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earthsparked · 3 days ago

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Sparking Flames

Part Four | one two three four intermission five (AO3 link)

You wake up with a short gasp, confused and fumbling in the dark. No idea where you are, or why you smell a sickening-sweet mixture of dried blood, ozone, pine tar, and...new car smell? You're moving. There's glowing lights on the dashboard. You're in an unfamiliar car, no seatbelt on, conked out in the passenger seat. It's so calm and familiar, reminiscent of long car rides when you were a child, that it takes you a second to realize there's nobody next to you in the god damn driver's seat.

You come all the way awake already lunging for the steering wheel, throwing yourself across from the passenger side and trying to smash the brake down. The wheel won't turn. The pedal won't depress. When the car's engine gives a weird rev and swerves a bit, you shriek incoherently. You've had stress dreams just like this. Next it's going to bounce off the road and into deep water, somewhere, then your teeth will fall out and you still won't have studied for that final exam for the college class on ancient Roman literature you don't remember signing up for.

A voice comes from nowhere and everywhere, alarmed. Whoa! Easy, sparklet, let up on that will you? Scared the coolant out of me, Primus! Do all humans jump out of recharge like that?

What, who. Robot?! Where are you? you ask foggily, grabbing for the door handle in a bid to jimmy it open. Then you cling to it in shock when you realize how fucking fast you're going. Bailing out is not an option unless you want to die in a spectacular splatter of gore on the blacktop. You're grooving down a highway that you don't recognize, but there are thick trees on either side of the road. You could almost believe you're in a self-driving car, but it's too smooth, too quiet, and way too fast. You glance at the speedometer and feel a little sick when you catch the reading, well over 100 miles an hour. How in the hell is this car taking these winding roads at these speeds without crashing?

Oh, so you're the DAMAGED, kind of damaged. Fragging 'Cons.. it grumbles. It's me. I am the car. Remember? Roddy? Hot Rod? Your hero in bitching awesome flame paint that totally looks just like Optimus Prime's? Saved you from Brawl and Ravage? C'mon, sparklet, don't tell me you got a memory wipe in the last couple klicks. Is that, like, normal for humans when they recharge, or do I gotta go Mach Primus to get you to a medic?

...Roddy? you ask, suspiciously, sinking back down into the (luxuriously comfortable) seats. You jolt when the car's seatbelt independently slides over you and locks into place.

So that's what those are for, he says in an ahh, now I get it, tone. Didn't really bother to look much at the cabin specs when I chose this alt mode, just the space for what's under the hood. Needed something that can take the heat, 'cause I'm just that kind of mech, you know?

His rambling is almost soothing, each weirdly enthusiastic, cheerful word calming you. As your pounding heart starts to slow, you fully come back to yourself, memories returning in a wave...

The robot slides down the cliffside with its hand crushing rock along the way, rappelling without a line, with you clutched protectively against its chest. It's a drop zone ride from hell, with no safety bars and a long way down. Just when you think you can't take the disorientation anymore, it leaps the final distance to the ground with a boom – taking the impact entirely on its legs, with barely a tremor getting through to you. It's honestly kind of impressive.

Who are you? you ask, finally, once you're sure you're not about to black out. What in the absolute fuck is happening? Where'd you come from? Why were you fighting those other robots? Why'd you protect me? Why did that one look like a metal mountain lion?

The robot looks down at you with unrestrained glee. You get the impression it's been looking forward to you asking some of those questions. The thought that someone was so interested in talking to you sends a pleasant little flutter through your heart. For a second you think it's about to stop and put you down so it can preen – there's something so young, and energetic, and good-natured about it, though why you feel that way, you're not even sure. But it shakes itself and strides into the woodland. You're well past the hiking trails down here, thanks to the shortcut, and the direction it picks isn't even one you're familiar with.

I'm Hot Rod, Autobot. Better known as Roddy, Rodders, Speedster, Speed Demon, The Pit On Wheels, fastest mech on either side of Andromeda, right-hand mech to Optimus Prime himself -! And..you don't know what any of that means, do you. When you shake your head no, it deflates a little, making you realize that it had puffed up its plating like a peacock ruffling its train. Uh, I'm really a big deal. I'm important, and fast, and I kick 'Con ass. That's all you really need to know.

But I'm not a robot, it corrects firmly, as it pushes through trees. Wincing as yet more leaves get stuck in various places in-between its armor. Robots aren't sentient. I'm a mech. And a - hm, you'd call it a "badass dude." Organics have gender, don't you? What gender are you?

Um, you say, but he keeps on going, both through the woods and running his mouth.

So, Autobots. We're the good guys. We're all from a planet called Cybertron, but the Decepti-dicks are a bunch of slaggers who follow their leader Megatron like their olfactory bulbs are welded to his tailpipe. He's all "look at me, I'm big and scary and I turn into a tank, so I can roll over everyone who stands in my way, hurr hurr." I could take him, he says, conspiratorially. But I just got here on the planet like, today. So I haven't had the chance yet.

Ah, you say, somehow more confused than before.

He seems to notice in that weird way he has, as if he knows what you're thinking, or feeling, or something. He gives you that same soft smile he had back in the middle of the battle.

Look, it's an old war that old mechs have been fighting forever, and then shit happened and a bunch of mechs all ended up on your planet, a while back. Optimus Prime, our leader, sent out a call for reinforcements to help protect you little guys, 'cause the 'Cons don't give a flying frag about organics. Like to stomp you for fun, even.

But you said Revenge -

Ravage, he corrects. Primus though, that'd be an amazing name. I like your language.

Ravage, you said he wouldn't just kill organ- um, humans, out in the middle of nowhere. So what was he doing there? Why did he kill those people? And who were they, what were they doing there in the fire tower? I thought it was weird they had a lot of really advanced-looking radio equipment, not the kind of stuff most of the lookout towers have. And what does this have to do with the attack in town?

Dunno! he said, and you can't miss the glint of excitement shining from him. He's worried, sure, but he's thrilled too. But we're gonna find out. This has gotta be why they attacked your town, earlier. Ravage said maybe we're looking for the same thing they are. Energon? That's that pink stuff you're wearing, but in crystal form. We use it for fuel. But, our scans didn't show any significant deposits around here, so it can't be that. And humans don't have any real use for energon anyway, so what would those guys you talked to want with it?

So it can't be that. They called me a civilian, you remember, piecing it together now that you're not in the full-on grip of expecting to die any second. That means they had to be military. Or maybe, ex-military?

That's a disturbing thought. There's plenty of weird guys with way too many guns lurking around, with really scary and bigoted ideas, but you'd never thought there would be such a group near your tiny town. On the other hand, if they had access to a helicopter and that kind of advanced equipment – that sounded a lot more like some kind of para-military, or James Bond bullshit, not racist nutjobs.

...though you supposed they could be both, which was not an encouraging thought.

Hot Rod didn't, unfortunately, ease your fears. He frowned as he carefully stepped over a little brook, feet sinking into the wetland with an uncomfortable squelch. Can't be military. Optimus and his team made contact with your military ages ago. They even set us up with a base of operations and some supplies, though they're trying hard not to let anybody know we exist. There's this weird intelligence agent, Fowler? I met him this morning. Bet he's having a whole litter of turbofox pups over this slag.

You let that knowledge percolate a while. It wasn't too terribly surprising your government had knowledge of aliens and were trying to keep it a secret. You had to wonder if maybe Guillermo del Toro had ever run into one of these Cybertronians.

Because you were in danger, Hot Rod says suddenly.

Huh?

You asked why I protected you. 'Cause I'm an Autobot, and that's what we do. Help people in danger.

There's a straightforward earnestness to him that's very nearly innocent in its honesty. You're learning quickly that he's a robot - er, mech of intense feelings, not good at hiding anything. You find it makes it easier to trust him. There's probably no chance this guy could keep a secret to save his life. He really means what he says. He even came after you when you disappeared from the battle, even though it meant following your trail through terrain that was not friendly to him.

It starts to sink in you've somehow managed to gain the protection of a giant alien mech. Your own personal jaeger, with bright blue eyes and an easy smile, a funny sense of humor, a quick temper and a big, brave heart.

Though you'd need to have a talk about his tendency to go all Spider-Man without a word of warning, while holding you.

You lean into his chest, where you can feel something like static electricity, something like a heartbeat under your touch. You lean your head against him, a moment of trust. No human had ever done anything like this for you. And here was an alien, only on the planet a day, and even though you'd met him in the worst way possible, you already knew you'd never forget him or his kindness.

Thank you, Hot Rod. For saving me. I didn't get the chance to say it, before. I'm pretty sure you've saved my life at least twice now. So, if that's what being an Autobot is about, you're great at being one.

You'd expected some cheerful bluster, but what you get is a sudden heating of his armor, even some flames licking out of the pipes along his shoulders. You look up at him, and find him staring at you with a sort of startled expression more at home on a doe-eyed fawn that a giant alien mech.

People don't tell you that very often, do they? you softly guess from his reaction. You busy yourself with plucking bits of pine bark and pine needles out of the seams of his armor.

Sure they do! Hear it all the time, he bluffs, and it's so painfully human that you feel dizzy. How can these mechs be so much like you?

Anyway, Ravage looks like that 'cause he's an animal-form symbiont. He's small 'cause he's one of a contingent of several symbionts bonded with this weird fragger named Soundwave. You ever run into a big, spindly mech with a strange voice? Run. There's tentacles.

Hot Rod shudders, and you decide you really don't want to know.

That's about it. The plan now is to put some distance between us and that tower, which would be a lot fragging easier if your stupid planet wasn't covered in this green stuff. Any more questions, sparklet?

Just one. Where are we going?

His strides falter and he looks at you with an expression you can only describe as sheepish. Uh. Was kind of hoping you would know.

When you start to scowl, his face breaks apart into a laugh, and you feel his chest heaving with it. Oohh, the look you just gave me! No, no, sorry, we're cutting through the woods to get to the next highway over. I have um, what do your people call it...GPS? I'm not gonna get us lost. But we gotta make sure we lose -

Then you hear it, the thing you'd been fearing was going to descend on you this whole time, even though the conversation had been a nice distraction. It's the thudding blades of a helicopter, coming closer. Roddy gives a start - had he not been paying attention?!

Hot Rod, they're coming! Do something! you exclaim.

He sounds about as serious as you've ever heard him sound. Right, can't run, time to hide. And then he does...something.

He folds himself around you. One minute you're in a giant robot's hands. The next, the whole world comes apart in a tornado of metal. You catch a single bright flash of light, a lick of flame, and then you're blinking at finding yourself in the passenger seat of the most expensive sports car you've ever seen in your life. You feel too poor just to let your butt touch the seat made of ...it's probably leather? Alien leather? From alien cows? It's sinfully soft, and warm, and you hadn't realized you'd gotten so cold. But the sun has just about set, and you are so, so beyond tired.

Do I even want to know, you say, leaning back against the seat. Why you didn't tell me you can turn into a car?

You didn't ask, he says, predictably, but with the glee of a toddler getting to make that joke for the first time in his life. Now, shh. My cabin is soundproof but my engine throws off a lot of heat. I gotta run silent. No way they'll see us under all this plant life, their radar's gonna scatter all over. Just sit tight, human.

Not human, you mumble sleepily.

Huh? You're not?! Then what the frag are you? he exclaims, jostling on his tires despite himself.

You snort. My name, you goofball. It's not "human." My - designation is...

You tell him, and he repeats it several times, using different inflections. Does that help him remember? Or do robots - er, mechs - just record things for remembering later?

I like it. What does it mean? Did you pick it yourself? Where were you sparked, anyway? Where do humans come from?

Quiet, you remind him, hiding from scary people. Shh. You can't hear the rotor blades anymore, or see searchlights in the sky. They've passed over you, whoever they are.

Warm, comfortable, not alone, if not at all that safe – you fell into a much-needed sleep.

Only to waken hours later, well after dark, confused but slightly better rested.

You lean back into Hot Rod's seats, which you're pretty sure are heated. It's incredible how smooth the ride is. If you'd had any doubts that what you're sitting in isn't a human-made vehicle, that alone would have erased them. It's like riding on air, and the surety with which he steers you is more like a falcon navigating an air current than a human driver trying to steer a two thousand-pound metal deathtrap down backroads of a conservation forest.

You want to go back to sleep, and he tells you that you can. I'm doing some patrolling before we go back to your town. Hoping to catch something on my sensors that could explain what the frag is going on here.

But your stomach growls loudly enough that it sparks a conversation in hurt tones about why are you growling at me, what did I do?! (You're starting to think he's a wee bit sensitive, your new giant alien mech protector.)

I can't remember when I ate last, and - fuck, you groan, as your injuries give a horrid throb. The brief burst of adrenaline had warded it off, but now your side, hip, and most of your body was hurting fiercely. You had raw scrapes from the road rash, and should probably start getting worried about infection.

I really need a doctor. And a bath. And some new clothes. Or at least a place I can wash up.

Yeah, poor little guy, you really got knocked around, he says sympathetically, with just enough condescension that one of your eyes twitches. Ratchet - that's our chief medical officer, he read me and Drift and a bunch of the other guys all these ways to kill a human, so we wouldn't do them. You're like protoforms, you're so - soft.

You'd take more offense to it if his tone wasn't so full of wonder. Though it's hard for you to understand how your smelly, banged-up, completely imperfect body could hold any wonder for anyone, right now, let alone The Pit on Wheels, whose alt mode was probably worth more than some people's entire life earnings.

I think there's a rest stop up ahead, you say, squinting as the sign blows past in the rearview mirror. They'll have a bathroom. If you can stop a minute, I'll get cleaned up and then we can head back to town?

Yeah, I guess we're not gonna find anything out here. Frag it. I was hoping I'd have something more to bring back with us. I uh, kind of disobeyed orders to come after you, he admits. On impulse, you reach out and gently stroke the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything, but his powerful engine purrs gently.

You pull over and groan loudly as you limp into the rest stop. You spend a blissful, yet miserable twenty minutes washing various substances off of yourself. Your clothes are absolutely trashed, but a quick rinse and dry under the automatic hand-dryer has them stiff and uncomfortable but less goopy.

You drink your fill from the sink and drag yourself back outside. Only to find the parking lot empty.

Roddy-? You call, heart sinking. Had he left you?! Without a word? You'd only known him for perhaps a dozen hours, but that strikes you as incredibly unlike him. Getting distracted maybe, but abandoning you? No.

Before you can call out again, gloved hands slam themselves over your mouth and wrap around your waist, heaving you backwards into the confining grip of a tall, muscular body. As you screamed muffled cries into the hand, something sharp pricks the side of your neck, and against your will you fall into darkness.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers first contact au #human distribution system #oh space cowboy we're really in it now #hot rod x reader #platonic

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mi-co-uk · 2 days ago

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─── expired reader has been told she's dying. but how much does it matter if she wanted to anyway? best friend matt is heartbroken to be losing the girl he never shared his feelings for - until now.

expired reader x matt

a/n NOT PROOFREAD IM LAZYY

warnings: mentions of sickness and treatment plans, consistent theme of death and dying aswell as suicidal thoughts. also matt is so cutie i need him to confess his love for reader NOW (i literally control when it happens 😐) vague mentions of panic attacks and nightmares. SERIES ITSELF will contain angst fluff and smut <3

wc: 1.5k

PART TWO

the creak of the swingset created a combination of annoyance and comfort. it echoed your childhood in a sense, the hours spent swinging (not too high) back and forth due to being far too scared of the slide.

you peered over at it - now having grown almost to the height of it, you didn't understand what you had been so afraid of.

the playground equipment was all rusted over, not even used by the kids who lived nearby. it wasn't the centre for making friends as it use to be. regardless, it still held the memory of where you met matt.

he hadn't been scared of the slide - he just couldn't get a turn. his rowdy brothers hogged it relentlessly, matt found their game funny initially but he grew tired of waiting for them to see him waiting.

the girl on the swing next to you was swaying obnoxiously, yelling to her mum about how high she was swinging on her own. you didn't understand how she was doing it physically, aswell as without fear.

"can I push?" after standing beside the poles that dug the swingset into the ground, he'd mustered to the courage to ask you a question. he felt kind of sorry for you, on your own in a park full of people.

he started off overly gentle, as if sensing your fear or being afraid to push you off it entirely.

it wasn't much but it was more than you could manage on your own. you also found yourself a little less scared.

you're on the same swing now - terrified, but for a different reason. now you were scared of dying - not from swaying too high on a swingset or falling from the well known dramatic height of a slide, but from your own body giving up on itself.

what hadn't changed was that you always had known that there wasn't much life in you.

the position of the swingset allows you to see over the horizon, admiring the pinkish tints of the clouds as you await matts return. you hear his scuffling behind you, his footsteps snapping the small branches laying across the floor. hear stands in front of you handing you a small pot of ice cream, a wide grin on his face as he giggles to himself. you smile in response, his laughter infectious as he sets himself on the swingset to your left.

"why are you laughing?" you can't help but continue giggling, his optimism always seemingly amplified around you.

his giggles heighten in response, "I dont know, I'm just excited"

"for the ice cream"

he giggles and nods in response. you chuckle and shake your head, licking the ice cream off your spoon. the laughter settles down, silently enjoying each other's company as you watch the sunset and savour your ice cream.

you've always been somewhat jealous of matt. despite his struggles with anxiousness and his unsurety in himself that have debilitated him a lot in life, he's always managed to make the most of himself. he's not entirely confident, but he manages. his life gets stressful, but he manages. it's an attribute you somewhat wish you had.

sometimes you wanna be better. you want to be happy and actually live for once but a life like that is so inconsistent. no one can ever be constantly joyful and living the life they want. you want something secure and death is the most assured thing there is.

matt notices the drop of your emotions much lower than before, nudging your knee with his. you look up to his comforting smile and sympathetic eyes. trust you to find a way to bring down the mood already.

"you okay?" matts first to break the silence, taking the final mouthful of ice cream and setting the tub down by the side of the swingset.

you mumble a 'yeah', obviously not filling matt with confidence that it's a genuine response.

"what u thinkin'?" he persists.

you hesitate before bringing it up. you wanted to avoid it but it's gonna come up eventually.

"I um, I had a call."

"yeah? with who?" matts eyes a fixed in your direction despite your bodies refusal to hold eye contact.

"the hospital."

short answers are less anxiety inducing. but they definitely also prolong the length of torture. matt stays silent, giving you the space to speak at your own pace.

"about treatments. well- a-an appointment to talk about them." you finally look back up to matt, unsure of whether to continue.

"when's that? I'll come with you."

