#i just got light headed thinking about this

[monstersholygrail]

Sometimes as a Puppy Hybrid you get distracted when in public. There’s just so much to look at and explore that you can’t help it when you see something and instantly wanna go check it out. Often without saying anything to your Wolf Hybrid bf.

He’s often joked about putting a leash and collar on you. Just to make sure you don’t wander and get lost. Totally no other reason.

But when these sorta things happen you do eventually realize that you had strayed from your bf’s side and got lost. And he knows by now that your nose is good enough to sniff him out and find him in a matter of minutes. So he usually doesn’t panic too much and when he does you smell him that much stronger and return to comfort him more quickly.

Though as you look for him now through the crowded mall you start to get a bit worried yourself. It’s taking much longer than it usually does to find him. A whimper leaves your throat as you start to worry if he left you. But no, he would never do that to you. He refuses to leave the bed without you let alone a whole mall.

Lifting your nose in the air you search for his scent, your brows furrowing as more whimpers escape. You close your eyes and let your nose guide you, picking up his scent soon as you focus your senses.

And when you finally open your eyes you’re in front of the last store you ever expected to be in front of.

A baby store.

From there on it’s easy to find him, your Wold Hybrid bf with his bulking arms crossed, and his signature scowl on his face. The saleswoman in front of him smiles brightly despite looking a bit nervous. Your first thought is to immediately go save her. Your bf didn’t always do well in social situations.

Rushing over you break their conversation with a light laugh. Immediately both of them turn their attention to you and your bf’s features soften into a warm smile. You curl your body against his, both as a silent claim and as a barrier encase the woman wants to escape his intense stare.

“Heyy, sorry about him! I-I’ve got it from here.”

You give her your best dazzling smile but it falters when she brushes it off telling you that your bfs been a delight. There’s no time to ask what she means as another customer asks for her assistance.

When you turn to your bf he’s looking down at you with amusement. Like he can already read what must be going on in that head of yours.

“What have you been doing, mister?” You ask accusingly.

Wolf Hybrid bf chuckles that raspy laugh that makes you tingle deep inside. He gathers you in his arms and whirls you both around to face what he was hiding behind his frame. You gasp as you see a whole baby crib before you.

A deep rumble moves through your bf’s chest and vibrates into your back. His hands smooth over your frame and the rounded curve of your belly. Already imagining it all swollen and big with his litter.

“Planning for the future,” he responds, nearly growling in your ear. “The very near future.”

Feeling a prick zap through your ear you yelp as he nips at you, tempting you far more than either of you realize. Pulling your cute plump self further into his chest he molds himself to you, nuzzling and rubbing his scent all over you. It leaves you breathless and writhing against him with a building aching need.

“M-maybe we can get started now?” You ask cheekily, laughing as he growls in response.

“I like the way you think, mamas.”

And then he’s dragging you out of the store. But not before calling the saleswoman back to purchase the crib and have it send back to your home pronto.

[kingkaisen]

DOCTOR, DOCTOR!

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Being a surgeon is hard enough, but dealing with attractive men who can’t seem to get enough of their pretty doctor? Well . . .

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI — multi! jjk x surgeon! reader (separate) ft. sukuna, choso, gojo, nanami, toji, & geto, very tiny amounts of smut, mainly just suggestive, fluff, some angst, modern au, mentions of injuries and blood.

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I don’t know much about the medical field, so there will be some inaccuracies!

⚕️ — 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

“There is no reason whatsoever as to why my surgical patients have to suffer due to your incompetence. They’re post-op. Post-op. These people have been freshly cut open, and they need enough medicine to manage their pain.” You strode down the brightly-lid hospital hallway. The two nurses at the receiving end of your anger struggled to keep up with your quick pace. “After I visit with Mr. Sukuna, I’ll be stopping by Mrs. Mura’s room, and that poor woman better not be in tears again from a lack of quality care when I get there.”

“Y-Yes, doctor.” The nurses nodded. They scurried off as you stopped outside an oak-colored wooden door.

You knocked twice before opening it, entering Sukuna’s hospital room with a fake smile to disguise your anger.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sukuna.” Approaching the man propped up in his bed, you folded your arms across your chest, and he smirked up at you.

Briefly, you turned to face the slumped-over inmate guard dozing off in a recliner chair in the corner of the room.

“Sir? Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

The guard snapped awake at the sound of your voice, nodded, and yawned, rising to his feet as he dragged himself out of Sukuna’s hospital room. After all, the prisoner was chained to his hospital bed, so it would be perfectly fine for him to waste some spare change visiting a few vending machines for a couple of snacks, right?

“How are you feeling?” You asked Sukuna once you both found yourselves alone.

“Drop the act,” Sukuna paused. He grabbed his white remote and muted the television displaying old reruns of boring game shows. “Tell me what’s got you upset.”

“Something that is much too inappropriate for me to discuss with a patient.” You let your face fall into a frown.

“Even your favorite one?”

“My favorite?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling softly as you pressed a button on the side rails of Sukuna’s bed, lowering him just a bit. “You and your ego.”

“I’m just sayin’, if you’ve got a problem with someone, y’know I’ll take care of it for you.”

You leaned over Sukuna, shining your pen light into one of his eyes. “See? Comments like that are exactly why your left wrist is handcuffed to your bed.”

“Relax, I’m just messin’ around,” he gave you a sly smile.

You pulled away from him briefly. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Sukuna’s eyes slowly trailed over your body, taking in the sight of you from head to toe. “Just say the word, pretty girl.”

“First of all,” you paused, your voice stern, though you could hardly fight off the strong urge to smile. “Drop the nicknames already. Second of all, how are you supposed to take care of my problems while you’re cuffed, under constant supervision, and healing from an arm fracture? A complicated and complex one at that. I was operating on you for quite some time. I’m guessing your violent behavior led to it.”

Hunger lingered in Sukuna’s gaze. He had no appetite for the bland, half-eaten hospital food getting old and stale on a discarded tray on the other side of his bed.

No.

He was starving for the gorgeous surgeon in front of him right now. And after having all the time in the world to lie around and think, think, think, it dawned on him that, perhaps, his growing affection wasn’t one-sided.

“A complicated surgery your excuse for not discharging me already? I think someone likes having me around.” The tip of Sukuna’s tongue darted out briefly as he licked his bottom lip. You turned your head away from his piercing stare, suddenly overcome with shyness.

“Don’t get all embarrassed now,” Sukuna teased.

It was rather odd. Lying to patients — or, as you preferred to think of it, temporarily withholding the truth for their own benefit — was a skill all doctors had to learn. By now, you had considered yourself a master at doing so.

Until it came to Ryomen Sukuna.

Oh, he could see right through you . . . could destroy your detached, professional, tough attitude that one needs to have to survive the medical field and reduce you into nothing more than a shy girl with a crush. A crush on her own damn patient.

“You know what? After I finish examining you, I’m gonna work on getting you discharged first thing tomorrow,” you said, leaning over him yet again. Your penlight shined into his other eye.

Sukuna’s gentle breath patted against your face as he mumbled, “constantly examining my eyes even though my arm was the problem. You’re looking for any reason to get close to me, doc.”

The bright light seized with the click of your thumb. Though your eye exam was done, you hadn’t yet pulled away from him.

“I’m just doing my job. You’re making it more complicated than it needs to be, which is why I can’t support the decision to discharge you just yet,” you said.

“You think I believe that? Let me show you how well my arm’s healing up.” Sukuna’s injured arm was in a cast, but he wouldn’t let that hold him back. One second, you were leaning over Sukuna, and the next, he was grabbing your leg and pulling you over his lap, making you straddle him.

“I can toss you around just fine. But I’ll let you keep up with your little act,” Sukuna gripped the collar of your white coat. “After my eyes, you always examine my mouth, right? Tell me what you think, doc.”

With the hunger of a starving man, he connected your lips. A little gasp of surprise escaped from you. Sukuna was quick to use that opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth and swirling it around yours. Your breath was minty — he could taste it. If he wasn’t currently swallowing your soft moans while moving his mouth against yours, he would have teased you over freshening your breath before coming to visit him.

You broke the kiss a while later due to a lack of air. Damn your lungs. They felt as if they were on fire by the time Sukuna leaned back, a sly smirk on his face.

“Examination go well?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s . . . um, just as I thought.” You stammered, pausing to breathe. “You’re displaying certain symptoms that have me concerned. We might need to keep you here for an extra day or two.”

Sukuna smirked yet again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “If you wanna keep me here, you better take those scrubs off right now.”

“But we could get caught-”

“Just shut up and come sit on my face.”

⚕️ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

On what was a late Wednesday afternoon, you tossed your empty cup of coffee into a nearby garbage can. The next surgery on your chaotic schedule was meant to be a simple procedure done on a young man’s knee, and according to his pre-op lab work, his vitals were just fine. Ideal blood pressure. Quite healthy. No behavioral issues.

So far, so good . . .

Until you walked into his hospital room.

It is rather expected for surgeons to introduce themselves to their patients before an operation, which is why you entered Choso’s dark room to begin with and flipped on the lights.

But, when the unfamiliar man’s dark brown eyes landed on you, they widened. His cheeks and ears darkened to a pinkish shade of red, and he began to cough. The ice water he was sipping on nearly spewed from between his lips.

You rushed over worriedly, yet calmly.

“Keep coughing, don’t hold the water in or you’ll continue to choke.” With one hand, you grabbed the plastic cup on his overbed table, holding it to his mouth. With the other, you eased him forward, ready to give his back a couple of blows if necessary, but rubbing it soothingly in the meantime.

Eventually, his light choking session came to an end after he spat the water out, and no drastic measures were needed.

However, his skin hadn’t returned to its previous pale shade. His cheeks and ears were much too red for your liking.

After a brief introduction and overview of the operation — all talking on your part, not a word from him — you gave him a serious glance.

“Would it be alright for me to check your vitals myself? I know your nurse already did so, but you still seem a little flushed. I’m sure it’s from the little choking mishap, but I would still like to double-check.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze and staring only at the white blanket draped over him. You removed the stethoscope from around your neck.

A quiet or shy patient was nothing usual. Beyond that, he was probably embarrassed about what happened, along with the general anxiety that builds up within most people at the idea of having surgery.

Therefore, you spoke as softly as you could, pressing the cool, circular end of the stethoscope against his chest.

“Take a deep breath for me,” you said.

You checked a few different areas before pulling away from him, hanging your stethoscope underneath the collar of your white coat.

“You have a rapid heartbeat. Is this a regular occurrence?”

“No.”

His heart rate should have calmed down by now had it been related to the water incident, you thought.

“Well, I’d like to check it again in a couple of minutes. We might have to consider scheduling you for an ECG if nothing changes. Have you experienced any palpitations, dizziness, or shortness of breath?”

Choso looked off to the side at nothing in particular.

“Only . . . right now,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I see,” you smiled gently, though he couldn’t see it. You were certain he’d stare directly into the sun just to avoid looking you in the eye. “Nervous around doctors, I understand.”

“I’m not usually nervous around doctors,” Choso fiddled with his folded fingers resting in his lap. He scratched one thumb with the other, breathing unsteadily.

You hid your confusion and concern behind an expressionless face, one as blank as a new canvas.

Tightening the blood pressure cuff around his muscular arm was your next move, one made in a thick awkward silence. The fact that he was in seemingly great shape only worsened your worry.

After all, those who exercised regularly were known to have a resting heart rate lower than the average person. Not higher.

You weren’t a fool.

From the very moment you took your first pre-med undergraduate course, you were taught time and time again that even those who took exceptional care of themselves could become victims of several illnesses. You’ve witnessed it yourself. Seen or performed tumor removals, cracked open chests, or sliced into the stomachs of countless amount of people who seemed healthy. Or tried their hardest to be that way.

Was that the case now? Was this seemingly healthy guy unknowingly suffering from some sort of heart condition?

Those were the questions running through your mind when the screen monitoring his blood pressure blinked red. The cuff released a puff of air as it stopped squeezing his bicep.

“Elevated blood pressure,” you said.

Removing the cuff, you darted your eyes down to his face.

“You shouldn’t be concerned. I’m fine,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t need any tests. I’m just nervous. Not because of the surgery or because you’re a doctor, but you’re . . . pretty.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Reaching down, you gave his fidgeting hand a reassuring squeeze.

Being that his vitals appeared normal when being checked by someone else, then perhaps, he was telling the truth.

“Thank you,” you pulled your hand away. “Just to be safe and test your theory, I’ll have you sit here for a few minutes, and I’ll send a nurse back in to recheck everything one last time. If it all looks good, no ECG. How does that sound?”

For the first time since your arrival, Choso’s chocolate brown eyes met yours.

“That won’t work,” he mumbled. “Even if you bring in someone who isn’t you, I will still be thinking of you in a few minutes, so my heart rate and blood pressure will still be high. I’m sorry.”

⚕️ — 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Seeing Satoru Gojo among your scheduled appointments for the day was a certainty, just as the sun would rise in the morning and the moon would shine at night.

His operation was quite a while ago. It was a smooth surgery, and yet, here he was, sitting in the waiting room of the tall, fancy building with your name on the outside — you had established your very own private practice.

Despite being a surgeon on the younger side, you had accomplished what most surgeons wouldn’t dare to dream of accomplishing until their late 40s, if they could accomplish your level of success at all.

You had a wall full of framed degrees. Certificates. Awards. And it certainly wasn’t easy, from the accelerated programs and sleepless nights to being disrespected by your older male colleagues. You couldn’t count the number of times someone had mistook you for a nurse, even as you wore your white coat. There were even patients who refused your care in preference for your less-accomplished, less-skilled, male fellow doctors.

Despite the trials and tribulations, your hard work paid off, thank goodness.

That was why you groaned with annoyance upon discovering that Satoru Gojo was among your list of patients, and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

Because, damn it all, you wouldn’t ruin your remarkable career and reputation by falling for a patient . . . especially because he refused to stop being your patient.

— ⚕️—

“You again?” You stepped into the examination room, eyeing the white-haired man.

“Did you miss me?” Satoru grinned.

“You’re never gone long enough for me to miss you,” shutting the door behind you, trying your hardest to conceal your emotions, you asked, “What seems to be the problem now, Mr. Gojo?”

“Ya know,” Satoru paused. He slumped back in his seat. “I never understood why I have to tell the nurse all of my issues just to have to repeat it all again when you come in.”

“Considering how much you enjoy talking, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with that.”

“I’d rather just talk to you.” His goofy smile widened. “Anyway, I’ve been dealing with some stomach pain, and my incisions feel all sore.”

“You mean the incisions that healed up very nicely several months ago?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “And regarding your stomach pain . . . you booked an appointment with me instead of the gastroenterologist I referred you to because?”

“‘Cause you were the one who performed my surgery, unless I’m crazy and remembering stuff wrong.”

Satoru rose from his seat, heading for the examination table without you having to tell him. He knew every move you were going to make. After all — after many pointless visits because, apparently, these appointments were the closest he could get to going on a date with you — he knew the routine like the back of his hand.

You approached him. It was difficult to find the courage to look him in the eye — god, that lovesick gaze of his always made your heart skip a beat — but you stared at him sternly regardless, hoping he would take your words seriously . . . though, truly, you didn’t want him to.

“Satoru, this many follow-up appointments almost a year later aren’t-”

“What are the rules against a doctor dating a patient?”

Your eyes widened.

Your heart didn’t skip a beat. It skipped several.

You were certain it was going to give out, that you would go from being a doctor to being a patient.

He was being serious. There was no hint of playfulness behind his tone. Satoru’s love-filled gaze darted from your eyes, down to your lips, and back up to your eyes again.

“Mr. Gojo, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that just now,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back, breaking eye contact with him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asked with false innocence.

His long finger was suddenly hooked around the belt loop of your pants. He pulled you closer, closing the distance between you both. His soft, gentle breath patted against the skin of your cheek.

“Aw, you can’t even look me in the eye, how cute,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh my goodness, just lay down already,” you mumbled. “Let me take a look at your stomach.”

“Yes ma’am,” Satoru grinned widely. He earned yet another eye roll from you.

You had hoped that officially starting his physical exam would, perhaps, break the building tension between you both. But no.

Your skillful hands were inspecting the faint and tiny incisions along his fit body, tracing over his lower abdomen.

“Like what you see?” Satoru said. “Don’t be shy, now. You can go lower than that if you want.”

“Once again, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You pulled your hands away, and Satoru sat up. “Your incisions look fine, of course. But I will, for the thousandth time, be referring you to a gastroenterologist to run some tests regarding your . . .” you paused, giving him a look of disbelief, “. . . stomach pain.”

“Fineee, I’ll stop coming here,” Satoru said.

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, but not in excitement. You were skilled in speaking without revealing your true emotions through your tone — years of telling sad families about an unfortunate diagnosis or death or a loved one required that form of expertise — but right now, you couldn’t hide your sadness as you spoke.

“You almost sound disappointed, sweetheart.” Satoru smiled, pushing himself off of the examination table. He started walking towards you, and you didn’t have the courage or desire to step away. “Anyway, I pieced it together just now. If doctors can’t date their patients, then I just can’t be your patient anymore. Is that what it’ll take for me to finally be able to snatch this coat off of you?”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Or, I could do it right now.” This time, Satoru hooked his fingers around your chin, raising your head until you had no choice but to look him in the eye as he spoke. “What’s wrong? There aren’t any cameras in here out of respect for patient privacy, right?”

“Let me tell you something,” you frowned. “I’m a very hardworking woman who follows the rules. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for me to get where I am now, and I won’t . . . I can’t ruin it by . . .”

Satoru’s thumb stroked your cheek as he listened to your words. When you suddenly stopped speaking, he mumbled, “What’s the matter? I’m listening.”

Truth be told, your words trailed off into nothing because the beautiful man before you made a thousand different questions and concerns swirl around in your overworked mind.

There was no denying his sheer lust. It was written all over his face. But there was love within his gaze as well. And though you couldn’t see your own face right now, you knew you were staring back at him with the same amount of love.

“Stop coming here. If you stop being my patient, just as you said, then maybe, we can go on that date in a couple of months.”

Satoru smiled. “Deal. I’m pretty impatient, but I can wait years for you if that’ll make you more comfortable. You should know by now there’s no getting rid of me.”

“I won’t make you wait years. I can be impatient sometimes as well.” You couldn’t help but match his smile with one of your own. “Let’s give it six months.”

“Six months,” Satoru said in agreement.

“Well, if that’s everything,” you started to head towards the door, then suddenly, you halted your footsteps.

You turned around. Rising to the tips of your toes, you planted a soft, quick kiss on Satoru’s cheek. His cheeks and ears couldn’t help but become a deep shade of red as he blushed.

“Six months,” you mumbled.

Satoru’s movements were fast; his lips were on your cheek before you had a chance to turn away.

“God, you’re the cutest,” he said.

Though kissing each other on the cheek was risky — planning to date a former patient in half a year was as well — you couldn’t help but admire your quickened heart rate. There was something quite thrilling about breaking the rules every now and then.

⚕️ — 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

“Wow, I never thought I’d see little Kenny in my hospital.”

A bright smile graced your face as you stepped into the lavish room — though it was a hospital room, it seemed more suitable to view it as a hotel room with additional medical equipment.

