#he looked a little too good in this scene

[sarahs-secrets2]

okay doctorˋ♡ˊ

dr jack abbot x resident!reader

jack pulls rank during a shift, angsty with happy ending! obv medical inaccuracies, mean jack but only for a little for the plot :) (not my gif!)

inspired by this tweet/scene

wc: 1.6k

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

“That’s enough,” Abbot’s voice was strong, it hammered through your head.

“Just give me a second, I just need-” 

“You’re done.” Abbot moves behind you, waiting for you to back away. The room falls quiet. Only the sound of beeping monitors echoes through the room. Everyone is too afraid to get in between whatever is going on between you and Doctor Abbot. 

Your eyes are pleading, hoping he’ll just give you a few more minutes with the patient so you can fix it. His gaze is sharp and unforgiving, giving absolutely nothing away as he stands, gloved hands up, ready to take over. 

“Jack,” it slips out, you’re desperate. 

“You’re off the case. Out. Now.” He doesn't even look at you, which is rare, as he moves in front of you to take over the patient. The room has gone cold, along with Doctor Abbot’s demeanor. You’re too embarrassed and upset to argue, and you need fresh air immediately. Jack’s voice echoes orders as you head towards the doors, only stopping at the bin to dispose of the trauma gown and gloves. 

The ER is chaotic, but it was easy to navigate even in your state of agitation. Weaving through nurses and gurneys being pushed through the halls, you almost miss Doctor Ellis calling your name from across the nurses' station. 

“Hey,” she looks concerned but knows better than to push, “You wanna join me?” Her thumb juts over her shoulder.

“I’m…” You think for a second, running your hands down your face, trying to hide your defeat. “I’m good, gonna get some fresh air.”

“Okay.” Ellis, still unsure, lets it go. “Feel free to join when you're ready.” 

You nod back and continue towards the doors of the ambulance bay. The sun still hasn't even begun to rise, you steal a glance down at your watch as the automatic doors slide open as you approach. It’s only 3:14 am, Jack is pissed at you, and you’re not sure if you’ll even survive the rest of this shift. 

The air is cold, and the small gusts of wind don’t help either. Grateful you went with the long-sleeved shirt to go under your scrubs, you tug down the sleeves you had previously rolled up during the rush of the last case. Your hands run up and down your arms, trying to get warm. Going inside wasn't an option right now, not after the debacle with Jack. 

He was frustrating, usually right, but that’s what made him frustrating. He had given you the chance to try, and you failed, but couldn't admit it. Not to him and definitely not to yourself. You hadn't realized it, but you had begun pacing around the ambulance bay. Thankfully, there were no incoming traumas, which gave you plenty of time to mope and replay the events over in your mind. 

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath looking towards the city. Hands running down your face, which feels warm despite being in the cool air. 

“Don’t let a patient hear that, can’t risk our scores getting any lower.” 

His voice makes you jump; it’s low and gravelly, which doesn't help you as you try to decipher his mood. Jack’s hands are stuffed in his pockets as he walks towards you. He’s returned to his normal, intense eye contact, making you squirm. You’re the first to break it, looking down at your shoes, kicking some of the loose rocks near your feet. 

“Ha,” it's a forced, short laugh at his joke. Abbot doesn’t speak, he lets the silence build, making this increasingly difficult for you. You can’t pinpoint what he’s waiting for, and you know he won’t be the first to speak. 

You steal another glance at your watch, 3:21 am. 

“I had it,” your voice is sharp, cutting through the cold air. Your eyes finally meet his. 

“Hm,” it’s all he gives you. His eyebrows are raised, and his eyes look darker outside. 

“I just needed more time.” 

“No,” Jack shakes his head, now his turn to look at the ground for a split second before he looks back up. “You tried, and time was running out. You weren’t putting the patient first. You need to learn it's okay to step away.”

“That’s not true-”

“We are not doing this.” He lets out a dry laugh, but nothing is funny. “You can’t do that, you are a resident. I am your attending,” he pulls a hand out of his pocket and rubs the back of his neck. “You don’t listen, even when I’m lenient and give you the opportunity to learn. You push that boundary.” 

You’re not sure what to say. Jack and you had always been close, and getting closer. Night shifts would end, the two of you would linger at the lockers chatting, walking out together, conveniently heading the same way home, and on the rare occasion, the two of you would stop for a coffee (that you probably shouldn't be drinking if you had a shift the next day). Some nights off you would end up at the same shitty dive bar, sipping cheap beer, talking about things other than work. You had found yourself wanting to be around Jack, maybe that’s why you followed him into the triage room for a case you were unprepared for. 

“And,” he goes on, “You can’t call me Jack, not in front of everyone, not within these walls,” his finger spins around, motioning to the Pitt. 

A beat passes.

“Okay, Doctor Abbot,” you make sure to emphasize the doctor, your face giving nothing away. 

Doctor Abbot sighs, his hands tug on the stethoscope draped around his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back. Your words sting. He knew what he was saying, but he didn’t expect to regret it instantly. He was rough around the edges. He knew that, but for once, it seemed like someone didn’t mind. You didn’t mind. Yet here he was ruining that, tarnishing away at that trust the two of you had built over the past few months. 

He didn’t even truly mean it. He was in his own head, beating himself up, and it ended up being taken out on you. Abbot knew you didn’t deserve it, he knew you were smart, he knew you were capable, but something about this patient reminded him too much of things he wasn’t ready to visit. Doctor Abbot’s tunnel vision consumed him in moments like these, and he put you, unwillingly, in the crossfire. It was unfair, cruel, and deeply unlike him. Even this conversation outside in the ambulance bay was unlike him. 

You were occupying his brain, making him lose his footing, questioning himself. It’s feelings Jack hasn't felt in a long time. Maybe that’s why he was short with you, maybe that’s why he needed you out of the room to think clearly. 

You’re about to head back inside. Doctor Abbot had said what he wanted to, and you weren’t interested in more of a back-and-forth with him. Just as you brush past him, his hand reaches out, lightly grabbing your arm. 

“Wait,” his voice is low, almost a whisper. You’re closer than normal, your eyes flick up to meet his, making your heart pound. “I didn’t mean that.” 

You know what he means. He doesn't need to elaborate.

“It’s okay,” you offer a nod, and you mean it. You understand Jack in ways others don’t, while it stings, you know how hard these nights can get. It’s an understanding between the two of you, and the bubbling tension seems to reside with a quiet agreement. 

Jack is still holding your arm when the sound of sirens breaks through the moment. The flashing red and white lights illuminate the ambulance bay as Jack pulls you over to the sidewalk. 

“You ready?” he nods his head towards the ambulance.

“Mhm.”

“Good,” he squeezes your shoulder, “It’s all yours.”

“Wait, Doctor Abbot-” 

He’s already headed back into the ER, turning around to offer a double thumbs up. It’s his way of saying sorry, giving you the fresh trauma. Putting his trust back in you. 

The next hours fly by, it’s busy, and you barely get a moment to apologize to Jack for your own behavior earlier in the night. You hadn’t even realized the time until you saw Doctor Robby walking into the Pitt. Your eyes flick down to your watch, 6:50 am. Immediately, your mind goes into autopilot, wrapping up cases, handing them over to the day shift, all while trying to find Abbot before you leave. 

You don’t see him till you're grabbing your bag out of your locker, “Doctor Abbot.” He closes his locker, camo backpack draped off one shoulder as he turns towards you. “I never got the chance to apologize for earlier. You were right, I'm sorry.”

He smiles and lets out a small, teasing laugh, “I usually am right.”

You laugh with him, he’s magnetic in that way, “And thank you for trusting me even though, you know.”

“We both had a moment, and we’re both still learning, we’ll get through this together.” The sincerity of his words goes straight to your heart. “Now let’s get out of here before Robby pulls us onto a trauma.” His serious tone makes you laugh a bit too loudly, resulting in some glances from the nurses' station as the two of you head out.

You and Jack are back outside together, but under much better circumstances. It's not as cold as it was at 3 am, with the appearance of the sun warming your skin as you take in the morning.

Jack takes a deep breath. “You’re off tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I am.” It’s not a question, but you answer it anyway. 

“Coffee on me, c’mon,” Jack tilts his head down the street, towards your usual coffee spot. 

“But don’t you work tomorrow?”

“I don’t sleep anyway,” he shrugs, bumping his shoulder to yours as the pair of you walk together, falling into your routine. 

You smile, sneaking a glance at him, happy that the two of you are back to normal. “Whatever you say, Doctor Abbot." 

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

[tojisteddy]

Soap who has full conversations with your baby.

The man was so addiment about being there every step of the way of your pregnancy since you were rightfully scared. He read up on childcare books in the middle of missions, signed you up for couple classes, even got you a doula. You two were smooth sailing from then on.

But, my goodness would that man talk his head off to your unborn baby.

Those last 4 months, he would snuggle up right to your adorable, growing stomach and talk about anything that came to mind. The weather, the new bassinet you two argued over for thirty minutes, how uncle Gaz and Uncle Simon were both evil brats and hoe the baby (little chicky) couldn’t be around them for too long.

The baby knew Soaps voice, turning or kicking with excitement whenever they heard his voice. But the turning and kicking got so bad you’d waddle your cute butt away every time Soap would come talking even when it was casual conversation.

He’s right on your heals, easily catching up to you, “But baby, how’s I ‘posed to know chicky would come to love ma voice soooo much?”

“Johnny I don’t know, but it hurts! Back up ten feet from now on!” You giggle in a playful annoyance.

“Poor mama,” he coos, pecking your lips before kneeling down right at your belly, hand touching it and immediately feeling a kick that made you wince. “Johnny!” You keened. “Looky ‘ere chicky, ye can’t go bullying ma wife every time ‘m near. That ain’t fair, is it?” The man looks up at you, eyes glistening with laughter and giving your round stomach a kiss. “Ease up on ‘er, will ya?”

Oh did that baby ease up alright, not giving you a moments rest after that “talking to” if chicky didn’t hear Soaps voice. You’d call, three in the morning, praying to God he wasn’t doing anything.

“What’s wrong? You okay dove?” hes panicked, quick to answer those last two months, always.

You sniffle, “Just say somethin Johnny! The baby’s trying to kill me!” And that man can’t help the grin that forms on his face. Chicky hadnt even been born yet but was giving you hell. Like father like child, Johnny’d done the same thing with his mother. She’d be happy to hear about this.

And then, little chicky was born, a beautiful thing with a head full of hair, two eyes, two ears, ten fingers and toes. both of you two cried with joy. The baby clung to Johnny every chance they could, which started the babbling. Chicky would talk up a storm to the both of you as soon as they were able to hold their head up by themselves. Firsts clenched, drool every where, eyes wandering, always had so much to say.

In came Soap who had to feed them at 7 am (sleep trained to a tea by yours truly), the baby in the high chair, red baby food surrounding its mouth while Soap cleaned up the mess of a kitchen from the night before. Going on and on about the people he had to work with.

“Oh honey, I knoooow. Carol told me tha’ Evan’s been bein a little bitch to everyone on base. Annoyin yer poor Da while he tries to do his work! Cannae ‘ave that, can we?”

And your sweet baby babbles back, squealing and gripping onto the spoon in his hand.

You, who’s been watching the entire scene from the archway of the kitchen, scoffs, “Jesus, don’t curse at my kid!”

“Dove it’s not me!” He threw his arms up in defense, giggling, “the babe just won’t stop tellin me how much a gobshite Evan is.”

Soap bends down, face level to your baby. “Yes he is! Yes he is!” He coo’s, and chicky grins, as if they know what’s going on. Just like always.

a/n: reader x soap and their baby chicky is so cute to me.

most recent masterlist

[pazzispizookies]

Marks and a head injury~

Hi guys!! This is just a quick little Pazzi one shot based off a scene in Sella’s amazing series! I hope you guys enjoy!! Let me know how you like it :)

“AZZI!” Paige screamed from the bathroom,

Azzi came running at the sound of her voice, worried something had happened to the blonde, “What?! Are you okay?” She said slightly out of breath.

Paige stood near the counter inspecting herself in the mirror, her reflection showed back 4 marks that Azzi had left the night before, “What. Did. You. DO” Paige said turning towards her, pointing at her neck.

Azzi didn’t mean to leave marks, she never has before, but she must’ve been a little careless last night. “I didn’t mean to! I swear!!”

Paige huffed out, crossing her arms. “Yeah well, you just turn into a vampire last night for no reason?”

Azzi moved forward to inspect the hickies, they were there for sure, all purple against soft pale skin. There was no denying what they were.

“Az..We’re literally suck in the house with your whole family! This is not how we need them to find out were…well, yknow.” Paige replied, her and Azzi still haven’t had the “Talk” aabout what they were yet, for now they were only just now realizing how in love with each other both of them had been their whole friendship. Paige had been living with the Fudds for almost 3 weeks now, still supposed to stay another 2 months while covid dragged on. So to say the least, she didn’t need them knowing she was making out with their daughter every night.

“Do you think we could cover them?” Azzi said running her fingers over the marks, which she was secretly a little proud of.

We could try?” Paige said with a shrug,

A voice broke though their conversation; Katie calling them down, “Girls! Breakfast!”

Paige dragged her hands over her face, mortified of what was to come.

“It’s gonna be fine!! Just..put your hair down, and um wear a long sleeve.” Azzi suggested,

Paige narrowed her eyes at her, “Your lucky your cute, or else I would leave you right here right now.” She ment it be threatening, but the fondness in her voice was clear,

“Oh yeah?” She said back, holding an eye contact that made Paige blush.

Paige leaned forward and kissed her quickly and softly, “Yeah.”

Azzi smiled against her lips, but then focused back on the task at hand. “Okay cmon, she’s gonna come up here if we aren’t down there in like 10 seconds.”

Paige nodded and moved to her room, heading striaght for the closet.

It was summer, meaning the was a blazing 98 degrees outside, not exactly hoodie weather. To make matters worse, Paige was known for always complaining about the heat, wanting to wear as little clothes as humanly possible on days like this.

So as she stood there, black hoodie pulled up, Long blonde hair brushed and down, sweeping over her shoulders and neck. She looked more than unusual.

“This good?” She said looking at Azzi,

Azzi gave her a half-hearted smile, knowing everyone would know something was off, “well…I can’t see them, so..maybe?”

Paige sighed, awaiting her doom in kitchen.

The girls headed downstairs, Azzi in front of Paige to keep her out of eyesight for as long as possible.

“Goodmorning girls!” Tim greeted, already seated eating bacon next to Katie.

Azzi looked up and smiled, “Morning,”

Paige stared down at the floor, giving just a slight nod to Tim.

At this strange greeting, he raised an eyebrow to Katie, silently wondering what was up.

She didn’t know either, but now intrigued on whatever Paige was doing.

Azzi ad her sat down at their normal seats, the plates of colorful food in front of them.

Azzi started eating quietly while Paige picked at some fruit, not daring to make eye contact with anyone.

All she could do was sit in the uncomfortable heat of her hoodie and hair and pretend there wasn’t 4 places Azzis breath and lips lingered for too long in the heat of the night on her neck.

Katie had her suspicious about Paige and Azzi, it wasnt everyday when your daughter asks if her friend could come live with them during quarantine. Most kids would grow sick of their best friends after a while, but it only seemed like they got closer.

A few times she caught them doing things most friends wouldn’t, not anything crazy, just enough to make her question. Smiles that only seemed to show when the other was around, the stolen glances whenever someone made a joke, the way Paige could always sleep in the guest room, but found herself sleeping with Azzi each night.

she had talked to Tim about it, him agreeing that maybe they were more, doubting they even knew it. Saying that “they’re just friends for now” and to see what the future could hold.

But now as Paige sat scarily quiet at the table, hoodie pulled close and hair that seemed less then naturally flowing, his suspions rose.

“So..how did you guys sleep?” Tim asked, starring right into the downward facing head of Paige,

Katie smirked at his question, knowing he saw what was happening.

Azzi looked between them, quickly answering for both of them, “fine-yeah. We slept fine.”

Tim nodded his head slowly, taking a bite of his bacon, “Paige? You slept good too?”

Paiges face burned at the direct question, she hadn’t slept good, she mainly stayed up the whole night tangled with his daughter, sharing secret whispers and heated kisses. She glanced up for a moment, Just meeting his eyes before adverting her glare back down to her fruit. “Good.”

Silence fell over the table, everyone knowing what was up, but still not having the proof.

after a beatt, Katie spoke. “What did you guys wanna do today? We could go swimming at the lake, Paige I think your new swimsuit came too if you wanna try that on.”

Paiges eyes widened, knowing if she even took of this hoodie, the bruises would be shown. “Um—nah, I’m good.” She choked out, her voice higher then normal.

“are you sure you don’t wanna go swimming?It’s really hot out, might be nice.” Time added, trying to get Paige to break.

“Yup.” Paige replied, keeping her answer short.

“She said she doesn’t wanna go swimming. What’s so wrong with that?” Azzi injected in, knowing her parents were up to something.

Katie shrugged, “Nope, nothings wrong, just figured she might be hot after wearing that hoodie all day, aren’t you sweetie?”

Paige practailly choked on her fruit, coughing for a second before shaking her head.

Tim started chuckling at the poor girl, her lying was laughable, and he couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?” Azzi asked, trying to protect Paige from her parnets,

Tim could barley breath before laughing out his words, “Nothing—just don’t think she noticed that her hoodie fell while shaking her head.”

Paige looked down and shit.

One of the bruises was out and barely covered by her hair, making it clear something was behind the blonde strands. This time she actually stated choking on her fruit, which caused herself to shake even more while coughing.

Azzi patted her back worried, “Dad!”

Tim stayed back laughing, raising hands up in defense,

Paige finally stopped her coughing fit, face bright red and now tugging her hood all the way up, pulling the strings as much as she could, before throwing her head down into her arms.

Katie started the laughing too at this, finding it funny abut also shocked to see Paige so flustered.

“Paige? What’s going on there?” Katie added in, her voice dripping with insincere sweetness.

Paige kept her head down, shaking with with a groan,

Azzi knew they got caught, so now flustered herself, because soon it would be clear only one person could’ve done that to her.

“Umm-were gonna, gonna go upstairs.” Azzi spat out, standing up quickly and tugging Paige who was a mess with her.

“We’ll talk about this later young ladies!!” Katie shouted at them speeding off,

Because of Paige’s hoodie pulling pulled up so much, it covered her eyes, leading her straight into the wall with thud,

“oW!”

Tims laughter only grew at the sight of poor Paige just trying to leave the room, now injured.

Azzi could only look at her with sorrow for the girl, knowing she put her in this position.

Paige took Azzis hand again, being up tugged the stairs, not before whispering “Your dead to me” under her breath.

[rafessecret]

Okay adding on to the rafe stepsis thing months later kelce or topper walk in on something (them fucking her giving him head or him touching her) and them being like I knew it! What the fuck but I knew it and rafe flipping out on them

⋆˚࿔ step¡sister reader && rafe cameron

YOU SAW NOTHING.

It’d been months since Topper and Kelce first got suspicious. The way Rafe hovered too close, the way your skirts seemed even shorter when he was around, and the bruises on your neck you never quite explained. But no one dared confirm it, not after Rafe had a few quiet words — more like a fist to Topper’s face and a threat that made Kelce piss himself.

They’d backed off. For a while.

Now, they’re back. Loud and smug, clambering onto Rafe’s pristine boat with beers and big mouths, laughter echoing across the marina. The sun’s low, the water shimmering like gold, but all you feel is panic — because you’re on your knees, lips wrapped around Rafe’s cock while he lounges like sin itself on a plush leather bench, head tilted back, fingers tangled in your hair.

❝Fuck, baby… just like that,❞ he groans, hips jerking up. ❝Sloppy little mouth’s so good.❞

You whimper around him, cheeks hollowing. Your cunt pulses around the little pink Lovense toy nestled inside you, slick dripping down the backs of your thighs. The boat rocks gently with the water, but your world only tilts when you hear the clatter of shoes on deck.

❝We fucking knew it,❞ Topper shouts.

Your eyes go wide. Rafe stills. You’re frozen, lips still parted around him, panic blooming in your chest. You scramble up, shame crashing over you, trying to cover your face, your thighs, your everything. But it’s too late. Topper and Kelce are just standing there — wide-eyed and horrified, but smug. Because they were right. ❝Get downstairs,❞ Rafe growls.

You nod, tears already spilling, and you flee below deck, heart hammering. You curl up on the bed, sobbing, still wearing nothing but a ruined shirt and the now-silent vibrator. Every sound above feels like thunder in your ears. Upstairs, Rafe pulls on his shorts, slow and furious.

❝You want to die today?❞ he snarls.

❝Man—❞

His fist cracks against Topper’s jaw, sending him reeling. Kelce raises a hand, stumbling back, but it’s no use. Rafe's a storm now, all rage and violence and snarled threats. ❝You think this is a game? You think you can fucking laugh? I’ll put you in the ground if you ever open your mouth about her.❞

Kelce tries to reason with him — badly. Something about being friends, about not meaning it. But Rafe is beyond words. He drives Topper into the deck again, blood already staining the pale wood. ❝She’s mine. You don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. You forget you ever fucking saw her.❞

His voice is low now, terrifying in its calm. ❝You’ll keep your mouths shut. Or I’ll shut them for you.❞ By the time he’s done, they’re coughing, stumbling, bruised and bloodied, dragging themselves off the boat with no more jokes.

Then it’s quiet again.

Rafe moves below deck, breathing hard. The second he sees you, curled up and still trembling, his entire demeanour shifts. He kneels beside the bed, gently brushing your hair back.

❝Hey… look at me, angel.❞ You blink up at him, tear-streaked and shaking. ❝It’s okay. They’re not going to say anything,' he murmurs, voice soft now, hands so gentle on your face. ❝I handled it.❞

You sniffle. ❝But… they saw…❞

❝Doesn’t matter,❞ he interrupts. ❝None of it matters.❞ He pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like armour. ❝We’re fine. It’s still okay. ‘Because I said it is.❞

And you believe him. Because you always do.

