#help to begin with. AND OTHER THING!!!!!!!

[beloveds-embrace]

(more of fae poly 141 x human queen reader || Masterlist)

It begins, as all fae things do, with something half-whispered and half-willed into being.

The Queen Mother watches from her high balcony, swathed in robes stitched from starlight and spider-silk, a goblet of elderflower wine in hand, and eyes like knives turned on her sons- indeed, only John may be her son of her own blood, but the other three have been married to him long enough she sees them all the same. Now, she is not subtle in her disappointment, but subtlety is not what’s needed now.

She wants a grandchild.

You are the wife, thus you are the womb. You are also- unfortunately- entirely unconvinced.

Which is a problem.

So the court changes. Just a little. Just enough- and all by the Queen Mother’s hand.

You notice it in the morning, when your tea no longer arrives lukewarm but steaming gently in a mug carved with delicate runes for comfort and staying warm. In the way the wind, once cruel and clawing, now stirs only to brush your hair back like a mother’s hand.

You find moss blooming along the path you take to the greenhouse- soft, lush, easier on your feet when you leave your shoes behind, as you often do. Glowy flits at your shoulder, a small sun in a kingdom that loves its shadows. Thrain trails behind with his antlers lowered, his hooves never once clicking on the stone, for the castle shifts beneath him now. Quiet, respectful for the being its Queen finds comfort in.

You don’t understand the change. You assume it’s the Queen Mother’s doing, for it certainly could not be your husbands’.

And you are not wrong- but you do not see the rest of it, nor do you understand why.

You do not see Johnny kneeling in your study after you’ve gone to sleep, trying to decipher the new system you’ve carved into court documentation like sacred text. He is muttering under his breath, muttering your name, because he can’t figure out how the taxes flow this smoothly without magic.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, frowning at a sheet full of overlapping glyphs and sigils. “How does she even- ?”

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales, defeated. “Nae way queenie’s human. No way.”

He cannot do what you do, and it terrifies him as much as it excites him.

You do not see Simon standing outside your window at dusk, his silhouette caught in the trembling light of a fae firefly swarm. He doesn’t knock. Just watches. He thinks about the way your shoulders sag when no one’s looking. He doesn’t know how to help without breaking something, yet he doesn’t acknowledge that his inaction might be just as cruel.

“She’s always tired,” he says quietly, to no one but the trees that stare at him in silent judgement and accusation. “Don’t think we’ve ever asked why.”

You do not see Kyle trimming the hedge maze into gentler curves he’s the one who shapes the new garden path into a spiral, the human symbol of devotion. You won’t recognize it, not right away, but he hopes that someday you’ll walk it barefoot and feel safe, and the thorns will no longer prick your fingers or get tangled in your dresses.

“Be nice,” he murmurs to the leaves. “If she had something made for her. Not for show. Just… hers.”

And John… he leaves you a book. Not a weapon, nor a command, but a book; a soft, leather-bound thing from the human realm, tucked into your pillow. One you’d spoken about months ago in passing when you were trying to strike up small talk, the kind of memory no one was supposed to hold on to.

But he remembered, and he knows well enough not to tell you it was him who got that book for you, because he knows you wouldn’t believe it the same way you don’t believe any of them.

“She won’t believe it’s from me,” he says to the mothlight above your bed, and Glowy sharpens its light at him, unimpressed. “But maybe she’ll enjoy the story anyways.”

Their attempts feel like guilt wrapped in ribbons, like pity painted gold, so you wear your silence like armor. Your glamours grow sharper and darker, and become even more of what they always wanted you to be: untouchable, mysterious, other. Anything except human.

Not because you want to, but because it is safer.

And they- gods, they don’t know how to undo it.

They, the fearsome four. Masters of strategy, of illusion, of war. A beloved, respected King and his beloved, respected advisors.

They are helpless in the face of your doubt. Fools, all four of them.

Which is why the Queen Mother begins to meddle in earnest.

She speaks in circles at court dinners, drops names of fertility rites and lucky moons. She gives you gowns lined with moonstone and roses that only bloom when kissed by love. She leaves baby shoes- handwoven from frost-leaves- on your writing desk like a curse you make no mention of because acknowledging it is terrifying.

And still, she does not pressure you. Not directly, anyways.

Only… makes space. Opens doors. Makes them walk through them until one by one, they begin showing up.

Johnny brings pastries he says were “extra” but are clearly from the bakery in the fae city you once mentioned yoy liked. He never stays long, just drops them off, scratches Thrain’s fur for the five seconds the great stag lets him before it tries to bite his hand and head cleanly off, and mumbles about going.

“Don’t read into it,” he says, ears flushed, hands in his pockets and away from Thrain’s hungry maw. “Jus’ thought you’d like the wee apple ones. You always looked happier w’ apple.”

Kyle hums near your bath, not entering, but talking idly through the steam about human songs you’d once sung with the will-o-wisps. He doesn’t ask to join. He just exists nearby- even less than the time Johnny had kept you company.

“Remember the one with the moon and the river?” he asks, softly. “They still echo it down the west wing.”

Simon sits on the couch of your office and watches you. Never interrupts. Just… listens. Like he’s learning you all over again, but this time he is paying attention.

“You breathe differently when you’re upset,” he murmurs one day, not looking at you. “Didn’t know that before. I do now. Let me look at that ledger.”

John brings Glowy closer to your chair when you read. Doesn’t speak. Just adjusts the wings so the glow warms your feet, and then he watches in amusement as Glowy hisses at him for his audacity to reposition it like that- yet it eagerly stays in that spot to provide warmth for you.

You glance up, and his eyes catch yours.

“Light-… Glowy was too far,” he says simply. “Can’t have you freezing.”

It is not much- but it is more than nothing.

And still, you do not trust it; love should not come only after loss; love should not bloom only when you have nothing left to give.

But the court begins to whisper. Softer now. Not prey, not little queen.

Yours, perhaps, after all.

And when you wake one morning to find your glamours replaced by simple fabric, soft and real- no magic, no sharpness, no enchanted jewellery, just skin and breath and linen- and none of them flinch, none of them turn away, not even when you catch their stares and look back, unadorned…

You wonder, just a little, if something has begun to change.

You wonder if they see you now.

Thrain noses your wrist, grumbling deep from his belly, the sound happy. Glowy settles into your collar with a delicate fwmp of its wings. The wind, the fae wind, brings you petals instead of thorns.

And beside your pillow- tucked gently against the spine of your beloved book- is a letter, penned in four distinct hands, tied with gold thread and sealed with wax.

You open it with trembling fingers, and inside it reads:

We’d like to take you to dinner. No court. No masks. Just us. At the gazebo. Say yes, and wear whatever you like. We’ll be waiting.

Yours- if you’ll still have us.

[abbotjack]

God I hate to be that person but ughhhhhh I love that jack fic where they find out reader is pregnant and I'm CRAVING a second part to that (if you're u to of course). Like, how it'd be during her pregnancy, him being sweet but also worried and protective. Omg I need more soft jack w a baby on the way!!!!!

The Camouflage Onesie

part two of he begins to notice (read this first!)

content warnings: pregnancy, medical references, nausea/morning sickness, sexual content (explicit but consensual), body image changes, hormonal shifts, domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, labor and delivery scene, emotionally intense partner support, and high emotional/physical dependency within a marriage. yeah. pregnancy

word count : 5,735

WEEK 5

The test turned positive on a Sunday. By Monday morning, the entire medicine cabinet had been rearranged like it was a trauma cart.

Your moisturizer had been nudged over to make room for prescription-grade prenatals, a bottle of magnesium, a DHA complex, and—of all things—two individually labeled pill sorters with day-of-the-week dividers. One pink. One clear. Yours and Jack's, apparently.

You found him in the kitchen at 6:42 a.m., already in scrubs. He was calmly cutting the crusts off toast while listening to NPR and making a second cup of coffee for himself.

When he turned, he gave you a long once-over—not in a critical way, but diagnostic. Like he was scanning you for vitals only he could see.

“You’re flushed,” he said. “And your pupils are dilated. You feel dizzy yet?”

You furrowed your brow. “No?”

“Good. You’re hydrating better than I thought.”

You blinked. “Jack, I haven’t even said good morning.”

He walked over and handed you a glass of room-temp water. “I’m loving you with medically sourced precision.”

You stared at the glass. “This isn’t cold.”

“Cold water upsets your stomach. Lukewarm helps with early bloat.”

“Jack.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He tilted his head. “I’ve watched septic patients stabilize faster than accountants facing a positive Clearblue. I know exactly what this is.”

You pressed your hands to your face and groaned. “You’re not going to hover this much every week, are you?”

Jack leaned down, brushing a kiss over your shoulder. “No. Some weeks I’ll hover more.”

“I made your appointment already,” he said, voice casual. “Friday. Dr. Patel. 3:40.”

You blinked. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“She owes me a favor,” Jack said. “Got her niece into ortho during the peak of the shortage last year. Trust me—she’ll take care of you.”

You frowned, stunned. “How did you even pull that off so fast?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart. I’m an ER doctor. I have connections. I can get my wife seen before the week’s out.”

Your eyes welled up suddenly—caught off guard by how steady he was, how sure. You were still half-floating in disbelief. Jack was already ten steps ahead, clearing the path.

WEEK 6

You learned very quickly that pregnancy was a full-time job—and Jack approached it with quiet precision.

The first time you dry-heaved over the kitchen sink, he didn’t rush in with a solution. He didn’t lecture or hover. He just stepped into the room, leaned against the counter, and waited until you looked up.

“Still thinking about that leftover pasta?” he asked softly.

You made a face. “Don’t say the word pasta.”

He crossed the kitchen, wordless, and pulled open a drawer. Out came a wrapped ginger chew. Then he disappeared down the hall.

When he returned, he had your cardigan in one hand and a bottle of lemon water in the other.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

Jack handed you the water first. “You always run cold when you’re nauseous. But I know you’ll refuse a blanket if you’re flushed.”

You stared.

He draped the cardigan over your shoulders.

“You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you want toast.”

You half-laughed, half-cried, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “You don’t have to be this gentle every second.”

Jack leaned in. “I’m not being gentle. I’m being exact. There’s a difference.”

Later that night, you sat curled up on the couch, still wrapped in the cardigan, while Jack quietly swapped your usual diffuser oil with something new.

“Peppermint,” he said when you asked. “Helps with queasiness.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And the bin next to the couch?”

“Let’s call it contingency planning.”

You smirked. “You’re really building systems around me, huh?”

Jack looked at you—soft, certain. “No. I’m building them for you.”

He moved across the room and brushed your hair back off your forehead, thumb pausing at your temple like he could smooth out whatever discomfort lingered there.

“You’re not the patient,” he murmured. “You’re the constant. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep the ground steady under your feet.”

You didn’t have a clever reply.

You just pulled him onto the couch beside you and tucked yourself into his chest—grateful beyond words that this was who you got to build a life with.

WEEK 9

Jack was folding laundry on the bed when you walked into the room barefoot, carrying a bowl of cereal and wearing his old college sweatshirt.

You caught his glance. “What?”

He shook his head, smiled a little. “Just thinking you wear my clothes better than I ever did.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. He set a towel down. Reached for your bowl as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I got it,” you said.

“I know,” he murmured, holding it anyway while you shifted the pillow behind your back. Once you were settled, he handed it back.

You took a bite, then glanced at the basket of half-folded laundry.

“You know that’s mostly my stuff, right?”

Jack looked at the pile. “It’s ours. Who else is gonna fold your seven thousand pairs of fuzzy socks?”

You laughed into your spoon.

He leaned against the dresser and just looked at you for a second. Not in a way that made you self-conscious—just soft. Familiar.

“You’re quieter this week,” he said.

You shrugged. “I’m tired.”

He nodded. “Want to go somewhere this weekend? Just us?”

“Like where?”

“Nowhere big. Just—out of the house. We could rent a cabin. Lay around. Sleep until noon. Let you pretend I’m not watching you nap like it’s my full-time job.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You do that now?”

“Not always. Just when you start snoring like a golden retriever pup.”

“Jack.”

He grinned, walked over, and kissed your temple.

“Alright, no trips. But at least let me cook something tonight. Something warm.”

You sighed. “You already do too much.”

He looked at you seriously then, crouched a little so you were eye-level.

“I don’t keep score,” he said. “I’m your husband. You’re growing our kid. If all I have to do is make dinner and fold socks, I’m getting off easy.”

WEEK 14

By week fourteen, the second trimester hit like an exhale.

You weren’t queasy every morning anymore. Your appetite returned. You could brush your teeth without gagging. And Jack, for the first time in weeks, actually relaxed enough to sit through an entire episode of something without checking on you mid-scene.

You were curled on the couch together—your head in his lap—when he slid his hand beneath your shirt and rested it on the soft curve of your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re subtle.”

“I’m consistent.”

You snorted. “You’re clingy.”

His thumb brushed just under your ribs. “I’m memorizing.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your feet closer. “You already know everything about me.”

Jack looked down at you, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I know the before. This part? This is new.”

He went quiet, and you could feel the shift in him—something deeper, more reverent than before.

“I’ve seen pregnancy before,” he said. “But I’ve never… watched it happen to someone I come home to.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “You okay?”

Jack nodded slowly. “I just keep thinking… you’re building someone I haven’t met yet. And I already know I’d give my life for them.”

Your throat tightened. You reached for his hand where it rested on your stomach, lacing your fingers through his.

“We’re doing okay, right?”

Jack bent down, kissed your forehead. “You’re doing better than okay.”

You smiled. “We’re a good team.”

“The best,” he said. “Even if you keep stealing all the pillows.”

You laughed. “You sleep like a corpse. You don’t need them.”

He grinned. “You’re getting cocky now that the nausea’s eased.”

“You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

“No, I’ll just be glad to have you back.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have me.”

Jack kissed you again. Longer this time.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

WEEK 15

It started with the baby books.

Not the ones you bought. The ones Jack picked up—three of them, stacked neatly on the nightstand one morning after a grocery run you hadn’t joined him on.

You noticed them after your shower. He was still in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, humming something that definitely wasn’t in tune. But the titles made you pause.

“‘What to Expect for Dads,’” you read aloud, holding the top one up when he walked in. “You going soft on me?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Hardly. Just figured if you’re doing the building, I can at least read the manual.”

You smirked, flipping through a page. “You’re the manual.”

“I’m the triage guy. I don’t have maternal instincts. I have protocols.”

You leaned back against the headboard. “You’re being humble, but you’re gonna ace this.”

He shrugged, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “I just want to know what’s coming. I’ve done newborn shifts. I’ve handed babies to people shaking so hard they could barely hold them. But this? This isn’t a shift. This is us.”

You touched his arm. “You’ve already done more than I can even keep track of.”

Jack looked at you for a long moment. Then placed his hand over yours. “I don’t want to just be useful. I want to be good. For both of you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you leaned forward and kissed him—gentle, deep. His hand slid to your stomach as naturally as breathing.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You already are.”

That night, when he thought you were asleep, he cracked open the book again.

And stayed up past midnight reading about swaddling, latch cues, and the difference between Braxton Hicks and the real thing.

WEEK 16

Jack stood in the doorway of your office for almost a full minute before saying anything.

You looked up from your laptop, eyebrows raised. “What?”

He didn’t move. Just scanned the room—your desk, the bookshelf, the little armchair in the corner that you never actually used.

Then, finally: “Is our house big enough for this?”

You blinked. “For what?”

He gestured vaguely toward your belly, then the room. “All of it. A baby. Crib. Noise. Diapers. More laundry. Less sleep.”

You smiled gently. “I thought we were turning this room into the nursery.”

“We are,” he said quickly. “I just… I keep running scenarios in my head. And this place felt huge when it was just us.”

You closed your laptop. “Jack.”

He looked at you.

“We’ll figure it out. We already are.”

He crossed the room, leaned against your desk. “I’m not trying to panic.”

“I know.”

“I just keep thinking about how everything’s going to change. I want to make sure we still feel like us once it does.”

You stood and wrapped your arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “We will. You think too far ahead sometimes.”

“That’s my job,” he murmured.

“And mine is reminding you that it’s okay to not solve everything all at once.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I know. I just want it to be enough.”

WEEK 19

Jack was unusually quiet on the drive to the anatomy scan.

Not anxious. Just focused in a way that told you his brain had been working overtime since the moment he woke up. His hand rested on your thigh at every red light, thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of your leggings.

“You good?” you asked, turning down the radio.

He glanced over, nodded once. “Just running through the checklist in my head.”

You smiled gently. “You’re not at work, babe.”

“I know. But I’ve never seen one of these as a husband.”

You reached over and laced your fingers through his. “You don’t have to be perfect today. You just have to be here.”

He gave you a look. “I am here. That’s the problem. I’m so here I can’t think about anything else.”

The waiting room was dim, quiet, and smelled vaguely like lemon disinfectant. Jack sat beside you, legs spread in his usual posture, one hand on your knee. His thumb tapped once. Then again. Then stopped.

The tech was warm, professional. She dimmed the lights. Asked if you wanted to know the sex. You said yes before Jack could answer.

You held your breath as the screen lit up in shades of blue and gray.

“Everything’s looking healthy,” the tech said. “Strong spine, great heartbeat, long legs.”

Jack tightened his grip on your hand.

“And it looks like you’re having a girl.”

You exhaled all at once. Then laughed. Or maybe cried. It blurred together.

Jack didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at the monitor, jaw tense, eyes glassy.

You turned to look at him. “Jack.”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I just—” He swallowed. “She’s real.”

The rest of the appointment was a haze—measurements, murmurs of “good growth,” the gentle swipe of gel off your stomach. Jack didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

That night, you came out of the bathroom in an old t-shirt and found him standing at the dresser, staring down at something small in his hand.

You stepped closer. “What’s that?”

He held it up without looking—one of the newborn onesies you’d bought weeks ago in a moment of cautious optimism. Light yellow. Soft cotton.

“You think she’ll fit in this?” he asked.

You smiled. “They’re tiny, Jack. That’s kind of the whole point.”

He nodded but didn’t move.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind. “You’re allowed to feel everything. It’s a big day.”

He turned, wrapped his arms around you carefully. “I think I was more afraid of not feeling it.”

You pressed your forehead to his. “You’re allowed to be happy.”

“I am,” he said, voice rough. “I just keep thinking about how I’m going to keep her safe. How I’m going to teach her to breathe through chaos. How I’ll probably mess it up a hundred times.”

“You’re not going to mess it up.”

He looked at you. “You really think that?”

“I married you, didn’t I?”

Jack smiled for real then. “You’ve always been the smarter one.”

You rolled your eyes. “But you’re the one who’s going to end up wrapped around her finger.”

He kissed your temple. “That part was inevitable.”

WEEK 25

Jack convinced you to finally start looking at houses.

You’d been reluctant—emotionally attached to the place you’d built your early marriage in, skeptical about change when everything in your life already felt like it was shifting—but Jack had waited. Quietly. Patiently.

And then one morning, while you were brushing your teeth, he leaned in behind you, kissed your shoulder, and said, “You deserve a bigger closet.”

That was how it started.

Now, you were standing in a half-empty living room with sun pouring through tall windows and a sold sign posted out front.

Jack had just gotten off the phone with your realtor. “It’s official,” he said, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Inspection cleared. We close in three weeks.”

You blinked. “We really bought a house.”

He walked over, wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, rested his chin on your shoulder. “Correction: we bought your dream closet.”

You laughed. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am. Also, there’s a window bench in the nursery. You don’t even have to try to make it Pinterest-worthy.”

You leaned into him, eyes scanning the bare walls. “I can already picture her here.”

Jack pressed a kiss to your neck. “I already do. I see her trying to climb that windowsill. Leaving fingerprints on every square inch of the fridge. Falling asleep on the stairs with a book she couldn’t finish.”

Your throat tightened.

You turned in his arms. “You really love it?”

He looked at you seriously. “I love what it gives you. I love that it lets you breathe. And yeah—I love that it’s ours.”

Later that night, back in your current house, you sat on the floor with your laptop open, scrolling through registry links and bookmarking soft pink paint samples. Jack handed you a cup of tea, then lowered himself on the couch beside you with a quiet grunt.

“Is it weird that I already want to be moved?” you asked.

He shook his head. “No. It’s called nesting. I read about it in that chapter you skipped.”

You shot him a look. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the one folding swaddles while you build spreadsheets. This is our love language.”

You leaned into him, content. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

WEEK 27

You’d been on your feet all day—organizing documents, boxing up odds and ends, making lists of what needed to be moved and what could be donated. Jack told you to slow down three separate times, each time gentler than the last.

But now, at 8:43 p.m., you were barefoot in the kitchen, half bent over a drawer of mismatched utensils, when he walked in, tossed a dish towel on the counter, and said, “Okay. That’s it.”

You looked up. “What?”

Jack didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. He crossed the room, took the spatula from your hand, and gently nudged you toward a chair. “Sit. Let me take over.”

You blinked at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You folded your arms. “Same thing.”

Jack crouched in front of you, resting his forearms on your knees. “You’ve done enough today. Let me be the husband who makes you sit down and drink something cold while I finish sorting forks from tongs.”

You softened, your fingers drifting to his hair. “I know you’re right. I just feel useless when I’m not doing something.”

“You’re 27 weeks pregnant,” Jack said, voice warm. “You made a person and folded three boxes of bath towels. That’s two more miracles than anyone else managed today.”

You exhaled and leaned back.

Later, when you were curled on the couch with a glass of iced water and your feet propped on a pillow, Jack settled next to you and tugged a blanket over both of you.

“House is gonna feel real soon,” he said.

You nodded. “She’s going to be born there.”

Jack’s arm slid around your shoulders. “We’ll bring her home to that nursery. Hang that weird mobile you picked that I still don’t understand.”

“You said it was ‘avant-garde.’”

“I was being polite.”

You smiled, tired and full. “We’re really doing it, huh?”

“We are.”

You rested your head on his chest. Jack’s hand drifted instinctively to your belly, and stayed there.

“Hey,” you said after a minute. “Thanks for making me sit.”

Jack kissed the top of your head. “Thanks for letting me.”

WEEK 30

You caught him standing in the doorway of the nursery around 9:00 p.m., arms folded, shoulder braced against the frame like he was keeping watch.

The room was nearly done. Diapers in bins. Chair assembled. Books on shelves. But Jack wasn’t looking at any of that. He was staring at the window, like he was imagining the light that would come through it in the early mornings.

You leaned against the opposite side of the doorway, watching him.

“What’s going on in that head?” you asked.

He glanced over at you. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Jack cracked half a smile but didn’t move. “I keep picturing her. Not just baby-her. Grown-up her.”

You walked toward him. “What version?”

He tilted his head. “Seventeen. Wants to borrow the car. Has someone texting her who I probably don’t like.”

You laughed. “You’re already dreading a boyfriend?”

“I’m already dreading anyone who gets to be in her world without knowing what it cost us to build it.”

That stopped you.

Jack finally looked at you then—really looked. “She’s not even born yet and I already know I’d lay down in traffic for her. And I know how fast people can break things they don’t understand.”

You rested your hands on his chest. “You’re not going to be scary.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Well. You’ll look scary. Army vet. ER attending. Perpetual scowl. Built like you bench-press refrigerators for fun.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

“But you’ll love her in a way no one will mistake for anything but devotion.”

Jack leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m not good at soft,” he murmured.

“You’re good at us,” you whispered. “That’s all she’ll need.”

He pulled you into his arms then, one hand resting flat against the curve of your belly. “She’s gonna hate me when I make her come home early.”

“She’s gonna roll her eyes when you insist on meeting everyone she ever texts.”

Jack grinned. “Damn right.”