“Well, when I decided it was time to schedule my carpal tunnel surgery, I was searching for a surgeon, and I saw your name appear. After I got over my initial surprise, I thought, why not go with my former best friend? Even if she used to be pretty clumsy during our childhood.” He gave you a smile as bright as your own. It occurred to him then, as his cheeks grew sore, that he hadn’t grinned so widely in quite some time.

“C’mere,” you approached his bed, leaning down to hug him and press a gentle kiss upon his cheek. “I’m gonna take great care of you.”

“I know you will. You always have,” the blonde-haired man whispered.

Something small, yet soft was being squished in between you both. He thought it was part of a pillow that had gotten caught in your embrace, but when you pulled away, his eyes darted down to the stuffed, light-brown teddy bear in your arms. It had a red heart in its grasp with cursive white letters that read: Get Well Soon!

“This is only one of the many, many things I plan to buy you from the gift shop,” you handed the stuffed animal to him. He took it, flipping it around in his hands.

God, he hadn’t noticed it when you walked in, so occupied with memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face and how it had changed since he last laid his eyes upon it. Even now, he couldn’t snatch his eyes away from you. The subtle smile pulling at the corners of your soft lips . . . your glistening gaze . . . even your nose was precious to him.

“Someone’s still a little sweetheart I see. Thank you,” he put the stuffed animal down next to him. “I intend to return the favor. I have a lot of missed birthdays and holidays to make up for.”

Kento’s long legs shifted underneath the blanket as he moved them to the side, making enough room for you to sit down on his bed.

“You and me both,” you paused, sitting in the spot he made for you. “I guess I can’t call you little Kenny anymore, can I? My goodness, you’re much taller than me now. When did that happen?”

Your childhood friend let out an airy, brief laugh. His hand scooped up yours. His thumb graced your skin, and he said, “I outgrew you right before we lost contact. I don’t expect you to remember, though. We were already starting to drift apart by the time that happened. But, more importantly, I think I have a more pressing question. When did you decide to become a surgeon? I’m proud of you.”

With a little hum, your eyes darted off to the side. Fighting off the bittersweet memories of growing up with Kento Nanami was an impossible task. What started out as a friendship formed in kindergarten over splitting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sharing toys so drastically became a forgotten bond by freshman year of high school, when your closeness amounted to nothing more than waving at each other in the hallway.

No more sleepovers. No more snack sharing. No more innocent hand-holding.

From best friends to acquaintances, just like that.

And when circumstances led to your family moving to a different town quite far away, you and Nanami lost contact completely.

From acquaintances to strangers, just like that.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Your tone was laced with nostalgic sadness.

Cold air hit your hand when Kento released it — your skin craved his warmth. But the man did not release your hand without reason, as the hand that was formerly holding yours now rested against your soft cheek. He gave it a little stroke with his thumb, then moved your head back in his direction.

He hadn’t seen your eyes in years. He’ll be damned if they dare gaze at anything other than him right now.

“Well, catching up now is as good a time as any. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Talk to me.” Kento moved his hand away from your face. Cold air returned to your skin like an unwelcomed guest. “Are you married? Have any kids? How are your relatives?”

“No, no, I’m . . . I’m much too busy to start a family. Haven’t had much time to check up on anyone else either,” You replied. Your somber demeanor vanished. A heartwarming smile reappeared, and rather playfully, you poked Kento’s chest. “But what of you, sir? How are you these days? I must say I wasn’t very pleased to see such an advanced case of carpal tunnel. You’re too damn young.”

Kento caught the hand you were jabbing him with. His large hand wrapped around yours, and he held it. Warmth.

“Well, I’m a businessman. My job is so taxing, it’s no wonder I ended up with carpal tunnel. But I make good money from it. I’m in the same boat as you, though. Unmarried. No kids.”

“Considering how handsome you turned out to be, I’m assuming it’s voluntary?”

He nodded. “Much like you, I’m just too busy.”

You couldn’t help but glance down at your locked hands. Despite the years upon years that have passed since he last felt your skin, his touch wasn’t foreign. It was all too familiar, almost as if Kento Nanami never left your life to begin with.

“I always thought you would be the person I’d end up marrying.” Your words were soft, barely above a whisper.

“So did I. Our wedding was my favorite thing to daydream about during class.” Kento brought your hand to his lips. His kiss was a gentle one, and the previous warmth that came from his touch transformed into a burning heat running through your veins. If he kept this up, this gentle love, you were certain you’d combust into flames.

“I should leave now,” you mumbled, preparing to get off of his bed, though you hadn’t yet found the courage.

Kento couldn’t help but notice how your eyes wouldn’t meet his as if they found the mopped floor below oh so interesting.

“Look at me.”

It took a while. Much longer than he would have liked. But eventually, you gave in to his demand and your eyes found his, though your glistening gaze was, once again, filled with sadness.

“I know this is the first time we’ve seen each other in a long time and the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you don’t have to mourn our past, because I don’t intend on letting you get away from me again. Do you understand me?”

Your sad eyes widened. “You’re saying-”

“I’m saying I want you back in my life, if that’s okay with you.”

You knew the serious expression on Kento’s face well. He meant every word.

“I assumed we’d go our separate ways once again after this surgery . . . that I probably wouldn’t see you again until you needed a hip replacement in your late sixties,” you couldn’t help but let a single tear fall down your cheek.

A low, brief chuckle came from Kento. He leaned forward. Reaching out, he cupped your cheek, stroking the tear away with his thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Come here.” With the hand that was resting on your cheek, Kento guided your head towards his chest as he leaned back against the hospital bed. Your upper body now rested on top of him. His thumb continued to stroke your wet cheek.

“Forgive me for saying so, but as soon as you walked through that door, I knew I wanted to start daydreaming about marrying you once again.”

“Good,” you smiled. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”

“I won’t get you in trouble for holding you like this, will I?” Kento asked, though he couldn’t think of anything worse than letting you go.

“Don’t stress about it. No matter what anyone says, I run this hospital. I can do what I want. Including this.”

Suddenly, you leaned up to press a kiss on his cheek.

“But I better get going,” you said. “It’s almost time for your surgery.”

You started to rise into a sitting position, but Kento’s large hand cupped the side of your face, halting your movements.

“Wait,” he darted his soft eyes down to your lips. “It’s too soon for this, but I need to do it anyway.”

Kento’s lips met yours in a surprise kiss so loving, so passionate, it took your breath away — there was nothing left except that familiar warmth and the feeling of his lips moving against your own. You truly didn’t know if the kiss lasted five seconds or five minutes because when he pulled away, it still felt like it was much too early.

“That kiss didn’t happen too soon,” You uttered breathlessly. “I’ve waited years for that.”

You staggered as you rose to your feet. Leave it to Kento Nanami to make you go weak at the knees.

Dragging your hands across your coat and scrubs to ensure they weren’t oddly twisted or wrinkled, you said, “Now I’ve really gotta go. But I look forward to slicing into you!”

⚕️ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

“You’re awake.”

It was the voice of an angel. Had to be. But, as Toji’s blurry vision cleared as he blinked, blinked, and blinked — he made out the sterile environment devoid of color and packed to the brim with machines that were wired to his battered limbs — he realized he was in a hospital room, not the afterlife.

“Welcome back,” you smiled.

Toji felt your thumb gently stroke his forehead. Your touch was so comforting. So soothing. It calmed his initial urge to panic as a result of the massive wave of pain and confusion that hit him as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Toji, you’re alright. You were in a construction accident.” Another voice spoke up, but Toji’s eyes didn’t bother searching for the source. They were on you — the pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel, smiling at him.

— ⚕️—

It took several days for Toji to regain the strength to move. Talking was a lost skill to him for weeks.

God, were head-to-toe injuries painful. His nurses informed him — when he could manage to stay conscious, at least — that unsafe conditions led to him falling from a dangerous height while working at a construction site. Most people would have died instantly during an accident like that. If they were lucky enough to survive the initial fall and aftermath of collapsing debris, then they more than likely would have died on the operating table.

But Toji, however, had a brilliant surgeon who operated endlessly for hours upon hours to save his life. Brilliant.

Was it you? The pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel who smiled at him when he first awakened? Just where did you go?

You suddenly walked into Toji’s room as if his thoughts had summoned you.

Before you could speak, he asked, “You the one who saved my life?”

“I am. My surgical team and I worked very hard. I’m glad you pulled through. How are you feeling?”

“Took you long enough to come check on me again,” Toji ignored your question, speaking with a soft, tired smile. “Haven’t seen you since I woke up. Was starting to think my mind made you up.”

“Actually,” you paused, approaching the side of his hospital bed. “I came by almost every night to check on you. You were just fast asleep. You can thank our pain medication for that.”

“Hm . . .” Toji’s eyelids were growing heavy. He spoke over the beeping vital monitors and IV pumps. “Guess I owe you one for . . . saving . . .”

He was fast asleep.

You smiled down at his face, which, although bruised and bandaged, was still quite handsome.

As you walked away, you heard the black-haired man mumble in his drug-induced state, “. . . so goddamn pretty.”

—⚕️—

The following physical therapy-filled weeks were rather difficult for a man like Toji. The struggles he endured were not only physical, but mental as well.

After all, he prided himself on having such an athletic build and insane strength — the amount of pounds he could lift with ease was startling.

But for a while, he was no longer the man who could haul just about anything with very little effort. He was a man who needed assistance to stand up. To walk. And his spirit was crushed, even well after he regained those lost skills and was deemed recovered enough to be discharged.

He was rather certain that if it wasn’t for a certain angel sticking by his side throughout his two-month hospital stay, he wouldn’t have found the strength to keep going.

—⚕️—

Toji Fushiguro found himself at a local, quiet bar more often than he’d like to admit. Most times, a wave of self-hatred washed over him every single time he grabbed a seat and ordered a drink, but not today. Today, he was happy to walk into the bar, because you were there.

“Can I buy you a drink, doc?”

You looked up from your phone screen to find your former patient standing at the side of the little table you occupied.

“Toji?” You smiled. “Wow. It’s refreshing to see you outside of the hospital.”

“And without a hospital gown on, I bet,” a little smirk pulled at the vertical scar on his lips. “It’s nice to see you without that white coat on, ‘cause that means I’m no longer in that hospital, even if the coat is pretty hot on you. Who knew I’d have a thing for doctors.”

“Aren’t you straightforward?” You gave a little laugh, then nodded at the empty seat across from you. “Sit down. Join me.”

As Toji pulled out the chair opposite of you, he said, “I was kinda worried, thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you again after getting discharged.”

“Really? I figured after seeing me every day for . . . how long has it been, two months, right? I assumed you’d be sick of seeing me.” You took a sip of your water. Condensation coated the cool glass.

“Sick of the hospital, yeah, but not you,” Toji propped his elbow up on the table and rested the side of his head in his hands. “Anyway, about that drink. Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“Toji, you know you don’t owe me for saving your life. It’s my job.”

“I don’t care. I owe you one. But an overpriced drink wasn’t how I was gonna pay you back anyway.”

“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows. “How were you going to pay me back, then?”

“I’ve got a lot of ideas. One of them involves you comin’ home with me. Another involves a nice dinner, whichever you prefer. Though if you really wanna know what I think, I think you should pick both.”

You waited for any sort of indication that, perhaps, the handsome man was joking. But you knew Toji quite well after spending much time with him, and he never bothered with being dishonest or secretive about his feelings.

Hospital food tasted like crap? He said so. Exhaustion lingering within your eyes despite your professional smile? He pointed it out.

You gave him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief. The chair scraped against the floor as you got up to leave the table.

Toji wasn’t surprised to see you leave. He expected to be turned down, having been your former patient. Pursuing any sort of relationship probably disinterested you due to moral and ethical-

“Aren’t you coming?”

Toji turned around. You stood there patiently, having halted your footsteps a short distance away from the table.

“Huh?” He blinked. So you were interested. Another small smile couldn’t help but grace his face. “What about that drink?”

“Forget about it,” you waved him over. “I like what you came up with more.”

“Oh yeah? Which idea?” Toji asked, rising from his seat.

“Both.”

“Then let’s go, angel.” Toji grabbed ahold of your hand, guiding you towards the exit. “I hope you like Italian food. And my version of physical therapy.”

⚕️— 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

Sharp intuition and good instincts were valuable skills one needed in the medical field. As one of the most skilled surgeons in the hospital, the best of the best, according to your peers — and, well, your low mortality rate — your skill set was rather exceptional.

There was, however, a drawback to having good instincts. It was the impending doom you couldn’t shake when your gut told you that something was off.

Though your incredibly long shift had come to an end, you hadn’t yet left the hospital. After all, today, your surgeries were all brief and complication-free. The ER wasn’t too chaotic. Even your coffee tasted extra pleasant today.

Things were going well. Too well.

Your time working as a surgeon had taught you one thing: a peaceful day working in a hospital was a bad sign.

And those good instincts of yours? They told you not to leave just yet.

Many nurses darted their eyes at you curiously, silently questioning why you hadn’t yet run out of the building once your shift was over. Free time was all too rare for a surgeon, so why, just why, were you hanging around in the ER, leaning against the counter of the nurses’ station?

You were taking a tentative sip of your beverage when a car arrived outside of the ER’s automatic sliding seethrough doors.

A man stepped out, not wasting time with trivial matters such as shutting his car door, and he swung open another car door. You couldn’t see what he was doing exactly due to the distance. Not until he stepped into the ER with an unconscious, blood-covered girl in his arms.

“Sir?” You called out.

The dark-haired man didn’t respond. He was in a state of shock.

You and your medical team rushed to find a gurney, ready to assess the girl in his arms, but he wasn't ready to let go of her just yet.

You gave him a sympathetic, but urgent look. “Sir, you need to let us help her. Can you tell us what happened?”

No response.

The man himself was bleeding from his head.

“Sir,” you tried yet again, speaking softly. He didn’t look at you until you touched the bloody hand he had hooked around the young girl’s shoulder. “I promise I will try my best to help her. I need you to trust me.”

He blinked a few times as if coming out of a daze. He placed the girl on the gurney.

— ⚕️—

It was a car accident. The man, who was named Suguru Geto, sat in the waiting room for hours, refusing medical attention for his own injuries. The young girl he carried into the ER was one of his adopted daughters.

Operating on her with the information a nurse passed on to you in mind gave you the strength you needed to push through your exhaustion — to save a young girl on the brink of death.

“I need you to stay strong for me, Mimiko,” you mumbled against your surgical mask, putting down one surgical tool and grabbing another — your scalpel. “Your dad’s waiting for you, sweet girl.”

Though the girl was unconscious, you continued to speak to her throughout the operation.

You couldn’t help it — perhaps believing it mattered on a subconscious or even spiritual level.

When the surgery came to an end, you gave Suguru an update, informing him that Mimiko was stable for now and that he could visit her soon.

“Thank you.” A shaky, relieved breath escaped from between his lips, and though he was happy to hear the news, he started to cry. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the blood on his skin — he couldn’t help but break down over the situation, now that it was partially over.

You wasted no time in grabbing a seat next to Suguru.

Wrapping your arms around him, you held the stranger, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s alright,” you whispered kindly.

Suguru pulled away from you after a couple of minutes. You gave him a smile. However, it didn’t take long for the corners of your lips to dip into a frown.

“Mr. Geto, your forehead.” You rose from your seat. “You need stitches. Please let me help.”

It took a moment, but he eventually nodded and got up as well.

You were well within your rights to go home, to pass off this mundane suturing opportunity to someone with less responsibility within the hospital, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You were going to stick with this family throughout their entire healing process.

For a while, you treated Suguru’s wound in silence — beyond the general bustling hospital noise.

“You seem tired. Am I keeping you here past your shift?” Suguru suddenly spoke up.

You were silent for a moment, uncertain of how to respond.

“I’m just glad I was here, Mr. Geto.”

“Anyone who saves my daughter’s life can call me Suguru.” He stared down at the dried blood on his hands. “While you were still in surgery, a nurse gave me an update. She told me how hard you were working, and that you were speaking to Mimiko as if she was your own child.”

“I was. I like to talk to all my patients during surgery. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all, why would it? I appreciate it. You seem very caring.” Suguru would have smiled if he had the energy.

“Tired and caring, hm?” You grinned softly, finishing the last stitch.

“I’m sure I will come up with more adjectives in due time.”

Your smile widened, and even Suguru managed to give a tiny grin.

— ⚕️—

Suguru Geto approached you in the hospital hallway during your lunch break a few weeks later, on the day his dear daughter would get discharged. The man who you came to know after seeing him and his family on nearly a daily basis tapped your shoulder.

“Hm?” You turned around, and your eyes darted down to a packaged baked good in Suguru’s hands.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Consider it a personal thank you for taking such great care of my daughter.” Suguru held out the tiny box, and you took the pastry.

“Oh, Mr. Geto, You didn’t need to do this for me. I was just doing my job,” you grinned.

“Your job was to save her life. To talk with her about her hobbies and interests . . . to comfort her . . . that was going above and beyond.” Suguru stared at you with sincerity and respect. “She’s been rambling on and on about you non-stop. I know you’re a busy person, but she said she’d still like to see you even after getting discharged, should you ever have the freetime.”

“Of course. She’s a sweet girl — both your girls are,” looking down at the sweet treat in your hands, you said, “and this looks amazing. You’re too kind, Suguru!”

“Believe me, I’m not normally a kind person. But you deserve every bit of kindness I might be able to spare.”

“A single father to two girls he adopted, who bakes pastries for other people? Sure seems like you’re pretty kind.”

Suguru stepped closer. He leaned down a bit, as far as he could without raising any suspicion from nearby medical staff and guests, and he whispered into your ear, “You just don’t know me very well. But I was thinking about how much I’d like to change that.”

“How so?” You whispered back.

Suddenly, Suguru stepped away. He grabbed your wrist, leading you towards the on-call room he fully intended on sneaking you both into.

You could hardly put the pastry down and lock the door before his lips were on yours hungrily. His hands were busy pulling off your white coat, your top, and undoing the drawstrings of your scrub pants.

His mouth made its way down to your neck. He sucked and kissed at your skin, all the while his hand snaked their way into your underwear.

“Remember when I started to cry, and you held me?” He asked softly, his breath patting against your skin.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I remember.”

“I think I should return the favor,” he paused, his fingers finding your clit while his other hand held you against his bigger frame. “Let me hold you while you cum.”

🩺 — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Mother's Day

Dad! Bang Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Chan makes sure Mother's Day is great! Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, creampie, fingering, oral (both receiving), pet names, bit of a breeding kink, tooth rotting fluff. A/N: Mother's Day is not my favorite holiday, however I did enjoy writing this. Thinking of all those who struggle on days like today. You aren't alone! Comment if you'd like to be apart of my taglist. Sweet nonnie, i hope this is what you wanted! Requests are OPEN- just bare with me.

Chan woke up early in the morning, making sure Hwan didn’t wake you, he got him to help him in the kitchen for a sweet breakfast in bed, pancakes, orange juice, and bacon. Chan smiles as your son places the fruit on the pancakes making a smiley face of chocolate chips and strawberries Hwan cut himself with his little kid friendly strawberry cutter.

“Do you think she wants whip cream?” Chan asks and your sons eyes light up.

“Yeah!” He shouts and your son smiles reaching for the can. Chan helps him make a nose for your pancakes. Then tips up the can filling his mouth with some. Hwan opens his automatically and Chan smirks with a playful eyeroll as he puts some of the whip cream into his son’s mouth.

