and tangled your weak legs around his hips, he then began to guide you back down onto his cock, splitting you open all over again for him.

With his massive hands spread out wide beneath your ass, he sank you down upon him before lifting your frame back up, limp and trembling in his flexing arms. But then as the tenderness of your most recent high lingered and exacerbated the soreness that had already been aching ever since your stepbrother had fucked your last night, the agonising overstimulation brought on by Ari’s merciless efforts caused you to crumble even further and begin to cry, something that you didn’t notice till the man cradling you cockily pointed out. 

“Oh fuck…” to your horror, he somehow grew even harder inside of you as he spotted the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “that’s so hot,” his next few thrusts then couldn’t help but snap roughly against you. 

“What?” Andy murmured as he got up from the bed. 

“Look, she’s crying,” Ari smiled as you let your head fall to rest against his broad shoulder, “I love a girl who cries when it gets too much for her.” 

“Yeah? Is it too much, huh?” Andy crept closer before one of his hands snaked in between your forms to momentarily bully your swollen clit, “can that little pussy not take it anymore?” he slipped his fingers away again, awaiting an answer, though try as you might, only a moan came tumbling off your lips, “you want us to move on to that little ass instead?”

“N-no!” you somehow managed to whine. 

“No?” you felt Ari’s lips press against your temple as he spoke, “you sure? One of us could just stick it in at the end, who knows, you might even be too cockdrunk by now to notice the difference,” he bounced you in his arms as Andy reached out to tug crudely against your pebbly nipples. 

“D-don’t, please–”

“But I thought that little pussy was all sore and achy now, right?” Andy tilted his head to get closer to your own, “so don’t you wanna give her a little break? Unless of course you like it when it hurts a little bit.” 

“Oh, I bet she does,” Ari chuckled, “dirty little girl like her, spreading her legs for her own stepbrother. She for sure loves it.” 

“So then why don’t we just both use that pussy at the same time?” a gasp escaped you Andy then tapped his palm against the soft peaks of your tits, “if you don’t want it up the ass yet, you want us to ruin that cute cunt instead?” 

And as you weakly shook your head, drooling against Ari’s shoulder, you then felt a hum rumbled in his chest, “hm,” he pursed his lips as he blinked down at you, “I think that’s a no, unfortunately.”

“Oh well, at least we tried,” Andy respected it begrudgingly.

Shifting you in his hold, you winced slightly as Ari then slipped out of you, though your pussy didn’t get to stay empty for long as Andy swiftly settled in behind you and filled you up instead. Grunting into the back of your neck as his friend kept on holding you up, soon it wasn’t just Andy’s hips that snapped into the plush of your ass, enveloped by Ari’s broad hands, but the president of the frat had also begun bouncing you down to meet Andy’s efforts, offering his aid as he fucked you down upon his friend’s cock. 

When they had traded places once again, Andy curved around to where your head stayed melted down against Ari’s shoulder, eyes shut as sobbing moans flowed out of you. Tilting down, he pressed a kiss to your lips, his palm slipping up to the side of your face before the light tap he then patted against your cheek forced your heavy eyelids to flutter back open. A groan slipped from Ari as the brief smack had caused your cunt to clench down around him, rendering him to command his friend to keep going, which Andy happily complied with, his lips stealing brief pecks between the swift slaps he then dealt.

The pattern of their constant switching efficiently edged you, as each time one of them had their go with you, it would cruelly push you painfully close to cumming, before they then would trade places, constantly denying you of that delicious high and granting you just enough of a pause to fall back down again before it all then repeated over and over again till you felt as if you were losing your mind. 

But when the pending high crept up on you once again and began to blur your already hazy vision, you finally managed to part your lips and try to beg before Ari could once again deny you and pass your pussy back to his friend, “ca–…can I cum? P-please–” 

“No,” his voice felt like a sharp slap against your cheek and caused a strangled sob to slip out past your lips, “not until both of us have gotten our rocks off, you got it?”  

You tried your best to suppress it, put a lid over the boiling pot and hope that it didn’t explode as you dug your teeth into Ari’s shoulder in an effort to try and hold on. 

Luckily, your torture didn’t stretch on for too long before, one by one, they then spilt their seed inside of you. Andy was the first to pump you full, though his load quickly began to escape as soon as he withdrew his throbbing cock, as you were still cradled so high above the ground that gravity played its part. Though a lot of it did leak out and drip down onto the floor, some still remained inside of you and quickly mixed and mingled when Ari swiftly flooded your haven as well. 

Though as soon as his fat cock slipped out of you, Andy wasted no time reaching down and stuffing your drippy and creamy hole full with two of his thick fingers. He swiftly began to rock them inside of you so harshly that a meek cry burst from your lungs as your overly sensitive pussy once again squirted for them, gushing out their cum as well as he kept going until you nearly blacked out. 

And then, as your eyes fell shut once again and you exhaustedly melted further into Ari’s strong frame, you heard him murmur against your temple, “okay,” as he pressed a kiss above your brow, “let’s go tug you back into bed, angel.”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[playfully-sadistic]

Getting yourself off again, angel? Second time today, isn't it? Or already the third, fourth, fifth? You're such a greedy, insatiable thing. Now, now, don't stop on my account - no, keep going, you're doing great.

But your touches are a little too intense, don't you think? A little too... on the nose, too obviously intended to make you come. Good little pets don't finish fast - if at all - no, they edge and edge, over and over again, until they finally get permission to let themselves go and succumb to their primitive needs. So... Lighter. Slower. No rubbing, only caressing, no fingering, only teasing your hole with your fingertips.

But first things first, fingers off entirely. Apparently, you need someone to guide you through the entire process, don't you? You're just too impatient and worked up, full of hormones and heat, to be able to regulate yourself, poor baby. Don't worry, I'll do it for you, step by step, nice and slow. Nothing makes it easier for you than having someone to order you around and tell you exactly what you're allowed to do. Now, isn't it extra fun that, even though nothing stops you from going further before I allow you to, we both know that you won't? You'll be good and behave, just for me, less even, just for a few written words, the illusion of a dom hovering over your barely clothed body and whispering sweet commands against the shell of your ear.

Touch your chest first. Even if it does nothing for you, even if you barely have any sensation in it, I want your fingers circling your nipples, your fingernails gently scratching over them, pinching them between two of them, pulling, massaging. Put on a show, as if someone was watching you. If you have some clamps around, get them, and tease yourself with them - not quite putting them on, but rubbing over your areola, using it to pinch and pull as well. Feel that, treasure? That's what you get for being patient and taking your time. That nice pulling feeling in your stomach... Yeah, that's good, isn't it? Good job. Toy with your chest and nipples some more, make them swollen, sore, red, make sure they already ache before you finally put on those clamps. If you don't own any, you go ahead right now, and order some. The most humiliating, the prettiest ones you can find. And I want you reading through this post again when they arrive, so you can properly get off to it.