You laughed into his shirt. “You’re so screwed.”

“I know.”

But he held you a little tighter. Didn’t say anything else. Just stood there in the dim nursery, one arm wrapped around the two of you, as if holding his whole world in place.

WEEK 32

You’d read the pregnancy forums. The blog posts. The articles with vaguely medical sources claiming the third trimester came with a spike in libido. You thought you’d be too sore, too tired. Too preoccupied.

What you hadn’t expected was the absolute onslaught.

It was like your body had one setting: Jack. Crave him. Need him. Get him here, now, fast.

He’d just gotten home from a late shift, dropped his keys in the bowl by the front door, and disappeared into the shower while you laid in bed attempting to not whine out loud. That resolve lasted six minutes.

When he walked into the bedroom, towel low around his hips, water dripping down his chest, you didn’t even mean to say it:

“I’m gonna die.”

Jack froze.

He crossed the room in seconds. “What is it? Where’s the pain?”

You were already on your back, one hand pressed to your belly, the other covering your eyes.

“Not pain,” you groaned. “Just hormones. God, Jack—this is insane.”

He crouched beside you. “You need to describe what’s happening.”

You peeked at him from under your hand. “I need you. I need you.”

Jack stilled. Blinked. Then dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a long exhale.

“Christ. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, laughing into your wrist. “I just—I’m desperate. I thought it would go away. It’s not going away.”

He lifted his head. Smiled. “Desperate, huh?”

“You’re not helping.”

“I think I am.”

Jack kissed your temple, then your cheek, then hovered over your lips. “You sure you’re good?”

You reached for him. “No. I’m feral.”

He didn’t waste another second.

What followed wasn’t frantic—it was focused. Jack stripped you with efficiency and reverence, lips brushing every newly sensitive part of you. Your belly. Your hips. Your breasts. He murmured to you the whole time—gentle things, grounding things.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, kissing the swell of your stomach. “You’ve been patient. Let me take care of you.”

“Please,” you whispered. “I feel insane.”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

He slid inside you slow, controlled, the way he always did when he wanted to make it last. But tonight, there was something more behind it—urgency without rush, intention without pressure.

You clawed at his shoulders, moaning into his neck. “Jack, Jack—”

“Right here.”

“I missed you today.”

“I missed you too. I always do.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs tightening around his waist. The angle shifted, and everything inside you splintered.

“Oh—God—don’t stop—”

Jack groaned, teeth catching your jawline. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So damn good.”

He guided you through it, one hand braced behind your head, the other cradling your hip like you’d break without it. When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears at the corners of your eyes.

He followed seconds later, low and deep and steady, body shaking over yours.

Afterward, he didn’t move. Just curled around you, one arm anchored under your shoulders, the other stroking your belly in long, soothing sweeps.

“Still dying?” he asked eventually.

You huffed a laugh. “Little bit.”

Jack smiled into your shoulder. “Guess I’ll keep checking your vitals.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your chest, then your stomach, whispering something you couldn’t hear but felt down to your bones.

When you shifted against him, needy again already, he looked up with a low laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Jack,” you breathed, “I’m not done.”

And Jack—predictable, capable, ready-for-anything Jack—just grinned.

“I never am with you.”

The second round was slower. Deeper. You rode his thigh first, panting against his neck, clinging to his shoulders while he whispered filth in your ear—soft, low things no one else would ever hear from him. He touched you like he already knew exactly what you’d need next week, next month, next year.

And when you collapsed against him again, trembling and sore and finally, finally full in every sense of the word—he kissed your forehead and said, “You’re everything.”

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jack tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your cheek.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

WEEK 35

The third trimester had turned your body into a full-time performance art piece. You were a living exhibit on discomfort, hydration, Braxton Hicks, and the high-stakes negotiation of shoe-tying. You’d stopped fighting the afternoon naps, started rotating three stretchy outfits on a loop, and made peace with the fact that gravity was no longer your friend.

Jack had adjusted too.

Without comment, he now drove you to every appointment. Without asking, he refilled your water before bed. Without blinking, he gave up half his side of the bathroom counter for the ever-expanding line of belly oils, cooling balms, and half-used jars of snacks.

But tonight?

Tonight he came home to find you crying at the kitchen table over a broken zipper on the diaper bag.

“Sweetheart.”

You looked up, cheeks blotchy. “It broke. It broke, Jack. And it was the only one I liked.”

“Hey, hey—breathe.”

You sniffled. “It had compartments. It had mesh.”

Jack took the bag gently from your hands, and examined the zipper like it was a patient in trauma.

“Looks jammed,” he said. “Not broken.”

You stared at him. “You don’t know that.”

He looked up. “I do.”

He walked over to the toolbox without fanfare, and returned two minutes later with a small pair of pliers. Thirty seconds after that, the zipper slid closed like nothing had happened.

You burst into tears again.

Jack set the bag down and pulled you into his arms. “Hormones?”

You nodded into his chest. “I love you so much.”

He smiled against your hair. “You want to take a bath?”

You sniffed. “Will you sit on the floor with me?”

“I’ll bring the towel and everything.”

Which is how twenty minutes later you were in the tub, steam curling around the mirror, your swollen belly just breaching the surface, while Jack sat on the floor, reading your baby book aloud like it was scripture.

“She’s the size of a honeydew,” he said, tapping the page. “Still gaining half a pound a week. Lungs developing. Rapid brain growth.”

You hummed. “She’s been moving a lot today.”

He smiled, reached over, and rested a palm over your belly. “She likes the sound of your voice.”

“She likes pizza. She tolerates me.”

Jack leaned over and kissed your temple. “She already loves you.”

You sighed, settling deeper into the water. “She’s going to love you more.”

Jack’s voice went quiet. “That’s not possible.”

You looked over.

He was watching you like he was memorizing the moment. Like he knew it wouldn’t last forever and wanted to hold every second of it.

“She’s got the best of you already,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “You’re the one who’s been steady through everything. She’s gonna know that.”

He kissed your hand. “She’s gonna know we did it together.”

And you believed him.

Even through the tears, the discomfort, the slow shuffle from couch to fridge to bed—you believed him.

WEEK 36

Jack came home with a basket.

Not from the store. Not from a delivery service. From the hospital. Carried under one arm like it was made of glass.

You were on the couch, half-watching a cooking show, half-rubbing the spot where the baby had been kicking for the last ten minutes straight. Jack came in, dropped his keys, and didn’t say anything at first.

He just set the basket on the coffee table and said, “Robby made me promise I wouldn’t forget to give this to you tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jack gestured toward it. “It’s from the ER.”

Inside: a soft blanket. A framed photo of the team crowded around a whiteboard that read “Baby Abbot ETA: T-minus 4 weeks.” A pair of hand-knitted booties labeled “Perlah Originals.” A stack of index cards, each one handwritten—Dana’s in looping cursive, Collins’s in all caps, Princess’s with hearts dotting the i’s. Robby’s simply read: Your kid already has better taste in music than Jack. Congrats.

You turned one of the index cards over, reading Dana’s note about how you were going to be the kind of mom who made her daughter feel safe and loved in the same breath.

“I didn’t know they even noticed me,” you whispered.

Jack rubbed slow circles against your bump. “They notice what matters to me.”

You looked at him.

He shrugged. “You’re my wife. You’re not just around. You’re part of everything.”

The baby kicked again. Hard enough to make you gasp.

Jack smiled, leaned in, and kissed the place she’d just moved. “She agrees.”

WEEK 38

You’d read about nesting, but you thought it would look more like baking muffins at midnight—not following Jack from room to room like his gravitational pull physically outweighed yours.

He didn’t seem to mind. He’d brush his hand down your back every time you passed, help you off the couch like you were recovering from surgery, and kiss your temple every time he walked by.

By Thursday, the baby bag was packed and parked by the front door. You’d zipped it, unzipped it, and re-packed it twice just to check. And when Jack got home that evening, he nodded at it, then set something down beside it with a quiet thunk.

You glanced over. “What’s that?”

“My go-bag,” he said simply.

You raised an eyebrow.

Jack nudged it with the toe of his boot. “Army-issued. Carried this thing through two deployments and six different states. Thought it’d be fitting to bring it into the delivery room.”

You blinked. “You packed already?”

He nodded, unzipped the top, and tilted the bag open for you to see: a clean shirt, a hand towel, a toothbrush, a few protein bars, and a worn, dog-eared paperback you recognized instantly.

“That one?” you said, surprised. “You always said you hated it.”

“I did,” he admitted, zipping the bag shut again. “But it’s your favorite. I read your notes in the margins when I miss you on long shifts.”

You crossed the room and leaned into him. “You’re something else.”

WEEK 40

You woke up at 2:57 a.m. with a tight, rolling wave of pressure low in your spine. It wrapped around your middle like a band and didn’t let go.

Jack was already shifting beside you. Years in the Army meant he didn’t sleep deeply—not when he was home, not when you were pregnant.

“You okay?” he asked, groggy but alert.

You exhaled shakily. “It’s time.”

He sat up immediately. “How far apart?”

“Six minutes.”

“Let’s move.”

By the time you got in the car, the contractions were coming faster—steadier. Jack didn’t speed, but he gripped the steering wheel like the world depended on it.

You were wheeled in through the ER doors—because of course you were going into labor at the hospital where Jack worked. Princess met you at triage with a knowing smile.

“She’s in three,” Princess said. “Perlah’s setting it up now.”

You were halfway into the room when Jack froze.

He turned to Collins at the desk. “Patel?”

“Stuck behind a pileup on 376,” Collins said. “She’s trying to reroute.”

Jack muttered something under his breath and scanned the monitors. “Where’s Robby?”

“Down in trauma. He’s finishing up a round.”

Jack didn’t wait. He left you in Princess’s care and went straight for the trauma bay.

Robby was wiping his hands on a towel when Jack stepped in. Hoodie half-zipped. Scrubs wrinkled. Wide awake.

“She’s in labor?”

“She’s in active labor,” Jack said. “And Patel’s not gonna make it, but—”

“You want me in the room,” Robby finished.

“I need you in the room.”

Robby dropped the towel. “Done.”

When Robby stepped into your room, you exhaled like someone had lifted a weight off your chest.

“Hey, doc,” you muttered through a contraction.

“You’re in good hands,” Robby said, glancing between you and Jack. “You’ve got half the ER out there whispering about it.”

“Tell them if they bring me chocolate, they can stay,” you joked.

Perlah dimmed the lights. Princess wiped sweat from your forehead. Robby took your vitals himself and kept your eyes steady with his.

Hours blurred together. Jack never left your side.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“You’re doing perfect.”

“She’s almost here.”

Then everything started to move faster. Robby gave a nod to Princess and Perlah.

“One more push,” he said. “You’ve got this.”

Jack leaned close, his forehead against yours. “Come on, sweetheart. Right here. You’ve got her.”

And then—

A cry. Loud. Full. Brand new.

“She’s here,” Robby said quietly.

Jack didn’t move at first. Just watched. His eyes were wet. His hand covered his mouth.

Princess handed her to you, swaddled and squirming. Jack kissed your forehead and brushed a tear off your cheek.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it.”

Later, after they’d cleaned up and the room was quiet, you watched Jack walk over to the bassinet. He held up a camouflage onesie.

“Oh my God,” you said. “Seriously?”

He looked over, completely straight-faced. “This is important.”

“You’re impossible.”

He kissed you once, then again. And held her like he’d waited his whole life.

[imnotkaizer]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ cam girl paige bueckers x reader ➟ mdni. strap on. pcrn recording. subbish dub con.

“Mhh, you like that?” she grunted breath heavy as her hips moved with deep deliberate thrusts.

She sat behind you one arm wrapped tightly around your waist the other holding her phone up capturing your back while her strap is deep up on your ass.

“You look so fucking good like this” she murmured voice low her eyes flicking between the screen and the real thing.

You paused for a moment trying to catch your breath chest rising and falling rapidly, but before you could even recover the arm wrapped around your waist shifted her hand now moving smoothly to grab both of your wrists pulling them behind your back and locking them in one strong grip.

Your body tensed breath hitching as she leaned in closer her voice right against your ear. “No breaks.” she murmured with a wicked smile her other hand still holding the phone steady capturing every second.

You let out a squeaky moan as your hips moved again grinding down despite your knees beginning to ache from the strain.

Just when you thought you couldn’t keep the rhythm she gave your wrists a firm tug guiding your movements with a low whistle.

“Damn” she murmured clearly enjoying the sight helping you ride it out by using your own body like a puppet.

“Look at you still going…”Her grip stayed firm but steady and her voice held a teasing edge. “I got you, baby, just let me take over for a sec.” And with that she rolled her hips upward to meet yours slow and deep stealing another breathless sound from your lips.

You whimpered when she rolled her hips upward again the motion sending a sharp jolt through your already sensitive body.

Your legs began to tremble beneath you struggling to keep steady and she noticed immediately eyes hinted with amusement "Ohh, look at that” she breathed out biting her lip as she gently lifted the phone zooming in to capture every twitch and shiver.

“Can barely hold yourself up, huh?” Her tone was playful, clearly savoring the way your body was unraveling under her.

Still holding your wrists with one hand she angled the camera just right getting a perfect view of you falling apart for her.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you lose control” she whispered lips brushing your shoulder before her hips rolled again slower this time just to see what noise she could pull from you next.

“Ngh—” you gasped voice shaky and strained your head tilting back as another wave hit you, she cursed under her breath eyes still glued to the screen the smirk on her lips growing wider with every second.

“Goddamn” she muttered almost to herself adjusting the angle just slightly. “You should see how you look right now...” Her voice was low, thick with arousal but still steady. completely in control.

With your wrists still trapped in her hand and your body trembling against hers she looked from the screen to you eyes glinting. “Keep going, baby” she coaxed hips shifting upward again. “You’re doing so good for me.”

“C-Can’t anymore…” you breathed out voice barely above a whisper body trembling from the intensity.

She chuckled softly that low knowing kind of laugh. “Alright, alright” she said not without a little smugness in her tone.

With one fluid motion she pulled you close and gently pushed you down onto the mattress your back meeting the sheets as her weight hovered above you.

Your eyes finally met, there was a pausej ust enough for a breath to pass between you.

“Then we’ll do it like this” she murmured voice softer now but no less commanding,

She now settled comfortably between your legs the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight.

One hand reached out to lift your leg hooking it over her shoulder with ease while the other never let go of her phone still recording, still watching.

Her eyes flicked between the screen and you as she slowly started to slide in savoring every inch every twitch of your body.

“Mm, look at you” she breathed watching through the camera as your back arched your lip caught between your teeth.

“You take me so well, even when you say your done…” Her free hand gently gripped your thigh as she pushed deeper the steady pace drawing out the tension her breathing syncing with yours.

“We should have done this more often ma. ” she added with a grin eyes flicking up from the phone to lock with yours.

You looked up at her your face tapped out eyes half-lidded and lips parted with each shaky breath you took.

Every movement felt like it was pushing you closer to the edge but you couldn't quite catch your breath your body too overwhelmed to keep up.

She noticed your dazed expression, the way your tits would bounce, a small smirk forming as she increased her pace driving deeper with each thrust her eyes never leaving yours.

“You look like a fucking whore right now.” she murmured her voice thick with satisfaction.

With each movement she pulled more of you into the moment your breath quickening your body trembling as she pushed you further.

“Paige—” you gasped your voice shaky as her movements never faltered.

She tilted her head just enough to check on you watching your reaction closely as if savoring every moment of your vulnerability.

Before you could utter your words she anticipated your climax and thrust into you with intense force, cutting off your words.

"Oh fuck!" you screamed your back arching sharply as she cooed raising the camera to capture your contorted expression on the screen her eyes fixed on it while relentlessly slamming into you with unyielding intensity each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Your muscles gripped her with desperate intensity a pulsing clench that betrayed your nearing edge and she responded with a wicked, self-assured smirk, savoring the way your body surrendered to her rhythm her voice cutting through the haze as she spoke with commanding confidence.

"Thats it, baby, let go for me" she purred her voice low and dripping with dominance each word timed perfectly with her unrelenting thrusts as she watched your trembling form through the camera lens.

She let out a guttural groan her phone slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor forgotten as she leaned down, her palms pressing firmly into the mattress on either side of you her hips driving deeper and faster with relentless precision each thrust forcing a sharp yelp from your lips.

"Fuck, you feel so good" she growled her voice rough with desire breath hot against your ear as she leaned closer her relentless thrusts punctuating each word.

"Gonna cum, hm? Gonna cum?" she taunted her voice laced with teasing cruelty as she slammed into you with merciless force her eyes glinting with control while you nodded frantically, tears welling at the corners of your eyes overwhelmed.

With a final punishing thrust she drove you over the edge your body shattering as you reached your peak a wave of ecstasy surging through you leaving you gasping and trembling beneath her.

“There we go” she cooed softly her voice gentle as she steadied her pace, she gently slowed her movements easing you through the aftershocks.

Her touch turned tender comforting and she leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“That wasn’t so bad now was it?” she chuckled with a teasing smile, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she watched you try to catch your breath.

🔖 — @addl0vee @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @paige05bby @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode @latenighttalkinqwp @avvwritesstufff @prettygirl-gabi @yailtsv @bebitts @heartsforari @usuallyshadowybasement @authentic-girl03 @private-but-not-a-secret @evanpeterstoe @destinybueckers44 @slaybaddietaytay @youmeandjennessey @starfulani @cherryswisherz @bueckersworld @paiges-1vur

[rainydayathogwarts]

do a flip! - harry potter

summary: harry tries to find out who your crush is, and you give him a negotiation: you'll tell him if he tells you his. you're confident he doesn't have one, having been dumped only three weeks ago. he proves you wrong. wc: 1.7k+ part of my wolfstar!daughter au :)

Your dad’s loud voice boomed in the entryway at the sight of his best friend. Crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the wall with an unimpressed look on your face, making brief eye contact with your aunt Lily, who held the same expression. Your dad and uncle James always had to act as though they didn’t leave next door to each other, both houses overlooking the same large lake.

Harry pushed past the two men to enter the house, rolling his eyes playfully at you, greeting you with a shove to your shoulder. You scoffed, turning around to make your way to the kitchen, where your second dad was already grabbing things from the fridge. Lily made her way to greet Remus with a hug, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter top, wearing nothing but shorts over your bikini.

James came into the room, announcing “Okay, so all the meat is in this cooler, drinks with Lily, and Harry’s got… What have you got again, love?”

“Quaffle.” Harry replied with a grin and you snorted, watching as he threw it up in the air once. A light tapping on the window caught your attention, and you hopped off the counter at the sight of a dark owl. You opened the window, your dad’s words muffled in the background. “Should we start getting things outside? James, I’ll leave the barbecue to you, mate, alright?”

Unhooking the letter from around the large owl’s clawed hand, you shuffled around the room to find it some treats, scratching its head. The owl’s wings fluttered and it leaned into your touch, hooting quietly. You giggled, shutting the window when it flew away and flipped the envelope over.

It was addressed to you.

The letter was from Theo, who you’d tutored this past year in charms, and he was raving about how his parents were finally going to let him on a trip abroad with his friends now that his grade had recovered. You grinned, chuckling quietly as you read over the crossed out curse words, eyes finally landing on the ‘You’re literally my hero, have a good summer Lupin’

“Letter from your boyfriend?” Your eyes flitted up at Harry’s teasing comment, and you noticed he had attracted the attention of your parents, who stood frozen in place. “Sorry, don’t you have your own relationship to worry about?”

“We both know she broke up with me.”

“Oh how could I forget; it’s all you’ve talked about for three weeks.” James chuckled at your retort, watching his son huff and put his hands on his hips.

“I just want to know why! She never told me!”

“It’s probably because of that haircut.” Harry’s hands shot to his hair in insecurity, but then he saw the way you laughed and immediately dropped them, glaring at you. He had only cut his hair last week.

“Love, you have a boyfriend?” Asked Remus, but you shook your head, snatching a cherry tomato from the vegetable platter he held, popping it into your mouth. “No. Harry’s just jealous there’s another man in my life.” Lily’s eyes lit up, and she smiled fondly as Harry’s face immediately flushed. He shook his head frantically, beginning to deny what you said instantly.

“I’m not! But you don’t meet up to tutor someone twice a week!” “Harry, he was failing. And besides, I got paid for it.”

“Paid for it how?” You gasped loudly at the insinuation behind his comment, ignoring the surprised looks on all the adults’ faces. Lily scolded her son with a loud call of his name, but your next comment was already tumbling out of your mouth before you could help it.

“Please, if either of us here are whores, we both know it’s you, Mr. lets the slytherins win a game in exchange for head.” Harry grimaced and you bit down on your bottom lip, aware that you had revealed too much in front of his parents.

“You did what!?” James cried, Lily stunned into silence. “It wasn’t an important game.” Harry defended weakly as his dad went on to rant about the importance of integrity and competition, and, well, quidditch. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, sending Harry an apologetic smile. “Should we all go take a dip in the lake?” You suggested in a poor attempt to change the topic of conversation.

“You guys go ahead,” Began Lily, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder, “We’ll follow you in a bit.” Nodding eagerly, you grabbed Harry’s wrist, dragging him outside through the backdoor of the house.

“I’m gonna jump!” Harry cried dramatically in response to the situation you had just escaped, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he ran towards the small wooden dock leading into the lake. Shimmying out of your shorts, you giggled, increasing your pace as you cupped your hands around your mouth, yelling “Do a flip!”

The boy complied, twisting his torso to face you as he jumped off the dock, flipping back into the water. Breaking into a run, your feet separated from the wooden platform underneath you, and you tucked your legs into your chest to cannonball into the water, splashing water all over Harry as he resurfaced. He spluttered, shaking the water out of his hair when you broke out of the water’s surface with a proud grin. You lifted your hands up to protect your face from his attack, whining softly.

A silence settled over you, and you tilted your head to the side, trying to get water out of your ear. “You know,” You started when you heard a satisfying pop of water leaving your ear. “I didn’t mean that about your haircut. You look very handsome.” Harry nodded his head in thanks, shrugging his shoulders as he said “And I didn’t mean to insinuate that Nott was paying you with sex.”

You snorted, tilting your head back until the water coated all you hair. “You know, he does like you though.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not! Trust me on this one, he likes you.” You shrugged, stretching your legs out in the water in front of you, staring at the nail polish on your toes, peeking out of the clear water. Glancing back at Harry, you swallowed thickly at the serious look on his face.

“Does it matter though? I mean, I have my eyes on someone else, so…” Harry’s head snapped towards you from where he was staring at your parents prepping the barbecue and setting a table outside. “Who?”

“I’m not gonna tell you, I’m not stupid.”

Harry swam towards you, water splattering around you at his sudden movements. “Pleaseee.” “I’ll only tell you in return for your crush.” You were proud at the negotiation, well aware that your best friend had just gotten out of a relationship three weeks ago. He didn’t have a crush, and therefore, you wouldn’t tell him yours.

“She doesn’t even like me, so it doesn’t matter.” Harry’s confession had you losing control over your limbs, waving your arms around in the water as you lost balance of your floating. “Wait, you like someone!? You were dating Ginny like two weeks ago!”

“I’ve liked her since before Ginny. Before all those other girls.” Pushing aside the pang in your chest, you forced a grin on your face as you stared at Harry with a teasing smile. “That’s so cute! Who is it?” But Harry stubbornly shook his head. Humming, you rolled your eyes in exaggeration as you floated to the water’s surface, laying on your back. “Fine. I won’t tell you who mine is either.”

“Well that’s just not fair.”

“It’s totally fair. I don’t know if he likes me, so if I’m following your logic, I shouldn’t say. What are you scared of anyway?”

“That she’ll reject me!”