“Mmmm, yummy!” He says with a mouthful making Chan laugh.

“Let’s go see if she’s up!” Hwan hops down running down to your room.

Chan grabs the tray, and the homemade card Hwan had made the night before, and follows after him.

You’re sound asleep when you feel a tiny weight bounce onto the bed.

“Eomma!” He shouts, “Happy Mother’s Day!” he squeals and jumps on top of you. You groan lightly as you get acclimated to the room. You smile at your sweet boy just before seeing Chan walk in, a sheepish smile on his face and a tray full of food.

“What’s this?” you ask eyeing your son.

“Breakfast!” Hwan cheers.

“Look, I even cut the strawberries all by myself!” Hwan’s smile is proud and you hug him to your side.

“You did excellent! I’m so proud of you!”

Chan sets the food down in front of you, and you look up at him longingly.

“To the best Eomma in the world. I love you- Hwan” You note the drawing of your little family on the front of the card and you can’t control the wide smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you pull your son to your side and kiss the top of his head. He smiles, a light blush painting his cheeks. Chan smiles as the two of you.

“Happy Mother’s Day, baby,” he kisses your lips quickly before he’s tries to shoo himself and Hwan out.

“I wanna stay,” he pouts.

“That’s fine, baby. You and Daddy can both stay.” Chan bites a back smile. Calling him daddy was definitely something you knew you could do to tease him. He comes over sitting beside you, your son nestled between the two you.

“Can we watch Bluey?” Your son asks and you hand him the remote.

“Buddy, we watch Bluey all the time, what about one of Eomma’s shows?” You smirk waving your hand.

“I don’t mind Bluey.” You say. The smile on your son’s face is brighter than the sun.

-

The rest of the day Chan makes sure you’re pampered. Promptly after breakfast he takes the dishes and washes them, before coming back to inform you he booked you a nail appointment at your favorite salon- manicure and pedicure.

“You know how to spoil a girl,” you tease as you kiss him goodbye.

“I wanna go too,” Hwan starts to pout and you kiss his forehead.

“Baby I’ll be back soon, besides, there’s nothing for you to do there but sit and be bored.” You smile down at him despite the sadden look on his face.

“What if I let you help me with a special surprise for Eomma?” Chan asks and this gets his attention quickly.

“OK!” he runs back to his dad, letting you leave peacefully.

“Christopher Bahng what do you have planned?” You smirk before he just smiles at you.

“You’ll see.”

-

Coming home from the nail place, and the delicious lunch Chan practically paid for, you come to a clean house.

You gasp, the sight completely unexpected. Laundry done and folded, dishes clean and put away, the floor clean, clutter and trash free.

Spotless.

“Chan, this place looks amazing,” you put your hand to your chest as he walks out of the bedroom.

“Thank you,” he smiles at you.

“I have another surprise for you.” He smiles.

“Where’s Hwan?”

“Napping,” he chuckles, “Running the vacuum tuckered him out.” He informs you. You can feel the nervous excited anticipation fill your veins.

“Come on, he pulls you to the bedroom, opening the door for you to see a familiar dress. You gasp, it’s the one you mentioned two months ago in passing while out shopping together.

“Chris, you- you remembered?” You turn to him, a knowing smile on his face.

“Of course I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful it would look on you.” He says before kissing your shoulder.

“And you’re wearing it tonight.” He smiles.

“Tonight?” He nods, wordless.

-

You and Chan are in the bedroom getting dressed, your little boy Hwan sitting on the bed watching Bluey. You cast a glance to Chan in the mirror of your vanity only to find him already staring-smirking- at you. You blush under his gaze, heartrate slowly accelerating. The dress fit like a glove, and Chan couldn’t take his eyes off you. You’re even more beautiful in it than he could have imagined.

“What time are you going to be home?” He asks.

“Late, so make sure you listen to grandma and grandpa, ok?”

“Meaning he’ll be up when we get home and hyped up on sugar,” Chan smirks and you give him a half smile.

“It’ll be fine.” You whisper to him.

There’s a knock at your door, and Chan answers it as you finish your make up.

“Halmeoni!” He squeals when he hear’s Chan’s mother in the kitchen. His little legs carry him out of the room as fast as they can. You chuckle as you finish the blush on your cheeks before closing the compact and standing up. You look over your outfit one last time before sighing and nodding once to yourself.

“You ready to,” Chan stops as he see’s the reflection of you in the mirror.

“On second thought,” he charms as he puts his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, “Let’s cancel dinner,” he says lowly with a kiss to the side of your neck, “And go straight to desert. All tastey,” he hums, “and sweet,” another kiss just below your ear, “and wet.” His lips brush your ear and you shiver a slight blush appearing under your make up clad face.

“No, we are not skipping dinner,” you chuckle as you rest in his arms. His arms are what eternity must feel like, strong, safe, and exactly where you’re meant to be.

-

The two of you say goodbye to Hwan and arrive at the restaurant, the place feeling warm and intimate.

Chan had requested a private booth for the two of you in the corner of the building.

“This is so beautiful,” you smile as you notice the bouquet of red roses on the table. You smile at him and kiss his cheek before smelling the beautiful flowers.

“Baby, thank you,” you smile as your heart swells in your chest.

“Only the best for my girl,” he smiles as he watches you dote over the flowers, the petals smooth as silk against your fingertips.

Both of you order, Chan sparing no expense. Your favorite meal, fancy champagne, even a live violinist playing soft music for you in the corner.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” He smiles as he takes your hand. You couldn’t be happier. The dinner is perfect, something out of a fairytale.

-

“So, change of plans,” Chan says as he opens the car door for you.

“Hmm?” You answer, a quirked brow prominently displayed on your face.

“Hwan’s staying the night at my parent’s place.” You smirk at him and nod your head.

“So, you know what that means?” You smile at him and he turns his face slightly with his brow raised.

“We get to be in bed by 10!” You sigh in relief as Chan smiles, a small laugh escaping him.

-

Pulling up to the house, your breath hitches, the sidewalk is lined with candles and flowers, all the way up the steps to the front door.

You look over to your man who’s doing everything he can to act casual.

“Christopher,” you say barely above a whisper but he doesn’t pay you any attention- not yet.

He opens your car door taking your hand, kissing the back of it making eye contact as he does, and leads you inside. He puts your roses on the counter while you take in the sight before you; candles light the living room just enough to see, the faint golden glow romantic and sweet, and he leads you to the bedroom. Entering the room, candles are littered throughout it, rose petals on the floor, the bed made, but ready to be destroyed. You gasp as the intimate atmosphere causes goosebumps to be pulled onto your skin.

“Better than an early bedtime, right?” Chan whispers in your ear and you instinctively lean into his touch, his arms coming around your waist, lips attaching to your neck in soft, sensual kisses.

“Come on, there’s more,” he smirks as he places one final kiss below your ear. He unzips your dress slowly and you let it fall to the floor. He grabs you a blanket and has you lay on the bed on your stomach.

He grabs the oils, ridding himself of his shirt, and changing his pants so he doesn’t ruin his nice ones. You feel the mattress dip beneath you.

“Happy Mother’s Day to me,” you mumble, staring at his defined chest and abs. He chuckles squirting some of the oil into his hands.

“Lay back and relax, baby girl. I’ve got you.” He smiles as you lay your head down on your arms. His hands start to massage your back, slowly applying pressure first to your neck, then down your shoulders. Soft moans and gasps escaping you. His thumbs applying the right pressure to your shoulders.

“Mmm, feels good,” you encourage as he moves down your thighs. The amount of non-sexual pleasure causes heat to pool between your legs; a slight tinge of embarrassment hits you as you realize you’re getting off to this. You hide your face to hide the blush as you feel Chan start to massage your feet, your moans unable to be stopped.

Chan bites his lip, the noises are turning him on more than he expected, but tonight was about you, what you wanted to happen and if sex wasn’t apart of the deal, he would be ok with that. But if it was, he’d be elated all the same.

He notices your body arch into his touch as he comes back up, massaging in the back of your thighs again and he smirks, testing the waters, he dips his hand dangerously close to bare core. The tiniest whimper escapes you as his fingers brush your folds and your ass lifts slightly up into the air, causing the blanket to slide down onto your back some, exposing you to him. Chan takes a deep breath, his pants becoming tighter by the minute.

His hands move away from your core, massaging your back once more, his hands dipping down to your sides, briefly ghosting over the side of your breast.

“Chan,” you whine quietly.

“Yes, my love?” His voice drips with a cockiness you’re all too familiar with. All you do is whimper in response.

“Use your words, dear, I don’t know what a whimper means,” he mocks.

He knows.

All too well.

Your hips lift off the bed again. He looks down at you.

“Touch,” you breathe out, your mind already trying to go.

“All ready losing it and I haven’t even touched you properly.” He chuckles to himself. All you can do is slide your ass up into the air more, creating a beautiful arch, one that Chan quietly releases a groan at. He wipes his hands of the oil, coming up behind you, your folds already wet.

“Please,” you whine as you feel his hands go to either of your thighs. His fingers spread you open, his tongue teases you at first, tasting your arousal and he moans at the salty sweet taste.

“So good,” he whispers to himself before diving in, tongue circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your eyes flutter closed as your mouth drops open, a moan leaving your throat.

“Fuck,” you whisper as your rest your forehead against the mattress. His tongue circles and flicks, pleasure building in your body with every little bit of stimulation. He sticks his tongue into your entrance, and you push back onto his face as you pant.

“Chris, I’m- oh fuck,” you gasp as he goes back to your growing clit, replacing his tongue with his finger. Your walls clench around his finger, squelching already audible from how wet you are. Normally you would hate hearing it, but tonight, you’re so relaxed and pleased you don’t have it in you to care.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” you squeeze your eyes tighter as he curls his finger down, directly stimulating your sweet spot as his tongue continues mercilessly circling your clit.

He can feel how close you are, how your cunt keeps sucking his fingers in and how you’re trying desperately to rock your hips against him. His tongue moves hard and fast, adding a second finger to your tight pussy as he hits it harder, sending shockwaves through your body as your orgasm builds more and more.

“Fuck, Chris I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as your muscles are locking up, heart rate speeds up and your breathing becomes desperate pants.

“Come on, cum for me baby. Let me taste you,” he tells you. That’s all it takes, your walls clamp down around his fingers, your face twists in pleasure as your body shakes and toes curl; your orgasm wrecking you.

Chris moans against you as he cleans you up, tasting your juices on his tongue.

“So fucking good for me,” he praises as he places kisses on your lower back, kneading your ass just a little. He allows you a second to come back to earth before helping you roll over.

“More,” you grab at him, pulling him down so your lips finally meet in a hot, messy- slightly salty- kiss. Teeth knocking ever so slightly, tongues gliding against one another, both of you tasting the other and exploring your mouths. For a brief moment you go back to when you were younger, a memory of a similar make out session happening on his couch, one that was interrupted by his parents coming home. You smile against his mouth at the flashback. Two young innocent kids, little did you know the future that laid before you.

“That good huh?” he pants against your lips. You moan in response, hands going from his neck to his broad shoulders, down his chest.

“Lay back,” you whisper to him and he obliges. You watch him lay down, his eyes are on your chest, your breasts bouncing ever so slightly as you position yourself, chest to chest. You kiss him once, before moving down to his jawline, a hand running up and down his taut stomach, soft moans escaping you as the passion in you continues to burn bright.

“Fuck I want you so bad,” you whisper into his ear.

“Wanna taste you, feel you, own you.”

This earns a straight up whimper from him as his hips lift into the air at your words.

“I’m yours, baby.” He breathes out, eyes closed and head slightly turned giving you better access to neck. His hand finds its way into your hair, cradling it your head.

You kiss down his chest, your freshly manicured hands touching his sensitive nipples, making him shudder before you gently lap at each one, his head tipping in back in pleasure. You glance down at his crotch, noticing a damp spot where the head of his cock should be. You softly groan at the sight, but decide to take your time, worshiping his body. You leave open mouthed kisses down his stomach, taking your time, tracing a few of his muscles with your tongue on your way down.

The feeling of your wet tongue on his skin makes him gasp, goosebumps popping up on his skin. He grinds his hips against the air, desperate for friction.

“M on fire,” he whimpers out as you place kisses along his happy trail, just above his waist band. Your index finger playfully runs up the bulge in his pants, and he hisses at the contact, a slight twitch being seen underneath the clothing. You grin as you place one last kiss to his pelvis before sliding his pants off, his cock springing free.

“Oh god,” you whisper as you see how hard he is. You squeeze your thighs together, the feeling of his cock like a ghost in your hole. You tease his slit, earning a groan from him, smearing the precum over his shaft as his head tips back, a growl coming from his throat.

“Fuck, please, I want your mouth,” he pants. You take a moment to really drink in the image, his body is putty in your hands, yours to use and play with, his eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging open, muscles tense under your touch.

You wrap your lips around him, Chan having to do everything he can to not buck his hips up into you. He watches you slowly sink down, then back up, sucking his cock like it’s going out of style.

“Ah,” he gasps, panting, hand finding its way to the back of your head, not to push or even guide, but to ground himself. To keep him from losing all control right now. The way your cheeks hollow out feel like heaven, the way his cock almost touches the back of your throat is euphoric, and you can feel how the twitches inside your mouth.

“Baby- ah fuck - baby, s-stop.” He pleads breathlessly. You oblige immediately, looking up at him to see if he’s ok.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He laughs breathlessly and pulls you up to him, flipping you on your back.

“No, you’re perfect, jus wanna be inside you when I cum. Fill you up all nice and pretty.” He murmurs, practically babbling at his point with how bad he wants to please and fill you. He lines himself up at your entrance.

“Could make you a mommy again, yeah? See you filled up with me, all swollen and beautiful,” he moans at the thought.

“Shh, Chris, Chris,” he’s so far gone when he looks at you, you can see the way he snaps back.

“’m sorry,” he mumbles before kissing your lips as he slides in. You gasp, the motion unexpected, and he takes his time to explore your mouth once more.

“Fuck,” you choke out. He stays still for a moment, bracing himself on one hand besides your head, the other stroking your cheek.

“What do you think though, about having another someday?” You look up at him, his eyes communicating he isn’t kidding.

“Someday, yeah.” Your hand cups his cheek, his brown eyes sparkle ever so slightly against the candle light. He dips his head down, capturing your lips as he slowly rocks his hips into yours; both of you moaning at how good it feels to be connected as one.

“Fuck, go faster,” you plead as your lips separate, but your foreheads stay together, both covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“Ah, fuck,” he moans, dropping his head to your shoulder, placing kisses and a few love bites every now and again. Your chests are pressed together, bodies rocking together at the movement of his hips. Your legs wrap around his torso, heels slightly digging into his back.

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear. You’re holding onto his shoulder’s, nails beginning to bite into the flesh underneath.

“Ah,” he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry,” you whimper and he shakes his head bringing his face back to yours.

“No, no feels good,” he screws his eyes shut as he feels it again, a low growl leaving him.

“I love you too,” you whisper and he brings his forehead back down to yours again.

His thrusts are sloppier now; he brings a hand down between you and furiously rubs circles on your clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, keep going, keep going, keep -oh shit,” your body starts to tense, nails scratching at his back, leaving behind thin red lines.

“Come on baby, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” he pants. That sends you over the edge, a loud cry echoes in the room as your body locks up, Chan fucking you through it, helping you ride the wave of your toe-curling orgasm. Chan’s hits as the after shocks hit you, his face buried in your neck as he cries out, sloppily pumping into you as you feel it warmth between your legs.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers as he stills, his orgasm just as intense and heavy. His heart thuds against his chest as he takes a moment to come back to reality, the aftershocks wearing off. He places a single longing kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out and laying down beside you. You look at each other, you share pink dusted cheeks, sweaty bodies and you’re totally fucked out.

“You are the most amazing woman,” he breathes as he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the world. You smile and lean over kissing his forehead. He grabs a wash cloth, dampens it with warm water and starts to clean you up, murmuring apologies as the cloth swipes across your sensitive center as gasps along with hip jerks flow from you.

The two of you crawl under the covers, snuggling each other, limbs tangled.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, the sound of the now apparent rain beating against the window for background noise.

“For what?” He mumbles.

“For an amazing day, for being an amazing dad and just everything you do for us,” You look up at him nostalgically, thankfully, and smile. He cups your cheek with his left hand.

“I’d do anything for you, y/n.” he whispers before placing a kiss on your forehead. Chan watches as you slowly fall asleep, quietly getting up blowing out each candle, saving the clean up for the morning before you have to go pick up your son.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader

Please do not repost my work

Love notes, comments and requests are appreciated!

[holeforzenin]

Toji secretly loves supporting your studio Ghibli addiction <3

Toji doesn’t get the obsession at all. But the way your eyes would light up when you talk about it? The way your face goes soft and dreamy whenever he mentions it, even in passing? He gets that. It’s why he’s got a habit of slipping little things into his pockets whenever he sees them—keychains, pins, those overpriced plushies that dangle off your bag. He never buys them all at once, just picks them up here and there, pretending like it’s no big deal when he drops them onto your lap.

“You’re gonna run me broke, kid,” he grumbles, handing you a Totoro mug he picked up from a pop-up market on his lunch break. It’s wrapped in a crinkly plastic bag, the receipt still tucked inside. His expression is gruff, but there’s a flicker of softness in his eyes when you gasp, cradling it like it’s made of fragile glass.

“Oh my gosh, Toji! Look at it! It’s so cute!” you squeal, holding it up to the light as if inspecting its every detail. He just shakes his head, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed and a faint smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. You keep squealing like that and the damn neighbors are gonna think I’m killing you in here”. He’s teasing, but the way his eyes soften when you set the mug down with care and launch yourself at him isn’t. Toji catches you easily, hands stable on your hips as you wrap your legs around his waist and presses your face into his neck, babbling about how sweet he is.

“You’re gonna spoil me,” you mumble against his throat, words muffled but warm.

“Yeah? Maybe I like spoiling you, ever think of that?” His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he lets out a low chuckle. “Gotta keep my girl happy, don’t I?”

And he does. He’s got a knack for it—leaving tiny Ghibli trinkets scattered around the apartment like breadcrumbs for you to find. A Spirited Away necklace tucked under your pillow, a Howl’s Moving Castle notepad waiting on the kitchen counter when you wake up. It’s his way of saying he’s thinking about you, even when he’s busy with work.

“You really don’t have to—” you start to protest one morning when he hands you a Totoro plush, its soft belly squished against his broad hand. He just scoffs, pressing it into your arms.

“Shut up and take it,” he grumbles, reaching out to tug you closer by your waist. His thumb rubs slow circles against your hip, eyes flicking down to the plush in your grip as you try to hide the excitement. “Besides…you look cute with it”.

Your cheeks warm instantly, and you clutch it tighter. “I love you, y’know”.

Toji huffs out a laugh, rough and genuine. “Yeah, I know, baby”. He leans in, lips brushing your forehead. “I love you too”.

[lilhughesy]

A Lake House Love Story | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

warnings! mentions of insecurity and hints towards sex (nothing graphic). word count: 3.0k

summary: When you and Jack are at the lake house, it seems like there is something in the air that changes the dynamic of your friendship.