"um. yesterday" you voice falters towards the end, becoming a mumble in lack of confidence.

matts eyebrows scrunch in vague confusion. "I didn't go." you confirm matts suspicions.

you were thoroughly aware that the consequences of bringing that up to matt before the appointment would result you in actually going. hence the fact you didn't mention it.

matts head is swarming with conflicting emotions. he doesn't want to push you into something but he also has an obvious overwhelming desperation to keep you around. and a way to do that is with your treatment.

"you don't want treatment?" matt finally responds.

you can only shake your head.

you finally stop moving around the remainder of your ice cream and set the pot down, gaining grip on the chain attached to your swing. you plant your feet more firmly on the ground, allowing you to look directly away from matt and his pity.

"I'm tired of being sick, matt. treatment might not even work. 'm not sure if it's worth it." you're not sure if you're worth it.

"but it also might work." matt tried desperately to maintain his outward calm. "you could try it."

"I dont wanna try it, matt, I don't even want it to work."

though he isn't the one dying, matt felt his life drain further from his body. every fibre of him wanted to convince you that you were wrong. he almost wanted to confess all his feelings in the hope it would give you the motivation to try - to live for him.

"I dont wanna go through all that just be depressed still by the end of it. I don't wanna keep being someone for everyone to worry about. I don't wanna people to think I wanted to try living because then it's as if I never suffered at all." the words spill out before you evaluate the weight of them. you're not trying to dump it onto matt you just need him to understand. "I'm not trying to make you pity me, matt I just-"

"I dont get to pity you, don't you get that? none of us do."

his gaze on you feels much heavier, less focused on being cautious of every word out his mouth.

"we don't get to pity you because we all know you want this."

"what, you sit around with everyone talking about how I'm a suicidal fuck up?" you accuse, tone of voice almost repulsed.

"of course not! we just know you're in pain! you always have been, mentally and now physically. I fucking hate it but there's obviously positives in it for you and it's undeniable. treatment might keep you alive but you said yourself it doesn't change your mental state and I've researched and it won't even end your pain, you just won't die."

he pauses, tears building at the brim of his eyes.

"I'm with you all the time. I see you panic attack after panic attack, nightmare after nightmare aswell as dealing with the pain attacks over and over, night after night. it's not fair on you to have to live like that. in fact I feel selfish because I want you alive despite that. I'd be there for you with that same pain cycle if it meant you were still around."

unknowingly, the tears have fallen from your own eyes, matt blinks his own away as he removes his gaze on you. youre at a loss for words. you'd neglected observing how other people were dealing with the situation - not completely but enough to have missed that others could see your death the way you see it. it was only a matter of time before yours and matts dynamic switched. you pitied him, it was an obviously complicated situation with no right response or perspective.

you reach your hand over to matts, he looks at your expression and makes a mental note of the pity in your eyes. he secures the grip of his hand in yours, fingers entwined with one another's. your hands hung inbetween the two swings.

"doesn't mean you can pity me either" matt forces a small smile, trying to lighten up the mood. he hadn't intended to let it all slip but he didn't entirely regret it either.

"'m sorry" you whisper and offer the same small smile back at him.

he chuckles a bit, "'s alright. why couldn't you be an asshole? then i wouldnt care this much." he leans his head against the chain of the swing closest to your own.

"I'm not?" you giggle.

"course not. you're you."

────୨ৎ────

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unwashedunsatisfiedmeowmeow · 2 days ago

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Arrogant!yandere concept

Trigger warnings: torture, extreme violence, manipulation, arrogant behaviour (duh)

You've been warned! :}

- Arrogant!yandere naturally sees you as someone who's below them. Less smart, less beautiful, less capable... The list of things they can do better than you is loooong!

- Arrogant!yandere is obsessed with you deeply for some reason, but is too prideful to show or admit it. They kinda hate themselves for falling in love, especially for someone like you.

-Arrogant!yandere can't help themselves but to look at you. Observe you. They just can't figure out why you, of all people they could fall for...

- Arrogant!yandere is very comfortable with manipulating you. Their brain simply does not register it as a bad thing. Them lying and manipulating you (or your close ones) into getting what they want is a given. You can't change this "quirk" of theirs.

- Arrogant!yandere will die inside if you leave, but would rather jump off a cliff than chase you. Instead making everything in their power to make YOU crawl back (hopefully completely shattered and in tears).

- Arrogant!yandere will get really upset if you go off script and do something on your own, without asking their opinion/permission first. Just you acting on your free will in general will make their eye twitch.

- Arrogant!yandere is overjoyed everytime you show signs of devotion to them. Something happens inside them when you are putting them on a pedestal and want to get their approval. The more dependant you are on them, the less strict they are gonna be with you. In that case their arrogance will transform into mild brattyness.

- "I am your god, so don't you dare to question me! I will not tolerate your disrespect, [name]."

- Arrogant!yandere is insanely jealous. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with the image they want you to see, so expect sudden outbirsts of anger whenever you make them even slightly jealous. Though it would be hard to understand why they're so mad, because they never admit their feelings for you.

- Arrogant!yandere can sometimes "slip up" and show you their real feelings. Chances of that are increased if they're drunk, manic, extremely tired or under substances. But their subtle "confessions" (more like caring gestures) can happen often if you two know each other for a long time.

- Arrogant!yandere will make it know that you're "out" if you dare to show the same level of affection to somebody else. Deep inside they will regret that, which can be seen in them stalking your socials. They're the type to break up with you just to see how you're gonna react.

- If you're very "stubborn" (don't want to submit to Arrogant!yandere's greatness) they will plot on your ass. It can get really ugly depending on how strong you're gonna stand your ground. It may even lead intto kindapping, torture and war-crime level of mind control. Everything to make you submit.

- Arrogant!yandere will fall into primal rage if someone who is not them, will try to dominate you. You see, other people falling in love with you is already bad for your one and only yandere, but with that they can still deal. But someone trying to replace THEM in your life is another fucking story. Same with you being abused/wronged by anyone but them.

- Arrogant!yandere won't hesitate to rip the nails and skin of your abusers face. If your abuser will still have an audacity to stay alive, arrogant!yandere will force gallons of gasoline into their throat and set them on fire. That's how far they'll go to reclaim your innocence and their power over you.

- "Who the fuck he thought he was? It's so obvious that only I am allowed to do that to you. Next time something like that happens - inform me IMMEDIATELY!"

#yandere #tsundere yandere #male yandere #female yandere #arrogant yandere #selfish yandere #manipulative yandere #yandere drabbles #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere concept #yandere scenarios #yandere writing

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mybworlds · 11 hours ago

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Chapter 6

Paring: Joel x F!Reader (NO Y/N)

Warnings: pre!outbreak and post!outbreak, AU (there will be some characters, Joel's backstory is different), no Sarah, no Ellie (maybe!), a lot of flashback (at least in the first chapters!), age gap (reader is approx. 10 yrs younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, SMUT, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), language, attempted SA, trauma, death and violence, abortion.

Rating: M

Masterlist

W.C. 2.9k

Summary: You work in the Millers' company, you are their friend, you have a job you love, your coworkers esteem and love you. Your life is perfect. Suddenly, one day, you wake up in the hospital, you are alone surrounded by silence and strange noises, your door is barricaded, but what happened? And what happened to the world out there?

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Thanks @saradika for the divider and the banner. Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner.

Taglist @harriedandharassed

SEPTEMBER 2012

You and Kyle broke up, and it's not because you don't get along, on the contrary. You just realized that you don't feel that attraction, that feeling that should really bind two people; you look good together, you have a lot in common, you love each other a lot, but it's not love. You're sure of it.

You confided this only to Tommy who was happy that your story was over so there was still hope, to quote his words. You shook your head and told him that his brother sees you as a friend and therefore not to count too much on a possible flame between you and Joel. He shrugged and hugged you and said, "Hope is always the last to die."

"Let's forget it, I'm going to work." You tell him. "You can't live on hope." You add, winking at him.

MARCH 2014

You open your eyes with a start, waking up with the phrase, "You can't live on hope," echoing in your head. You are in the middle of nowhere, Joel prepared a fire with your help where he then remained on guard, while you went to sleep in the back seat of a jeep you found abandoned on the side of a road.

It's very cold despite your coat and the blankets you brought with you from that house. For a while you stay under the covers watching the man who is adding more wood to the fire, you close your eyes and for a few moments you seem to see him wearing a blue suit, you can almost hear him thundering orders. Who knows if the Joel of some time ago was really like this, if something is coming back to your memory or if it’s just all in your head!

There are so many things that are still not at all clear to you in his tone of voice, in his looks, in his words. It's as if he were hiding something from you. You don't know exactly what it is, whether it's more bad news that he doesn't have the courage to tell you or whether you're losing your mind trying to remember something that doesn't seem to be in your head anymore.

You decide to stop wondering for now, you don't know if you're really ready to know the truth. A part of you fears it. You don't know what you can really expect from your past, you feel that they are not just good memories.

You get out of the car being careful not to make too much noise with the car door, as soon as you put your feet in the mud under your feet, Joel turns to you, he looks very tired and has a slight pallor on his cheeks. Without saying much, you pass him your blanket, placing it over his shoulders. He gives you an initially annoyed look, but slowly becomes grateful for your gesture.

“How are you?” you ask, sitting down next to him.

"I'm the one who should be asking you that." He states with a slight huff. "Well, anyway. It was just a scratch." He adds, "And you?"

"My head doesn't hurt anymore. I just feel a little dizzy, but it's less frequent." You answer him, rubbing your hands together near the crackling fire.

He nods, "And memory?" he asks, looking at your face.

You sigh, "Part of me wants to remember, wants to do so with all my heart, but there's another part that thinks it's probably best to leave things as they are. I mean, we live in an already broken world and I don't want to have to endure further trauma and pain." you answer almost in one breath, then look down "The truth is I'm scared." you admit staring into the flames "I don't know what's waiting for me."

Joel lingers on your face for a while before returning to the flames, "Not all memories are necessarily bad, you know?" you look at his face and observe his tanned skin turned orange by the flames "You, me and my brother worked together. We were inseparable. I was almost.." for a moment Joel doesn't speak, you don't know whether to press him or wait, you decide not to insist and wait for him to continue "jealous." finally he says and then moves his eyes to you who instead makes them wander towards the woods surrounding you.

You're scared. You are afraid of the world you live in, of never being able to find yourself again and reconcile who you were with who you are today, you are afraid of never finding a purpose again, nothing that can make you feel better.

You decide to push him a little despite your fears, "Why were you jealous? I mean, we were... Um, was there something going on between us that I don't remember?" your heart is in your throat when you look up at his face and meet his dark eyes that seem to be clouded with sadness.

You see him tighten his lips and look down at the fire, with an indecipherable expression on his face as if he were fighting a silent war with himself.

"Joel?" you get his attention. "Please answer me. I deserve to know. It’s my past too."

You see his nostrils flare and then narrow as he breathes deeply, "We were together." he finally answers you and you don't know what to think or what to ask him "Until I ruined everything." he adds leaving you completely speechless and empty-headed.

Were you two together?! Did he ruin everything? But all what? How, why?

You can't put any order to the questions that suddenly compete to be asked, but then there's something else that holds you back: fear. Fear of not knowing the full extent of what drove you to separate, fear of learning something that right now you wouldn't even know how to handle, fear of feeling lost before the truth.

"Why didn't you tell me right away that we were together?" you ask him, now having trouble looking at him.

"If I hadn't told you, maybe... we could both forget what happened." He answers you in a low voice.

You can't comment on his words. You think it's something really serious and terrible if Joel himself wants to forget what happened. You suddenly wonder who the man is with whom you are traveling. You think that he's probably also telling you a lie about the destination you are going to. If you hadn't seen those monstrous creatures yourself and hadn't seen the world as it is now, perhaps you would have even doubted his words.

You're cold, you have a strange anguish gripping your stomach.

Now, more than before, you are afraid to remember.

From that point on, you and Joel barely spoke to each other, mostly answering him in monosyllables or with fleeting nods.

You continued on foot passing through a forest invaded by ferns, the trees are tall and their tops thick, the sun filters through only in that place making it extremely cold and humid. The man looked at you and asked if you were cold, but without even looking at him you replied, "'m fine." and continued on past him.

A part of you struggles to put aside some of the truth that Joel finally revealed to you, but the other part of you wonders what could have happened to end your relationship.

Were you happy before? Have you made love? Were you planning something together as a family, a house together?

You're cold now, but you keep going. Head down, you keep walking, you have no idea why you feel so dizzy. You just know that maybe you should know the whole truth and not just the end.

Are you ready to listen to it? No, but you're tired of not knowing.

"Joel?" you call him when you've been silent for almost a couple of hours. He looks tired, his expression strained, his eyes darkened, his beard longer, "I want to know the reason why we broke up."

He shakes his head, "No." He replies, stopping and looking straight into your eyes. "I'll tell you about the good times before and then... the end. I can't tell you everything from the end of the story."

You swallow, but then find yourself simply saying, "Okay. I'm listening."

At that moment a shot pierces the air making you jump, you don't know exactly where that noise comes from, but it's followed by others, your heart is pounding in your chest and for the first time in hours you look up at Joel but he doesn't look back at you, instead he grabs your hand and drags you with him. You run as fast as your muscles can, when you catch sight of a small group of houses, "There! Look over there!" you shout, pointing out some villas.

"Come on, move!" he urges you, pointing with his chin to the first house with a sloping roof.

When you arrive, the first thing you notice is the extremely unkempt grass and the trees surrounding it are bare and unfruitful, then you notice the fences typical of construction sites that warn you to be careful of falling materials from above and therefore to stay away from the scaffolding. So, you notice that there are some tiles missing from the roof and therefore it's likely that it has also rained inside. The windows were broken from the inside as there are pieces of glass on the outside.

You look for Joel's gaze but he looks around cautiously, he's not worried about the conditions of the house but about your safety and survival. It's not safe to venture in there, but apparently it's not safe to stay out either.

With some hesitation, you climb over the barriers and continue on. The door has been torn off so only the jamb remains. Joel squeezes your hand lightly as if to help you recover from that state of agitation and fear, you know he has it too, but he manages to hide it much better than you. You nod as if to reassure him that you're there and ready for anything, even if, actually, you're not.

You cross the door and immediately the very unpleasant smell of humidity combined with that of paint invades your nostrils, almost causing you to feel nauseous, you cough as you lean forward toward an unfinished wall whose bricks are still clearly visible.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joel says, holding your shoulder and wrapping his other arm around your hip.

"I'm fine. I just ran too much and then... this smell bothers me." you say closing your eyes and swallowing back the bile.

"The paint, I know." he says. "You've always been amazing at designing, but when you came to the construction site..." you hear him chuckle "you barely stayed there five minutes and as soon as you entered you put on a mask to cover your nose and mouth." he almost smiles at those memories.

“Really?” you ask, noticing his reaction to memories you no longer have.

"Yes." he sighs. "Listen, I'll tell you everything, but not now, not under these circumstances, little one." He continues, stroking your back.

Little one.. was that what he called you?

Did he use this sweet nickname with you?

Did you like it?

Did you have one for him too?

And did he like it?

You nod, taking small breaths and then taking small sips of water, which helps control the nausea you feel. Once you've regained control, you stand up straight and look around, "Well, let's see if any rooms are finished or if we should move on." you say in a low voice, turning on the flashlight, as does the man next to you. In the room there are pieces of furniture such as chairs, tables, sofas covered with white tarpaulins, as if someone had started living there despite the ongoing construction work.

Joel discovers a couch, raising a cloud of dust, "Well, this looks like it's comfy!" he exclaims.

You grumble as you continue on, you find the kitchen, it's fully furnished, but you find nothing but a bottle of water and some packets of crackers that you promptly put in your backpack.

Joel is just behind you, he too is looking around, "I hope this isn't a house from my company!" he exclaims.

"Your company?!" you ask, turning your head towards him.

"Yes, my brother and I had a business together." he replies.

“Did we get along?” you ask him again.

He nods, "You were very good. You always knew how to make something happen, even after sleepless nights, the next day you were able to bring great projects to life." you find yourself smiling "Charlotte hated you for that too!"

"Charlotte?" you repeat, but her name doesn't sound new to you at all when it comes from your lips.

"Oh, fuck." Joel blurts out, pointing the flashlight a short distance away from you. You turn around and see fresh blood on the ground. Joel quickly reaches you, passing you and pointing his rifle forward.

“What are we doing?” you whisper under your breath.

"Let's go away, in silence."

When you're about to turn around, you hear something slithering and then it makes those noises. Your blood freezes in your veins and you become paralyzed, Joel pulls you away by the arm making you hide just in time behind a kitchen cabinet when one of those things appears from the darkness. You just lift your head to see them and you realize that it's one of those things you've already seen in the hospital, now what do you do?

You're both on all fours and hiding back there, but you have to get out somehow. Joel gets your attention with his eyes and mouths they're blind, you nod even though the news doesn't reassure you in the least. He makes the gesture with the flashlight and you slowly sneak out of the room, you're almost back in the entry room when you place your hand on a piece of glass and let out a little scream, Joel turns with a terrified expression behind you, as you hear the sound of that thing approaching. You cut yourself, but this is not the time to think about it, you know you are about to die because that monster is approaching and you don't know how to escape it except by running, but your body seems not to respond to your will. Joel picks up a rock from a short distance away and, before you get face to face with that monster, throws it in a direction diametrically opposite to yours. The hideous creature stops a couple of steps away from you and then heads towards the stone Joel threw.

You can breathe a sigh of relief, you get up and can silently walk away, you are almost outside when something else catches your attention: the corpse of a man. He's dead, he has a gun in his hand, his shirt full of blood, his mouth twisted into a grotesque expression.

"Let's go." Joel says, moving to walk away, but you remain there. It's not the man's expression that troubles you, but his shirt. Blood dripped profusely across it.

"I'm scared." You can almost hear yourself say, "Joel! Joel! Help!"

Joel pulls you away this time and succeeds, you are out now and you quickly climb over the fence, moving away from that house again and returning to the woods. You are troubled, you are cold and a new terrible question is making its way inside you. Your path is fortunately calm, but that question is creeping deep inside you. It's almost dusk when you take refuge in a heavily looted gas station, there's no one there and no one has been there for a long, long time so at least for tonight you're safe.

After you make sure that nothing and no one is around, you sit down to rest a bit and at that time, Joel disinfects your wound. Your eyes often meet, you wonder how or what you will do from tomorrow, you wonder who you were in the past and if you will ever be able to reconcile who you were with who you are today.

Everything seems calm. However, you decide not to light any fires to avoid attracting the attention of anyone nearby, you are both wrapped in blankets. You try not to chatter your teeth, but at a certain point it becomes unavoidable and Joel approaches you, surrounding you and him with another blanket, now you are next to each other.