“How is she going to reject you if you’re just telling me!?”

Harry went silent, his face flushing a dark red. You tilted your head to the side, jaw slacking as you took note of the way he avoided your gaze. “Harry Potter.”

“It’s nothing, it’s dumb.” “Harry Potter!” You giggled ecstatically, flipping onto your stomach and swimming over to him in three fluid strokes of your arms against the smooth water. He stared into the clear water, looking down at his feet, buried in the sand until he couldn’t possibly avoid looking at you; so close that he could see your feet kicking in the water below to keep you afloat.

He almost laughed at the sight.

“Am I your crush?” You pushed. Harry could almost hear the smile in your voice, but still, he refused to meet your eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He huffed, on the verge of tears. But how could he cry when you seemed so happy over the revelation? It was either joy or mockery. He prayed it wouldn’t be the latter; he would never look you in the eyes ever again if that was the matter.

“Can you look at me now, so I can kiss you?” Harry’s head shot up to look at you with wide eyes, nearly bulging out of his face. But before you could kiss him, Harry put a hand up to stop you from coming any closer to him. “Why would you kiss me?”

Your shoulders slumped, and Harry could see you were putting more effort in keeping your neck above the water. He put both his hands on your hips to help lift you slightly above the surface. “Because you’re my crush too, stupid.” Harry nodded, grateful for the clarification, and mumbled shyly, “Okay, you can kiss me now.”

With a surge, you threw yourself forward, wrapping your arms over Harry’s shoulders as you slammed your lips onto his. He let out a nervous breath through his nose, his arms on your hips fully snaking around your torso to bring you as close to him as humanly possible.

A clatter of things echoed in the distance, and you heard a high pitched scream ring through the air. “It’s happening! Remus, get the camera!” The pulled away from the kiss at the obvious excitement coming from your parents, and you groaned, digging your face into the crook of Harry’s neck to hide from their humiliation, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. Harry spun the two of you around so you weren’t the one facing towards the house, and one of his hands left your waist to stick a thumbs up in the air towards both of your parents.

taglist: @c0ldstvff, @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

[catssluvr]

wilderness nat scatorccio dating headcanons <3

⭑.ᐟ Sleeps by your side since the beginning, holding you with a tight grip against her. You could practically share a sleeping bag from how close you sleep.

⭑.ᐟ Holds you extra tight after long days, as if afraid that if she lets go you might disappear. Fingers gripping your shirt while her nose buries into your hair, taking you in just like she’s done a million times before.

⭑.ᐟ Teaches you how to hunt so you get to spend more time together, anything to prevent you from being apart for long.

⭑.ᐟ Quite literally defends you against everyone else, doesn’t matter if you’re wrong or right. Will protect you with everything she has, even from the other or the wilderness if she has to.

⭑.ᐟ Sneaking out to go to the lake early in the warm mornings when everyone is asleep so you can wash each other and have a moment alone.

⭑.ᐟ Loves it when you braid her hair out of her face when it’s particularly hot, being happy that she can help you not feel bored while also getting her hair played with.

⭑.ᐟ You have an assigned tree that you both like to sit under. Nat has you laying across her chest while you two whisper about the future you’ll share when rescue comes.

⭑.ᐟ Still in the tree matter, it’s for sure her favorite spot to have a hot make out against. Will literally appear out of nowhere when you’re waiting for her and pin you against it just to smash her lips against yours, smiling against them when you gasp in surprise.

⭑.ᐟ Also takes you to the crashed plane often so you can both just hang out and be silly away from everyone else when it gets too much.

⭑.ᐟ Cuts you off multiple times when you’re rambling about something random just because she thinks you did something cute mid sentence like scrunching your nose.

“that’s *kiss* too *kiss* fucking *kiss* cute *kiss*, doll”

⭑.ᐟ Calls you sweetheart and baby with that raspy but gentle voice when it’s just the two of you. But you know she’s about to tease you as soon as she starts calling you doll or lover.

“Hey, lover. Looking smoking hot today ;)”

⭑.ᐟ Since there aren’t a lot of ways to entertain yourselves in the middle of nowhere, you’ll both re-tell the stories of books you’ve read or movies you’ve watched before the crash.

⭑.ᐟ Talks Travis’ ears off when they go on hunts with things about you, telling him every little detail that she adores about you (there’s quite a lot of them). He pretends to be annoyed but he’s secretly glad she finds a way to be happy with everything that’s happening.

⭑.ᐟ On spring, she will bring you flowers and berries that she catches on the way back from a hunt. There isn’t much she can give you from the lack of options so she puts effort into making you feel appreciated.

⭑.ᐟ On cold nights Nat enjoys sitting with you by the fireplace, both of you bundled up in the same blanket with arms linked and hands holding each other. Her cold nose will nuzzle your cheek as she presses her smile onto your jaw.

⭑.ᐟ Winter takes a tool on her and you’re the only one who’s helping to keep her sane, if she feels overwhelmed you are who she will seek immediately.

⭑.ᐟ When her and Travis start looking for Javi, spending full days away, she gives you one of her hair bands that you use as a necklace to fell closer to her.

“i think you should have this, i’ll feel protected by my very own angel. okay?”

⭑.ᐟ When she’s chosen to be a leader, she starts needing your comfort even more. Always listens carefully to your advice and sometimes can’t help herself but to crumble into tears into the comfort of your embrace.

⭑.ᐟ Nat probably cares more about your safety than her own and every night she catches herself praying that at least you get saved from the hell it is to live with the wilderness and everyone else as a matter of fact.

“Please, please, please, just spare her at least”. She whispers to herself with a deep breath.

[blackmoonoracle]

What abt you is being reflected back into the world around you?

PILE I

An elevated status or sense of authority, perhaps people are listening to you more- maybe even when they shouldn’t be. I think you are very detached & in return the world seems difficult to grasp. Could be Pisces or Aquarius energy here, it’s as if you are so far detached that you feel as if you cannot be perceived.

You are a person who gives and receives Good Will & blessings because these are the things you give in silence- people may not be aware of your charitable nature, the things you do to consider others or help those that society has deemed as unfit are almost a elevating you in a sense. I see that you are not afraid of the “weirdos”, you may be very charitable to those who are swept under the rug by society without batting an eye.

You listen & you care, and I feel that this is going to be reflected back to you or IS reflected back to you through gifts and blessings… BUT

It’s so weird- because it seems like there’s an inversion where you don’t give this same love to yourself- and so that same love you pour into the world will begin to come into you.

This message is a little sad, but your lack of self love reflects into the world around you as well. Your self hatred or self loathing, this may be why others seemingly loathe you as well. You are being taught a very hard lesson, and that lesson is self love. You may not have been loved properly as a child, or you were loved under specific conditions.

This lack of self love is being reflected to you through the disinterest, detachment, or avoidance of others.

The more you avoid yourself the more others will too.

Hope this helps pile 1, if you guys enjoyed this reading def hit me up for an in depth on this topic for 25$ 🥰

PILE II

Your creative abundance, your uniqueness- you may attract a lot of unique opportunities or cool experiences because of how you carry yourself. Life is art to you, and therefore life brings you artful experiences. Perhaps sometimes you feel as if life is confusing & difficult to conceptualize but this is okay-

That is part of the beauty, I sense water a very watery energy- there is so much love in this pile. A love for life, an inner light that bursts through the darkness with glee. You desire to free yourself from the confines and constraints of a world that does not encourage authenticity.

Sometimes it may rub people the wrong way, sometimes it has forced you to walk away from people, places, and things that you truly wanted- maybe you even convinced yourself you fumbled what was meant for you.

What is meant for you is to choose yourself, I feel like you have turned your life and your existence into a piece of art and that is what is being reflected into the world around you.

It brings you many experiences, lessons, and new ideas so that you may bring them to life.

You are a creator, and you are meant to bring to life the divine sparks that will occasionally flow through you.

For those who are single or struggling in love: You may feel as if nothing is permanent in love & as if you struggle to be still-

But I sense limerance, you miss someone- or you’ve yet to forgive someone. Love is there for you, there is someone. I promise 🥰 choosing yourself was the right option.

Hope this helps pile 2, if you guys enjoyed this reading hmu for an in depth on this topic for 25$ 🥰

PILE III

You may feel like you’re alone, or like others don’t take the lead. You could feel as if you don’t get the same breaks as other people do- like you have to work yourself to the bone and work a million times harder than others.

This isn’t to punish you, but this is because it’s your god given gift. You are a self starter, and you can absolutely rely on your spirit team for more assistance. Ancestral veneration Is very important for this pile- some of you need to be working with your ancestors or relying more on your spirit guides.

All of the inner healing, inner work, inner action youve been taking is reflecting into the world around you.

You may not see it yet, but the wind is catching your sails- and while there may be some unexpected detours but they will lead you in the right direction. You are an incredibly powerful soul, some of you may have been drawn to pile one. This feels like an evolved version of the second half of pile one.

You have finally chosen yourself, you are existing as the most honest hardworking version of yourself and the spirits are pleased. Your spirits may even be rejoicing because you are trying so hard.

As you show more interest in your dreams, more opportunities will come to you. Don’t be afraid of the coming change, for once the only thing you’ll lose is the old version of you.

A new beginning that is occurring within you is creating a new beginning in your physical life. 🥰

Hope this helps pile 3, if you guys enjoyed this reading msg me for an in depth on this topic for 25$ 🥰

[spiicii]

jey uso / rut 

x fem!reader word count → 8.5k summary → jey goes into an unexpected rut in the middle of a match. now driven by animalistic desire and instinct, he’ll rip the entire backstage apart to find the one person he yearns for: you.  notes → this is the ask that started it all but i've gotten a few other requests for this prompt too! thank you @darkandlight00 for showing interest and for @minteagalaxea and @acute-crashout-jeyuso for keeping me motivated. pls enjoy a gratuitous gunther beatdown as well as some wonderfully feral jey for your viewing pleasure. links → masterlist / taglist  tags → alternative universe, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, possessive behavior, biting, bruises, daddy kink (if you squint), canon-typical violence, unprotected piv sex, knotting, ruts and heats, mentions of blood, scent marking, breeding kink

You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror, reaching up to trace the bites and bruises Jey had left on your neck. He’d been uncommonly rough tonight, his mouth blazing a warpath across your delicate skin. While it wasn’t unusual for him to be possessive, the marks had been a little too deep, a little too bruising. The last time he’d marked you like this he’d been in his rut. 

“M’sorry.” 

Jey moved up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you close. His eyes flickered down to the rapidly darkening bruises at the base of your throat. You could tell he was remorseful, offering an apologetic kiss to your cheek when he met your gaze in the mirror. 

"Guess I went a little overboard, huh?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head back to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Just a little.” 

Jey pulled you closer, nosing at the sweet spot behind your ear to scent mark you. You rolled your eyes, but didn’t push him away. He’d been uncommonly clingy today, rubbing his scent on you every chance he got. As if you could ever smell like anyone else. 

“I hate this.” He muttered, his brow furrowed as he stared down at you. 

“Hate what?” 

“Those stupid heat suppressants. They starting to take your scent away.” 

You met his frustrated gaze in the mirror, offering him a reassuring smile. “I know, sweetheart, but that’s the point. It’ll be better this way.” 

Jey pouted, but he didn’t argue. You both knew how important it was for you to be on the pills now that you’d started this new job. Being backstage at WWE meant that you were surrounded by alphas. As an unmated omega, your scent would be nothing but a distraction. And the last thing you needed was going into heat at a job with so many unmated alphas roaming around.

“It don’t feel right.” Jey muttered, still trying to take in as much of your scent as he could. You’d only be on the pills for a few days, but they were already beginning to do their job. In a few weeks you’d barely have a scent at all.  

“Those are your instincts talking, baby.” You told him, reaching up to run your fingers through his soft hair. “You already get mad when another alpha even looks in my direction. You think you’ll be any different at work?” 

“You could just not work at all.” Jey met your eyes in the mirror again, his arms tight around your waist. “Stay home. Let me take care of you.” 

He scraped his teeth across the scent glands on your neck, the implication clear. 

You knew he wanted to make things official and mate you, but you didn’t feel ready. You’d grown up with parents who had mated too quickly and things hadn’t ended well for them. You’d seen what happens when a mated pair grows to loathe each other. No matter how unhappy they were, they couldn’t leave. Couldn’t move on. They were still a slave to their instincts, their biology tying them together until one of them died. 

You couldn’t go through that. You wouldn’t go through that, especially with Jey. You didn’t want to mate until you were completely certain it was what both of you wanted. If you were going to be tied together for life, you had to be sure. 

Still, you couldn’t deny the small thrill that ran through you as Jey nosed at the mating mark on your neck, your body instinctively leaning into his touch. There was a small part of you that wanted to let him bite there, officially claiming you as his, but you forced yourself to move away. 

“I don’t want to stay home.” You murmured, reaching up to play with his beard. “I want to work. This is important to me, Jey. I’m not ready to give up my career just yet.” 

Jey seemed disappointed, but he didn’t argue with you. Instead, he moved his hand to rest over your stomach, right above where you womb sat. His dark eyes met yours. He seemed almost hopeful, a silent promise for a future you both wanted but weren’t yet ready for. 

You resisted the instinctual urge to purr, knowing it would only encourage him. 

“I’m going back to bed.” You told him instead, standing on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his bearded cheek. “You coming?” 

Jey could only nod, watching as you made your way back to the bedroom. 

You and Jey had been dating for almost two years now, but it had taken some time for you to work up the courage to move in with him. You’d never had a partner to nest with before. Nesting was intimate. Just one step closer to mating. 

Despite your fears, you couldn’t deny how natural it felt with Jey. He’d allowed you to follow your instincts and create a nest in your shared bedroom, ensuring that your scents were mixed together amongst the mountain of blankets and pillows you’d piled onto the bed. You’d put a canopy up to make it feel more like a den, the omega inside you yearning for a small space to feel safe in. 

It was your favorite place in the world. 

You quickly climbed up onto the bed, motioning for Jey to join you. To your surprise, Jey just stood there and stared at you instead, his dark eyes inscrutable. 

You furrowed your brow in confusion. “What’s wrong?” 

Jey shifted uneasily. “I don’t know,” he murmured, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I think I need to check the house.” 

You raised an eyebrow. He got like this sometimes, whenever he was feeling particularly protective, usually before his ruts. He would do a “check” of the house, ensuring that every window was locked, every door was closed, every curtain was drawn. It made him feel better, knowing that he was making your nest safer, that instinct to protect you driving him to pace the house restlessly until he was convinced his territory was safe. 

But he shouldn’t be feeling like that now. His rut wasn’t due until the winter. You wondered if your heat suppressants were throwing him off, making him restless and confused. You knew how strongly alphas responded to scent changes, especially in their partners. 

“Sweetheart, we’re okay.” You offered him a reassuring smile, motioning for him again. “Come back to bed.” 

Jey shook his head, now beginning to move around the room in agitation. “No. No, I gotta keep you safe.” 

He quickly moved to the window, checking each lock with a worried expression. You stood and reached out to him, a soft hand resting on his arm.  

“Baby, it’s alright.” You murmured. You let out a subvocal purr, an instinctual urge to soothe the restless alpha. “We’re safe. It’s okay.” 

Jey was quick to snatch you up, picking you up with ease and carrying you back to bed before you could argue. 

“Stay.” He growled, his eyes much darker than usual. You stared at him in confusion, even as your body instinctively relaxed at his dominant words, the urge to obey him overwhelming. 

“Jey.” You pleaded, though he wasn’t paying any attention to you. He continued to check the room, eventually leaving to no doubt check the rest of the house as well. 

You curled up deeper into your nest while you waited for him. Why was he so protective tonight? Your hand came up to trace the bites on your neck. His unusual roughness, combined with the uptick in his protectiveness, were usually signs of his pre-rut. But how was that possible? Jey’s ruts had been consistent since he first presented as a teenager. They’d never changed, no matter how much stress he was under. While it wasn’t impossible for alphas to have multiple ruts a year, Jey never had before. 

Perhaps it really was your heat suppressants causing all this. The thick booklet the doctor had given you detailing the side effects of the drug discussed the effect the suppressants had on scent. And alphas weren’t exactly known for dealing with scent changes well, especially in their mates. 

But we’re not mated. You told yourself. Although the mingled scents of your nest told a different story. 

Eventually Jey returned, still rubbing his hands together anxiously as he paced the room. You sat up to look at him, beginning to purr again in an effort to soothe him. 

“Jey, sweetheart, please come back to bed.” 

Jey didn’t seem convinced, doubling back to the bedroom door to make sure it was locked again. 

You sighed. You’d have to get creative if you wanted him to join you. 

“I’m so lonely without you, baby,” You whined, laying it on a bit thicker than usual. You offered him your best bedroom eyes. “I need you. Please, Daddy. Come to bed.” 

Jey was on top of you so quickly that you couldn’t help but laugh. 

*****

You were sore the next morning. 

Jey had fucked you through most of the night, that possessive look in his eyes never fading no matter how many times he came inside you. If Jey’s biology hadn’t been so consistent throughout his life, you would have been convinced it was his pre-rut. 

You were grateful when he woke up the next morning back to his old self again. He was all smiles and jokes as he kissed you awake, his body relaxed as he held you close. And when you left the nest to make him breakfast, he had no objections, merely following you to the kitchen to keep you company as you scrambled some eggs. 

He looked so good this morning, his sweatpants slung low on his hips and his chest bare as he leaned against the kitchen island. His mullet was still messy from sleep, his tattoos glistening in the morning light that slanted through the windows. If you weren’t so sore from last night, you’d probably ask him to fuck him right here on the kitchen counter. Instead, you asked him, “Are you feeling okay this morning? You seemed…different last night.” 

Jey raised an eyebrow. “What kind of different?” 

You rolled your eyes, motioning to the bruises on your neck. “Don’t you feel like this was a bit much?” 

Jey seemed apologetic. He shuffled to your side, pressing a kiss to a particularly nasty bruise he’d left beneath your jaw. “I told you I was sorry.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist again to pull you close. “I ain’t mean to take it that far.” 

You sighed. “I know, baby. I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you.” 

“Why?” Jey’s tone was defensive, his body tensing behind you. “Ain’t nothing wrong with me.” 

You didn’t want to argue with him, but you also didn’t want him going to work if he was about to go into a rut. You turned around to stare at him. “You don’t think maybe these are all signs?” 

“For a pre-rut?” Jey scowled. “It can’t be. I already had mine this year.” 

“I know, but-”

“You worrying for no reason.” Jey interrupted, keeping his long arms wrapped around your waist. “I told you I’m fine. So, I wanna check my house and keep my girl safe? That a bad thing?” 

“No, but-”

“Then don’t worry.” Jey pressed a reassuring kiss to your cheek. “Please. I don’t like seeing you get worked up.” 

You frowned, but you didn’t argue with him. Maybe he was right. If he really was in his pre-rut, you doubt he would have let you leave the nest at all this morning, let alone come into the kitchen to cook for him. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He still seemed on edge, his words a little too defensive to have you convinced that he was fine. 

But then Jey smiled at you, his face so open and happy that you couldn’t help but smile back. No, you were wrong. Jey was fine. You were worrying for nothing. He was fine. Everything was fine. 

*****

When you arrived at the arena that afternoon, you gave Jey a quick hug, already preparing to part ways. You both had responsibilities tonight. 

“I’ll see you after the show, baby,” you murmured, standing on your tiptoes to peck a quick kiss to his lips. “Good luck in your match tonight.” 

You moved away, as if to leave, but Jey was quick to grab your wrists, pulling you back into his chest. 

“Jey.” You complained, trying to wiggle from his grasp. “You gotta go see your trainers.” 

Jey’s hand was quick to grab your jaw, forcing your face up to look at him. You immediately stilled. 

“You’ll be waiting for me?” he asked, his tone urgent. “After my match?” 

You gave him a strange look. “Of course, baby. Don’t I always?” 

“You won’t leave.” It sounded more like a command than a question. His eyes seemed darker than usual and you noticed that his hand on your face felt hot to the touch. “You won’t leave the arena.” 

“Why would I leave? Won’t you need a ride home?” You tried to chuckle but Jey didn’t even crack a smile, his hand on your jaw tightening. 

“You’ll stay here and wait for me.” There was an edge behind his words, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you. “You won’t go anywhere. And when the show’s over, we’ll go home.” 

You let out a small whimper at the punishing grip he kept on your jaw and Jey blinked, seemingly unaware of how tightly he was holding you. He quickly released your face, shaking his head in confusion. 

“Sorry, I-” He seemed uncertain, wiping some new beads of sweat that were forming on his brow. “I just felt a little weird there for a second.” 

You couldn’t help but purr, an instinctive reaction at the sight of his distress, and Jey immediately relaxed at the sound. It was something omegas did to soothe their alphas and you were grateful that Jey reacted so well to it. He dropped his head onto your shoulder, allowing you to pet his hair in reassurance. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him. 

“Jey,” You couldn’t keep the worried tone out of your voice. “I think we should-”

“Jey! There you are!” One of his trainers had found the two of you in the parking lot. He looked breathless, as if he’d been running to look for him. “We got a lot of shit to cover tonight. Let’s go, come on.” 

Jey immediately straightened, pulling away from you. He passed a hand over his face and you could tell he was trying to pull himself together. “Yeah, yeah. You got it, uce.” 

Jey looked back at you, his gaze apologetic. “Sorry, honey.” He murmured. “I’ll see you after the show.” 

You frowned. “Jey, I don’t think it’s-”

“Hunter’s been looking for you, Jey.” The trainer interrupted, motioning to him with urgency. “Come on, we need to go. Like now.” 

Jey quickly followed, casting one final look over his shoulder at you before retreating. You nervously watched him leave. Should you follow him? It was clear something was off. 

Your phone vibrated and you groaned when you saw the missed messages. Your coworkers were already looking for you, no doubt eager to begin prepping for the show. You quickly responded that you were on your way, forcing your anxieties down. Jey was a grown man. He knew his body better than anyone. If he felt he could get through his match tonight, you trusted him. 

You had no other choice. 

*****

“Hey, sis.” Jimmy’s smile was wide, pulling you into a tight hug in greeting. “Where you been all night?” 

You returned his hug with a laugh. “I’m working now, remember? Gotta go where they tell me.” 

“True, true.” Jimmy chuckled, pulling away from the hug to smile at you. He was dressed casual tonight, wearing his usual hoodie and black joggers, his gold chain glittering in the light. Although he was normally on SmackDown, he still came to Monday Night Raw whenever he could to see the two of you. You knew he couldn’t go too long without seeing his twin. 

“Hopefully they ain’t working you too hard.” Jimmy teased, giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow. “I know how Hunter can get.” 

You shook your head. “Nah. I like it. And getting to come to work with Jey has been nice too.” 

“Yeah.” Jimmy’s smile dropped at the mention of his brother’s name, his face suddenly worried. “That’s actually what I was hoping to talk to you about.” 

“What? About Jey?” 

“Mm hm.” Jimmy moved closer to you, lowering his voice so others couldn’t overhear. “I saw him earlier tonight. What’s going on with him? He seems off.” 

You swallowed. Was it that obvious? Or was it just because it was his twin? You knew the two had a special bond. 

Jimmy seemed to notice the conflict on your face. “Is he sick or something? He just seemed weird to me when we talked earlier.” 

“I don’t know.” You admitted, fidgeting uncomfortably under Jimmy’s worried gaze. “He kept saying he was fine. But he was acting weird last night too.” 

“What kind of weird?” 

You shifted uneasily and Jimmy caught sight of the bruises you’d been hiding beneath your hoodie, his eyes narrowing at the sight. 

“He do that to you?” 