You were one of the many friends that were invited to the Hughes Lake House every summer. From his parents' lake house during your teen years to the lake house that Jack and Quinn bought together in Michigan. It was always a highlight of your year and something to look forward to. With being reunited with all of your friends, who all played in the national hockey league and were scattered across America and Canada during the year, alongside being able to take time away from the real world and simply relax.

Although you weren't a hockey player in the NHL, like the rest of the guys, you were involved in the sports world. From being a student athletic therapist and part-time student coach while studying at the University of Michigan to now being an athletic therapist for the Vancouver Canucks.

Your life was fast paced and it was busy. From the busyness of the Canadian city itself to constantly tending to the different hockey players on a daily basis. You loved it though, it was everything you could have ever asked for. Plus, it was a bonus to be working on the same team that your best friend played for.

The contrast in living styles in Vancouver compared to your summers spent in Michigan was evident. Where in Michigan, you got to spent time under the sunshine with different books that you'd been meaning to read throughout the year and you were fully relaxed. It was seen with everyone who attended the lake house. Everyone coming from the constant on-the-go lifestyle, to the more slowed down and chilled one. Everyone seemed happier, lighter, brighter, and content.

Another difference between your life in Vancouver and your life in Michigan, includes your love life. In Vancouver, you were too busy and didn't think much about dating, rather focused on your career. However, in Michigan, it seemed that the same love story that started when you were nineteen just continues onwards.

You sat in the passenger seat as Quinn drove the both of you to the lake house for another summer. The crisp summer breeze filled the car, with its sweet scent flowing through your hair as you drummed your fingers to the music.

"You have no idea how excited I am for this summer," Quinn said to you, briefly glancing over at you.

"So am I," You nodded, giving your best friend a smile, "Especially after that season... You deserve this break."

He lets out a light chuckle to your words, "Yeah, so do you though."

You only shrugged, "I'm excited to get through my TBR, one of my tote bags is just books that I've collected this past year."

"I'm definitely going to borrow a few of those," Quinn grinned, "Do you think that you and him will make it official this summer?"

Heat rushed to your cheeks, "Maybe... Who knows, I just can't see him as the type to date older."

Quinn rolled his eyes, "You're a year older than him, like nine months older than him."

"But still!"

"You say that yet you two still act the same every summer," He sighed, turning onto the driveway, "It's getting painful to watch, y'know."

You scoffed and lightly smacked his shoulder, "Shut up."

He flashed a teasing smile as he parked the car, "Luke and Jack are already here and I'm assuming that the rest of the guys are coming this afternoon."

You gave a brief nod before climbing out of his car, barely even having time to take in the sight of the familiar Hughes lake house before you were engulfed in your favourite arms.

"Hey you!" Jack mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the crown of your head, "'m so happy you're here."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Hi, J," You said with a little giggle, "I'm glad you guys decided to invite me again."

"As if it would be summer without you here," Luke joked, standing patiently next to his brother, "Alright, lover boy, let me hug her too. I haven't seen her since March."

Jack let out a complaint under his breath as he released you to allow Luke to greet you properly. You smiled at the curly headed Hughes brother, "Hey Luke."

"Hi Y/N, I hope Quinn didn't try to kill you on the drive here."

You laughed before the four of you made your way into the house. Both Jack and Luke helping Quinn with the bags, and you being responsible for carrying your tote full of books.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

Two weeks into the break and the lake house was in full swing, with Trevor competing with Ethan in shotgunning contests on the dock, Cole and Dylan belting their hearts out to drunken karaoke at night, and quiet mornings spent in Jack's room.

The morning sunlight brought a comforting softness and warmth to his room, peaking through the cracks of his blinds. You cuddled further into his mattress, letting out a content sigh at the weight of his arm lazily resting on your waist.

You felt him shift in his sleep, before pulling you closer to his bare chest. Jack's breathing was still heavy as you glanced over your shoulder to his eyelids flickering, indication that he was fighting to stay asleep. A small smile drew upon your face as you rotated your body to face him better.

"Good morning," You whispered to him, placing a delicate kiss on his jawline.

You watched as he tried to pretend he was still asleep with the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. Your hands slowly traced up the skin of his bare back to his hair, where you gave a light massage to his scalp.

"Mmm," He mumbled, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, "Feels nice."

Jack's voice was raspy and low, with sleep prominent in it. He sighed as you continued to play with his hair, with your own eyes fluttering closed.

"Good morning, baby," Jack said with multiple light kisses to your neck, collarbone, and shoulder, "We should stay here all day."

You let out a breathy chuckle, "You say that every morning, J."

"Do I?" He asked, pulling away to look at you. His blue eyes catching some of the morning sun, which only make them look brighter, "So why haven't we stayed all day in bed yet? I'm very convincing."

"Because we will get FOMO from whatever the rest of the guys are doing."

Jack rolled his eyes before placing a loving kiss on your lips, "I just like spending time with you."

"We should get out of bed," You told him as you start to pull away from his arms, "I'm sure everyone is waking up right about now."

He gave you the infamous Hughes pout as you slipped on his t-shirt from the ground over your previously naked figure before getting out of bed. You gave him another look, seeing him flop back onto the bed, "I think everyone is hungover, more like." Jack grumbled as you walked away from him and towards the ensuite bathroom.

You closed the door behind yourself, sighing as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You brushed your teeth, with a lazy hand on your hip while you dwelled on your thoughts with the typical question of 'What am I doing?'. Which has been bothering you more than ever, after Quinn brought up the fact that you and Jack had been doing the same routine of acting like a couple in the summer to back to friends during the year. At now being at the ripe age of 24, where you started considering looking for a more serious relationship in comparison to the occasional flings and situationships you had during college.

You tied your hair up before washing your face, massaging your cleanser into your skin when you felt Jack wrap his arms around you.

You gave him a weak smile in the mirror as you pat your face with a towel, "Whatcha doin' here?" You asked him.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, clearly admiring your in the mirror, "The bed got cold and lonely without you there."

"You're awfully clingy," You lightly joked, turning away from him to rehang your towel, "For someone who's not my boyfriend." You said under your breath while doing so.

You could feel him straighten, "What did you say?"

"I just said you're being clingy, more than usual." You tried to laugh it off, while avoiding his eye contact.

His thumb brushed under your chin, tilting your face to look at him, "I heard what you said after that though."

You swallowed, "Am I wrong? You aren't my boyfriend, Jack. Besides, I was just teasing your clinginess."

"Do you want me to be your boyfriend?" Jack questioned, his eyes and facial features being somewhat unreadable.

You hesitated.

Of course you wanted him to be your boyfriend. No other man has ever treated you as well as him. Jack knew you so well and could read you better than anyone (other than maybe Quinn). But did he want to be your boyfriend? Especially when there's hundreds of other beautiful girls that probably deserved him more than you?

"I- Um," You sputtered, "I don't know."

His face dropped slightly, "I thought we agreed to this being just for fun, nothing serious, and no strings attached."

His tone was a bit harsher than before, you nearly flinched at his words.

"Yeah, whatever Jack," You sighed, finally pulling away from him, "Like I said, I was just teasing you earlier. No need to take it seriously, 'cause this is just for fun, right?"

Jack's Adam's apple bobbed, "Yeah... Sure."

You rolled your eyes when you turned away from him before heading out the bathroom. You grabbed clothes from the dresser, changing out of just his shirt to a bikini with shorts and a tank top. You headed downstairs, in attempts of avoiding the building tension between you and the boy that you had woken up with.

The kitchen was filled with coffee and breakfast aroma, with Ethan and Luke on pancakes duty and Dylan cooking eggs for everyone. You approached them to grab a mug from the cupboard to make a coffee, "Morning."

Luke, Ethan, and Dylan all shared a glance before looking back at you.

"What?" You asked, noticing their shared looks.

"No, nothing." Luke mumbled, turning his focus back to his pancake-making and Dylan nodded along with him.

Ethan kept his gaze on you, "Trouble in paradise, sweetheart?"

You scoffed, "It's none of your business, Eddy."

"Did someone piss in your coffee?" Luke snickered, "I'm kidding, it was a joke,"

"I'm fine, okay?" You told the three, "Is Quinn awake?"

"Yeah, he's reading on the dock I think." Ethan answered, motioning to the back doors.

You thanked him before grabbing your mug and heading outside with your Birkenstocks on your feet. You walked down the grass, feeling the morning dew graze your skin as you made your way to the dock.

You sat in the empty chair next to Quinn, bringing your knees to your chest and resting your mug on your knees.

"Good morning," Quinn greeted you, closing him book carefully, "You okay?"

You shrugged, your eyes focusing on the lake in front of you and admiring how the sunlight sparkled on the water, "Jack and I kinda had an argument this morning."

"Did you?" Quinn asked as his eyebrows raised, "Over what?"

"I made a stupid joke about how clingy he was this morning considering that he wasn't my boyfriend and he asked if I wanted him to be and then it went downhill really fast." You explained to Quinn, "I shouldn't have said anything in the first place to be honest."

Quinn sighed, placing his book on the dock before readjusting his position to be more comfortable, "Well I don't blame you for saying something. I would also be fed up with him after multiple summers of acting like you're a couple when you're not."

"But do you want him to be your boyfriend?" He questioned, "Like genuinely, outside of just hooking up in the summer and shit."

"Obviously," You chuckled, taking a sip out of your mug, "I just cannot see him wanting to date me, I guess."

"You're being insecure again when you shouldn't be," Quinn told you, "You always get like this every time we talk about Jack, you always say some bullshit about not being pretty enough or skinny enough or how you're not a model or influencer or whatever. When in reality, if Jack actually were to care about those things, which he doesn't, he wouldn't still be waiting for you every summer."

"I guess so."

"He cares about you, Y/N. He's talked to me about it so many times. You just need to talk to him about it, like actually talk to him." Quinn emphasized, before picking up his book again, "I promise you, it will go the way you hope."

You nodded, looking away from Quinn and back to the water before getting up from the chair, "Thanks Quinny."

"You know I always have your back, Y/N."

You give him a smile and a squeeze to his shoulder. Multiple thoughts dance around your head as you made your way back inside, this time being greeted to plate loads of food in the kitchen. You saw Jack walk past Luke to sit next to Cole, him barely sparing you as second glance as you closed to door behind you.

"Breakfast." Ethan smiled at you while holding a plate towards you.

"Thanks, Eddy." You take the plate from him and sit by the kitchen island, away from the table where Trevor, Jack, Cole, Ethan, and Dylan sat.

Luke leaned against the counter in the space next to you, "Talking to Q helped?"

"Yeah," You said to the youngest Hughes, "He always knows what to say."

"I don't what you're going through but I can tell he cares a lot about you." Luke told you as he took a bite from his plate.

"Yeah, I care a lot about Quinn too, he's my best friend."

Luke rolled his eyes, "Not Quinn."

You gave a confused look at the boy before he motioned with his head towards his other brother. You sighed, glancing over to him to see him already looking at you.

"You should talk to him." Luke continued before pushing himself off the counter and walked to sit at the table with the rest of the guys.

You sat in thought, only poking at your breakfast now. You still contemplated exactly what you would say to Jack. Despite the reassurance from both Quinn and Luke, you were nervous on addressing the topic that the two of you had been avoiding for years.

You eventually made your way back to your shared room, in search of a book to bring onto the boat.

"Hey," Jack said from behind you, "You alright? You didn't eat much of your breakfast this morning."

He sat down on the foot of the bed, watching you flip through different books.

"I wasn't feeling too well."

"Luke said you went to talk to Quinn this morning," Jack added, "And by the way you've been avoiding eye contact since I entered the room tells me that you aren't sick, but rather something is bothering you."

With the lack of response from your behalf, Jack continued, "Was it something that I did? Was it this morning? I'm sorry if I have been too clingy, I can reel it back."

"Jack, I don't want to keep doing this thing we've been doing." You finally told him, looking away from your pile of books. You watched his expression drop,

'What?"

"I can't keep doing this thing where we act like we're dating when we're at the lake house but then act like different people when we're back to our normal lives," You explained to him, "Every summer its like we live the same lake house love story where we cuddle on the boat, go dancing at the bars together, and we share the same bed- Not to mention the hot mind blowing sex we have. But the second we go back to regular life, I'm just Quinn's friend to you."

"So what are you saying?" He asked, his voice cautious of the fine line he was dancing on, "Do you want me to stay in the spare bedroom?"

"Jack," You shook your head before moving to where he was seated to stand in between his legs, "You can stay in this room with me, but I want us to be together officially. Every summer we basically act like a couple, so why don’t we make it happen?”

He chuckled, his hands going to your hips, "I've been wanting to ask you for that for a while now."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I was scared that you would say no to being my girlfriend." He said, his cheeks tinted pink from his slight embarrassment.

You laughed, "So I had to be the one to ask?"

"Does it matter though? You're my girlfriend now." Jack grinned, standing up to kiss you, "So what were you saying about hot mind blowing sex that we have?" He repeated against the skin of your neck.

Your jaw dropped, "Jack Rowden Hughes!" You exclaimed, slapping his bicep.

"Why are you hitting me and why are you using my government name?" Jack laughed, kissing your jaw, "I'm just repeating what you said!"

"I'm going outside." You huffed jokingly, as you picked up a book from your pile.

He continued to laugh while he followed you outside to where everyone else was lounging and soaking up the Michigan summer sun. Before you knew it, you were upside down on his shoulder as he carried you towards the group. You let out a squeal, "Jack! Put me down!"

He placed you carefully on your feet, before swaying you to the music that Trevor had playing off the large speaker. Jack spun you around before dipping you dramatically, causing giggles to escape your lips.

Jack gave you a cheesy grin as he pulled you close to his chest, “I’m so glad that I can actually call you mine now.”

“We probably should’ve done this sooner,” You teased before pressing a kiss on his lips, “But better late than never.”

“My beautiful girl.” He murmured against your lips. Jack pulled away before leading you towards the docks, “I’m taking my girlfriend on a boat ride! Be back later!” He shouted to the rest of the guys.

"Well it seems like they fixed their problems," Luke said to Quinn, who hummed in agreement.

"They're good for each other." Quinn chuckled, leaning into his chair as he watched the way you and Jack practically skipped down towards the boat.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Hello!! Sorry to bother you *again* buuuttt… *bink bink bink* I was wondering if you could perhaps write something about the boys reacting to afab/fem reader dressing up as their childhood crush? Hope this is enjj ok ugh information, and I feel so bad that I’ve asked you for something again so soon!! Sorrryy!!!

-Lunar🐱

Dream Girl

Pairing: Poly!141 x AFAB/fem!reader

Warnings: Light suggestiveness, pining, fluff, teasing, light language, reader wears outfits inspired by their childhood crushes, mild kissing, strong romantic tones

Author's Note: This was such a joy to write—thank you for the darling idea. I hope it came out as good as you hoped!!

Summary: On a lazy rainy Sunday, you decided to surprise each of her boys by dressing up as the women who stole their hearts during childhood. What starts as a playful gift turns into something a lot more tender.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The rain hasn’t stopped all morning. It taps softly on the windows of your shared quarters, a soothing rhythm that makes the whole place feel like a slow, sleepy dream. The air smells like coffee and warm laundry, and somewhere in the rec room, you can hear the faint hum of a kettle.

The boys are scattered, relaxed. Sunday is sacred—no training, no briefings, no missions.

You’ve been planning this for weeks.

A little mischief. A lot of love. And just enough nostalgia to knock the breath out of each of them.

You’ve already told them you’d be “trying on outfits” today. You left out which ones.

—

THE CAPTAIN AND THE CROFT

You walk into the lounge first, boots heavy, hips swaying. The tank top clings to you in all the right ways. Cargo shorts ride high on your thighs, and the toy gun holsters bounce slightly with each step.

John looks up from his newspaper—classic, worn, and full of half-finished crosswords.

His eyes drag over you.

He doesn’t say a word. Not right away.

You walk to the center of the room and strike a pose, one hand resting on your belt, the other adjusting your braid.

“Well?” you smirk. “Got any ancient tombs that need exploring?”

John exhales through his nose, the paper forgotten. “Lara bloody Croft,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “Are you trying to make me short-circuit, love?”

You grin and strut closer, dropping into his lap. His arms wrap around you instantly, hands warm on your bare thighs.

“I wanted to give you something fun. Something for you.” You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Remember the VHS tapes you said you wore out when you were fourteen?”

His laughter is warm, chesty, completely smitten. “You really are somethin’ else.”

“Say it,” you whisper.

He grins against your cheek. “You’re my dream girl, love. Always have been.”

—

GHOSTS OF CHILDHOOD PAST

Next stop: the armory. You ditch the tank top for a bright yellow cropped jacket, a fake news badge clipped to your chest. Your hair’s styled in soft waves, and you carry a cheap mic like it’s a weapon.

Simon’s alone, gloves on, doing a casual clean of his knives. The fluorescent lights buzz quietly overhead.

You lean in the doorway.

“This is April O’Neil, reporting live,” you say, voice smooth. “Today we bring you exclusive coverage of the most mysterious man on base.”

Simon stills. Knife mid-polish.

Slowly, his head lifts.

You step forward, hips swaying, mic tapping against your chin.

He sets the blade down with exaggerated care. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious, Simon.”

He stands fully now, towering and solid, eyes flicking over every detail of your outfit. His expression is unreadable—but his ears are red.

“April was my first crush,” he mutters, voice low, nearly reverent. “I wanted to be one of the turtles just so she’d notice me.”

You grin, hands curling into his vest. “You think she’d notice you now?”

He huffs a soft laugh and tips your chin up. “She’d fall to her knees.”

You blush, heart thundering.

And when he lifts the bottom of his mask just enough to kiss you—soft, slow, careful—you melt like butter in his hands.

—

SAVE THE WORLD, GET THE GUY

“Johnny,” you call sweetly as you step into the rec room again, “what’s the sitch?”

He looks up from the couch and immediately gasps like he’s seen a ghost—and maybe he has.

“Love, Jesus Christ,” he groans, sitting up straighter. “Is that—are you—Kim Possible?!”

You spin for him dramatically, gloves fitted tight, olive-green cargos hugging your curves. “Ron’s on leave. I’m handling missions solo today.”

He scrambles to his feet and rushes toward you, practically vibrating. “This isn’t fair. You know what you’re doin’ to me, lass.”

“Remind me?”

“You’re everything I wanted at thirteen and everything I want now in one body.”

You laugh as he sweeps you off your feet, spinning you like you weigh nothing. He presses you to the wall gently, nose brushing yours, forehead resting against you.

“Call me, beep me,” he whispers, voice low and hot, “if you wanna wreck me.”

—

PRETTY GUARDIAN POWER

You save Kyle for last—because his reaction is going to be the best.

You slip into the quarters where he’s reading, hoodie draped over his lap. He doesn’t see you at first.

Then you clear your throat and say in your brightest voice: “In the name of the moon, I will punish you!”

Kyle looks up—and freezes.

Full Sailor Scout getup. Skirt, gloves, red bows, fake tiara glittering on your forehead. You pose with your hands on your hips, your grin wide.

He drops his book.

“No way,” he whispers, eyes wide.

“Surprised?” you tease.

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, babe.” He stands, walking slowly, reverently, like he can’t believe you’re real. “Sailor Moon?”