"Joel?"

"Mh?"

"Were we happy before... before it all ended? Before you and I broke up?" you ask him "I know it's stupid because... you know, usually when you break up with someone it's because you're not happy, but I'd like to know more," you add, sniffling in the cold.

"We were. So much. I was very happy with you. And you with me. We had everything." He sighs, "We could have had it."

"But then why?" you ask him.

He looks at you with eyes full of sadness and regret, "I cheated on you."

You stare into space before you then look up at him with a puzzled expression, "Why?" you should feel anger, pain, but the truth is you don't feel anything, you don't know how to feel. You're just so confused.

He nervously clenches his hands and you, as if moved by invisible threads of a distant and perhaps not entirely erased memory, reach out and slip your hand between his. You frown in surprise at the gesture and Joel also seems shocked because he looks up at you with his lips parted in amazement.

"I - I dunno - I don't know why I did it." You say, pulling your hand away from his.

Instead he holds it back, warming your cold hand, "It's something we always did." He says in a low, bitter tone of voice. "It was your way of calming my nerves after a hard day at work. You sat next to me and, you didn't even have to ask me if I had a good or bad day, you rested your head on my shoulder in silence." he tells you.

"You could see it all over your face what you were feeling." It's meant to be a question, but it comes out of your mouth like a fact, like something you're sure of.

He nods rubbing your hand between his to warm it, both of you looking at your joined hands for a while.

"Did we always do this too?"

He smiles, nods weakly, "I'd like to tell you everything... do you want to listen?"

You swallow, “Okay.”

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vaguely-concerned · 3 months ago

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Ooh. should I have rye without any of his makeup on for the final lucanis romance scene this time, to mirror him starting the game off wearing none while running around with varric (sometimes glitches are storytelling opportunity blessings in disguise). finally allowing oneself to be seen literally barefaced, without embellishment or obfuscation through deliberate curlicue, stripped of the image of yourself you meant to present because you yourself don't know what is hiding underneath anymore -- and being so readily recognized and tenderly loved through it anyway. you know me so well it makes me no longer a stranger to myself. well. what it lacks in subtlety as a metaphor, it more than makes up for in making me feel nuts. Yes. Yes. I think that might indeed emotionally devastate me

(the mutual desperation of like... intimacy and recognition and relief in this romance still shakes me to the very core btw. if you even care. rook walking through the mind lucanis is so sure has been broken to the point that it's 'no longer the mind of a crow -- not even the mind of a human being (no longer me)', and recognizing him every step of the way so undramatically and completely, finding him where he's been hiding even from himself. because he knows it's where they'll look first. and helping him come back to himself just by standing there next to him, promising to walk beside him. rook stumbling out of the fade confused and disoriented and robbed of the lies they told themselves to survive, and lucanis being there to catch them. and giving that back to them. all the fear and confusion and longing resolving into calm certainty because rook is rook. and rook is there. and next to that nothing else really matters. you're here. you're really here. and so am I. (why would I be anywhere else, when you're here.) and between them there's safe shelter from the storm outside like spite writes about with him and lucanis before. hello. help. can anyone hear me.)

#much ado about looking in this romance. about being seen. the you Beheld me and it helped me be real again of it all. I feel crazy #anyway every time I see rye's nakey big brown eyes I'm like 'OH yeah that's what you look like under there I almost forgot!' fhdskja #it's like that one scene in x-men evolution where rogue falls in a lake and her makeup washes away and you're like WHOMST for a moment #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #oc: Ellaryen Ingellvar #lucanis dellamorte #rook x lucanis #rookanis #he got out of the fade stumbled into his cursed fish tank room managed to remove his makeup and then ran out of steam entirely lol #he does put on kohl the next morning tho. can't get revenge on the dread wolf and also save the world if you ain't cute #and also comfortably in control of your own expressed identity once more lol #nakey eyes are for lucanis and the maker and no one else to see at this point in time lol #harding and neve *have* seen him without it b/c they were there when varric was. but now harding is gone #and I think rye feels more '...I wish you didn't know this about me' towards neve in this lol. she was there for the worst night #of his fucking life and he can't control that she saw him when he did not want to be seen. and she's kind enough to pretend she didn't #absolute nightmare scenario.#neve and rye's battle to avoid emotional intimacy with each other is just. incredible. it's the weirdest relationship in the lighthouse lol #like two cowboys at a mexican standoff of who can be covertly emotionally unavailable the most and deepest

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somelazyassartist · 2 years ago

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Ough I need to avoid my TAZ shelf when I'm tired, because reminding myself that The Adventure Zine and the graphic novels are right next to each other and how painful some of the differences between them are legitimately gives me a migraine. That and my eyes are weird so looking at comics for too long just does that anyways but I digress

#gods it hurts. like i can see the dates these are all printed and i can see the dates the original episodes were posted #and it's like. maybe it was accidental and maybe the vision for his character just happened to change naturally around that time. but.#it feels so painfully obvious when the changes to how Jocasta specifically is drawn were made and why (for part of it at least)#no idea where some of the really fucked up 'unintentional' implications came from but it's obvious SOMETHING changed #cuz man. like maybe it's JUST ME but it really just feels idk. icky. gross. makes my skin crawl.#maybe it's just cause these are close to tropes that I've had to become extremely aware of in other media cuz of how it depicts ppl like me #but like. i can't look at the two next to each other without feeling like legitimately icked out even though it's just a comic #idk. just don't really have anyone i can vent to that seems to take my feelings seriously because it's 'just a drawing you're overreacting'#other than my girlfriend who has very kindly listened to me get some of those frustrations out but at this point she's heard it all already #so there's like. nobody i trust to actually listen to why it makes me feel bad without judging me for being 'too negative' about a dumb GN #vent #tw taz gn #tag gn trigger warning

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thepencilnerd · 22 days ago

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When the Sun Hits

summary: What begins as a hospital-wide power outage leaves you trapped in a supply closet with your emotionally unavailable attending. But when the lights come back on, what lingers between you can’t be shut off so easily. genre/notes: forced proximity, slow burn, panic attack + trauma comfort, domestic fluff, my fave kind of intimacy, mutual pining, humor/crack, soft!Jack that can't flirt for shit, idiots in love but neither of them will admit it, you discover you have a praise kink in the most inconvenient of ways, jack abbot on his knees—literally warnings: references to trauma, depiction of a panic attack, mentions of grief and burnout, implied but not explicit smut word count: ~ 7.2k a/n: down bad for whipped Jack Abbot. p.s., thank you to everyone who reblogs/replies/takes the time to read my brain vomit, i appreciate you more than you know ㅠㅠ <3

You had just turned to ask Jack if he could grab another tray of 32 French chest tubes when the lights cut out.

One second, the supply closet was bathed in its usual flickering overhead light—and the next, everything dropped into darkness. Sharp. Sudden.

You froze, one hand on the bin. Jack swore behind you.

"Shit," he muttered, somewhere just inside the door. The backup emergency lights flickered red from the hallway, but barely touched the cramped space around you.

Then the intercom crackled overhead: Code Yellow. Facility-wide outage. All staff remain on current floors. Secure all medications and patients.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Automatic lock.

You turned just as Jack tried the handle. It didn’t budge.

He sighed. "Well. That’s one way to guarantee a five-minute break."

You looked at him sharply, but he was already scanning the room, looking for anything useful, keeping his voice light.

"Guess we’re stuck for a bit," he added.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The air felt too tight in your lungs, too warm all of a sudden.

Because now, the supply closet didn’t just feel small.

It felt like it was closing in.

It had been a normal day.

Or as normal as anything ever was around here—high-pressure shifts balanced by the strange rhythm you and Jack had settled into over the past few years. You worked together well—efficient, quick to anticipate each other's needs, almost telepathic during traumas. Partners in crime, someone had once joked. Probably Robby.

You’d learned how to read his silences—the kind that weren’t dismissive but deliberate, like he was giving you space without needing to say it aloud. He’d learned how to decode your muttered curses and side glances, how to step in behind you without crowding, how to let his shoulder bump yours during charting when words failed you both.

There was a kind of ease between you, a rhythm that didn’t require explanation. He’d hand you tools before you asked for them. You’d finish his sentences when he gave consults. Even in chaos, your partnership felt oddly... quiet. Intimate, in a way that crept in slowly, like warmth from a mug clasped between two hands after a long shift.

When you were paired on trauma, nurses and med students stopped asking who was lead. They knew you moved as one.

People had started to notice—how the two of you always seemed to stay overtime on the same days, how Jack would make dry, cutting jokes around others but soften them just enough when talking to you. Robby, in particular, teased him about it relentlessly.

"Jack, blink twice if this is you flirting," he’d once called across the ER after Jack mumbled, "Great work Dr. L/N," while watching you tie off a flawless stitch or nailing a differential.

Jack huffed. "It’s efficient. She's efficient."

"God, you’re hopeless," Robby laughed.

"She’s my best resident," Jack shot back, like it explained everything. Like it wasn’t a deflection.

You snorted into your coffee. "You say that like it’s not the fifth time this week."

Jack, without missing a beat: "That’s because it’s true. I value consistency."

He was awful at flirting—stiff and dry and chronically understated—but you’d grown to read the fondness buried in the flat delivery.

Like the morning he handed you your favorite protein bar without a word and then said, as you blinked at him, "Don’t faint. You’ll ruin my numbers."

Or the time he stood outside your call room after a brutal night shift, coffee in hand, and muttered, "You deserve a nap, but I guess you’ll have to settle for caffeine and my sparkling company."

He always made sure to loop you in on the interesting cases—"Figure it’s good for your development," he’d say. But then linger just a little too long after rounds, just to hear your thoughts.

And when you were quiet too long, when something in you withdrew, he never asked outright. Just gave you space—and a clipboard he’d pre-filled, or a shift swap you hadn’t requested, or the gentlest, "You good?" when you passed each other by the scrub sinks.

And now, here you were. Trapped in a closet with the man who rarely made jokes—and never blushed—except when you were around.

Now, you were stuck. Together.

The air felt thin but simultaneously stuffed to the brim.

Jack turned on his penlight, sweeping the beam across the room. "We’re fine," he said, calm and certain. "Generator will kick in soon."

You nodded. Tried to match his steadiness. Failed.

The closet was small. Smaller than it had ever felt before.

The walls crept in.

You didn’t notice the way your hands started to shake until he said your name.

Your vision tunneled. The room blurred at the edges, corners shrinking in like someone was folding the walls inward. The air felt heavy, every breath catching at the top of your throat before it could sink deep enough to matter. It felt like someone had filled your veins with liquid lead, your entire body suddenly weighing too much to hold upright. You staggered back a step, hand scrambling blindly for something to anchor you—shelf, handle, Jack. Your heart was pounding—loud, ragged, out of sync with time itself.

You tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

Sweat prickled your scalp. Your fingers tingled, every nerve on fire. Your knees gave out beneath you, and you crumbled to the floor—head buried between your knees, hands clasped behind your neck, trying to fold yourself into a singularity. Anything to disappear. Anything to slip away from this moment and the way it pressed in on all sides. There was no exit. No sound but your own spiraling thoughts and the slow, careful way Jack said your name again.

You blinked. Your eyes wouldn’t focus.

"Hey," Jack coaxed, his voice cutting through the static—low and steady, somehow still distant. His full attention was on you now, gaze locked in, unmoving. "Breathe."

You couldn’t.

It hit like a wave—sharp and silent, rising in your chest like pressure, no space, no air, no exit.

Jack’s hands found your shoulders. "I’ve got you. You’re okay. Stay with me, yeah?"

He crouched in front of you, grounding you with steady pressure and careful, deliberate calm. His hands—firm, callused, the kind that had seen years of split-second decisions and endless sutures—gripped your upper arms with a touch that was impossibly gentle. Like he could mold you back into yourself with his palms alone. His thumbs brushed lightly, not demanding, just present. Just there.

"Can you breathe with me?" he asked. "In for four. Okay? One, two, three…"

You tried. You really did.

Your chest still felt locked, ribs tight around panic like a vice, but his voice—low and even—threaded through the chaos.

"Out for four," he murmured, exhaling slowly, deliberately, like the sound alone could show your body how to follow. "Good. Just like that."

The faint light dimmed between you, casting his face in half-shadow. He was close now—close enough for you to catch the scent of antiseptic and something warm underneath, something that reminded you of winter nights and clean laundry.

"You’re here," he said again, softer this time. "You’re safe. Nothing’s coming. You’ve got space."

You reached out blindly, fingers finding the edge of his sleeve and clutching it like a lifeline.

"Good girl," Jack said softly, instinctively, like it slipped out without permission.

Your brain short-circuited. Of all things, in all moments—that was what hooked your attention. You let out a strangled little laugh, shaky and almost hysterical. "Fucking hell," you murmured, pressing your face into your arm. "Why is that what got me breathing again?"

Jack blinked, startled for a second—then let out the smallest huff of relief, like he was holding back a smirk. "Hey, if it works, I’ll say it again," he said, a thread of warmth sneaking into his voice.

You groaned, half-burying your face in your elbow. "Please don’t."

He was still crouched in front of you, his tone gentler now, teasing on purpose, like he was giving you something else to hold onto. "Admit it—you just wanted to hear me say something nice for once."

"Jack," you warned, half-laughing, half-crying.

"You’re doing great," he said quietly, real again. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

And eventually—one shaky inhale at a time—your lungs obeyed.

When the power came back on, you stood side-by-side in the wash of fluorescent light, blinking against it.

You were still trembling faintly, your breaths shallow but more even now. Jack didn’t step away. Not right away.

"Feeling better?" he asked, voice low, steady.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Jack stood slowly, offering a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. His grip lingered just a second longer than necessary.

Then he tried, awkwardly, to lighten the mood. "If calling you a good girl was really all it took, then I’ve been severely underutilizing my motivational toolkit."

You let out a startled laugh, breath catching mid-sound. "Jesus, don’t start."

He gave you a crooked smile—relieved, even if the corners of it were still tight with concern. "Whatever works, right? Next time I’ll try it with more enthusiasm."

"Next time?" Your eyes widened like saucers—absolutely flabbergasted, half-tempted to dissolve into laughter or hit him with the nearest supply tray.

He shrugged, another smug grin threatening to cross his lips. "Just saying. If you’re going to unravel in a closet, might as well do it with someone who knows where to find the defibrillator."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his hand until the light flickered again.

Only then did you both step apart.

You didn’t say much.

He didn’t ask you to.

You’d made it as far as the locker room before the adrenaline crash hit. You rinsed your face, changed into sweats, and shoved your scrubs into your bag with trembling fingers. Jack had walked you out of the department without a word, just a hand hovering near your lower back.

"Thanks," you said quietly, as you scanned out. "For earlier."

Jack shook his head, like it was nothing. "You don’t need to thank me."

"Still," you said. "Just… please don’t mention it to anyone?"

He looked over at you, mouth twitching at the corner. "Mention what?"

That made you laugh—brief, breathless. "Right."

You parted ways near the waiting room, sharing your usual post-shift goodbyes.

Or so you thought.

Jack had been about to leave when he saw you—doubling back through the double doors, slipping through the staff-only entrance and back into the ER.

His brow furrowed.

He hesitated, then turned to follow.

The corridor was quiet. Most of the day shift hadn’t arrived yet, and the call room hallway echoed faintly under his footsteps. He paused outside the on-call room and knocked once, gently. When there was no response, he eased the door open.

The room was cramped and windowless, just enough space for a narrow bunk bed and a scuffed metal chair in the corner. The mattress dipped in the middle, the kind of sag that never quite let you forget your own weight. The attached bathroom offered a stall that barely passed for a shower—low pressure, eternally lukewarm, and loud enough to make you question whether it was working or crying for help. It felt more like a last resort than a place to rest.

Your bag was on the bed. Half-unpacked. Toothbrush laid out. Socks tucked into the corner. Like you were staying in a hotel. Like you’d been staying here.

He was still standing there when the bathroom door cracked open and you stepped out—hair damp, towel knotted tightly around your torso.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened. Jack’s went comically wide before he spun around on instinct, shielding his eyes like it was second nature. "Shit—sorry, I didn’t—"

"What are you doing here?" you asked at the exact same time he blurted, "What are you doing here?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jack cleared his throat, ears bright red. "I… saw you come back in. Just wanted to check."

You were still standing in place like a deer in headlights, towel clutched in a death grip.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, eyes very pointedly still on the wall, as if the peeling paint had suddenly become the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Fingers clenched around the edge of the towel, embarrassment prickled across your chest like static. "One second," you murmured, disappearing back into the bathroom before either of you could say anything more.

A minute later, the door creaked open and you stepped out again—now wrapped in an oversized hoodie and soft, baggy sweatpants that made you look small, almost swallowed whole by comfort. Jack’s brain did something deeply inconvenient at the sight.

You lingered in the doorway, sleeves tugged down over your hands, damp hair framing your face. "You can look now," you said, voice softer this time.

Jack didn’t move at first. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat in a way that sounded more like a stall tactic than anything physiological. Only after a beat did he finally turn, cautiously, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

He caught himself staring. Made a mental note not to think about it later. Failed almost immediately.

A breath left your lungs, quieter than the room deserved. You crossed to the bunk and sat down on the edge, fingers fidgeting with the seam of your sweatpants. "You can sit, if you want," you said, barely above a whisper.

The mattress shifted a second later as Jack lowered himself beside you, careful, slow—like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. His knee brushed yours. He didn’t move it. You didn't pull away.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a long exhale dragging out of you like it had been caught behind your ribs all night. "I’ve been staying here," you said finally. "Not every night. Just... enough of them."

You looked over at him, then down at your hands. "It’s not about work. I just... I didn’t want to go back to an empty place and hear it echo. Didn’t want to hear myself think. Breathe. This place—at least there’s always noise. Even if it’s bad, it’s something."

That made him pause.

"I don’t want to be alone..." you added, quieter.

Jack was quiet for a moment, then nodded once, slow. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, voice quieter than before. "You know I’m always here for you."

You looked down at your lap. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

Your fingers twitched, and before you realized it, you’d started picking at a loose thread along your cuff. Jack’s hands came up gently, catching yours before you could do more than graze your skin. He held them between his palms—warm, steady. Soothing.

His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "You never have to earn being cared about," he said softly. "Not with me."

A few moments passed in silence. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

Then, quietly, Jack reached into his pocket.

And handed you a key.

"I have a spare room," he said, voice low. "No expectations. No questions. Just… if you need it."

You stared at the key. Then at him.

He still didn’t look away, even as his voice gentled. "Don’t sleep here. Not if it hurts."

You took the key.