Now, I'm sure by now your legs have fallen open all by themselves, mh? Revealing a soaked, hot mess in between, throbbing and begging for attention. So tempting to put your hand right in the middle of it and grope yourself, but you'll be good for me and keep your hands to yourself, love. For now, all you're allowed to do is let your fingers brush over your stomach... Drawing little circles around your belly button, long swirls that slowly go further down, ah, there's that nice feeling of your guts tensing up, isn't it? God, you're so predictable, such a simple thing. Oh, it's fine, you're merely a body in need of being fucked right now, no wonder your brain turns into simple mode.

Gently tease yourself with your fingernails along your lower stomach, before you move onto your thighs - oh, my, you're really desperate, spread them out as far as possible, and let me guess, you only just noticed now how far you've opened up, haven't you? A proper slut for the taking, good job, my angel. Touch your thighs, not the inner parts yet, just explore yourself, palms tracing your muscle, reaching up to your hip, moving onto your stomach again, where that nice, tight feeling comes back. Slowly let your fingers glide to the inner part of your thighs, where your ticklish, and it usually only works to get touched there when it's someone else's fingers, but, oh, fuck, darling, today's different, isn't it? Touching yourself so intensely, yet thoughtfully, it's really showing its effect on you, mh? That's perfect, you're doing so well, yeah, touch and tease your thighs some more, move those fingers up until...

Now you're allowed to move them right in between your legs. That feels good, hm? Finally letting your fingertips feel your own heat, swollen and twitching, feeling your own wetness, only caused by a post. Doesn't that truly show how desperately you need guidance and being made to feel utterly submissive? Don't keep those moans in, show everyone that you're such a needy, horny doll, so desperate to touch themselves. Why the modesty? Let it out. Rub yourself - slowly, dear - and feel yourself up, and know that you've done anything to this point because you followed orders, because you obeyed, because you just couldn't do it yourself and needed someone else so fucking badly, you needed someone to tell you what to do, does it feel like I'm there with you, do you like it, mh? Does it turn you on to know that I took the time writing this, for you to follow every step and work yourself up?

If you own a vibrator, you'll use it now. If it's the kind that you shove inside your needy hole, then do it, don't be gentle, don't be slow, shove it inside of you on the highest settings, as deep as it can go, and use your hand to continue rubbing. If it's the kind that you put on yourself, lay it on you, don't press it against you - we wouldn't want you to get too excited now, would we? - and shove your fingers inside of your instead. Fuck yourself. Make it good. Make it hard to not fall off the edge. Make it as rough and fast and overstimulating as you possibly can. Make it feel humiliating how fucking close it gets you that you're doing this in the first place. Feel the weight and tension that your heat brings - lean into it. Open your mouth, let the moans and whines and all those pretty noises out, don't close it to swallow, let your drool run down your chin - pant. It's getting hard to not come, isn't it? Poor baby.

Do you want me to give you permission? You do. I know. It's okay, baby, relax, keep fucking yourself open like that. A little patience.

Getting harder, mh? Feeling it in your guts already? God, you're so...

Think you can manage a bit longer?

Soon, my angel. You sound so good when you're desperate.

Almost there.

Ready, love?

Come for me, right now.

[ebodebo]

no thoughts...just simon discovering you sitting on the grimy curb outside a club and pretending to be your boyfriend bc of unsavory men being nasty towards you. (tw: men)

-

A chill lingered in the air as you sank down onto the curb, the cold concrete pressing against your thighs while your short dress bunched up, revealing even more skin.

It wasn’t the wisest choice, considering you were just inches away from the road, but your aching feet and pounding head begged for a break.

And not only did you feel a mess, but you also looked it too.

Your eyes were bloodshot, and your eyelids feel heavy and sticky, weighed down by smudged eyeliner, mascara, and whatever glittery eyeshadow you had tossed on in a rush.

What had once been a carefully styled updo was now a tangled mess, with strands of hair falling haphazardly around your face.

You couldn’t be bothered to put it back up; even the thought of managing it made your head spin more than it already did.

Your friends were off somewhere, probably with people you didn’t know, and honestly, you didn’t care anymore.

You just needed to escape that stuffy club.

The lights were flashing so intensely and rapidly that it felt like you might faint.

Now, here you are, sitting on the grimy curb, your mind racing with anxiety.

You had hoped the alcohol would dull your worries, but all it did was amplify them.

Stressing about the rent that you can’t afford this month.

The difficulty of finding and keeping a decent boyfriend.

And let’s not forget about your terrible job that pays next to nothing!

On top of it all, your mother won’t stop calling and complaining about her new boyfriend, who you can’t stand.

“What a pretty girl you are,” a low voice calls out from behind.

His words feel distant, like an echo floating in your mind.

You turn your head slightly to catch a glimpse of the guy, vape in hand and hoodie pulled up, flanked by two friends grinning widely.

You roll your eyes, turning your head away, choosing not to engage with him or offer any response.

"Hey! I’m talking to you," the same voice calls out, its tone growing more assertive.

You turn your head again; this time, he’s closer than before. "Will you just fuck off?" You groan, your eyes barely hanging open.

"The fuck did you say to me.”

Okay.

Now he is mad.

And usually, you could take care of feeble men.

They touch you; they get a knee straight to their balls.

But, right now, you can’t even walk straight.

Let alone balance and swing your leg.

“Sorry—I,” you sputter, carefully standing and almost falling as he draws nearer.

“Think you can talk to me like that?” He snarls as he moves to stand right in front of you.

You look up at him.

His eyes are dark.

You feel your stomach churn.

"Sweetheart," you hear the deep British, gravelly voice before the man who carries it steps beside you. "Been lookin' for you.”

Your eyes dart to him in an instant.

He’s tall, like really, really tall.

Quite built, and looks intimidating as hell with an ominous mask covering his face.

And…fuck, he’s decked out in black and gray military gear.

You feel an odd sense of security, so you thread your arm through his and tuck yourself into his side.

“You yellin’ at my girlfriend?” His voice is so deep, and raspy.

The guy’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the sound and sight of the man at your side.

“No, no,” the guy scramble. “I—I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. I would have never—”

“Shouldn’t do it anyway, you pisshead,” the man next to you spat before turning to face you, voice softening. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m—I’m alright,” your murmur, voice uneven.

The man next to you turns his head to face the guy, his eyes darkening at the sight of you upset. “Get on your knees and apologize to her.”