You didn’t answer and Jimmy gave a concerned look.  

“That’s ain’t like him. Unless he’s in his pre-rut.” Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Is he?” 

You sighed. “I don’t know. I thought so at first. He got so protective last night, like he normally does before his ruts. Then with how long he kept me up…” You didn’t finish the sentence, suddenly very aware that you were still in public. “But he let me out of the house today, Jim. He wouldn’t do that if it was that time of year. And he’s already had his rut back in February, so it can’t be. Can it?” 

Jimmy seemed uncertain, rubbing his neck in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “He ain’t ever had more than one a year before, but it’s not impossible. He’s been under a lot of stress at work.” 

You stared up at him, your own gaze just as nervous. “What should we do? You know he won’t leave. He’s got that match with Gunther tonight.” 

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Jimmy pulled out his phone. “Look, I gotta cut this promo, then I’ll meet you in Gorilla. You’re gonna be there to watch his match, right?” 

You nodded. 

“Once I finish this, I’ll come join you. Then if some shit goes down, I can be there.” He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze at you kind. “Don’t worry, sis. You know I ain’t gonna leave him hanging. He’s my brother. I got his back. And yours.” 

You offered him a small smile, but it must have looked weak because Jimmy quickly pulled you into a hug. You allowed yourself to relax into it, knowing that he was trying to ease some of your fears. You knew Jimmy wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. Or his brother. The Bloodline operated like a pack and although you weren’t officially Jey’s mate, they knew you were his chosen. That made you one of them, which meant that Jimmy was responsible for you, just as he was for any other omega who joined his pack. 

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured, nosing behind your ear to scent mark you in reassurance. You relaxed even more at his smell. It wasn’t quite the same as Jey’s, but it was close enough to calm you. “Just hang in there. I’ll meet you in Gorilla.” 

You nodded, forcing yourself to take a deep breath as Jimmy squeezed your shoulder and walked away. 

You needed to keep it together. This wasn’t the time to succumb to your instincts, no matter how badly the omega inside you wanted to drop everything and seek Jey out. The mere idea of your alpha in distress had your heart racing, your hormones going haywire at the thought. 

When you arrived to Gorilla Position, you tried not to fidget, offering a polite smile to everyone who greeted you. You were glad when Jimmy finally arrived. 

“Hey.” Jimmy’s hand was on your shoulder again and your body instinctively leaned into his touch. “You okay?” 

You forced yourself to nod, though you knew it didn’t look convincing. Your instincts were beginning to cloud your mind, seeking out a strong alpha like Jimmy to keep you grounded in your distress. 

Thankfully, Jimmy was able to sense it. 

“It’s alright.” he soothed, nosing behind your ear again to offer you more of his scent. You wanted it to comfort you, but it didn’t. He didn’t smell right. You wanted Jey. He was your partner. Your chosen. And you couldn’t stop worrying about him. 

“I think I messed up, Jimmy.” You admitted, wringing your hands together nervously. “I knew something was wrong, but I still let him come here. I should have kept him at home. I should have seen the signs.” 

“Hey,” Jimmy’s arms were around you again, pulling you into another hug. He’d had plenty of experience with Naomi to know when an omega was beginning to spiral. He kept his arms tight around you, your body instinctively relaxing in his hold. “We don’t know for sure what’s going on. But whatever it is, we know that Jey can handle it. And we’ll be here for him the whole time, right?” 

You nodded into his hoodie, forcing yourself to control your breathing. You knew that your hormones were fueling your anxiety, making it difficult to separate fact from fiction. Just the knowledge that your alpha might be in any kind of pain or trouble was triggering this, you knew, but you had to resist it the best that you could. 

A few people around you began to murmur and realized that Gunther was making his way through Gorilla, ready to be in position for his entrance. You watched as his nostrils flared, his eyes turning to meet yours once he caught wind of your scent. 

You didn’t miss the protective way Jimmy’s arm wrapped around you, his hackles immediately raised as the Ring General approached. 

“You must be Jey Uso’s mate.” Gunther said, stepping forward until he was in your personal space. You huddled closer to Jimmy on instinct, feeling safer in the arms of an alpha you trusted. “I can smell him on you. Him and his pack.” 

He met Jimmy’s burning gaze and grinned when the older twin curled his lip in anger. 

“You smell distressed, little one.” Gunther mused, his gaze down at you curious. “Worried about what I will do to your mate tonight?” 

“You better watch yo’ mouth, uce.” Jimmy snarled, the scent of his anger bleeding into the air around you. “Or else you won’t even make it out to the ring.” 

Gunther seemed amused by the threat, offering Jimmy a smirk as he towered over you. You noticed that he was staring at you intently, his eyebrows raised when he finally caught sight of your neck.  

“Well, well. I spoke too soon. No mating bite, I see. So, Jey is not truly your mate then, is he?” Gunther’s words were mocking, seemingly delighted by this revelation. “A shame he hasn’t officially claimed you, little one. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Lesser alphas certainly aren’t as eager to stake their claim, are they?” 

Jimmy took a step forward, his eyes blazing with anger, before one of the PAs intervened. 

“Thirty seconds.” He informed Gunther, his eyes flickering between the two alphas. “You’d better take your position.” 

The Ring General smirked, casting Jimmy one final look. “After I finish Jey tonight, you can tell your pack leader, Roman, to come find me. I wouldn’t mind a real challenge for a change.” 

Gunther’s eyes swept over you one last time before he finally retreated, exiting Gorilla to make his way to the ring. You tried to swallow back some of the bile that had risen to your throat. Gunther’s smell had left a nasty taste in your mouth, his oppressive scent causing you to feel even more edge than before. 

“I hate that fucker.” Jimmy muttered. He turned his gaze back to you, his expression softening. “You alright?” 

You nodded, subconsciously reaching up a hand to touch the unclaimed part of your neck. You couldn’t deny that some of Gunther’s words had stung. He’d seemed far too amused to learn that Jey hadn’t officially mated you yet, his gaze at you almost triumphant, as if you had proven something that he’d known all along. 

“Hey, don’t worry about him.” Jimmy said, his arm still wrapped around you to keep you close. “He just trying to get in your head. It’s a game to him. That’s all.” 

You nodded again, leaning against his strong chest in an effort to calm your rattled nerves. You watched on the nearest TV as Gunther entered the ring, his expression cold as he stared down the throngs of booing fans. You didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered around him, no doubt searching for where Jey might enter from. 

Thankfully, Jey didn’t keep him waiting long. 

His music hit and the fans erupted into cheers, the ground beneath your feet shaking from the roar of the crowd. The camera found Jey amongst the audience and you couldn’t help but notice that he’d forgone his usual bright colors to wear all black, as if he were going to a funeral. He didn’t seem interested in reveling with the audience tonight, his face serious as he made his way down to the ring. 

“He doesn’t seem like himself.” You murmured. 

“He’s okay.” Jimmy was quick to reassure you, rubbing your arm in an attempt to comfort you. “It’s all part of the show.” 

Was it? 

The bell rang and Jey wasted no time, immediately charging Gunther and backing him into the corner, much to Gunther’s amusement. They exchanged a few words, but the microphone didn’t pick it up, the referee already pulling Jey back to give Gunther space to get out of the corner. 

As the match continued, it was clear that Jey was agitated, not even bothering to acknowledge his adoring fans like he usually did, his eyes entirely focused on his opponent. You couldn’t help but notice that his body seemed stiff, his movements jerky as he attempted to keep up with Gunther’s punishing pace. 

At one point, Gunther gave him a particularly brutal chop and you watched as Jey stumbled, his face twisted into a grimace.

“Come on, uce.” You heard Jimmy mutter, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the TV screen. “Don’t let him in your head.” 

Gunther seemed determined to try. You watched as he grappled with Jey in the middle of the ring, chuckling something in his ear that the camera couldn’t pick up. Jey’s eyes burned in anger, shoving Gunther away to offer a superkick to his chin. 

The crowd roared their approval, Gunther dazed as he stumbled into the ropes. But it was only momentary. When Jey tried to come at him again, Gunther was too quick, already grabbing Jey by the arm and slinging him into the turnbuckle. You watched in horror as Jey crumpled, his face a mask of pain. 

You began wringing your hands together in nervousness, your body thrumming with anxiety as you watched Jey struggle back to his feet. 

“It’s a shame I don’t have any worthy opponents for tonight,” You heard Gunther say, his expression smug as he kicked Jey in the stomach, forcing him back to his knees. “I was hoping for more of a challenge, Jey. You disappoint me.” 

He grabbed Jey by the hair, forcing the smaller alpha to look up at him. “You’re not even the strongest in your pack. They could have at least given me the other twin. That would have been less of an insult.” 

You realized that Jey’s mouth was bleeding, his lip split from where it had collided with the turnbuckle. You watched in horror as Gunther quickly hauled Jey to his feet, his smile sadistic as he held him up by the hair. “Your pack leader is the only one I see fit to challenge me. But he’s not here to protect you anymore, is he, Jey?” 

Before you realized what was happening, Gunther had maneuvered Jey’s body in front of him, picking him up with ease and slamming down onto the mat in a brutal powerbomb. Jey groaned in pain, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to crawl away. 

Gunther laughed, continuing to spit insults even as Jey grabbed at the ropes in an attempt to pull himself up. His trash talk was difficult to hear over the boos from the crowd, but you still managed to catch one word: omega. 

Your blood ran cold. You watched as Jey froze, still on his knees with his head turned away from the camera. His chest was heaving, his knuckles blanched from how hard he was gripping the ropes. Gunther didn’t seem to notice, still taunting him with a self-satisfied grin on his face. 

You could feel Jimmy tense beside you, clearly understanding, just as you were, that Gunther had said something very wrong. 

You weren’t exactly sure what happened next. One minute Jey was kneeling near the ropes, his head bowed and his body tense. The next minute he was exploding from the mat, attacking Gunther with such ferocity that even the crowd was stunned. 

Gunther landed on his back with a loud thud. Jey was quickly on top of him, landing blow after blow to his face. His expression was murderous, his teeth bared like an animal. And when the camera zoomed in, you could see that his pupils had swallowed the soft brown of his irises, his eyes wild as he continued to pummel Gunther with his fists. 

You clutched Jimmy’s arm in fear. You wanted to speak but you couldn’t, realizing with horror that Gunther’s taunting, likely about you, had finally triggered Jey’s rut. 

Jimmy quickly pulled away, approaching Hunter and the other producers from where they sat behind the desk. 

“Cut the match!” You heard him demand, his tone now laced with panic. He didn’t want the world to see his brother in such a vulnerable state. “He can’t continue! Rule it a DQ, now!” 

You could hear Jimmy and Hunter arguing, but you weren't able to turn around to look at them. Your eyes were glued to the screen, watching with horror as Gunther put his hands up in an attempt to push Jey off him. Gunther was stronger, but Jey was meaner. He was quick to shove Gunther’s hands away, landing a particularly nasty strike to his nose that caused blood to spray across the mat. 

You realized that Gunther’s shoulder wasn’t entirely off the mat, leaving the referee with no choice but to try to pull Jey off of him. Jey snarled, the sound so loud and animalistic, even through the camera, that the hair on the back of your neck stood up. The referee quickly backed away, beginning the five count. 

The crowd was going wild. Michael and Pat’s commentary was almost impossible to hear over the commotion, though you could imagine that they were scrambling to find some kind of explanation for Jey’s irrational behavior. 

The referee reached the five count and the bell rang, effectively ending the match, but Jey still refused to move, continuing to bludgeon Gunther’s face with angry, hard-hitting punches. 

You heard Hunter shouting for security, all the producers around him all rapidly talking over their headsets. You jumped when Jimmy grabbed you by the arm. “You need to leave.” He told you, his tone urgent. 

“What?” 

“He can’t find you here.” Jimmy insisted, his eyes flickering to the screen as more referees got involved, still trying to pull Jey off of Gunther. “He’ll jump you right here in front of everyone and we won’t be able to move you. You gotta get further backstage.” 

You were nodding in agreement, though your mind was racing. Where would you go? Backstage was crawling with staff and talent. 

“Gimme your hoodie.” Jimmy demanded. You hesitantly allowed him to pull it over your head, staring at him in confusion. 

“He won’t leave Gunther alone.” Jimmy pointed to the TV. You could see that security had finally entered the ring, trying their best to pull the feral alpha away from Gunther. Gunther had stopped fighting back a long time ago, now lying motionless on the mat, his face bloody.

“Your smell is the only way we can get him out of the ring. But once he gets your scent he’ll come back here looking for you.” He quickly pushed you towards the exit, motioning for you to leave. “Go. I’ll take care of everything else. It’ll be alright.” 

You hesitated, unable to tear your gaze away from the screen. Jey’s face was hardly recognizable, his eyes wild. His teeth were bared as he tried to fight security, still bloodstained from his earlier collision with the turnbuckle. 

“Go!” Jimmy pushed you again. “Unless you want this to happen right here in front of everyone.” 

You didn’t, so you quickly obeyed, retreating further backstage as fast as your feet could carry you. 

You ignored the concerned looks from your coworkers, a few of the wrestlers watching you with curious expressions. Most of them knew who you were, of course, and could probably infer what had happened in the ring tonight. You could hear various snippets from conversations as you walked past. 

Did you see…Had to be a rut, right? 

Damn, this hasn’t happened since Orton back in ‘09. 

I never thought Jey would be the one to snap. I always thought it’d be Jimmy. 

Come on, you know he can’t control it. 

You think Hunter will give him a fine? 

He tore Gunther up. So much for a match at Mania. 

Isn’t that Jey’s mate? Guess he’ll be looking for her. 

You tried to ignore them, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way back to the staff locker room. You shakily pulled out your phone, trying to remember how long you’d been on the heat suppressants. Had it been a full week yet? They weren’t truly effective until you’d been on them for a full seven days. There was still a chance Jey could trigger your heat. Which meant there was still a chance he could get you pregnant. 

You needed to get to your bag. You always carried an emergency heat contraceptive, just in case. 

You heard a loud commotion behind you, the sound of Jey ripping apart the backstage echoing down the hallway. You could hear shouting, no doubt security trying to contain him. You realized that your scent was likely faint; Jey had just mentioned last night how it was beginning to fade. Perhaps that would give you more time. 

You cursed yourself for getting into this situation in the first place. The signs had been obvious: his roughness with you, his obsession with keeping you safe, keeping you up all night with seemingly unlimited stamina. You never should have let him leave the house. Now you were stuck in a random arena, nowhere near your comfortable nest at home, with a feral alpha on the hunt for you. You were beginning to realize that wherever Jey found you, that’s where you would stay until his rut was over. And his ruts usually lasted two, maybe three days. 

By the time you reached the staff locker room, your hands were shaking. You quickly shut the door behind you, grateful that the room was empty. You ran to your bag to search for the small syringe, the commotion from Jey’s pursuit growing louder and louder from outside the door. You heard what sounded like a table being thrown, Jimmy’s voice becoming clearer as he tried to calm his brother down. 

Your hands were shaking so much that you dropped your bag, the contents spilling across the floor. 

“Shit!” You fell to your knees, scrambling to find the contraceptive. Surely you hadn’t forgotten it? You could still hear the chaos of Jey’s search for you echoing down the hallway. He’d tear this entire arena apart if he didn’t find you soon. 

You finally found the syringe, struggling to open the safety seal as Jey’s snarls grew louder. He was getting close. You didn’t have much time left. 

By the time you jabbed the needle into your side, Jey had made it to the door. 

You weren’t entirely prepared to see him like this. He seemed larger than life as he stood in the doorway, his nostrils flaring as he followed your scent. His lip was curled into a menacing snarl, his lip still split and his teeth bloody. And when his eyes landed on you, you could see his eyes grow darker, zeroing in on his prey. 

You saw Jimmy standing behind him in the doorway, catching sight of the syringe in your hand. 

“Oh, thank god.” Jimmy sighed in relief, and that’s when Jey moved.

He crossed the room impossibly fast, colliding into you with such a force that you both fell back onto the floor. 

“Jey…” His name came out breathless, your heart thrumming like a frightened rabbit beneath his rough hands. His usual scent was much sweeter now, a side effect of his rut, and you felt dizzy with it. His heightened scent, combined with the feeling of him on top of you, had wetness rapidly forming between your legs. 

Jey’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as the smell of your arousal bled into the air around you. He let out a low snarl, ripping away your shirt and pants and flipping you onto your stomach with ease. You gasped, your body shivering in anticipation as he started pushing his cock inside you. 

You knew his mind was entirely focused on one thing: to breed. He wasn’t here to make you feel good. He was here to claim you, to take you and make you his. To fill you up with his seed and give you a litter of his pups. A low fog was beginning to settle over your mind at the thought, your back instinctively arching as Jey finally bottomed out. 

You let out a moan as his massive length split you open. Jey growled again, his teeth digging into the back of your neck possessively as he began fucking into you. Pleasure was already beginning to unfurl from your core. Although he hadn’t prepped you beforehand, your body was taking him with ease, as if you were made for him. You could feel his knot beginning to form, your hole getting wetter and wetter to accommodate it. 

Jey’s teeth dug deeper into your neck. His entire body was still shaking with adrenaline, but it didn’t slow him down. Instead, he fucked into you with the desperation only a rut could bring, his bloody hands gripping your hips as he continued to brutally thrust into you. 

You arched your back even further at the feeling, soft pants of breath falling from your open mouth. You could already feel your first orgasm approaching even as his knot grew bigger, putting pressure on your insides. 

“Jey.” You gasped, gushing around his cock without warning. You hadn’t expected to finish so quickly, your body shaking like a leaf beneath him. Jey let out a pleased sound, his knot reaching its full size inside of you when he finally came. His hips stilled. You could feel his throbbing cock pump you full, the knot keeping you tied together. 

For the first time since Jey arrived, the room was quiet. You let out a shaky breath, resting your forehead against the floor. You were grateful the staff locker room had been empty. You had no doubt that Jey would have fucked you on the floor in front of everyone had you not made it here in time. While it wasn’t ideal, you had no choice now. Jey had claimed you here, so here is where you would stay until his rut ended. Jey could only act on instinct now, his biology completed hijacking his body and mind until it was satisfied. 

Jey finally released his teeth from the scruff of your neck, softly licking at the skin he had torn in a wordless apology. You felt your body relax, even as your spasming hole continued to milk his cock as he stayed ball-deep inside of you. 

You were glad your heat hadn’t been triggered yet. It would likely only prolong his rut and would leave you at the mercy of your own biology. The omega inside you was already unhappy with being away from your nest, feeling exposed and unsafe in this unfamiliar room. You couldn’t help but whimper and Jey was quick to check on you, leaning over you to nose at your cheek affectionately. 

“Sis?” Jimmy’s voice had Jey growling again, his grip on your body tightening. “I need a sign of life, girl.” 

You struggled to look over your shoulder, catching sight of Jimmy standing in the doorway. He looked worried, meeting your gaze with a concerned expression. 

“You good?” 

You could only nod, Jey whipping around to snarl loudly at his twin for the intrusion. He was vulnerable right now, his knot still keeping the two of you tethered. If Jimmy got too close, brotherly bonds wouldn’t matter. Jey would guard his territory, his instincts compelling him to challenge any alpha that got too close to his chosen omega. 

“Alright, just hang in there. Trin’s on her way with supplies. We’re here for you, okay?” 

You nodded again, unable to speak as Jey’s knot continued to pulse inside you. Jey was quick to lean over you, caging you in possessively until Jimmy finally retreated and closed the door behind him. 

It took some time for Jey to finally relax, his eyes still darting to the door as if he expected another intrusion. Eventually his knot went down and you were able to pull apart, some of his come dribbling onto the floor below. You whimpered at the feeling and Jey was once again nosing at your cheek again, seemingly triggered by any sign of distress from you. 

There was a couch on the other side of the room. It would feel a lot more comfortable than the floor, but when you made an effort to move in that direction Jey was quick to grab you, flipping you onto your back to keep you close. 

His pupils were still blown wide, the blood from his split lip finally drying. You couldn’t be sure what he was thinking about as he gazed at you. He didn’t look like your Jey. Not right now. This Jey wasn’t quite human, his instincts making it difficult for him to form a coherent thought. 

He furrowed his brow, his expression almost distressed, and you couldn’t help but reach up a hand to cup his cheek in reassurance. 

“It’s alright.” You soothed. You couldn’t be sure what was upsetting him and you knew he didn’t have the capacity to speak right now. “We’re okay. I’m here, baby.” 

Jey frowned, reaching out a hand to touch your face. His knuckles were bruises, the skin bloody from his vicious attack on Gunther. You watched as his brow furrowed deeper, trying to focus enough to speak. 

“Mine.” He rasped, his voice an octave deeper than usual. “Mine.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at him. Normally he wasn’t cognizant enough to speak, but you were pleased to hear him try. You reached up to pet his soft curls, watching with fondness as his eyelids fluttered at your touch.  

“Yours.” You agreed.

Jey leaned down to kiss your neck and you let out a contented sigh, reaching your arms around him to keep him close. He nuzzled into your hair, his hands now gentle as he caressed your skin. Even when he was in his rut, acting on his most animalistic urges, Jey was still impossibly sweet. His instincts were to protect you. To keep you safe and happy. To love you. 

Your heart swelled at the thought, suddenly filled with the stupid desire to bare your neck to him and allow him to mate you. Jey seemed to sense the shift, his teeth grazing across the mating mark on your neck. His instincts wouldn’t allow him to bite there unless you allowed it, but it didn’t stop him from nuzzling into it, almost a silent plea for you to finally let him claim you. 

But it wouldn’t be right. You wanted the moment to be special. You wanted Jey to be fully cognizant and aware of what was going on, fully able to understand the significance of it. It wouldn’t be fair to do it now - not while he was in the middle of his rut and barely coherent. Barely human. 

You could feel his cock twitching against the inside of your thigh, already gearing up for another round, and you couldn’t help but shudder at the sensation. That seemed to spur Jey into action.

He finally released your neck, leaning back up to push his rapidly hardening length back into you. He let out a low moan as he sank into the tight, wet warmth between your legs and you couldn’t help but writhe in pleasure, struggling to keep your eyes open as he bottomed out. God, he felt so big. You were grateful the two of you fucked enough for you to be used to this. Otherwise this wouldn’t be nearly as pleasurable as it felt now. 

You let out a whine as his grip on you tightened, now beginning to hammer into you at full force. You scrabbled for purchase against his tattooed chest, his eyes dark as he stared down at you. He looked devastatingly beautiful like this, his bronze skin glistening with sweat and his brow furrowed in concentration as he fucked into you. Although you struggled to keep your eyes open, you didn’t want to look away. 

You let out a gasp when he suddenly leaned down to bite near your collarbone, his instincts driving him to mark you as his in every way possible. You spread your legs wider to grant him better access and Jey yanked you closer, his possessive mouth already seeking out more of your skin to bite. 

His sharp canines ghosted across your mating mark again and a new feeling of pleasure raced through you at the feeling. It took all of your willpower to keep from baring your neck to him. It was just biology, you tried to tell yourself. Just instincts. You could fight this, no matter how strong the desire to let him mate you was.

Still, you couldn’t deny the reaction your body had at the thought. You could feel a haze beginning to settle over your mind, the idea of finally belonging to him, of finally being mated, causing your leaking hole to spasm around Jey’s cock. Jey let out a low moan in response, his body still radiating heat as he loomed over you. 

You could feel a new fog settling over your mind now, your own instincts urging you to go limp beneath your alpha’s rough hands and allow him to breed you. Jey’s pace was punishing, his hips never faltering even when he leaned up to grab at your thighs, pushing them forward to allow him better access to your swollen cunt. You felt helpless beneath him now, your brain beginning to shut down in favor of being good for him. 