Not right away—but you did. Slipped it into the front pocket of your hoodie like it might vanish otherwise, like the metal might burn a hole through the fabric if you held it too long.

Jack didn’t press. Didn’t ask for promises.

He stood to leave and paused in the doorway.

"I’ll leave the light on," he said. "Just in case."

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, barely, and stared at the key in your lap long after the door shut behind him.

The call room was quiet after he left.

Too quiet.

You stared at the key until your fingers itched, then tucked it beneath your pillow like it needed protecting—from you, from the space, from the hollow echo of loneliness that filled the room once Jack was gone.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

And two days later—after another long shift, after you’d showered in the same miserable excuse for plumbing, after you’d sat cross-legged on the cot trying to convince yourself to just go home—you took the key out of your pocket.

You didn’t text him.

You just went.

The last time you'd been to his place was different. Less quiet. More raw.

It was the night after a shift that left the entire ER shell-shocked. You'd both ended up at Jack’s apartment with takeout containers and too much to drink. You’d lost a kid—ten years old, blunt trauma, thirty-eight minutes of resuscitation, and it still wasn’t enough. Jack had lost a veteran. OD. The kind of case that stuck to his ribs.

He’d handed you a beer without a word. The two of you had sat on opposite ends of his couch, silence stretching between you like a third presence until you broke it with a hoarse, "I keep hearing his mother scream."

Jack didn’t look away. "I keep thinking I should’ve caught it sooner."

The conversation didn’t get lighter. But it got easier.

At some point, you’d both ended up sitting on the floor, backs against the couch, knees bent and shoulders almost brushing.

He told you about Iraq. About the first time he held pressure on someone’s chest and knew it wouldn’t matter.

You told him about your first code as an intern and the way it rewired something you’ve never quite gotten back.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t need to. Just passed you another drink and said, "I’m glad you were there today."

And for a while, it was enough—being there, even if neither of you knew how to say why.

You’d gotten absolutely wasted that night. The kind of drunk that swung from giggles to tears and back again. Somewhere between your third drink and fourth emotional whiplash, you started dancing around his living room barefoot, music crackling from his ancient Bluetooth speaker. Tears for Fears was playing—Everybody Wants to Rule the World—and you twirled with your arms raised like the only way to survive grief was to outpace it.

Jack watched from the floor, amused. Smiling to himself. Maybe a little enamored.

You beckoned him up with exaggerated jazz hands. "C’mon, dance with me."

He shook his head, raising both palms. "No one needs to see that."

You marched over, grabbed his hands, and tugged hard enough to get him upright. He stumbled, laughing under his breath, and let you spin him like a carousel horse. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even really dancing. But it was you—vivid and loud and alive—and something in him ached with the sight of it.

He didn’t say anything that night.

But the way he looked at you said enough.

You were still holding his hands from the dance, your breathing slowing, your laughter softening into something tender. The overhead light had gone dim, the playlist shifting into quieter melodies, but you didn’t let go. Your fingers stayed laced behind his neck, your forehead nearly resting against his chest.

Jack’s palms found your waist—not possessive, just steady. Grounding. His thumbs pressed gently against your sides, and for a moment, you swayed in place like the world wasn’t full of ghosts. You were sobering up, but not rushing. Not running.

You hadn’t meant for the dance to turn into this. But he didn’t step away.

Didn’t look away either.

Just held you, as if the act itself might keep you both tethered to something real.

You woke the next morning to the sound of soft clinking—metal against ceramic, a pan being set down gently on the stovetop.

The smell of coffee drifted in first. Then eggs. Something buttery. Your head pounded—dull, insistent—but your body felt warm under the blanket someone had pulled up around your shoulders during the night.

Padding quietly down the hall, you peeked into the kitchen.

Jack stood at the stove, hair ever so slightly tousled from sleep, wearing the same faded t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants that made your chest ache with something you couldn’t name. He hadn’t seen you yet—was humming under his breath, absently stirring a pan with practiced rhythm.

You leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you seriously making breakfast?"

He turned, eyes crinkling. "You say that like it’s not a medically necessary intervention."

You snorted, stepping in. "You’re using a cast iron. I didn’t even know you owned one."

"Don’t tell Robby. He thinks I survive on rage and vending machine coffee."

You slid onto one of the stools, blinking blearily against the light. Jack set a mug in front of you without being asked—just the way you liked it. Just like always.

"You were a menace last night," he said lightly, pouring eggs into the pan.

You groaned, cupping your hands around the mug. "Oh god. Please don’t recap."

He grinned. "No promises. But the dance moves were impressive. You almost took me out during that one twirl."

"That’s because you wouldn’t dance with me!"

"I was trying to protect my knees."

You laughed, head tipping back slightly. Jack just watched you, eyes soft, like the sound of it made something settle inside him.

And for a moment, the silence that settled between you wasn’t hollow at all.

It was full.

If only tonight's circumstances were different.

Jack opened the door in sweatpants and a black v-neck that looked older than his medical degree. He blinked when he saw you—then smiled, just a little. Not wide. Not obvious. But real. The kind of expression that said he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see you until you were there.

He said nothing.

After a slow smile: "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon," he said lightly, trying to break the ice. "Unless you’re here to critique my towel-folding technique."

Lifting your hand slowly, the key warm against your skin, you tilted your head with a deadpan expression. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you said, tone dry—almost too dry—but not quite hiding the twitch of a smile. Jack’s mouth quirked at the corner.

Then you held the key out fully, and he stepped aside without a word.

"Spare room’s on the left," he said. “Bathroom’s across from it. The towels are clean. I think."

You smiled, a little helplessly. "Thanks."

Jack’s voice was soft behind you. "That was a joke, by the way. The towel thing."

You turned slightly. "What?"

He shrugged, almost sheepish. "Trying to lighten the mood," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you. "Make it... easier. Or, y'know. Less weird. That was the goal."

The admission caught you off guard. Jack Abbot had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, and this was definitely that.

You didn’t say anything right away, but your smile—this time—was a little steadier. A little sweeter.

"Careful, Jack," you murmured, feigning seriousness. "If you keep being charming, I might start expecting it."

He looked like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened, then closed again as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly debating whether to double down or play it cool.

"Guess I’ll go work on my stand-up material," he mumbled, half under his breath.

You bit back a laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair again—classic stall tactic—then finally nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

The room he offered you was small, clearly unused, but tidy in a way that suggested recent care. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed. A new toothbrush—still in its packaging—rested on the nightstand. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mixing with the soft clean trace of his detergent. The air had that faint freshness of a recently opened window, and the corners were free of dust. Someone had aired it out. Someone had taken the time to make space—room that hadn’t existed before, cleared just enough to let another person in.

You set your bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the blanket. Everything felt soft. Considered. You stared at the corner of the room like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

But it didn’t feel like a hospital either.

You took your time in the shower, letting the heat soak into your skin until the mirror fogged over and your thoughts slowed just enough to feel manageable. Jack's body wash smelled different on you—deeper, warmer somehow—and the scent clung faintly to your skin as you pulled on the softest clothes you had packed: shorts and an oversized shirt you barely remembered grabbing.

When you stepped out of the guest room, damp hair still clinging to your neck, the smell of garlic and something gently sizzling greeted you first. Jack was in the kitchen, stirring a pot with practiced ease, the kind of domestic ease that tugged at something inside you.

He turned when he heard your footsteps—and froze for a beat too long.

His eyes swept over you and caught on your hair, your shirt, the visible curve of your collarbone, the quietness about you that hadn't been there earlier. He blinked, clearly trying to recover, and failed miserably.

"Hey," you said gently, brushing some damp strands behind your ear. "Need help with anything?"

Jack cleared his throat—once, then again—and turned back to the stove, ears visibly reddening. "I think I’m good," he said. "Unless you want to make sure I don’t burn the rice."

You crossed the room and leaned against the counter next to him, still slightly bashful yourself. The scent of his soap clung to your sleeves, and Jack caught a trace of it on the air. He said nothing—but stirred a little slower. A little more carefully.

"Your apartment’s just as nice as I remembered," you said, soft and genuine, fingers brushing the edge of the countertop.

Jack glanced over at you, a flicker of something warm behind his eyes. "You mean the sterile surfaces and suspiciously outdated spice rack?"

You gave him a knowing smile. "I mean the parts that feel like you."

That stopped him for a second. His stirring slowed to a halt. He looked back down at the pot, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

"Careful," he murmured, voice low. "If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you actually like me."

You nudged his elbow gently. "I might. Don’t let it go to your head."

He smiled to himself, the kind of expression that didn't need to be seen to be felt. And in the soft space between those words, something settled. Easier. Closer.

Dinner was simple—pan-seared salmon, rice, roasted vegetables. Nothing fancy, but everything assembled with care. Jack Abbot, it turned out, could cook.

You said so after the first bite—and let out a soft, involuntary moan. Jack froze mid-chew, raised a brow, and gave you a look.

"Wow," he said dryly, lips twitching. "Should I be offended or flattered?"

You felt heat rise across your cheeks, laughing as you covered your mouth with your napkin. "Don't tell me you're jealous of a piece of salmon?"

He grinned. "I’m a man of many talents," he said dryly, passing you the pepper mill. "Just don’t ask me to bake."

You smiled over your glass of water, a little more relaxed now. "No offense, but I didn’t exactly have ‘culinary savant’ on my Jack Abbot bingo card."

He shot you a look. "What was on the card?"

You hummed, pretending to think. "Chronic insomniac. Secret softie. Closet hoarder of protein bars. Dad joke connoisseur."

Jack snorted, setting down his fork. "You’re lucky the salmon’s good or I’d be deeply offended."

You grinned. "So you admit it."

And he did—not in words, but in the way his gaze lingered a moment too long across the table. In the way he refilled your glass as soon as it dipped below halfway. In the quiet, sheepish curve of his smile when you caught him looking. In the way his laugh lost its usual edge and softened, like maybe—just maybe—he could get used to this.

After dinner, you moved to the sink before Jack could protest. He tried, weakly, something about guests and hospitality, but you waved him off and started rinsing plates.

Jack came up behind you, handing over dishes one by one as you scrubbed and loaded them into the dishwasher to dry. His presence was warm at your back, the occasional graze of his hand or arm sending tiny shivers up your spine. The silence between you was companionable, laced with unspoken things neither of you quite knew how to name.

"You’re seriously not gonna let me help?" he asked, bumping your hip with his.

"This is letting you help," you shot back. "You’re the designated passer."

"Such a glamorous title," he murmured, his voice low near your ear. "Do I get a badge?"

You glanced at him over your shoulder, a smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you survive the suds.

Jack leaned in just as you turned back to the sink, and for a moment, your arms brushed, your shoulders aligned. His gaze lingered on you again—your profile, your damp hair starting to curl at the edges, the stretch of your shirt down your back.

You glanced back at him, close enough now to kiss, breath caught halfway between surprise and anticipation when—

Jack dipped his finger into the soap bubbles and tapped the tip of your nose.

You blinked, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack held your wide-eyed gaze a beat longer, then said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Nice look, Bubbles."

And the dam broke. You laughed, bright and unguarded, flicking water in his direction.

He dodged each droplet as best he could with a grin, triumphant. "I stand by my methods."

You scooped a pile of bubbles into your hand with deliberate menace.

Jack immediately backed away, holding both palms up like he was under arrest. "No. No no no—"

You grinned, nodding slowly with mock gravity. The chase ensued. He darted around the counter, nearly tripping on the rug as you chased after him, suds in hand and laughter trailing like a siren’s call. He was fast—but you were relentless.

"Truce!" he yelped, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands held high in mock surrender.

You smirked, one brow raised. "Hmm. I don’t know… this feels like a trap."

Jack looked up at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Mercy. Have mercy. I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t soap me."

You hummed, pretending to consider it. "Anything?"

"Within reason. And dignity. Maybe." He started lowering his hands.

You tilted your head, letting the moment draw out. Jack watched you carefully, breath held, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I mean…" he started. "If praise is your thing, you’re doing a fantastic job intimidating me right now."

Your mouth parted, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack smirked, sensing an opening. "You excel at it. Really. Top tier menace."

You laughed, nearly doubling over. "Oh my god. You’re the worst." The bubbles had dissipated by now, leaving you with only damp hands.

"And yet, here you are," he said, still kneeling, still grinning.

You shook your head, stray droplets slipping from your hand, your laughter easing into something softer. "Get up, you idiot."

But Jack didn’t—not right away. Still on his knees, he inched closer, crawling forward with slow, deliberate grace. His hands found your thighs, resting there gently, like a prayer. Thumbs stroked the place where skin met fabric, featherlight and reverent.

"I mean it," he said, voice quieter now, almost solemn. "You terrify me."

Your breath caught.

"In the best way," he added, gaze lifting. "You walk into a trauma bay like you own it. You fight like hell for your patients. You get under my skin without even trying."

His hands slid up slowly, still gentle, still hesitant, like waiting for permission. "Sometimes I think the only thing I believe in anymore is you."

Your heart thudded. Your hands, still damp, twitched against your sides.

"You deserve to be worshipped," he murmured, and that was when your knees nearly buckled.

The joke was long forgotten. The laughter faded. All that was left was the way Jack looked at you now—like he wasn’t afraid of the quiet anymore.

His hands had made a slow, reverent climb to your bare skin, thumbs sweeping small, anchoring circles into your skin. You felt the heat of him everywhere, your body taut with anticipation, nerves stretched thin. He didn’t rush. Just looked up at you, drinking in every unsteady breath, every flicker of hesitation in your gaze.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, voice low. If you weren't so dazed, you could've sworn you heard a shadow of amusement. "You want to stop?"

You shook your head—barely—and he nodded like he understood something sacred.

"I want you to feel good," he said softly, leaning in to press the lightest kiss to your thigh, just below the hem of your shirt. "I want to take my time with you. If you’ll let me?"

The question lodged in your chest like a plea. You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and his hands flexed slightly in response.

Jack stood first, rising fluidly, eyes never leaving yours. As he straightened, your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the base of his neck. That was all it took—the smallest pull, the softest touch—and the space between you collapsed.

Not in chaos, not in desperation, but in something careful. Like reverence wrapped in desire. Like he’d been waiting for this, quietly, for longer than he dared admit.

And when his lips met yours, it was a live wire.

Deep. Soft. Unapologetically tender.

But it didn’t stay chaste. Jack’s hands found your hips, drawing you closer, fitting your bodies together like a secret only the two of you knew how to keep. His tongue brushed yours in a slow, exploratory sweep, and you gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the back of his shirt.

The kiss turned hungry, molten—slow-burning restraint giving way to a need you both had held too tightly for too long. Jack’s hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing the curve of your spine, and you arched into him, a quiet gasp slipping free.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured between kisses, voice thick, reverent.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."

That was all he needed.

And when he kissed you again, it was like promise and prayer and everything you hadn’t let yourself want until now.

His hands moved with aching care—one sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck, the other splaying wide at your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was slow and encompassing, more smolder than spark, until it wasn’t—until it ignited all at once.

Jack walked you backward until your hips bumped the counter, and he pressed into the space you gave him, forehead resting against yours. "You undo me," he whispered, breath trembling against your lips. "Every single time."

You were already breathless, clinging to his shirt, heart pounding in your throat.

His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, hands exploring—confident now, reverent, like he was learning every part of you for the first time and never wanted to forget. You moaned softly into the kiss, and Jack cursed under his breath, low and ragged, like the sound had torn through his composure.

And then there was no more space. No more distance. Just heat, and hunger, and the slow unraveling of restraint as Jack lifted you gently onto the counter, your knees parting for him, his name spilling from your lips like a secret.

You kissed like the world was ending. Like this was your only chance to get it right. He needed to feel you pressed against him to believe it wasn’t just a dream.

The kiss deepened, urgent and breathless, until Jack was devouring every sound you made, like he could live off the way you whimpered into his mouth. He groaned low in his throat when your nails scraped lightly down his back, your body arching into his hands like instinct.

He touched you like a man memorizing, devout and thorough—hands mapping the curve of your waist, mouth dragging heat across your throat. He tasted sweat and shampoo and you, and that alone nearly undid him. You felt the tension coil in his spine, the restraint he was holding like a dam, every movement deliberate.

"God," he rasped, lips at your ear, "you have no idea what you do to me."

And when you gasped again, hips shifting, he exhaled a shaky breath like he was trying not to fall apart just from the sound.

"You smell like my soap," he murmured with a rough chuckle, nosing along your jaw. "But you still taste like you."

You whimpered, and he kissed you again—harder now, letting the hunger break through, swallowing your reaction like a man starved.

He praised you in murmured fragments, over and over, voice low and wrecked.

Beautiful.

Brave.

So fucking good.

Mine.

Each word making your skin feel like it was glowing beneath his hands.

And when he finally took you to bed, it wasn’t rushed or careless—it was everything he hadn’t said before now, every ounce of feeling poured into his mouth on your skin, every whispered breath of worship like he was praying into the hollow of your throat.

Jack kissed you like he needed to memorize the taste of every sound you made, like your skin was the answer to every question he’d never asked out loud. His hands roamed slowly, confidently, with that same quiet focus he wore in trauma bays—except now it was all for you. Every inch of you. His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your ribs, the soft curve of your stomach—pressing his devotion into the places you tried to hide.

You felt undone by how gently he worshipped you, how much he wanted—not just your body, but your breath, your closeness, your everything. He murmured praise against your skin like it was sacred, like you were something holy in his arms.

And when he finally moved over you, hands braced on either side of your head, eyes searching yours like he was asking permission one more time—you nodded.

He exhaled like it hurt to hold back. Then gave you everything.

Every kiss was a promise, every touch a confession. He moved with aching tenderness, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him, like this wasn’t just sex but something divine. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, breath catching in your throat with every thrust. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was slow, overwhelming, unbearably close.

He whispered your name like a prayer, forehead pressed to yours, and when you finally came apart beneath him, he followed soon after—undone by the way you sang his name like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Later, tangled in blankets and the afterglow, Jack pulled you closer without a word. One hand splayed wide against your back, the other curled around your fingers like he wasn’t ready to let you go—not now, maybe not ever. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the warmth of him, the scent of skin and comfort and safety.

"I’m gonna need you to stop making that noise when you taste food," he murmured eventually, voice sleep-thick and amused.

You huffed a laugh into his shoulder. "Or what?"

"I’ll marry you on the spot. No warning. Just a salmon fillet and a ring pop."

Your laughter shook the bed.

Jack smirked, the ghost of a tease already forming. "If I’d known praise got you going, I’d have started ages ago."

You swatted at his chest, heat blooming across your cheeks. "Don’t you dare weaponize this."