“Wait, wha—”

“I’ll bash your head in.”

The guy fell to his knees, desperately searching for the right words. “I’m sorry. Fuck—I’m really, really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that; I fucked up. I’m so, so sorry,” he word vomits, voice trembling.

"Thank you," you whisper, your eyes widening in surprise at how readily he complies.

Your gaze drifts down to catch sight of a small friendship bracelet adorning the wrist of the man beside you.

It looked so out of place on him.

The bracelet features a black-and-white pattern of beads, with "Simon" spelled out in gray letters at its center and two skull beads surrounding it.

"Simon," you murmur, simply glancing at the letters without much thought.

His head swivels to you.

“Yeah, baby?” He quickly responds, eyes on you in an instant.

"We should—we should get going," you manage to say, feeling another flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

He nods, his hand lingering near your waist. You shift slightly, allowing your hand to slip into his, where you intertwine your fingers effortlessly.

Simon leans in closer, lowering his head to hover near the guy's ear, and whispers so you can barely catch what he’s saying.

“If you ever yell at my girlfriend, let alone another woman again,” Simon’s voice goes down an octave, low and stern. “I’ll find you and crack every fuckin’ bone in your body.”

The guy's face drains of color as he frantically tries to escape—not just back to his friends, who are just as terrified but well out of reach.

"You’re so…tall," you manage to say, your words coming out a bit slurred.

He lets out a gruff laugh. “Come over here.”

Simon tightly grips your fingers, gently guiding you around the corner and away from the club.

“Shouldn’t be alone,” he utters. “You’re drunk.”

“I know,” you admit, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. “I just needed to get out of that crazy club. It was too bright and too hot and too stuffy!” You let out a dramatic sigh. “I thought the alcohol would help clear my mind, but it only made me more anxious, you know?” You look up at him and shake your head.

“My rent is overdue; I can’t get a stupid boyfriend, and, oh God, my mother,” you continue to ramble; you were drunk, after all. “I’m a mess,” you exhale softly, tears clinging to your lashes.

Had you been crying that whole time?

“Listen,” he urges, hand pressing onto your shoulder. “If you want, you could live with me. Been lookin’ for a roommate. Could be nice,” he adds with a casual shrug.

You sniffle, hand wiping your tears. “You—you would do that for me?” You ask, heart warm from his generosity.

“Eh, sure. Why not?” His tone is relaxed and straightforward.

You’re beaming as you pull him in for a tight hug, burying your face in his abdomen while repeatedly expressing your gratitude.

He doesn’t say anything, but he wears the stupidest grin under that mask.

He wouldn’t tell you, but he was so, so ecstatic at the prospect of you living with him.

He could use a few more friends, and you vowed to ensure he stayed well-fed.

Besides, it certainly didn't hurt that you were a hot little spitfire who had him straining in his cargo pants.

He would hold out for you.

Roommates now, husband and wife later.

-

author’s note: crazy how he’s the only man ever

[gothcsz]

Flex | Your Favorite Pedro Boy x F!Reader | ~2.3k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI. | ACCOMPANYING ART BY @/KING-SIMP

Summary: Hooking up with the guy you picked up at a party.

Tags: smut, pwp, pussy eating, face riding, dirty talk, bicep/arm worship, cum eating, lots of kissing, a good time all around, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, barely beta'd/edited so any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: we're all going feral over pedro's biceps so i had to write this. for the culture. i couldn't decide which character of his to write it about, so i tried to write this as ambiguous as possible so that the majority could delude alongside me 🙂‍↕️ (for me, it's our beloved general marcus a because oof the brainrot for that man is real asf) thank you to everyone who has been horny about this with me today, i am so glad we are all on the same page🖤 i hope you guys like it and as always, please let me know what you think and which p-boy you imagined, hehe enjoy cariños. 🖤

“C’mon, I can feel you holding back.” 

Your hips keep their steady rhythm, grinding against his face, his tongue relentless against your clit while his nose presses deep inside you. The curve of it sends shockwaves through your body, your eyes rolling back as you ride his mouth.

He's right—you are holding back. Not because you want to, but because you're afraid of what will happen if you let go completely.

“Feels s-so good just like this,” you whimper, nails digging into the firm muscle of his thighs. His cock, flushed and leaking, rests on his stomach, aching for attention. But he told you not to worry about him—that his pleasure comes from making you fall apart on his tongue, from turning your brain into nothing but static and heat.

And while you are tempted to lower your face, wrap your lips around his swollen, red tip and suck the soul right out of his cock, you really cannot function straight with how expertly he is working your cunt.

“I want more.” He growls, the bite of his grip into your supple skin making you hiss in pain then moan in bliss when he picks up the intensity and pace of his mouth, forcing you to move the way he wants you to.

You let it happen.

The sounds spilling from your lips fill the dimly lit room, the glow from the bedside lamp casting everything in a warm, filthy haze. You keep going, ecstasy cresting higher and higher, until sobs rip from your throat and your body convulses, shaking in his grasp. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t slow down—just keeps that perfect pace until tears slip from your eyes and drip onto his thighs. He’s wrung you out completely.

“Mmmm, you taste so good, baby.”

His voice is thick with satisfaction, but you barely register it. All you can focus on is the slow drag of his calloused hands over your skin as he shifts you off his face, rolling you onto your back. You stare dazedly at the ceiling fan, watching its lazy rotations while you try to remember how to breathe.

He grunts, sitting up, licking his lips and wiping his nose of your essence before he crawls over you, bracing himself on his strong forearms. Even through the haze, you take a moment to admire his handsome features—the sharp curve of his jaw, his facial hair, those beautiful brown eyes that had stolen your breath the moment they locked onto yours.

“You are the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss you passionately, slipping his tongue in your mouth and you moan at the taste of your pussy on his lips, mingling with his spit.

“And you’re so fucking pretty.”

Your cheeks heat, skin still buzzing, a smile tugging at your lips as you try to hide your gleeful expression from this man you only met this afternoon at a mutual friend’s party. 

You turn your head, gaze sweeping over his exposed arms. The dim light casts deep shadows, accentuating every carved muscle, the sinewy stretch of tendons beneath his tanned skin. His biceps flex subtly as he holds himself above you, powerful yet controlled, his weight perfectly balanced as he lowers himself to your neck. His lips press hot and teasing against your throat, the rough graze of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine.

His body fits effortlessly between your thighs, and when the thick underside of his cock glides against your used, aching pussy, a fresh wave of lust crashes over you. 

Your hands move before your mind catches up, fingers sliding over his arms, claiming each one. You trace the dips and ridges, marveling at the warmth of his skin, the scattering of freckles dotting his forearms, the small scars and imperfections that tell stories you want to hear later—much later while wrapped in his embrace. Right now, all you care about is how impossibly good he feels beneath your fingertips, how every flex and twitch makes your cunt clench around nothing.