Jey seemed to sense the change, letting out a happy sound as he pushed you into a full mating press, his entire body weight pinning you to the floor. A wave of ecstasy washed over you, your mind now solely focused on him. 

“Jey.” You pleaded, unable to tear your gaze away from his dark eyes. 

They were the last thing you remembered before finally going under. 

*****

Looking back, you could only remember bits and pieces of what happened after Jey triggered your heat. 

You remembered Jey’s hands on your face, cradling you close to him as he continued to fuck into you. You remembered him wringing every ounce of pleasure from your body, giving you orgasm after orgasm until you were certain you couldn’t take anymore. You remembered Trinity entering the room, cooing soothing words that you couldn’t understand as she tried to get the two of you to drink some water. You remembered the sudden feeling of blankets and pillows around you, the air now smelling of your nest at home. You remembered Jey curling his body around yours, keeping you close to him as you both rested in between rounds. 

When you finally emerged from your heat two days later, you were greeted to the sight of Jey’s sparkling brown eyes. 

“Baby?” Jey’s voice was warm, his hands soft as he caressed your bruised skin. “You good?” 

It took you some time to realize that you were still in the staff locker room, the two of you huddled together on the couch beneath a blanket that smelled like home. Jey had his arms around you, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple as you struggled to return to reality. 

Your brain was foggy, but you were acutely aware that every muscle in your body ached. Jesus, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this sore. You reached up your arm in an effort to stretch it and let out a low moan of pain for your trouble. 

“It’s alright,” Jey soothed, quickly reaching out to massage the sore muscles of your arm. “It’s okay, baby. Just relax for me.” 

You obeyed, leaning against his strong chest as he continued to massage you, his beard tickling your neck he pressed another kiss to your jaw. 

“My sweet girl,” he praised, pulling you close so he could press his nose into your hair. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. Such a good girl. I love you so much.” 

You hummed in contentment, your eyes closing as Jey cradled you in his arms. You didn’t care that your body ached or that your skin was bruised and raw or that your lips were dry and your stomach was cramping. None of it really mattered. All that mattered was Jey’s arms were around you, his lips impossibly soft as he peppered your face with kisses. And when he smiled, his gaze at you adoring and his eyes crinkled with laughter, you knew you were going to be okay.

_____

besties: @acute-crashout-jeyuso @mindairy @amandairene88 @askullasunflower @partypoison00 @brianochka @femdisa @zephyrazzz @scorpiochaos @gardencottage @minteagalaxea @annyanse @nbanenefrmdao @wishyouloveme @glittergirl7 @bloodline-fanacc @key05marie @mzv11 @neytiri-20 @ayeeeitsmiracle @buttercup0024 @punksyeet @pr0wlerpunk @lilucey @cassrox @cosmiccandydreamer @sarlaccussy @fearlesschimera @hadesorion @rollinssection @levissslutt

[nkopurin]

( pornfessions )

it came, for a lack of a better word, as a shock once you found out secretary!nanami's dirty little secret.

a semi-famous OF page. the notification for a new influx of subscribers just pinged on his phone, awfully casual as the phone laid on your desk, of course you were going to look thinking it was your own!

he wasn't the type to create content online, especially this type of erotic content. no, he couldn't... right? he's worked under you diligently for the past year and a half. such a hard-working, stoic, and reliable man couldn't have such a deep hidden side to him. however, in reality, kento did.

out of some impulsive curiosity, you looked him up that same night.

now you had a dirty little secret of your own after scrolling through the collection of lewd images and videos. to say you became obsessed and infatuated was an understatement. especially the 'fucking my boss dumb' fantasies, the films ranged around twelve minutes each, some more, some less. still, it composed the majority of his catalog, smart move since it gave him high engagement.

you pressed play on the video under the title 'power moves (eating my boss's pussy out under her desk)' and move the time bar to a random time stamp before the screen was fully loaded.

the sight was so exquisite that your mouth fell to the floor. nanami was knelt on his dark mattress and legs spread open, yellow hues of his night stand lamp giving a perfect view of his blond and neat happy trail. he was stripped off from any clothes but a satin fabric tied around his balls and base of his cock...was it one of his ties?

his open palm teased his pink tip while the other held a rubber sex doll up towards his mouth. the camera was strategically aligned so that the bottom half of his face is visible, his defined jaw flexing with each slobber over the faux pussy. you clenched your thighs in a delusive attempt to calm your aching cunt down.

"you feel so good on my tongue dear" "wanna feel your pussy juices over me, baby" is what you could make out from the slews of his moans.

'fuck ' you thought as you moved your panties to the side, you couldn't help but begin to tease your clit along the same rhythm nanami milked his cock out while eating that pussy out, fantasizing it as your own. good thing it was friday because it was going to be a long night for you and your cunt.

part two some day

[sxaymz217]

I have related heavily to everything that has been said on this post. I myself am a late diagnosed auDHD adult, and OP I think you are on to something with the communication angle. For my experience, there have been many times in my life when I rapidly came to the conclusion that I do not possess the ability to do, what appeared to me when I observed others, a simple task. There were/are several overlapping problems that made/make asking for assistance difficult.

One, there's been a delay in processing new information for me. When I was a child, or new at something, people would take a moment to teach me. For me though, even if I got it right away, I definitely need someone to repeatedly teach me until it becomes memory I can recall on my own. And of course, if I dont get it right away, I'm going to need quite a bit more assistance. This excess repetition of instructions, teaching and education, requires a great deal of time and patience. Things I learned very early in life, most people do not have in abundance. "Of course I'll be able to figure out this math equation Ms. Stewart, I just need you to explain it in as many forms as possible, and help me practice a dozen times until I can do it myself," which leads to the second problem.

Two, communication. I have rarely ever been able to choose the right words, the right order, the right cadence and tone of voice to get assistance. Or somehow even worse, I can't get the right timing. Say I needed help with that math problem from earlier, even if I chose different words, was incredibly polite, and managed to refrain from using my regular sarcastic tone of voice (read social armor I built for myself as a child), I could very easily still choose the wrong moment to ask the question. My early memories of raising my hand in class are blurry, but I remember quite a bit of laughing from the other students and things like "we already went over that," "God aren't you paying attention," and of course, "why in the world would you even ASK that question."

For me at least, it's almost like I was punished for not learning fast enough or asking questions that were too obvious. But it's more than just how other people react that makes me hesitate to ask for assistance. Not only do I need to keep track of how a specific person who has the information I need, communicates, I need to know how they respond to questions, what their teaching style is, and how to translate that into information I will understand and be able to repeat. I need to know how to construct the conversation in a way they will interpret positively so I can come back again, when I need more help. All of this is damn near impossible for me to keep track of in my head, and already pretty stressful, to say nothing of whatever it is I am asking for assistance on in the first place.

Depending on the level of emotional attachment I have to the task I need help with, that emotion alone can heighten my struggles with communication.

For example, learning how to fold clothes on a slow day in my retail job was easy for me to ask questions and learn. I had an established rapour with my manager, she was lovely, I mean she was also scary, everyone was afraid of her, but I'm afraid of everyone so it was easier for me lol. Anyway, I knew how to talk to her and learn from her, and the task itself was already incredibly repetitive so it didn't take long before I was self sufficient.

But asking for help when the task itself is already terrifying? Such as running the registers during a rush? Much more difficult to even begin to articulate specific questions about the technical aspects of a transaction when the customer is impatient and angry. Even if they're not angry and a very lovely person, I'm nervous and it's a lot for me to keep track of, I made way too many mistakes. It even occurred to me in the moment I needed help, that I absolutely could not do this alone, and even with an established rapour with teachers I was comfortable being ignorant around, I could not even formulate the questions in my mind. It's almost like, even in perfect ideal circumstances, the social and communication side of the task were insurmountable obstacles or outright distractions that made the technical side of the task impossible.

When asking for help, I worry. Afraid I'll get the words wrong, or somehow mess up the way I'll communicate it. I worry I'm overtaxing someone else's patience. If the task is too important or terrifying on it's own, asking for assistance becomes that much more challenging because now I have ignore not only the fear of having the conversation but also the task itself.

And well, like OP said, it's just easier not to watch TV no matter how badly you want to, than to have to deal with asking about the weird remotes 😕.

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[lexirosewrites]

the Harringtons are the kind of parents to entirely ignore their omega son, Steve, but still opt him out of comprehensive sex ed in school

they even have the nerve to act surprised and outraged when he gets pregnant his senior year, as if he was supposed to know that letting teammates use his pussy would result in a baby?

poor little rich Steve Harrington with all the popularity money can buy and all the common sense he’s been “protected” from because of it

why are his parents mad that he’s gained weight? why are all the alphas at school being mean to him now and calling him names instead of making him feel good like they used to?

he doesn’t understand why his parents are allowed to kick him onto the street just because he’s 18 now, he still relies on them for everything

by the time Wayne Munson finds him on the side of the road in the rain, pregnant and pathetic, Steve has given up all hope of life going back to normal

he doesn’t even know enough to be wary

Wayne himself is a bit horrified that Steve doesn’t seem afraid of a strange alpha bringing him back to his house, but he’s a good man and he has a nephew Steve’s age so he involves himself in the Harrington mess nonetheless

he tells Steve that he can stay at their place and they’ll take care of him as long as he needs

Steve isn’t sure whether to believe it, but he doesn’t have any other options at the moment

Eddie however is annoyed at what Wayne’s dragged home with him

as if life wasn’t hard enough, now they’re going to house the town slut with them too? there’s barely enough room for the two of them to begin with and now they have Steve

Wayne doesn’t allow that sort of talk though

he tells Eddie to really look at Steve. look at the confused young omega with a growing belly and no life skills that didn’t even know enough to find shelter from the rain

sending him out would be a death sentence

Steve probably wouldn’t last a day out there alone

Eddie can’t help but feel like shit when Steve flinches away from him

he’s never touched Steve before. it wasn’t his idea of a good time to fuck with an omega who didn’t say ‘no’ to anyone who asked

but the longer Steve stays with them, the more he realizes that Steve wasn’t saying ‘yes’ either

so they show Steve how to be an omega by being the alphas in his life that he needs. they take care of him, keep him safe, give him a place to make a nest, teach him that he deserves respect and love from his pack

they’re not omegas, but they find Joyce Byers to show him the mothering stuff as his pup keeps growing inside him and brings unanswered questions

she explains all of the things they can’t and even covers the details he missed as a pup himself about mating and courting and how babies are made

after a couple of lessons with her, Steve comes back to the trailer and asks Eddie to be his mate

he may be a little behind, but he understands this

Eddie has been the one protecting him. the alpha gave up his bed for Steve and has been sleeping on the pull-out for months

Eddie got a real job to help out with the bills and afford the extra food for Steve and his pregnancy appetite

Eddie is the one who calls him pretty, respects his space, holds him when he’s sad

he’s a good alpha

Eddie is dumbfounded by the proposal

of course in the back of his mind he’d been wondering when it was appropriate to court Steve and ask to be the pup’s father, but the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of an omega that the world had already chewed up and spit out

“You’re my alpha and you love me, so we should be mates,” Steve insists

and who is Eddie to argue with that logic?

Wayne isn’t surprised by the budding romance between the boys, but he does give Eddie a hell of a talk about treating Steve right

Eddie and Steve welcome their pup a week later

[simpjaes]

frontman agenda ― p.js

It’s been so long since he’s seen you, and for a moment he thought he was seeing things like so many times before. Every song has a part of you in it, and now you’re here, looking at him as if he never broke your heart to begin with. Or the one where you and Jay were highschool sweethearts, years after the break up, he’s suddenly seeing you in the crowd at his first ever sold out show. 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 6.2k

PAIRING― frontman ! Jay x afab ex girlfriend reader

CONTENT―  exes to lovers, fluffy shit because im in love, soulmate type shit

WARNINGS― reader is in a different relationship with some unknown character. He’s barely mentions and jay matters more anyway so…infidelity. 

SIDE CHARACTERS― mentions of jake, sunghoon, and heeseung being his fellow band members.

NOTE― probably not that good. jay released that bon jovi cover and i couldn’t help myself. This is VERY FLUFFY AND DOMESTIC AND IT’S BC IM IN LOVE. self indulgent as fuck. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

smut tags :: passionate shit, making out, big dick jay, barely any foreplay and that's self explanatory, unprotected sex, pregnancy, DOMESTIC SHIT OK??????????? Actually there’s more fluff than smut but whatever

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You always supported him. It’s he who didn’t support you, always expecting you to travel with him, to follow him around without worry of your own goals in life. When you got into that big university with an even bigger smile on your face a full year after graduating highschool, he knew it was over. You weren’t willing to bend and change for him, and he certainly wasn’t giving up his dream to sit in classrooms for another four years. Fuck, he hadn’t even considered it.

He just wanted to enjoy that single gap year with you as the two of you tried to match futures.

It was over.

Now he’s made it, somehow. Frontman of a band singing songs about how he’s broken hearts. Jay sits against the plush couch backstage, for the first time in years feeling stage fright solely because this is the first time they’ve made a personal history. 

“We sold out!” He remembers Jake yelling just a week ago, grabbing him into a painful group hug along with the others, and that’s the moment his stomach started flipping. 

It’s real now. They really have fans. They’ve made it. All the hard work paid off after each show, new faces at every show, the small group of familiar faces growing larger and larger. 

They have groupies, they have fans, people love them. 

The couch he’s sitting on doesn’t offer much comfort as he sits here in his own nervous sweat, euphoria and fear bubbling throughout his entire body. As if he hasn’t done dozens of shows by now, this one seems different. 

A full house, a full fucking at-capacity show here to cheer them on, here to see them. God, he’s nervous. Each time he glances at the venue staff, his members, his manager, he forces a smile to hide the feeling of nausea. 

It works up until he’s on that center stage, ruffling his own hair, shaking his hands before plucking the strings, spotlight blinding him, belting his heart out to songs he wrote in his deepest stupors of loneliness. Even when he holds the mic out just to see if people are here as fans, the crowd loves it, proving him right with each missed word of his songs being shouted back at him. 

Hundreds of people all at once singing his lyrics, nodding to Heeseung’s bass line, scrunching their noses with each guitar squeal from Jake, each drum segment from Sunghoon. 

And it feels great, so great that the sick feeling in his stomach doubles out of admiration for the people who gave them a chance, for the people who allowed him to live his own dream. To prove everyone in his life wrong for doubting this.

The venue’s max capacity is only a mere six hundred, but that’s six hundred fans, and those who couldn’t attend spam their social media posts begging to do another show, pleading to come back so they get their chance to attend too. It could be more than six hundred tonight, it could be more than a few thousand by the end of the year. 

They could expand, they could go across the country, maybe even different countries someday. Tonight solidifies that.

They really made it. The next venue will have to be bigger, they’ll have to get a new van, they’ll be able to start staying in hotels instead of that very van when they’re travelling. No more fast food to hold them over, new equipment, maybe they can even get real merch rather than printed T-shirts Sunghoon’s mom worked tirelessly to complete for them. 

And each lyric flows from his throat like honey, no mishaps, no voice breaks. Jay is killing it as his nausea fades away. Heeseung is strumming that bass harder than he ever has, Sunghoon in the back keeping the beat at the perfect deafening pace. Jake and Jay both on guitar, picking up where the other leaves off. It’s a beautiful night.

Everything is good. Leaving his home town was worth it. In the back of his mind, leaving you was worth it. 

Then, mid guitar solo in one of his most emotional, thought provoking songs, that spotlight shifts and he’s looking out in the crowd with sparkling eyes. His confidence is through the roof, his heart is pounding, he can physically feel his music make an impact. The sweat on his brow feels like heaven as it drips down, hearing the screams, loving the energy so much even he could scream.

He tries to remember every face in that crowd, these people who played a part in their first ever sold out show. And he’s doing a good fucking job at it until he looks to the left, two rows from the stage. 

His eyes meet something familiar. Irises he’s stared into before. Cheeks he’s caressed long ago, lips he’s kissed, shoulders he’s massaged.

His heart skips a beat, his fingers fuck up his solo, his breath is caught in his throat. 

You witness the reaction, feeling small in this crowd of people who love the men on stage. With the way they shout, the way they keep their camera out, you can argue that you’re invisible here. You didn’t think he would see you after the first three songs with no eye contact or nods from him, and that comforted you.

But now he’s seen you.

You felt your skin prickle, despite knowing there was a chance he would. It feels a bit awkward, but you lend him a smile, nodding your head to the music that reminds you of all the women he must have had after you. All that heartbreak through lyrics, all that yearning through strums, he must have gotten around. 

If the women in this crowd shouting his name is anything to go by, you wouldn’t blame him for it either. Still, that hurts a little bit. It’s not that you hadn’t moved on or anything. You really did support his dreams until they became unrealistic. You can imagine he must feel powerful now, knowing he’s proved you wrong and you’re witnessing it. 

He was right. He could have made it, and he did. Then again, you weren’t wrong either. You got into your dream university, you graduated top of your class, and you’re working the exact job you wanted, in the exact field, with the exact pay. 

You both made it, and that sense of pride overwhelms any lingering feelings from the past, of guilt, of jealousy. You couldn’t help it when you saw the social media posts being shared between all of your mutual friends. For years you had to forget him, heart broken and still so deeply in love with him, it wasn’t strange that you’d mute his name and block any account advertising for him.

In a way, you pitied him in the first year after you broke up. Before you had blocked him to save yourself the pain, seeing him push and practically beg for people to listen to his music really, really was heartbreaking. You did support him, but you didn’t believe in him. 

You should have. 

That’s why you’re here. You had unblocked him at least a year ago, feeling okay, well established in a different relationship by that point. You saw the flyer being shared all over. So much praise, so many shares on the posts, and…well, the band looked more legit. Jay looked good, a little more grown, fitting the image of a frontman more than he ever had. Even with the smeared eye liner and the hair messier than he used to wear it, he looks like a real rock star now.

The fact that you had to fight for this ticket should have been proof enough, you even showed up hours upon hours before the doors opened to get close enough, and now here you are, realizing that maybe you’d have preferred being in the back.

He’s not just your ex boyfriend. He’s your ex boyfriend that proved you wrong all those years ago. And there he is, right back on track with his song as if he never noticed you in the first place, not glancing at you a second time throughout the rest of the show.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“This way.” A staff member of the venue drags you past equipment, down a long hallway. 

You’d argue that this is probably something that is expected with local bands, especially local bands selling out the last small venue, indicating they’re outgrowing it. 

Still, the staff member says nothing more than directions to you as he leads you around, straight to a large room with couches, mirrors, and clothes thrown about. You can barely get your wits about you before you feel a powerful force against your back.

“Holy shit!” Heeseung shouts from behind, wrapping his arms around you tightly before letting you go and spinning you around. “It’s been, what? Four, five years?!” 

You thought you could keep your composure seeing this group of idiots again, remember all those times in the garage laughing and playing games between practice sessions. 

Jake is quick to attack you next, followed by the still, far more calm, Sunghoon. 

Naturally, your assumption is that one of them called for you to be back here. After all, you were tightly woven into this friend group all throughout highschool. The excitement of being together once again booms until Jay walks into the room. 

The room goes quiet as Jake scratches at the back of his neck and looks at you apologetically, noting how you’re still laughing and bright. At first, you hadn’t noticed Jay coming in through the excitement, but when you turn to look at what’s suddenly stressed the atmosphere, you meet his eye again.

He doesn’t look away, he just…waves?

“Right, so–” Sunghoon explains, ushering both Heeseung and Jake toward the door. “We’ve gotta go check on our stuff, you know, make sure the staff isn’t throwing our shit against a wall or something.” 

And then they’re gone.

And now you’re here, alone.

Despite Jay being right there, you feel alone. All those emotions from the day he broke up with you rushing back. Like a love struck teenager, you feel it again. You were here to support them, to show how proud you are of them, not to see Jay again. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Nevermind the fact that you didn’t question why you wanted to be here, nevermind the thoughts in the back of your head, excited to see him again. 

“How was the show?” Jay suddenly speaks out, filling the silence with words that feel empty. 

“Good. It was good.” You nod awkwardly. “I knew you guys could do it.”

He looks at you dumbfounded, almost offended. It wouldn’t be right to bring up all those feelings from before, not now. It would seem juvenile, after all, it’s been years. Then again, Jay has never been good at keeping himself in check. 

You still aren’t even looking at him now. In fact, you’re avoiding eye contact as you wander around the room, fiddling with hair brushes and ratty t-shirts hanging on a rack. 

“Did you though?” He questions, throwing himself down on the couch in a huff. “I never expected you to show up at one of our gigs.”

You nod, keeping your eyes to yourself. 

“Of course I did. I always knew you’d put in the effort.” 

You hear him let out a scoff, one so quiet you almost don’t hear it. But it’s familiar. A sound he’d give to you when he knew you were just saving face, when he knew you were feeling guilty. 

“Why’d you come?” He says now, still looking at you. Unable to not look at you, actually. 

You look like you’ve matured so much, wearing an outfit that you would have thrived in back in the day, but you seem almost uncomfortable in it now. God, he remembers how pretty you were when you’d smile at him, when you’d just look at him as if he created the world just for you. 

It’s such a distant memory now, with your prettier lips and prettier eyes. He can’t imagine you’d ever look at him that way again. 

You both really took separate paths. 

He watches you shrug at his question before you turn around, glancing at him only for a moment, before averting your eyes again to busy yourself with something else.

“Seriously, why’d you come if you can’t even look at me?” He snaps now, standing to his feet and coming up to you. He can’t really help it if he’s being honest. It’s kind of a rush to see you again, to have so much to catch up on, so much to bury.

“Why are you here?”

“Didn’t someone call me back?” You argue slightly, forced to meet his eye. 

“I did,” He says your name so sternly. “Do you even know how many times I’ve looked for you in the crowds? Why now?”

You remain silent, guilty almost. You didn’t expect him to question you, better yet be standing in front of you like this claiming to have seeked you out for so long. He’s the one who didn’t want to bend, he’s the one who wouldn’t break for a safe, comfortable life. Not you. You wanted everything with him, everything but instability. 

“Because you were proven wrong?” He almost seethes it out, narrowing his eyes at you. “I always wondered what this day would feel like–”

“Jay,” You swallow hard. “That was so long ago. I just said those things because I was hurt that you were–”

“It doesn’t feel as good as I imagined.” He scoffs, interrupting and ignoring you as you try to speak. “Did you come here expecting to laugh?” 

You shake your head, now, only now, do you really look at him. 

His own breath is caught in his throat when you look at him. There it is. There’s those eyes he used to get lost in. And you look at him as if he isn’t the guy on stage who promises heartbreak and good sex. You look at him like you used to, when you’d study his face before a kiss in the middle of the night, out of breath and glistening with sweat. 

And upon actually looking at him, seeing him grow into that massive head of his, doing what he loves. There’s more shine in his eyes than before, more passion for his music, for life in general. 

And then there’s you in an outfit you had to buy because your closet is filled with business casual attire that will always feel itchy. Your hair, no longer colored or messy, your nose ring removed. Conformed to the very job you dreamed of. 

Did you really dream of it? Of security through desks and excel spreadsheets? Of a boss who doesn’t give two shits about you and co-workers who gossip behind your back? Of that boyfriend of yours who is slowly moving up in the company solely because he gives in to the lap-dog lifestyle for the CEO? 

You own your own home already, Jay probably lives in a rented apartment with the guys. You have a car, a nice job, a boyfriend who makes decent money. Yet, you’re jealous. You’re regretting it.

Have you always been this shallow? Looking down on Jay and his dreams because, at the time, it wasn’t realistic? 

Well, look at the reality now. 