He grinned into your hair, voice low and wrecked and entirely too fond. "Too late. I’m gonna ruin you with kindness."

You huffed, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Jack chuckled and pulled you closer.

You were never going to live this down. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.

Because Jack Abbot being a secret softie had officially made its triumphant return to your bingo card—and if you were being honest, it had probably been the center square since day one.

"You know," you murmured against his chest, lips curving into a grin, "for someone who acts so stoic at work, you sure have a lot of secrets."

Jack stirred slightly, arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah? Like what?"

You propped yourself up on one elbow, counting off on your fingers. "Total softie. Great cook. An absolute sex god."

Jack groaned into your shoulder, bashful. "Jesus."

"I'm just saying," you teased. "If there’s a hidden talent for needlepoint or poetry, now would be the time to confess."

He lifted his head, eyes heavy with sleep and amusement. "I used to write really bad song lyrics in middle school. That count?"

You laughed, light and easy, your fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. "God, I bet they were terrible."

Jack smirked. "You’ll never know."

"I’ll find them," you said with mock determination. "I’ll unearth them. Just wait."

He kissed your forehead, chuckling softly. "I’m terrified."

And he was—just not of you. Only of how much he wanted this to last.

Jack smiled into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're incredible, you know that?"

You shook your head, bashful, eyes cast toward the sheets—but Jack didn’t let it slide. His hand curled tighter around yours, his voice still soft but firm. "Hey. I meant that. You are."

When you didn’t answer right away, he leaned in a little closer, his thumb brushing along your wrist. "I need you to hear it. And believe it. You’re—extraordinary."

The earnestness in his voice left you no room to hide. Slowly, your eyes lifted to meet his.

Jack held your gaze like a promise. "Say okay."

"Okay," you whispered, cheeks burning.

He smiled again, slower this time, and kissed your temple once more. "Good girl."

You didn’t answer—just smiled you were on cloud nine and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, you drifted in and out of sleep wrapped in warm limbs and steadier breath, heart finally quiet for the first time in days. Jack’s hand never left yours, his thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles over your knuckles like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

Your limbs were tangled with his beneath the softened hush of early morning, the sheets kicked messily down to the foot of the bed. Skin to skin, steady breathing, fingers still loosely clasped where they had found each other in the dark. He shifted just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder, murmured something you didn’t quite catch—but it didn’t matter. The weight of the night had passed. What remained was warmth. Stillness. Something whole.

You fell asleep like that, curled into each other without pretense. Closer than you'd ever planned, safer than you thought possible. And for the first time in what felt like ages, the quiet wasn’t heavy.

It was home.

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dismalflo · 1 month ago

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can't help myself

Sirius Black x reader who aren't great communicators ✩ 6k words

summary: you and Sirius sleep together for the fun of it. no strings. you decide to call it off when it all becomes too much and the cons outweigh the pros. and maybe you have some feelings.

cw: allusions to sex, friends with benefits with feelings, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, accidental wingman james

“Hello?” you call, letting yourself into the Potter’s house, frowning a little when it seems oddly quiet. James had insisted the first warm day of the year called for a proper get-together—and really, who could say no to seeing all your friends in one place?

You’d pulled on your sweetest summer clothes, ready to soak up the sun and laugh until your stomach hurt.

James’ head pops around a doorway, curls a messy halo around his face, and he grins the moment he sees you—that big, eye-crinkling kind of smile that makes it impossible not to smile back.

“There you are,” he says. “You look very nice.” He nods toward the back door. “Everyone’s in the garden. Want a drink?”

“I’m alright for now, thanks,” you say, walking toward him.

You give him a quick hug—though, he turns it into a full-body squeeze—before he leads you outside.

The garden’s full of chatter and laughter, warm in every way. You give out quick hugs, a few hellos, before settling into a fold-out chair next to Lily.

“God, you look like you're ready to pop,” you say, leaning in to give her forearm a friendly squeeze.

You haven’t seen her and James as much lately, with the baby on the way and everything. It makes these little moments feel even more special. They’re glowing, both of them, like love has settled around them in something soft and golden. It twists at something in your chest—not jealousy, exactly, just a strange ache. Being loved like that, freely and without question, is… unfamiliar.

“I feel like it too,” Lily says with a groan, glaring half-heartedly at her belly. “Still a few months left.”

She lets her head loll back against the sun-warmed chair, eyes fluttering shut as she exhales dramatically. “Swear to God, if one more person tells me I’m glowing, I might hex them.”

You snort, reaching for the lemonade on the little table between you. “You are glowing, though. Like. In a glowy, magic-sunbeam sort of way. Sorry to say, it’s very annoying for the rest of us.”

Lily cracks one eye open, smirking. “You’re just mad I outshine you.”

“Always have,” you agree easily, bumping your knee against hers. The two of you smile at each other for a beat, and it’s one of those soft, warm silences that doesn’t feel like anything needs to be said.

James appears again, this time with two sweating glasses of something stronger in hand. He passes one to Remus and drops into the grass next to Lily with a content sigh, resting his chin on her knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They start whispering lowly to each other, and even though you know them both incredibly well, you still feel like you're intruding. So instead you turn to eye up the buffet spread, covered in cling film, spying what you might like to eat.

Just as you ready yourself to move, a ring clad hand holding a plate moves into your field of view and suddenly it's being placed in your lap. You look up squinting against the sun, ready to say thank you, but Sirius shifts to solve your squinting problem and the words dry up in your mouth.

“Eat that, please.”

“I was just about to get up for some.” you say, dumbfounded.

“Almost like I can read your mind, babe.” He replies, winking at you. “Eat.”

He flops down next to James and they start talking about something you don't care to listen to. When your eyes meet Lily’s, she gives you a knowing look that you choose to ignore, staring down at the food on the plate instead.

You and Sirius have, for lack of better words, been fucking for a while. It started after a drunken night out and it continued from there. It's fun. Casual. But the more you’ve thought that recently, the more it feels like you're trying to convince yourself. The lines are starting to blur and it doesn’t really feel like two friends shagging for fun anymore. Or it doesn’t to you. You can never tell what's going on in Sirius’ head.

You’re jolted from your thoughts by Sirius gently shaking your knee, his hand warm where it rests. You blink, realizing James and Lily have disappeared. Embarrassment flushes hot in your chest—you hadn’t even noticed.

“You okay?” he asks, eyebrows pulling together with quiet concern.

“Yeah. Yes.” You nod quickly, offering your best smile.

He studies you for a moment, like he’s not entirely convinced, but then relaxes with a little huff of relief.

“You’re coming home with me, yeah?”

You hesitate—just for a second—but you nod again. Of course you do. You can’t help yourself.

When you arrive at Sirius’ flat, it's a well rehearsed routine. He offers you a drink or something to eat, because he’s sweet, and when you decline a switch is flipped. Rather quickly, your mouths are moulded together in bruising kisses, tripping over yourselves as you make your way to his bed. Or his couch. Or twice, his kitchen.

Tonight it's his bed.

Despite the exhaustion rolling over you, you get up to pilfer one of Sirius’ band T-shirts before crawling back up the bed toward him. It always shocks you how comfortable he is in his nakedness. He lies there like he owns the world, stretched out and unbothered, utterly bare. There's nothing coy about him. He’s the very picture of ease, of indulgence.

He should be that comfortable, you think. He looks like a man sent by the gods to cause your damnation. His tattoos stand stark against his pale skin, and his sharp features are magnetic. He’s beautiful.

When you make your way back to him, he pulls you quickly into his side, intent on closeness. You’re grateful for the small barrier of fabric between you then. It makes it feel less real. He starts talking—properly, about little things that have happened since the last time you saw him. You listen, your head tucked under his chin, fingers idly tracing the lines of the tattoo curling over his ribs. His voice is low and warm, somewhere between storytelling and confession, and you let it wash over you.

It’s a strange thing, how this always happens—how easy it is to fall into this rhythm with him. Just bodies. Just convenience. Just friends.

“I missed this,” he says eventually, like it’s nothing. Like the words don’t lodge somewhere deep in your chest.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “You missed getting laid? I saw you a week ago,” you tease, your tone playful.

But Sirius just looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment too long. Then he huffs a laugh, brushing a thumb over your shoulder where the shirt has fallen slightly. “That too.”

You laugh, the sound low and comfortable, and brush your hand through his messy hair. "You know, you're impossible," you say, rolling your eyes before resting your head back against his chest. You can hear his heart beating beneath the skin, steady and calm.

He shrugs, his hand drifting down your side, tracing the curve of your waist with lazy circles. “Like you can talk,” he murmurs softly.

You lift your head to retaliate, but his gaze catches you off guard, and the need for space becomes overwhelming.

You pull away from him, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “I should go,” you murmur, voice softer now. Your fingers curl around the hem of the shirt, readying yourself to change back into your clothes. Something about leaving feels necessary.

Sirius watches you, his eyes tracing your movements with an unreadable expression. You grab your shoes, your phone, your scattered things, but before you can make it to the door, he speaks again, his voice quieter this time.

“Stay.”

It’s a simple request, a command almost. You hesitate, your hand still on the doorknob, and glance back over your shoulder.

“Why?” you ask, not unkindly. He’s done this a lot recently—asked you to stay when he shouldn’t. Usually, you’d stay without a second thought. It doesn’t help the scrambled thoughts flying through your mind, so you need to know why.

His gaze is intense, his lips parted slightly as if he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I don’t want you to leave,” he admits, the vulnerability creeping into his voice in a way you’re not used to hearing. It catches you off guard.

You could leave. You should leave. But you also know, without a doubt, you want to stay.

The way he said it lingers in your mind, replaying over and over, keeping you awake long into the night. You find yourself staring at Sirius’ sleeping face, running the pros and cons of this arrangement through your head. Quickly, the myriad of negatives outweigh the few positives.

The biggest one is that, despite the closeness of it all, you feel lonelier for it. A deep, gnawing sadness tightens around your chest every time you think about it. There’s doubt too. You wonder if there’s something wrong with you—something wrong for him to want you this way and no other. To know you, and to think that a good fuck is all he’s ever wanted. To know that you’re feelings won't be reciprocated.

The morning light creeps in through the blinds, pale and soft, casting a hazy glow over the room. It’s quiet, except for the faint sound of Sirius’ breathing beside you. You try to focus on the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, but all you can think about is the conversation you know you need to have.

You try to ease out of his arms without waking him, but his hold tightens around you, instinctual, almost possessive. For a moment, you just lie there, tangled in the sheets with him, eyes closed, wondering what it would feel like to simply stay. To keep pretending this is all fine—that you can keep moving like this: no strings, no complications. But the gnawing feeling in your chest is louder than the silence in the room. It’s impossible to ignore anymore.

Finally, you gently disentangle yourself from him, sliding out of bed and standing still for a moment at the edge, watching him sleep. He looks so peaceful. So at ease. It’s a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

You move quietly to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, taking deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together. When you return, Sirius is awake, blinking sleepily, his messy hair even more disheveled than before. He reaches for you without saying anything, just a simple gesture—a pull toward him.

You hesitate, then sit down at the edge of the bed, wringing your hands together, unsure of where to start. Sirius notices the change in your demeanor immediately, his brow furrowing in concern as he sits up beside you, the sheets falling around his waist.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice rough from sleep. “What’s up? You okay?”

You want to say something flippant, something easy to brush it off, but it’s not that simple. You can't make this easy for either of you anymore. You exhale slowly, gathering the courage to speak.

“I think we need to talk,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the floor, suddenly acutely aware of the space between the two of you. It’s too much now. You know what you need to say.

Sirius sits up straighter, his hand instinctively reaching for yours, but you pull back slightly—not enough to be distant, but just enough to let him know this is serious. "What about?" His voice is tinged with uncertainty now, the light teasing that usually lingers in his words gone.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your heartbeat, but it feels like it’s skipping in your chest, pulsing painfully with every word you know you have to say. “I think we need to stop... sleeping together,” you say finally, the words hanging heavy in the air. "I don’t think we should do this anymore, Sirius."

His expression falters, confusion flashing across his face like a wave. He blinks at you, his lips parting as if he’s not sure he heard you right. "Wait, what? Stop? Why?" His voice sounds a little too light, like he’s hoping you’re joking.

Your heart races, and you pull your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees for comfort. "I just... I don’t think it’s working for me anymore. This—us. Sleeping together, I mean." You shift uncomfortably, trying to find the right words, but they feel inadequate, incomplete.

He leans back against the headboard, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. His voice drops to a quieter, more serious tone. “I thought we were having fun.”

Your chest tightens at that. Fun. It’s all he ever thought it was, wasn’t it? To him, it was just easy, simple. The word "fun" sits there like a wall between you both.

“We were," you say, your voice softer now. "We are. But I think... I just don’t think I can do it anymore.”

Sirius stays silent for a moment, his eyes watching you with a mixture of confusion and something deeper—something you can’t quite place. The playful charm is gone, and you feel the weight of your words settle between you like a thick fog.

You turn to face him, trying to meet his eyes, but it’s harder than you expected.

Guilt creeping up your spine. "I just can't keep doing this." you repeat.

Sirius doesn’t respond immediately, but the silence between you thickens. His brow furrows deeper, eyes scanning you as if he's trying to decipher a puzzle he doesn’t quite understand. It makes the pit in your stomach grow. You thought you had been clear enough, but the confusion in his gaze says otherwise.

Finally, he speaks, his tone low and edged with frustration. “You’re not making any sense,” he says, his voice rougher than before, as though it’s hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that you’re pulling away.

You want to explain, want to make him understand, but it’s like the words are stuck in your throat. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, unsure if jumping is the right move, but knowing you can’t stay on the edge forever.

“I just… I can’t keep doing this, Sirius,” you say again, but your voice wavers, and you curse yourself for it. “I can’t keep pretending this is just fun. Because it’s not. I can’t… feel like this, every time, and still act like nothing’s changed.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his face a mixture of confusion and something else—something raw, like he's hurt. The weight of it presses on you, and you wish you could take the words back, or at least make him see how much this hurts you too.

“This is what you want?” he asks softly, leaning forward slightly, still trying to figure it all out.

You nod, though it feels wrong, like your heart’s trying to convince you otherwise. “I think so,” you whisper.

He leans back, running his fingers through his hair again, his lips pressed tight. You can see the frustration building, feel the distance stretching between you, even though you’re sitting right next to each other. His eyes flicker to yours, searching. “I don’t get it. We’ve always been… like this. What’s changed?”

You shake your head, unsure yourself. "Maybe it was always too much. Maybe I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. It’s just—" you falter, trying to put it all together. “I’m not sure what I want, but I know I can’t keep doing this with you. Not like this.”

For a moment, the silence feels endless. He watches you, his face unreadable, his hand still resting on the sheets. Finally, he speaks again, softer this time. "Are we… Are we still friends, then?" The question feels tentative, like he's afraid of the answer, as if that one word—friends—might fall out of his reach.

You take a deep breath, the weight of his words sinking in. You’re not sure how to answer. Your own heart is unsettled, but you know deep down, this isn’t something you want to lose.

"Of course, we are." You manage to force the words out, even as they feel fragile

You’ve started to think that you and Sirius don’t know how to be friends without all the extras anymore. Maybe you never were just friends to begin with. You can’t remember. That much is painfully clear in the three weeks you’ve spent avoiding him.

And you've gotten good at it—dodging group plans, slipping away without drawing too much attention. Until Remus catches on in less than five minutes when you meet up for coffee.

“Are you coming to Lily and James’ this weekend?” he asks, casually sipping his drink.

Another get-together in their garden to celebrate their anniversary. You want to be there—you love your friends, and you love seeing them so happy together—but the thought of facing Sirius for the first time since you called things off feels like swallowing glass.

“I can’t. My cat’s at the vet, y’know how nervous she gets.”

“You used that excuse for the pub quiz on Wednesday,” he replies, blunt as ever. You feel your face flush, caught.

“Yeah, well… she’s very poorly.”

“No, she’s not. You’d be a wreck if she were.”

“How would you know, Lupin?” you shoot back, defensive. He gives you a knowing look, his eyes narrowing slightly, and you deflate under his gaze.

“Fine. She’s not.”

For a brief moment, Remus looks victorious before his expression softens into something more serious.

“Has someone upset you?” he asks, his tone quiet and gentle.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you reply quickly, nodding a little too hard. “I’ll be there.” He doesn’t believe you—he’s too good at reading people for that—but he lets it slide, for now.

That’s how you end up wedged between Remus and Lily on a sofa that’s far too small, trying your best to ignore the weight of Sirius’ gaze from across the room. It’s strange—you're trying so hard not to look at him, but every time you do, your eyes lock. Sirius gives you a shy smile, and you can’t help but return it, even though it stings more than it should.

The party hums along as it always does, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music in the background. You find yourself slipping into the familiar rhythm of the evening: catching up with friends, teasing James about his terrible taste in music, and joining in on the lighthearted bickering about the best way to cook some dish. For a moment, you almost forget about the ache that has been gnawing at you these past few weeks.

The evening passes quickly, the hours slipping by in a haze of friendly conversation and the occasional awkward silence when your eyes meet Sirius’s across the room. But as the night deepens, you realize you’re starting to feel more comfortable—like maybe you can be around him without everything falling apart. Or at least, you tell yourself you’re starting to.

Lily is standing now, announcing she’s about to make another round of drinks. "Anyone need a refill?" she asks. You wave her off, content with the drink in your hand. You’re already nursing it as much as you can, using it as an excuse to avoid conversation and, more importantly, Sirius.

You take a deep breath, pushing yourself off the sofa, silently grateful for the chance to escape the moment. "I’ll be right back," you murmur, heading toward the bathroom. The warmth of the room suddenly feels too much, and you need a space where you can breathe.

Before you can make it far, James appears in front of you, dragging you by the arm to the nearest unoccupied room.

“Do I need to go get your wife, prongs?” you joke as he shuts the door behind you.

“What's going on with you and Sirius?” The tact that Remus had skirting around the issue is nowhere to be seen in James Potter. To be fair to him, he looks distraught and you can't tell why.

“Nothing, why?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Come off it, L/N, did you fall out? Have you stopped shagging?”

“You knew?” you mutter, your confusion only growing. As far as you’re aware neither of you had told anyone you were fucking. But it was never a rule, so you suppose Sirius telling James is probably quite likely.

“Everyone knows, you’re both bloody obvious. All smiley goo-goo eyes when the other isn't looking.” you can imagine yourself like that, sure, but Sirius? Never. Not over you anyway.

“Then, yes, we’ve stopped sleeping together.”

James lights up then, triumphant.