You’re so lost in your worship of him that you barely register the words murmured against your neck, his breath hot and teasing while you grind against each other.

“What’s got you so distracted?” He rasps a bit tauntingly, licking the shell of your ear before nipping at your lobe, pulling back and following your gaze.

“These arms…” you moan, arching into him, your breasts pressing against the hard planes of his chest as you tilt closer to the one nearest you. Your lips part, kissing the inside of his wrist, mouth open and wanting.

“Yeah?” His tone is dripping with cocky satisfaction. You ignore it, too lost in the pulse beating beneath your tongue, the intoxicating mix of salt and skin as you bite down just enough to make him grunt.

“Fucking hell, just look at you,” he tuts, his eyes dark with hunger. His hips roll, grinding his cock against your slick folds, but you’re too enraptured with his arms to care. Your other hand strokes the length of his opposite bicep, fingers squeezing, feeling the tension coiled within. You moan softly, delirious, rubbing your cheek against him like you could somehow get closer.

“All fucked out and slobbering all over my wrist.”

His words make your stomach tighten, exhilaration coiling deep, and you don’t even try to stop yourself when you turn your attention to his other arm, kissing, sucking, worshiping. He watches, letting you indulge, letting you lose yourself in the way his body makes you fall apart without him even trying. He’s amused by it, his expression equal parts fondness and possessive satisfaction.

You’re riding the high of being under one of the sexiest men to ever grace this fucking planet.

When you finally pull back, a thin string of spit trailing between your lips and his skin, you look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, a slow, sultry smile curving your mouth. It sparks something in him—an idea.

“I know what I want you to do next.”

Your brow lifts slightly in curiosity. He leans in, brushing a kiss over the tip of your nose, soft, deceptively sweet, before pulling away entirely. The loss of his warmth makes you pout.

Then he settles back against the pillows, getting comfortable—purposefully flexing his arms, making every muscle ripple beneath his skin. Your breath catches, heart pounding, thighs clenching involuntarily. He sees it. Smirks.

“C’mere.” He beckons.

Like a cartoon character floating toward a pie on a windowsill, you crawl toward him, heart-eyed and desperate, ready to sink down on his cock and ride him until either of you can breathe. But he stops you.

“Not there, baby. Up here.” He flicks his chin towards his left bicep and you look at him quizzically despite the intrigue that beats at your pussy. 

“What—”

“Now.”

A command, rough and final.

You moan, nodding, unbothered by how desperate you must look as you reposition yourself, thighs bracketing his thick arm. He helps you adjust until everything aligns just right, until your drenched pussy hovers over the sculpted muscle, the heat of his skin radiating and caressing your swollen clit.

“Get yourself off on it.”

His free hand drifts down, wrapping around his cock, fingers tightening around the thick shaft. His fat thumb circles the swollen head, smearing precum in slow, teasing strokes. 

This is the hottest thing you've ever experienced. There's no way this is real.

But you don’t waste time questioning it—not when you’re in the middle of the filthiest, most intoxicating hook-up of your life.

Bracing yourself with one hand on his broad shoulder, the other groping your breast, you lower yourself onto his bicep. The first grind against the smooth heat of his skin is heavenly.

“Oh my fucking god—”

Your moan is wrecked, unabashedly obscene, your nails digging into his shoulder as your slick coats his arm, making it easier to rock against him. Each movement sends a fresh pulse of pleasure shooting through your body, your swollen clit dragging over the hard, flexing muscle.

He groans, low and appreciative, before letting go of his cock and bringing his palm up to your lips, lust darkened eyes boring into yours. A silent request.

You lazily smile, licking your lips before gathering saliva in your mouth. Then, deliberately, you spit into his open palm, watching as his expression flares with hunger. You wink, but before you can fully revel in your power over him, his bicep twitches—his arm bending at the elbow as his fingers tighten around your ass.

“Oh!” A sharp yelp escapes you, thighs squeezing involuntarily at the sudden jolt of sensation.

He smirks at your reaction, smug and thoroughly entertained, his wet hand returning to his cock. And then he starts stroking himself.

The lewd sounds of slicked skin meeting skin fill the room, each pump of his fist producing an obscene slap against his pelvis. You watch, transfixed, as his other arm flexes, veins and tendons bulging with every controlled stroke.

His bicep expands and contracts beneath you, a living, breathing thing you can't stop grinding against. His balls jiggle slightly from the sheer intensity of his motions, his whole body a display of primal, uninhibited rhapsody.

You pinch your nipple, humping his leg and wailing out like a pussy in heat, the visual of him fucking his fist enough to send you over but you want to continue to enjoy this because fuck—is it so hot.

And then there’s the feel of his other hand gripping your ass, the flesh spilling through the divots of his knuckles. His breath is ragged, brows furrowed, a thin bead of sweat trailing down his temple. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and those pretty brown eyes are locked on you, watching the way you’re going feral on him.

“I’m, oh fuck me,” you break out into a litany of curses before you’re able to fucking think. “I’m so close— ohmygodI’mgonnacome.” Your words run together, spine pulling taught as your orgasm possesses your body.

He laughs, deep and throaty, the sound tapering into a drawn-out groan as his own release lingers on the precipice. His jaw clenches, his body coiling tight.

“Go on,” he growls. “Make a fucking mess.”

And that’s all it takes for you to free fall.

Your thighs clamp around his arm and the motherfucker flexes his bicep again, dragging out your pleasure until you’re nearly delirious. Your hips jerk, fingers yanking at your nipple, riding the euphoric wave until every ounce of bliss is wrung from your body. Your nails rake down his shoulder and across his collarbone, leaving angry red streaks against his brown skin.

“Fuck—” His own release follows, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as hot ropes of cum spill onto his stomach, coating his happy trail, dripping into the dark curls at the base of his cock. His strokes turn brutal, merciless, chasing the last shudders of his orgasm as his grip tightens on your ass, fingers digging deep enough to leave sore spots in the shape of his fingers.

The roaring in your ears dulls, the aftershocks making your limbs tremble. It takes you a moment to realize your eyes had shut completely, the intensity too much to bear. When you finally blink them open, the world is a blur, dark spots dancing in your vision as you struggle to catch your breath.

And when your gaze finally finds his, he’s already watching you—sated, wrecked, and smug as hell.

“Holy shit.”

“That just about sums it up.” His voice is deeper now, having been dragged through the same pleasure-drenched haze as you. You tilt your head, looking down at him, his handsome face making your heart flutter.