“I heard Sailor Jupiter was your girl.”

“She was. Tall. Tough. Gorgeous.” He stops in front of you, gaze warm. “But I think she just got replaced.”

You giggle as he lifts you into his arms, bridal style, spinning you toward the bed. “What are you doing?” you laugh.

“Dream-fulfillment service,” he teases. “Full package.”

—

Later, you’re curled up on the oversized couch you all had delivered after your last mission. You’re tucked between Simon’s solid chest and Kyle’s warm arm, your legs draped across Johnny’s lap. John’s hand rests on your knee, fingers brushing gently.

“You are ridiculous,” Simon mutters—but he can’t stop smiling.

“Ridiculously hot,” Johnny corrects, dropping a kiss on your ankle.

John chuckles. “I’m just impressed you remembered the details.”

“I remember everything about you boys,” you say softly.

Kyle leans in, his voice gentle. “You really wanted to make us feel special.”

“I always do.”

There’s a moment of silence. Warmth. Shared glances. Then, in perfect harmony, they lean in—kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your lips—until you’re breathless and giggling and entirely, completely theirs.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[keithyp00]

•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss.

A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss.

Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

He backed out slowly.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't tease.

Didn't breathe.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

From Sam.

With a card.

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes.

Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.'

Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

He stopped being annoying.

(Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze.

You didn't cry.

You never cried in front of him.

But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

But Sam came over first.

Bucky didn't come in.