And you don’t have a choice really, as you stare at him. What if you had gone with him? You’d have remained unemployed, no degree in hand, but…would it have been worth it?

You can’t fool yourself into believing it would be. It would have been fun, passionate even. But…what even is passion to you? Sex? The office you sit in day after day? Owning your own home? Your cat? Your boyfriend? The feeling thumping in your veins right now? The way your heart rate spikes when he looks at you? 

“I was wrong.” You say, still looking at him, this time bringing your hands up to grab at his arms. “Is that what you want to hear?” 

He ticks his tongue at you, looking to the floor. 

“I wish it was.” 

You shake your head, unable to lie to yourself, nor him. Tonight was the first time you heard his music since he broke up with you. Even so, no lyric was heard. Even with the hundreds of people shouting them out. You couldn’t hear it, not the guitar riffs, not the drums, the bass, nothing. 

Truthfully, all you could see was Jay. All you could hear was his voice, how even it had gotten, how much skill he had worked to grow. Yet, still, the lyrics were foreign to you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He almost laughs now. The audacity for you to show up here, on what should be one of the best nights of his life. The fucking confidence you must have to show up, as if you weren’t proved wrong. As if you have the right. 

To look at him like this and not even put up a fight? To not tell him how you’re doing? How your life is so much better without him? How you’d never have wanted to live this life or see him work tooth and fucking nail for this night. 

As if half of the fucking tracklist wasn’t entirely rooted in the break up. If you had listened, perhaps you’d have been aware that letting him see you again was a dangerous choice. 

He fell in love again. All over again. 

Seeing you in that crowd reminded him so much of the days you’d be the only one in front of them, cheering, dancing, looking at him as if you truly believed in him. For a moment upon seeing you, it was just like practice. He felt like he could fuck up, like you’d run up on stage and kiss him, tell him it would all be okay. That he could try again, that he’d never disappoint his fans even if he tried.

“Maybe, um–” You finally speak up again. “Maybe I should go.”

For just a second, he heard a break in your voice. A sound that used to hurt him too. God, the feeling of being right should be making him feel good, but instead, it hurts. He almost reaches out on instinct. 

He can’t just make you stay, not after approaching you so aggressively. Not after questioning you like this, as if the past still matters. It doesn’t to you, and it shouldn’t to him.

Then again, his job is to process his emotions. Is he so wrong to have continued to hurt? To think of you so often and to write so many songs practically dedicated to you?

You, a woman he barely knows now. 

And it hurts more when you back away, heading towards the door. He knows if you close it behind you, you’ll never show up again. Not for him, not for Jake, for Sunghoon, nor Heeseung. Not for any of them. He’s effectively pushed you out, and for what? 

To be right? To make sure you know he’s hurting? Did he even make that clear?

“Wait.” He rushes up behind you, grabbing you and turning you toward him. 

If being whipped around didn’t give you whiplash, feeling his hands on you definitely did. It shocks you briefly, looking up at him one last time. 

“Just, wait.” He adds, his words now disappearing from his mind entirely. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do. 

“I–” He pauses again. 

“Jay, it’s fine.” You say softly, trying to wiggle from his grasp and open the door. “I shouldn’t have come.”

And then, your heart sinks. 

“Stop being like this.” He whispers as he tugs you against him, so closely against him that you couldn’t run or break free even if you wanted to. He hugs you so tightly, tighter than the day he broke up with you. Tighter than he knew he could. 

It’s kind of heart breaking, and you only say that because you can physically feel your heart shattering at all that was lost on that fateful day. The day you both walked away and lived your life apart. It could have worked. If either of you had more faith or the ability to co-exist with different careers. 

“You came here to see me, right?” He whispers against your shoulder, hugging you tightly still. 

Silence.

“Right?” 

And you hear his voice shake when he asks it again, as if needing reassurance, as if his hot-headed self didn’t mean to interrogate you. As if he was never angry, or resentful. As if he never made the inevitable choice to leave first. 

Boyfriend be damned. How can you lie now? 

You nod against him, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing him just as tightly. 

“You used to read me like a fucking book–” His voice shakes more. “You’re just too stuck-up now to know that I miss you.”

You almost laugh, your own eyes tearing up against him as you just let yourself go. Just this once. 

“It was so long ago–” You try to poke at him with your words, playfully tearful. 

“Too long.”

Oh god. It’s back. All those feelings hitting you like a tsunami wave slamming into a fucking wall. You cry. Happily, you cry. It’s been that long, he’s right. When you think about it, it’s been that long since you’ve felt something so powerful. 

Something so moving. Something only he could make you feel. 

Fuck. 

And when he pulls back, trusting that you won’t run, he looks at you with his hopeful eyes. Fuck, always so hopeful.  Both of you see each other in waves, as if this was a long time coming. 

“Right person, wrong time.” He states as if it’s a fact, closing in on you so quickly you can barely comprehend his words. 

It happens as if something else is controlling your body, and maybe it is. You move naturally, snapping into him like a lost puzzle piece that’s finally been found again. The kiss, so familiar and nostalgic to you that it’s difficult to think straight.

All those nights you had wondered what would happen if you saw him again. You feared the inevitable, but never this. The inevitable to you was becoming a stranger to him, yet…he never let you. Even after years of no contact, he’s always known you. 

There was no question, not even a hint of doubt when you attached your lips to his. This is the mouth that hummed all those pretty words that you couldn’t comprehend, the mouth that you’ve lied about missing. This is Jay, this is the person you thought you could move on from. 

Facing him again is proof enough that you both tried. You both failed to move past that puppy love that seemed so immature. 

You had to leave to grow, arguably he did too. You’re both living your dream, and for years you thought Jay would never be part of it. Yet…here you are, being pulled by him, all the way to the couch where he falls back, holding your face so firmly against his own in a kiss he’d been dreaming about. 

The kiss only grows deeper from here, with you unable to care that you’re on top of him, only wanting more, more, more. Feeling his hands rub up your back prickles your skin, hearing his slight chuckle when he angles his head to lick into your mouth deeper– all of it. It feels right, like this is what you’re supposed to be doing.

“What about now?” He whispers against your lips, caressing your cheek as he pulls back to look at you.

That light in his eye only looks brighter now. 

God, you don’t even know what he’s referring to, nor do you care. You simply lean in again, kissing him harder, hands reaching into his hair and scratching at his nape. 

You’ve missed him, you’ve missed this, you both deprived yourselves of this. No more. No more.

And for a moment, deep in your embrace, you swear you heard the door open, a quick shuffle, the lock turning, and the door slamming closed. But it didn’t matter to you. Who ever saw knows you are more than a fucking groupie, a fucking lay that the front man has probably gotten time and time again. 

Not tonight. Even if only this once, Jay is yours again.

“Never–” Jay breathes, trailing his hand down to hold against your thighs, scooting you closer in his lap. “Never thought you’d come back to me.” 

You didn’t think you would either. 

And he remains silent after this, as you grope and grind like two fucking virgins in love. Messy, fast, entirely tuned into the other every second of the way. You don’t shy away when he lifts your shirt, humming at your body, hugging at it, kissing and licking against it.

Loving you entirely, that’s what he’s doing. Missing you, taking what he can get, obsessed with every passing second. And you can feel the way he yearns under his pants, a thickness that used to be so familiar to you.

You grab at his hair, missing the way he’d let you be the one to always mess it up for him throughout the day. Such a mess he is, such a mess you have become. And you love it, with the kisses always being so sloppy with him. It’s like all these years never passed, and you’ve been with him all this time. 

There’s so many things about him you remember, small things. Scratching the nape of his neck just to get a reaction. 

“You still like this?” You whisper against his breathless lips, tapping and scratching his neck. 

He hums, lost in it. 

“What about you?” He retorts, “You still like my fingers?” 

As he says it, he breaks another boundary, sliding his hand under your skirt just to ghost them over your thighs, just to tease you. In all fairness though, the boundary has already been shattered. The moment you landed on his lap and felt it, you knew your life as it stands would be at risk. 

And it’s not from lust, or being turned on. It has nothing to do with any of that shit. It’s entirely the passion of this act and the sheer lack of it you’ve had since he left. You really tried to fool yourself in thinking your current boyfriend did all the right things with all the right parts of you. Never rubbing your clit for long enough. Never kissing you messily, like he needed you. Never, fucking ever lasting long enough for you to get any enjoyment out of it. Hell, the motherfucker keeps his socks on 80% of the time, and when he doesn’t, you know he may last at least an extra minute. 

Oh my god, you’ve settled for less. And Jay only continues to remind you of that with nothing more than kissing you and barely touching you. 

“Fuck.” You deadpan, dropping your head to his shoulder and stiffening up on his lap. “Jay, I fucked up.” 

He smirks, despite knowing you don’t see it. 

“Did you?” He whispers, running his hands up your thighs now, fully touching, almost guiding you. “What about now?” He repeats his question from before and only now do you recognize what he’s saying. 

“Right person, wrong time.” He said just minutes before this. 

What about now? 

You whimper at the realization. What about now. What about it? He’s asking you so quickly to just uproot your life? Kick your boyfriend out and break up with him? Does he expect you to quit your job? What about your cat? You can’t imagine she’d enjoy life on the road. 

Yet, you nod. Rutting forward as you hide your face further into his shoulder, skewing your head to his neck. 

“You want me to fuck up my life for you now?” You groan, feeling that stiffness under you twitch, yet still, you rut harder. “Just kick him out and move you in?”

Jay pauses, his hands on your thighs loosening their grip. 

“Him?” He tries to skew his own head back to look at you, but you hug at him harder, hiding deeper as you nod with another guilty whimper. 

Somehow though, that…that does something.

You moved on, you’re with someone else. You are fucking living with someone else yet…you’re clinging to him. 

You moved on? Perhaps you tried to. 

Jay’s hands grip against you again, guiding you harder, as if to prove how much he wants to keep you. 

“I did always dream about what it would be like when we’d move in together.” Jay reminisces slightly. “Always pictured my guitar right by your desk, you’d work from home, and I’d piss you off by playing all day for you.” 

Still, you grind on him only now, he feels your lips on his neck. 

“Yes. Kick him out.” 

There’s no pause in your movements, nor in his own as he finally pushes forward, touching the fabric of your panties and cooing out to you, turning his head to inhale your scent, quickly pushing your panties to the side just to feel more. 

“Aw, baby–” He whispers. “This getting you off?” 

Ugh, yeah. It is. 

You’re right here with him, feeling everything at once as his fingers toy with you, as his natural scent fills your nose, the dried sweat on his neck salty and delicious as you taste…and all you can think about is how your life could change. That little fantasy of his rings so loudly in your head.

Coming here tonight is giving you the chance to pick up where you left off, and if your soft moan at feeling his fingers slide into you for the first time is anything to go by, perhaps you’ve already taken that first step. 

You think about what might happen, not feeling guilty in the slightest at what you’re doing right now. Even the thought of coming clean to your boyfriend in your mind doesn’t feel scary to you. Because you don’t love him, you never did. How would this work? Jay travels for shows while you stay at home all alone? 

Couldn’t be much worse than feeling so alone at home even while your boyfriend is there, right? Is Jay even being serious about this, or is this some sort of elaborate plan to show you what you gave up? 

Then, your mind goes blank as he scissors his fingers open, his other arm holding you around the waist as he ruts up himself now. He grunts slightly, hearing the wet sounds of how much you must have missed him too. All those songs he wrote, all that heartbreak, even lyric about fucking, and loving– it was because he hasn’t felt this, and he needed to. 

No matter who he fucked, they never sounded quite as pretty as you. They never felt so warm around his fingers, or so beautifully heavy on top of him. 

And there’s no more words to be had now as his mind goes blank, pulling his fingers from you and bringing both hands straight to your shoulders, forcing your face from his now, very colorful neck. 

“Are we going to do this?” He looks at you, both hands on your cheeks. “I don’t want to let myself do any more if you’re not going to stay this time.” 

There it is.. That’s what you needed to hear.

Such a hard hitting question, but you know better than anyone, you realize, that Jay won’t give up on what he wants. He’ll take no for an answer, but you’ll feel his pain forever. He’s not going to try if you’re not on the same page with him.

What was supposed to just be you watching his band, wondering what could have been in the depths of your brain, has become reconciliation. 

You look back at him, drawing your eyes down to his heaving chest, his thick cock pressing against his pants, the way his arms flex as he holds you here. He appears desperate for an answer, which is…so fucking hot. Then you meet his eye again, that hope you’ve seen in them larger than you’ve ever witnessed. 

You tear up slightly at the death of whatever fucking life you have right now. You’ve always been a mess, pretending you weren’t has done nothing but shelter you under financial forms and shitty sex. 

And look at Jay. Look at this room. He gets to be a mess, he gets to scream and shout all of his emotions, he gets to rip his clothes and wear them proudly. 

Fuck the corduroy blazers, and fuck the boring white socks. 

When you nod, you hear the breath neither of you knew you were holding release, and suddenly…it’s quiet.

Your brain is at ease as he gently pushes you up from his lap, and the way both of you giggle to each other when he lays you back, hand behind your head, other hand on your waist only makes your face feel hot. 

It’s like the first time again, despite the dirty words, and everything he remembered about you comes into play. All those little places against your skin he used to love is being reclaimed by his lips, and he savors it. 

You savor it. Feeling goosebumps raise like spring flowers at each graze of his teeth, his fingertips so gentle yet bruising against your chest. That sound of his zipper being pushed down, the feeling of its weight, the wetness seeping from the tip against your leg as he slides himself up, kissing you.

Really fucking kissing you this time. There’s no urgency, no fear that you’ll break free from it. His tongue is slow and wet, licking into your mouth with pleased little hums, his hips sliding his cock back and forth against your leg, wondering if you’ll still do what you used to.

And you do, reaching down to guide him, your other hand holding your panties to the side just to–

“Oh,” You moan in surprise, feeling him take full control and push in all the way until his abs are flush against your clit. Like he genuinely couldn’t fucking wait to be inside you.

“Jay–” 

He’s holding his breath again, mouth slack against your own open lips. God, it feels so good. 

“Mmf,” He muffles a supposed word against you, licking mid-thought into your mouth as his stomach flips at feeling your pussy clench around him. “My name,” 

You remember. 

“Jay,” You whisper now, holding his bottom lip between your teeth after, remembering that he likes that too. 

The near purr that rumbles from his chest is all you need to hear, and the feeling of his hips now moving, relentlessly is all you need to feel. 

You know Jay, at the core, you know him. And arguably, he knows you too, holding you so lovingly despite fucking so harshly. Missionary was always something you loved before you met your current boyfriend, or, well, ex boyfriend you guess. 

Fully clothed, everything Jay gives to you feels like a harsh, enamouring stab to your soul, and you don’t know how you ever let him go in the first place. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You huff, tearing your blue-light glasses from your face and pinching the bridge of your nose. On your left, sits your asshole of a cat who cannot, or will not stop fucking with your cup of pens. 

And on your right, sits a mess. 

Hair sticking up all over, he hasn’t even put on his clothes yet but he sits sprawled out in that black underwear, guitar in hand. 

You can’t concentrate. 

“Babe,”  Jay groans from his seat, “Baby.” He reiterates. 

You lean back in your chair with a groan, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“You only have two days left and you’re free.”

You nod to him, the stress still bubbling in your gut. He makes enough for all four of you. 

Himself, your cat, you…

You still can’t believe you’ve quit your job, even while knowing he’s not home six months out of the year. He still would call you every night, kept the passion alive through video calls, whispered silent words, sent packages, photos. 

“Few more months and the hiatus will be announced too.” He reassures you. “Don’t work so hard, the baby will come out with a knife or something.”

You chuckle, feeling him come up behind you and rub at your shoulders. You lean back even further, head bumping his chest as you tilt your head up to look at him. 

His eyes are still so hopeful, and thankfully, that’s part of him that never seems to die. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clock out? I can call the guys over and-“ 

You shake your head, now twirling your chair to hug around his waist. 

“They’ve been more obnoxious since they found out, do you want to stress me out more?”

He smiles down at you, now humming a new tune he’s been working on relentlessly. After all, they need this album finished before his hiatus. Then, he nods.

“Just me and you then?”

Always. Just Jay and you. 

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 7th through the houses

The ruler of the 7th house through the houses is all about your relationships, your mirror, your soulmate energy, so when we look at where the ruler of your 7th house is placed, we’re seeing where love leads you, who you’re drawn to and why, and how you balance “me” and “we.”

7th House Ruler in the 1st House

You attract what you are.

You’re your own soulmate first. People project their ideal partner onto you, and you likely pull a lot of romantic attention. Relationships play a huge role in shaping your identity. Attracts: Partners who reflect YOU. Love lesson: Don’t lose self in other’s gaze. “When I know myself, I attract the right one.”

7th House Ruler in the 2nd House

You crave stable, sensual partnerships.

Relationships are deeply tied to your values and self-worth. You’re drawn to partners who offer security or help build your sense of value — emotionally, physically, or materially. Attracts: Loyal, resourceful, dependable partners. Love lesson: Avoid transactional dynamics. “My love is worth investing in.”

7th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Love begins with conversation.

You’re drawn to witty, curious, communicative partners. Mental stimulation is non-negotiable, and you may meet lovers through local events, online, or your immediate network. Attracts: Smart, talkative, adaptable partners. Love lesson: Say what you actually feel. “We flirt with our minds first.”

7th House Ruler in the 4th House

You want roots, not just romance.

You crave emotional depth and soul-level safety in relationships. Family, home life, or ancestry may play into who you choose. Love must feel safe before it feels exciting. Attracts: Nurturing, nostalgic, homebody types. Love lesson: Don’t hide from growth for comfort. “Build me a home, and I’ll give you my heart.”

7th House Ruler in the 5th House

Love = play, passion, and performance.

You’re attracted to romantic, expressive, fun-loving partners. You may meet lovers through creative or artistic spaces. You seek chemistry, spark, and someone to make life feel alive. Attracts: Bold, magnetic, attention-giving lovers. Love lesson: Don’t confuse drama with depth. “Love me loud or leave me alone.”

7th House Ruler in the 6th House

You fall for devotion.

You’re drawn to reliable, humble, helpful lovers — or you may end up in relationships through work or health settings. Acts of service are your love language, and routine = romance. Attracts: Hard-working, grounded, supportive partners. Love lesson: Don’t make love a duty. Vibe: “Love is in the little things.”

7th House Ruler in the 7th House

You’re born for partnership.

Relationships are central to your life path. You likely attract a lot of attention — and may idealize partnerships as the key to your happiness. Balance and harmony in love are your life’s art. Attracts: Magnetic, equal, romantic types. Love lesson: Don’t abandon self for the other. “You + me = magic, but I must remain me.”

7th House Ruler in the 8th House

You want soul-merging love.

You attract intense, transformative, karmic bonds. Relationships are portals for your deepest evolution. Love may involve shared resources, secrets, or deep emotional alchemy. Attracts: Deep, passionate, complex partners. Love lesson: Don’t cling to chaos. “If love doesn’t change me, I don’t want it.”

7th House Ruler in the 9th House

You fall for minds, missions + meaning.

You attract lovers from different cultures, philosophies, or belief systems. Your ideal partner expands your world. You may meet them while traveling, studying, or seeking truth. Attracts: Free-spirited, wise, idealistic partners. Love lesson: Don’t escape reality for the fantasy. “My love story is a journey.”

7th House Ruler in the 10th House

Love shapes your legacy.

You may meet partners through work, status circles, or shared goals. You’re drawn to ambitious or “high-value” lovers. Your relationships may be public, or part of your career path. Attracts: Successful, authoritative, respected people. Love lesson: Let love in without needing it to look perfect. “Let’s build an empire together.”

7th House Ruler in the 11th House

You love like a rebel.

You’re attracted to unique, unconventional, or freedom-loving partners — maybe even meeting them online or in friend groups. You want romance that respects individuality + vision. Attracts: Eccentric, visionary, community-driven types. Love lesson: Detach without dissociating. “Let’s love like it’s the future.”

7th House Ruler in the 12th House

Your love life is spiritual, secret, or karmic.

You may be drawn to unavailable people or soulmate-type connections. Love is healing, mystical, or even hidden. You might need solitude to sort through what love really means to you. Attracts: Dreamy, mysterious, spiritual partners. Love lesson: Know when love is real vs. illusion. “My heart speaks in silence.”

[monstersholygrail]

Not to Borrow but to Keep

Shadow Monster x fem!reader— possessiveness, shadow tentacles, suspension, restraints, sex in a public but empty space, sensory deprivation, multiple orgasms, and creampie

It was always hard for Shadow Monster Captain to share you. Even though it was pretty inevitable given you were the only human in the Monster Apocalypse who could actually see them. They all wanted your attention, but no one needed it like he did.

Yet somehow he was the one standing guard at the abandoned library’s entrance, watching from afar as you give all of your affections to the dark gargantuan spirit who inhabits the library and is its sole reason for its withering state. No matter that it was he who offered, no insisted, he be on guard duty.

Seeing you give the other monsters the attention he so desperately craves has something dark swirling in his gut. It weakens his hold on his powers and the library grows darker as his shadows slip and begin to creep in.

The other spirits that rest on the floor and large plush chairs all waiting for their turn begin to chitter and chirp nervously. All of them speaking over the other before hesitantly turning to meet his thundering gaze.

Though you don’t appear to notice, getting up off your chair and heading toward a nearby bookshelf. Shadow Monster Captain glares back at the spirits and they immediately scatter like cowardly rats, shrieking their displeasure even as they run out of the room. Leaving him completely alone with you.

His shadows become darker by the minute, swallowing up the entire room to the point where you’re surrounded by him. Only him. It’s still not close enough. He walks over to you, his shadows coming off of him in waves. The moment you’re in reach his arms are curling around you and he’s tugging you into his chest.

A loud gasp echos against his shadows and your hands jump to the bookshelf to help steady you. Pleasure bursts in tiny shocks as you caress his shadows, an extension of himself.

“What’re you doing?” You ask breathlessly, not wanting to admit how fucking hot his silent dominance is. The things it does to you, you’re barely hanging on by a thread.

“Mine. You’re Mine,” he snarls, nuzzling into your neck.

You can feel each sharp tooth against your flesh and it only makes you that much more hotter for him. Your back arches into him on its own, pressing your ass into his growing erection. He snarls again, snapping his jaw at you in warning of encouragement you aren’t sure. Either way you don’t listen.

“Who says I’m yours?” You ask, practically moaning it you’re so turned on. Wanting so badly to finally push him over the edge.

And it does as his last flicker of restraint snaps and a fierce roar shakes the walls of the library you can no longer see clearly. He gives you no time to catch your breath as he pushes you against the bookshelf and reaches a hand between your thighs.

It takes you a moment to register the sound of tearing fabric as he rips your jeans and panties to shreds, exposing your dripping folds to the air, and not even bothering to fully undress you. It doesn’t matter, none of it does.

All he cares about is being able to sink into your tight cunt, and god, that’s the hottest thing anyones ever done to you. Reducing you to nothing but your sweet holes. And knowing how much he truly cherishes you only makes it that much hotter, his desperation for you has you gushing and making a mess of your thighs.

His thick clawed fingers push through your folds, spreading you open for him so pretty and you mewl, angling your hips and begging for him to take you. But he never touches where you need him most, claws barely just ghosting over your clit before falling back to tease your entrance.

“I say your mine, little human. And I think she does too, eh?” He rasps in your ear.

As if to prove his point he slowly pushes two of his digits in your sopping cunt. Your stomach burns in humiliation as a loud squelch pierces through the simmering tension. You can’t believe you’re so turned on, the need to curl into yourself and disappear into his shadows claws at you. But he’s making you feel so good with every torturous pump of his fingers you can’t imagine moving right now.