“How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Real good.” You giggle, voice airy, light—completely fucked out. You don’t even try to hide it.

He smirks, ego soaring, as it should be. He watches as you shift, your spent body moving off his bicep, your clit still pulsing, raw from how desperately you’d used him. You’re ready to collapse, to melt into the sheets and revel in the afterglow, but then—

Whistle.

A sharp, commanding sound, followed by a tilt of his head toward his arm. Like you’re a pet he’s calling back to heel.

“Can’t just leave it like that.” His tone is lazy, laced with amusement. He wipes the remnants of his release from his hand onto the comforter, utterly unbothered, then reaches for you. His fingers cup the back of your neck, firm yet gentle as he tugs you down, guiding you nose-first into the mess you’d left behind.

“Clean it up.”

And just as you’ve done all night, you obey.

Your tongue flicks out, kitten-licking at his skin, tasting the remnants of your pleasure. The sharp, musky tang floods your senses, making you moan softly as you lap it up, savoring the proof of your own ruin.

“Good girl.” His voice is pure indulgence, his thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against the back of your neck as you work.

Once he’s satisfied, his grip shifts, applying just enough pressure to guide you lower, down his torso, toward the mess he left on himself.

You don’t hesitate.

Your tongue flattens against his stomach, dragging through his release, collecting every drop. You hum at the taste—salt, sweat, and something distinctly him. The coarse hair of his happy trail tickles your lips as you clean him up, the rise and fall of his stomach twitching beneath your touch.

Then, just as you reach his softening cock, you pause—just for a second—before pressing a slow, filthy kiss to the head. A final, lingering seal to your work.

He inhales sharply.

Satisfied, you begin your way back up, lips trailing over his body, over the ridges of muscle, the dip of his collarbone, up the strong column of his throat, until you finally reach his mouth.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, all tongue and warmth, swapping spit and cum like it’s second nature. Swollen lips on swollen lips, bodies still buzzing in the aftershock.

When you finally pull apart, eyes locked, your mouth curls into a flirty smirk.

“What was your name again?”

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @ovaryacted . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7. @syd-djarin . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @manuymesut . @biapascal . @mandaloriankait .

[luxaofhesperides]

the beginning - danny

0.

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

2.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

3.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

5.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

6.

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

7.

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

8.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

9.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Made for Me | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

summary: after a long day on the job, all terry wants is the warmth of his woman and the comfort of home. but when she’s not waiting at the door, he finds something even sweeter waiting in bed and a night that reminds him just how lucky he is.

word count: 2.3K

warnings: fluff, explicit smut (18+), praise kink, soft dom/sub dynamics, domestic intimacy, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, spanking, dirty talk, themes of possessiveness + ownership, aftercare

a/n: soft!dom terry and wife worship ?? sign me up

The door creaked open on its hinges, the familiar weight of it grounding Terry as he stepped inside, steel-toe boots thudding heavily against the floor. The scent of home hit him first, something warm, seasoned, and slow-cooked. His stomach grumbled. His shoulders ached. Muscles pulled taut from a long shift, grease still clinging under his fingernails and grit caked into the lines of his palms.

The house was quiet.

No soft footsteps rushing to the door. No warm body throwing arms around his neck, peppering kisses across his jaw, teasing him for smelling like diesel and sweat. Just silence, low-lit lamps, and the soft hum of something playing faintly from the kitchen radio.

He paused, brows drawing together. Not in frustration, just… surprise. He had been used to her. To that light in his day, that little smile she always wore just for him, like she had been waiting all afternoon just to make him feel like a king walking through the door.

Instead, he found a plate waiting on the kitchen counter, wrapped neatly in foil. Beside it, a little note written in her hand:

“Eat up, baby. I made your favourite. Didn’t want it to get cold. I’ll be waiting in bed. I love you.”

—x—

A slow smile curved across his face as he pulled off his jacket, fingers lingering on the note. His chest swelled, soft with affection and longing. God, he loved her.

Still… something about the house without her presence at the door made it feel too still. Like it hadn’t quite turned into home yet.

He sat down, ate with quiet gratitude, licking sauce from his thumb and letting the warmth of her cooking settle in his bones. But the thing he really craved?

Was upstairs.

Waiting for him.

Terry set his empty plate in the sink, gave the note one last glance, and sighed like a man already half-asleep on his feet. Every muscle begged for rest, but his mind was fixed on her - how quiet the house felt without her laughter drifting from the living room, or the scent of her skin hugging him in welcome.

Upstairs, he peeled off his clothes slow. Not for show, he never did anything just for show but because that was how he unwound. Belt undone, jeans shrugged off one leg at a time, T-shirt pulled over his head and tossed into the hamper with a tired grunt.

The shower steamed quickly, hot and heavy as he stepped beneath the spray. Dirt and sweat ran in rivulets down his broad back, his arms, his thick thighs. He braced one hand on the wall, head bowed, letting the water drum against sore shoulders. Another day down.

He reached for the soap, lathered up slowly, scrubbing the grime from his skin. A breathy chuckle escaped as he murmured to himself, low and fond,

“She’d still call me handsome even when I come home smelling like work. Crazy little thing.”

He thought of her in that second, probably curled up in bed, half-asleep, wearing one of those soft nightgowns she swore weren’t sexy. But to him?

God, nothing had ever looked better.

He washed his neck, thinking of her lips there. Washed between his legs, thinking of how her hands always fit just right. She had been in every thought, every muscle memory, every sigh that left his lungs.

He finished up with another long pass of water over his face, letting the day slide off him completely. Then, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, he stepped out, silent and barefoot, ready to find the heart of his home.

The bedroom was dim and quiet, moonlight cutting soft lines across the floor. Terry stepped in, still towel-clad, still warm from the shower, and stopped in his tracks.

There she was.

Curled up on her side of the bed, delicate and small despite how deeply she filled every corner of his heart. One arm tucked under her head, legs drawn up, nightdress bunched up high on her thighs like it always did when she slept deep and undisturbed.

It wasn’t anything flashy; no lace, no satin. Just a soft, worn little thing. Wife-core to the bone. But it was hers. And on her? Christ. It clung to every soft swell and gentle curve like it was stitched by the hands of fate just for her and his eyes alone.

Terry stood there for a long moment, just watching. Chest aching with something bigger than exhaustion, heavier than lust. That familiar swell behind the ribs, the feeling that this was what made every long shift worth it.

He padded closer, slow and quiet, not wanting to startle her. The towel slipped lower on his hips as he knelt beside the bed and reached out.

His fingers brushed the bare skin of her calf, warm and smooth under his calloused hand.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice low and thick with longing. “Come into bed more. You know I couldn’t sleep without holdin’ my girl.”