“I knew something was wrong with him, he’s been moping around for weeks. Weeks!” James rambles on, his words so fast you struggle to take them in. “I knew it had something to do with you too since he’d stopped mooning over you. I thought you might’ve just rejected him and it was taking a while to get over all the pining, this makes more sense.”

You’re stunned to silence at that. What does he mean ‘all the pining’? It’s more the other way around surely. When you look back at James’ face he’s got a hand covering his mouth, and regret covering his face. He’s told you something he wasn't supposed to.

"James," you begin, your voice quieter than you'd intended, "What exactly are you talking about?"

James winces, looking incredibly sheepish, as if he realizes the weight of what he’s just let slip. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze.

"Well… I didn’t mean to—shit. You didn’t know, did you?" he mutters, sounding almost guilty

You stare at him, trying to piece everything together. “Why didn’t he tell me?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and your chest tightens uncomfortably.

“I don’t know, but he’s miserable, Y/N,” James says, his voice softer now, like he's trying to be delicate. “He tried to play it off, but I’ve never seen him this down. It’s not just because of the… whatever you want to call it between the two of you. It’s because he really liked you. And I think he thought it was more than just a casual thing.”

The words hang in the air like a cold draft. You swallow thickly, feeling suddenly dizzy. He can't be right. That's exactly why you had ended it, too scared of feeling something more than casual for him. Too scared knowing that he doesn’t want more, not with you. Or at least he didn't.

James freezes, the words hanging in the air for a long moment. His eyes widen slightly, and his mouth opens and closes like he's trying to figure out the best way to proceed. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing his next words carefully.

“Maybe you should speak to Sirius, yeah?” He says softly, pulling you into a steady hug, hand sweeping across your back.

You nod, pulling away trying for a smile, landing on a grimace.

“I need to think for a bit, I’m gonna go home.”

You don’t remember getting home, not really. The rush of thoughts, the confusion, the words James said—they're all spinning in your head in a dizzying circle. You pace your room, your fingers tapping against your phone like you're trying to ward off the silence, but it only amplifies the questions in your mind.

The uncertainty, the back-and-forth, had always been there, but you’d convinced yourself that it was just... something casual. Nothing more. But what if you were wrong? What if everything you thought you knew about Sirius, about what you two had, was actually completely backwards?

You pick up your phone, stare at it for a moment, before unlocking the screen. Taking a breath, fingers hovering over his contact name. It’s late, but what else do you have to lose at this point?

You press the call button before you can talk yourself out of it, your heart hammering in your chest as the phone rings. You count the seconds, but when he picks up, it feels like the world tilts.

“Y/N?” Sirius’s voice is low, groggy, and it makes you pause for a second. “It’s late. What’s up?”

You hesitate, unsure of what exactly you're asking for, but all you know is that you need something. You need to see him.

“Can I come over?” you ask, the words falling out almost too quickly. “Please.”

There’s a long pause, and you hear a faint rustling on the other end of the line. “Uh… I don’t know,” he murmurs, clearly still trying to piece things together, just like you. “It’s late, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on. What do you want?”

You swallow thickly, the uncertainty creeping back in. But you push it aside, determined. “I need to talk to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment longer. “Alright,” he finally says, voice softer now.

You don’t reply, just hang up and grab your coat, your mind racing faster than your feet as you rush to the door.

When you arrive at his flat, you don’t bother knocking—you simply open the door, your pulse pounding in your ears. He’s standing there, pacing, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. His hair’s messy, his shirt slightly wrinkled, but it's like seeing him in this state makes him look more human, more real.

He glances up when you step inside, his expression unreadable. His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes flicking to the floor for a moment before landing back on you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice cracks slightly. “I thought you didn’t want me—this.”

The question is simple, but it feels like he’s asking something deeper.

You take a step toward him, your throat dry, but your voice is steady. “I never said I didn’t want you, Sirius,” you reply, your words firm but quiet, like you’re testing them as much as you’re saying them.

His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and he opens his mouth to say something but pauses. The air between you crackles, charged with everything that hasn’t been said.

You swallow, your gaze flickering down to your hands before looking him in the eye again. “James said something this afternoon. And I need to know if it’s true.”

Sirius freezes, a hesitant breath escaping his lips as he shifts on his feet, his brow furrowed. “What did he say?” His voice is almost cautious, like he's afraid of what you might say next.

You take another step closer, your heart beating louder in your chest. “He said… he said you liked me. More than just… whatever it was between us.”

The silence that follows is thick, heavy. You can see the muscles in his jaw tighten, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to process your words. His fingers twitch slightly, but he doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t move at all, except for the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.

“I don’t…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to find the right words, but everything feels tangled. “Y/N, I—"

"You don’t have to say anything," you interrupt, your voice quieter this time, softer, even though your insides are a storm of confusion and uncertainty. "I just need to know. I need to know if it’s true."

Sirius looks at you for what feels like an eternity. His eyes are wide, and the way he shifts on his feet makes it clear he’s struggling to find the right words. You can see the conflict in him, the way his mind races through possibilities, each one more tangled than the last. And you can feel the same confusion mirrored in your own chest.

"I—" he starts, his voice rough, but he stops himself. The weight of the question seems to sit heavily between you, like a physical thing pressing on both of you.

“I’m not sure how to explain it," he says finally, the frustration evident in the motion. "It’s not like I set out to fall for you. I didn’t even want to, if I’m being honest.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a second, you don’t know how to react. You want to respond, but it feels like everything inside you is twisting.

Sirius continues, his voice softer now, as if he’s carefully choosing his words. "But I did.”

The honesty in his voice is raw, unexpected. It’s not what you thought you’d hear. And, for the first time in weeks, you feel the tight knot in your chest loosen just a little. Maybe you were wrong.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he admits, eyes flicking to the floor, then back up to meet yours. “I didn’t want to ruin everything we had… I thought if I said something, it’d mess it up. So I kept quiet.”

“You thought I didn’t want you?” The question feels almost ridiculous as it leaves your lips, but the confusion is still fresh. “I—I was scared too, Sirius. Scared of wanting more, scared of what it meant. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I pushed it away. But… I thought it was just me.”

Sirius looks at you, something raw in his eyes, like he's waiting for permission. You see the hesitation in him, but you also see something else. Something familiar, something that makes you take the final step forward, closing the distance between you. Your hand finds his, and for the first time in weeks, it feels right.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice hoarse now, his thumb brushing against your hand. “That I made you think all I wanted from you was a fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to make it work.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of it all finally begin to lift. “We’re both a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” you say, trying to lighten the moment, but your voice trembles just a little.

Sirius chuckles softly, the sound bringing some relief. “Yeah. Definitely.”

You both fall into a silence that isn’t uncomfortable, not really—it’s just… full. Full of everything unsaid, everything finally surfacing, finding its place between the two of you. His thumb keeps brushing over the back of your hand, soft, hesitant, like he still can’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll vanish.

Your heart thuds loud in your chest, but something inside you is steadier now, like the ground beneath your feet isn’t shifting quite so much. You glance up at him—he’s watching you, eyes dark and unsure, but softer than you’ve seen them in a while.

You take a breath, then another. And then—quietly, almost like you’re afraid of scaring the moment away—you say it.

“Sirius?”

He hums in response, eyes locked on yours. There’s something nervous in the way he looks at you now. Like he knows something’s coming, but doesn’t dare hope for it.

You press your lips together, cheeks warming as your voice dips into something almost shy. “Do you… do you want to be my boyfriend?”

The words hang there between you, fragile and small.

Sirius blinks. Then blinks again. You watch as something shifts in his face—like whatever wall he’s been holding up finally cracks, just a little.

“Are you serious?” he asks, lips twitching like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling too fast, too much.

You nod, heart hammering in your chest. “I mean… yeah. If you want to be.”

And then—finally—he grins.

It’s a real grin, wide and crooked and full of disbelief, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’ve just said but doesn’t want to waste another second trying to overthink it.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pulling you in before you can even blink. His arms wrap around you like they’ve been waiting to do that forever, holding you close. “Yes. Yes, I want to be. I thought you’d never ask.”

You laugh, a bit breathless, as you bury your face in his shoulder. “I almost didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for me you’re braver than you look,” he teases, but his voice is thick with relief, with something tender. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Your hands are on his chest now, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms as he holds you there, forehead to forehead, like neither of you knows how to pull away. His grin is lopsided, all teeth and scruffy warmth, and you’re laughing, really laughing, the kind that bubbles up from your chest like champagne, unstoppable and a little giddy.

Sirius pulls back just a little to look at you properly, but he doesn’t let go. His hands stay right where they are—one at your waist, the other brushing along the curve of your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it. “God, you’re really here,” he murmurs, and there’s so much wonder in his voice it makes your breath catch.

“You’re really mine,” he adds, quieter.

That makes your cheeks burn in the best way, and you duck your head a little, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze. “I’ve kind of always been yours,” you mumble.

That gets a full-blown, slightly shocked laugh out of him—deep and real—and before you can say another word, he tilts your face up and kisses you.

It’s warm and a little clumsy at first—like he can’t quite believe it’s happening, like he doesn’t know where to start—but then you’re kissing him back, and it clicks into place.

And when you both pull back, a little breathless and a lot smiley, his thumb still brushing lazy circles on your hip, you don’t let go of each other.

“You taste like toothpaste,” you whisper, nose wrinkling in amusement.

“Wow. Rude,” he says, grinning as he bumps his nose against yours. “I brush twice a day like a responsible adult.”

You giggle, the sound escaping before you can stop it, and he just stares at you for a second like he’s completely and totally ruined. “God, I’m so screwed, I always was,” he says with another laugh, and then he’s kissing you again—this time slower, gentler, like he’s savouring it.

And you let yourself melt into it, into him, your fingers curling into his shirt like maybe if you hold on tight enough, this will never end.

There’s laughter between kisses—stupid, breathless laughter when your noses bump or when Sirius makes a ridiculous sound at the back of his throat just to make you snort.

“You’re insufferable,” you murmur against his lips.

“You’re obsessed with me,” he counters, barely pulling away.

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips again, like he can’t help himself. “Because I’m definitely obsessed with you.”

You kiss him again, just to shut him up. And he laughs into your mouth.

masterlist <3

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black angst #sirius black drabble #sirius black #sirius black fluff

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muqingslover · 3 months ago

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[ I've seen how Caleb is often described to be a sex god without any experience at every first time (and I eat it up) but I also think we should discuss the other side of it. Kinda of an addition to my previous post ]

Let's discuss virgin Caleb that since he hit puberty has been struggling with his own desires and when he finally received the green light from you it's like a dam was unleashed.

This man is BEYOND sensitive. And so damn needy too, to the point that greedy would be a much more suitable word for him.

He started having wet dreams about you after the first kiss and the walk of shame to the bathroom every morning to wash his boxers is very real.

He's got a leaking and painful boner every time you kiss him for a little too long and he can't get enough of the taste of your tongue on his.

Having you on his lap is both bliss and torture. He'd try to hide the fact he's hard the first few times, not wanting to scare or pressure you, but each time your hips pressed down against his boner he'd be rolling his eyes back into his head and forcing down a groan.

I'm a dry-humping truther and I firmly believe the first time he came with you was by rubbing himself against your leg like the dog he is while you two were making out.

Caleb is mortified about his first experience with a blow job and he wishes you'd forget such an embarrassing moment of him.

But in all honesty, it wasn't his fault. You offered out of nowhere, which left him no time to mentally prepare, and just by having you kneeling down in front of him with your hand wrapped around his cock had him gripping the edge of the desk behind him, to the point the wood creaked at the sheer pressure.

And when you licked along the precum that was dripping down his length and pushed your tongue against his swollen tip he came and he came hard. His cum coating your face, getting onto some parts of your hair and in your mouth.

It goes without saying that he spent the rest of the day apologizing, but the sight of you swallowing his cum that had gotten onto your lips made him dizzy and hard again.

I'm sure he'll be fantastic in bed eventually, but your first time is a mess. Literally. Caleb is so eager to explore the body he's desired for so long and to please you as much as you do to him.

Everywhere he can reach is littered with dark and very obvious hickeys.

He'd have your hands pinned next or above your head so you couldn't touch him otherwise he knows he won't last at all.

Though, all his efforts bear no fruit because the second this man bottoms out inside of your warm and tight insides he is cumming again.

His body would tremble as he held his entire weight on his forearms to not crush you and he bit down on his lips.

After switching condoms, you'd have to get on top while his shaky legs recover from his orgasm and oh gods he's really trying his fucking best right now.

He's panting against your neck when you roll your hips and cause a loud moan to escape his lips, followed by his strong arms wrapping around your middle like a bear hug as if to keep himself grounded. It's rather cute, really.

He'd come with you this time, if not a little before from you clenching around his cock and the sweet whimpers because he's oh so very sensitive.

His hands would feel up your thighs then shamelessly grab your ass while he looked up at you, loving the view of you on top of him and he's got the cockiest grin you've ever seen on his face.

Now we're talking about someone with YEARS of suppressed sexual desires so you better brace yourself because he's far from done.

Caleb would use the entire night to learn everything he possibly can about your body, besides what he already knew. Each sweet spot that make you cry so good for him and just how deep he can hit inside of you to have you gasping for more.

He's sloppy, he's desperate, he's pathetic and it's messy. He'd ask between shaky breaths and his tone is almost whiny "Does that good? I need you to talk to me sweetheart, c'mon."

"Tell me what you want and I'll do it. Teach me how to make you feel good."

"Can I go deeper? Fuck- Please? Please? you feel so good-"

"I can't stop— Just one more, I'll make it good for you too, please, gods please, I need more of you or I'll go insane."

Caleb is the type of pathetic loser that would get a nosebleed while he pounded into you for the nth time.

He'd kiss you when you showed concern, spit trickling down your chin as the taste of iron would spread on your tongue before he pulled away to admire the sight of you completely disheveled for him. Because of him.

He licks the few drops on your chest, the crimson smearing with the sweat glistening on your skin and leaving a trail that only added to the perverted satisfaction that you're his.

Almost every position is crossed off the list in a single night and he's willing to do anything you ask of him. You want to ride him again? He's sat. You want him to hit it from the back? He's got you on your hands and knees already. You want him to eat you out? Please, by all means take a seat on his face. You have complete control over everything that happens most of the time.

It's morning by the time you two pass out, or run out of condoms in the box honestly, but you can fully expect him to try something when he gets into the shower with you the next day. Hey, he's just helping you clean up like a good boyfriend should ;) .

#im losing my marbles #and im feral about it #but im free #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb #caleb x reader #caleb smut #lads #lads smut #virgin caleb agenda

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theorphicangel · 4 months ago

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jjk men reaction to reader not wanting to stay over for the night

a/n: inspo by this cute tiktok :(((

modern au, no curses au

includes: gojo, geto, toji, nanami, sukuna

Gojo Satoru

You suggested a game night at his place, a reward for both you and him after a particularly busy work week. Tonight was the first time in a while that the two of you had seen each other, which is why it was so special for you to sleep over.

At least that's what Satoru thought until you pranked him by telling him you might go back home.

'I might leave in a bit, baby.'

'What?' Satoru was currently setting up the television, connecting it to the two game controllers.

'I said I might leave in a bit, maybe after fifteen minutes'

Immediately his face falls with his facial expression mirroring a kicked puppy. 'You're leaving? Why? I thought you wanted to sleep over?'

'Maybe not tonight, I'm tired.'

'But you brought your things over?'

'I changed my mind, toru, m'sorry maybe next time.

'But you can sleep in my bed if you're tired.' His voice is soft, paused with the game controller in his hand. His eyes glance over you, warm and tired. It's evident through his eyes that he really wants you to stay.

'But you promised to stay over so we can finally build our house on minecraft.'

'Toruuuu-' your heart melts and suddenly you can't take it anymore. 'I was joking baby, I'm not going anywhere.'

His face lights up, 'you were kidding?!'

You nod as satoru strides towards you, disregarding the two controllers in his hands. Immediately he's on top of you, pushing you down on the couch so you can't escape even if you tried.

Satoru places multiple kisses across your cheek, one right after the other, almost suffocating you. 'Don't ever do that to me again else l'll never let you leave.' he mutters before placing another kiss.

You giggle at satoru relentlessly placing kisses on your neck, 'I wouldn't miss out on building our minecraft house for the world.'

Geto Suguru

The two of you were sat in the kitchen, Suguru standing at the cooker making dinner for the two of you. Finally, the two of you had a clear schedule for the rest of the week to spend time together and what better than to spend a night together?

Sitting at the kitchen island, a video on your social media feed had come up of a girl pranking her boyfriend. It was a cute video and sparked your own curiosity to how your own boyfriend would react.

'Hey sugu, I don't think I'll sleep over tonight if that's okay.'

Suguru snaps his head over to you in disbelief. 'Really? but you brought all your things over?'

'I changed my mind, I'm kinda tired tonight.'

'right.' he mumbles, turning his head back as he prepares your plate.

You could only see his back but you knew that he was dejected. he was disappointed of course but he would respect your decision if you wanted some alone time. not a minute later, he heads your way setting down a plate of your favourite dish in front of you.

He takes a seat next to you with his own plate.

'I'll drive you back if you want.'

you nod, taking a bite of the food. you judge his expression and the way the crease between his brow holds. 'are you upset?'

Suguru is currently looking down at his food, a fork scraping at his place like a child who refuses to eat.

a pause. suguru bites down on his lower lip. 'yes, I wanted you to sleep over tonight. we could watch a movie or do whatever you wanted, it's been months since I've seen you.'

'it's been a few days, sugu'

'same thing princess.'

you let out a sigh, not able to take the scene of seeing your lover become so depressed. 'i'm kidding babe, it was a prank.'

with a smirk, Suguru finally stops poking at his food and takes a bite without restraint. 'I knew it.'

'Liar.'

'I was trying to make you feel bad.' he states, dark bangs falling over his eyes.

'Guess it worked huh?'

'You can bet it did.'

Nanami Kento

a movie played on the television screen, as you and kento snuggled on the couch. a blanket draped over you, laying on his chest and all your favourite snacks out on the coffee table was all you ever wanted.

about midway through the movie you remember that there was a prank you wanted to play on your boyfriend.

'hey ken.'

he hummed, vibrations traveling through your body.

'hey, I might leave in a few.'

'leave for what?' kento looked over at you, sat beside him on the couch.

'to go home.'

'right now? I thought you wanted to stay the night?'

'I did but I'm pretty tired, I'd rather sleep in my own bed i think.'

'oh right...okay.' he mumbles, his eyes are on the screen. he's tempted to pause the movie entirely wondering if there's something that's made you upset.

'are you sad that I'm leaving?' you ask sensing his hesitation.