And because no one crosses Rafe Cameron — and walks away the same.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : this one had me in a chokehold angels — not gonna lie, i struggled a bit with making it feel realistic while still capturing the vibe. wasn’t sure if you even wanted a whole scene out of it, but once i got started… well. you know how rafe gets. anyway, hope it hits <3

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[bloggerspam]

Gonna change it up a little and reblog from my sideblog bc ill be doing some little omake scenes (extras, and in this case not-quite canon but might as well be) over there (if i think of any/can manage to be funny enough)

If you saw me reblog the new update no you didnt it was a last minute decision. >.>

===

So.

The unnamed Cousin who caught him in his lies was not in fact, a bigot who was appalled about Jon's powers, but rather a concerned meta-human himself.

Good to know.

Kon uses his hearing to try and get a bead on the suddenly missing Cousin's whereabouts, his irregular heartbeat standing out amongst the crowd.

He grabs the red-headed cousin who made Jon on his meta-human status and tugs her along to where his little brother might be. He can already hear the un-named cousin scolding the younger kids for their recklessness, which makes him smile in relief. He's always been bad at that kind of thing, even though it's his job to do so as the older one.

Even if Jon has technically existed for longer than he has, Kon has way more information downloaded into him. The fact that they didn't download him with the intricacies of being an older sibling should honestly be a crime.

At any rate, Kon and Jon definitely owe these cousins for discretion. Even though Ma said the Walkers wouldn't have had an issue with them having powers, it was still dangerous to even give the possibility of a connection to the Supers.

Especially since Clark was already Smallville's biggest and worse kept secret.

Honestly, he shouldn't have trusted Clark in the first place, even if Pa backed him up on it.

Kon hates to say it, but this is exactly why Tim is so adamant on those stupid plans and practicing them.

It started out so well too—none of the Aunts or Uncles or older cousins suspected a thing! Kon introduced himself, gave his branch family name, and most of them just, moved on!

When Pa and Clark said it wasn't unusual in a big family like theirs, Kon almost didn't believe them. It was only through the virtue of Jon's previous memories of not remembering a single cousin despite going to three of these reunions already that Kon even agreed to the foolhardy plan!

Kon had even asked for Mom and Ma's help just in case, but then Auntie Agatha had her emergency and Kon had to drop them both off and Pa needed help carrying Ma's pies—

All this to say, he shouldn't have let his guard down just because a couple of relatives let it pass. There was bound to be at least one relative who would notice, and Kon knows more than anyone that twisting yourself up in lies can get you caught real quick—you don't stay on a team with Red Robin and not learn that lesson the hard way.

Have fun, Pa said. It'll be fine, nobody'll notice, Clark said. Seriously, you're starting to sound like Tim, Jon said!

And look how that turned out, Kon thinks viciously. Both Jon and Kon have been made by not just one but three Walker cousins, and Kon has to deal with it as the older one.

The absolute worst.

From a mission objective point of view, Kon has utterly and terribly failed. He was thrown into the deep with no basic research under his belt, no rudimentary plan, and worst of all, no back up plans or back up plans for the back up plan.

Kon should have insisted they waited for Mom, damn it. Tim would have done that. Cassie would have probably lied better than him, and Bart would have just coasted on his cute little baby face.

Kon hates to say this even more, but his brashness of just jumping right in with the confidence of success no matter what is probably something he inherited from Clark.

But Batman isn't here to clean up his mess, and his team is scattered doing their own secret identity obligations.

He really should have waited for Mom to come back.

Kon rounds the bend of one of the Uncle's houses, the Reunion being held in the neighborhood the local family members have low-key taken over. With a total of four ranch-sized houses owned, next to each other, it makes for a big enough space to host (or so he's been told).

"Ellie, you know you were supposed to stay out of the bounce house." A stern voice is staying. He and the red-headed cousin find their prize just behind the edge house, somehow empty and devoid of the reunion shenanigans.

Jon and (presumably) Ellie are sitting on the grass looking caught out but otherwise happy with themselves. They keep nudging each other as the meta-cousin stands before them, arms crossed and shaking his head in defeat. He's even pinching the bridge of his nose, reminding Kon of Tim when the team does something they're not supposed to be doing.

"Baby Jon, didn't Uncle Clark teach you how to control your powers?" The unnamed meta-cousin asks his brother, exasperated. "What am I saying, he doesn't have a subtle bone in his body when it comes to the family.."

Kon snorts, unable to help himself, drawing the trio's attention.

"Jazz!" Ellie beams, waving excitedly before spotting Kon. Her wide-eyes freeze him in place. "Who's that?"

"That's what I'd like to know." The meta-cousin grumbles, hands going to his hips and Jazz stumbles over to check over Ellie and Jon.

"I told you," Kon adjusts his sunglasses to dart a look at the meta-cousin, before smiling down at Ellie. "I'm Jon's older brother, Conner."

"Baby Jon doesn't have a brother." Jazz and Ellie say in unison.

The meta-cousin throws his hands up in defeat. "And Baby Jon didn't have powers either, clearly we're missing something!"

"It's a new development." Jon grumbles. "You didn't have powers last time either, Cousin Danny."

"It's a new development." The finally named meta-cousin mocks back. "And clearly, I have a better handle on it than you do, Baby Jon."

"This is so unfair." Jon huffs, flopping back into the grass. "And I hate it when you guys call me Baby Jon."

Danny points at Jon whilst Jazz rolls her eyes as they both say in unison, "You're not a Cousin until you bring your first dessert."

"But Ma never lets me near the oven!" Jon whines as Ellie giggles, tumbling back into his brother and making him laugh with her.

"I think that's kind of the point, kiddo." Kon ventures, unsure feeling less and less confident in Clark's plan.

"Don't think I forgot about you," Danny points at Kon, who puts his hands up in surrender. "Far as we're concerned you're still a Baby too. You did not exist before this, and therefore have not brought a dessert."

"You don't know that." Kon challenges, trying to at least get one lie through. "I don't come to these things often, sure, but it's not like you know every cousin in this gods damned family."

"That's the thing." Danny squints his eyes in suspicion, "You'd be correct if you weren't in my age range. My generation came out the smallest—there's only three of us cousins in this age bracket, and you sure as hell ain't tall and blonde like Cousin Mark is, and you're damned well not a girl like Cousin Jenny."

"Plus," Jazz interjects, scrolling through her phone. "I don't have your baby pictures."

"What?" Kon and Jon say in unison, the younger sitting up in confusion. Kon clears his throat, trying to sound authoritative. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Jazz has everyone's baby pictures." Ellie says as she also sits up. "Plus, she and Dad know every family member."

"See?" Jazz turns her phone around, showing a family picture of Ma and Pa and Clark and Mom when she was heavily pregnant with Jon. "I have every Kent's photo except for you."

Scrolling through, she starts showing them pictures of a toddler Jon on Clark's shoulders, Ma and Pa chatting at Mom's wedding, even a picture of Clark doing some kind of bull wrangling when he was Kon's age.

"And you just…have that." Kon stares disbelievingly at Jazz, "On your phone."

"Well, yes." Jazz looks at him confusedly. "I have most of the family's baby pictures."

"She even has some pictures of Great Aunt Martha's first date with Great Uncle Jon." Danny shrugs, as if this is normal.

As if this is sane behavior when you have 100+ family members.

"…How?" Kon asks, scrolling through her phone and jolting. "Is this Mom in high school?? Where did you get these??"

"They showed me once, so I took a picture of it." Jazz shrugs. "Sometimes the Aunts blast them out in group chats, or on InstaFace."

"Nobody even uses InstaFace anymore!" Kon feels like he might be crazy, this is insane right? None of his downloaded information is helpful, and Tim didn't include this in his powerpoint about social media.

"Jazz got one specifically to keep up with the family!" Ellie smirks, which makes Kon realize she thinks his reaction is funny. "She doesn't use any other social media."

"Aren't there like, a bajillion family members?" Jon chimes in from where he's hopping up behind Kon, trying to see. Kon bends over a little bit before he does something drastic, like fly. "Why do you have like, everyone's baby pictures?"

"I don't have everyone," Jazz argues, "Great Grandpa Arty and Great Grandma Bella didn't have pictures."

"Because that's what we're focusing on here." Kon snarks, looking to Danny and Ellie for help and getting exactly zero.

"It is not that strange!" Jazz huffs, snatching her phone back and scrolling through to a particular one. "It's nice to have memories and I like keeping track of everyone!"

She seems to find the picture she's looking for, shoving it in his face. It's a picture of an album.

There's a picture of Ma and Pa's wedding, a little sepia toned from sun or time damage where it shines a little unevenly in the album it's in. There are two hands in the photo holding open the album, a small pale hand with teal nail polish on it, and a slender woman's hand, wrinkles barely visible, with Ma's wedding ring on it.

Admittedly, Kon can understand wanting to save these kind of memories. Knowing Ma, she would have told Jazz the entire story too.

It makes a pang pulse through Kon, something close to jealousy and envy, but just a little to the left of it.

Something like loneliness.

"Is this Great Aunt Martha?" A tuft of black hair gets in his face, causing him to jerk back a little. Ellie has inserted herself between Kon and the phone, hanging off his arm and tiptoe-ing to see.

The point of contact soothes him a little, moreso when Jon nudges in from his other side, the two almost bumping heads and bickering over the photo.

Kon lets them have it, and the two sort of wrestle their way to the grass to peruse the rest of the album to try and find more of the Kents and Fentons like some kind of Where's Waldo game.

A hand clasps down on his shoulder, and when Kon turns his gaze away from the preteens he meets Danny's almost sad gaze.

"Listen. Clearly we need to do a sort of…" Danny steers Kon over to where Jazz has sat down neatly next to the kids on the grass, "debrief, I guess."

"Did Uncle Clark have you with a one night stand?" Ellie asks, which has both him and his brother choking on their spit. "Mom said he was hopeless with the ladies, but maybe he was good enough to have a rendezvous or two?"

The look on Jazz and Danny's faces suggest that they clearly don't think Clark is cool enough for that, and it warms the cockles of Kon's little heart.

"I don't think Uncle Clark is the...one night stand type." Jazz says, reasonably. "He doesn't really do anything casual by the mile."

"Conner's a Junior like me, so Uncle Clark would have been…" Danny does the math, "at least dating Aunt Lois, so if he did it'd be an affair."

"I am not an affair baby." Kon interjects exasperatedly, throwing one last Hail Mary out. "I was just really shy as a kid, and since Lois had me out of wedlock I felt real weird about it, okay!"

"Aunt Lois wouldn't have been ashamed." Jazz's voice is stern, which makes his spine tingle the same way it does when Tim or Ma or Mom scold him—like he's done something really wrong and should cop up to it. "Great Aunt Martha wouldn't have let her, I wouldn't have let her, and you've got another thing comin' if you think I'm gonna let you keep talkin' 'bout yourself like that young man."

"Shit," Danny cusses, rubbing the back of his head and pressing Kon down into the grass between the kids. "You might as well get talkin'. When Jazz's accent gets all funky it means she's real mad."

Kon looks at Jon, at a loss.

They don't know each other well enough to have built up some kind of sibling communication, and most of all Kon's still new to this whole, human/family/community thing even if YJ has done its damnedest.

But somehow, both of them know they've got to give up the ghost.

This is definitely all Clark's fault.

"…We tell you ours," Kon offers as Jon employs his deadliest puppy dog eyes, "and you tell us yours?"

Before Danny or Jazz can even think to interject, Ellie sticks out her hand towards his little brother to shake. "Deal!"

Cousins, Clones and Conning the Family

Family Reunion AU, where cousins Maddie and Clark try to smuggle their clone children into the family reunion that happens every 5 years and pretend they've been there the whole time.

Spoiler alert, one of them does significantly better than the other. Mainly Kid POV, and also on AO3! Multichapter. ===

The problem with big family reunions, Danny thinks, is how utterly fucking lost Danny is all the gosh dang time.

"Well now, you're Maddie's son now ain'tcha? How old is you now?" The woman standing before him guffaws, ruffling his hair. He lets it, trying desperately to remember the speadsheet Jazz created for the family and (obviously) failing to recall this woman's name.

Agatha? Selene? Riri? No, Aunt Riri is over there—

"Yes ma'am," Danny smiles up at the unnamed aunt, accent going a little twangy like it always does at these functions, "I'll be hittin' 17 in a coupl'a months or so."

"My, my, you youngin's sure grow like weeds!" The aunt coos, gesturing to a height by her hip, "You used to be this tall last time I saw ya, betcha don't r'member me now do ya?"

It's a trap. If he says he doesn't remember, which is expected at reunions such as these that happen every 5 years or longer, she'll start going on and on about the stories she has of the family. Danny would have to stand here and demure and laugh at these cousins he doesn't really remember too well, but know enough to know that she's gotten them all mixed up.

"Pshaw," Danny doesn't react when a whisper breathes the answer into his ear, "I'd never forget a pretty lady like you, Aunt Helena!"

It works like a charm.

The second he's out of her clutches, he feels around for a cold spot. There, trailing just behind him, is Ellie. She's not invisible anymore, so he tucks her under his arm and bee-lines it towards the metaphorical kid's table.

"Thanks, Ellie. Weren't you supposed to stay with Dad?" Danny leads them around, trying to avoid any other mishaps. "Did Jazz send you?"

"She made me flashcards!" Ellie smirks up at him, ignoring his other question and pulling a corner of an index card out from the palm of her hand. She's always been better than him at manipulating the ecto in her body, for obvious reasons. Danny's not bitter about it at all.

"Damn, all I got was a presentation." Danny grumbles. Jazz and Dad somehow know every single one of their family members, which is ludicrous when even Mom doesn't know despite it being her side of the family.

He still can't really believe how big his family actually is, but he supposes that's natural. He only sees them once every couple of years, the only relative they see even on a remotely regular basis is Aunt Alicia, who has no kids and refuses (rightfully so) to remarry.

Danny's fine with that, he gets the best of both worlds after all. Cozy holiday stays with Aunt Alicia and he has places to stay all over the country if he really needs it, no questions asked.

Plus, crazy as they can be, these reunions have always felt like a big country festival for Danny.

"She likes me better." Ellie snickers, tugging him back to avoid Uncle Charlie's drunken stumbling.

"Everyone likes you better," Danny rolls his eyes, pushing Ellie's head down and ducking to avoid a stray kid's toy flying overhead, "I like you better."

As if somehow knowing Danny's being self deprecating again, Jazz shows up to smack him on the head. "I like both of you equally in special ways."

Danny makes a disgruntled noise, grumbling as he rubs his head, "Mooooom, Jazz is therapizing me again!"

Even though he was only half joking, Mom does show up specifically to laugh at him. "Honey, your father and I love all our children equally!"

"It's a secret," Dad says from behind Jazz, kids climbing all over him, "But Ellie's the favorite!"

"Jack!" Mom yells at the same time Jazz screams, "Dad!"

Ellie dissolves into giggles, making everyone but Dad helplessly laugh. It's good to see Ellie laugh, she does it a lot but it still doesn't feel like it's enough. Danny picks her up, giggling mess and all, and tosses her at Dad.

She lands, as expected, straight into the pile of children who scream and accept her easily.

"Nice." Jazz chuckles, this time patting him gently on his head in approval. Danny shrugs, dusting his hands off and heading back towards salvation: the food.

He and Jazz mingle a bit, exchanging greetings and school updates with the Aunts and Uncles they occasionally bump into, making their way slowly through and keeping an eye out for the other cousins.

Eventually, Jazz gets nabbed by Cousin Dermot just as Danny reaches the table, tossing a pig-in-a-blanket into his mouth and chewing with glee. The locals of the family usually something potluck style—and though Dad's genes are strong and the Fentons can't cook, the bulk of the Walker family definitely can.

In fact—Great Aunt Martha said she was going to bring some mini pies right?

Danny spies a pile of them in the middle of the large table and reaches for one, only to bump into the spikes of black fingerless gloves.

The gloves are, of course, attached to someone else.

It's a boy, around Danny's age, in a spiked leather jacket (matching the gloves) and white tee shirt with ripped jeans. He's got the tiniest John Lennon sunglasses and piercings everywhere—it makes Danny squint at him, with how much the sun keeps catching on everything—the spikes, the piercings, the metal arms of the sunglasses, is this dude also wearing lipgloss?

Danny's not judging, a guy can appreciate proper hydration to avoid chapped lips or even just for the aesthetic, but it doesn't help with the glare.

"Sorry, my bad." Right, okay, city slicker then. Not that Danny's much of a country boy or anything. "Did my spikes get you?"

Maybe Cousin Jenny brought a plus one? Danny eyes the guys jeans—they look tight. Was Cousin Mark into guys? Is this dude a guy or possibly a masculine girl? Ack. Stupid sun frying his brain.

"It's okay," Danny says, blinking away and tossing mini pie to the other person. "Aunt Martha's pies are worth the minor injury. You comin' in with one of the cousins?"

"Uh, yeah." Citypunk looks at Danny nervously, "I mean, I am one of the cousins." The guy bites his lips, shrugging, "Uh, one of the Kents, actually. Ma's real proud of the pies."

Danny blinks.

"…You're not Jon." Danny says, very carefully and slowly.

"…No…" Stranger Danger draws his vowels out, "I'm Conner. His, uh, older brother? Can't blame ya for being confused though!"

"…You can't." Danny agrees, because out of the two them, Danny definitely isn't to blame for the confusion.

"Yeah, lots of cousins, and all," Curiouser and Curiouser beams at Danny, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck, "Plus, I know Jon's more sociable at these things."

"Right, he really is rambunctious, that guy." Danny nods, as if that's the problem, and not the fact that Danny knows every single cousin his age. Big as his family might be, Danny's generation came out the smallest. Cousin Jenny and Cousin Mark are the only two his age.

With Ellie and Jazz each being four years younger and older than Danny, and the other cousins being well beyond those ages in gaps, there is no way this guy is a cousin.

"Don't worry," Punk'd laughs self deprecatingly, "I know he's the favorite. even if Mom won't admit it."

Danny feels a vein throb in his right temple.

He's unsure if he should slowly back away or get up in the guy's face. It's just—now that Danny thinks about it, if wedding crashing is a thing, does that mean family reunion crashing is a thing too?

What's the protocol here? Should he fight this guy for having the audacity to use Great Aunt Martha's name in vein?

Wait, no, that's Jesus.

Is Great Aunt Martha Catholic? ...Is that the one with Jesus, or was that Christianity?

Wait, Danny, you knuckle head, Uncle Clark was adopted. Conner could be adopted too! Even though he looks exactly like that Uncle Clark when he was younger…

"Is this your first time at a reunion?" Danny ventures, "We only have 'em—"

"Every 5 years, yeah." Conner huffs, "Nah, I just used to hide with Ma in the kitchens."

Okay, clearly Great Aunt Martha isn't in on this, because Danny used to hide with Great Aunt Martha in the kitchens. Danny's about to lose his shit on this guy—or maybe sic Ellie on him. Whichever is worse.

"Oh yeah? That's must have been cozy." Danny grits out, taking a deep breath so his eyes don't flash.

"Yeah, it was!" Conner beams shyly. though all Danny sees is a smug smirk. "She's real nice-like, I'm sure you know. Real lucky to have her for a Grandma."

"Real lucky." Danny agrees, because Great Aunt Martha really was one of the better Great Aunts. Though most of the Walker Kin were hardy and tough, in that badass kind of way. Mom really liked Great Aunt Martha's lessons on bull wranglin' back when they were younger. "Speakin' of, she ain't here?"

"Nah," Conner makes a sad little pout. "She hadta stop by Auntie Agatha's for an emergency. She left two days ago, so she's runnin' a little behind. Cl—Dad went to go pick her up."

Danny squints at the possible imposter. That sounded like he was going to call Uncle Clark by his name, which makes things confusing for Danny. Guy will call Aunt Lois Mom but he won't call Uncle Clark Dad easily?  Maybe he's a kid Aunt Lois had before marrying Uncle Clark? But Aunt Lois would never hide a kid, and Great Aunt Martha would never let her treat a kid like that. That's not even taking into account that this kid looks way too much like Uncle Clark for it to be a fucking coincidence. Plus, Danny knew about Aunt Aggie's emergency and how she might not be making it to this year's reunion—this gives Conner's story credibility.

But Danny knows that the best way to lie is with truths, even if the truths are confusing.

So what the hell is going on? Is Clockwork fucking with him? Did an alternate timeline get switched with his?

It wouldn't be the first time, but Clockwork at least had the decency to let him know at least.

"What the—" Danny blinks, as Conner picks up a very familiar, eye-searingly green colored post it note that was stuck to the plate under a mini pie. "Is this yours?"

"Yeah," Danny huffs. taking the note and rolling his eyes as lies roll off his tongue, "Sorry, y'know how it goes with Jazz."

"Oh, yeah." And Danny has to give it Conner, he at least rolls with the punches real quick, "I heard about it but didn't ever uh, see it in action."

"Really?" Danny feigns surprise, head pulsing in irritation at the words all is as it should be written in purple pen. There's no mocking smiley face, but Danny feels it in the ink anyway. "Thought she got all the cousins at the last reunion."

Conner chuckles nervously, "Oh, yeah—Guess I'm just, easy to miss you know?"

"Uh huh…" Danny eyes the guy and his piercings and very distinct style, from the tip of his clearly styled hair and needlessly ostentatious big black studded boots. "…Right."

Conner laughs, wincing. "These're new. High school debut."

"…You're a freshman?" Danny tilts his head, squinting.

"Junior." Conner automatically corrects, before stiffening. "…I just wanted to reinvent myself for Junior Prom."

"Right." Danny repeats, drawing out the vowels and finally giving up. He can tell Conner already knows what Danny is going to ask, and is trying to exit this conversation post-haste.

Fortunately for Conner and unfortunately for Danny, Jazz comes barreling in, almost knocking the former out in the process as she grips the latter's biceps tightly with her eyes wide and nervous.

Unfortunately for Conner and fortunately for Danny, though the look in Jazz's eyes thoroughly distracts the latter and gives the former a window to escape, Jazz's hissed out words end up keeping Conner rooted to the floor.