She stirred, slow and groggy, barely blinking as she turned her head toward him. Her voice was a breath of air, soft and drowsy:

“Wanted to leave space for you…”

God.

It hit him like a punch to the gut - the kind that stole your breath not from pain, but from love so thick it pressed into your lungs.

“Aw, sweetheart…”

He eased the blanket back, climbed in beside her, strong arms snaking around her waist. One hand slid up her side, coaxing her gently toward him, cradling her like she was made of spun sugar.

She stretched in that half-asleep way, arms forward, legs back, and her body arched, slow and feline. The hem of her nightdress hiked up over her hips in the process. And that was when he saw it.

Nothing underneath.

No panties. Just bare, warm, glistening skin.

Terry stilled.

His breath stopped in his chest, then spilled out in one slow, ragged draw. That pulse between his legs kicked alive, instant and undeniable.

“Ooooh fuck, woman…” His voice was thick, almost reverent, laced with a growl at the end. “The things you do to me.”

He didn’t pounce. He didn’t rush.

No, he slid out from under the covers, knelt behind her at the edge of the bed, and just looked.

Big hands spread her thighs with reverent care. He groaned under his breath at the sight—soft folds slick and glistening, waiting, aching. Her warmth already called to him.

“You tryna kill me, leavin’ this sweet little thing waitin’ for me like that?” His voice dipped lower, rougher. He palmed the curve of her ass, leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, slow and indulgent.

One hand kept her spread while the other ran up her spine, settling over her lower back. His mouth hovered just barely above her cunt, his breath ghosting over sensitive skin.

He kissed her again, right there, tongue parting her lips in a slow, deliberate lick from back to front.

“Mmhm… you taste like my girl. My good little wife. Built for me, huh?”

Terry was already on his knees, shoulders square between her thighs. The room was quiet, still, save for the soft sigh of her breathing and the low hum of his voice, thick with hunger.

He leaned in again, tongue flattening as he licked a long, deliberate stripe up her soaked centre. Her thighs twitched. He hummed into her, pleased.

“You taste like my whole damn world, baby…” he groaned, barely audible as he pressed another open-mouthed kiss to her folds. “This pussy’s heaven.”

He didn’t rush. He savoured.

Slow, deep licks. Tongue flicking against her clit, then dipping lower to tease her entrance, then lower still, giving her ass the same reverence, like she was made of gold and he was here to worship.

He ate like a man starved. Gripping the meat of her thighs to keep her still while he feasted, each moan vibrating against her until she was gasping, trembling, toes curled into the sheets.

“Can’t believe this is mine…” he panted, between licks. “Sweetest fuckin’ thing I ever tasted. Goddamn, girl, you spoil me.”

She tried to wriggle, the pressure building too fast—but he didn’t let her go.

“Uh-uh, stay right there. Don’t you run from me.”

He groaned as she began to fall apart, her thighs squeezing around his head, her voice cracking with breathless, desperate moans.

That was what he wanted. That was what he needed.

She came with a whimper, shaking, face buried in a pillow, and he didn’t stop, not until she was gasping, twitching, overstimulated.

Only then did he pull back, face wet, eyes dark, voice wrecked with praise.

“That’s my good girl… makin’ Daddy proud.

The moment he sank into her, it was deep, slow—deliberate. He paused just for a second, allowing her to adjust to the fullness of him before pulling her closer. The weight of him stretched her, making her gasp softly. He watched her closely, his hands digging into her waist, fingers marking her skin as if he wanted to brand her.

He let her ride for a moment, a slow rhythm at first. Her hips rolled against him, taking what he gave her, each movement driving him mad with the sweet friction.

Then, with one swift motion, he flipped her. Her body landed with a soft thud against the bed, and he loomed over her, a grin playing on his lips, cock still buried deep inside her. He couldn’t stop himself from praising her, the words spilling out like they’d been pent up for far too long.

“The boys at work don’t know I come home to a pussy like this,” he gritted, voice rough and possessive. “They can only dream about this. My perfect little wife. Built just for me, aren’t you?”

Her brain was fogged with pleasure. Her body could barely keep up. She wanted to respond, but all she could manage was a desperate, incoherent whimper.

Terry chuckled darkly at her lack of words. His hand came down on her ass with a sharp, satisfying crack. The sound reverberated in the room, making the heat between them even hotter. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, gravelly and commanding.

“Say it. Tell Daddy who owned this sweet fuckin’ cunt.”

Her body trembled, and she could barely speak through the haze of pleasure. But she knew what he wanted. She knew he would never let up until she gave him what he needed.

“Y-You, Terry,” she gasped, voice cracking with the intensity of it all. “You own me. All yours.”

The words sent a surge of possessiveness through him, and he rutted into her, pushing deeper. His body moved like an unstoppable force, each thrust a little harder, a little faster, until she was gasping, clinging to the sheets beneath her.

He could feel her tightness, her heat, her desperate need for him. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her, keeping her in place as he took what was his.

“Good girl,” he murmured, praising her through gritted teeth. “So fuckin’ good for me. I could never share you. You’re built just for me.”

Her body trembled with the force of each thrust, and Terry could feel the way she tightened around him, her orgasm building. He slapped her ass again, louder this time, and heard her voice break with pleasure, feeling her pussy flutter around him in response.

Her moans fuelled him, making him want to lose himself in her.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice thick with need. “Tell me who owned this pussy.”

Her words spilled out in a rush, breathless and full of need. “You do, Terry! You own me! I’m yours!”

Her response spurred him on, and his pace quickened. He felt himself getting closer, he could feel the tightening in his gut, the familiar rush of pleasure building inside him. Her cries became more frantic, her body rocking in time with his.

Then, just when he thought he couldn’t hold back anymore, he hit that perfect spot—the spot that made her scream out in pleasure. She cried his name, her orgasm rushing over her in waves. Her body shook, and the sound of her release drove him wild.

The warmth of her pleasure, the way her body tightened around him, pushed him over the edge. With a final groan, he released, burying himself deep inside her as his own orgasm hit, flooding her with his warmth.

He stayed still for a moment, chest heaving, both of them caught in the aftershocks of the intensity of it all.

The room felt thick with warmth and sweat, the air still humming with the echoes of their bodies. Terry moved slowly, as if the world had quieted around them. He reached for a soft towel by the bed, careful not to pull too far from her. His movements were gentle, reverent, like he was handling something sacred.

He murmured something low, a kiss pressed to the curve of her shoulder. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

She whimpered softly, spent and pliant, trusting him entirely as he cleaned her up. Every swipe was tender, not rushed, like he was committing her to memory all over again. He tossed the towel aside when he was done and slipped back under the blankets, gathering her close until her body curved perfectly into his.