Not until morning.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

~~~~~

You didn't cry.

But you breathed.

And it helped.

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

He became your sounding board.

Your crisis texter.

Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

You blinked.

Bucky squeezed your hand.

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled to yourself.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms.

"She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.

You were real.

You were loved.

And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 7

Wanda Maximoff x Reader 

Summary: Wanda gets jealous. 

Word Count: 5,676

Warnings: fluff, angst

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The soft light of early morning filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. Wanda stirred awake, the comforting presence of Y/N beside her keeping her grounded. She felt warm, her body nestled against the soft sheets, but there was still an underlying unease that wouldn't let her fully rest.

Her eyes flickered open, and instinctively, her gaze moved to Y/N. She was still asleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath. But something tugged at Wanda. She couldn’t shake the worry from last night—the blood on her sleeve, the panic that shot through her when she thought Y/N might have been seriously hurt.

Wanda’s hand slid beneath the covers, slowly, carefully, as she lifted the hem of Y/N’s shirt. Her fingers grazed over the smooth skin where the wound had been. She was expecting the pink line to be there, maybe a faint trace of scarring. But… it was gone. Like it had never existed. Y/N’s skin was flawless, not even a hint of injury left behind.

Wanda blinked, confused. Had she imagined it? No. Pietro was the same, and Y/N has super speed too.

Before she could think more about it, a voice came from beneath her, laced with amusement, though still low and sleepy.

“Buy me dinner first, Maximoff.”

Wanda’s breath caught, and her eyes widened in surprise. She glanced down to see Y/N’s eyes still closed, but the smirk on her face was unmistakable. Y/N was awake, fully aware of Wanda’s actions.

“You’re awake?” Wanda muttered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Before she could stop herself, she slapped Y/N lightly on the arm.

Y/N chuckled softly, eyes still closed, her expression teasing. “Was wondering how long it’d take for you to notice.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, shaking her head.

Y/N’s smirk softened into something more genuine as she lifted a hand, gently caressing Wanda’s cheek. “Stay,” she said quietly, her voice still laced with sleepiness. “I don’t want you to go.”

Wanda hesitated, her heart squeezing in her chest. She could feel the weight of the words—Y/N’s gentle plea, the way her thumb traced over Wanda’s skin, making her insides flutter.

But Wanda knew she couldn’t stay. She had responsibilities. She had to go back to Vision, back to the life she’d promised herself. Back to the life she thought she was supposed to have.

“I can’t,” Wanda whispered, pulling away just slightly. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I have to leave. I need to go back to Vision.”

Y/N’s expression faltered. “Right,” she said, nodding as if the words didn’t sting. “Vision. Got it.”

Wanda swallowed, the guilt heavy in her chest. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N shrugged, still keeping her eyes closed.

Wanda hesitated again, torn between what she wanted and what she thought she should do. But in the end, she leaned down to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead, lingering for a moment before she pulled away.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, barely audible, before slipping out of bed and heading toward the door.

But before she left, she glanced back once more, catching Y/N’s eyes for a fleeting second. Y/N just smiled faintly, her lips curling in a way that almost made Wanda stay. Almost.

With a final, shaky breath, Wanda stepped out into the hallway, leaving Y/N behind. As much as it hurt, she had to go back to Vision. To the life she’d created. Even if it was a life that didn’t feel like hers anymore.

As Wanda left the room, Y/N sighed, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her chest. She knew Wanda was doing what she felt she had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. She glanced at the empty doorway, then muttered softly, her voice quiet and resigned, as she had done countless times before, the words almost an instinct.

“FRIDAY, delete all the footage of Wanda coming here and leaving.”

There was a slight pause before FRIDAY's voice responded. “Of course, Y/N. All footage has been erased.”

Y/N closed her eyes, sinking back into the pillows, her mind a whirl of emotions she couldn't fully process. It felt like a betrayal, even if she understood Wanda’s reasons. Maybe someday things would be different. But for now, all she could do was wait and hope.

---

The morning light poured in through the compound’s high windows as Y/N made her way down to the kitchen, rubbing at her tired eyes. The night hadn’t exactly been restful—not with Wanda sneaking out just after sunrise and leaving a void in her chest that no amount of sleep could fill.

She shuffled in barefoot, dressed in sweats and a loose shirt, hair still a mess. The smell of coffee hit her first, and that alone almost made her smile.

“Look who’s alive,” came a teasing voice.

Y/N blinked up to find Natasha Romanoff already seated at the counter, sipping from a mug like she’d been up for hours. She looked entirely too smug for that early in the morning.

“Barely,” Y/N muttered, reaching for a mug of her own. “Didn’t know assassins were morning people.”

“Didn’t know speedsters needed eight hours of beauty sleep,” Nat shot back. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Thanks. Always great to see you too, Nat.”

Nat grinned and stood up. “Come on, sunshine. You’re sparring with me today. No powers. Just fists.”

Y/N groaned dramatically. “Why? What did I do?”

“You exist,” Natasha said sweetly, already walking toward the training wing. “Now move before I drag you there by your hair.”

“I hate you,” Y/N called, but she was already following, coffee in hand, dragging her feet.

Nat didn’t even turn around. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll love me once you land your first punch.”

Y/N snorted. “Unlikely.”

The training room was cool and quiet when they entered, save for the low hum of the lights overhead. Nat was already tying her hair back as she stepped onto the mat, barefoot and grinning like this was her idea of fun.

Y/N, meanwhile, moved slower. She stretched her arms, rolled her neck, and set her coffee aside with a reluctant sigh.

“No powers,” Nat reminded her firmly, stepping into her stance.

“I know,” Y/N said, holding her hands up. “No speed, no strength. Scout’s honor.”

Nat raised a brow. “You were never a scout.”

“Details,” Y/N muttered.

They circled each other slowly. Y/N kept her movements tight, controlled. She knew one wrong move, one slip of control, and she could hurt Nat without meaning to.

Nat launched first—quick jab, feint, then a low sweep. Y/N jumped back just in time, laughing breathlessly.

“You’re really trying to break me this early?”

“Can’t break what’s already broken,” Nat shot back with a smirk.

Y/N blocked the next hit, countered with a soft jab that Nat easily dodged. She was holding back. Every punch was lighter than it could be, slower than her body naturally wanted to move.

Nat noticed.

“You’re babysitting me.”

“I’m not,” Y/N lied.

“You are,” Nat said, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back. Y/N didn’t resist—she could’ve reversed it easily, but she let Nat sweep her legs out and land her on the mat with a thud.

“Ow,” Y/N muttered, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Nat said above her, hands on her hips. “You’ve got control. I trust you.”

Y/N sighed, still on the floor. “That makes one of us.”

Nat offered a hand. “Get up. And this time, stop being nice.”

Y/N took it, grinning. “You asked for it.”

And this time, when they went again, Y/N didn’t completely hold back. She didn’t use her speed—but her reflexes, her precision, her strength in small, careful bursts—it was enough to earn a breathless curse from Natasha after a particularly smooth takedown.

“Okay,” Nat panted, pinned to the mat with Y/N straddling her hips and grinning down. “Maybe I liked you better when you were nice.”

“I told you,” Y/N teased. “I hate mornings.”

---

After another round that ended with Nat flipping Y/N flat on her back—pure technique, no strength—both women lay side by side on the mat, Nat was breathing heavily and staring up at the ceiling.

“Sometimes I envy your speed.” Nat says sarcastically seeing Y/N is not breathing heavily.

Y/N give her a side smile.

After a moment Nat starts. “So... Clint told me you guys talked.”

Y/N froze for a second before exhaling slowly. “Of course he did.”

“He didn’t break any vows,” Nat added quickly. “Didn’t even tell me details. Just said you two had a long overdue chat. About your situation.”

Y/N stared at the ceiling, the weight of the word situation pressing down harder than Natasha’s takedowns. “Yeah. Soulmate crap.”

“You could just say Wanda,” Nat said softly.

Y/N’s jaw tensed. “What’s the difference?”

Nat turned on her side to face her. “You tell me.”

There was a long pause.

Y/N finally muttered, “He said he went through the same with Laura. That they ignored the bond too. Tried to stay away from each other.”

Nat nodded. “He did. They were both agents. Thought loving each other would be dangerous. That the bond was a liability.”

Y/N’s eyes met hers. “Did it hurt? For him?”

Nat nodded again, slower this time. “A lot. Clint doesn’t talk about it much, but... yeah. The symptoms, the restlessness, the physical pain? He had it all. Same with Laura. They tried to live separate lives for almost a year. Got sicker by the week.”

Y/N was quiet for a long beat, her voice low when she finally said, “I thought maybe it was just me. That I was weak.”

“You’re not,” Nat said firmly. “This bond—it’s primal. You can’t logic your way out of it. And it’s not about weakness. It’s about connection. It’s about being meant.”

“Funny,” Y/N scoffed. “Wanda didn’t get the memo.”

Nat frowned. “She’s scared. Doesn’t make her right—but it makes her human.”

Y/N let out a dry laugh. “Right. The woman I’m supposed to be with is scared of me.”

“She’s not scared of you,” Nat said gently. “She’s scared of what it means. Of what she has to lose. Vision. The life she built.”

Y/N’s voice was almost a whisper now. “What if she never chooses me?”

Nat looked at her for a moment, then reached over and squeezed her hand. “Then I’ll help you survive that too.”

Y/N glanced over as Nat stood to grab a towel, her tone softer now. “Have you met yours? Your soulmate?”

Nat stilled for just a second—barely noticeable, unless you knew her.

She shook her head, not meeting Y/N’s eyes right away. “Not yet.”

Y/N sat up slowly. “Do you want to?”

Nat sighed, wrapping the towel around her neck. “Sometimes I think about it. What it’d be like. If I even deserve one.” She let out a dry laugh. “Pretty messed up thought, huh?”

Y/N gave her a long look. “Not really.”

Nat finally looked at her. “It’s complicated. For people like us, it always is. Soulmate or not.”

Y/N smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Guess I’m just the lucky one who met mine and got rejected.”

“Hey,” Nat said, walking back to her and crouching down. “You’re not alone in this. You got me. You got Clint. And you’ve got time.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Time?”

Nat shrugged. “Time for Wanda to stop being a dumbass.”

Despite herself, Y/N snorted.

“C’mon,” Nat said, standing again. “You owe me breakfast for letting you win that first round.”

“I definitely earned that win,” Y/N muttered, following her.

“You tripped on your own foot.”

“Still counts.”

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush in hand, unmoving. Her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, even though she had slept—for a few hours, at least. In Y/N’s arms. Again.

She hadn’t meant to stay that long. She never did.

But the second her head hit the pillow beside Y/N, her body let go. As if her nervous system recognized safety only in that space, next to that person.

And the moment she slipped out this morning, the ache started again. In her chest. In her wrist.

Wanda glanced down at it now, rubbing at the mark she tried so hard not to look at.

Y/N

Bold. Inescapable.

She’d ignored it for so long, convinced herself that it meant nothing. That what she had with Vision was enough. But it was all unraveling now, wasn’t it?

Last night, when she checked Y/N’s wound… when she yanked her shirt up like it was her right…

The intimacy of it startled even *her*. And she wanted to do is just kiss her.

And Y/N’s teasing—

“Buy me dinner first, Maximoff.”

Wanda could still hear the grin in her voice. Still feel the warmth of her hand brushing Wanda’s cheek.

“Stay.”

She had wanted to.

God, she had wanted to.

But she didn’t. Because Vision was waiting. Because she still hadn’t figured out how to blow up the life she’d built without blowing everything apart.

And yet… it already felt broken.

The reflection in the mirror blinked, and Wanda exhaled shakily. She tucked her toothbrush away, stepped out into the hall, and turned—not toward Vision’s room. Toward the common area.

Maybe coffee would help.

Maybe keeping her hands busy would silence the war in her chest.

Maybe if she didn’t see Y/N this morning, she could breathe a little easier.

Maybe.

---

The hallway opened up into the compound’s bright kitchen, and Wanda froze just before crossing the threshold.

Y/N was already there.

Hair damp with sweat, flushed from exertion. Tank top clinging to her in a way that made Wanda's thoughts scatter like birds. She was standing near the counter, laughing, tossing a protein bar between her hands as Nat leaned casually against the fridge, grinning.

“I’m just saying,” Nat said, smirking, “if you actually slowed down once in a while, I might land a punch.”

Y/N barked a laugh, teasing, “I’m not slowing down just to make you feel better, Romanoff.”

Wanda’s heart did something traitorous in her chest. That voice. That laugh. The ease in the way Y/N leaned back, joking, playful. Completely at home.

Nat nudged her shoulder. “Show-off.”

“Bully.”

Wanda couldn’t look away. The sunlight kissed the edge of Y/N’s jaw as she tilted her head back to drink from a water bottle, sweat sliding down her neck. And it was infuriating how effortlessly beautiful she looked. How magnetic.

How much Wanda missed her the second she stepped away.

She lingered just beyond view, hidden by the corner wall, her coffee plans forgotten. Watching. Wanting.

Stay, she’d asked her.

No, she’d answered.

Then why did she feel like this now?

Y/N laughed again—something Nat said, probably. Wanda didn’t hear the words. Just the way her own name suddenly popped in her mind like it had been waiting for an excuse.

She clenched her fists.

Jealousy prickled up Wanda’s spine—hot, irrational, unfair. And still, it rooted itself deep.

She should leave before they noticed her. She should. But instead, her feet moved forward.

Wanda stepped into the kitchen, her footsteps quiet but deliberate. The easy rhythm of conversation between Nat and Y/N faltered the moment she entered.

Y/N’s eyes flicked toward her instinctively. And for just a second, Wanda swore she saw something jog in them, but it was quickly masked.

“Morning,” Wanda said, tone too neutral. Her gaze locked on Y/N just a beat too long before flicking to Nat. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Nat arched a brow, definitely amused. “We were just talking about the sparring session we had a while ago. Y/N’s bruising my ego.”

Y/N smirked, grabbing her bottle again. “She means I haven’t broken anything. Yet.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened, not liking the way they were too close. 

Something about the way Y/N grinned, her posture relaxed, and the way they shared a joke—it made Wanda’s blood boil. Her instincts screamed at her, a primal urge to assert something, anything. Mine.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm rising inside her. She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the way Y/N’s smile never quite reached her eyes when they met hers, but Wanda felt the pull of jealousy settle heavily in her chest.

Get it together, she told herself. She’s just messing with Nat. She’s fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

Nat, sensing the tension, said, “I’m gonna hit the shower. See you later, guys,” before winking at Y/N as she walked out, her eyes lingering a moment too long on her. Wanda caught it. And it made her blood burn hotter.

The moment Nat was gone, Wanda didn’t think. Her instincts just acted. She marched toward Y/N, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her towards the hallway, away from the kitchen.

Y/N didn’t have time to react, barely able to mutter, “What—?”

But Wanda didn’t stop until they reached the hallway, then the door to Y/N’s room. She shoved it open, pressing Y/N against the door as soon as they were inside.

The moment their eyes met, Wanda’s anger flared again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sparring?” Wanda demanded, voice low, but laced with tension.

Y/N blinked, surprised, but tried to shrug it off. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

The words, so calm, so indifferent, only fueled Wanda’s anger. Didn’t think she needed to?

“No,” Wanda bit out, her voice rising a little. “You needed to tell me. You were injured—”

“It’s healed, Wanda,” Y/N interrupted, her voice soft but confident. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Wanda’s fingers clenched into fists by her side. She wanted to scream, to demand Y/N explain herself, but instead, the jealousy bubbled over.

“It’s not okay,” Wanda spat. “When you look like that—sweaty, hot, standing in front of Nat like nothing’s wrong—it’s not okay.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”

The question hung in the air, too heavy, too real.

Wanda froze. The words were out before she could stop them.

“I’m not jealous,” she said, her tone sharp, almost defensive.

Y/N’s smirk was knowing, teasing. “Doesn’t feel like that.”

Wanda swallowed, looking away for just a moment, and then forced herself to step back. “I’m not jealous,” she repeated, more softly this time, though she couldn’t quite hide the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

Y/N didn’t back down, taking a step closer. “Are you sure?” she teased, her smirk playful, but there was something deeper beneath it. Something undeniable. 

The air between them crackled with tension, the silence hanging heavy as their bonds screamed inside their minds.

Kiss her. Kiss her.

Wanda’s heart pounded in her chest. She could feel the pull—the raw, magnetic force urging her to close the distance, to let go and give in to what they both wanted. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not like this.

Y/N’s eyes flickered to her lips, and the world seemed to slow for a split second. Wanda’s breath hitched. She didn’t want to be close to her like this. She couldn’t.

She shouldn’t.

Before Y/N could react, Wanda pushed her away, her hands shaking as she did. “I… I need to go,” she stammered, her voice a broken whisper, her chest tight. Without another word, Wanda turned on her heel and rushed out of the room.

Y/N stood frozen for a moment, watching her go. She was silent, but there was a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips. So close.

She didn’t call out. She just let Wanda leave, her heart strangely full.

---

That night, Wanda found herself in her room with Vision, though she barely registered his presence. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. The kiss that almost happened. The one she’d wanted, but couldn’t allow herself to have.

Wanda laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts a whirlwind. She felt an ache deep in her chest—an ache that only Y/N could fill. But she couldn’t be with her. She couldn’t let herself. She was engaged to Vision. She had made her choice.

But it didn’t make it easier.

Vision’s steady breathing beside her was a poor substitute for the comfort Y/N had always given her. She missed the warmth, the security of Y/N’s arms around her. But she couldn’t go to her tonight. Not after what almost happened. She was scared of what it meant, of what it might have meant.

Her eyes fluttered open again, staring into the dark. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quiet her mind. And she certainly couldn’t sleep. The bed felt too big. Too empty.

Across the compound, in her own room, Y/N lay wide awake too, a small smile still tugging at her lips as she thought back to their interaction.

She wants me. I know she does.

Y/N sighed and closed her eyes, already counting down the hours until the next time she could see Wanda again. Even if it meant keeping things just a little bit broken for now.

---

It was well past three in the morning, and Wanda still couldn't sleep. The silence in her room felt suffocating, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest like an anchor. She tossed and turned, but no matter how hard she tried, the comfort she needed—Y/N's comfort—was nowhere to be found.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Wanda slipped out of her bed, her heart racing with every step toward the door. She couldn’t stay away. Not tonight. The pull was too strong, the emptiness too much to ignore.

Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her down the dim hallway toward Y/N’s room. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the door of Y/N’s room.

As she approach the bed, Y/N raised her head, clearly surprised. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight.”

Wanda hesitated, biting her lip. She hadn’t meant to let this part of her show—the part that was so desperate to be near Y/N—but here she was. She couldn’t lie, not now. Not with everything swirling inside of her.

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” Wanda admitted, voice quiet. Her gaze flicked away for just a moment, as if embarrassed by the vulnerability of the confession.

Y/N lift the covers letting Wanda in. “I figured you’d come eventually,” she said, voice soft but teasing. “Come on, I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

Wanda crawled into Y/N arms immediately sighing contentedly. 

Y/N hugged her. “You okay?” she asked, voice gentle, yet with that hint of concern that made Wanda’s heart ache.

Wanda nodded against Y/N’s chest, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat a comfort as she sank further into the warmth of Y/N’s embrace. “I’m fine,” she murmured, though her voice carried a trace of exhaustion. The night had been long, her thoughts chaotic, and her guilt from earlier still clung to her like a second skin.

But now, with Y/N holding her, everything felt more manageable.

Y/N’s fingers traced soft circles along Wanda’s back, her touch slow and deliberate, as though trying to soothe away the tension Wanda didn’t even realize she was holding. "I’m glad you came," Y/N said quietly. "You know, you don’t have to hide from me."

Wanda’s breath caught at those words, and she pulled back slightly to meet Y/N’s eyes. There was no judgment there, only understanding—a kind of openness that Wanda wasn’t used to, but desperately needed.

“I’m not hiding,” Wanda said softly, her voice a little more fragile than she intended. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Wanda’s face. “You don’t have to know everything right now,” she whispered, her thumb lightly grazing Wanda’s cheek. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Wanda felt her heart swell with something tender, something dangerously close to hope. It was almost too much to allow herself to feel, but Y/N’s presence—her steady warmth—was something Wanda had begun to rely on, despite her best efforts to keep her distance.

Wanda felt her heart swell with something tender, something dangerously close to hope. It was almost too much to allow herself to feel, but Y/N’s presence—her steady warmth—was something Wanda had begun to rely on, despite her best efforts to keep her distance.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Wanda slowly lifted her hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she cupped Y/N’s cheek, brushing her thumb gently over the soft skin. The motion was slow, careful, like she was afraid of breaking something fragile between them.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, their gazes locking. For a moment, there was no need for words. Wanda didn’t need to explain, didn’t need to apologize—Y/N understood. They always understood.

Y/N's eyes softened, and she leaned into Wanda’s touch, just the smallest hint of a smile forming on her lips.

"Goodnight," Wanda whispered, her voice hushed, the vulnerability in her words almost imperceptible but there all the same.

Y/N didn’t respond with words, just a small, affectionate squeeze of her hand around Wanda’s waist. That was enough. Enough for now.

And in the stillness of the night, with the quiet comfort of each other’s presence, they both let the world fade away.

The weight of everything else—everything uncertain and difficult—drifted into the background, leaving only the warmth of each other’s arms.

It was the kind of peace Wanda had almost forgotten existed.

And as they drifted off to sleep, there was a fleeting, quiet sense of something more—something that neither of them could quite name, but both could feel.

---

The tension between Wanda and Y/N only grew stronger in the days that followed, each moment spent together laced with an unspoken desire that neither could ignore for long. It was a quiet thing, simmering under the surface, but there was no denying it. They both wanted it—wanted each other. But Wanda… Wanda was holding herself back.

She was terrified, honestly. Terrified of what it would mean to give in, to let go of the control she clung to so tightly. She had built walls around herself for so long, and the thought of breaking them down was both exhilarating and terrifying. She could already feel the pull of Y/N, the way every little touch, every glance seemed to reach deep inside her.

But Y/N wasn’t making it easy for her.

It started with little things—small, teasing moments that made Wanda’s breath catch. The way Y/N would brush her hand against Wanda’s in the kitchen, the soft kisses pressed to the corner of her lips when they shared a quiet moment in Y/N’s room. It was playful, innocent even, but every time Y/N’s lips grazed her skin, it sent a jolt through her body.

Wanda could feel her resolve weakening with each touch, with each lingering look. And Y/N… Y/N seemed to sense it, pushing just enough to test her limits, but never enough to cross the line.

One night, as they sat in Y/N’s room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light on their faces, Wanda could feel Y/N’s gaze on her—intense, almost hungry in its quiet way.

Y/N leaned in just slightly, her lips brushing against the curve of Wanda’s cheek in a kiss so light, so fleeting, that Wanda barely had time to register it before Y/N pulled back, eyes glinting with mischief.

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t help but feel a flush spread across her cheeks. She looked up at Y/N, trying to maintain her composure, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her cool.

Y/N smirked, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on Wanda. She shifted closer, this time aiming for the corner of Wanda’s lips, a soft, teasing brush that sent a rush of heat straight to Wanda’s core.

Wanda couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her. She turned her head slightly, their lips nearly touching, but just enough to drive her crazy.

“Stop doing that,” Wanda murmured, her voice betraying her, the words coming out softer than she intended.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled. “What? This?” She leaned in again, her lips just a breath away from Wanda’s, before pulling back at the last second, just enough to keep Wanda wanting more.

Wanda’s pulse raced, and she could feel the pressure building inside her. It was getting harder and harder to fight this—this thing between them, the way Y/N made her feel so alive, so wanted.

But she couldn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to let go of everything she’d built.

Y/N, sensing the hesitation in her, just smirked again, knowing she was getting under Wanda’s skin. “You want me to stop?” Y/N’s voice was low, teasing, and Wanda felt the heat rise in her chest.

Wanda exhaled shakily, her hand resting on Y/N’s arm, trying to steady herself. “I don’t know what I want.”

Y/N’s grin softened, her gaze turning tender, almost serious. “Then let me help you figure it out,” she whispered, her breath warm against Wanda’s skin.

Wanda closed her eyes for a brief moment, torn between the pull of everything she wanted and the fear of losing control. But with Y/N so close, with the weight of her touch, her smile, Wanda couldn’t hold back any longer.

She leaned in just slightly, as if testing the waters, her lips brushing against Y/N’s in a kiss so soft, so tentative, that it almost felt like a question. Y/N responded immediately, deepening the kiss, her hand slipping to the back of Wanda’s neck to pull her closer.

And just like that, everything Wanda had been holding back came rushing to the surface, leaving her breathless, wanting more.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel scared. She just felt… alive.

The kiss was electric. It was urgent, primal, as though the entire world had disappeared around them, leaving only the heat between their bodies. Wanda’s heart pounded, her senses overwhelmed by the surge of emotions coursing through her. The bond, something that had always been a presence in the back of her mind, now consumed her entirely. Y/N’s touch was a spark to the tinder of her desires, lighting everything up in a way she couldn’t control.

Y/N’s lips pressed against hers with a tenderness that belied the fire between them, and Wanda’s hands found themselves at the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Her body moved instinctively, as if it had been starved for this connection for so long, and now it could finally feel.