"Baby Jon has powers!" Jazz hisses as she moves Danny away from the possible imposter a couple feet. Even though she says it low enough for only Danny to hear, Conner's wide eyes as he whips his gaze towards them suggests that Jon's not the only one with powers.

And then words actually register along with that thought.

Danny hisses out the first thing he thinks of. "Since when?? I thought he took after Aunt Lois!"

"Since now," Jazz gruffs, switching her grip to drag Danny away, "and I need you to do something about it!"

"What?" Danny doesn't struggle, going along even as he eyes Conner who seems to be following them at a distance. "Why?"

Jazz pushes him towards the kid's area, rushing out a frantic "He's in the bounce house with Ellie!"

Danny freezes, or tries to even as Jazz keeps tugging him along, before shaking off her hand and booking it towards the bounce house.

Once the bounce house (a castle) comes into view, Danny clocks several things in succession:

One: Ellie and Jon are thankfully the only ones in the bounce house right now.

Two: Ellie and Jon are laughing, and through the mesh Danny can see Ellie watching Jon jump way too high to be considered normal.

And three: The bounce house is about to fucking tip over.

There's a gaggle of Aunts herding the younger cousins towards the food that's dense enough for cover, but sparse enough for Danny to dash through.

Between one blink and the next, he disappears.

[bloomiize]

perv/gooner!jake is gross and he's gotten even worse

READ PART ONE HERE (not needed but it adds context)

perv!jake finally asks for your instagram when you're paired up for a project. It’s not like he doesn’t already know it by heart. Not like he hasn’t jerked off to every single one of your posts. Not like he wasn’t drooling over that innocent little selfie you posted last night. He just wants you to know he exists now. And you happily exchange Instagrams with him like it’s nothing.

perv!jake tells his roommate everything. He asks for advice on how to get closer to you, more specifically, how he could get his dick wet.

"She sounds hot. If you ever wanna recreate that hentai scene, let me know." Jake and his roommate have always joked around about sex, but this time it felt real. Too real. His dick is already begging to be touched at the thought of fucking you, he doesn't mind if he isn't the only one.

perv!jake made an effort to get to know you. Your favourite colour, the way you like your coffee, the songs you hum when you're zoning out. He also knows how you always tug your skirt down when you think it’s ridden up too high, not high enough in his opinion. How you're so naive to just bend over without thinking, right in front of him. He knows you prefer lacy panties over thongs, soft and girly, the kind he imagines peeling off you with his teeth. He’s memorized you. Every inch. Every habit. Every sound you make.

perv!jake likes how close you two are now. You always invite him over to study, to work on the project like good classmates. And yeah, maybe he’s looked through your drawers when you’re in the kitchen. Maybe he’s taken a not-so-innocent glance at your laundry basket, eyes locked on the crumpled pair of panties sitting right on top.

He’s thought about it.

Pocketing a bra, a pair of panties, hell—even a sock. Just something. Anything that smells like you. Feels like you. Something he can wrap around his fist while he jerks off to the thought of your soft little voice saying his name.

It’s disgusting. He knows that. Still doesn’t stop him.

perv!jake can never make it halfway through the door without his dick twitching. Can you really blame him, though? You’re always wearing a tiny tank top, no bra, and he can see everything. Your shorts, if you can even call them that, barely cover your ass, riding up with every step you take. Jake nearly cums in his pants right then and there.

perv!jake helps you solve a complicated problem, and you light up like he’s the smartest boy in the world. As a sign of your appreciation, you hug him, tight, soft, your tits pressing right up against his chest like it's nothing.

And he moans.

Quiet. Slips out before he can even think. You don’t seem to notice. You just keep smiling, thanking him like you can't feel something hard pressed against you. His dick’s already leaking, he can feel it.

He clears his throat, cheeks red. “I- uh, I’m not really feeling the best. I think I’m gonna head out early.”

You pout, sweet and worried, and offer to get him some water, maybe let him lie down, hoping he'll stay a bit longer. But he’s already opening the door.

Because he needs to get home. Now. He’s seconds from cumming in his pants, and he knows once he’s alone he’s gonna jerk it to the feeling of your tits against him—again and again until he’s lightheaded and shaking.

gooner!jake cant stop thinking about you, or more specifically, your tits. Its hard not to when they're so perfect. Soft, warm, and pushed against him when you hugged. He swears you did it on purpose, not that he minds. He can't stop fucking the panties he took from your apartment a few days ago when you had him over, surely you didn't notice they went missing. They're dirty and sticky from his fluids but he can't stop, he wont stop. Jake's not proud of it but the is the closest he's getting to fucking your perfect pussy.

gooner!jake got a call from you in the middle of edging himself for the third time tonight.

"Hey! Did you make it home okay? You left in a hurry and you said you weren't feeling well..." Your voice rings through his head. He's gripping his dick tighter now, still moving his hand up and down. He can't just cum immediently to the sound of your voice, that would be so embarrassing. He has to last longer for you.

"Y-yeah I made it home fine. T-thanks" Jake's holding back moans. It's disgusting how even when he's on the phone he won't stop. He cock is throbbing in agony, he's been edging himself non stop and he so desperately wants to cum, to feel you, to fill you up.

"You don't sound sound okay Jakey, you should've just stayed. I would've taken care of you." You say it so innocently that Jake loses it. He lets out a groan and thrusts his hips violently into his hand. Jake knows your panties are ruined by him but it doesn't stop him from shoving it into his mouth, pretending he's tasting your sweet cunt against his dirty tongue

How could you just say that so casually? Calling him Jakey? Saying you would've taken care of him?

You have no idea what you do to him.

"f-f-fuck y/n. I want you so fucking b-bad." It slips out of Jake's mouth before he realizes it.

"Walking around with those t-tiny shorts. I should've just be-bent you over." His brain is practically gone at this point, all he cares about is cumming. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head while his hand moves furiously. He's moaning loudly enough that you could hear him through the phone. He doesn't care anymore; he wants to be gross for you, if you'd let him.

"I'm go-gonna cum, fu-fuck!" His hips sputtered into his fist and thick, hot ropes of cum sprayed all over his phone. He's oversentive from edging himself nonstop, brain completely empty and dick still hard.

gooner!jake realizes that you were still on the phone, you didn't hang up. Before he can apologize, your small voice comes out,

a whimper.

Are you... are you touching yourself to him right now?

from bloomiize: tysm for reading the first part!! I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to ask for a part 2, let alone enjoy my writing 😭 I was super nervous posting >< but your support means everything!! lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for part 3 !!

taglist (OMG I HAVE A TAGLIST?!?! if you commented on part 1 I tagged you, lmk if you wanna be removed! ^^)

@femmefqtqle @seobinghard @maysshade @dark-moon-light02 @jjongsies @nikismyprincesses @iaaespa @heeseungsbm @shy9-29

[sheriffaxolotl]

Better (Abby Anderson x f!reader)

Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), cheating, use of words like cunt/pussy Wordcount: 8.4K A/N: This is my first time writing a smut between two characters. So, might be good, might be bad. Please let me know! Critique would be hugely appreciated !

Summary: She could be a better boyfriend than him.

The bass thumps through the house like a second heartbeat, a dull, relentless pulse that rattles the windows and your skull. You already regret coming. The lights are low and tinted too red, and the air smells like spilled beer and too much cologne. Solo cup in hand, you snake your way toward the kitchen, phone raised like a shield, pretending to text someone—anyone—just to avoid making eye contact with the half-drunk crowd grinding to music that hasn’t been cool since high school.

Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Said he’d just stepped out for a second—over thirty minutes ago. Classic.

You lean back against the edge of the counter, shoulders tense, trying to melt into the cabinetry. You scroll through the same three notifications again, wondering if anyone would even notice if you slipped out the front door. Maybe you’d just Uber home. Maybe—

A hand brushes your wrist. Warm. Intentional. And somehow, electric.

You look up.

Abby Anderson.

She’s standing just a little too close. Leather jacket slung over a tight black tee that hugs her just right, jeans riding low on her hips, and that damn smirk tugging at her mouth like she already knows something you don’t. Her hair’s pulled back loose, a few strands falling forward like she couldn’t be bothered to fix them before walking into the party and still managed to make it look effortless. Movie-scene levels of hot.

You’ve known Abby for a while—same classes, mutual friends, occasional gym hangouts—but she’s never looked at you like this.

Like the whole party’s just noise and you’re the only clear thing in the room.

“I can’t believe we’re finally alone,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, barely audible over the music.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

She chuckles under her breath, the sound low and rich. “You always show up to these things with him. I almost didn’t bother coming tonight.”

Your eyes flick toward the living room, where bodies move in a blur of shadows and bass. Still no sign of him. Of course.

Abby’s eyes don’t follow yours. They stay fixed on you. Watching. Waiting.

“What are the chances?” she says after a beat, taking half a step closer. “Everyone’s dancing, the house is packed, and yet... he’s not with you.”

You feel it then—deep in your stomach. That fluttering, unsettling spark. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or her voice or just the way she’s looking at you, like she’s trying to decide whether to kiss you or ruin your life. Maybe both.

You shrug, trying to deflect, suddenly too aware of the heat creeping up your neck. “You know how he is.”

Abby’s jaw tightens just slightly. “Yeah,” she says. “I know exactly how he is.”

Her gaze flicks down to your wrist again, to the spot where her fingers brushed you. She doesn’t touch you this time. Not yet. But her hand hovers, twitching, like she’s debating something.

You swallow hard, suddenly needing air that isn’t thick with perfume and tension. “You’re acting weird,” you say, half-laughing, trying to cut the tension before it chokes you.

“No,” Abby says, head tilting. Her voice drops, goes velvet-smooth. “I’m acting honest.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Honest?”

She steps in, just close enough that her breath brushes your cheek. You can smell the faintest trace of mint on her lips.

“I’ve been watching you,” she says, quiet but firm. “Every time you show up with him. Every time he disappears on you. Every time you pretend not to care.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

Her voice softens, almost like she’s afraid you’ll bolt. “I don’t know what he’s doing, walking away from someone like you. But I do know what I’d do if you were mine.”

Your heart skips. Then stumbles. “Abby—”

She cuts you off, not with words, but by gently—finally—sliding her fingers around your wrist again. It’s not forceful. Just there. Steady. Real.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” she says. No teasing this time. Just quiet conviction. “I’d show up. I’d stay. I’d make you feel seen.”

You exhale, the sound half a scoff, half an attempt to push down the sudden ache in your chest. “You’re drunk,” you say, but it sounds thin. Weak.

“I’m not,” she says, stepping even closer, crowding into your space, but not unwelcome. “I’m dead sober. And I’ve been thinking about stealing you from him since the moment I saw you tonight.”

Your heart skips.

“I could be such a gentleman,” she adds, her voice like velvet now. “Plus—” she grins— “all my clothes would fit.”

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Abby shrugs, not letting go of your hand, “but I’m not wrong. You know I’m not.”

You should say something clever, something to shut her down or laugh it off. But instead, you glance down at your phone again—three unread texts from your boyfriend.

Where r u 

Be right back, chill 

Don’t start drama pls

You lock your phone and slide it into your pocket.

“I don’t need to tell you twice,” Abby says, reading your silence like a damn novel. “You know all the ways he falls short.”

She tilts her head, studying you with that steady, unreadable gaze that makes your stomach twist. “If I could give you some advice…” Her voice is soft now, like it’s meant only for you, cut off from the noise and heat around you.

You meet her eyes, hesitant. “Yeah?”

Her mouth quirks into a subtle smirk, but there’s something deeper behind it—something that feels like truth. “I’d leave with me. Tonight.”

Your heart lurches. Your lips part, some weak protest fumbling to the surface, but she cuts you off before it can form.

“Ladies first, baby,” she murmurs, her voice rough velvet. “I insist.”

You freeze—not because you’re unsure, but because everything in you is sure, and that’s the terrifying part. The confidence in her words, the closeness of her body, the way she’s just there, so solid and real—every inch of her feels like something you’ve been aching for without even realizing.

You look at her. Really look.

And all you can think is: Why the hell am I still waiting on someone who never looks at me like this?

Abby watches your face shift. Watches the storm behind your eyes and says nothing. Just steps closer, slow and patient, until there’s barely a breath between you.

“I never would’ve left you alone,” she says quietly, her words deliberate and low. “Not glued to your phone. Not standing in a corner like you’re invisible.”

It hits something deep in your chest.

The sounds of the party start to melt away—like someone’s slowly turning down the volume on everything except her voice, her presence. Abby’s hand finds yours again. Warm. Steady. She squeezes once, gentle. A question.

“Let me take you home,” she says.

You don’t respond. Not yet.

Instead, you stare at her lips. And she sees it—sees you falter forward an inch before stopping yourself. The air between you turns thick, charged with something neither of you says out loud.

Her eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Say it,” she whispers. “Or do it. But don’t run back to someone who keeps forgetting how lucky he is.”

You hesitate, just a breath longer.

Then you step in, heart hammering so loud you’re sure she can hear it. You reach up, fingers brushing the edge of her jacket—but you don’t kiss her. Not yet. You stop there, close enough to feel her breath against your skin.

She doesn’t move either. She waits. Eyes locked to yours. Letting you choose.

And you do.

You slide your hand up, curling your fingers into her lapel like a lifeline, and when you finally pull her in, it’s slow. Careful. Like the seconds are stretched out and folded in on themselves.

Your lips meet—tentative, testing—and the first touch is barely more than a breath, a question neither of you wants to ask too loudly. But then she leans in, and so do you, and suddenly you’re kissing her for real—deep, slow, and undeniable.

It’s not frantic. It’s not rushed.

It’s full of everything you haven’t let yourself feel. All the longing, all the frustration, all the what-ifs you’ve swallowed down night after night.

Abby’s hand comes up to your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw with a kind of reverence, like she’s afraid to wake you from a dream. You let out a shaky breath into her mouth, your whole body leaning into her without even meaning to.

And then she’s moving.

Her other arm slips around your waist, anchoring you to her like she’s afraid you might still vanish—and maybe a part of you is afraid too. But her grip is real, grounding, and suddenly there’s no room left for doubt.

Abby reacts instantly, her hand gliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as she pulls you deeper into her. The kiss changes, sharpens. From a question to an answer. From want to need.

You feel the heat of her body press flush against yours, her chest against your own, the contact dizzying in its intensity. She tastes like mint and something more—something wild and reckless, like the edge of something dangerous, something you didn’t know you needed until right now.

The kiss turns urgent. Desperate. Like you’re both trying to make up for every second wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

Abby backs you up until your spine meets the edge of the counter, the cold granite biting into your skin, a jarring contrast to the fire catching between your bodies. You moan softly into her mouth, the sound swallowed by her lips, and she groans in response—a low, rough sound that vibrates through your chest and straight down your spine.

Her hands slip lower, slow and deliberate, testing the edges of your waistband before settling on your hips. She pulls you against her with intent, with heat, grinding you into the shape of her body like she’s carving you there.

And in that moment, it doesn’t matter that you’re still in someone’s kitchen at a party you didn’t want to come to. It doesn’t matter who’s in the next room or what excuses are waiting on your phone.

All that matters is her.

“You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?” Abby breathes against your lips, voice rough, thick with something primal.

You don’t deny it. You don’t want to.

You don’t answer, can’t answer, because she’s already slipping her hand underneath your shirt, her fingertips grazing the soft skin of your stomach, sending shivers through you. You arch into her touch, your mind clouded, your body responding to her in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Her lips trail down your neck, kissing a path toward your collarbone, and you can’t help but moan softly, threading your fingers into her hair to guide her closer. Abby’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your waist, your back—and you feel like you might just crumble under her touch, the intensity of it stealing your breath away.

But before you can get too lost in the moment, Abby pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath heavy.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice low, almost a growl, like a predator checking if its prey is willing.

You blink, struggling to clear the haze in your mind. The answer is there, pulsing in the back of your throat, but the question feels so out of place, considering how badly you want this.

“I’m done waiting,” you whisper, voice shaky but resolute.

Abby’s lips curve into a wicked grin, and she nods, her eyes dark and focused on you. She leans in to kiss you again, but this time, it’s more deliberate, more controlled. She wants to take her time with you, savoring every second.

As her lips crash against yours once more, you know there’s no turning back now. Whatever boundaries you had left, whatever morals or hesitation, have already melted away in the heat of this moment.

And just as you feel yourself sinking deeper into the world Abby is pulling you into, her hand slides to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up slowly, her fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Upstairs," she murmurs against your lips, voice thick with need. "Right now."

You don’t hesitate. Grabbing your jacket from the back of the counter, you take her hand.

Abby’s hand tightens around yours as she leads you through the sea of bodies, her grip steady and possessive, pulling you away from the kitchen and deeper into the maze of the house. The music pulses louder as you pass through rooms, the air thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne, but none of it matters.

Not when she’s so close, her body brushing against yours with every step, every shared glance that makes your stomach flip.

You can feel her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and you’re so close now, your senses overwhelmed by her presence. As you reach a quieter hallway at the back of the house, Abby doesn’t slow down. She pulls you into a room at the end, one that’s been abandoned by the partygoers, a cozy little study filled with mismatched furniture and the dim glow of a single lamp in the corner.

The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, and the moment the latch clicks, Abby doesn’t waste any time. She spins you toward her, her lips capturing yours in a kiss so intense that it leaves you breathless. The quiet of the room is a stark contrast to the chaos outside, and every kiss, every touch between you both feels amplified in the stillness.

Abby’s hands roam freely now, sliding down your sides and over your hips as if she can’t get enough. She pulls you closer, her chest pressing against yours, and you feel the heat of her body in the way she holds you—firm, urgent, like she’s afraid you might slip away.

You respond with equal hunger, your hands finding their way to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. She lets out a soft groan when you tug her closer, and you revel in the sound. The tension between you two is palpable, thick in the air like static before a storm, and you can’t think about anything else but her.

“You’ve got me all to yourself now,” Abby murmurs against your lips, her voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, your own words stuck in your throat. All that’s left is the pull of her, the heat that rises between you both like wildfire.

Without another word, Abby’s hands move to the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward with a slow, deliberate motion that has your heart racing. The cool air brushes against your skin, and you shiver in anticipation, watching her eyes darken with something raw and intense as she takes in every inch of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she mutters, her voice thick with desire, and you can’t help the rush of heat that floods your cheeks at her words. You’ve never heard her sound like this before—this unguarded, this raw. It makes something inside you ache in a way you didn’t expect.

You step forward, closing the distance between you as you slide your hands under the edge of her jacket, lifting it off her shoulders and tossing it aside. The fabric of her shirt is soft under your fingertips, and you feel the heat of her skin as you press against her, feeling the outline of her muscles as your hands move lower, exploring.

Abby’s breath hitches when your hands graze over her waist, her lips finding yours again, hungry and frantic now. The kiss is full of promises you both don’t need to say out loud, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a thread pulling tighter and tighter.

The urgency in the air heightens, and every touch, every movement feels like it’s pushing you both closer to the edge. She guides you toward the couch in the corner of the room, but you don’t quite make it before your hands are on her again, pushing her against the nearest wall.

“Abby,” you gasp, voice breaking with a mix of desire and need.

She smirks, her lips curling into something wicked as she presses herself against you again, this time with more force. “I’ve got you now,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear, “and I’m not letting you go.”

Before you can respond, Abby’s hands slide firmly around your thighs, and with a sudden, dizzying movement, she lifts you. Your legs instinctively wrap around her waist as she carries you with ease, like your weight is nothing—like she’s meant to hold you. Her grip is strong, steady, and the muscles in her arms flex with every step as she strides toward the couch across the room.

You cling to her, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, your fingers tangling in the collar of her shirt. “Abby—”

She cuts you off with a kiss—slow at first, savoring it, like she wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of your skin, the sound you make when her lips graze yours just so. But it doesn’t stay slow for long.

By the time she lowers you to the couch, her body follows, pressing you down with a heat that makes your skin burn in the best way. Her mouth stays on yours, hungry now, claiming. Her tongue slips past your lips with a confident tilt of her head, and you moan into her before you even realize you’re doing it.

She swallows the sound like it’s a reward—grinning against your kiss as her hands trail down your sides, fingers mapping the curve of your waist with purpose. She presses her hips into yours, grinding slow and deep, and your back arches off the cushions in response, your breath catching in your throat.

Her hands roam lower, gripping your hips with firm purpose, then sliding up beneath your shirt again, this time with no hesitation. She breaks the kiss just long enough to tug it over your head and toss it somewhere over her shoulder. Her own comes off just as quick—revealing toned muscle and the kind of sculpted softness that makes your breath catch.

You stare for a beat, eyes raking over her, lips parted.

“Eyes up here,” she teases, breathless but grinning, and leans down to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, her hands anchoring your hips like she’s claiming them. “Or don’t. I kind of like the way you look at me.”

You barely manage to bite back a whimper as her teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and your hands find the curve of her back, nails digging in when she grinds her hips down into yours.

“Abs…” you whisper, but there’s no question in your voice—just need.

Her voice is a low growl at your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

She hums in approval, kissing down the slope of your collarbone. “Then lie back, baby,” she says, one hand already guiding you down again with firm, gentle pressure. “And let me take care of everything.”

And you do—because her weight between your thighs, her hands on your body, her mouth claiming yours over and over—it’s the first time you’ve felt wanted in so long.

And Abby doesn’t just want you.

She knows exactly what to do with you.

The push of her thigh between your legs has a moan coming from your mouth that is nothing but desperate. Clearly enough that it causes that wicked smirk to come back to her lips as she leans over you more, gently grinding the muscle against your core as you mutter a low ‘fuck’ as your brain short circuits from the small action.

Her smirk deepens as she watches the way your breath stutters, how your hips instinctively roll against her thigh. Abby leans in, her lips brushing your temple before trailing a slow, deliberate path back down to your neck. She presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, softer one at the hollow of your throat. “You’re so responsive,” she murmurs, voice low and full of pride. “I barely touch you and you’re already trembling.”

You are, and there’s no point in denying it. Your body feels like it’s caught fire—heat blooming at every point where her skin touches yours.