One arm wrapped firmly around her middle, the other came up to stroke her hair—slow, soothing, like he could lull her to sleep just with the rhythm of his touch. His nose nuzzled the top of her head, breath brushing her temple.

“You’re all I ever wanted,” he whispered, voice thick with everything he didn’t say aloud. “My good girl. My whole damn heart.”

She didn’t speak right away, too heavy-limbed and sated, but when she did, her voice was small and drowsy.

“You’re mine too.”

Her words settled into him like a prayer, anchoring him. Terry tightened his hold just slightly, grounding himself in the weight of her, the scent of her skin, the soft rise and fall of her chest against his.

Outside, the moonlight peeked in faint silver slivers through the curtains. But inside their little world, everything was warm and still.

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[kxsagi]

hey deary 😛🫶🏾 how are you these days

may i pretty pls have bllk boys (including isagi my man my man) x ex gf reader where they accidentally bump into each other again and the boys realize they still have MASSIVE feelings for her. (reader bump into them on possible once she saw them but they don’t know that)

“𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢”

a/n: hey girlie, i’m doing okay and hope you’re doing well! i’m sorry this request took such a long time to fulfill, i decided to make it into oneshots rather than headcanons, and i just wanted it to be perfect for you :) (wrote countless drafts and changed the title like three times)

i’m also really sorry if each one comes off as repetitive, but i imagine it as ex gf! reader bumping into them on purpose for fun just to see their reaction, only for them to show you bad they miss you, making a move on you for a second chance 😛

title is a paramore reference from the song still into you

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, ness alexis, karasu tabito, yukimiya kenyu

itoshi rin

you catch sight of him across the street, standing stiffly outside a bookstore, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. 

rin itoshi – the boy you once loved so hard it hollowed you out. 

and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. 

your heart slams against your ribs. you almost walk away. almost. 

but instead, you cross the street, pace casual, and, as you pass, you bump your shoulder lightly into his. 

he stiffens immediately, turning with that familiar sharpness, ready to glare, but the second his eyes meet yours, all that cold hostility falters. 

rin’s mouth parts slightly, and something behind his eyes cracks open. "... you," he breathes, voice rough. 

you offer a small smile, feigning surprise. "oh. sorry. wasn’t looking." 

for a moment, neither of you moves. the sounds of the street blur into nothing. it’s just him and you, trapped in a memory that neither of you can seem to escape. 

rin swallows hard. his fists clench at his sides, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching for you. 

"you look..." he trails off, voice too thick. you watch the way his gaze skates desperately over your face, like he’s trying to memorize you all over again. "you look good," he finishes, hoarse. 

you shift, pretending not to notice the way his ears flush pink under the cold winter air. 

"you, too," you say gently. 

there’s a beat of heavy silence. 

then, so quietly it almost sounds accidental, rin says, "i never stopped looking for you." 

your chest squeezes tight. 

and before you can think, rin takes a slow, hesitant step closer, voice low and urgent: "can we... can we talk? somewhere quiet. please." 

his hands twitch, aching to touch you, to pull you back into his orbit. 

"i... i can't just let you walk away again." 

and for the first time in years, you see it clear as day: rin itoshi was never over you. he was only ever waiting.

itoshi sae

the last person you expect to see standing outside the little café is him. 

sae itoshi – hands tucked into the pockets of an expensive wool coat, head bowed slightly, scrolling through his phone like the world doesn’t deserve his full attention. 

your stomach flips. the urge to run is instinctual. but instead, you take a breath, tighten your grip on your bag, and walk toward him. you make it look natural – a stumble, a quick fumble of your purse that sends your belongings scattering at his feet. 

he bends down almost immediately, without hesitation, like muscle memory. his hand brushes against yours when he picks up a lip gloss tube, and when he looks up, the world tilts off its axis. 

his sea-glass eyes widen. a crack splits through his perfectly controlled facade. 

he says your name, low and almost, almost, like a prayer. 

you smile, easy, casual, like your heart isn’t breaking open. "hey, sae." 

he hands you your lip gloss, but his fingers don’t leave yours right away. they linger, trembling the slightest bit. 

he straightens slowly, still watching you. still looking at you like he can't believe you’re real. 

"you look good," you offer lightly. 

something flickers in his gaze, a softness you hadn't seen in years. and then, voice even softer, sae says, "stay." 

your heart stutters. 

he clears his throat, looks away briefly, like the words cost him something. 

"sit with me. catch up. or... or just sit. i don't care," he mutters, shoulders tense. "just... don't walk away again." 

he says it like it's casual. but when he finally meets your eyes, you realize the truth: he's asking you for a second chance, even if he doesn't know how to say it out loud. 

isagi yoichi

he’s crouched near the bottom shelves of a bookstore, flipping through a manga, hoodie pulled low over his messy hair. 

you see him first, and gosh, something about it almost knocks the air out of you. 

isagi yoichi. your first love. the boy who once looked at you like you hung the stars. 

your palms go clammy. but you take a deep breath, step backward, and "accidentally" bump into him. 

he catches you immediately, strong hands steadying you. 

"sorry!" he starts, voice familiar and warm, and then he freezes. 

"wait," he says, stunned, like he’s seeing something impossible. 

you turn, letting your face light up in slow, soft surprise. "yoichi," you murmur. 

his mouth opens, and shuts. his fingers are still curled lightly around your arms, like he doesn't trust you not to vanish. 

"you– i mean, you look– wow," he stammers, cheeks flushing crimson. 

you laugh softly, feeling a pang of fondness so strong it nearly floors you. 

he lets go of you reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly. "uh... if you’re not, like, super busy or anything..." he clears his throat, shifting his weight. "there’s this ramen place down the street. we could, uh, catch up? or, y’know. just... eat. together." 

he says it so nervously, so earnestly, like he's holding his heart out with shaking hands. 

and you realize that no matter how much time passes, isagi yoichi will always be someone who loves wholeheartedly. 

and right now, he's choosing to love you again. 

kaiser michael

you spot him in the middle of a crowd – that unmistakable golden hair catching the light, sunglasses perched lazily on his head, confidence built into every step he takes. 

he looks the same. no, he looks even better – more grown, more dangerous, more him. 

your hands tighten around your coffee cup. screw it. 

you move forward, a quick step, a tilt of your wrist, and the coffee tips, splattering at the edge of the sidewalk dangerously close to his shoes. 

he swears sharply under his breath and wheels around, irritation flashing across his face – 

until his gaze lands on you. and then the world stops. 

kaiser's mouth parts slightly. the cocky grin falters for a split second, something raw and unguarded flashing in his blue eyes. 