'no.' kento pauses looking for the right words as he swallows. 'Maybe a little' he admits, 'I wanted to spend time with you.'

'we are spending time right now though?'

'is it selfish to ask for a little more time with you?' he asks, his cheeks flushing pink slightly.

'oh right, I was kidding by the way, I'm not leaving.'

'you and your pranks will kill me will kill me one day, d'you know that?'

you grab a hand that's around your waist and place a kiss on his knuckle as a reward for putting up with you. 'I knowwww, sorry love.'

Toji Fushiguro

'I think I might head home now.' you announce, standing up from the couch after hours of watching shows with toji. empty beer cans and opened bags of popcorn were messily distributed on the coffee table in front of you.

Toji was laid beside you, on the verge of falling asleep as the credits begin to play at the end of an episode. the two of you were binge-watching a show that had come out recently, currently on the last but one episode.

'what was that doll?' he thinks he must have misheard you.

'I said I think I'm going to head home, I'm pretty tired.'

For extra effect you head towards his apartment door, slipping on your shoes and making the move to grab your jacket and keys.

Whether it was at the jingle of your keys or the meaning of your words finally beginning to kick in, Toji was suddenly up and off the couch catching up with you.

'what do you mean home.'

'my home.' you emphasise, putting on your coat. 'my apartment, the one twenty minutes from here.'

in a blink of an eye you felt your wrist enwrapped in his large hand with the other at your waist guiding you backwards until you hit a wall.

Toji leans in, trapping you between his large figure and his wall. as he speaks you notice the scent of beer leave his mouth. his tone is dark and husky yet his eyes glow with emotion at the thought of you leaving.

'Thought you wanted to spend the night with me hmmm? You were the one complaining about not seeing me enough and now it's too much?'

you stammer, your brain completely blank at the tone of his words.

'It's too late to go back by yourself anyways plus we haven't finished the show.' his voice is low, sending vibrations through your body.

'I thought you weren't watching, you fell asleep.'

'almost.'

Toji's hands slowly peel away your coat from your body, 'I can help you change your mind if you're still thinking of leaving.' he suggests and your face heats up at his seduction.

'I was joking, I'm staying. just making sure that you were really awake.' you meet his eyes, allowing them to melt into yours.

without a warning you're suddenly hoisted over his shoulder and toji marches you back to the couch.

'a joke?...right...'

'put me down!'

'funny that you thought I'd ever let you leave anyways.' Toji places you down on the couch and you let out a huff.

you look up at him, your eyes challenging. 'was that a threat?'

'it's a promise doll.'

Sukuna Ryomen

'I think i'm going to leave soon.'

Sukuna's head snaps towards you, his attention directed towards his phone now interrupted by your statement. the two of you were, at least in your words, cuddling in bed. an arm wrapped around you whilst the two of you scrolled on your phones.

'where the fuck are you going?'

'Home. Where d'you think?'

'Why?' Sukuna mutters, caught off guard by your words.

'because I'm tired.'

'sleep in my bed then, you're here for a reason.'

'I want to sleep in my bed.'

'what's the difference? my bed is bigger than yours.'

'I like my bed.'

a pause occurs, the two of you maintaining eye contact.

'so you're going to go allll the way back home because you like your bed.'

'yes kuna'

'what about your shit that you dragged here?'

you shrug 'I'll take it with me.'

'And how are you going to get back?'

'drive me.'

Sukuna lets out a loud laugh.

'Uber then.'

An even louder laugh escapes from his mouth. 'you're not leaving.'

'I am, what are you-'

your words are cut off as Sukuna lunges towards you, suddenly straddling over you. you couldn't move even if you tried.

'kuna! what are you doing?'

'you're not leaving, it's late.'

'but I-'

'and you're not leaving because you asked to stay over in the first place, you'll get what you wanted.'

'it was a prank!' you admit, suddenly giving up to sukuna's demeanor.

'good you're sleeping here anyways.' he deadpans.

'I was always planning-' 'no excuses.'

thank you for reading!!

reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

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hoonieyun · 4 months ago

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sleepover ⊹˚. ♡

a prank where you tell your boyfriend you no longer want to spend the night heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon genre: fluff, romance, drabble warnings: profanity, kissing, suggestive, 18+

hoonieyun notes: ive seen this as a tiktok trend for a while now and i just imagine how they'd react so i had to write it lol not proofread lol

heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ

"i dont feel like sleeping over anymore..." after those words left your mouth, heeseung was instantly off of his phone and looking at you with his big doe eyes.

"w- what?" he asks, eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to understand if he heard you correctly. "you don't wanna sleep over?? why.." he asks so softly and you couldn't help but feel bad. of course you wanted to sleep over but you just wanted to see how your boyfriend would react.

"i just wanna sleep in my bed." you say, trying not to break character, although it was hard not to when heeseung was looking at you so endearingly with his bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

"bu-but you said you'd spend the weekend with me! we haven't seen each other in so long because we're working so much- what about we spend the night at yours instead if you want to sleep in your own bed?

i can pack my bags really quick, i promise. i'll be super fast- let me go do it right now so we can head out..." heeseung says. it was so cute to see him want to just spend the night with you, sleeping in his arms and having your warmth blend into one another.

heeseung was now getting up to go pack a weekend bag and just before his hands slip away from yours, your tightening your grip around his hands and pulling him back.

"im just kidding, babe. its just a prank on tiktok, of course i'm gonna sleepover." you say with a chuckle and heeseung rolls his eyes with a sigh of relief. his hand flying to his chest to console himself as you laugh at him.

suddenly he gently tackles you onto his bed, both arms wrapping around you into a warm embrace.

"it better just be a joke because no i'm never letting you leave me!" he says, placing several kisses on your cheek.

"good, i wouldn't want to be anywhere but in your arms anyway."

jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ

"babe, i think im gonna go home soon." you told jay as the two of you sat on his bed. you were scrolling on tiktok when you came across the prank while jay was playing his guitar. the beautiful melody filling his bedroom.

"did you forget something at home?" he asks, fingers still skillfully strumming the guitar as he asks his question. "no, i just wanna go home." you say, trying your best to stay serious so he doesn't notice you're trying to prank him.

suddenly, his strumming stops and the beautiful melodic sound of his guitar is gone- the room filled with awkward air.

"you wanna go home? but i thought you were spending the night?" he says, turning towards you after he's carefully set his guitar on the stand next to him on the floor.

"yeah but- i don't know... i just don't want to anymore." you explain without much explanation and he furrows his eyebrows at you with a pout on his lips.

"did i do something? are you feeling ok? you know you can tell me anything right? am i not paying enough attention to you? sorry, we can watch that movie you wanted to-" jay was now rambling as he tries to wrap his head around why you suddenly want to leave even though you promised you spend the night over at his place. '

"baby, i'm just joking, it's a tiktok prank!" you interrupt him with a laugh; his eyes drop into a narrow gaze and his pout intensifies.

"wow... fine go home then..." he says teasingly, turning around and crossing his arms.

"hey... i was just joking!!" you say, crawling over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck; placing a kiss on his cheek.

"you can't resist me... you love me too much." he says with a smile, placing a kiss onto your lips.

"you're right but you're the one who begged me to sleepover sooo..." you tease and he turns to look at you, mouth agape.

"hey!!" he says as your laughter fills his room.

jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ

"jake... i'm gonna go home, ok?" you say, getting up from his bed and pretending like you're going home. in an instant, jake's hand is grabbing yours and he's twirling you onto his lap. "you're going where??" he asks, pouting and staring intensely into yours eyes.

"h- home..?" your response wasn't meant to come out as a question but his gaze was so piercing that you couldn't fully focus on the prank that you were trying to pull on your boyfriend.

"what happened to the sleepover? we were supposed to binge a bunch of movies, eat snacks, and play mario kart?? remember that?" he says, trying to remind you why you were there in the first place and although you didn't forget, for the sake of the prank you had to play along.

"yeah... well i don't really wanna do that anymore." you say, looking away from his eyes and onto your lap where you fiddled with your fingers.

"baby, look at me-" jake says, gently grabbing your chin to make your eyes meet again. "did something happen? did i do something?" he asks so lovingly that you couldn't continue pranking him any longer.

"ok, sorry! it was a prank i saw on tiktok, but you're too sweet to prank- i feel bad." you say while your hands gently cup his face as you pepper kisses all over.

"thank god, i thought you were suddenly mad at me." he says, relieved that you weren't leaving and that you weren't upset.

"so you're staying?" he asks and you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck to which jake respond by picking you up bridal style and standing up onto his feet.

"splendid! now we will commence movie night, princess what movie shall we begin with?" he asks and his cute actions make you laugh.

"my prince, might i suggest 50 first dates?" you say, playing along with his sillyness.

"splendid choice my love. onward to the living room!" he says as he carefully runs the two of you to his living room with layla in toe; barking in excitement at the random surge of energy between the two of you.

jake carefully places you onto his couch as you set up the movie while he puts together the snacks.

"i'm glad you weren't actually leaving..." he whispers to you during the movie. "i'd never leave, even if i forgot you like in this movie- i'd find a way to remember and come back to you... always." you respond, placing a kiss onto his lips.

sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ

"babe, i'm gonna head out in a bit." you tell sunghoon in such a chill manner that he almost doesn't fully process what you said. he almost just nods and hums in response until his head snaps upwards from his phone and he turns to you with a head tilt.

"wait, where are you going? it's like 2am." he asks and you tell him that you wanted to go home despite telling him prior that you would sleepover because you missed him so much to which he responded with a wide smile and said how much he missed you too.

"home?? what happened to missing me so much you wanted to sleep over? do you not miss me anymore..." he asks, voice low as he tries his best to not show that he was clearly sad you wanted to leave.

"i do miss you... but i also miss my bed." you say and he looks at you like you're crazy.

"your bed... over me?? you're hot and loving boyfriend??" he asks, now he's sitting right next to you, face hovering over yours with both his hands trapping you between them.

"uh- well.." you try to respond but you couldn't muster up any response as you stared at him. he just looked so handsome that you lost your train of thought as broken sentences and stutters left your lips.

"if you miss you bed so much why don't you just move in?" sunghoon suddenly says and this catches you off guard. your eyes widen at his statement and although you've been dating for a little over a year now, neither of you have brought up the idea of moving in together.

"re- really??" your question coming out as a whisper.

sunghoon nods and tells you that it's probably better that way anyways since your job was closer to his place and his rent was more affordable than yours.

"um.. okay!" you say and sunghoon smiles at your response, placing a kiss on your lips. "perfect, i'll help you break your lease tomorrow and we can start planning your move right away!" he says eagerly, pulling out his laptop to start planning out your move.

you're left laying next to him a bit dumbfounded as your prank took an unexpected turn. "y'know this was supposed to be a prank..." you confess and he once again looks at you with a head tilt, "prank?" he asks.

"yeah, i was supposed to act like i didn't want to sleep over anymore to see your reaction..." you explain and he closes his eyes with a chuckle.

"well, good thing you decided to do that because now you're with me forever!" he says teasingly while sticking his tongue out at you. "plus, i've been wanting to ask you to move in for awhile, i just never knew when to do it." sunghoon says in a warm tone and your heart melts at him.

"i'm glad to be moving in, that way i'll never have to leave again." you say while snuggling closer to him so you could both work on planning your move together, wrapping your arms around his bicep while resting your head on his shoulder. a position that you could get used to.

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

𐐪♡𐑂 @pagedmiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13

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stars-and-clouds · 2 years ago

Text

Astarion Romance Headcanons 🥀

SFW:

Side glances when you're besides him

Full on staring when you're not

Immediately looking away when you catch him

"You know the way he looks at you, don't you, soldier?"

His pinky itching towards yours when you're walking, wanting to hold your hand but unsure because, is it too much? Will you reject him?

His hands scrunching up your shirt tightly whenever you hug. He's always the last to let go.

You hold on longer and longer each time because he doesn't want to let go.

His kisses are tender and needy.

He likes the warmth of your hands.

Thinking of what tones will suit your perfume the best. He'll gift it to you after all this is over.

He'll sew the holes or tears in your clothes over the night and pretend he doesn't know what happened next morning.

When you move to kiss his cheek he will grimace in annoyance but lean in as you do it.

"Be careful around Astarion, (Tav). He's not serious about you.", the others will warn you. And Astarion will worry you'll heed their words more than his so he'll do so much to prove his love to you, not knowing that you already trust him (even if that is an objectively stupid thing to do lmao).

He started sleeping next to you from the moment you had sex but ever since you've entered the shadowlands, he ends up cuddling in the middle of the night. He misses the sun.

He likes kissing the palm of your hand or its back.

Likes to pack your bag before you leave camp.

"No one's ever going to love me like that again."

Ever since you told him that there's more to him than just beauty and sex, that he's hilarious, for instance, he finds ways to make you laugh. He loves it. He's started being a lot more sarcastic and makes more jokes just to hear your laughter. He'll never admit it, of course. Other than maybe when it's only you two.

Doesn't believe he will be able to love again if you let go of him.

"Don't be so nice to me." he says with round, needy and pleading eyes.

Thinking of ways he can show others you're together so others know you're not available.

Hiding his jealousy, terribly.

He will rip the throat out of anyone with malicious intent towards you.

"I will wait the whole of my life for you, Astarion." He doesn't believe it at first, but the longer you go on without sex the safer he feels and the more he wants you.

NSFW:

He sometimes cries silently at night, wishing he could make love to you without it feeling so tainted. He wants it so badly, but his past experience prohibits it. The pain of wanting something and being unable to have it only because of himself is too much. He blames himself too sometimes. Wishing he could give you more.

"I don't mind waiting.", you'd say.

"I do. I can't have you, no matter how much I want you.", he'd say.

When you cuddle him sensing he's upset, he will bury his face in your neck to hide his tears. The smell of you is comforting.

Needing you everytime you're tender with him.

Getting aroused when you hug during a kiss.

Wanting to kiss your skin all over, to make you cry from pleasure as you bury your face in his neck.

Wanting you to hold on to him for dear life as you climax.

When he's finally comfortable enough and takes charge of his own sexuality, he'll be so needy.

Realising that the two nights he had sex with you were nothing compared to how good making love to you feels.

When you give up all control to him, letting him do to you as he wants, the pleasure is almost too much bear. The power he feels is palpable and knowing it is you who trusts him so much will drive him near mad.

He will lose control many times so you have a safe word.

You both think of the stupidest word possible as a safe word. Something that makes you both laugh when it's used.

He likes over stimulating you, making you beg and he'll kiss you to calm you.

"It's okay, you can do it, darling.", he'll say stroking you even further and kissing your tears.

"Does that feel good, my love?"

The more you beg the more he loves it.

He likes playing with your hands, holding them in his, touching your fingers, comparing them to his while you rest on his chest, still warm from him being inside of you.

Resting his head against your chest to hear your heartbeat.

Staring at your face and body intently. Taking in every little reaction you make and replaying them over in his head throughout the day.

Staring at you longingly when you're both with the squad, failing terribly at focusing in battle or conversation.

Getting aroused when you're covered in blood.

Seeing you fighting, in general, turns him on. The smell of your sweat, your rapid heart beat, the way your body moves, all of it now only reminds him of making love to you.

Telling you to say his name whenever he's feeling good and you'll chant it as you cum. He loves how it sounds from your lips.

Resting his forehead against yours as he's close to cumming.

"Look at me.", he'll command you.

He likes when your hands rake his hair, pull his hair, tug it whatever. That slight bit of pain arouses him. Better yet, if you bury your nails into his skin.

He likes to look at you falling asleep. It's such a gentle thing. How can someone so strong otherwise be so soft around him? Why him? Why did someone like you choose someone like him? He can't believe he has you.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50833876/chapters/128419966 I am updating these hcs on my ao3, if anyone is interested!

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anantaru · 1 year ago

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HSR + HE TEACHES YOU

— ꒰ including ꒱ — aventurine, boothill, dr ratio, sunday x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — inexperienced! reader, slightly possessive ?? hsr men, dirty talk, pet names used: baby, good girl, oral (male! receiving), cowgirl, dom ?? but veritas is mean, slightly possessive sunday (he's a little weird, am i right guys?)

— ꒰ AVENTURINE ꒱

aventurine doesn't know what to do with himself other than receive your warm, innocent tongue with open arms, his fleeting gaze radiant like jewels and focused on your mouth splitting so effortlessly when he finally inserts himself between your plush lips.

"please— look at how excited you are," his words made you shudder, although desires and excitement also furnished your mind. it was all there— his handsome voice, his musky scent, the salty taste on your tongue and for you, the new flavor felt weird, yes, slightly bitter when you swallow down.

but aventurine's cock repeatedly rolling over your tongue over and over began to taste like in the most delicious, toe curling way imaginable.

he was thickly warm on your tongue, and heavy, making your jaw slack with ease, "put it in your mouth like that, yes, ahh yes, just like that baby," as you begin to move your head up and down with the help of him, heating him from the inside out.

the little flicker of your tongue intrigued him— the slow, wet susurration of slurping that was sloppy and without a precise way of doing it; but wow, you're so good at this, looking flawless between his legs with a slip of his shadow on your innocent silhouette.

when wicked of lust, his amused eyes smile down at you, grunting inside his hot and bothered chest with your mouth tightly pressed against his shaft before you suckle up again, hollowed cheeks staying content.

aventurine leads you, and tells you to be slow, take your time.

he wants to teach you on how to suck his dick, for possible future needs— because hey? he surely hopes this won't be the last time he would be able to do this with you. not when he can barely wait to touch, stroke and lick you himself.

— ꒰ BOOTHILL ꒱

boothill mentally congratulates himself for keeping his carnal desires in check and sliding himself slowly inside, gruelingly slow that it drove you into insanity.

not to forget on how difficult he found it to hide his visible excitement that you wanted him to be your first, the first person to fill you up with a cock, a thick and hefty cock.

your muscles immediately twitch and the insides of your thighs tense, your body snapping in all the right ways.

"ahh, yeah, good girl, such good girl for me," he slurrs in desperation of wanting more, just more of this, more of you— and oh? what sweet victory to get a literal galaxy ranger to say that out loud.

his eyes glimmer like diamonds as the constant pulse of your walls clamp into his erection, he could no longer think beyond the next touch.

boothill was supposed to be the experienced one out of the two of you yet you make it so intoxicatingly difficult for him to stay focused.

he gasps, arched his back and presses deep, stroking your insides back and forth, coaxing in perfect time with caressing kisses all over your face, "the sound you just made when i slipped it in, ugh, you can't be real," boothill whispers and hisses when you squeeze him, your toes curling at the new feeling of a heavy weight bulking in you, like it's about to reach your belly.