The steady grind of her thigh is both grounding and electrifying, like a steady beat beneath the chaos. And Abby? She’s completely in control. Patient, confident, like she’s been waiting to have you like this and she’s going to take her time now that you’re here. One of her hands slips under you, sliding along the small of your back, the warmth of her palm sending a fresh ripple of sensation up your spine.

 The other brushes up your side, fingers tracing the curve of your ribcage before splaying out across your chest, over your racing heart. She looks down at you like she’s taking a mental snapshot, something she wants to burn into her memory. “You’re beautiful like this,” she says softly, the heat in her eyes belying the gentleness of her voice.

Your fingers clutch at her shoulders, dragging her down for another kiss—messier now, fueled by everything swirling between you. Abby leans into it, one hand slipping down, finding the waistband of your jeans with practiced ease. She works the button open, her touch confident but unrushed, like she wants to savor every second.

The zipper gives with a soft sound, and she eases the denim down your hips, eyes never leaving yours as she does. Her gaze lingers, hungry and reverent all at once, like unwrapping a gift she’s waited too long to hold.

Abby doesn’t pause—doesn’t need to. The way your body reacts, the way your breath catches under her touch, is all the answer she needs. Her mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, less like a kiss and more like a claim. You melt into it, fingers threading through her hair as she presses closer, one hand keeping your bodies flush while the other explores every inch of skin she can reach.

“You drive me crazy,” she growls against your lips, her voice rough and low like it’s been dragged over gravel. “Been thinking about this—about you—way too long.”

You can feel it in the way her fingers grip your side, in how her lips move along your jaw, down your throat, like she’s trying to map every inch of you by memory. Every breath is heavier now, laced with tension that’s been building for far too long. The couch creaks beneath you as she shifts, her knee nudging yours apart just slightly, just enough to steal your breath.

Her mouth trails lower, leaving a trail of heat behind, and her hands never stop moving—firm, sure, and undeniably hers. You arch into her instinctively, your head tipping back with a quiet gasp as your hands tug her closer, needing more.

“Just like that,” Abby murmurs, a crooked grin tugging at her lips as she watches you fall apart beneath her touch. “Look at you.”

Your eyes flutter open just enough to catch the way she’s looking at you—like you’re something rare and burning, something she's wanted for longer than she’d ever admit. That look alone sends another shiver down your spine.

She leans down, lips brushing your ear, breath warm and wild. “I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And just like that, she’s slipping from your grasp—her hands sliding down, thumbs catching the edge of your underwear as she eases it away. Every movement is unhurried and deliberate. Her mouth doesn’t stop for a second—leaving soft, lingering kisses along your neck, across the curve of your chest, down your stomach. Each one lights a spark under your skin, and by the time she settles between your thighs, you’re already breathless.

Her eyes meet yours—dark, intense, unwavering. “Just like that, baby,” she murmurs, her voice all velvet and fire, “keep your eyes on me.”

The way she’s looking at you… it’s too much and not enough all at once. Like she’s reading every unspoken word etched into your bones, every need you’ve barely admitted to yourself. Her grip tightens on the backs of your thighs, anchoring you, steadying you, and when her breath fans across your weeping cunt, a shiver rocks through you. The sound that escapes your lips is a tangled mess of a gasp and a curse, and her fingers only press deeper, holding you in place.

Then she leans in, and the first press of her mouth to your pussy pulls a ragged cry from your throat. “F–fuck, Abs—” But she doesn’t relent. She doesn't even pause.

Her tongue moves with intention, slow and devastating, tasting every inch of you. Every glide, every flick, every swirl against your clit builds you higher, and there’s no room left in your chest for anything but the sounds she draws from you.

The low sound that rumbles from her throat when she sinks deeper sends another tremor through you. She presses closer, one strong arm sliding beneath you to keep you right where she wants you. You’re gasping now, hips jerking, chasing the rhythm she’s setting—your body flushed with heat, your legs starting to tremble.

And then she hums—just a little—and it sends a jolt through your cunt, right to the base of your spine. Your hands find her hair, fingers twisting tight, a plea caught in your breath as your eyes squeeze shut.

It’s happening so fast—and you feel it building, barreling toward something you can’t stop. And maybe you don’t want to.

Because it’s not just her mouth.

It’s what she sees.

It’s the way she shows up.

It’s the way she touches you like you matter, like your pleasure isn’t an obligation, but something she craves—something she’s been waiting to give you from the second you started settling for less.

Your boyfriend hasn’t looked at you like this in months. Hasn’t listened. Hasn’t asked what you need. And when he does touch you, it’s half-there, distracted, like he’s checking off a box, not trying to feel you. Not like this.

Not like Abby.

Abby, who’s on her knees for you like she worships at the altar of your body. Abby, who doesn’t need to be asked twice. Abby, who touches you like she’s making up for every lonely night, every unanswered message, every time you told yourself, “This is just what relationships are sometimes.”

Her lips seal tighter, tongue circling with a purpose that makes your toes curl. You gasp, broken and breathless. And then she slides a finger into you—slow and full and just right—and your back arches off the couch like a current’s shot through your spine.

“Abby, please,” you manage, voice barely a whisper, frayed and desperate. “I’m so close.”

She doesn’t stop. If anything, she doubles down. She knows your body like she’s memorized it in dreams, and now she’s playing every part like a symphony rising to its crescendo.

Your thighs tighten around her shoulders, your hands gripping her as you fall apart with her name on your lips, everything crashing through you in waves.

“I’m gonna cum—oh fuck, Abby—”

The first crest hits you and then everything else after that is lost in the chaos. You lose track of everything—where you are, what you are, who you are—you only exist as a bundle of nerve endings, every single one firing all at once and your entire world turns white.

Somewhere in the distance you hear Abby moan, a sound so filthy it might have pushed you over the edge all over again if your body wasn't already wrung out, your chest heaving, your lungs burning.

Your legs fall open, sliding off her shoulders, limp.

Abby wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then crawls up next to you, wrapping you in her arms, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Your head falls back against the arm of the couch, your hands slipping from her hair as you try to remember how to breathe.

"Fuck," you sigh, your eyes still closed.

Her hand settles on your knee, thumb brushing along the line of your thigh. "I think that's the most I've heard you swear," she murmurs, the sound of her voice and the warmth of her palm against your skin making it impossible not to open your eyes.

"That's because it's the best I've ever had," you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Abby doesn't even bother trying to hide her grin, preening at the sentence. But she also doesn't just let the energy between you settle. "Told you, I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else." She said, before one hand was wondering up your chest and the other one was lowering down your thigh again.

You can't help but shudder, the promise in her voice alone enough to get you riled up all over again. "You're really not wasting any time," you laugh, but when her fingertips slip between your folds again, you're the one who shudders.

"Not when I've been thinking about this for far too long," she replies, her fingers sliding deep, and you have no choice but to give yourself over to her.

Abby doesn't hold anything back. And you're more than willing to meet her head-on.

By the time she eases back, the room is thick with the sounds of you falling apart, the air hot and heavy. There's a faint sheen of sweat across her shoulders, and her lips are swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," the words fall from your lips without thought, and her answering grin is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

She leans in, and when her mouth covers yours, the taste of you lingering on her tongue, a shiver runs down your spine. "Not as gorgeous as you are," she whispers, before her mouth is moving down your neck, fingers tugging the cup of your bra down before latching around your left nipple.

"Oh fuck!" You hiss, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh, the sharp pain melting into pleasure.

She takes her time, alternating between rough bites and soothing licks, her hand sliding up and down your side, her thumb grazing the swell of your breast. Then her mouth is gone, her hand is also gone from you, wrapping around the back of your thigh, spreading you open.

"Look at you, so ready for me," Abby murmurs, her eyes drinking you in. "Really should have taken you out of here, bet you would look even better takin' my strap."

The mere thought of it is enough to make your thighs tremble, and her responding grin is sinful. "Oh, you like that idea, huh?"

"Yes," the word rushes out of you in a breathless rush, and her hand squeezes your thigh.

"Next time, baby," she promises, and then she's lowering herself back down, and her mouth is everywhere.

The slide of her tongue, the nip of her teeth, the warmth of her breath—it's intoxicating, and it's only a matter of moments before you're falling apart again, a hoarse cry slipping from your lips.

You don't even notice she's stopped until her hands slide down your thighs, soothing you. It takes a moment for you to regain the ability to speak, and by the time you've got your eyes open, she's leaning over you, her hair falling around her shoulders.

"Hey," her voice is gentle, a crooked smile curling her lips. "You with me?"

"Yeah," the word falls from you in a slow exhale, and her smile grows.

"Good," She mumbled, her eyes looking over your features. The sound of the party can be heard faintly through the door, but all you can do is look at her. Practically fully clothed besides that black sports bra clinging to her chest, Abby towers over you like a storm still crackling with lightning. Her jeans ride low on her hips, the muscles in her stomach flexing with each slow, controlled breath, and there’s something in her eyes that makes your pulse spike all over again—hunger, satisfaction, and just a hint of smugness.

Her braid’s messy now, strands of gold clinging to her flushed skin, and her chest glistens faintly with sweat. She’s never looked more raw, more dangerous, more real. Every inch of her is tense with heat and control, like she could devour you all over again if she wanted to—and God, you want her to.

Abby braces herself on either side of your head, arms trembling slightly from restraint. Her eyes flick over your face like she’s memorizing every expression you’ve made—every breathless whimper, every broken plea. She dips her head, brushing her lips along your jaw, the ghost of a smile curving into something darker.

“You’re a fucking dream like this,” she mutters, low and rough, voice rasping like it’s been dragged through fire. “Can’t believe I get to be the one to wreck you like that.”

You shift beneath her, hands gliding up her sides, mapping out the lean definition of her torso. Every breath she takes is steady, but you can feel the tension still thrumming in her body—like she’s barely holding herself together.

Then you move, catching her off-guard. With a quick twist and a shove, Abby lets out a low grunt as you flip her onto her back against the couch cushions, her braid falling across the armrest, her legs bent awkwardly before she relaxes into the plush seat with a laugh—surprised, breathless, and completely at your mercy.

You straddle her thighs, palms pressed to her chest, and lean in close, your lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“It’s my turn now.” You whisper, voice low and rough with want.

Abby’s smirk falters, just barely. Her eyes search yours, pupils blown wide, and she licks her lips, her chest rising faster beneath the cling of her sports bra. One of her hands grips your thigh, tight, anchoring herself as if she’s trying to brace for what’s next.

There’s still heat in her gaze—always—but now it’s tinged with anticipation, curiosity, a rare flicker of surrender.

You roll your hips forward slowly, deliberately, and her breath catches in her throat.

“I want to ruin you back,” you murmur, eyes locked on hers. “Want you to feel what I did. Every second.”

Her hand slides up your back, nails scraping lightly through the sweat-slicked skin. “Then take it,” she growls, low and eager. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lifts her hips, pushing up to meet you, and you grind down into her with a low groan, pressing your body against hers. You bury your face against her throat, mouthing at the damp skin, and she tilts her head back, exposing her neck for you. You bite down, sucking at the soft spot beneath her ear, and she hisses through her teeth, hips rolling into yours, her breath growing ragged.

Your hands move up, tangling in her hair, and she gasps, fingers digging into your hip as you drag your mouth along the curve of her throat, biting, licking, marking her. Abby arches up into you, panting, and the feel of her chest heaving beneath yours is enough to make your toes curl, heat racing along your spine.

Your hands fall to her chest, and you drag the tip of one finger slowly across the edge of her bra. Abby bites her lip, groaning, her eyes fluttering shut.

You drag your palm over the curve of her breast, and she lets out a muffled curse, her other hand clamping down on your waist. Her nipples pebble under your touch, and she arches her back, straining against the fabric.

You smile against her throat.

Your fingers loop into the elastic of her bra, and without needing words she lifts her arms up as you pull it over her head. You toss her bra aside, barely catching the way Abby’s eyes darken as they rake over your face. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, bare now beneath your touch, her skin warm, flushed.

You lean in, kissing just above her heart, then lower still, your lips tracing the line between strength and softness. Her skin is flushed, damp, and hot beneath your mouth, every shift of your touch dragging another breathless sound from her lips.

Your hands move down, slipping past her ribs to the waistband of her jeans. The denim is stiff, rough against your fingers, but you pop the button with a slow flick, dragging the zipper down until it parts with a soft rasp. Abby lifts her hips without hesitation, wordless and eager, her eyes never leaving yours.

You ease the jeans down, the tight fabric clinging to her thighs, then her calves, and finally off her ankles. You toss them aside, and it’s then, as you settle back between her legs, that you see it.

Her underwear are soaked — a dark stain blooming at the center of the thin cotton, clear in the low light. A slick line gleams along the edge where the fabric meets her skin, proof of her arousal along the curve of her inner thigh.

Your thumb drags along the edge of the fabric, tracing the damp line, smearing the evidence of her desire. She smells like heat and sweat and something sweeter, and your mouth waters as your gaze drags up to meet hers.

“Fuck,” you murmur, rough and low.

Abby’s mouth curls into a smirk, flushed cheeks and bright eyes betraying the heat roiling just beneath. “Yeah,” she breathes, voice rough. “That’s for you.”

You kiss the edge of her hip, then move lower with intent. Her thighs tremble under your touch, fingers twisting in a couch pillow, breath catching as you lean close enough to drag your tongue over the front of her underwear, teasing and unhurried.

When your teeth graze her gently through the soaked fabric, she gasps—sharp and broken—and her hips rise into your mouth with instinctual urgency. You slide your hands up her muscular thighs, thumbs hooking into the elastic at her hips.

She lifts herself again, silent but begging, and you don’t keep her waiting. You pull her underwear down slowly, watching the wet fabric stretch before slipping free. The scent of her hits you — heady, sweet, and utterly intoxicating.

You press another kiss to her bare hip, then glance up. Abby’s eyes are half-lidded, chest heaving, lips parted with anticipation.

She swallows hard. “Come on, baby.”

Your breath fans hot against the inside of her thigh, and she shivers beneath you, the muscles there taut and twitching. You drag your mouth lower, tasting salt and skin and the slick heat she’s drenched in. Your thumbs press gently into the creases of her hips, holding her open, steady, as your tongue finally slips through the soft hair and glides over and dips into her waiting pussy.

Abby chokes on a breath—sharp and desperate—her hips jolting, one hand flying to your shoulder, the other still gripping the pillow in a white-knuckled clutch. You hum against her, slow and deep, the vibration making her gasp again, and you feel the flex of her abs under your hands as her body tries to curl toward your mouth.

“F-fuck,” she stammers, voice cracking, head tipping back into the cushion behind her. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t plan to. You flatten your tongue, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up through her slickness, then in steady, relentless circles, building her up with every flick, every press, every slow drag through the slick heat of her cunt. Abby’s legs tremble around your head, thighs twitching with every pulse of pleasure, and you hold her open, anchored by the grip of your hands at her hips, the flex of muscle under your fingers.

She’s soaked—utterly dripping—and you can feel it coating your mouth, your chin, the skin by her thighs now slick with it as she writhes beneath you. You moan into her, the sound low and full, and she lets out a cry that cuts off sharp as her back bows off the couch.

“God—” she gasps, breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut. “Your mouth—fuck, your mouth feels so good—”

You hum again, lapping at her with rougher strokes now, your pace no longer teasing but hungry. Abby’s hands are in your hair, gripping hard, hips grinding against your face, chasing every movement you make. When you suck her clit between your lips and flick it with your tongue, she lets out a strangled whimper, thighs clamping down for half a second before you press her open again.

You glance up, just to watch her fall apart. Her lips are parted, glistening with spit, her chest heaving, sweat gleaming along her collarbone and between her breasts. She looks wrecked—utterly undone—and you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“Please,” she pants, voice barely a whisper now. “Please don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

You don’t.

You slide one hand from her hip, dragging your fingers down the trail of soft hair under her belly button, guiding over the hair between her thighs, circling lower until you find her entrance. She’s soaked, your fingers sliding in with ease, and she jerks with a sharp inhale, her whole body tightening. You curl your fingers just right, tongue and hand working in perfect rhythm, and the sound she makes is almost guttural.

“Jesus—fuck—!” Abby’s voice breaks, breathless and high, her hand slapping against the couch cushions as her other grips your arm like a lifeline. Her thighs are trembling violently now, her hips stuttering, bucking.

She’s so close.

You feel it in the way she clenches around your fingers, the way her moans lose all rhythm, the way her nails dig in as though she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.

And when her whole body locks beneath you, when her moan turns strangled and her back arches off the couch—you want every second of it.

You press your fingers deeper, curling them just right, and suck harder, flicking your tongue in tight, ruthless circles. Abby lets out a sob of a sound, hips jerking up into your face, and you feel the pulse of her around your fingers—a deep, clenching rhythm that starts low in her belly and ripples outward like a wave crashing through her.

She’s coming. Hard.

Her thighs clamp around your head, trembling with every pulse. Her nails rake down your back, not gentle, not careful, but desperate—anchoring herself to something as her body breaks open around the pleasure. She gasps for breath, her voice caught somewhere between a moan and a curse, chest heaving like she can’t quite get enough air.

“F-fuck—oh my God—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

You don’t. You keep going, pushing her through it, over and over, licking her like she’s everything you’ve ever wanted on your tongue. Her legs are shaking now, uncontrollably, her whole body trembling with aftershocks that just won’t quit, her hips twitching with every stroke of your tongue, every curl of your fingers still buried inside her.

And then—finally—she collapses.

Her body goes slack all at once, like the tension’s been wrung out of her completely. She sinks back into the cushions, chest rising and falling in shallow, stuttering breaths, one hand falling from your shoulder to rest limply on her stomach. Her skin glows, flushed and glistening with sweat, and there’s a dazed, bliss-drunk look in her eyes as she blinks down at you.

You slowly withdraw your fingers, licking them clean as she watches with parted lips, too wrecked to do anything but breathe.

You press soft kisses to her inner thighs, then climb up her body, your mouth tracing the path of her sweat-slick skin until you're hovering just above her. Her arms slide around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you close, and when your lips meet hers, she moans against your mouth.

“Jesus,” she breathes, still trembling, her voice barely a whisper, yet so full of raw honesty. You can feel the slight shudder that runs through her as she pulls you closer, her fingers threading into your hair, as though she never wants to let go.

You settle next to her, propped up on an elbow, and gently cradle her against your chest. She’s warm and pliant in your arms, skin still buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure, her breathing gradually slowing as the moments stretch out in peaceful silence.

You press a kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there for a moment, then to the tip of her nose, and finally down to her lips, tasting the softness of her, savoring the sweetness of her kiss.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, brushing a strand of damp hair off her face. Your hand rests on her cheek, tender, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile quiet that’s settled between you.

She nods slowly, her eyes still half-closed, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Better than okay,” she whispers, her voice thick with satisfaction. “That was better than any dream I’ve had of you,” she says, eyes glowing with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

The words settle in your chest like a gentle weight, making your heart thump just a little harder than before. You press your lips to her forehead again, feeling the warmth of her skin under yours, the pulse of her heart still racing, but slowing.

“Glad I could make it better than anything you’ve imagined,” you murmur, your voice hushed with the quiet intimacy of the moment. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture gentle, almost reverent, as though you don’t want to disturb the peace between you.

Abby lets out a small, contented sigh, curling into you just a little more, her fingers still stroking over your skin in a way that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I didn’t know anything could be this... perfect.”

You chuckle softly, your chest vibrating with the sound. “We’ve got time to see if we can top it.” Your words are light, teasing, but there’s something in your voice that promises more — more time, more closeness, more moments like this.

Her lips curl into a soft grin, a small, playful spark returning to her eyes despite the exhaustion hanging on her. “I’ll hold you to that,” she whispers, her hand drifting back to your side, tracing the curve of your ribs, the feeling of her touch so familiar now, like a rhythm you’ve always known.

As the quiet settles between you, Abby’s fingers continue their slow exploration of your skin, the touch soothing, grounding. But then, after a beat, she pulls back just slightly, tilting her head to meet your gaze. There’s a shift in her eyes, something that’s been building in the subtle movements, in the way she watches you like you’re both caught in a secret, shared between the two of you.

She clears her throat, her voice now low but filled with a quiet, vulnerable intensity. “I’ve been thinking…” she starts, her words softer, but heavier, like she’s working her way up to something important.

You lift an eyebrow, your heart picking up a beat at the change in her tone. You sit up slightly, giving her your full attention. “Yeah?” you mumble gently, a part of you already knowing where this is going.

Abby takes a breath, her gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, then back again. “I don’t think you should stay with him,” she says, her words deliberate but filled with raw honesty. “Not when you could be with me.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment, thick and charged with an unspoken promise. You stare at her, the weight of the moment slowly sinking in. She doesn’t say it in an angry or demanding way — there’s no rush, no pressure in her voice. She just sounds... sure. So sure, like she’s been thinking about this for a while, and she wants you to hear her, really hear her.

“Abby…” you start, but she holds up a hand, stopping you before you can say more.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice tender but full of longing. “I’m not asking you to drop everything overnight. But I think you deserve better than what you have right now. I think you deserve someone who’s gonna make you feel like you’re the only one in the world. And... I want that to be me.”

You feel your breath catch, her words slowly winding through your chest, tightening with every beat. You can see it in her eyes — the vulnerability, the hope, the desire — and you realize, in this moment, she’s asking for something more than just this night. She’s asking for you, all of you, not as an option, but as someone who could choose her, choose this.

“I think I could be happy with you, Abby,” you finally say, your voice steady but full of emotion. Your heart is pounding, the reality of it all settling in as you look at her, knowing she’s speaking the truth. There’s no denying the chemistry, the pull between you — it’s been there from the start, only now, it’s deeper, more real.

Abby smiles softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of relief and hope, like she’s been holding her breath, waiting for you to finally say it. “So…” she trails off, her fingers brushing over your cheek, a playful glint in her eyes. “Will you break up with your boyfriend? And be mine, officially?”

The question lingers in the air, sweet and simple, but it feels like the start of something new. The kind of thing you can’t take back — and for the first time, you realize you don’t want to.