But just as your eyes start to flutter, ready to get lost in the sensation, he’s pulling back. The sudden emptiness has you whining without meaning to and you buck back, craving his long fingers back inside of you.

You go to say something, to beg and plead for more, when you then feel his big throbbing tip circle around your needy entrance. Every nerve in your body goes tight and you gasp, wanting so back to rock back and slam down on his cock.

His breath hits the shell of your ear and you swear you’re about to fall apart before he even gets inside of you. As if to ground yourself your nails dig into the shadows on the bookshelf and he hisses, hips jumping forward instinctively as he starts to push into you. But he quickly stops himself, panting as heavily as you are.

“Tell me. Tell me you’re mine,” he demands, tone as dark as his shadows.

You nod frantically but already you know it won’t be enough. He growls in response, putting just the tip in and your pussy immediately clenches around him, trying to suck him in. He just won’t budge, not until you say it. So you gather all the strength you have left and finally admit it.

“I-I’m yours— Fuck— I’m yours!”

Your fierce shout fades into a vulgar scream as Shadow Monster Captain slams the rest of his massive cock inside you in one long stroke. His fierce growls vibrate against your back as he doesn’t hesitate you plunge into your tight hot pussy like a feral beast.

All you can do is hold onto the bookshelf with all you have as he fucks you within an inch of your life. The power of his thrusts force you up against the shelf with each snap of his hips. All the air is forced from your lungs, leaving only the feeling of his length filling you over and over again.

Moans spill from your lips in an endless stream as so much pleasure courses through you, you can’t even contain it. And your encouragement only seems to spur him on further, his claws sinking into your wide waist and jackhammering his cock into your perfect pussy.

He fucks you so hard your feet don’t even touch the ground anymore, his hands and his shadows suspending you in the air and allowing him to bury himself inside of you as hard as he desires.

“All mine. Finally. All mine,” he growls, his voice slipping as he forgets your language completely. Though he doesn’t stop rambling praises you don’t understand in his native demonic tongue.

His shadows tighten around your body and quiver against you, sending bolts of arousal straight to your core. Your cries grow louder with each drag of his length along your warm walls and you know you won’t be able to last much longer.

“Yes, oh my— nngh!— yes I’m yours, I swear it!” You shriek in response, vision flashing white at the intensity of your impending orgasm.

Just then you feel the tiniest tendril of a shadow rub against your clit just right and it sends you hurtling over the edge. A loud ringing fills your ears and you’re only barely aware it’s your own screams as you shake through the most mindblowing orgasm of your life.

If Shadow Monster Captain wasn’t holding you up your body would’ve given out by now. All you can do is shake, unable to move away from the overwhelming pleasure as he works you through it. Even as you clamp down around him he keeps going, unknowingly rambling about how perfect you feel around him and how gorgeous you look when you cum on his dick.

He can sense your next orgasm building so he clenches his teeth and keeps on going, already addicted to the feeling of you squeezing him. It’s only when you’re thrown into your second orgasm does he finally join you. Burying himself inside of you to the hilt, once, twice, and three more times before letting himself cum. A deep rumble builds in his chest as he pumps you full to the brim with his hot seed.

His shadows remain around your limbs possessively, unwilling to let you go. Shadow Monster Captain sags against your back, nuzzling into your neck again, and remaining as deep inside of you as he can be.

Slowly but surely his shadows recede and the light from the library windows trickle back in. But still he doesn’t let you go and you know he’s still thinking about his claim on you. You are too but his next words are what finally take you out.

“And I’m yours.”

[pitchsidestories]

Volver a empezar II Gio Queiroz x Putellas!Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1887

summary: Five years later, old lovers cross paths once more—and the spark still burns. requested

author's note: Hi everyone, this is our first time writing for Gio, and we really hope you enjoy our take on her. As always, comments, thoughts, or just screaming about emotions are more than welcome. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

People were celebrating around you, but your older sister held you back. It was clear Alexia wanted to talk. You desperately wanted to join the celebrations—a win against Madrid always tasted sweeter than any other.

“Did you see who we’ll face in the Copa de la Reina final?”, she asked, her voice serious.

You frowned: “Yes. Why?”

“You know exactly why.”, the midfielder replied, her voice tinged with frustration.

You crossed your arms protectively in front of your chest: “Ale, she and her—that’s ancient history.”

“Ancient?”, Alexia scoffed. “It’s been a few years.”

Her mention of the past hit hard, and the sight of her roots growing back to their natural brown made it worse, reminding you of those times you both wished to forget.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress your frustration: “Almost five years. We were teenagers back then.”

“It’s only five years.”, the Barcelona captain disagreed, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

Snappishly, you countered: “Maybe in your eyes.”

“Are you saying I’m old?”, she exclaimed, hands on her hips, outrage written all over her face.

Your eyes flashed mischievously: “Possible.”

The teasing about the age gap between you and your sister quickly escalated as Alexia, knowing how ticklish you were, launched into a tickling attack.

“Ahh, stop it!”, you cried, laughing uncontrollably.

“No.”, the midfielder replied decisively, shaking her head.

“Vicky, Jana, Ona, help me!”, you called out, desperate for help.

Smiling, Ona raised her hands innocently: “I’ll keep out of this sister thing.”

Later that night, long after the chatter and laughter with your friends had faded, your thoughts drifted back to that unforgettable summer with Gio— the woman your sister never dared to name.

Five years. It had been so long. Gio had changed since then, moving through a few football clubs, while you had stayed at the same one. But when you closed your eyes, you could still see it: the two of you running along the beach, chasing sunsets, the lightness in the air carrying you both toward the sea, which seemed like it belonged in a painting. The title of it Young Summer Love.

“Come on, Gio! Hurry up before they notice we left!”, you yelled, trying to drown out the sound of the crashing waves.

The Brazilian chuckled at your eagerness, a fond smile on her face: “I’m coming. Wait for me.”

“Good,” you replied with a happy nod, taking her hand in yours. Together, you ran, the sand soon soft beneath your bare feet.

A bright smile lit up her face: “This is so nice.”

“Right?”, you said boldly. “So, what are we waiting for?”

Without hesitation, you stripped off your shirt and shorts, as you stepped into the cool water.

Gio watched with curiosity as you waded in deeper.

“Is it cold?”, she called after you, slipping out of her own clothes with ease.

You turned to her, shaking your head and splashing water in her direction: “No, it’s pretty warm. Get in.”

The Brazilian followed your advice. But as soon as the cold water hit her calves, she shrieked: “Oh! You liar!”

“It’s not too bad. You’re just a coward.”, you laughed, watching Gio glare at you while she fought her way into the waves.

“I’m not a coward. I’m in.”, she protested as soon as the water reached up to her bikini top.

You waited for her to catch up with you.

“Yes, but it’s pretty warm for the beginning of the summer.”, you said as Gio appeared next to you. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the sunshine warm your face.

“But the ocean isn’t warm yet.”, she muttered, still shivering.

You made empathetic face, giving her a playful pout: “Need someone to warm you up?”

“How?”, Gio laughed.

You took a few steps towards her, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her in: “Like this?”

Under your fingertips, you could feel the little goosebumps rising on her skin.

Gio giggled, holding on just as tightly, trying to absorb any warmth she could: “I’m still cold.”

“Damn it, it was worth a try though.”, you grinned and letting your arms fall back into the water.

“Appreciate your efforts.”, Gio grinned at you, her face so close that your noses nearly touched.

“Anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, I’m serious. Well… maybe anything except letting you score a goal.”

“You won’t let me score a goal against you?”, Gio repeated with a laugh.

You shook your head once: “No, but everything else? You can get from me.”

She stared at you, lips parted slightly. Her gaze dropped down to your mouth.

“We’ll see about that.”, she smirked.

And there it was. One moment and your brain stopped working, you were about to give in. You could already taste her lips on yours. Almost. You never made it that far.

A voice carried over to you, coming straight from the beach: “Alexia, they are here.”

Gios eyes widened as she searched in yours for a reaction to whatever this was.

You turned your head and saw that next to Marta, your sister appeared.

“You two!”, Alexia yelled.

“It was my idea!”, you called out, trying to prevent the worst.

The Brazilian quickly corrected you: “No, it was our idea.”

“It was a stupid idea from both of you, then.”, your sister shot back, fury glinting in her eyes.

Gio bit her lip guiltily and lowered her gaze: “We know.”

“Go to bed.”, Alexia ordered, her voice like ice, sending a chill down both your spines.

Irene, who had been walking a few steps behind the others, gently reached out and touched the midfielder’s arm, her voice soft: “Ale, don’t forget—they’re still so young. Only seventeen.”

“Maybe.”, your sister replied, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “But they’re professional athletes now.”

She was clearly angry at both of you, but you could feel the deeper disappointment in her hazel eyes—eyes that mirrored your own. She always demanded perfection. What you did wasn’t something she would tolerate from a teammate, and certainly not from you.

Marta stepped in gently: “You were that young once, too.”

Little did the defender know that when Alexia was your age, you had all just lost your beloved father. It had been a dark time for your family. And yet, life moved on—even if the pain never fully faded.

"At seventeen, I was working hard to get where I am now.”, your sister answered firmly.

"They are too. Especially your sister.", Irene murmured.

"No. She’s not.”, Alexia replied, shaking her head.

And with that, it was settled. The five of you walked back to the hotel in silence, each lost in your own thoughts.

You only broke the silence once you and Gio were back in the hotel room you shared. Through the wide windows, the beach stretched out below, bathed in moonlight that shimmered across the waves.

“I’m sorry, G.”, you whispered into the dark.

The forward clicked on her nightlamp, then turned to glance at you: “It’s not your fault.”

You hesitated, then asked softly: “But it was fun… right?”

“I loved it. The sunset was beautiful.”, she sighed, a dreamy look in her brown eyes.

“Same.” You paused, then added without thinking: “You looked so beautiful in that light.”

To your surprise, Gio smiled and remarked: “So did you.”

“Me?”

“You always look beautiful, to be fair.”, the Brazilian continued sincerely.

Self-conscious, you ran a hand through your hair, still slightly curled from the sea breeze: ”You don’t think I just look like a mini version of my older sisters?”

She hopped onto your bed to get a better look at you, a smile tugging at her lips as she studied your face.

“You do look a bit like them,” she said. “But... you have something special.”

“Can I confess something?”, you blurted, changing the topic. The thought hadn’t left your mind since Alexia had shown up at the beach.

Gio tilted her head, curious: “Of course.”

“If my sister and her friends hadn’t interrupted, I would have kissed you.”, you admitted, your fingers toying with the edges of your bedsheet.

There was a moment of silence. When you looked up, Gios lips quirked into a smile: “I know. I was hoping that you would do it.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Really? What if I kissed you right now?”

Gio lifted one eyebrow, leaning in slightly: “Then I’d kiss you right back.”

This time you didn’t hesitate. You put your lips on hers, tasting faint salt left by the sea. Gio kissed back, impatiently and hungry.

When she finally pulled away for air, she blinked at you, dazed: “Wow.”

“That was incredible.”, you agreed absentmindedly. Your brain was still busy comparing your imagination to the real thing.

Gio tugged on your shirt, drawing close to her again.

“Come back.”, she whispered.

You smirked: “Wanting more kisses? Oh, how greedy you are, Giovanna.”

The Brazilian rolled her eyes: “Stop.”

“Make me.”

And before you knew it, she was kissing you again. This second kiss was comforting and familiar and there was nothing else you would rather do.

There had been so many kisses between the two of you but none of them ever lasted. Gio had left. You had stayed at Barcelona.

You should be focused on the Copa de la Reina final but seeing her again made your head spin.

She caught your eye from across the pitch and paused her warm-up. You froze as she walked over.

“Gio.”, you murmured.

She nodded, her eyes searching yours: “You…”

“Yes.”, you simply confirmed softly. She didn’t have to say more, there were no words big enough for this anyway.

She shook her head like she still couldn’t believe you were really there: “It’s been ages. The last times…”

“I was injured.”, you finished her sentence, your heart heavy for all the missed opportunities to see her again.

With a sad smile on her face, the Brazilian studied you: “Feels like fate never wanted to meet us again.”

“Since when do you believe in fate?”, you asked, a little more cynical than you wanted.

Gio shrugged: “Maybe you just start to believe in something when you change clubs as much as I do.”

You nodded towards her Atletico teammates: “But you do well at Atletico.”

 “I feel comfortable here. And I hope I get to stay.”, the forward admitted, clearing her throat.

You studied your former girlfriend, eyes soft with memory: “And we met again… against all odds.”

“We did.”, she agreed.

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

A teasing smile played on the Brazilian’s lips:“So, you believe in fate now?”

Beneath the banter, something delicate stirred in both your chests—hope.

“Yes. What do you think?”, you asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Gio tilted her head, considering: “Maybe it is.”

Five years ago, you told her she could have anything from you—anything but a goal. And yet, here you were. You’d lied. If you could, you’d lay the whole world at her feet.

Besides, her goal hadn’t sealed a win for Atlético. It didn’t matter. Because when your eyes found hers across the pitch, something had shifted. Something had returned.

The old flames were burning again—brighter than ever. And this time, you swore to yourself, you wouldn’t let her go.

[holdinggrudges]

i can be your antidote - sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, sex curse, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent (because of the fuck or die of it all), fem!reader, mutual pining, unprotected piv sex, cumplay (just a little), nipple play, size kink

word count: 6.3k

summary: You fucking hate witches. Especially the one that hit you and Sam Winchester, whom you've been harboring a crush on for years, with a sex curse.

notes: i don't usually even read sex curse/fuck or die fics. i have no idea where this came from. i think i was possessed by some sort of horny demon or something. anyways i've been looking at this one so long that i have no idea if it's even good anymore. hope you all enjoy it lmao. also, divider by @cafekitsune <3 EDITING THIS TO MENTION THE TITLE IS FROM DISEASE BY LADY GAGA OKAY BYEEE!!!

crossposted on ao3

You fucking hate witches. 

Some of them are alright. Some of them are kind and generous and only use their magic for protection and good luck and they only put hexes on people who really deserve it. You don’t mind those sorts of witches. Most of them, though, like the one currently throwing you across the room, are the fucking worst. 

Your back slams into the wall before you tumble to the ground—maybe two, three feet away from where Sam is currently stumbling back to his feet—and the impact knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You groan, shoving up on your hands; you don’t have time to try and catch your breath. This witch is, frankly, kicking your asses. But right now, she’s focused on Dean on the other side of the room. If you’re quick, you might be able to get the jump on her. 

You drag yourself up to your knees, just high enough to be able to access the gun in the waistband of your jeans and to aim it straight for her fucking head. Once you’ve got the gun in your hands, though, several things happen in quick, extremely unlucky succession. 

The witch gets Dean on the ground and turns her head just as you raise the gun to aim right between her eyes, and she begins to chant, crackling, magical energy sparking in the space between her hands. You have just enough to time to think—fuck it. If I’m going down, I’m taking her out with me—before that energy is shot straight at you. You squeeze your finger on the trigger just as Sam, who has apparently recovered enough to try to take a bullet for you, jumps in front of you, knocking you back and sending your aim way wide so the bullet hits the wall instead of the witch’s skull.

And the worst part is it doesn’t even work. Six feet and four inches of pure muscle barrels into you, has you slamming right back against the wall with a pained, breathless grunt, and still, you feel the magic when it hits you, the energy of it spreading over your skin and sinking into your bones like an electric shock. Either you hit your head when you hit the wall, or the spell is making your head swim, leaving you too disoriented to tell which way the witch goes when she runs out the door. 

Sam groans where he landed half on top of you. You blink in an effort to clear your vision, blindly reaching out to touch his face, to check if he’s okay. You don’t know exactly what that spell did, you were too far away to hear exactly what she was chanting, but you can feel it tingling across your skin, settling in like it’s making a home there. Sam got blasted too, that much is clear when your hand lands on his cheek and magic sparks across your palm. 

He sucks in a breath, flinching away from the foreign feeling at the same time as you yank your hand back. “What the hell did she do to us?” he asks, shoving up on his arms to look down at you. And isn’t that just the million dollar question?

You’re on the phone with Bobby almost before you’ve even made it back to the Impala. All three of you agree whatever is going on with this hex you’ve been hit with, you’re in over your heads. You need some expert help. 

“You get the witch?” Bobby greets, just rubbing salt in the wound. 

“Uh. No,” you answer, climbing into the backseat of the car. You and Sam have been avoiding touching as much as possible, and it’s been shockingly hard. Honestly, you never noticed how closely you usually walk until every brush of your shoulders or hands sent sparks cascading over your skin. “There’s been a bit of a…complication.” 

There’s silence, and then an exhausted, beleaguered sigh from the other end of the call. “You idjits managed to get yourselves cursed, didn’t you?” Bobby asks, his tone exasperated. 

Ugh, God. The sun must’ve recently peaked in the sky, beaming down on the car and cooking you like you’re in a damn oven. You don’t remember it being this hot before. “Jesus—Dean, can you turn the air up?” you call out to the front before deigning to answer Bobby’s question. “Yeah. Yeah, she hit me and Sam with some sort of spell before I could shoot her. Problem is, we can’t really tell what sort of spell it actually is. It’s sort of creating like…static electricity? Every time we touch it’s kind of sparking.” 

“Well, did she say anything?” Bobby asks. 

You frown, irritated.  “Don’t you think if I knew what spell she cast, I would’ve told you? I was too far away, I couldn’t hear what she was saying.” 

From the front seat, Dean says, “I heard it, sort of. She was speaking Latin for sure, something about cupid?” 

As Dean says this, you watch Sam’s eyes go wide and his face go a little pale, which really doesn’t seem like a very good sign. “Cupiditas?” he asks. And it’s strange, looking into the front seat, you notice Sam’s face is a little red, a sheen of sweat starting to build on his forehead. Clearly, he’s noticing the heat as you are. And though you have a bit of a hard time drawing your eyes from Sam—though, when don’t you?—you can see that Dean doesn’t seem to be hot at all, not seeming bothered by the way the car is cooking you. 

“Yeah! Cupiditas con… something,” Dean confirms. 

You repeat what Dean said to Bobby, and you hear the pages he’d been flipping through stop turning. “You know, I wish you three would stop putting me in situations where I have to explain shit like this to you,” he mutters. 

You feel as out of the loop as Dean, which is not a very comfortable feeling to have. Sam seems to have some idea of what’s going on, if the look on his face is to be believed, and Bobby’s long-suffering complaints make you believe he knows exactly what spell you’re suffering from. “Explain shit like what?” you ask. 

“She hit the two of you with a damn sex curse, is what,” Bobby says, and you feel your stomach drop out your ass. 

“A sex curse?!” you repeat, incredulous. Of fucking course this would happen to you. “You’re joking. That’s not a real thing.” 

“It certainly is. And deadly, too,” Bobby says, and you hear the turning of pages start up again until he finds what he’s looking for. “Says here you’ve only got about two hours before the, uh…lust heats you up too hot, cooks your brain inside your damn skull.” 

Well. That at least explains why it’s so damn hot in here. “Well, how do we make that not happen?” You’re pretty interested in not getting so horny you literally die, thanks. 

Bobby is silent for a moment, his discomfort with the subject warring with the knowledge that time is of the essence. “You’ve gotta…sate it,” he says haltingly. “You’re an adult, I’m sure I don’t have to explain how. It won’t break the curse completely, but it’ll buy Dean time to find the witch and kill her; that’s the only way to actually break the curse.” 

Oh, fucking hell. “So…we’ve got two hours, unless we…” you trail off, your stomach flipping at the thought. Sam’s hands desperately tugging at your clothes, needy, he’s got to have you or he’ll die, literally. You tug at the collar of your shirt, sweating for real now, and shake it off. “But if…if Dean finds the witch before then, then we wouldn’t have to. Right?” 

“If you wanna tempt fate like that, be my guest. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell. Soon enough, it’ll be pretty hard to remember exactly why you’re tempting fate in the first place.” You hear Bobby slam the book shut. “But if you do decide to sate the curse, keep it to yourselves, please. I already know too much about this, and I don’t wanna know any more.” 

You swallow, your mouth dry with the images swirling through your head again. Familiar ones, sure; this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever thought of Sam like that. But these images are so vivid, so intense, shooting arousal down your spine and building in your gut faster than you’ve ever known it to do so. “Alright. We’ll just…let you know when we—when Dean gets her, then.” You hang up the phone, turning your attention to the front seat where both brothers are staring at you, eyes wide. Right. They could hear your side of the conversation. 

“A sex curse?” Dean asks, voice flooded with disgust. Like Bobby, he probably already knows way more about this than he’d like to. 

Sam though…his expression is strange, a little unreadable. You wish you could get a better handle on his thoughts here because you have pretty mixed emotions, yourself. On the one hand, you’ve wanted Sam…God, since you met him. The only thing the curse is doing is amplifying it, turning that desire into something deadly. But this was never how you wanted it to happen, although you’re not sure who would ever want a sex curse to be the reason they finally got to kiss their crush. 

You relay what Bobby told you to the boys, everything Bobby told you, even when the mention of sating the curse makes Dean’s lip curl in disgust. It doesn’t escape your notice that Sam visibly relaxes when you say that you don’t necessarily have to do anything, so long as Dean is quick enough, and it stings a little, the idea that he would rather push through the discomfort of arousal burning him up from the inside out than touch you. 

Dean nods, untwisting his body to face the front of the car again. “Alright. We’ll get you two back to the hotel, and then I’ll kill the bitch.” 

By the time Dean drops you and Sam back at the room, the effects of the curse are in full swing. You’re so hot, stripped down to shorts and your sports bra and still sweating buckets. Sam is in a similar state of undress, his shirt tossed somewhere across the room after the heat became unbearable. Of course, you only know this from quick glances because if you look at him too long, the urge to touch him, lick him, bite him, starts getting almost too strong to ignore. Every time you see his pecs out of the corner of your eye, your mouth starts to water. It only takes half an hour for it to start to get a little bit too much. 

“Do you think Dean’s found her yet?” you ask, striking a conversation just for any type of distraction from the ache between your legs. And it does ache; you think you may have ruined both your underwear and these shorts from the way your cunt is dripping. 

Where you’re looking at him in your periphery—in an effort not to exacerbate the flooding of your panties—Sam shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich and almost rasping, and you squirm where you’re sitting as it hits your ears. “He texted me a few minutes ago, said he thinks he’s getting closer, but…” But it’s not looking good. The words hang unsaid in the air. 

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “We might not have a choice,” you mutter, glancing at him through the gap between your fingers. Your eyes zero in on the hollow of his neck, your entire body buzzing with the need to attach your mouth to it, to see what noise he’d make if you did. You can’t drag your eyes away. “He’s not gonna find her in time.” 

Sam’s gaze turns to you, and you finally manage to lift your eyes to watch his drag down your body, his pupils blown so wide you can no longer see the hazel of his irises. “He might,” he protests, but the argument falls flat with the way his eyes are locked on your cleavage, glistening with sweat. 

“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, lifting your head from where you’ve been hiding behind your hands. Seeing him full on, no hiding in your periphery or stealing quick glances, it’s like staring straight into the sun. Blinding. You have to take a deep breath and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you to keep from reaching out. “How long are we gonna push it? Are we gonna let it kill us just so we don’t have to—”

He interrupts you with a rasp of your name, and you almost groan out loud at the sound of it. Fuck, you’ve never needed anything like you need him right now. Like air, like water. “That’s the thing, I don’t want to have to. I—God, it feels like…forcing you. It feels wrong.” 