"... you," he says, voice low, almost disbelieving. 

you blink up at him innocently. 

a slow, dangerous smile curls at his lips. he steps forward, crowd forgotten, gaze burning. 

"you missed me," he murmurs, so close you can smell the rich spice of his cologne. "didn’t you, hübsche?" 

you open your mouth, but he’s already reaching out, fingertips brushing your wrist, featherlight. 

"come with me," kaiser says, voice rough now, nothing playful about it. "i'm not letting you out of my sight again." 

and you realize michael kaiser, for all his bravado, had never gotten over losing you. and now that he has you again, he’s not going to waste another second. 

shidou ryusei

you catch sight of him outside a tattoo shop – bright pink hair messily swept back, a toothpick between his teeth, a grin playing on his lips like he owns the whole damn world. 

shidou ryusei. 

your fingers twitch. your heart pounds. you don’t think, you just move, brushing past him, “accidentally” bumping your shoulder hard against his chest. 

he reacts instantly, whirling around, fierce, ready to bark something rude. but when he sees you, the fight bleeds out of him. 

his eyes widen, the toothpick falling from his mouth. "... no fuckin' way," he mutters, almost reverent. 

you bite your lip, playing innocent. "sorry. didn’t see you there." 

he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost. like he's seen a miracle. 

then, with fast, reckless, pure instinct, he grabs your wrist, gently but urgently. "where the hell you been, pretty girl?" he rasps, voice suddenly low, almost hoarse. his thumb brushes over your pulse, like he’s grounding himself in your presence. 

"fuck it," shidou mutters under his breath, a wild glint lighting up his eyes. "come with me." 

no hesitation. no room for doubt. 

"i’m not letting you walk outta my life again." 

and when you see the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing he’s ever truly wanted, you know he means it. 

nagi seishiro

you almost miss him – slouched on a bench in a shopping mall, hood up, playing a game on his phone, utterly oblivious to the world around him. 

nagi seishiro. 

you swallow hard, nerves spiking, but you steady yourself and "accidentally" drop your shopping bag near his feet. 

he glances up lazily… and freezes. his game forgotten. his fingers going slack. 

"it’s you…?" he says, voice soft, almost disbelieving. 

you crouch down, pretending to gather your things, offering a small smile. "hey, sei." 

he stares at you, wide-eyed and helpless, like the sight of you short-circuited his brain. 

for a beat, neither of you says anything. just the quiet hum of the mall around you, the thundering silence between you. 

nagi shifts, shoving his phone into his hoodie pocket awkwardly. then after a pause, voice barely above a whisper: "stay with me a little?" he scratches the back of his neck, gaze dropping shyly. "i don't wanna... be alone right now." 

his honesty cuts through you, simple and devastating. and you realize nagi never stopped needing you. he just didn’t know how to ask until now. 

mikage reo

reo stands under the glittering lights of a department store, phone in one hand, a shopping bag in the other, laughing at something on the screen. 

gosh, he looks beautiful. gosh, he looks happy. 

you almost turn around, but something stronger pulls you forward. you time it perfectly – stepping too close, nudging into his side. 

he startles slightly, looking up, and when he sees you, the world seems to tilt. 

"wha–" reo says, blinking rapidly, like he’s convinced he’s hallucinating. 

you give a small, breathless laugh. "fancy seeing you here." 

he sets his bag down hurriedly, eyes shining. "are you– are you busy right now?" he asks, tripping over his words a little, that easy charm fraying at the edges. "because,” a deep breath, “because i was just thinking about how much this city sucks without you." 

you blink, heart hammering. 

reo runs a hand through his hair, cheeks flushed pink. "let me take you out. anywhere you want," he says, voice cracking slightly. "just... let me have a second chance." 

and that’s when it hits you – reo mikage had been waiting for this moment. he's ready to make you his again. 

ness alexis

you spot him near a flower shop – vibrant and golden, smiling softly at the blooms like he’s trying to memorize their colors. 

ness alexis. 

your heart aches so sweetly it almost doubles you over. 

but you gather yourself, stepping close enough that your hand "accidentally" brushes his. 

he startles, turning, and when he sees you, the brightest, most radiant smile you’ve ever seen breaks across his face. 

"you!" he gasps, eyes wide, wonderstruck. 

it’s not the shocked kind of smile. it’s the kind people make when a missing piece clicks perfectly into place. 

you chuckle, pretending calm. "hey, ness." 

he’s trembling slightly, hands fluttering uselessly in the air before he grabs a small bouquet from the nearest stand, thrusting it toward you without thinking. "these– these are for you!" he says desperately. 

you laugh, touched. 

"i missed you," ness says so honestly, so openly, that it makes your chest hurt. "can we," he swallows hard, "can we start again…?" 

and standing there, bouquet between you, you figure it out: ness never stopped believing in you two. not for a second. 

karasu tabito

he’s leaning against a streetlamp, scrolling lazily through his phone, sunglasses sliding down his nose. 

karasu tabito. cool, collected, untouchable. 

until you "accidentally" bump into him, making him stumble back with a sharp curse. 

"watch it, dumbass–" he starts, and then he sees you. 

his mouth snaps shut. 

his hand comes up halfway, like he’s reaching out without meaning to. "uh, sorry, hi..." he says, voice cracking into something raw. 

you smirk lightly. "still a charmer, huh?" 

karasu lets out a low, breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair, the mask slipping, the cocky smile fading into something so much more vulnerable. 

"shit," he mutters, eyes drinking you in like he’s parched. "i was doing fine until i saw you." 

he steps closer, uncharacteristically serious. "stay for a bit," he says, voice low, almost pleading. "let me pretend i didn’t fuck everything up." 

you see it in his eyes – the regret, the yearning. and you think to yourself: maybe karasu never wanted to let you go. he just didn’t know how to fight for you, until now. 

yukimiya kenyu

he’s framed by the soft light of a bookstore window, flipping through a novel, his glasses slipping low on his nose. 

yukimiya kenyu. 

you’re pulled toward him like a moth to a flame. you walk by, close enough that your bag brushes his elbow. 

he looks up, ready to apologize, and freezes. 

"hey, you’re…?" his voice is low, stunned. 

you smile gently. "ken." 

his fingers tighten around the book, knuckles whitening. for a second, he looks like he might say something and then thinks better of it, a million emotions flickering across his face. 

he steps closer, voice barely above a whisper. "have coffee with me?" his eyes are so full of desperate hope it makes you ache. "just... five minutes. or an hour. or forever." 

the words slip out so raw, so unguarded, that it stuns you both into silence. 

yukimiya never stopped wanting a future with you. he’s just been waiting for the chance to ask again. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