You smile back at her, heart full, the weight of the world suddenly feeling lighter. “I think I already am,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to cup her face, drawing her closer.

And as your lips meet again, slow and tender this time, you know without a doubt — this is just the beginning. Notes:

A/N: This is my first time writing a smut between two characters. Critique would be hugely appreciated ! Literally based off the song 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron

[y3sterdaysproblem]

bed chem - m.s.

summary: a goofy fic of matt based off of the song bed chem by sabrina carpenter

warnings: suggestive

wc: 3.5k

-

Going out to parties wasn’t something you did all the time, but it wasn’t something you were completely a stranger to, either. You were used to the excitement of getting ready, finding the perfect outfit and putting on your makeup, and it made it infinitely more fun knowing your best friend would be alongside you for the night.

Except when she nagged.

“Come on, love, we gotta go. Our ride’s here and we’re already an hour late.” She tells you, standing behind your vanity with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised as she watches you apply lipstick. “We have two parties to get to, remember? So the faster we get to this one, the faster we get to the next one, and the faster we get home.”

“I’m going as fast as I can, but you making me talk is making me take longer!” You retort, staring at her in the mirror. She huffs and goes to your bed, grabbing her purse off of it and slinging it over her shoulder.

“I’m going out to the car, you have two minutes.” She tells you before leaving your room and eventually your house.

You roll your eyes at her dramatics before finally finishing up your makeup and spraying your hair and face so everything stays in place, getting up to head outside to join her in the uber.

“Damn,” she mutters, eyes raking over your form next to her. “You look hot as fuck.”

You smile and turn your head to look at her. “I know, that’s why I take so long.”

Your body was adorned in a black, sheer dress, a black, lace lingerie set visible underneath it, hair flowing over your shoulders perfectly, makeup looking the most flawless it has in a while. It was worth the time it took since you know everyone would be taking photos.

It hasn’t been a long time that you’ve been in this scene, seemingly blowing up over just a few months on social media, but you had to admit, you were enjoying the life of having followers more than you cared to admit. The attention, the parties, the relationships, the edits. It was all a little bit addicting and you hoped it wouldn’t stop any time soon.

Tonight’s party felt different, though. You knew it was going to be bigger and there were going to be some popular influencers that you had looked up to for years, so you wanted to make an impression, make sure people wouldn’t forget you and had an urge to come up and speak to you, and hopefully tonight you looked good enough for that to happen.

“Have a good night,” your driver turns to smile at you both when you arrive, not so subtly letting his eyes trail over both of your bodies, causing you to let out a groan at him, getting out as quickly as possible.

“He was gross,” you mumble, pulling your dress down your thighs.

Your friend laughs, looping her arm in yours. “At least he thinks we’re hot.”

-

The night progresses as parties typically do; dancing, photos, introducing yourself to people you’ve seen online but never met, a few drinks being consumed over the course of a couple hours. It was exhilarating and you felt like you could’ve stayed until everything died out, but you were interrupted by your friend gently grabbing your arm, smiling up at you. “Hey, I ordered an uber so we could head out,” she tells you and you pout, not wanting to leave yet but knowing you had to.

“Sounds good, let me know when it’s here.” You apologize to the person you’re speaking to before turning to make your rounds and bid farewell to the host.

It’s then that you’re walking through the halls in an attempt to find who you’re looking for when your eyes land on a boy you’ve never seen before, instantly feeling captivated. He wore a white jacket, seemingly just arriving, along with jeans, keys hanging from his belt loop. His bright blue eyes felt like they cut through the room when they looked up and locked on yours, the people around you turning blurry as you focused on him. Normally you’d feel too nervous to keep eye contact with somebody like this, but you couldn’t stop watching as he excused himself from his conversation and started walking towards you, slipping between people while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

Once he’s in front of you, you can’t help the way your ears heat up, grateful for your hair covering them otherwise you’d be exposed in seconds to how your body was reacting to him so quickly. He smiled wide at you and you’re blown away at how beautiful he is so up close, all of his features fitting together so perfectly.

“Hi,” he says, loudly enough to cut through the music.

You laugh at his volume, hand coming up to cover your mouth momentarily until you’re done laughing, dropping it back to your side. “Hey,” you yell back, leaning in a bit closer.

He takes one step closer to you, nearly closing the gap between your bodies, leaning his face down so he’s close to your ear, hand coming up to rest on your hip gently. “I’m Matt,” he tells you, hand running up your waist as he pulls away to look at you again.

Your breath hitches at his touch, wanting nothing more than to lean into him but having to remind yourself that you don’t even know him, even though he feels so familiar. You introduce yourself to him and feel lightheaded at the smile he shoots you, eyes admiring his perfectly aligned teeth that fit his face so well. He repeats your name lowly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he tells you sweetly, and despite just meeting him, you believed him wholeheartedly. “Hey, would you want to-.”

You’re ripped from your bubble with Matt when your friend suddenly appears and slips her arm around your waist, clearing her throat loudly. “Ride’s here! Time to go!” She exclaims, trying to pull you away from Matt, much to both of your dismay.

“No, wait-!” You try to tell her but she only pulls harder, Matt’s hand falling off of your waist as distance grows between you.

“Nope, gotta go!” She tells you again. You turn around as you’re walking, seeing Matt laughing at the two of you as he watches you leave, still standing where you left him. He waves his hand at you and you groan, turning back to look at your friend.

“You just cock-blocked me!” You screech as you guys barrel through the door and outside, ripping yourself away from her. “We were so into each other, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

She groans, walking towards the car waiting for you. “I’m sure you’ll see each other again, he looks familiar.”

You get in the opposite side of her and turn to glare in her direction. “I’ve never seen him before and I’ll probably never see him again, thanks to you.”

She laughs, amused at how desperate you sounded. “Dude, you’ll live. He’s probably just looking for someone to fuck. If anything, I just saved you from shitty sex.”

You huff and sit back in your seat, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it now except wait for another event that you might see him at.

-

It’s late, or early depending on how you look at it, and you and your friend were cooped up in bed together, ready to sleep after a long night of socializing, talking about some of the things that happened that night when your phone dinged from your bedside table. Confused, you grab it and stare at the screen, seeing a text on your lockscreen staring back at you.

3:52am

unknown number

hey

Your brows furrow and you show it to your friend. “Do you recognize this number?” You ask. She turns and looks at it before shaking her head.

“No, I don’t even recognize the area code.” She says, looking up to meet your gaze.

You hum, shrugging your shoulders. “Weird.”

You stare at it for another minute, trying to see if they say anything else, and just as you’re about to close it and set your phone down, the bubbles indicating the other person is typing pop up and your brow raises in curiosity.

3:54am

unknown number

it’s matt btw

You gasp, spinning back towards your friend. “It’s him! The guy from earlier that you dragged me away from! He got my number! How’d he get my number? Oh my god, he wants me so bad.” You’re squealing and reaching out to grip her arm, which earned you a groan of pain.

“Chill, please, you’re way too loud.” She huffs. But then her mood shifts and she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “He must be thirsty.”

You roll your eyes, letting go of her. “He’s not thirsty, why can’t you just admit we might have some chemistry? I wish you could’ve felt it, dude, it was like… like everyone around us literally disappeared and it was just us. I feel like my legs almost gave out when he touched me. It feels like he’s the type of guy I’ve been looking for.”

Your friend agrees half heartedly, turning away from you to finally drift off to sleep after the long night you’ve had. You’re looking at the screen trying to figure out how to respond without sounding too desperate when you let out a little giggle, not being able to help your dirty thoughts.

“I hope he’s big.”

“Ew!”

-

“So where are you from? I like your accent.”

“I’m from Boston,” the voice on the other end of the line laughs softly. “I’m actually there right now.”

You grin to yourself, sitting cross legged on your bed and staring down at your nails like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “What, did you leave the day we met or something?”

Matt hums. “The next day, yeah. It’s been a while since we’ve been back so we wanted to head home for a bit.”

You’re quiet for a few beats, trying to think of a way to keep the conversation going, when you feel a surge of confidence boost through you. “We should see each other when you come back.” You tell him, biting your lip nervously as you await his response.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. “I’d love that. Are you free next week?” You celebrate silently, pumping your fist in the air a couple times before you compose yourself, clearing your throat.

“Yes!” You clear your throat, embarrassed. “Yes, I’m free.” You tone down your excitement, a blush covering your cheeks. “Just pick any day and you can come over if you want. I have my own place.”

Matt’s nervous, too, even though he was across the country. His hands nervously picked at his jeans, unable to contain the smile on his face. “Sounds good, I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back.” He replies. “Hey, I gotta go but I’ll text you, okay?”

You’re sad at this, but you don’t want to seem too clingy. Not yet. “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, Matt.”

“Talk to you soon. Bye, sweetheart.”

You hang up and immediately flop back on your bed, covering your mouth as you scream loudly. Sweetheart? Oh yeah, he was definitely getting head.

-

“He’s literally on his way and I feel like I’m about to shit myself.”

“Did you clean?”

“Yes, but-“

“Did you put on deodorant and perfume?”

“Yes! But-“

“Did you shave?”

Your cheeks darken at the question your friend asks over the phone. “Dude…” you start seriously, then laugh like you couldn’t believe yourself. “I got a wax.”

She gasps loudly. “You little slut! A wax?!” You giggle at her response. “Wow, you really are into him, huh?”

“So into him,” you groan out. You and Matt had spoke on the phone almost every day that he was gone, texting every hour you both were awake. You hadn’t had a crush like this in years, and the way he talked to you made you feel like maybe he felt the same way. You always woke up to a good morning text since he was three hours ahead and he was usually still awake by the time you went to sleep, so there really was barely any time when you guys weren’t texting. “Hey, I think he’s here, I gotta go!” You hang up before she even answers, checking yourself in the mirror by the door one more time before you pull the door open, seeing Matt standing on the other side with a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Hi,” he says shyly, staying put on the doorstep.

“Hey,” you breathe out, stepping aside so he could walk in, but he doesn’t move, seemingly captivated by the sight of you. “Come in,” you say with a giggle, waving him in gently.

“Right,” Matt replies, stepping inside your apartment, eyes moving from your face to look around. “Wow, cute place. Very… girly.”

You laugh and shut the door, walking up behind him. “Well, I am a girl.” You guide him into the kitchen and find a vase in the cupboards, filling it with water in the sink. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

Matt looks down at the flowers, then back up at you. “Oh, these? These aren’t for you, I just found them on the side of the road on my way here.”

You laugh and turn to meet his eyes, raising an eyebrow at them. “Oh, so I definitely shouldn’t put these in a vase then?”

Matt purses his lips and shakes his head, setting the flowers on the table. “Nah,” he says seriously, then lets out a laugh, starting to walk towards you. His hands wrap around you from behind, head tucking into your neck to place his lips on your skin, making your breath catch at the contact, your heart picking up speed uncontrollably.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispers against your shoulder. All you can do is nod in response. “I’m normally not a sex on the first date kind of guy, but I can’t even put into words how badly I’ve wanted you from the second I saw you at that party and I spend so much of my time hoping you feel the same.”

You reach to turn the water off, hands shaking as you set the vase down in the sink before turning around in Matt’s arms, sliding your hands up his chest until they loop around his neck, holding him close. Your eyes trail from his eyes down to his pink, plump lips, getting a good look at them and the way he bites his lip nervously before meeting his eyes again, feeling entranced once more. “I do,” you tell him in a whisper.

He smiles and slides a hand up between your bodies, resting it on your jaw before he closes the gap between you both, lips meshing together flawlessly. You release a small breath of relief through your nose, pulling him closer with your arms wrapped around him, arching your body into his hungrily.

You’ve thought about this since the moment you met, how he’d feel kissing you, if he’d be gentle or rough, what he would taste like, what he would smell like so close. It was all surpassing your expectations in the best way and you already felt yourself getting worked up while you both kissed, knowing that he now had you completely wrapped around his finger. You were completely and utterly fucked, and you were also more okay with that than you ever had been.

You pull away from the kiss and smile up at Matt, him having the same expression towards you. “I, uh, cleaned my room, you wanna see?” You ask him timidly, knowing he understands the implications behind your question. He chuckles, squeezing your waist gently before nodding. “Yeah, I’d love to see your room.”

You grin, trying to hide your excitement by biting on your bottom lip, but it’s no use, you’re exuding anticipation through every pore in your body and hoping to god he feels the same way. You slip out from where you’re pinned between him and the counter, sliding your hand down his arm until your fingers are laced together, pulling him behind you. “Come on then, I’ll show you.”

You drag him behind you and towards your room, pausing when you hear him laughing, wondering what’s so funny. You stop and turn around, seeing him staring at the wall where a pink post-it note was stuck above your thermostat that read ‘do not touch!’

“Picky about your temperature, huh?” He teases, making you huff.

“Sixty-nine is the perfect temperature! Not too hot, not too cold!” You defend yourself loudly, watching as Matt just laughs more at your outburst.

“I’m not hating, just think the note’s cute, that’s all,” he rests his hand that’s not in yours on your hip, nodding towards your room. “C’mon, you didn’t clean for nothing, did you?”

-

“Fuck, Matt!”

“Mm, that’s right, who’s your daddy?”

“No!”

“Fuck yes, get fucked!”

Matt stands up from the edge of your bed and flexes at you, sweatpants slung low on his hips, revealing his briefs underneath, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor long ago, switch controller gripped in his right hand. “I told you not to fuck with me and Mario Kart.”

You groan and flop back on the bed, arms flung above your head. “That’s the third fucking game,” you whine, turning your head to look at him. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to let the women finish first?”

Matt’s jaw drops open and he moves to stand between your knees that are hanging off the bed. “Are you serious right now?” He asks, placing his hands on the bed on either side of you, lips coming down to meet your bare hip. You were clad in only your panties and an oversized pajama tee now that rode up when you brought your hands up on the bed. “I think I let you finish first enough today.”

You blush and push yourself onto your elbows, watching him kiss your skin gently. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” you tell him, smiling sweetly.

Matt laughs, but it’s not a humorous laugh, it’s one that sends tingles down your spine. It’s one that says ‘you have no idea what’s coming to you’. “Oh, you don’t?” He taunts, and you shake your head. He stands up straight again and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, wasting no time in pulling your panties back off of you. “I guess I’ll have to remind you.”

-

You’re both laying in bed under the covers, naked now since it was no use putting your clothes back on after every round of sex when they’d just end up on your floor again. “Hey, Matt?” You break the silence, turning your head from where you’re laid next to him to look at his face, smiling when he turns his head to meet your eyes. He hums, letting you know he’s waiting for you to speak again. “You’re like… really good in bed.”

Matt laughs at this, completely taken aback by the words you said, expecting you to ask him a question and instead being met with a compliment. “Thanks,” he replies, still laughing. He turns his body on his side and pulls you close to him. “You’re really good, too.”

You smile and turn to face him as well, slinging a leg over his waist. “You’re also super hot,” you continue.

He laughs again, rolling his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m average at best. You, though… my god.”

Your eyes widen, mouth opening in shock. “Average?! Matt, you’re… wow, you must be blind, jesus christ.”

“You should see my brother,” Matt smirks. “Man thinks he’s god’s gift to women.”

“Well if he looks anything like you he just might be.” You’re teasing him, and you think it’s clear in your voice, but Matt’s smile fades and he just looks at you with a confused expression.

“Yeah, we… didn’t I tell you we’re triplets? Didn’t you see him at the party?” He questions, pushing himself up on an elbow to look down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow at him and let out a shocked laugh. “Yeah, Matt, that’s the joke. That you look the same and if he’s god’s gift to women then so are you.”

Matt clamps his mouth shut and his cheeks darken slightly, realizing the joke went right over his head. “Right,” he clears his throat. “So you think my brother is hot is what you’re saying?”

You shrug, trailing a finger down his chest. “Maybe. But he doesn’t have the bed chem we do.” You waggle your eyebrows teasingly, making Matt laugh at your expression.

“Our bed chem is unmatched. Should we practice again?”

“Fuck yes.”

a/n: this has been in my drafts since like january and i think it was a request but i gotta dig for the ask!!

[rowdydevs]

Is it possible if we could have any more dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Im literally obsessed with the family dynamic atm!!

Hi bb 💕💕💕 of course!! Thank you for your ask. This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au. Thank you for your ask!!

+18 -> smut | on prom night, a very protective rafe wrestles with old grudges, growing pains, and the realization that letting go might be the hardest part.

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: pet names, swearing, praise, dirty talk, fingering, cum tasting, older rafe, roughish, semi-public male oral <- in a car with tinted windows, he is driving, intentional texting errors, ⚠︎ smut cross-posted on my nhl account. ⚠︎

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You’re standing out in the front yard with your camera, doing everything you can not to cry while your daughter twirls around in her prom dress—glowing, radiant, almost too beautiful to look at.

Her boyfriend’s got his arm around her waist, holding her like it’s second nature. They keep catching each other’s eyes and laughing over nothing, cheeks bumping, sneaking little kisses between whatever secret they’re whispering like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It’s sweet. It’s perfect. And honestly? It’s a little brutal. Because no matter how grown she looks, she’s still your baby.

Your husband’s next to you, taking pictures with his phone, but you can see it clear as day—he’s tense. His smile is forced, fingers stiff around the edges of his phone. He hasn’t said more than two words to JJ, who’s mere feet away. It’s awkward… painfully so. But what’s new between the two of them? Your husband never forgot how much he hated him. And now? Now that guy’s kid is dating his baby girl.

It’s hard to imagine this would be a bigger deal… And it would be, if the kid wasn’t a literal angel: polite, gentle, thoughtful, smart; a D1-bound quarterback. He’s good. But try telling Rafe that.

Your daughter squeals, adjusting her corsage, leaning into her boyfriend with the biggest grin on her face as the limos pull up. She gasps, eyes snapping to you. ���Oh my God. Mom, I forgot my clutch!”

You look over at Rafe, lost in his own world as he looks between the young couple and his archenemy, going through his own existential crisis; jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together like this is all somehow a personal attack on him. “Baby…”

“Mhmm…” He grunts as his eyes continue to survey the scene.

“… Baby?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, meeting your eyes before drawing a deep, pensive breath.

“Just take a second. Take a breath… Get the purse.”

He gives you a look, lips drawing to the side, wanting to protest like he’s afraid if he lets his guard down for a moment the thoughts that he’s been stewing on will manifest. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, then turns and stomps toward the house.

You watch him disappear through the front door, then turn back to your daughter. The yard is buzzing with excitement, teens gathering their things as they wander toward the rented cars.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You look down at your phone, rolling your eyes as you see three back-to-back text messages coming in. “Where’s the purse, baby?” You mock his deep voice under your breath as you unlock your phone. Not surprised in the slightest that he’s stalling to prolong the inevitable.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The twins are bouncing with excitement, already changed into their pajamas, stuffed animals hugged tight.

Sarah’s in the kitchen grabbing snacks for movie night, laughing as your son climbs all over him like he’s part jungle gym, part superhero. Meanwhile, your daughter’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, Cameron-pout on full display—a full-blown daddy’s girl—not thrilled in the slightest about him leaving.

“C’mon now,” Rafe says, gently tugging her closer. “Be right back, princess. I’ll kiss you on the head when I get home, okay? I’ll be there in the mornin’ when you wake up.”

She narrows her little eyes at him, her buttoned-nose furrowed in frustration.

“I heard mommy’s makin’ blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” Rafe adds as he cocks an eyebrow, hoping for the best, his smile widening as her face lights up over something so simple.

“No way.”

“Way.”

“I am?” you ask through a laugh as you loop your arm through your purse, pulling it on your shoulder.

“She is,” Rafe confirms, shooting you a smile and wink. “Isn’t she the best?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as he kisses your daughter’s forehead and sends her off.

The you both step outside into the quiet; the cobblestone driveway glowing under soft light. Rafe reaches for your hand as the front door clicks shut behind you. You barely get a step down the private lot before he loops his finger under your dress and tugs the hem upward with a cocky smirk.

“Rafe!” You gasp, swatting his hand as your skirt falls back down, looking back toward the house with a smile.

“They didn’t see, pretty,” he murmurs, totally unbothered. “Besides I needed a distraction. My brain was spiraling again.”

“You’re not gonna lift my dress every time you start panicking about your daughter growing up.”

“I mean…” He steps a little closer, stuffing his hand in his pocket, the other draping around your shoulders as he dips down to press a kiss on your head. “I could just pull it down next time, get a glimpse of these,” he hums, reaching over to give your boob a playful squeeze, “for balance.” He lets out a sleazy little laugh as you giggle.

Rafe spins you around and pulls you in for a kiss: deep and sweet. The kind that says ‘sure, I might be losing my shit, but you’re my favorite way to come back down’. He opens the passenger door for you, still grinning as you slide into the car.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you sit side by side at a table on the water. The twinkling lights strung from the patio of the Island Club swaying in the breeze. Dinner was delicious, drinks were flowing, and Rafe… was present.

You could see it in the way he stared out at the water for a second too long. The way he blinked back to you like he’d just remembered where he was, and even so he wasn’t deep in thought. Almost like he wasn’t clenching his fists or checking his phone every two seconds or trying to crack a joke to distract himself from the ache in his heart.

But even still, he was there with you. Holding your hand, letting you finish your wine without interruption. He ordered your favorite appetizer before you could, stole bites from your plate like it was his job, kissing you tenderly after every lingered glance.

At one point, you were both leaned back in your chairs, full and content, watching the last sliver of sun bleed into the horizon when he said, “She told me they’re headin’ to Lexi’s after prom.”

“She did?”

He nods, sipping his drink. “She didn’t need to tell me that… She’s seventeen. Fuck, baby, I mean I woulda lied for the hell of it. I sure as shit wouldn’t have told Ward where I was goin’. And she just told me—didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yeah, baby?” You hum as you tip your head on his shoulder; Rafe’s fingers twinning in yours. “What else did she say?”

“Bonfire, snacks; some movie, I don’t know.”