Every brush of their lips sent a wave of warmth flooding through her, and she responded with equal fervor, her hands sliding down Y/N’s chest, tracing the outline of her shirt. It was a dance, a series of tiny movements that seemed to only bring them closer, the pull of their bond growing stronger, louder, as if it were calling to them both.

Wanda’s breath hitched when Y/N’s hands slid under the hem of her shirt, her touch warm and gentle against Wanda’s skin. Wanda’s body trembled at the sensation, the softness of Y/N’s hands sending her heart into overdrive. She felt good. Too good. Her hands were already sliding over Y/N’s shoulders, guiding her as they both deepened the kiss, the world outside their small bubble feeling like an eternity away.

And then, as if on instinct, Y/N’s fingers tugged at the bottom of Wanda’s shirt, lifting it slowly. Wanda didn’t register the movement at first—her thoughts hazy, clouded by the electric pull between them and the overwhelming sensation of the bond amplifying every touch, every kiss. The shirt kept rising, and before she knew it, the fabric brushed the sensitive skin of her abdomen.

No, wait.

It was like a shock to her system. Her mind suddenly snapped back to reality, and with a sharp intake of breath, Wanda pulled her shirt back down swiftly, almost too quickly, her hands trembling as she did. She stepped back, her chest heaving, as she gasped for air, eyes wide with panic.

“What the hell are we doing?” Wanda whispered, her voice trembling, more to herself than to Y/N.

She could barely focus, the desire still thrumming in her chest, but she knew she couldn’t ignore the consequences of what was happening. She was engaged to Vision. She had to stop this before they went any further.

Y/N looked at her with a mixture of confusion and hurt, as if she could feel Wanda’s hesitation, the tension pulling them both in opposite directions.

Wanda’s heart clenched as she saw the flicker of disappointment in Y/N’s eyes, but she couldn’t let herself fall any further into the temptation. She had to be strong.

“I… I have Vision,” Wanda breathed, her throat tight with the weight of the words. She took another step back, her hands gripping her shirt as if she could hold herself together that way. “This isn’t right.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, just watching her with a quiet intensity that made Wanda’s resolve waver. She couldn’t look at Y/N like this. Not with the bond pulling at her, not when everything inside her screamed to stay.

“I can’t do this,” Wanda said, her voice breaking slightly as she turned toward the door. She could still feel Y/N’s presence behind her, but she had to leave. She had to go. She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

Wanda pushed open the door with shaky hands, but before she stepped out, she looked back one last time at Y/N. Her heart ached. Her wrist burned in agony. 

But she had to walk away.

The bond may have drawn them together, but the choices she had made—her commitment to Vision, her past—were not so easily undone.

With a final, unsteady breath, Wanda stepped into the hallway, her steps heavy as she left Y/N behind.

---

🤭🤭🤭🤭

[geddyqueer]

tidbit tuesday

since the people asked. idk how quickly i'll finish this but here's some 8x17 reaction fic:

"I was homeless," Buck says, as the light turns green. "When I was younger."

He feels, rather than sees, Tommy's gaze linger on him briefly before he takes his foot off the brake. "When you were traveling?"

"Yeah. And for a while in LA, too. Like—I was sleeping inside, but I didn't have a mailing address for a long time. And then I was couchsitting. And then I lived with five other guys, and then I squatted at Abby's for a few months after she ghosted me."

Tommy releases a long breath at that. "The green apartment?"

"Yeah," Buck says.

"Did you ever find a pair of black Chelsea boots? Size 12? In a closet or something? I never got those back from her."

Buck turns to look at him. He's focused very hard on the road. "Were they Red Wings?"

Tommy nods.

"Yeah," Buck says. He remembers the way they were molded to someone else's feet, the way they chafed at his ankle bone, but that they carried him along through the loneliest days back then. "I wore them into the ground."

He realizes, as Tommy bursts out laughing, as he bursts out laughing too, that this is the first time they've actually talked about Abby since the night they broke up. Not like they've had time, in the intervening months. Maybe they'll have time now.

"I'm glad someone was wearing them," Tommy says, when he finally catches his breath. "I'm glad it was you."

He turns onto Bedford Street and slows down.

"The loft was the first place I ever lived that was really mine," Buck says. "Other than the old Jeep, I guess. I lived in that for a couple years. Sometimes I'd find short term rentals, but usually I just slept in the car."

Tommy's hand makes its way across the center console, open and inviting, and Buck slots his hand into it. They're pulling into the long stretch of empty street parking in front of the next house, now. It doesn't look like Eddie's here, but Tommy leaves the driveway empty anyway.

"This place felt like mine for a little while. Not—not anymore."

"Whatever I can do to make my house feel like home, Evan," Tommy says. "For as long as you want to live there. Even if it's just a week, or for—I don't know. Just say the word and I'll do it, okay?"

"What if I want a bunch of flamingos in the front yard?"

"Plastic ones, I hope," Tommy says. "I can't afford to put in a flamingo pond right now."

"But you would do that?"

"If I had the money, and you really wanted it, then yes," Tommy says.

"I don't think I want a flamingo pond," Buck tells him. "Not right now, at least."

"We can table it," Tommy says, and he gets out of the truck.

Buck sighs, and squares his shoulders, and heads once more unto the breach.

[papayainsectorone]

teach me on the other side of the world

════════════════════════

summary: oscar is off racing somewhere in the world, but finds himself in the same situtation of quirming at your words again

content: 18+! smut, nsfw FaceTime sex, masturbation, praise kink, mutual pining, suggestive texting, desperate!Oscar, post-race tension, playful domination, light dom/sub dynamics, mild teasing, dirty talk, slow burn payoff

word count: 2,7 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: this is my first time trying a little smau situation and i quite liked it, also this part is not as long as the others but that man needs a break (somehow) lol

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7

════════════════════════

You’ve kept in touch since he left not just polite check-ins, but real conversation. Long threads of messages, soft voice notes exchanged when the timing aligned, and the occasional late-night call that left you both smiling into your pillows.

When he was away again for the next races, you watched him on TV. Eyes glued to the screen, heart stuttering when they cut to him adjusting his gloves, eyes dark and focused beneath his visor. You could almost feel the energy he carried, the calm precision with that edge of something more.

Later that evening, just after the podium ceremony, you send another message

His typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then again. Then gone.

You stare at the screen, waiting, a little amused, a little smug. But instead of a reply, your phone lights up with an incoming FaceTime call.

You answer without hesitation, already grinning and there he is. Flushed cheeks, tousled hair, breath just slightly uneven, and that wrecked sort of look in his eyes like you’ve completely undone him from half a world away.

You giggle. “What are you doing?”

Oscar groans softly, dragging a hand through his hair. “What are you doing to me.”

Your smile grows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a brow at the way he’s shifting like he can’t get comfortable, like every part of him is on edge. “You’re in the driver’s room? Not at the hotel already… what are you doing?” you ask softly, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it.

Oscar swipes a hand through his hair, cheeks a full, telltale pink now. “Trying not to lose my fucking mind.”

You grin. “Why’s that?”

He glares at you, but there’s no heat in it. Just desperation. “You know why. Jesus.”

You lean back slightly, resting your chin in your palm as you watch him squirm. “Oh, I know. Maybe tell me anyway.”

“Fuck,” he groans again, dragging the word out. “You’re unreal. I’m—God, I’ve got engineers like twenty meters away and I’m sitting here trying to act normal while you’re saying the filthiest shit to me through a phone.”

You smile sweetly. “I haven’t even started, baby.”

He shudders, hand flexing in his lap. “Don’t. I’m serious.”

“You don’t sound very serious.”

“I can’t stand up right now,” he mutters like it’s a confession, gaze flicking down, then back up at you. “And it’s your fault.”

You pout dramatically. “Aww. Poor baby.”

“Stop it.” His voice cracks, and he covers his face for a second.

“You love it.”

He pulls his hand down, eyes hot now. “Yeah. I fucking do.”

There's a pause—quiet but loaded—then he shifts again, thighs visibly tense, and exhales sharply. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head, voice dropping just a bit more. “Only if you let me.”

He groans, and it’s low, throaty, utterly unguarded. “Fuck. Stop talking. Please.”

You just smile.

You let the silence linger for a beat, watching the way his breath hitches through the screen, the faint rustle of fabric as he shifts in his seat.

Then, slowly, deliberately, you say, “You know what I was thinking about while you were racing today?”

He looks like he might combust. “Don’t—”

You cut him off, voice soft and syrupy. “The way your mouth felt on me. How focused you were. Like you were trying to win me, not a race.”

His hand grips the edge of the seat now, knuckles white. “Baby—”

“And how when you finished, you looked so proud,” you murmur, letting each word drip. “Like you just set a personal best.”

Oscar closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall with a sharp exhale. “Holy fuck.”

“Bet you’d break your own record if you were here right now.”

His eyes snap open again, dazed and dark. “You have got to stop.”

“You say that,” you hum, “but your hand hasn’t moved from your lap once.”

He doesn’t answer just groans again, deeper now, and drags his hand over his face like he’s trying to scrub away the urge. When he lowers it again, his eyes are glassy. “I’m gonna lose my job.”

You laugh softly. “Only if they catch you.”

He leans in closer, jaw clenched. “You’d be the death of me. You know that?”

You smile, slow and dangerous. “Then die a happy man.”

He lets out a breathless, strangled sound, and you can practically feel the tension buzzing through the screen. “I need—fuck. I need you.”

That stirs something low in your belly, but you keep your voice light. “Mm. I know.”

Oscar blinks at you, totally wrecked. “This is so unfair.”

You soften your voice, just slightly, still playful but laced with something darker. “Then close your eyes, baby.”

He swallows hard, lips parted, gaze flicking between your face and the faint outline of his own reflection on the screen. “What?”

“Close them,” you repeat gently. “And pretend it’s me.”

His breath catches, but he obeys, lashes fluttering down, jaw tense.

“Think about my hands on you. The way I sounded when you made me fall apart last time,” you say, slow and deliberate, letting the memory stretch between you.

He exhales shakily, knuckles flexing. You keep going, voice soft but firm.

“Undo your pants, nice and slow. Just enough to feel it. Imagine it's my fingers instead of yours.”

A groan slips from him, quiet and desperate.

You hum, smile curling. “Good. Now don’t move yet. Just let your hand sit there. Feel how hard you are. For me.”

His hips twitch, and he presses his lips together in a failed attempt to stay quiet.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you murmur. “Tell me how it feels.”

His voice is barely more than a breath. “So—fuck, it’s—”

You smile, heart racing, entirely in control now. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hand shifts, just slightly, and you catch the hitch in his breath. “You didn’t tell me I could move,” he whispers, teasing but barely holding it together.

“Oh, you want permission now?” You tilt your head, savoring this.

He grins, flushed and flustered, but you can see it how badly he wants you. How worked up he already is from just your voice, your words.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.

“I think I do,” you say, just above a whisper. “You’re hard and aching and trying to be good, just like I like.”

He curses again, softly, biting his lip.

You shift a little on your end, just enough to let the hem of your sleep shirt ride up. You’ve been aching, too—have been since the second you saw his flushed face light up your screen.

He doesn't notice at first. Not until your breath hitches.

His eyes flick up, sharper now. “Wait—are you…”

You smile, slow and wicked. “What do you think, baby?”

He swears under his breath, eyes darting down as if he could see through the phone.

“I can hear you,” he murmurs, voice almost reverent. “Those little sounds.”

You hum softly, fingertips ghosting between your thighs, just enough to make yourself gasp. “All for you.”

His mouth drops open slightly, breathing ragged again. “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

You don’t plan to.

“I’m touching myself,” you whisper, letting the words wrap around him like silk. “Thinking about how you sounded when you begged last time. How your mouth felt when you made me come.”

Oscar’s jaw clenches like he’s in pain, his hand twitching again, still resting in his lap.

“Still gonna be a good boy for me?” you ask sweetly, just as you press a little harder against yourself.

He nods, fast and breathless, lips parted. “Y-Yeah. I’m trying.”

You moan, soft and needy, and that’s all it takes—he jolts, like the sound shot straight through him.

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes. “That noise—fuck, that’s not fair.”

“I told you,” you murmur, circling slow. “You’re not the only one suffering.”

He groans again, that same low, desperate sound from earlier. “You’re gonna break me.”

“Then break, baby,” you whisper. “I’m right there with you.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Now you can move.”

The tiniest movement of his hand and he shudders, face tipping up toward the ceiling. “Fuck—”

“Slow, baby,” you remind him, gentle but commanding. “You’ve got to earn it.”

“Earn it?” he pants, glancing back at you through heavy lashes.

“Mhm. Think about my mouth. The way I’d look up at you, tongue out, eyes begging. You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you?”

He nods without thinking, then chokes out, “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

“Good boy,” you purr, and his hips twitch again at the praise.

You watch him fall apart in slow motion, breath ragged, pleasure written all over him.

“Just like that,” you whisper. “That’s it. Let me see how pretty you are when you come.”

His breath catches—shaky, shallow—and you know he’s close.

You see it in the way his eyes lose focus, how his hand trembles slightly just out of frame. His breath comes in short, desperate gasps, and then—

“Oscar,” you murmur, just as your own voice cracks around a moan.

He lets out a low, broken sound, hips stuttering once, twice, before he falls apart with a groan so raw and wrecked it makes your stomach flutter. His body jerks forward slightly, face twisting in pleasure as he spills over his hand and stomach, chest heaving, pupils blown wide.

And it’s that, the way his voice fractures, the sharp, helpless grunt that punches from his chest as he gives in, that does it.

Your breath catches on a whimper, body tightening as the pleasure crests sharply inside you. You press your fingers down just right, and then you're spiraling, back arching, hips trembling. You bite down on his name as it escapes, raw and breathless, your own high crashing through you in waves that steal the air from your lungs.

He hears it — that final, broken moan — and his eyes fly open, dazed and shining, locking on your screen just in time to watch your face twist in bliss, to hear the wet, desperate sounds of your release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, completely undone all over again, like your orgasm just knocked the wind out of him.

You ride the wave out slowly, body twitching, breathing hard, trying to pull yourself back into your skin. The phone wobbles slightly where it’s propped up, catching just enough of your aftershocks — the way your hand lingers between your thighs, your chest rising and falling in ragged swells.

Silence settles, heavy and warm, the kind that only comes after you’ve given someone every inch of yourself and they’ve done the same.

You finally glance at the screen again, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “Hi.”

Oscar stares at you like you just pulled the stars from the sky.

Your grin is slow, amused. “Well, that was a performance.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re gonna kill me one day. Actually kill me.”

You giggle. “Messy boy.”

His face burns brighter. “You’re so mean.”

“You like it.”

He shakes his head but can’t stop smiling. “I really do.”

You tilt your head, voice going soft. “You okay?”

He nods, still catching his breath. “Yeah. That was… yeah.”

“You’re kinda glowing, babe.”

He huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shut up.”

“Aww, no. Don’t get all shy now,” you tease gently. “You just came so hard for me. Made a mess.”

He groans again, hiding his face in his elbow, but there’s no real protest behind it.

“Next time,” you say with a wink. “In person.”

His head drops back onto the chair with a sigh, and this time his smile is soft. “Can’t wait.”

You settle into the quiet with him for a moment, watching his flushed, sleepy face on the screen. There’s something sweet in the silence, like a held breath after something beautiful.

Then, gently, you ask, “So… what are you up to tonight?”

Oscar blinks a few times, still catching up to the question. “Uh—right, yeah. Debrief in a bit. Gotta go over tire degradation, strategy calls, sector times—Carlos was mega in Sector 2, but I think we missed something on the outlap. And my entry into Turn 10 felt okay, but the data shows I was still hesitating. Might just be setup, but I’ve got a theory…”

His words pick up speed as he talks, eyes sharpening with that unmistakable focus. He sits up straighter, hands gesturing as he gets more into it, completely unaware of the way you’re watching him — the way your chest swells at how much he cares, how deeply he thinks it all through.

“I love how passionate you get about this,” you say softly, cutting in before he can spiral into corner analysis.

Oscar stops. His eyes flick to the screen again, his mouth quirking into a crooked, bashful grin. “Yeah?”

You nod. “It’s really hot.”

He laughs — short and surprised — then ducks his head, trying to hide how much it means to him.

And neither of you hang up for a while — the conversation drifting from strategy to weekend plans to nothing at all, just breathing in each other’s presence across the screen, the way people do when the feeling is too good to leave.

[izzih22]

Don’t Marry Him

Note: thank you anon for asking for this and all the kinds words you said. It wouldn’t let me answer your thing directly but I hope you like this one. I think I got everything in there. It took me awhile but anyway I think it’s pretty good so enjoy y’all.

The white satin of Azzi’s wedding dress rustled as she paced the dressing room, palms sweating, heart pounding like it had something to say. She was minutes away five to be exact from walking down the aisle. Her makeup was perfect. Her hair was elegant. Her bouquet lay neatly on the vanity. Everything about her looked like a dream.

But it didn’t feel like one.

The door creaked.

She turned fast. Her breath caught in her throat.

“How did you get in here?” Her voice cracked before it sharpened. “You’re not supposed to be here. Leave.”

Paige stood in the doorway in a black suit, hair slicked back, face unreadable except for the storm in her eyes. She should’ve been in Dallas—hell, she was supposed to be in Dallas. WNBA season didn’t stop for weddings. Paige had a game tomorrow.

But she was here.

And Azzi’s heart? It didn’t know what to do with that.

“I had to see you,” Paige said quietly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her like she wasn’t about to detonate Azzi’s entire life.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Azzi repeated, her voice weaker this time. “If someone sees you—”

“They won’t.”

“Paige.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know I’m not supposed to be here. But screw ‘supposed to.’ We’ve done everything ‘right’ and it still feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

Azzi turned away, facing the mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. The dress, the earrings, the diamond engagement ring. This wasn’t her. Not the her that Paige had known. Loved. Still loved.

Paige’s voice grew louder, closer. “You think I wanted to come here today? You think I wanted to see you with him?” She shook her head, breath catching. “I didn’t. I fought not to come. But I woke up this morning and couldn’t breathe, Z. I couldn’t let you do this without saying it.”

Azzi closed her eyes. Her hands were trembling.

“I love you,” Paige said, finally. Fully. “God, I love you so much it makes me stupid. And I know—I know—you still love me too.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched. Her heart screamed yes, but her pride, her walls, her years of trying to move on—they all said no.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Paige laughed bitterly. “I know exactly what I’m saying. We’ve been in love since we were seventeen, Az. Since that first Team USA camp. Since you used to sneak into my room after lights out and we’d talk about the future like we’d never lose each other.” Her voice broke. “And we did, but not because we stopped loving each other. Just because we got scared.”

Azzi swallowed hard. Her knees felt like they might give out.

“You still wear the necklace I gave you,” Paige said, nodding toward the delicate chain hidden beneath the sweetheart neckline of the dress. “You never take it off. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

“Paige, everyone’s out there,” Azzi whispered, desperate, trying to hold herself together. “They’re waiting for me.”

“So let them wait,” Paige snapped. “Just for a second. Look at me.”

Azzi did.

And that’s when Paige said it.

Soft. Barely a whisper. But it was everything.

“Don’t marry him.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart thudded so loud she was sure Paige could hear it.

But her walls—the same ones that had held her up for years—rose like armor.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I—I have to go.”

“No,” Paige stepped forward. “You don’t.”

Azzi shook her head. Her hands were clenched into fists now, her whole body taut with something between devastation and denial.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, turning away before Paige could see the tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this with you right now.”

And then she left.

⸻

The music swelled as Azzi walked down the aisle. Every step felt heavier than the last.

Her groom waited at the altar, beaming. Family and friends stood on either side, all of them smiling, none of them knowing her heart was breaking in real time.

She made it to the front. Somehow.

The officiant nodded. “Azzi, you may begin your vows.”

She took a shaky breath.

“I used to think love was supposed to be simple,” she began, eyes locked on her groom—but her mind miles away. “But then I met someone who made everything feel big. Complicated. Intense in a way that scared me, but also made me feel more alive than I ever thought possible.”

The groom’s smile faltered. He blinked. Subtle, but there.

“I’ve never felt more seen than when they looked at me,” Azzi continued, voice thick with emotion. “They knew me when I didn’t even know myself. Knew how to calm me down when I couldn’t breathe. Knew how to make me laugh when I swore I’d never smile again. They made the ordinary feel like magic.”

She paused. Her fingers clenched tighter around the bouquet.

“I used to think love was something you grew into,” she whispered. “But with them, it was instant. Like the universe had been waiting for us to collide.”

The groom looked… confused. Hurt. Because he knew.

None of those things were about him.

And then—

“Azzi,” the officiant said gently, sensing the tremble in her voice. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Her breath hitched.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

Paige. Standing up in the back. Shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, turning toward the door.

Azzi didn’t think.

“No,” she said, loud. Clear. Final.

Gasps echoed through the crowd.

The groom stepped back, stunned. “Wait—what?”

But Azzi wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was already turning—running—down the aisle, the long train of her dress trailing behind her like a banner.

She caught up to Paige just as she was reaching the door.

Without a word, she grabbed her hand.

Paige froze.

And Azzi looked up at her, eyes full of everything she hadn’t said in years. “Don’t walk away.”

Paige blinked, stunned. “You sure?”

Azzi smiled—small, tearful, glowing.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

They didn’t say another word.

They just ran—out the doors, past the confused guests, through the chaos. Azzi’s heels came off somewhere near the steps. Paige didn’t let go of her hand once.

And when they reached the car—someone’s car, it didn’t matter—it just so happened to have a “JUST MARRIED” sign already tied to the bumper, leftover from a different wedding earlier that day.

Fate? Maybe.

They didn’t question it.

They just drove.

And as the city blurred behind them, Azzi turned to Paige and laughed through tears.

“God, you’re such a homewrecker.”

Paige smirked, eyes still on the road. “Please. That home was already falling apart.”

Azzi leaned over. “Well… I guess we’re rebuilding, huh?”

Paige reached over, laced their fingers together.

“From the ground up.”

And somewhere between the sunset and the second chances, they kissed.

This time for real.

This time forever.

[faithsmadhouse]

Miss gurl your max fics are giving me everything I want and now I see you posted about chubby reader?? Please would u do a piece about strong max manhandling chubby reader who doesnt believe he can handle it and he proves her wrong 😼

Prove me wrong||Max Verstappen x Chubby!Fem!reader

Summary— reader thinks she’s too much for max and he proves her wrong

Warnings— brief mentions of oral f receiving, spanking, praise, manhandling, shower sex/wall sex. I also can’t remember what else

Word count — 2245

You were lounging on the couch, curled up with a book when Max came up behind you, hands slipping around your waist. His fingers brushed the soft curve of your belly, and you immediately stiffened, instinctively pulling away. “Careful,” you muttered with a laugh. “I’m not exactly lightweight, you know.”

Max scoffed, his hands tightening their grip. “You think I can’t handle you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m just saying… you’ve got cars to drive, not—”

Before you could finish, you found yourself lifted off the couch, strong arms securing you effortlessly. A gasp escaped your lips as your feet dangled off the floor, and Max’s smug grin appeared inches from your face. “What were you saying?”

“Max!” you squealed, hands clutching his shoulders. He didn’t even falter, his grip firm as if you weighed nothing. His hands slid to the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up until your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Light as a feather,” he teased, voice dripping with confidence. “Maybe I should carry you around all the time. Keep you close.”

Your cheeks burned, heart pounding as he began walking, steady and sure, as if he carried you every day. “Proved you wrong, huh?”

You swallowed hard, eyes meeting his. “Maybe you should try again…just to be sure.”

His grin widened. “Oh, I intend to.”

Max’s eyes darkened at your challenge, the flicker of something dangerous and thrilling sparking behind that familiar blue. Without another word, he tightened his grip, fingers pressing possessively into your thighs as he carried you effortlessly towards the bedroom.

You barely had time to process the shift before your back met the mattress, and Max followed, hovering above you. His hands didn’t leave your body—not for a second. They roamed over your curves, mapping the softness of your hips, the plushness of your thighs, the gentle swell of your stomach.

His eyes met yours, blazing with determination. “You think I don’t want this? That I can’t handle all of you?” His hands squeezed your thighs for emphasis, spreading them wider beneath him. “You’ve got no idea what I can handle, schat.”

Your breath hitched as he dipped his head, mouth tracing the line of your jaw, down to your neck. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer—closer than you thought possible. His touch was firm, possessive, like he was staking a claim. “I��ve been dying to show you,” he murmured against your skin, lips trailing fire down your throat.

You gasped when his hands slid under your shirt, fingers brushing bare skin. He pulled back just long enough to peel the fabric over your head, his gaze drinking you in. There wasn’t a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, only raw hunger. “Perfect,” he whispered, almost reverent, before his hands gripped your hips and yanked you towards him.

The strength of it made you cry out, back arching as he settled between your thighs. His mouth was on you again—hot, demanding, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of your breasts, your stomach, your hips. He kissed every inch like it was something to be worshiped, and you were losing yourself in it.

“Max,” you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up, eyes blazing. “I didn’t know—”

“That I could handle you?” he finished for you, lips quirking up into a grin. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading them wider. “Let me show you just how wrong you are.”

Max didn’t wait for permission. His hands, strong and unyielding, gripped your thighs and pulled—hard. You yelped as he dragged you closer to the edge of the mattress, your body sliding effortlessly under his control. The grin he shot you was wicked, eyes glimmering with unspoken promises.