"i'm so lucky i can call you mine," he kisses your bottom lip and focuses on your face— your dizzying and addictive expression that he hoped would be decorated with drool and sweat all over after he's done with making you feel good.

ah well, the man knows it won't take much for you to cum all over him, you're already glistening and showing him how wet you are with the amount of slick sousing your folds and his shaft each time he pulls back, only to snap in all the way inside.

— ꒰ DR RATIO ꒱

"you wanted me to teach you on how to ride me, didn't you?" between your sobs, you manage to huff out a small shut up in an attempt to take away the attention of veritas deliberately holding you down his cock by your hips cruelly.

no sobs, no whines and aims to reason with him seemed to work in your favor nor displayed any form of you actually getting your way.

"i'm not, I mean, i said that but—," a shaken moan departs from your throat when he bottoms out, this time clearly, smirking when your tits move in harmony with his movements.

"now, why are you squirming like that then?" he continues, allowing you to feel him pulse and throb before holding you down entirely.

"you can't take it after all, can you?" with need, you attempt to bounce on him, turning utterly sensitive by the intensity of his cock swelling everywhere, no single inch of your walls left untouched.

you nod and place your hands against his chest as veritas suddenly makes you fall forward by another shove up into your cunt, your tits pressing against his stone-hard chest.

he looks at you through hooded eyes, his jaw clenched as he enjoyed watching the effect he had on you, then he fucks and fucks and fucks into you three times in a row— reckless, daring, blind to reality, making your arousal come out all the more consistent, "oh, you do? you sure?"

"yes I am, ugh, fuck, veritas just let me move already," you bark back, your body convulsing in near-pain and much relief when he rubs your walls over his shaft again. like a second heart beat between your legs, your walls flutter around his erection as you feel your blood rush to every edge and limit in your body.

"you look a little tense sitting on my cock like that," his hands squeeze your waist as he says it so confidently, in a way that would make you want to smack that pretty, stupidly handsome expression off of him.

but right now, you do not mind, you can always get revenge on him later because even after the slight bickering from before, now he holds you against his chest in a deep embrace.

it's strange, yes, but it feels real.

— ꒰ SUNDAY ꒱

"hey, please," sunday mumbles sincerely as his palm strokes over your trembling thigh, "you're so pretty, don't avert your eyes from me now," and he's awfully good at keeping you in place, holding your legs up just right while telling you to always keep them wrapped around his waist.

it feels better this way, when you practically hold me in like that is what he whispers into your ear the entire night— it's scarcely an audible tone but it's there, right against your lips, the vibrations of his angelic groans alone reaching all the way to your wet cunt.

"you feel so good around me, you know that?" he rolls his hips tentatively, swallowing the saliva in his throat as his hips jerk faster each time you moaned louder.

every single moment when a faint whimper of his name rolls from your tongue, sunday loses a slice of his sanity.

with great effort, he does the most to make you feel insanely well, finding himself entranced by the silkiness of your walls and how easy it was to slip inside you, your slick and sweat streaking your skin and practically inviting him to absolutely ruin you— until your innocent, never touched before, body would take over the musk of him.

it's a perverted fantasy, yes, but sunday needs you to be his.

after this night, he wouldn't want anybody to touch you other than himself. your moans were like an aphrodisiac to him, a drug that felt so good that it made him go feral, rock his hips faster and pinch your pulsing clit until you're creaming all over his shaft.

only then, he will teach you more, perhaps on how to suck his dick later or how you should rest your legs against his shoulders when he goes down on you— fuck, you're just so precious, clenching all over him.

your doe eyes flutter up at his own welcoming ones, and he makes you keep the eye contact until you see it, until you can see into his mind, the one his reality dwells in.

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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Yandere! CEO Headcanons

Just a little idea I had some time ago of a rather bizarre dynamic: a CEO with no time to spare, introduced to a young student his wife befriended. Perhaps he does have a moment, after all. (I need to dump my preference for a cultured older man somewhere) Content: female reader, age gap, older yandere, NSFW, dating the wife is optional

[Yandere Masterlist]

Yandere! CEO who is in his mid 40s and terribly invested in his job. So much, that he and his wife agreed on an open relationship many years ago and barely interact anymore. Not a gloomy business by any means: she gets to meet new people and he can enjoy his work and hobbies in peace and without guilt.

Yandere! CEO who doesn't think much of it when his wife brings home a young student she befriended at a convention. He nods dismissively, returning to his papers and phone calls. At dinner, he just hums in acknowledgement and fiddles with the cutlery while the woman talks about you excitedly. "You know, (Y/N) reminds me a little of you." Nonsense.

Yandere! CEO with whom you scarcely interact: he's a borderline workaholic, and your relationship is cordial at best. That is until you're asked by the wife to retrieve some important documents from their ridiculously luxurious apartment. You quietly tiptoe past the office, but can't help glancing at the imposing library, stacked with books. The man's sudden arrival startles and you begin to mumble apologies, but he seems more interested in your curiosity than anything else.

Yandere! CEO who can't believe you both like the same authors. He discreetly removes the folder from your hands, tasking one of the assistants to deliver it to his wife instead. There are more important matters at hand. Have you had your coffee yet? Oh, you must stay longer. What's the hurry?

Yandere! CEO who has become awfully perceptive whenever your name is mentioned in conversations, innocently probing for more details. Naturally, he wouldn't mind meeting you again, but it's not...a need, per se. He was just pleasantly surprised to find someone he could so easily engage in conversation with. Hell, you're old enough to be his daughter. Don't be ridiculous, he'll scold himself sternly whenever his mind wanders too far.

Yandere! CEO who begins to feel like each encounter is a flirty tease. Is it just wishful thinking, or are you becoming cheekier by day? The way you bat your eyelashes, the way you cast your eyes down whenever he looks at you. The next time you're alone in the apartment, he's too far gone in his delusions to act rationally. How unusual for him to act so nonchalant. Unbuttoning your shirt with haste, trailing your neck with hot kisses, lifting your leg and pressing you against the wall. He never considered himself the type to fuck a much younger woman out of raw lust.

Yandere! CEO who loves taking you on dates despite his busy schedule. Art museums, theatres, the Opera. He is eager to introduce you to his interests and will answer any question or curiosity you have. Who would've thought everything is better in two? Of course, there could be other factors involved. Like the added bonus of watching you squirm in your seat and biting your lips to be quiet while he fingers you at the peak of Act 3. Then smirking to himself when everyone stands up for applause, and you have to rearrange your dress to hide the wet mess underneath.

Yandere! CEO who worries about you when he's on work trips, so he tasks his right-hand man to look after you and keep you company. If you ever get lonely, you can rely on his assistant to take care of all your needs. Now, he's not one to share, despite his marital arrangement. As bizarre as it sounds, he just sees the employee as a mere toy, an idle occupation who can temporarily entertain you in his absence. What he does perceive as a threat is swiftly taken care of. It's enough for you to mention another student flirted with you, and you'll never see that person again. You have to understand that he doesn't play around with his assets. One he has something, he holds onto it with ironclad strength. And he's never been more desperate to keep something in his possession.

Yandere! CEO who makes sure to remind you why dating him is your best (and only) choice. You would've wasted your time with boys your age. He can offer you the world and more, all you need to do is ask for it.

#female reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere imagine #yandere ceo #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere male x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc x reader #older yandere #tw age gap

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militaryapple · 3 months ago

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MY BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER IS THE ONE FOR ME .ᐟ

synopsis. mc leaves to go to the store and youre left alone with her wildly hot "brother". so what if you both get tipsy? whats the harm in that? its not like she liked him anyways.

cw. fem!reader, you & mc are bff's, virginity loss, cunillingus, oral ( fem recieving ), p in v creamie, pet names, unprotected (PLEASE BE PROTECTED OMG), praise like a lot of it, fingering, use of term "babygirl", biting, teasing (omg i need this man bad.)

add ons. this came to me in a dream. sum like that.

wc. 2.6k

sundays were the best. why? because you spent the entire day with her. your best friend in the entire world, and you meant that. you couldn't do anything without her, not like she'd let you anyway. you'd both had always been with each other. you guys were practically holding hands in the womb. which could probably explain the same brain wave you both share.. nonetheless it doesn't wipe away that Sundays were the best. hanging out with your best friend, playing games and well..

eyeing her super-hot unrelated related brother. okay, fine, you go over her dorm on Sundays to oogle her so-called "brother". what's the harm in that? it's not like you're acting on your feelings. it was just a small crush you've had.. since forever. it's also not like he noticed you anyways, he's always had his eyes set out for her. you don't loathe them for that. its how things have always been. its fine you don't mind, as long as you get to keep your friendship its fine.

a loud slapping noise snapped you back into reality as you look down at the table, the red uno card with a number 6 on it scattered down. fuck. pick up 3. you groan as you watched how happily she hummed. for a hunter, she knows how to play uno really well. you sigh in defeat as you set down the uno cards.

"whatever" you mumble softly. "you probably cheated anyways! hey, actually lets do a rematch! I can win!" you slammed your soda down on the table as she shook her head in disapproval. "nuh-uh! you said if I won 3 times in a row you'd do it!" she slammed her cup down in resilience. you really need to stop making bets you cant win. you fall back on the bed to resign. "fine! I'm not going to the store with you though. that shits like an hour away for one and two I do NOT want to hear you rub in my face on how you won."

she hummed in approval as she eyed you down. "I can take that over not winning any day. you might miss out on some really good in and out though" she said sweetly, you thought about it before huffing out "a slushy and small fry." was all she needed to hear before getting up, and right on cue, he came in. caleb looked down at her, then at you. his face widens in a grin. "what bet did you win today pip-squeak?" he said patting her head and chuckling. she pointed towards you and embarrassment washed in. next thing you know she had taken caleb's key and waved goodbye to the both of you.

knowing her it would take 2 hours to get from the store and back, she gets side tracked too easily. sometimes you worry for your best friend. caleb slumped down on the couch, turning on the tv as he looked at you before calling out. "hey, get over here. you and I both know it'll be a while until she comes back. plus.. she has my keys and car. can't go anywhere now." he scooted over patting next to him on the side of the couch.

you got up and moved next to him, scooting towards the other end of the couch as you both watched the agonizingly boring movie that played. sometimes you didn't get these one on one moments with him. compared with her, he's more quiet around you. sometimes with the occasional flirty friendly banter, he seemed.. more comfortable. you two have known each other for a long time, so it wouldn't hurt to just make a simple conversation with him right? with that thought you scooted closer to him.. then after a while a little closer.. then just pushing your luck just a tad bit closer.

caleb looked down at you, he let out a small laugh before holding his arm out and shifting his position, he pulled you closer now wrapping his arm around you while you leaned on him. you could smell the faint scent of musk, like a woody pine tree. it wasn't a bad smell. "you thought I wouldn't notice?" he said gently. he looked down at you in amusement. he enjoyed this, and it was good for you to know that thankfully you didn't step over any boundaries you thought you two had established.

you huffed as you looked away. "I was just making this more comfortable for us." you waved your hand in his face. "we're stuck together, right?" you hummed looking up at him. his face shifting from calm to surprised, and then smug.

you swore you could see a glint in his eye.

"okay, take a shot if you don't want to answer, or you can answer. there was more to the game but uh, that's more for parties." he said sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. your face waved over with an emotion of shock, or was it amusement? whichever came into your mind first. "I didn't know mr. gentleman here was the party type. caleb we've been friends since we were kids, I want to play the actual game. not some remake you just made up." you snickered, your arms crossing as you leaned back on the couch, caleb sat across from you on the floor, yet he was still eye level with you.

"hey." he snapped back in a hurt tone, "Im not just a party guy. I only do it if you and her aren't here entertaining me or if you guys are done and I have some spare time. I cant always intrude on both of your adventures. and I still am a gentleman." he prided himself. it makes you think, how many times have you and your best friend left caleb while you both went on your little rendezvous? oh whatever, think later win now.

caleb started out first, he flipped the card over and handed It to you. you looked at it. you gave a quick glance at him before you read the card out loud. "okay, how many times have you got off this week.. and what to?" you said shyly, setting down the card gently. fuck that was a weird question. It's a drinking game but, jesus. caleb turned flushed, he coughed before looking away and pouring himself a shot.

"..."

that's okay, you wouldn't answer either, and skipping it would be more embarrassing, you picked up a card and slid it over to caleb. he almost choked. "are you sure-" he said in-between coughs, "you want to play this? I think I have the wrong deck-" he said quickly scrambling to grab the cards before you could stop him.

"its fine" you said happily "I want to play caleb, seriously." with that, he settled down, looking at the card you picked up once more and reading it out loud. "think of a person, and point out the feature you notice the most when you see them." he said, placing down the card. fuck.

you don't want to point out his obviously big dick that you look at everytime you see him, but you don't wanna get tipsy the first couple of rounds. you looked at your body and the clothes you had on, oh fuck it. lets go out with a bang. you slip off your black shirt, your pink bra flawlessly taking the spotlight. caleb couldn't help but stare at what seemed to be the prettiest bra in the entire world to him before he looked away. "great start." he mumbled.

caleb picked up a card and handed it to you, a grin forming on your face as you held the card, "biggest turn on?" you asked amused. staring at him as his face gave a wash of surprise, he let out a small chuckle. "ah, cliche to say pretty girls with pretty undergarments?" he said softly. your grin stiffening while you placed the card down. whatever, two can play that game.

you grabbed a card, moving in and leaning towards Caleb because all of a sudden he was just oh so far. handing him the card he could see just enough of your boobs, was that a part of your nip- no. Caleb shook it off as he looked at the card in his hand. "wildest sex dream you've had?" he asked, putting the card down and taking another shot. was it him or was the room warm?

you would tease him and say "my best friend's boyfriend and I on a couch fucking nastily" but you couldn't muster up the words. so instead you poured yourself a shot and down the hatch it went. you weren't a heavy drinker, and not much of a tolerance, which is why you chose to skip and strip instead of sink and drink. so much for not getting tipsy, let alone drunk.

he gulped, grabbing another card, before sliding it to you. he was nervous, had he ever been this nervous around you? like really really nervous? fuck fuck fuck. so many things were going through his mind. it was driving him nuts. you picked up the card and read it, snorting. "childhood crush?" oh. that was easy for him.

"you."

you looked up blinking, scanning his face for any sort of joke, any sort of shift to tell you "haha I'm joking" but there wasn't. he was serious. you grabbed the bottle of pink Whitney, downing as much as you could in a cup before setting it down. "you're fucking lying caleb. don't think I don't see how you look at her." you snapped at him, which only made him laugh. god you were cute.

"yeah," he nodded "but how do you think she'd feel if i was messing around with her best friend hm? how i think about you in ways I shouldn't, how I crave you." oh shit. he had a point. though you looked at your phone, you two still had some alone time. "caleb.." you whimpered softly.

"don't do that to me baby. please." he almost begged you. he got up moving to the couch and leaning over you. his eyes scanning over your body, then his gaze unwavering from your face. "I've always wanted you. ha, sometimes I go crazy thinking about how many guys have even attempted to touch you." his voice barely above a whisper. his breath tickling your face.

"caleb, please. I fucking need you."

the sounds of sloppy kisses and clothes unraveling filled the air, you both moving from the living room to your room. you knew this was bad, but all the guilt you felt seemed to be swept to the side. you could deal with the emotional luggage later, you didn't want it to ruin the perfectly good scenario playing out, the one you thought about ever since you were in high school.

caleb was gentle with you, his hands placed behind your back as he attempted to undo your bra, clearly lost, you took it off and held on to him. he was sweet but eager yet tender with you and patient.

"this is my first time," you say sheepishly. caleb's eyes lit up, a smile on his face while he planted a kiss on the crown of your forehead. "It's alright baby. It's my first time too, I'm especially happy because it's with you." his hands circled around your stomach before making its way down to your clit. he pressed softly against the fabric of your panties while you let out a small mewl.

you sounded better than he imagined. his fingers circling around your clit, and in response he got to hear your beautiful sounds. he was practically drunk off them. his fingers pushed over your panties, exposing your cunt. caleb got down. his hands spreading your legs wider as his lips pressed small kisses against your lower ones.

he was like a pro, his tongue hitting all of your spots as you grab his hair. the way the vibrations of his groans overstimulated you more and more. "you taste absolutely delicious. where has this pretty cunt been all my life?" he groaned, breaking away from your swollen cunt. he got up and leaned into you, bringing your head up.

"wanna know how you taste?"

he kissed you while undoing his pants. sweats dropping while he pushed you down the bed, bringing his cock out. and jesus was he huge. you pulled him down on the bed with you, pushing him against the wall as you sat up towards him. "'m gonna ride you, okay?" you dropped your head down, positioning yourself before selling down on his cock. he was huge, fuck did it hurt so good. caleb couldn't help but dip his head in the crook of your neck, grabbing your hips as he whined in approval.

"thaaats it babygirl. you got it, you're so sweet, just for me, yeah?" he praised you, planting soft kisses all over, his hands guiding your hips rocking you back and forth and around. you held on him as he held you still, his hips thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace. you were cock drunk.

his tip hit every spot, every curve, every corner and inner spot of yours. you were made for his dick. you couldn't help but praise him on how good he was hitting your sweet spots, "you flatter me baby" caleb moaned, biting down on his lower lip.

caleb collected your head pulling it back as he bit down on you, sucking you and licking you. leaving marks showing people that you were his. you were taken, and that would never change. in exchange, you dug your nails in him, and only you would know that they were there, that you were there to place them on him.

caleb flipped you over, pounding into you. one blow after the other. there was no stopping him as he rolled his head back in pure bliss. from this angle he could see all your pretty curves, how your back naturally arches for him. he had fucked you stupid.

caleb growled, "finish with me, please baby" he pleaded, "I wanna feel you cum over my cock again 'n again. you can do that right baby?" he coos. you could feel him reaching deeper in you, stretching you out as his balls slap against your abused cunt.

your body felt like it was on fire. electricity flowing through every vein as you shook your walls gummy and clamping down on him. you're shaking violently as Caleb can't help but get a last few thrusts in. you were squirting.

everywhere.

caleb pulls out and moves back, admiring you, like a piece of artwork. "messy girl" he clicked his tongue before scooping you up and fixing the pillows on your bed, lying you down on one side while he moved to other to lie right next to you. he was sweet. Caleb cuddled and coo'd you, telling you how much of a perfect girl you were, how good you took him and how beautiful you were.

he just stared at you, you looked at him before getting out a small laugh, "yes, I love you too caleb." you say sweetly and he was sure his heart skipped a beat. all he could give back was a smile, kissing the crown of your head.

it was a tender moment before you both were rudely awakened by the door slamming open and loud voice in the back. "what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

oh shit.

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