“What about Jackson? Are juniors and seniors gonna be there?” You question this time, feeling your own unease rise about her possibly mingling with upperclassmen.

“Just juniors. She said ‘he didn’t care… He just wanted to be with her.’”

“Sounds familiar,” you smile as you squeeze Rafe’s hand.

He gives you a look—the one he always does when he’s caught remembering being seventeen with you. “Hmm… Sounds about as much, sweetheart.”

“They’re sweet,” you say quietly as you snuggle in a little closer. “We raised a good one, Rafe.”

“She’s everything,” he breathes. “My stubbornness and your heart—”

“We get to do this all over again in a couple years.”

He groans like it hurt, but he smiles anyway. “Twins too… Better start stocking up on wine now.”

You glance down at your phone, thumb tapping the screen as you check the time. It’s late enough. The twins are definitely asleep by now—if not completely passed out in a pile of stuffies and blankets, at the very least curled up on the couch mid-movie with drool on Auntie Sarah’s shoulder.

You look at Rafe, swirling the last sip of his whiskey, that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sees the twinkle in your eye; the man no doubt thinking about taking off the lingerie you teased him with earlier.

“So?” You ask, soft and suggestive as your foot brushes against his under the table.

“That time, huh?” He smiles as he pulls out his phone as well, checking it.

His brows furrow slightly. The smirk slips a little. Not in a full-blown way, just enough to make your stomach flip.

“What?” You ask as you lean in. “Did Sarah send something?” Rafe doesn’t answer right away. “What’s going on, baby?” You press again; still no answer.

You reach across the table and snatch the phone from his hand before he can stop you. Your eyes flick to the screen to check what’s going on, eyes widening on the screen as you see the flashing pin on a tracking app. And your daughter’s car, not where she said she’d be.

You stare down at his phone, then up at him. “Why are you tracking her, Rafe?”

“I don’t just track her, sweetheart. I track Max too… It’s a scary place out there, okay? Ya’ll are all I have,” he stammers. He takes a deep breath, blowing it out his nostrils as he tries his best to collect himself. “I’m trackin’ her because of this—”

“—Because she’s at the beach?” You question, letting your annoyance bleed through each word.

“She didn’t tell us she was going to the beach,” he says, voice tight. “So yeah, baby—that’s why I’m doin’ it.”

“Well, what now?”

Rafe tilts back in his chair, pushing out a shaky, uneven breath. “Guess we’re takin’ a trip to the beach—”

“Rafe…”

“If anything we’ll check and leave—”

“—Baby.”

“We will check. And, we will leave.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your purse. Rafe stands and tosses some cash on the table before looking down at you.

“Nothing more, baby. I swear. I’m not gonna enjoy my night if I don’t know that she’s safe. Just a piece of mind.”

“And what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

He stops in his tracks looking at you like you just dropped a weight on his chest. “What do you mean by that?”

You arch a brow as you take his hand, rising to your feet. “I mean… you found a condom wrapper in her bathroom, Rafe. So again—I ask—what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

Rafe runs a hand down his face, letting out a long, deep breath. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you pull into the quiet parking lot, headlights cutting through the soft fog that’s rolled in off the water. It’s dark but not deserted—distant voices, the occasional pop of laughter, the soft flicker of firelight down by the shore.

Rafe leans forward, squinting out the windshield. “They’re probably hidin’ somewhere,” he mutters, tone edged with something sharp. “Thinkin’ he’s bein’ slick.”

“Mhmm…” You flick your hand lazily in their direction, spotting them almost instantly, right in plain sight.

The two of them are sat side by side in front of a small fire, shoes kicked off, a blanket pulled over both their legs. Winnie’s head tilted on Jackson’s shoulder.

Rafe exhales through his nose, and it’s not quite relief, but it’s not disappointment, either. And at that moment you realize he didn’t want to be right—he just didn’t want to be wrong either. You take out your phone, open your messages, and type:

You: Hope you’re having a good night sweetie. Be safe.

Barely ten seconds pass before your daughter’s phone lights up on the sand. You see her glance down at the screen, smile, and start typing back. Then your phone buzzes.

Winnie: we’re having a great night!

Winnie: we left the party because it got kinda crazy. Jax was worried it might get busted.

Winnie: we’re down to the beach

Another second later, she sends a selfie—her cheek pressed against Jackson’s, both of them grinning, firelight flickering. No red cups. No chaos. Just two kids who genuinely like each other, making a smart choice together.

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he looks at the photo. He leans back in his seat, sighing as the guilt hits him square in the chest.

“Goddamnit.”

“Mhmm…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—I don’t know. This shit is hard,” he huffs.

You smile and reach over, lacing your fingers in his. “Why don’t we get out of here, baby… Go for a little drive on our way home.”

Rafe nods and pulls out of the lot, his jaw set, one hand tight on the wheel as the silence stretches between you. The engine hums low, but he doesn’t say a word.

He’s still wound up—his whole body carrying the weight of everything he’s been trying to hold back. The guilt, the stress, the slow ache of watching his little girl grow up. On top of that, work’s been brutal lately, you know it’s been eating at him, even if he won’t say it out loud.

You watch him quietly, the way the dim streetlights flicker across his profile: strong jaw, furrowed brow, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms you’ll never get tired of looking at.

Even tense like this, he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—and all you can think about is how badly you want to help him relax.

He glances over at you, still high-strung, blue eyes heavy with thoughts he hasn’t shared quite yet. He shifts in his seat, spreading his thighs a little wider, fabric stretching over them—and your gaze drops without hesitation.

Your breath hitches. All you can think about is straddling him right there in the front seat, grinding against him with your skirt bunched around your waist, the windows fogging, and music muffling your moans—

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” He asks, voice low.

You turn to him slowly, letting your voice drop into something warm and wicked. “You.”

His eyes flick to yours in surprise. “You’re thinkin’ about me?” He says, almost like he doesn’t believe it himself, half-expecting to be in that doghouse you were talking about earlier.

You smile, reach for his hand resting on the console, and guide it toward you. He exhales sharply, shoulders finally starting to drop, the tension melting into something else entirely. “You’re not mad at me, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, baby. I like when you’re protective. Can’t fault you for that. Maybe just calm down a little… Just a little.”

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want.

“Wanna help you forget all those thoughts distracting you from me…”

“Distracting me from you? My girl? Impossible… But, please,” he says with a smirk, “make me forget.”

You lift his hand from your thigh, slowly, and press a kiss to the top of it—light and teasing, just like he would.

Then, with your eyes still on him, you part your lips and slip two thick fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips. Rafe’s breath catches. He flicks another glance at you, then another, making the car sway gently.

You reach over, trailing your hand down his chest, feeling the heat and tension thrumming through his body. Your nails drag lightly down his shirt’s crisp, white fabric until you hit his thigh, scratching just enough to earn a quiet exhale from him.

Your fingers graze over his bulge—growing thick and heavy beneath his designer pants—and he shifts again, jaw clenched tighter, not from stress, solely to keep his eyes on the road and avoid them rolling back.

You lean in closer, the scent of his rich cologne washing over you. Your fingers work open his belt. The metal clicks softly before you slide the zipper down. Your heart pounds with the bass, excitement swelling in your chest as he barrels through the night.

He shifts in his seat, lifting his hips so he can shove his pants and boxers down. “You sure, baby?” He asks through a crooked smile as you grip his thick dick in your fist—hardening fast in your palm, long, pulsing with need.

Your mouth waters as you stroke him slow, teasing, your thumb brushing over the head. “I need it… Is that alright?” You ask coyly. Rafe’s cock twitches in your grip, his breath stuttering as you swipe your thumb across his tip, rubbing in a bead of precum.

“Fuck,” he moans as his head rolls slightly.

“You like that?” You ask.

“Yeah… Yeah, fuck. Keep goin’,” he mumbles, his eyes on the road, but barely.

Rafe reaches over; fingers slipping under your dress. He groans at how wet you are, teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of his fingers inside. The pace you set with your hand mirrors his—slow and purposeful, a shared rhythm that leaves you both panting.

Click.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and slide across the center console. Before he can even register what’s happening, next you take him into your mouth; his cock hot and heavy on your warm tongue.

Rafe’s whole body jerks. He draws his fingers from between your thighs, slicked with your wetness, and sucks them into his mouth, the corners of his lips curling into a smile at the taste.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” His voice is thick and hoarse. “You’re perfect. Too fuckin’ good to me.” His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sting sharp, and your moan vibrates around him as he spanks you.

A second later, his fingers knot in your hair, guiding you, controlling your pace. “Atta girl,” he groans, hips lifting gently. “Fuckin’ take it—so desperate, huh? Couldn’t wait ‘til we got home?”

You hum in response, lips and tongue working him while your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach. His moans start spilling out, competing with the music in the car.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he pants. “That’s what you want, huh? Gonna swallow it all? Don’t wanna get dirty, baby—” he mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as his leg bounces beneath your hands, breath rough and ragged, chest rising faster now.

“Shit, baby… I’m gonna cum—” You suck him harder, throating his cock until he’s cursing and twitching, praising your name as he slams his big fist against the steering wheel, spilling down your throat.

His body unwinds in the seat and his hold loosens on your hair. You pull off slowly, watching his cock throb still as he tucks himself in the waistband of his dress pants, hissing in sensitivity as he zips back up his pants, covering himself slightly with his jacket. He shakes his head, unable to wipe that wide smile off his perfect lips.

You sit up and smooth your hair in the visor mirror, licking your lips, catching the last of him as you giggle dizzily. He chuckles, low and lazy, as he rolls his head on the headrest, locking eyes with you. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

And then just as you lean over to press one last kiss on his lips the car’s screen lights up with an incoming call.

Deputy Shoupe

Rafe fumbles and swears under his breath on his way to accept the call, already assuming the worst. “Shoupe? Everything okay?”

“Rafe. We got a little situation down at the yacht club. Someone called in a report—female screamin’. Thought it might be a domestic or worse. Turns out… Uh, well… We found your son and that Thornton girl entangled on your yacht.”

Rafe freezes; eyes beating a few times slow as he takes it all in. “Max?”

“Yes, sir. A bag of weed, a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, and a pocket full of Magnums—”

“—Dude. You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me right now,” your son snips as he cuts the officer off. “You’re seriously cockblockin’ me? This is harassment. We’re on my boat. S’Private property. I can’t help it if we got a little loud, alright? That’s between me and her.”

“I’m fine… Obviously,” Topper’s daughter sasses as well, her Cali-girl, vocal fry that pours through the car speakers like nails on a chalkboard.

Rafe’s jaw is locked, one vein in his temple pulsing so hard you can practically hear it. Rafe stares straight ahead, dead silent.

“You gonna arrest us for lovin’ each other now? Is that where this country’s at? You people are fuckin’ sick—”

“Tell him to stop talkin’,” Rafe sneers.

“Want me to tase him a little?” Shoupe chuckles.

Rafe mutters something under his breath making Shoupe laugh. There’s a beat of silence as you stare at Rafe, your husband staring right back at you. His features soften—the man hit with yet another wave of guilt—he was so hyper focused on your daughter that everything else flew out the window.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper.

He shakes his head ‘no’ and rolls his eyes, tipping his head back against the headrest.

“What do you two want me to do about all this?” Shoupe asks through another amused laugh.

“Fuck… Bring ’em into the station. Take the weed if you have to,” Rafe adds. “Leave the bottle.” You raise your brows at him and he just shrugs. “Kid’s a pain in my ass but he’s got good taste,” he mumbles. “I’ll be there in two-three hours,” Rafe finishes. “Got some shit I need to handle first.”

“Copy that.”

Click.

“We’re not gonna go get him?” You ask through a laugh as you glance back at Rafe.

He smirks, letting his hand slide higher up your thigh. “He’ll survive, baby. Might even learn somethin’… Right now, I need to take care of my girl.”

@rafesthroatbaby | @matthewssweetheart | @slut-4-rafey | @blair-bears-blog | @iikximii | @akobx | @gri959 | @ch4rrykisses | @st8rkey | @laniirackssss | @barnesboo1967 | @justdamnpeachy | @dylsdaily| @rafesheaven | @my-name-is-baby | @wtfisastiles | @skye-44 @taliescapes | @anothershorthuman | @rafeslovergirly | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @maybankslover | @frankoceanluvr11 | @rcameronlova1 | @lhhlver | @yourmomdotcom42069 | @cameronsprincess | @kdoll-7 | @angelicameron | @imsiriuslyreal | @alphabetically-deranged | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @hyperfixationgirl | @faephoria | @wtfdudesblog | @rafesdoll | @yasmin-oviedo | @lizzysmith110 | @ietss | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @lilithblackkk | @premiumshitt | @littlelamy | @prettybabyyyy | @star017 | @hannieskzzz | @biascriptum | @laylalovesbmth | @aris-void | @rafesbabygirlx

[444sturns]

‎┈﹒ ꒰ sub!matt cums completely untouched, just from sucking on your fingers.. ꒱ ﹐ ‏࿐

‎┈﹒ ꒰ warning: explicit content. please continue at your own discretion. contains: matt with an oral fixation, pet names « mama, good boy, baby, sweetheart » matt makes a mess. ꒱ ‏࿐

you’ve always loved the way matt looks up at you like this– so pretty and submissive kneeling in front of you, eyes focused on you like he’s asking your permission to breathe. 

he’d missed you all day long. being without you was absolute torture for him, especially on days like this. he was patient, so it was no surprise to you when you came home and barely made it through the door of your shared bedroom before matt was on his knees. waiting. 

“you’re so pretty like this, baby.” you coo, your fingertips tracing the outline of his jawline as his lips part in a silent plea. you’ve been together long enough to know exactly how he ticks, how he craves you. you knew what he wanted, but you loved to push him until he was begging. “waited all day for me, didn’t you?” you add, and he whines. actually whines.

“please..” he mutters, his voice so full of desperation that it makes you smirk. he’s just so easy to play with.

you tilt your head, eyeing him closely and noting just how hazy his eyes are. he already looks so spent, so wrecked, it almost makes you feel bad. your fingers tangle into his hair, curling around the soft brunette locks and tugging his head closer, until your fingertips are tapping his lower lip. “open.”

matt’s lips latch around your fingers before you can even register the scene unfolding in front of you, his tongue swirling around them and making you want to drag him deeper. he’s addicted to this; the taste of you, the feeling of your fingers against his tongue, the power you have over him. he’s weak. you watch him intently, eyes dark and focused on his plush lips wrapped perfectly around your fingers and it’s almost too much to bear. your lips curl into a smirk at the sight. “god, look at you. love havin’ your mouth full like this, don’t you, sweetheart?” you tease, and he nods all too quickly.

his eyes met yours, dark with need and tears filling in them while he mumbles around your fingers, “yeah, god– yes, mama.” he’s all but babbling, he’s not even making any sense anymore while his lips close around your fingers again, sucking harder.

“such a good boy,” you coo, your other hand running through his hair and resting against the back of his head to push his head further down. matt whines pathetically, and oh, seeing and hearing him like this has you dripping, “keep goin’. bet you could cum just from this, huh? you’re so fuckin’ greedy for mama’s fingers.” 

matt’s breath hitches in his chest and his body tenses, his hips shifting and rutting against absolutely nothing. it’s the nickname, he tells himself over and over again. that must be why he’s so painfully hard in his sweatpants right now. he doesn’t answer, but his jaw clenches and his body jerks and that tells you everything you need to know. his tongue works perfect, rhythmic circles around your fingers and he lets out the softest whimper. 

your face goes hot as you watch him lose himself just like this. the pink hue on his cheeks were such a tell-all. your sweet boy was absolutely falling apart. 

“you’re so close, baby.” you whisper, encouraging him gently, loving the way he melts under your control. “you don’t even need me to touch you.. just need this.” you add, pressing your fingers down a little harder against the warm, wet surface of his tongue. 

matt’s hips rock forward and his eyebrows furrow, a pathetic moan rolling past his occupied lips as he shakes his head ‘no’.

it was as if your fingers adding just that extra bit of pressure in his mouth flipped a switch in his hazy mind, and his body jerked, a shaky, broken moan fell from the back of his throat and he was cumming. completely untouched and just from your words and your fingers occupying his mouth. 

matt’s cheeks went flush, his mouth going slack as you pull your saliva-coated fingers away from his lips, and it’s pure instinct when you wipe your fingers against the side of his warm cheek. “m’sorry, i couldn’t help it..” matt immediately apologizes, his spent eyes finding yours in a frenzy. all you could do was shake your head slowly, a proud grin etched over your lips while you motioned him up to stand to his feet. he struggled to stand straight, knees wobbling. 

“no, no. don’t want an apology, sweet boy.” you coo, your fingers gently gripping his jaw as you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his swollen lips, “a thank you would work, though.” you add, and matt blushes. 

he’s all too aware of the mess in his sweatpants, and it was even more obvious the moment your hand fell to palm his still-aching cock through the thick material. he whined softly, his head falling to watch your hand, “thank– fuck– thank you..” he stutters. 

you hum quietly, content with the broken little thanks that you received. “let’s go get you cleaned up, hm? made such a mess.” 

matt’s cheeks grow impossibly redder and warmer and he smiles shyly while you both head towards the bathroom. matt’s focused on getting out of his clothes, meanwhile, you’re focused on thinking of ways you can see him cum in his pants more often. 

© 444sturns

୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ author's note: wrote this while blushing and kicking my feet the entire time! ⋄ 𓍯

taglist! ￤ഒ·°,

@mattscoquette @cherryystemm @zenithsturniolo @chrissbows

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Party4U

I wish you’d get here, kiss my face

Summary: It’s your birthday, and you throw a party in hopes Spencer Reid shows up because truth is, you only threw this party for him…

A/N: ngl writing this gave me bad flashbacks and now I never want to drink again…(I’m still going to)

BYR(b4 u Reid): Alcohol, mentions of drunk people, drunk kissing (yes lawd), awkward Spencer, season 1 Spencer, reader is over 20, no use of y/n, and sexual content. Lmk if I'm missing anything.

It was getting later into the night, people were stumbling around, dancing, taking shots, and playing beer pong. It had now become a full-blown party, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives.

You were a little buzzed, not too much. You were pacing yourself, holding off. You were waiting for someone. He promised he'd come. And Spencer Reid never broke a promise.

Especially not today. Not on your birthday.

“Birthday girl isn’t even drunk yet! This is not good.” Your roomate Sarah shouted, clearly several drinks in. “I’m waiting for someone.” You replied, sipping from your cup.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting on that nervous little FBI chihuahua.” Your mouth fell open slightly. “Don’t be rude. He’s sweet. And yes, I am waiting.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, good luck with that. This is definitely not the kind of place he’d show up to. You’re going to get stood up.”

You shook your head. Spencer wouldn’t do that. If he wasn’t coming, he’d at least call. He’d explain.

Still, as the party kept going and the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel the little twist in your stomach. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he got too nervous. This really wasn’t his scene.

Maybe the party was a bad idea.

You sighed, slipping into your room. Thankfully, it was empty. No couples, no drunken chaos. Just your stuff, your bed, and the hum of bass through the walls.

You sat at your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. You’d put effort into tonight. Found the perfect dress, something cute but not over the top, just enough to feel confident.

You knew Spencer didn’t care about appearances like most people. That’s part of why you liked him so much. But still, you wanted him to see you at your best.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. It was silly to get this upset over a guy. You told yourself you’d take a few more drinks and forget about it in the morning.

Then your door creaked open.

“Sarah, I’ll be out in a bit.” You said without looking. But then-

“Hey.”

You turned quickly, and there he was.

Your whole face lit up. “Spencer!” You squealed, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He froze just for a second before placing his hands nervously and gently on your waist.

“You came! I was worried, I thought maybe…” you pulled back just enough to look at him. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show up.”

“You were worried about me not showing up?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Of course I was! You are my main guest.” You beamed at him. He blinked like he couldn’t quite process your words. You were always open about how you felt, always flirting, always dropping not-so-subtle hints. But somehow, Spencer Reid, certified genius, 187 IQ, turned into a socially anxious mess whenever you did.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice. He just wasn’t sure how to reciprocate it back in a way that wasn’t so awkward. You made flirting seem so effortless, so easy. He on the other hand would just make a total fool of himself.

You tugged his hand. “Come on, we’re taking a shot.”

But he didn’t budge. You looked back and saw the nerves written all over his face. “Everything okay?”

“I,um, I don’t know anyone here. And I’ve never… drank before.” He admitted.

You tilted your head, smiling at him softly. “Aw, I get to pop your cherry?” You teased, then quickly added. “I’m kidding Spence. You don’t have to drink. We can just hang out and laugh at the ones who had too much.”

His eyes softened. “I don't want you to be bored. It's your birthday.”

“Well you're here so I won't be bored.” you said sincerely. “No, it's okay… I want us to have fun. I’ll get over it.”

“Spencer we don't have to, I promise you,” you assured him, looking deep into his eyes so he knew how serious you were. “I want to.” He replied.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take baby sips first.”

And then, to his surprise, you kissed his cheek. He blushed instantly.

You led him out into the crowd, fingers still laced with his, grabbing two bottles. “We can sip on these until you get a bit more comfortable.” You said into his ear, he nodded.

You then introduced him to a few friends, watching his posture shift slowly, the tension starting to ease once he realized no one was judging him. If anything, your friends seemed impressed with how highly you spoke of him. He noticed the way you held onto his arm, how you made him feel like he belonged.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked as the two of you stepped outside for some air.

“I feel… good. You know a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I tried to keep it small but, well, word got around.”

“I think it’s fascinating. That you’re so comfortable with people.” You looked up at him, smiling. “Some people think I talk too much.”

“I like it. I like listening to you talk.” He said it like it surprised even him. You blushed. “Really?”

He nodded, then straightened up. “Actually… I think I’m ready for something stronger.”

You grinned. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go.”

Inside, you let him pick the drink. You poured two shots and handed him his cup.

“You ready?”

He gave a tiny nod, and you clinked cups. The moment he drank it, he coughed, making the worst face. You handed him a chaser immediately.

“Thanks.” He said hoarsely, lips pink and eyes wide.