Is that his hold up? He thinks you don’t want this? Jesus, you’ve gone this whole time thinking he’d literally rather die than fuck you, and it turns out he was just scared you didn’t really want him, that the curse was making you feel things you’d never feel otherwise. “Sam, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re hot. I’d way rather have sex with you than die.”  You watch his hands flex, his fingers spreading before he balls them into fists, and your cunt flutters. “Actually, the list of things I’d rather do than fuck you is probably significantly shorter than the opposite. Not…not just because of the curse.” Of course, the curse is definitely making it worse. You can’t stop thinking of how good his thick fingers would feel curling inside you, imagining how attentive he’d be. How generous. Normally, you can curb it a little, save those thoughts for late at night, guilty and shameful. But right now they’re sticking at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you try to think about literally anything else. 

You watch the conflict in his mind playing out on his face before he groans and rubs his hands over it. “You don’t get it; it’s not—I don’t want to just be someone you fuck, I want…I want everything,” he tells you, and if your heartbeat wasn’t already erratic, it would be skipping in your chest right now. “And this is just absolutely the last way I wanted you to find out, but that’s why I’m not…I just don’t know if I can do this if this is all I’m gonna get.” 

“Oh, Sam.” His name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re saying it. You stand up and cross the room to sit next to him on the bed, and you don’t miss the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes flick down your body for just a moment, the way he twists his fingers into the sheets. You set it aside for now; this is more important. He is more important. “You really don’t know?” 

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face; although for what, you don’t know. “Know what?” he asks, his voice quiet as a breath. 

You lift your hand to touch his face, and this time, when the magic sparks across your skin, it feels like a salve, cooling the skin of your palm. From the way he sighs, you imagine he’s feeling the effect as well. “Of course I want that. Who wouldn’t want everything with you?” You’re so engrossed in the look on his face—wide-eyed awe, as if he truly never believed you could want him too—that the sparking of his hand touching your waist makes you jump. Oh, but God, the relief is instantaneous. If just this, your hand on his cheek, his hand on your waist, feels this good, how good would it feel to kiss him? To drag his shorts down his legs and sink down onto his cock, feel the way it stretches you out— “Now if you’re properly reassured, could you please, please fuck me already?” 

Sam may have the self-control of some sort of divine being, but he is, in the end, only human, and the curse is deep, and hot, and needy. You can see it the moment his restraint snaps, and even if you couldn’t, he drags you in and plants his lips on yours. Every feeling is amplified tenfold, and as you gasp at his hungry kiss, Sam takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, his free hand coming up to the back of your head to hold you close, guide you how he wants you. It’s not how you imagined he would kiss you, not really, but it’s exactly what you need right now, and the magic sparks down your spine in a wave of cool respite from the heat that had been eating you up. 

Then he pulls away—to speak, or maybe just to breathe—and the heat surges back in instantly, stealing your breath and leaving you panting into his mouth as you frantically drag him back in. “No,” you groan, shoving your hand into his hair to keep him from pulling back again. “We have to keep—oh, fuck.” 

The feeling of his hand shoving under the fabric of your sports bra, pushing it up to expose your breasts, shuts you up quickly. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you moan, pleasure sparking across what feels like every nerve ending you have. He doesn’t pull away to speak this time, well aware now that the relief you’re both feeling is very dependent on the contact. “I wish I could take this slow,” he mumbles, and you feel his voice buzzing against your lips. “Lay you down and taste every inch of you until you’re begging for my cock.” 

As if you needed to be any hornier. “I’m already begging for it,” you tell him, before dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. The noise he makes goes straight to your cunt, and you scramble to climb onto his lap. Fuck, you can feel how hard he is underneath you as you straddle him—even through the layers of fabric separating you, he feels huge. You need him inside you yesterday. “Next time—” you start, although it’s a little hard to speak with Sam’s tongue dragging over yours on nearly every other word— “we can have slow and sweet and whatever you want. But if you’re not inside me in the next two minutes, I’ll kill you before the curse even gets a chance, I swear to God.” 

Sam laughs, like you’re joking. You’re absolutely not. “Alright, I got you,” he mutters, and your brain registers the magic sparking across your skin before his hand as he shoves it under the waistband of your shorts. Your entire body jolts as he brushes a finger over your center through the fabric of your panties, but only because it feels so good, more intense than it has any right to be. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” 

You hardly have the brain power to even kiss him anymore, but it doesn’t matter as much now. His hand in your pants is providing infinitely more relief than kissing him could hope to achieve. You drag your lips down his neck before laving your tongue over the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat that’s gathered there. “I need it so bad,” you mumble against his skin, and apparently you’re so fucking desperate for it that you’ve been reduced to cheesy, porny dirty talk. 

Sam doesn’t seem to mind. He tips his head back on a groan as you scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his throat. “Yeah? I can tell. You’re soaked,” he says, and then his fingers deftly tug the fabric of your underwear aside so he can press a finger inside you. You’re pretty sure you see God. From the look on his face, Sam might be in the same boat. “Fucking hell—off. Off, take them off.” Tragically, he removes his hand from your cunt, and you could actually cry at the way the overwhelming heat comes slamming back into you the second his touch leaves. But it only takes a moment before magic is sparking over your skin again as his hands brush your hips in his efforts to drag your shorts and underwear down your legs. 

You take over once he’s got them halfway down your thighs, crawling off his lap in favor of ridding yourself of the offending garments. And while you’re at it, you drag your sports bra over your head too. In the time between you crawling off him and tossing your bra carelessly aside, Sam has followed suit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s entirely bare, having tossed his pants and underwear to the same careless void you’d abandoned yours to. 

Despite your desperate urgency, you take a moment to let your eyes fall to his lap, and fuck, your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and leaking. He’s…God, you expected him to be big—he’s six foot four for fuck’s sake, of course he’d be big—but this is just absurd. You can’t help but reach out, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his length. You’re so engrossed in the way your hand looks wrapped around him that you almost miss the choked little moan he gives, his body bowing towards you. 

“Please,” he groans, and then he reaches out to grab you by the shoulders, tugging you back in close again, urging you to reclaim your perch on his lap. “I wanna feel you, I need to—God, you’re so hot; please let me fuck you.” 

You aren’t sure if he means it as a compliment, or a comment on the insane waves of heat radiating off your skin. Either way, you’re more than willing to fulfill his request. “Yeah. Yeah, anything,” you murmur, ducking your head to press your forehead against his. From this angle, you can almost see as you use your grip on him to guide his cockhead to line up with your entrance. Where you touch, the magic between you sings. It’s nearly automatic; you sink down onto his cock without so much as a second thought. 

Despite Sam’s…considerable size, somehow, you expected the slide to be easy, what with the aching desperation of it all. You’d expected your dripping cunt to suck him right in, make the stretch of taking his cock bearable. It seems even sex curses can’t work miracles, though. “Fuck, Sam—” you choke out, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. The stretch doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it’s so much—would be so much anyway, even without the curse amplifying it and making it so much more. You have to stop and take a moment just to remember how to breathe before you’ve even sunk to the top of your hand, wrapped no less than halfway down. 

“I know.” His voice when he speaks is rough, teeth gritted like it’s a real test of his strength to keep still, to keep from fucking up into you, to keep from making you take it. God, you almost want him to, but the soothing tone of his voice is nice too. It rumbles in his chest, echoing through your body just as sure as the pleasure of his cock stretching you out. He brushes his hands over your shoulders and down your back to finally land on your hips. You think maybe he means to keep his grip gentle, because the pressure of his fingers digging into your skin fluctuates, like he’s fighting the urge to bruise you. He’s not doing a very good job of it, though, and it sends a thrill up your spine to know he’s going to leave his mark there, even if that’s not his intention. “I know, take your time. I’ve got you.” 

It’s a sweet sentiment, but you both know time is something you actually don’t have a lot of right now. You can feel the heat crawling up your spine even now, though Sam’s cock spearing you open is holding it at bay. Somewhat. So you dig your fingers into Sam’s hair to steel yourself, and you sink down. And down, and down, until you can’t imagine how there could possibly be more to take, and then, finally, your hips kiss his, and he’s bottomed out inside you. “Fuck,” you groan, panting against the skin of his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. It feels like your lungs emptied out in an attempt to make room, like he’s buried so deep inside you they can’t quite fill right anymore. “Oh, fuck.” 

Sam makes an attempt to soothe you, laying hot, open mouthed kisses over your neck and shoulder. “So good, you’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling over your skin. His hands abandon their stations at your hips to pull your face up so he can press those same kisses all across your face. “Taking me so well, so perfect for me.” 

Fuck, but he’s got your number, doesn’t he? The praise hits like a drug, zipping down your spine to your cunt and making you flutter around him. It’s frankly entirely unconscious when you shift your hips, but the stars that erupt in your vision when he moves inside you have you moaning in tandem with him. 

“Shit—” He drags you into a messy kiss, all open mouths and panting breaths, his hands buried in your hair. “Can I—God, please, can I move?” You’ve never heard him sound like that before, just the very edge of a whine in his voice as he pleads against your lips. He sounds wrecked, and it feels…good, heady. Powerful. You want to drag that voice out of him a hundred more times, make him whine for you like that for the rest of his life. 

You shake your head, tilting your head down to press a biting kiss on his jaw. “No. No, I’m gonna…” With that, you brace your arms on his shoulders and your knees on either side of him and lift your hips until you’ve nearly moved off him entirely, just the tip of his cock still pressed inside you. And then you drop back down. You feel every inch of it as he drags along your walls, and though it’s easier to take this time, the stretch is still intense, still nearly makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

You force yourself to keep your eyes forward, though, because the look on Sam’s face is almost as good as the stretch of his cock. His brows furrow, face twisting in his pleasure, and his mouth falls open, like he wants to moan but something is holding him back. And, well. That just won’t do. 

You lift yourself up to drop down again, satisfied when Sam groans and drags his hands down your back to dig his fingers into your hips again, pressing into familiar aches. You duck to press your smug smile against his neck, and find it so slick with sweat that you can’t help licking a stripe up his throat. “I’m gonna ride you so good, Sammy,” you mutter, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. His hands help guide you when you bounce this time, and it only makes the slide more delicious, makes your words drag out into a moan before you can continue, “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this? See your face while I make myself come on your cock?” You start up a steady rhythm with Sam’s grip spurring you along, lifting up to slam back down again, his cock spearing you open again and again and again. 

Once you’ve got into the rhythm, his hands move from your hips to your upper back to drag you closer until he can lean down and press his face in the valley between your breasts, kissing and biting and licking the soft skin there, and all the while his hands keep pressing you closer, keeping your chest arched into his mouth. “How long?” he asks, his voice muffled as he drags his lips over the swell of your breast to leave his biting kisses there too. 

You drag your hands up into his hair as you roll your hips, moving in more of a grind now than a bounce, and the new movement means his cock is frankly unrelenting against your g-spot, the pressure of it never leaving, only shifting. The feeling is near overwhelming, has your hips faltering so much that Sam has to bring his hands back to your hips just so you keep moving. “Mm, God, forever, feels like,” you answer, once you’ve gathered enough brain power to even process that he had asked you a question. “Since the first time I saw you, probably.” Saying it out loud, it feels a little bit creepy to confess that you’ve been fantasizing about riding him since the moment you met him, but you’re a little too blissed out at the moment to feel embarrassed about it.  

Besides, judging by the way Sam groans against your chest and fucks up into you, he clearly doesn’t find it creepy at all. “Guess I’d better make it worth the wait, then,” he mutters, before dragging the blunt of his teeth over your pebbled nipple and then moaning against it when the shock of pleasure makes your grip tighten in his hair. And, fuck, if you thought it was good before…

He digs his heels into the bed to brace and starts thrusting up to meet every roll of your hips, his cock pounding so deep inside you now that you swear you can almost taste it. If there was enough room in your mind to even process it behind the fog of lust, you’d realize he’s fucking needy, desperate little moans from your throat with every thrust. And all the while he keeps his face buried in your tits, despite the way they bounce with the force of his thrusts. He drags his teeth over the skin between them, laves his tongue over your nipples, making noises like there’s no place he’d rather be. It’s intoxicating. 

And you’re so close, toeing the edge and hurtling ever closer with every thrust Sam pounds into you. The entire energy of the curse settles in your core at the same place the coil of your impending orgasm grows ever tighter. “Sam,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you use your grip in his hair to drag him up, to kiss him messy and deep. You swallow the sweet, hungry noises he’s making, and he nips at your lip, and you are so fucking close. “Please.” 

Sam’s got you. Of course he does. He brings one hand from your hip to press between your legs and rub his thumb over your clit in quick, firm little circles. “Come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “let me feel you come on my cock.” 

And who are you to deny him anything he wants? You cry out as your orgasm explodes through you, whiting out your vision with the force of it. You’ve never come so hard in your life, and it just keeps going, burning up your spine like it’s singlehandedly eating up the energy the curse had created in your body. You’re just conscious enough to feel when Sam’s cock twitches and spills inside you, the frantic spasming of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth. 

You do come down, eventually, your fingers aching where they’ve been white knuckled in Sam’s hair. You bury your face in his neck and try to catch your breath, and his nose presses against your hair as he seems to do the same. It takes you a moment to notice—and you think you can be excused, considering you just came so hard you saw God—but despite the cum that you can feel slowly beginning to seep out of you, Sam is still hard, and doesn’t seem to be softening. Like, at all. And once you notice that, it’s a quick step to realize that the heat at the base of your spine, while significantly lessened, has not completely subsided. 

Fuck. “She’s not dead,” you groan, which morphs into a whimper when an involuntary shift of your hips makes Sam’s cock press against your oversensitive sweet spot. “God, we’re still cursed.” You can feel the awful heat starting to build again, that same devastating arousal eating at you despite the way you’re still trembling all over with the aftermath of your last orgasm.

You feel Sam’s lips press against your hair, soothing hands rubbing up your sides as they do. “We’ve probably bought enough time,” he offers, smoothing his thumbs over your hip bones. It seems sweet, until he smooths his hand down your thigh and keeps talking, “If you can’t go again.” And that? Well, that sounds like a challenge. 

Pushing through the oversensitivity, you rock your hips down, dragging your nails down the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders in an effort to dull the feeling. “Oh, I can go again,” you retort, with a confidence that you’re not sure you’ve really earned, considering the way your thighs are shaking. “Just…not on top.” 

The rumble of Sam’s laugh in his chest is your only warning before you’re suddenly bouncing on the bed on your back, a shocked yelp passing your lips at the sudden movement, and the sudden emptiness—your cunt clenches around nothing but air, Sam’s spend spilling from your fluttering hole.  

“There,” Sam says, his face smug as he climbs over you. “Problem solved.” 

You roll your eyes, ready to shoot back some sassy retort of your own, but Sam’s not looking at you. Not at your face, at least. Instead, his eyes are trained between your legs, and simply because it seems like it would be more effective than a sarcastic comment—and not because of the way his eyes glaze over a little while he’s staring, definitely not—you let your legs fall open a little further. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then he reaches between your legs to press two fingers in your cunt. It takes you a moment to realize he’s pushing his cum back in, gathering up whatever had spilled from you when he pulled out and fucking it back into you with his fingers. 

You groan, tossing your arm over your eyes. It’s not really something you’d thought you’d be into, but now that he’s doing it… “Fuck, Sam…” 

Sam laughs, but it comes out a little breathless, and you lift your arm to watch him as he draws his fingers from your cunt and brings them right up to his mouth to lick them clean. Holy fucking shit. “Yeah,” he mutters, tucking his hand under your thigh to lift your leg up onto his shoulder, “That’s sort of the idea.”

He doesn’t waste much time after that, lines himself up and pushes in. You’re so sensitive; it’s so good it almost hurts, and though this angle doesn’t allow him to get nearly as deep, it’s clearly better for him to drive into you. His thrusts are quick and punchy, drawing little ‘ah’s from your throat as he drags you back to the edge faster than you would’ve thought possible. Maybe that’s the curse. Maybe he’s just that good. 

“Come on, baby,” he mutters, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face, down your neck. “You can give me one more, yeah?” You don’t even notice his arm move, but between one blink and the next, he’s got his thumb back on your clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive bud. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back as you arch your own. “God, don’t stop, fuck—”

You feel it the second it happens. It’s completely instant, the sudden and total disappearance of the magic that had been consuming your and Sam’s bodies. The witch is dead, the curse is broken, and the complete relief in tandem with Sam railing you into the fucking bed sends you careening over the edge in an instant, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut. 

Sam groans and digs his teeth into your shoulder, following right after you as the curse dissipates from his body as well. 

The two of you don’t talk for a long while after that, going about the motions of recovery and cleaning up in silence. He pulls out—the both of you hissing with oversensitivity at the motion—and heads into the bathroom to get a rag. He wipes himself down and then you, mindful of the way you wince when he presses too hard. 

You catch his wrist when he goes to walk away. “I meant what I said.” You wait until he turns to look at you, and then you tangle your fingers in his. “It wasn’t just about the curse for me.” 

You can see it on his face, the hesitance. Like he really never thought he could have this. Fuck, if you had known, you’d have told him years ago, just to make sure he knew how adored he was. How adored he is, always. 

“Yeah?” he says, his voice quiet as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s sweeter, much more tender than any of the kisses before, and this is exactly how you had always thought Sam would kiss you. With his entire heart on his sleeve. “Me too.” 

Maybe you’ve got a little to thank witches for after all. 

[sourle]

Oneshot n Headcanons

WARNINGS: There might be smelling mistakes/mispronouns/ooc. I apologize in advance for those.

Enjoy the show.

You wish you weren't brought into this hell, Looping for eternity for the joy of torturing. Was this really the karma for the things you did in your past?

Was this all just a sick joke as a payback from them?

You don't know.

You wish you could take it back and wouldn't end up here. Being chased around like some kind of toy all for entertainment for the.. killers. You're luckily not alone.. but… they're not all better.

After they know what you did, they turn their back on you. More often than not, they never help you whenever you're in a struggle.

Ignoring you completely.

You hate it, you don't like it. It's what makes the loop hell WORSE.

The way the other survivors treat you. Elliot never bothered to offer you a pizza. Shedletsky would just watch you getting chased alongside Guest. HECK, even 007n7 ignored you COMPLETELY.

It was exhausting, especially when all you wanted was a new beginning. Without the constant nagging of what you did.

You approached Taph, tapping him on his shoulder. “Hey— May I ask you something?—”

“🧍‍♂️🤷‍♂️👉👷‍♂️❓” (I don't know as well, maybe you should ask Builderman) You nod at his answer, giving him a thumbs up and left. Glancing back to see he gave you a thumbs up as well.

You next walked up to Noob, “Sorry to bother you… but do we have a plan for the next match?—”

Upon hearing your voice they flinched, they didn't seem to hear you but he just nodded quickly. “Y-you should ask Builderman about it, I'm s-sure he has m-more.. information.”

You watch as they speed walk away, slipping a bit.

You brushed his silly actions and went to find Builderman. He is outside the cabin with Shedletsky, seemingly in a conversation as Builderman checks over his new invention.

You approach the two and once you get closer, they turn their attention to the footsteps coming closer.

Shedletsky looks.. rather wary, whilst Builderman has that unreadable expression. You hope that's not hatred.

“Uhm— Hey, Builderman.. Can I ask about the next upcoming match’s plan?”

He didn't answer you outrightly other than letting out a sigh. A small silence overtook before Shedletsky finally spoke up, “We're still trying to figure out who's going to be picked next. Though I believe you won't be picked. Luckily.”

That smidge of disappointment in the last word already says you're not welcome in their presence. You hum with a nod, bidding farewell they didn't respond to and left.

You sat in the living room of the cabin, staring into the fireplace, waiting for the match to start to explore more of the camp, place, whatever people call the area around the cabin.

You don't know what else to do to spend the time, you've got no one to talk to as of now. You've already asked if there's a plan— like every other time before a match. And you can't think of doing anything else.

You might try and find Dusekkar for a small chat, but even so he will, like others, find an excuse to get away from you.

What are you, some kind of plague infected robloxian?

No matter, you'll just wait for the match whilst watching the endless fireplace.

Headcanons

Survivors

Noob

They don't hate you. More so terrified of your capabilities, judging from your past.

Would avoid you every chance they can.

They did try to push away their fear go try and bond with you, maybe. But Guest held him back for 'caution'

Elliot

He hates you. Deeply.

He's frustrated towards what you did to his workplace. Outright unforgivable.

Does not trust you one bit.

REFUSE to heal you even as you're low.

Shedletsky

He's wary. Does not trust you.

Would often watch you from afar though never try and make a conversation with you.

He does not hate you.. maybe a little bit.

Only helps you when it's only you two left alive.

Builderman

Hatred.

He's seething whenever he sees you.

Never tells you where the sentry or dispenser is at. Leaving you wounded most times.

Definitely is the one who told Dusekkar to never help you when you're chased.

Dussekkar

He doesn't hate you. Just a smidge of dislike. Though he does love to talk to you. Once in a while.

Is curious how you are able to do what you've done in the past

The closest to neutral.

Doesn't mind you, though he can't say anything for the others. Especially Builderman.

Chance (pink day Chance yass)

THE MOST NEUTRAL

Like Dusekkar, he doesn't hate you or dislike you.

The closest you think as a friend in the hell.

They do enjoy talking with you!

Though he can't ignore what you've done in the past.

They does help you, Often!

Maybe the only one who helps. Or is he? (Vsauce music started playing)

Two time

Thinks you're a demon coming for them.

Will watch you like a hawk.

They tried to sacrifice you once. Though Taph stops him by knocking him out.

Also tried to give you to the killer aka Jason. Jason ended up targeting Two time.

Guest 1337

He's neutral. Just distrustful of you in every aspect.

He has respect for your.. powerful doing in the past. Though he can't say he's not wary of your capabilities.

The second most to help you. Even though most of it is just him watching you getting chase.

Taph

He actually likes you.

You both would talk often and he loves teaching you sign language!

You both have the closest bond, aka best friend!

He does not care about your past, it's the past after all.

007n7

No emotions.

He sees himself in you.

He understands what you're going through.

Thought.

He respects you for your determination.

Often leaves medkit or bloxy cola near your spawn place.

He does give it to you directly. Once. Elliot glaring at him, whispering he needed it more than you as he can't heal himself.

Chance shut Elliot down by mentioning how he doesn't heal you at all.

Killers

1x1x1x1

She's intrigued by your past.

Though he doesn't care and would kill you whenever.

They would often leave you as the last man standing. Though you don't understand why.

John doe

Absolutely doesn't care.

L + Ratio. Die.

c00lkid

Thinks what you did was cool!

He's impressed how you have done it.

Would often target you first to see if you're as powerful as the story his father told you about.

Fond of you. Somehow.

Jason

He pity you. He does.

He knows how it feels to be an outcast.

Would leave you as last man standing everytime. Though sometimes he lets you win.

Hey at least another killer friend other than a child.

Masioso

He has heard stories of what you did.

Intrigued and impressed.

Though he doesn't understand how you ended up in the hit list. He doesn't remember you doing anything about debt. Meh, you're name in the list anyway.

Azure

He doesn't understand why almost all the survivors hate you.

Even as he feels sorry, he's still going to kill you.

Noli

Thinks what you did in the past are bullshit.

He does not care what so ever.

Though he did tease you about your past, despite not believing it happened, before chasing you.

Guest 666

He doesn't really care.

He tried to feel sorry for you from seeing how the survivors avoided you. But he's careless.

He's a monster. Not a villain.

Note: woah, What's this? I finally uploaded something other than reblogs? Mwehehhe

Anyway if you guys want more, please send it a request of what I should do next.. like a scenario for this Oneshot hcs story.. like maybe Reader trying to bond, how they react to this, that, etc.

Bye now ty for reading!