Soon, he loosened up even more. You could tell, he held your hand more confidently, his hand occasionally finding your waist. You liked it. He seemed…freer.

“Beer pong?” You suggested. He gave you a look. “I don’t know. I’m not great at throwing things.”

“You’re good at math. I’m sure there’s some equation you can solve to get it right.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure the game requires physical coordination, too.”

You looked him up and down. “Well, physically, you look good.” You teased giving him a thumbs up. He blushed and you led him to the table.

Shockingly, you two were winning. Granted, your opponents were very, very drunk, but still.

When Spencer made the second-to-last cup, you cheered, high-fiving him. Your fingers interlaced and lingered, until he pulled away.

You turned toward the table, ready to shoot your shot until your felt Spencer’s hand find your waist, then slid down your back to the hem of your dress slightly adjusting it because it had ridden up a bit.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

He couldn’t believe he just did that, neither could you.

You won the game. Of course.

You guys took celebratory shots, Spencer was getting better and better each time.

Spencer sat on the couch and gestured to his lap. “What?” You asked, heart skipping. He didn’t answer, just gently pulled you down to sit on him.

One of his arm wrapped around your waist, resting on your thigh, while the other interlaced with your hand.

“Are you comfortable?” He whispered into your ear. “I always am when I’m with you.”

He looked up at you smiling. Butterflies. Everywhere.

You both sat, just watching people, content in the buzz of the room, the safety of his presence.

His fingers were now smoothing over your skin, rubbing gently, innocently, on your thigh.

You knew he probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, but it made your thoughts spiral. Your heart beat faster.

You both sat together for a little longer, having conversation about everything, your guys cheeks were flush but starting to slowly cool down. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, soft but nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something.

“I, um… I have a present for you.” He said quietly, fingers now fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your heart skipped a beat. “Spence, you didn’t need to-”

“I wanted to.” He cut in, his voice firm but still shy. His eyes searched yours. “Can I give it to you? In your room?”

Your stomach fluttered. You nodded, lips tugging into a smile as you stood and offered your hand. He took it, his fingers trembling slightly against yours as you led the way to your room.

You shut the door behind him, and took a seat at the edge of your bed, and he joined you. Close enough for your thighs to brush. You watched, your chest tightening, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it carefully, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a tiny diamond that shimmered under the soft light.

“Spencer…” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” He asked, eyes hopeful, and nervous. “I love it.” You said genuinely, looking at him. “It’s perfect. I’m wearing this everyday.”

His mouth twitched into a small, relieved smile. “Can I put it on you?”

You turned without hesitation, he brushed your hair out the way, his fingers lightly touching your skin, featherlight and cautions, and that little contact sent a warm ripple down your spine.

He clasped it at the nape of your neck with slow, precise movements. His fingers lightly ran down your spine, and you turned to him, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug. “Thank you. I love it so much, Spence.”

“I’m really glad.” He said, his voice soft, eyes a little stunned by your closeness. His hand smoothed up and down your back, you pull back a little.

Your guys faces only inches apart, eyes low, and dazed. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore, he was tired of depriving himself of you.

His hand came up, gently cradling your jaw, his touch careful. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, hesitant, he was scared you were going to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back like your life depended on it, you had been waiting so long for this moment and you were even willing to wait longer. Your desperation flattered him. He never imagined he could make someone feel this way.

“I’ve wanted this so bad.” You murmured against his lips, brushing your thumb along his cheeks. “Really?” He asked, you just nodded and deepened the kiss more.

His hands found your waist, bolder now, pulling you onto him, your words had given him confidence. You settled there easily, legs on both sides, hands cradling his face as your kisses turned more insistent.

You pushed him down onto your bed, hovering over him, your lips moving from his lips down to his jaw. When his hands dropped from your waist, unsure again, you gently grabbed them and brought them right back to where they belonged.

You continued leaving a trail down his neck, teeth grazing his skin, listening to the tiny breathy sounds he couldn’t hold in. You barely heard it but, it was there. Your name, a whisper that lit something wild inside of you.

You reached for his tie, loosening it, and discarding it somewhere on the floor in your room. Your fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt, you glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He nodded slowly, jaw tight with want, and you undid them, one by one, revealing more of him. He propped himself on his elbows, and pulled you into him for another kiss.

You slowly slid the shirt off of him, moving the fabric off of his arms. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, dragging it up slowly, cautiously, until the edge of your underwear peeked.

You broke the kiss to take in this sight of him, your fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the softness of his skin. You planted kisses on him, over his heart, and when he tilted your chin up with his finger, his lips found yours again, hungrier.

You felt him, hard beneath you, pressing up against you, and instinctively, your hips rolled down against him, pulling a surprised moan from his mouth.

“Spencer…” you breathed out, your voice barely hanging on. His hands gripped your waist again, then slid lower to your ass, guiding your hips as he moved you over him with more intention. His breath was shaky, his voice low and warm and desperate.

He said your name, like a confession.

You grind your hips down again, his hands gripped you tighter, encouraging you to keep going, to keep moving against him. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, mouth parted in disbelief at the pleasure that rolled through him.

He looked completely undone, and it was just from you sitting on him, fully clothed.

You leaned down, kissing along the column of his throat, letting your lips linger just beneath his ear. “You okay?” You whispered, breath warm against his skin.

He nodded quickly, then stammered out. “Y-yeah. Definitely. More than okay.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh, because the way he looked, completely wrecked already, was maybe the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You sat up slightly, hands trailing down his chest, appreciating every inch of him.

“You’re really something else.” You said, brushing your thumb across his lower lip. He caught your hand, kissed your palm. So gentle and slow it made your breath hitch.

“You’re the one that’s something else.” He murmured, voice hoarse. “You’re perfect, everything you do.”

That made your chest ache, you leaned down, kissed him again, slow, deep, and meaningful. You needed him to feel what words can't say.

Spencer grabbed your waist, gently guided you onto your back, moving over you cautiously.

His mouth moved to the side of your neck, your dress slipped higher as you spread your legs slightly, letting him fit between them.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips. Spencer’s hand slid slowly up your body, tentative but curious, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress as it rose. When he finally pulled back to look at you, really look, his eyes landed on your black lace underwear, and he just admired.

He couldn’t believe this was real, you felt like a dream.

His fingers brushed over the fabric, hesitant. Gentle. You watched the awe on his face, the way he took you in like you were something sacred.

“Do you… want to take them off?” You softly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide and startled. His chest rose and fell faster now, the weight of the moment clearly settling over him.

“We don’t have to.” You said quickly. “We can take things slow, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, and gave you a nod. “I-I want this. I really do. I just… don’t want this to be…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to feel like a one-time thing. You’re not that for me.”

You nodded, smiling at him, your chest warm. “I know. Me neither.”

With a soft exhale, he gently reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it back down to cover you up.

He moved off of you, grabbed your hand pulling you up on your feet. His hands were careful, reverent, as he adjusted the strap of your dress onto your shoulder.

You reached for his shirt, draping it back over his shoulders and slowly buttoning it up, watching his cheeks flush a soft red under your gaze.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said, smiling.

He hesitated, then asked. “Did you… want to keep going?”

You but your lip, nodding. “Of course I did. But I agree. When we do decide to… take that next step… it should be special. Not with a bunch of drunk people stumbling around downstairs.”

He laughed quietly, relieved. “Yeah..”

You kissed him again, softly.

“Should we go back to the party?” You asked, fingers laced with his. He nodded. “You go for now, I’ll be out there in a bit.” He tells you, you smirked at him knowing why he was going to stay back.

“Alright, if you need any help or anything just give me a call.” You teased, he looked at you shaking his head at your teasing. “Very funny.” He sarcastically said, but you caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your bedroom door and stepped out, flashing him one more smile before closing it behind you.

“Where have you been?” Sarah asked the second you turned around. “I was with Spencer.” You replied casually.

Her eyes widen. “Did you guys just-”

“No, we didn’t.” You cut her off quickly. “Let’s step away, come on.”

You led her away from your room, and thankfully she had gotten distracted by someone else and wandered off.

You glanced around the house, realizing how tired you were of the party. Your home felt overcrowded, loud, and no longer fun. You were close to calling the cops on your own party, but luckily the neighbors beat you to it.

You stood outside as an officer explained the noise complaint and curfew.

“Alright, sir. I’ll shut it down.” You said with a polite smile. He nodded, and you waved him off.

Back inside, you cut the music and made the announcement. “Alright guys, party’s over.” You watched everyone slowly trickle out. “Sorry.” You said to a few as they passed.

Spencer found you shortly after. He looked concerned. “What happened?”

“Police got called.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled. “Honestly, I was about to call them myself if people didn’t start leaving soon.” He laughed, and you joined him.

Once it was just the two of you, and your very drunk roommates who had knocked out in their rooms, you both started cleaning up a little.

“It’s a mess.” You said, tossing red solo cups into the trash bag. “Yeah. People are gross.” He muttered as he poured out a half-full beer. “Thank you for helping me.” You said sincerely. “No problem.” He replied, flashing you a sweet smile.

After most of the mess was cleaned, you both settled on the couch. You leaned into his side, his arm wrapping comfortably around you.

“Can you spend the night?” You hesitantly asked, titling your head up to look at him. He nodded almost instantly. “Of course.”

You smiled, but he suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Left something in the kitchen. I’ll be back.” He assured you. You nodded, watching him walk off. When he returned, your eyes lit up. He was holding a small cake with lit candles. It was your birthday cake, the one you had completely forgotten about.

He started singing softly, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling.

“Make a wish.” He said once he finished, and you did. You closed your eyes and blew out the flames.

He held the cake out toward you. “Take a bite.”

You eyes him suspiciously but leaned in anyway, and sure enough, he gently pushed the cake into your face. Just a little frosting dotted your nose and chin.

“Spencer!” You gasped, laughing as you lightly hit his arm. He laughed too, setting the cake down, and then leaned in to wipe the frosting from your skin with his finger. You watched him as he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean.

He moved closer, pressing his lips to yours.

“Happy birthday.” He whispered as he pulled back just slightly. You smiled at him. “Thank you.” And then you kissed him again, slower, softer…

Dividers from @hyuneskkami !!

Writing this was fun!! I love bold Spencer! 🤭 also listen to the song, I just rediscovered it and became obsessed again. Live, Love, Laugh Charli xcx <3

Thank you to all who reblog & comment!! I really appreciate it sm!

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[medievalharlot]

An Emperors desire 彡 Geta X f!reader

Pairing: Geta x f!reader

Synopsis: You read Geta’s palm and he realises he has to have you

Wordcount: 2,3K

Request: ‘Can you write a more historically accurate reader x Geta?’ by anon

Tags: Period accurate misogyny, a little bit of fluff, soft lingering touches, Caracalla def wants reader too

A/N: Really liked this request, I got my books out for this one. Unfortunately we don’t have many sources about women in Rome but we do know that women managed domestic affairs, were allowed to attend festivities and some women even had political influence through their sons, fathers and husbands! This won’t be entirely historically accurate since I focus most of my reading on medieval Europe but I tried my best. Geta might be a little ooc, please enjoy!

The wind softly blew into your hair, the grains of the field on your father’s estate slowly dancing along. It had been a few minutes since one of the guards had notified your father that the imperial procession was near. This meeting had been planned for months now, Sicily was an important part of the empire. It provided the capital a big part of it’s sustenance. After his victories on the battle field your father had been gifted an estate in Syracuse to grow old. It was now his duty to oversee the grain trade to Rome. As the only woman in the house you oversaw the servants, making sure the household ran as it should. This imperial visit had you busy ever since you were told about it. It was your duty to make sure the emperors were entertained, and from what you heard that wasn’t always easy.

Your father had you and your older brothers, Aelius and Clemens, lined up next to him infront of the house, awaiting the procession. You were dressed in your finest gown. A white tunic with a silk red, signifying your purity and virtue. Your neck was adorned with a gold necklace. It matched your earrings, bracelets and rings that were once your mother’s. You truely radiated Roman beauty.

Most girls your age were already married with a babe in their arms. It was uncommon to see a woman your age unveiled. And yet, here you were. Unveiled and unmarried. Your brothers had wives. Both were youger than you were. Sometimes you felt insecure about the fact that you were supposed to be wed by now, but it had to be like this. Ever since your mother passed it had been your duty to handle the domestic affairs. As a woman you handled the private affairs, while your father and brothers handled the public affairs.

In the distance you could hear the procession get closer. First came the footsoldiers, their bright red shields made them stick out from the green fields. Then, the horses. Impatient nickers and stomping hooves made it almost impossible to hear your own thoughts. The soldiers would set out tents on the land, only the emperors got to stay in the house. Finally you caught a glimpse of their chariot . It was gold, the front of the chariot depicted an epic scene from Achilles’ life. Your heart beat in your chest as they stepped down on the ground and approached your family.

Caracalla was short compared to his brother. His hair was messy and his skin slightly flushed with scars on his cheeks. He was dressed in a blue gown and a gold laurel crown on top of his head. There was a childish grin on his face. A few paces in front of him was his brother Geta. You watched him closely. Something about him drew you in. He was taller than Caracalla, wearing a white gown with long sleeves. Geta radiated a certain devinity, like he was a god amongst people. It was clear he was convinced he was a god as well. He approached with a serious and cold look on his face.

“Cyrus.” Geta spoke to your father first. Your father nodded his head and muttered a soft ‘my emperor’. The emperor didn’t even acknowledge you or your brothers. “It is good to see you well.” Formalities. You could hear in his voice he didn’t really mean it. Caracalla was still watching with that stupid grin, being this close made you notice the golden tooth in his smile. “The empire thanks you for your services.” He finished, clearly not wanting to talk for too long. The two of them were easily bored and formalities like these didn’t matter to them. Not when they had been stuck on this stupid road for days now.

Geta and his brother brushed past your father into the house, their servants following them. What made you raise a brow was the amount of whores they brought. Both men and women dressed in something you could barely call clothes followed them inside as well. It made you wonder what the banquet of tonight would turn out like. If it would turn into just another one of their orgies as soon as they got bored of the talking. Your father had turned to you, nodding his head for you to go inside. You still had lots to arrange for tonight.

This banquet had to be special. You had picked the best wine and the finest meat, it was beautifully displayed on golden plates. Deep down you swelled with pride, you truely outdid yourself today. The emperors sat on the closest thing you had to thrones, the long table of food on their left. Both of them were sprawled on the chairs, watching the room. It was clear they had no interest. Caracalla was handsing one of his whores and Geta just watched in silence as he downed a third cup of wine.

It was true, Geta had no interest in a banquet like this. The complaining of old geezers about stupid stuff was something he hated. The only good thing about this whole ordeal was that he could get a good look at the people who ran his country, any sign of treason and he would have them thrown in front of lions in the Colosseum. Gods, he was bored. But then, he caught sight of you.

You were talking to a senator, someone who went along with the whole procession. It was a good way to get a sense of what was going on the capital. What was going on in the empire. You would never have a seat in the senate, but you always had a certain influence over your father and brothers. It was then that you noticed emperor Geta staring at you. His eyes shooting daggers into the back of your head.

Your father approached you, without saying a word he dragged you to the front of the room. “Your majesties.” He spoke and bowed his head as you stood beside him and did the same. Geta sat up straight, the leg he had propped up on the chair lowering to the floor. His twin brother turned his head to look while his whore was still in his lap. “I would like you to meet my daughter, Y/N. She is very honored to host the imperial procession, as am I.”

“She is pretty. And a virgin.” Caracalla grinned as he talked to his brother. “We should take her with.”

Geta looked at you for a moment, leaning slightly forward. Then, he stood and walked towards you. “Where have you kept her hidden for all these years Cyrus.” He chuckled as he got a closer look. There was a dangerous look in his eyes as he got close enough for you to smell the wine in his breath. “You should bring her to Rome like my brother insists, a beauty like that will go to waste in a boring old town like this.”

“She runs the household, my wife is no more. I need her here.” Your father replied politely.

Geta smirked as he looked at your father, he never got denied what he wanted. This time won’t be any different. “I am sure we can find you a suitable woman, what she does any woman can.” He dismissed his concerns. “Tell me, my lady, would you like to join us? I believe you would enjoy the capital much more..” He offered his hand for you take, you took it.

“I have heard many great things about Rome.” You replied as he led you through the room.

“That wasn’t my question.” He replied coldly, a stern look in his eyes.

Carefully you chose your words. “I fear the capital is not for me. I have been raised on the country side. His majesty flatters me with his invite but I must decline it. It is not proper for an unmarried woman to travel alone without her father and my father couldn’t possibly leave the estate.” You knew that if you went with them, it would constantly mean you had to tread on ice. Their love for bloodshet was known throughout the empire. Pissing them off could cost you your life. “If you would excuse me, I wish to retire for the night.”

“Very well.” Geta spoke, letting you go. “Goodnight my lady.” As soon as he bid you farewel you dissapeared in the crowd and quickly made your way through the halls to your room.

The next morning you were up with the creek of dawn. You enjoyed taking these few hours for yourself. It was going to be another busy day, especially since the emperors had taken notice of you. Ever since your mother had passed you had made it a habit to play your lyre in the garden. You enjoyed the peace of sitting underneath the willow while your fingers strummed the strings of the instrument. Today was no different.

You hadn’t accounted for Geta being lured in by your tune. Like a moth drawn to the flame he watched you in silence for a moment. “You play very well.” He eventually spoke.

Quickly, you got up to bow your head. “Your imperial majesty.” You kept your head slightly down. “Is everything to your liking, I ensured there would a servant available at all times. I hope they didn’t fall asleep.” That would be the only explainable reason he would have sought you out yourself.

“You know exactly what to say to stay polite, don’t you?” He stepped closer to you and lifted your chin slightly rough. “Look at me.”

You lifted your eyes to look at his. They looked terrifying yet hypnotizing at the same time with a certain sadistic hint in his eyes. It was as if he liked seeing you stiffen as he spoke to you. “Sit.” He spoke again, you listened and he took place next to you.

“You plan on wasting away your fertile years on these lands?” Geta asked you.

You didn’t know what to say. You softly shook your head. “My father needs me-”

“I don’t care about that old man.” He cut you off. “Have you ever been to Rome?” His tone was slightly softer, like he was actually trying to get to know you.

“Once. When I was younger.” You still remember it. Together with your parents you had come to Rome. Their would be games and a feast in honor of your father. As a child you weren’t allowed to attend, but your mother took you to Rome regardless. The city had truly impressed your younger self. “I remember the Forum, it was massive to me.” You spoke, slightly opening up and dropping the act.

He listened. Geta had known nothing but Rome in his childhood. When he reached puberty his father would drag him to different places but he always preffered the luxeries home had to offer. “You should come with your father again, during the Cerealia.” It didn’t sound like a suggestion, more like a demand.

“It is back luck to leave your crops during the harvest feast.” You remarked, it made him roll his eyes.

“The country side has filled your head with supersticion. What’s next, reading my palm?” He chuckled mockingly.

You titled your head and smiled softly. Geta was the closest thing to a god in this empire yet he did not believe how leaving your crops during the harvest fest might be bad luck. “I could try to read your palm if his majesty let’s me.” It was something your mother had taught you to do. You open your hands, palms facing upwards.

Hesitantly, he placed his hands into yours. The rings felt cold against your skin as you gave his palms a good look. You traced a few lines. “Well, it shows you have another half close to you. But that is nothing new.” With a gentle finger you traced the family line. “You certainly resonate with the element of fire.”

He watched you carefully, your soft touch sent shivers down his spine. “Your mount of venus is quite sunken in.” You mumbled. This was quite soothing to him. He didn’t even listen to what you were saying anymore. The last time he felt this relaxed was before his mother had died. After she passed all he knew was his father and his father was not a kind man. Caracalla received most of his anger, even as as child his brother was foolish, but it did not mean Geta was spared. It turned him into the man he was today.

A voice burst him out of his bubble. “Emperor Geta, lady Y/N.” A servant greeted them. You looked up to see what he had to say. “Your father request your audience, lady Y/N.” The servant spoke.

“Thank you, I will go see him now.” You spoke and got up, Geta’s hand gliding out of your palms. “I apologize for having to leave so abruptly, your majesty. I hope everything is to your liking with the festivities to come.” There was the act again. You bowed your head and left the garden.

Right then and there, after seeing your softness, he knew he had to have you as his empress. It had been forever since he had felt so at ease and it would be a waste to have a flower like you fade away between the grains and wheat. Geta had to have you as his wife and he would go to great lengths to have you. An emperor never gets denied and this time won’t be an exception..

[unsuperingyournatural]

nowhere else i'd rather be

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

comfort, TLOU season 2 spoilers below

materialized after watching the SXSW interview with him and Bella where he started to get a little emotional as he talked

You missed the flight.

Not the one you booked, but the one you needed to be on—the one that would've gotten you to him in time.

Your day had unraveled like string pulled too tight. A last-minute promo shoot ran over. The car that was supposed to take you to the airport arrived half an hour late, and the traffic was a crawling mess of brake lights and frustration. By the time you got through security, the plane was already taxiing. The only thing you could do was pace at the gate and rebook.

The flight you ended up on was quiet. Too quiet. You spent most of it curled toward the window, earbuds in, the drone of the engines dull against your thoughts. You kept replaying the way Pedro looked last time you FaceTimed from set—bone-deep tired, dust in his hair, that Joel stillness he carried like armor even off-camera. You remembered the way his hands curled into fists when he didn’t think you were watching. The long silences that came after night shoots.

You knew today would be brutal. The kind of goodbye that sits behind the ribs for days.

You checked the time obsessively. Watched your texts go unanswered. Imagined him surrounded by applause, shoulders tight, eyes glassy, doing his best to laugh and deflect when someone handed him a final cup of coffee with "Joel" scrawled across the lid.

He didn’t know you were coming. That was supposed to be the one good part of the day—showing up just in time to pull him into a hug before the weight of it could settle too heavy. But now you’re stepping into a hotel elevator long past sunset, earbuds back in, bag over your shoulder, praying the moment hasn’t passed completely.

Your phone buzzes. FaceTime. Pedro.

You answer with a soft smile, masking the fatigue and the guilt pooling in your chest. “Hey, you.”

The screen lights up with his face, and the first thing you see is the wreck of him.

He’s sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, hoodie loose around his neck, hair mussed from running his hands through it one too many times. His eyes are rimmed red, lashes still damp. There’s something fragile about the way he looks at you, like he’s not quite sure he can hold it together.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, the term soft with ache.

He tries to laugh, but it crumbles in his throat. “I didn’t want to call you like this.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs, wiping quickly under his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Like a guy who cried all the way back to the hotel.”

Your heart folds in on itself.

“We wrapped.” He swallows. “That was it. Joel’s done. We all stood around clapping and hugging and pretending we weren’t crying until it was Bella's turn to say goodbye. She—” His voice cracks. He exhales sharply through his nose. “She called me her family. Said being on set wouldn't be the same. And when she hugged me, I just—”

You don’t say anything. You just listen. Let him talk.

“I didn’t think it would hit that hard,” he continues, voice quieter now, like he’s running out of steam. “But it did. All of it. The last scene. The jacket. The boots. Even the damn coffee cup they gave me with Joel’s name on it.”

You offer him a quiet smile, steadying, and step out of the elevator. Your footsteps are muffled by carpet now as you move down the hallway.

Pedro watches the screen, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait, are you back at your hotel?”

“I’m on my way up to the room now,” you reply easily, shifting the camera just enough to keep the door numbers out of frame. You change the subject gently. “What did they give you? You said something about a gift bag?”

He talks, a little less raw now, about the crew and the last-minute gifts, about the director choking up during his speech. At one point he holds up a small wrapped box, trying to describe it while blinking rapidly. His voice keeps catching on certain memories, but you stay with him. Let him lean on you through the screen.

Then you’re standing outside his room. You knock three times, soft but sure.

He looks offscreen. Frowns. “Hang on, sorry. Someone’s at the door.”

“I’ll stay right here,” you say, tucking a smile into the corner of your mouth.

Pedro sets the phone down and moves to the door.

When he opens it, he freezes.

You’re standing there, bag at your feet, hoodie zipped up to your chin, your eyes warm with the kind of affection that comes from knowing someone so well you can see straight through them.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Surprise,” you murmur.

He huffs out a soft, shaky laugh, the kind that caught in his throat like a breath half-held, half-sob. He steps forward immediately, arms pulling you into him with a force that says everything he can’t quite say aloud yet.

You melt into the hug, burying your face against his neck, pressing a kiss to the stubble on his cheek. “I’m here, amor.”

Another laugh escapes him, trembling and full of disbelief. You feel it in the way he holds you tighter. His hands shake just a little as they cradle your back. He doesn’t let go for a long time.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes search your face like he still doesn’t believe it. Then he kisses you.

It’s slow. Unhurried. A kiss that says thank you and I missed you and don’t go anywhere, not yet. You kiss him back with the same answer.

When he finally pulls away, he sees your bag. He reaches down, grabs the handle, then takes your hand in his and pulls you gently inside, closing the door behind you.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Of course I came,” you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, your thumb brushing over his knuckles with quiet affection. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Later, the two of you are curled on the couch, his body wrapped around yours like he’s still afraid you might disappear if he lets go. Your fingers move gently through his hair as he talks, voice low and thoughtful.

“It was one of the best wraps I’ve ever had,” he murmurs. “But it was also the hardest. Joel was a lot. He changed me.”

Every time his voice wavers, you press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Wherever you can reach.

At one point, he falls quiet. His hand slides up, resting over your heart like he’s grounding himself in the rhythm of your breath. He doesn’t speak for a while.

You hold him through it.

No camera. No crew. No need to be anything but this.

And for the first time tonight, he lets himself rest—not just beside you, but into the quiet, where nothing has to be said to be understood.

[iamthatonefangirl]

home video - nsfw fatws bucky barnes

~~~

"come on, pretty boy, look at the camera," you encourage, holding the camcorder in one hand while you reach your other hand to grasp at his hair, directing his face upwards to meet the line of sight of the video as it records.

his eyes are blown back, his lips drooling a little as you make him look into the lens of the camera.

"that's right, you look so pretty, so good, baby. gonna get myself off to this later," you tell him. he whines so prettily, and now you have it on video? score!

you tilt the camera down to where the two of you are connected, videoing the erotic scene as you slowly lift your hips before dropping them down again on his cock. you tilt the camera back to his face, where he's looking down, watching as you squirt even more lube than is needed onto his dick.

you focus the camera back down to the sight, the squelching noises filling the room as you continue to ride him.

"we look so pretty, baby, don't you think?" you ask him.

"wanna get you on video," he heaves, "gimme the camera."

this is such amateur hour, both the cameramen having no clue what they're doing. as you hand the camera over to him, the feedback will surely be super loud and the video distorted, darting all around the room and at the ceiling before finally focusing once more.

he holds it in his metal hand as he turns it to face you, capturing the way you look at him with such lustful desires behind your gaze. you bring your hands to his shoulders, leaning towards him so that he can get a perfect shot of your tits hanging in front of the camera.

he brings his flesh hand up to grope at your skin, and you can't help but let out a broken moan. he carefully focuses the camera on your chest as he pinches your nipple, already thinking about watching this back later.

he gives a few more tugs at your breasts before pulling the lens back. his flesh hand comes to your neck, squeezing just a little, just to capture the way your eyes roll back in your head and how you squeal a little at the feeling.

"good girl," he comments, before tilting the lens down once more. it's an absolute abomination of a sight, your wetness and lube spilled all over your thighs and his abdomen.

"keep going, baby, come on. wanna see you come for me on camera."

you whine, moving your hips a bit faster, and he carefully begins to move in tune with you.

"fuck, we're gonna watch this back the next time I fuck you, babydoll," he tells you, causing you to squeeze around him. he watches it all through the camera, telling you, "gonna put it on the tv, get you down on your hands and knees and make you watch our little video while I take your tight cunt from behind."

his flesh hand drops from your neck and comes back into view of the recording. he rests his palm against your stomach and rubs your clit with his thumb, careful not to block the camera's sight of his dick sliding in and out of you.

"gonna fill you up on camera, you ready?" he asks. you nod your head off camera, leaning in to kiss him.

as you both reach your orgasms, too busy focused on making out as you come, the camera tilts off to the side a little bit before he drops it entirely.

he lays you down on your back, pressing kisses into your neck, all while still buried inside you.

he sits back on his knees before picking up the camera again and directing it back to where you're connected.

"fuck, gonna see my cum spill out of you on camera, baby."

he ever so slowly pulls out, and you both wince at the sensitivity. the camera captures it all, as his cum slips out and drips all the way down your ass and onto the sheets. he brings two fingers to fuck into your aching hole before painting the gross, wet mixture of fluid and lube across your stomach and up to your chest.

"what are you doing, James?" you question.

"writing my name on your tits, baby. and getting video proof of it, too."

~~~

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[bluemantics]

ficlet giveaway prize for @yuutsunaoi of klance "struggling to adjust with their new roles as the red and black paladin." i hope you enjoy!

Shiro was gone, and everything was going incredibly wrong.

"Pidge, go to sleep."

"I can find him."

"I'm serious. You need to sleep."

"You can't tell me what to do, Keith, you're not my mom."

"We need you well-rested for Voltron, and I'm the Black Paladin--"

"Isn't he your brother? Do you even want him back?"

Lance groaned, pinching his nose as he leaned against the wall. He had positioned himself just outside the Castleship's living room after he saw Keith go in, worried that the temperamental fighter would offend their youngest teammate. Lo and behold, it hadn't even taken two minutes before the two started to clash.

While Lance could appreciate how they normally melded, he knew that Shiro's... vanishing would trigger fight-or-flight responses in both of them. Honestly, it was a miracle that Keith hadn't spirited off to some random planet on a panic-induced sabbatical. Or maybe the true miracle was that Pidge hadn't ripped Keith's face off, he wondered, as he walked through the door and took in the scene before him.

Pidge had jumped on top of the couch, face contorted in anger, hands balled at her sides. Her computer was lying forgotten beside her feet. Facing her, Keith was entirely red, thick eyebrows pulled down in distinct rage. At least, that was what he wanted Pidge to think.

It was easy for Lance to note the glimmer of hurt in his eyes. Yeah, that comment about Shiro had definitely landed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lance called out, raising his arms. Instantly, both heads whipped to face him, expressions unchanged. "Let's back it up, guys."

Keith straightened up and crossed his arms. "It's fine. Pidge just needs to listen."

"I swear to god," Pidge seethed, "I will tear your stupid hair off your stupid head."

Okay, Lance was always in support of a hair insult when it came to Keith, but he had to stop this.

"No one is ripping anyone's hair. Pidge, I admire what you're doing here. Really, I do," Lance began, gesturing to the computer. "No one else on the team can sort through all the data you're collecting from the lion and the Galrans."

"I know. That's why I have to keep working," she snapped. Lance approached her slowly.

"Okay, but what if I told you that's the reason you need to slow down?"

"That makes no sense." Pidge looked curious, though, and a soft smile pulled at Lance's lips. He'd caught her on the hook easily. Unlike the others, Pidge couldn't be persuaded with placating words or niceties. No, what she needed was a little bit different.

"Logically, humans can't operate at capacity for 24 hours straight. We don't have the brainpower." He knocked on his own head to demonstrate, aware of Keith's eyes fixating on his every movement. Good. Maybe he could take something out of this. "Brains need time to breathe, Pidgey."

"I know that," she huffed, but her eyes softened slightly.

"So, if you know that, you know you're likely not an exception." Lance reached over to her computer and plucked it up, closed the lid, and held it out to her. His heart melted a little at her frown. Pidge was far too young to be losing her family and Shiro at the same time, much less being burdened with their rescues. "You'll find him. I know you will. But you're gonna make a mistake or miss something if you aren't in tip-top shape while you search."

Hesitantly, Pidge's hand darted forward to pull her computer to her chest. Hugging it to herself tightly, she looked between Lance and Keith, apprehensive yet seeming more open than before. Finally, she gave Lance a sharp nod. It wasn't long before she jumped down from her perch and stomped out of the room, the automatic doors swishing shut behind her. Keith let out a sound that sounded like a mix between a sigh of relief and a groan.

"I'm shit," he mumbled, wiping his hands down his face. A chuckle pulled out of Lance's throat.

"A little bit," Lance agreed, turning to face Keith with amusement clear on his face. His lighthearted mood died down, though, when Keith moved to sit on the couch, elbows braced against his knees as he slumped over. "Oh, hey, buddy."

"I can't do this, Lance."

"What? Force Pidge to sleep?" Lance quickly took a seat at Keith's right, crossing an ankle over his knee.

"All of it," Keith muttered. His deep eyes looked thoughtful and weary as they stared straight ahead, fixed on nothing. "People wanted to listen to Shiro. Sure, sometimes they'd disagree, but they eventually came around. They trusted him to know more. I trusted him."

"Hmm," Lance nodded, thinking back. Keith wasn't lying; following Shiro had been natural. He was older, experienced, and had a solid balance of intimidation and empathy. "So you don't feel like you've got that same respect as Black Paladin?" Keith let out a broken laugh, shaking his head.

"Why would they listen to me? I'm a mess. I didn't exactly hide that."

"No, that's not it," Lance pressed. "They just don't think you understand them."

"I don't. They're right."

"Well, you can try," Lance said, gears turning in his head quickly. "Tonight was a good example. Pidge is angry, kinda like you, about a lot of stuff, but especially about losing control. She feels like she's entirely out of control with the loss of Shiro and all the changes in our lions."

Keith was watching Lance, now, eyebrows raised at his explanation. Hopefully, that was an invitation to continue. "So, meet her where she is. Relate to her. Explain things how she'd want to hear it, not in the way you think Shiro would."

"I'm not good at that," Keith responded, shifting uncomfortably. His hands twitched where they rested. "You do that shit way better."

"Well, then, I guess I'll just have to help you. Which is literally my job, by the way." Lance's hand moved between the two of them as he spoke. "I can help you meet them where they are, help them feel seen. I'll show you their communication styles. I promise, it isn't as hard as it seems."

"Okay," Keith agreed, unsure but still affirmative.

"But you have to help me, too. This is a partnership."

"A partnership?" Keith snorted in disbelief. "You hate working with me off the battlefield. You called me stupid at least five times in the last month."

Lance scoffed, waving the notion away. "Well, I'm a mature adult, so I can put aside my qualms with you despite your tragically dramatic hangups." That drew an actual laugh from Keith, oddly enough, sparking little butterfly flaps in Lance's stomach. Weird.

"What do you need?" Keith asked through the slight upward tilt of his lips. Shaking his head, Lance snapped back to their conversation.

"Teach me to fight."

"Fight?" Keith tilted his head. "You're our sharpshooter, though. You shouldn't need to do hand-to-hand." While that acknowledgment pleased him, Lance rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but clearly I'm occupying some different shoes now." He shrugged. "I need to be ready to fill any gaps on the team, now, with one of our close-range guys out of the picture. Plus, I can't always expect that the battles won't come to me, even if you guys try to protect me."

Without pause, Keith sat up, leaning toward Lance. His eyes bore into Lance's with an intensity and fire expected out of the former Red Paladin. "You'll take it seriously?"

A pang struck Lance's gut. "Obviously. I'm insulted you'd ask."

"Fine, then. It's a deal."

"It's a partnership," Lance reminded him, elbowing his side. A grunt of affirmation sounded from Keith, who shoved Lance away with an arm. Letting the momentum carry him, Lance flopped down onto the couch with a pleased sigh.

The whole team had been struggling recently, not just Lance and Keith. Pidge was staying up to run data on Black. Allura spent overtime poring over diplomatic records and contacting foreign planets. Hunk struggled to tamp down on his anxieties during group discussion, nausea clear on his face. Even Coran was less chipper and more focused than before.

But, just maybe, if Keith and Lance could lead the way, the others would fall in step. Together, they could... make it easier. Okay, even.

That was only his privately held theory, though. Voicing it aloud was unthinkable.

"Bedtime?" he suggested to Keith.

"Training," Keith shot back, heaving himself to his feet and yanking the couch cushion out from under Lance. Crashing to the floor with a yelp, Lance stared up at Keith, rubbing his leg.

"Ow, dude!"

"I'll meet you at the training deck in ten minutes. Get changed and grab water."

Lance smirked at his retreating back and shoved himself upright.

Yeah, they'd be fine.

[alexthebordercollie]

Excersize

Full scene below the cut.

Ford woke up early, as he usually did. He was always late to bed and early to rise. Four to six hours of sleep was plenty, any more would be an indulgence. There were always so many more productive things to do than sleep, like looking for ways to help his companion out of his funk.

Fiddleford hadn’t been himself since the gremloblin attack. He was jumpy and skittish, more so than he ever was before. Ford had mixed up the Rubik’s cube his friend kept on his desk days ago. Fiddleford never left it unsolved whenever he caught it scrambled. He’d solve it in a matter of seconds, no matter what Ford attempted. The fact Fiddleford had left it unsolved for so long was certainly a poor sign. 

Meditation hadn’t helped. Something startled Fidds in the process, whatever nightmare was haunting him. He had a minor breakdown. Ford had no idea what he was doing. He was trying his best to be supportive, but it hurt. It hurt seeing someone he cared so deeply for so frightened and in pain, and feeling powerless to take that pain away.

A couple of days ago, Fiddleford had come to him with an especially worrying invention. A memory gun, something to erase whatever horrifying vision had fried his nerves. The machine was a nightmare of its own. It was horribly unsafe. The design was a far cry from Fiddleford’s best work. He was usually so thoughtful and secure with his designs. He was slipping. Ford hated to imagine what kind of damage Fidds could have done to himself if he’d actually tried using the damn thing. Thankfully, Ford was able to talk some sense to him, and Fiddleford disposed of the gun. 

Nonetheless, it was a sign that Ford needed to keep trying. He needed to find something healthy that worked before Fiddleford resorted to something drastic. 

“Rise and shine, bud. Time for our morning workout.” Ford smiled wide as he flicked on the lights in Fiddleford’s bedroom.

Fidds hissed and pulled his pillow over his head. “I finally got some sleep….” His protests were muffled under the pillow.

“Oh, that’s great!” Good to hear Fidds was finally sleeping again. “Then you should be rested enough for some stretches and a light jog.”

Fidds peered at Ford from under his pillow. His upturned nose poked out of the covers like a little pig snout. “Since when has it been our morning workout?” he asked wryly. 

“Since today.” Ford rested one hand on his hip while he counted his reasons on his other hand. “I think it’d do you some good. A morning jog always helps clear my head,” he proposed, holding up a finger. “I think it would be fun to work out together.” Two fingers. “And besides, you’re out of shape anyway.” Three fingers turned to one as he pointed down at his friend with a mocking click of his tongue and a faux look of shame on his face. “Too many years away from the farm, I reckon.” He twanged playfully.

“Aw, now yer just makin’ fun o’ me!” Fidds propped himself up on his arms. The pillow slid off his messy bedhead in the process.

“Who me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ford batted his lashes and held a hand over his heart.

A pillow went flying across the room. Ford dodged it easily with an ear-to-ear grin. Fiesty. That was a good sign.

Fidds groaned and pulled himself upright. “Uhg… yer not gonna let up till I agree, are ya?”

Ford gave the question some serious consideration, only fully registering the sarcasm after he gave his answer. “Probably not, no,” he told him honestly. 

Fidds rubbed his eyes and dragged his face down with his hands. He looked back at Ford like he was melting from his fingertips. He stared at him like he was waiting for something.

Ford only stood there waiting to see what Fidds needed.

“Well, git!” Fidds pointed to the door. “Least let me shower, shit, and shave. Danm.” 

Ford chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “Right, sorry. Put something comfy on and meet me in the living room.”

Fidds sighed and rolled his eyes. A soft smile tugged at his lips. Ford liked that smile. That mix of affection and exasperation. There was security in that smile.

When Fiddleford did meet him down in the living room, it was clear he hadn’t fully grasped the assignment. He walked past Ford, who was sitting on the floor, to go make coffee in the kitchen.

“Hey, over here!” Ford protested as he was ignored. 

“It’s six in the mornin’, coffee first!” Fiddleford called back.

“Coffee when we’re done. Put the pot on and come over here.” He cocked a knee and leaned against it while he waited for Fidds. Wearing his workout shorts and a light black t-shirt. He already had his jogging shoes on. They were in better shape than his usual work boots since they were only used for these morning runs on well-worn trails. 

Fidds, on the other hand, came back in a sweaty wifebeater and boxers with little red hearts.

“I told you to get dressed,” Ford scolded.

“I ain’t naked.” Fidds rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“You're not going jogging in your underwear, are you?” 

“Yeah, that ain't happenin’.” Fidds sat down on the living room carpet next to Ford. “I'll meet ya halfway, but I ain't going for a run in a forest full o’ weird monsters before sun up.” 

“The only anomalous creature you're likely to spot on my route is a gnome or two. They're harmless.” Ford dismissed with a hand wave.

“It ain't happenin’.” 

“Alright, that’s fine. We'll work up to it. For now, let's just start with a light warmup.” Ford offered.

Fidds sighed but conceded. The exercises weren't anything too difficult. Ford wasn't having Fiddleford lift weights, and the jog had already been shot down. Even then, Fidds was struggling by the second set. He was far less flexible than Ford expected for someone so thin. Ford often found himself assisting, holding Fiddleford's body in various positions while he wheezed from the strain. Red-faced and sweaty and huffing.

“Breathe, Fidds.” Ford kept warning him. “You're going to pass out like that.” 

Ford decided to wrap up their session with a sixty-second plank. A simple exercise. He just had to hold the position for a minute. It couldn't be easier.

“Back straight, Fidds.” Ford lifted himself up onto his fingers while Fiddleford was bracing himself on his forearms. Ford was outstretched parallel to his friend, observing his form.

“I am straight dammit!” Fiddleford huffed. His face turned red as beads of sweat dripped from his nose. He was, in fact, not straight. His rear raised slightly above where it should have been. Bending his body at an off angle.

Ford broke his plank and sat up to help him. “No, your ass is up.” He corrected gently. Despite Fidds' repeated bluster and frustration, Ford had remained patient with him. While he could no longer relate to the struggle, he still remembered how it felt when he started working out. That weak, impotent feeling, sweaty and winded and ashamed of himself.

He placed one hand on Fiddleford's stomach and another on his lower back. Slowly lowering his but till his body was a straight line from his shoulders to his toes. “There, now you're straight.”

A couple of seconds passed, and Ford realized Fiddleford had stopped breathing. His cheeks puffed up, and his eyes widened as he turned redder and redder. 

“Breathe, Fidds!” Ford patted his back.

Fiddleford gasped as he freed the breath he was holding and struggled to suck in more air. “Please… tell me… we're done-” he wheezed.

Ford checked his watch and observed the second hand as it ticked by. “Almost. Halfway there. Just keep it up a little longer.” He rubbed little assuring circles into Fidds lower back with his other hand while he counted the seconds, holding his form.

Eventually, the minute passed, and with the final tick, “Now, now you can stop.” 

Fiddleford gasped and collapsed into a sweaty, heaving heap on the floor. “Thank… the… lord… Stanferd… I… Hate… You!”

Ford looked at his friend and blinked briefly before realizing that Fidds was being facetious. He broke out laughing and patted Fidds' back. “Aw, come on, buddy. It couldn’t have been that bad. You did well.”

“Hogwash!” Fiddleford spat. Too tired to pull his face off the floor. He only turned his head with his cheek mushed into the carpet as he shot daggers at his friend. “Yer a shit liar Stanford. Don’t even try.”

“Alright, alright,” Ford apologized. “Look, there may be some room for improvement-” 

“May be?!” Fidds bocked.

“I’ll go easier on you next time,” Ford promised. 

Fiddleford buried his face in the carpet and groaned. “There’s gonna be a next time, huh?”

Ford merely smiled. He didn’t need to say anything. He knew Fidds could feel it from a mile off. Fiddleford groaned louder in reply.