“See?” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Told you I could handle you.” He didn’t give you a moment to reply before his hands slid beneath your hips, lifting you clean off the mattress with a strength that had your breath catching.

“Max!” you gasped, but he only chuckled darkly, turning you with ease until you were on your stomach, hips raised, knees digging into the soft sheets. His large hands spread across your ass, squeezing possessively before one slid up your back, pressing you deeper into the mattress.

“You’re always so quick to doubt me,” he murmured, voice husky as he leaned over you, his chest flush with your back. His hand was still splayed firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Guess I’ll have to remind you.”

You shivered as his lips traced the shell of your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “Gonna take everything I give you, aren’t you?”

A whimper escaped your lips, but that wasn’t enough for him. His hand came down sharply on your ass, the smack echoing in the room. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, fingers curling into the sheets. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his hand soothing the sting with slow, deliberate circles. He shifted behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight as he positioned himself, his hands spreading your thighs wider, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “Look at you,” he murmured appreciatively. “All spread out for me… ready to be handled.”

Before you could even catch your breath, he gripped your hips again, pulling you back to meet him. The force of it sent a shockwave through your body, and you cried out, his name tumbling from your lips. He didn’t relent—instead, he set a rhythm that was unyielding, powerful. Every snap of his hips was punctuated with a grunt of satisfaction, like he was proving a point with every thrust.

You tried to push back, to meet his movements, but he wasn’t having it. One of his hands slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you deeper into the mattress, holding you firmly in place. “Stay still,” he commanded, voice dripping with dominance. “Let me do the work.”

And God, he did. He drove into you with a force that bordered on brutal, but you loved it, craved it. His grip was ironclad, pulling and pushing you exactly how he wanted, manhandling you like you weighed nothing at all. His hands roamed, squeezing your hips, sliding up to your waist, gripping you tight enough to leave marks.

“You still think I can’t handle you?” he panted, breath coming hot and heavy against your back.

“N-No,” you choked out, fingers clenching the sheets. “You can…you can.”

His laugh was rough and dark. “Damn right, I can.” His hand came down on your ass again, the sting mixing with the pleasure until you were trembling beneath him. “And I’m not done with you yet.”

Max didn’t give you a second to catch your breath. His grip on your hips was relentless, large hands holding you steady as he picked up the pace, each thrust harder, deeper, like he was determined to make you feel him everywhere. Your moans spilled out, unrestrained and desperate, but it only seemed to spur him on.

“That’s it,” he growled, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let everyone hear how well you’re taking it.” His hand came down again with a sharp slap, and you cried out, the sting sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. He bent over you, chest pressing into your back as his mouth found your ear. “Knew you could handle it. Knew you could take everything I give you.”

His hand slid from your hip to your throat, fingers wrapping around the sides, tilting your head back until you were arching into him. The stretch of it made you gasp, eyes fluttering shut as his teeth scraped along your neck. “Feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice dripping with pride. “So perfect… just for me.”

He straightened up, hands gripping your waist once more, and suddenly you were lifted—hauled up until your back was flush against his chest. His hand splayed across your stomach, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you up, your feet barely touching the floor. “See?” he whispered, his other hand slipping down between your thighs, fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles. “Told you I could handle you.”

Your hands flew back to grasp at his shoulders, holding on as he moved you with an effortless strength that made your head spin. His hand on your stomach pulled you tighter against him, making you feel every inch, every flex of muscle as he thrust up into you. It was raw, powerful, and you could feel how much he loved it—how much he loved you.

“You like that?” he growled, breath hot against your ear. His hand slipped lower, teasing you with just enough pressure to make your knees shake. “You like knowing I can do this? That I can throw you around however I want?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, head falling back against his shoulder. His grip tightened, and you felt the low rumble of his chuckle against your back.

“Good,” he whispered darkly. “Because I’m not stopping until you forget your own name.”

Without warning, he turned you in his arms, your feet barely hitting the floor before he lifted you again, your back hitting the wall with a thud that knocked the breath from your lungs. His hands were everywhere—gripping, exploring, owning every part of you as he buried himself in you again, hard and deep. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, holding on as he drove you higher, every thrust sending sparks down your spine.

“You still doubting me?” he panted, teeth grazing the side of your neck, his hands bracing your thighs as he held you there like you weighed nothing.

“N-No,” you stammered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Never… never again.”

“Damn right,” he growled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Now hold on, because I’m nowhere near done proving it.”

Max’s grin was feral as he held you against the wall, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs with bruising strength. His breathing was ragged, eyes fixed on you with a hunger that made your stomach flip. “Still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice rough and dripping with satisfaction.

You could only nod, breathless and dazed, and his grin widened. “Good,” he murmured, shifting his grip. His hands slid under your thighs, and before you could process the movement, he lifted you—effortlessly—and began walking towards the bathroom.

“Max—” you started, clutching his shoulders. He didn’t break his stride, his grip firm and unyielding as he pushed the bathroom door open with his foot. The room was cool against your flushed skin, and you shivered as he set you down on the counter, his hands never leaving your body.

“Think I’m done proving my point?” he asked, eyes glittering as he leaned in, his hands braced on either side of you. His gaze roamed over you—disheveled, breathless, completely under his control—and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Not even close.”

He reached over, turning the shower on, the water splattering against the tile with a hiss of steam. His hands returned to you immediately, sliding under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the counter, his mouth crashing against yours. It was messy, all teeth and tongue, his hands gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

“Up,” he growled, tapping your thighs, and you barely had time to comply before he lifted you again, carrying you under the hot spray of the shower. Water cascaded over both of you, soaking your hair and slicking your skin, but Max didn’t seem to notice. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your body reacted to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he pulled you closer.

Your back pressed against the cool tile, and he caged you in, his hands spreading your thighs with practiced ease. “I want you to hold on,” he commanded, voice husky as his hands slid to grip your ass. “I’m not letting go until you understand just how strong I am.”

You barely had time to react before he lifted you again, pressing you up against the wall. The water streamed down your bodies, mixing with the heat and urgency between you. His hips snapped forward, and you cried out, nails clawing at his shoulders as he set a relentless rhythm. The steam curled around you, fogging the glass as his hands held you firmly in place, your weight supported entirely by his strength.

“Max,” you whimpered, the sensation overwhelming as he drove into you with powerful, precise thrusts. He chuckled darkly against your neck, his teeth scraping your skin.

“You feel that?” he growled, voice vibrating through your bones. “You still think I can’t handle you?” His hands gripped you harder, pulling you closer, deeper, until you couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe. All you could do was hold on, trusting him to keep you steady as he unraveled you.

Your legs tightened around him, hips moving with his, and his hand slid up your back, pressing you even closer. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough and thick with pride. “Take it. Take everything I give you.”

The water continued to pour over both of you, washing away the evidence of his dominance only for him to mark you again, harder, deeper. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving bruises that you’d find later—reminders of just how thoroughly he’d proven you wrong.

[ariesthetouchdeprivedgirl]

Behind Closed Doors

Smoke x Black!OC

I am #FINALLY done with this little story.. It only took a couple of days lol. I am very excited, and nervous, but overall happy to share this lil story. It’s definitely a small bit of mischaracterization as I believe Smoke is reallll good man, but I don’t know.. Something about this story, and this idea just gives me that 🫦. lollll… anyways. I hope yall enjoy, and I will greatly appreciate any feedback!!

Jane sat at her vanity, admiring the pearl necklace that sat almost perfectly on her dark skin. She tilted her head, a small satisfying smile gracing her lips.

Smoke had gifted it to her around six months ago, a spontaneous reveal made her swoon.

After a night of passion, Jane expected smoke’s side of the bed to be cold and empty. Instead, to her surprise, resting on his pillow was a black velvet box.

When Smoke came back that night she was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him, box in hand. He walked through the door, his faint and familiar scent of tobacco cutting through the air, instantly flooding her senses.

His eyes found Jane immediately, the light above the stove casting soft shadows over her face. Moonlight slipping through the blinds highlighting the gift he left for her.

“You ain’t like it” he asked, peeling off his hat and coat, and throwing it over a chair before he moved over to the bar.

“No” she said her voice soft but steady.

He cut his gaze to her as he poured his whiskey. “I love it” she held a knowing smile, a hint of mischief in her words.

She rose from the table and walked to him, affectionate eyes locked on his. “I want you to put it on me” her gentle hand placing the box in his rough hold.

Smoke did as she wanted, clamping the pearl necklace around her neck, calloused hands contrasting with her delicate skin.

Jane faced him again, fingertips ghosting over the cool pearls, before she looked up at him.

“How does it look?”

Smokes eyes dragged over her, lingering at the swell of her breast beneath the silk fabric of her nightgown.

“Looks good baby” he sipped on his whiskey, leaning against the counter.

Jane stepped closer, pressing her body against his and draping her arms around his neck.

“Thank you daddy” she pressed a gentle kiss around his lips. He grunted a “mhm” as he watched her with intense eyes.

Her lips curved into a teasing smile, “I just wanna show you how thankful I am” her whispered voice dripped with promise.

Smoke, amused sat his drink on the counter and wrapped his hands around her waist.

“Mhm, and how you gon do that baby?”

Jane’s face grew warm as she reminisced on the memory. It was restless and intense, they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other that night.

The sound of the telephone ringing broke her from her train of thought. She jumped up excitedly, expecting to hear Smoke’s voice. He was probably gonna tell her he was on the way, or that he’d be a little late. But it wasn’t him. instead Jane recognized the voice of her friend and coworker, Bernice.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jane..”

“Bernice? Hey, what’s up?”

“Is anyone else around?”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows. “Um, no. It’s just me.”

Jane heard Bernice exhale on the other end of the line. A real long and uneasy breath that put Jane on edge.

“Okay good, cause I got something to tell you.”

“It’s about your man”

Jane’s stomach dropped. The warmth she held from her earlier thoughts completely vanishing.

What did Bernice’s messy ass know about Smoke that she didn’t?

“I was at the club last night, with Terrance, and I saw Smoke.”

Jane sat silently. Smoke didn’t come by last night, said he had things to handle, or whatever, she learned not to ask.

“And he wasn’t there alone”

Jane zeroed in on Bernice’s voice. It felt like she couldn’t see, think, hear, or breathe anything in other than Bernice’s words.

He wasn’t alone..?

Then who was he with?

Was it Annie?

“You there Jane?” Bernice asked.

“Yea.. Yea I’m still here Bernice.”

“Okay good. But yeah like I was saying, I was with Terrance when I saw Smoke, with some woman. And from the looks of it they seemed to know each other pretty well”

Jane was about to ask to for a description but stopped herself. What would be the point? She ain’t know what Annie look like anyway.

“They were sitting in front of us, and girl. he ain’t even have no shame, looked me dead in my eyes and ain’t say a thing!” Bernice exclaimed.

“I walked past their table a couple of times, you know tryna see who the girl was, and I noticed, ain’t nann one of em had a ring on they finger!”

Jane’s stomach churned. Smoke never wore his ring around Jane, at least when they were at home.

When he came to her job, sure, it was on. But once they were alone it was tucked away in his coat pocket.

So who was the other woman? And why was she so upset, as if she wasn’t already the other woman.

“They was all over each other girl, I mean the man was cheesing all in her face. And I don’t know about you, but shit I never seen such a sight before.” Bernice kept gossiping , as if Jane wasn’t losing her mind on the other end of the line.

She continue talking about whatever else her and Terrance had seen at the club, but it was all background noise to Jane. Her mind overcome by thoughts of Smoke and some other woman.

“Bernice, I gotta go, I’ll see you at work” Jane said, seconds away from hanging up the phone.

“Wait Jane, I just.. You okay?” she asked.

Jane wanted to scoff. Of course she wasn’t okay. But there was no reason to be mad at Bernice. She had given her a glimpse into the man she thought she knew.

“Yeah I’m good” Jane lied through her teeth.

Bernice sighed, “I just want you to be happy Jane, and that man.. he just ain’t no good.”

“Obviously Bernice” Jane thought to herself.

She was his mistress for crying out loud. She knew exactly how ‘not good’ Smoke was. If he were a good man they wouldn’t be involved with each other in the first place.

“Okay Bernice, imma go now, thanks for calling”

“Okay girl, let me know if you need anything”

“Mhm I will”

And with that, Jane slammed the telephone against the wall, the sharp chatter echoing through her empty apartment.

Jane’s mind was racing a million miles per hour. So many questions, so many feelings, all of it just crashing into her at once. Was she really that naive, to think she was the only one. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, and she felt a faint pang of pain in her chest.

She stumbled to the bathroom, convinced she was going to be sick. But her reflection in the mirror stopped her in her tracks. The pearls gleaming under the harsh bathroom light. The weight of it suddenly felt heavier, and they began to sting against her chest.

A beautiful, yet painful reminder him.

Of them.

Jane stared at herself for a moment. She ran her fingers over the necklace, the cool pearls began to feel suffocating. She considered yanking them off. So she could watch them scatter against the floor in the same manner that her thoughts were. But something in her resisted.

Maybe it was that foolish part of her that believed the lie they had built together was still strong. Shit they built it together, they were.. they are together.

With a shaky exhale Jane turned away from the mirror. Flicking the light off as she walked to her bedroom. She didn’t bother changing out of her slip, not even thinking to take the pearls off. They now rested on her skin as a bitter kiss.

She sank into the sheets, the scent of Smoke calming her just as much as it pained her. The ache in her chest making her force her eyes shut, hoping to sleep the pain away, and forget everything she just heard.

About an hour after midnight Smoke let himself into the apartment. Tired from the streets he figured he’d spend some time with Jane before heading home. The faint smell of the candles Jane loved to burned flowed through the air.

And the light from them made Jane glow. He saw her, sitting in the middle of the bed. Her fingers absently playing with the pearls around her neck. She didn’t even look up at him, either too lost in thought, or too exhausted to care about who walked in.

Smoke watched her for a long moment, before he slowly walked into the room. His footsteps heavy against the wooden floors. Yet, Jane still hadn’t acknowledged him.

“Baby” his deep voice rung out.

Jane slowly lifted her head, eyes glassy and filled with emotion. But her expression was unreadable. Smoke took a quick scan around the room before his eyes landed on her again. A small twitch at the corner of her mouth catching his attention before she spoke.

“Hi Smoke” her light voice let out, a forced smile on her lips.

A frown settled on Smoke’s face. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on, and something about Jane felt.. off.

“Whats up?” he questioned her with narrow eyes.

“Hmm?” She tilted her head, a hint of faux confusion in her eyes. “I just missed you baby, that’s all.” She walked over to him, she laid her hands on his chest, her fingers tracing the fabric of his shirt.

“Where you coming from” she questioned, her eyes watched his face intensely for any sign of guilt, or surprise.

But his expression remained impassive, he was still his stoic and unreadable self.

“Work” he muttered, brushing past her into the bedroom. He started getting comfortable, shrugging his coat off, throwing that and his hat on her vanity’s chair. He sat his shoes in the corner, and began working on his cufflinks.

“You ain’t cook nothing” he cut his gaze to her.

“No, but I can” she said leaning doorway, her arms crossed loosely.

Smokes eyes lingered on her, watching the way her jaw clinched, ever so lightly, and noticing the tension in her posture. “So you ain’t eat nothing, that’s why you looking frail”

Jane’s expression faltered for a split second. Eyebrows furrowing a small unsteady breath leaving her lips.

She cleared her throat, “what you mean baby, I’m the same size I was last time you saw me” she forced that tight, unconvincing smile again.

Smoke’s jaw tightened. Something was off and he knew that she knew he knew.

He pulled his dress shirt off, tossing it in the hamper, leaving him in his undershirt and slacks.

“I’m staying over tonight” he said, vision fixed on her.

Jane’s eyes widened, “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “You don’t want me to?”

“No it’s just—i didn’t expect it.. that’s all” she straightened up, a fake ass brightness as she walked towards him. “I’m happy you’re staying.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against his. Her warmth seeping through his shirt. He placed his hand on the small of her back, his other hand reaching up to her neck, toying with her pearls.

He felt her breath hitch.

Smoke’s grip tightened around her neck, forcing her to look up at him. “What is it?”

She blinked, eyes wide with surprise. “What’s what?”

Smoke’s eyes hardened as he stared at her. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Jane’s lips curved into a small pout, her eyes softened, trying you disarm him. “I’m not baby.” She reached up, handing cradling his face, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks like she always did. “I keep saying I missed you, it’s been a few days now” she threw in a small laugh for good measure.

Smoke’s jaw flexed, searching her face for any sign of a lie.

“Want me to run you a bath?” She offered a little too eagerly. “I’ll cook something while you wash up” she tried to pull back but he held her in her place, his grip firm and unmoving.

Panic flashed across her face, she tried to conceal it but he noticed.

“Nah” his voice gravely, “stay right here.” He let her go and walked out the room.

Smoke did a quick sweep of the apartment, looking closely at every shadow and corner. but he found nothing.

On his way to the bedroom, his eyes caught the telephone, still hanging from the cradle. Smoke started to connect the dots.

“Come here Jane”

She hesitated, his voice was firm, but it was a little too calm. Jane’s heart pounded in her chest as she forced her legs to walk to Smoke.

Smoke’s eyes flickered to the phone, then back to her.

“You broke the phone?”

She smiled, forcing a short nervous laugh, “It was an accident, i’m sorry.” She tried to casually wave it off.

Smoke didn’t blink, eyes boring into her.

“Who called you?”

Jane cleared her throat, smile wavering a bit, “oh it was just Bernice”

Smoke tilted his head, “what she say to get you to break the damn phone?”

Jane felt her throat tighten. “She was just gossiping, you know how she gets.”

“Gossiping about what”

Jane looked away from his gaze, eyes darting to the kitchen.

“Oh.. nothing” she smiled at him, before walking to the kitchen.

“You want some breakfast, you know I don’t keep much in this fridge” she forced a weak, hollow sound that was supposed to be a laugh.

“What she tell you Jane?” He asked as she lit the stove up.

Jane froze there for a moment, watching the blue flames come to life. Her pulse thundering in her ears.

“Jane” he snapped her out of her daze with his rough voice.

She blinked. “It was nothing Smoke, just girl drama”, her words quick and rehearsed as she grabbed a pan from the cupboard.

Smoke didn’t move, his gaze never left her, he still didn’t believe her. He stepped closer, his presence starting to overwhelm her. “Girl drama? You acting strange over some girl drama. You sure?”

She nodded her head, not looking at him. “Yeah baby, just some gossip. Nothing to worry about”

Her hands trembled as she adjusted the pan on the stove top, tears starting to flood her vision.

Smoke took another step closer, “you know I don’t like that lying shit. Especially about something so simple” he spoke, tone dangerously low.

Jane still kept her head down, watching the stove. “Nothings goin on Smoke, I promise” she whispered, trying to convince herself.

Smoke didn’t move, and she felt the heat of his gaze pouring into her, but she didn’t move either.

“You gon keep lying”

The question hung in the air for what seemed like forever. As each second stretched she fought to keep her composure.

“Nobody’s lying to you smoke” her shaky voice said, barely above a whisper. She felt a sob rising in her throat, but she wasn’t willing to let it out.

Smoke stood there, and let her look at the pan she found so interesting all of a sudden. He placed a gentle hand on the nape of her neck. Jane felt her stomach tighten.

He rubbed it softly, thumb stroking her skin. “Look at me” he whispered what seemed like a command and a plea.

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to spill.

“Baby” he said in that smooth voice that always relaxed her. He pressed closer to her, hand laying flat on her stomach.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, the weight of the pearls and his hand moving to her neck slowly bringing her to her demise.

“What’d she tell you” he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Fingers tracing the line of her jaw.

Jane slowly lifted her head, meeting his gaze. He tried to read her face, trying to find any crack, any sign of the truth. They stared at each other for a second before her breath hitched and a sob broke free.

Jane quickly turned her body to bury her face into smoke’s chest. Her sobs weren’t loud or dramatic, instead raw and broken.

Smoke stilled for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, rubbing her back in slow steady circles. Hoping to calm her down. And for a while, he didn’t speak, he just held her. Letting her drench his shirt in tears.

[daddydindjarin]

After Midnight

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Rating: M- nothing in this post, but it'll get there, so we're going to mark all the shots as M. A/N: The way this show has sparked my imagination back into full gear is absolutely insane. I've not been able to get these characters out of my head, and the FMC feels like she jumped into life fully formed. If it wasn't for @lowlights and @write-and-buried I wouldn't have had the courage to write or post so I'm so thankful for them listening to my ramblings about these dorks. And as always, the dividers are by @firefly-graphics

---

PTMC Emergency Department, 2:13 a.m.

You’ve been at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for eight years, and the hospital hums in your bones by now. You started here as an intern, matched fresh out of UNC Chapel Hill, more nerves than skin. Somehow, you stayed—intern year, residency, boards, senior year peds elective that cracked something open in your chest. Now you’re two years into a pediatric emergency medicine fellowship, and you’re still covering every inch of the ER. Peds. Adults. Whatever rolls through the ambulance bay.

You’re good at it. Everyone says so.

It doesn’t make tonight easier.

The air smells like vomit and bleach, and the kid from North 2 coded in triage before you even touched him. Seized twice. You got him back, got him upstairs, but it took something out of you. Something you’re pretending you didn’t need.

The charting desk blurs in front of you, your fingers hovering uselessly over the keys. Your body is moving because it has to, but your brain…your brain’s somewhere else. Blank. Fuzzy. You’re wearing betadine on your sleeve like a medal, your hair’s half out of the tie, and your stomach’s been twisting empty for hours.

The paper coffee cup appears like a miracle.

You blink. Steam curls gently into the fluorescent light and you can smell the sugar before the coffee, and you know, one sugar, no cream- exactly the way you drink it when you’re too tired to argue with yourself. The hand that brought it disappears from your periphery, and when you glance sideways, Robby is already leaning against the counter.

He’s still in scrubs and a half-zipped jacket, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His hair is messy in that way that it only gets after he’s run both hands through it four times in a row. He signed out hours ago.

“You looked like you were about to fall off the stool,” he says, as if it explains anything about why he’s suddenly here.

He places something else on the desk, and the crinkly yellow packaging is immediately recognizable. It’s a granola bar- oats and honey, your favorite, and he doesn’t even say anything about it. Just places it on the counter like he does this every night.

You take it without thinking, not bothering with a thank you. You’ve known him too long for that. Since your intern year, when he used to watch your traumas like he was waiting for you to sink or swim. Robby never said much during those moments. Just handed you gloves, tied your gown for you when your hands were shaking. Once, when you were crying in the stairwell after a loss, he said, “You stayed. That mattered.” You think about that more than you should.

He was the first one you left a sticky note for.

You’d written a question on a chart you felt dumb about- basic trauma math, something you already knew but doubted yourself on anyway- and you drew a little cat beside it, giving a thumbs up. You meant it as a joke, a little self-directed kindness. You didn’t expect a reply.

Later that day, your chart came back with a short answer and a doodle of a matching cat, this one with a stethoscope.

You’ve been trading them ever since. He doesn’t know you save them all.

“You’re off shift,” you murmur around a bite of granola.

He shrugs. “Dropped something.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You dropped something six hours ago and came back for it now?”

“Wasn’t important ‘til I realized it was gone.”

You snort. He doesn’t smile, but his mouth twitches at the corner. You sip the coffee (still hot, thankfully), and you try not to wonder how long he stood in the staff lounge waiting for it to finish brewing. How long he watched the monitor board before walking over.

His knee knocks yours under the desk, light, unthinking. He doesn’t move away. Neither do you.

“You finishing notes?” he asks.

You nod, resisting the urge to scrub your face. “Trying.”

“You want help?”

It’s a soft offer. He already knows the answer- you always finish your own charts. But you shake your head and smile anyway, just barely, because the question still matters.

You both go quiet. Not awkward, just familiar. There’s a hum to it, like a routine you’ve both walked into without planning. He doesn’t speak again, just leans on the counter beside you while you finish chewing and try not to let your hands shake on the keyboard.

And when you shift sideways, just barely, just enough for your arm to rest against his, you don’t say a word.

He doesn’t move away.

Five minutes later, the granola bar is gone, and so is the worst edge of your headache. You’re not okay, exactly, but the world feels a little more manageable with him nearby. A little less like it’s closing in on you from all sides.

You start typing slowly, your fingers still stiff, but moving now. The chart is basic enough- chest retractions, fever, positive RSV. You double-check your med orders, update the time of transfer to PICU, then hit sign and save. It only takes two minutes, maybe three, but he stays through all of it.

When you look up, his eyes are on you.

Not watching you work. Not judging. Just… there. Steady. Present.

You lick the granola dust off your fingers. “You really came back for something you dropped?”

He lifts a shoulder like it doesn’t matter. “Something like that.”

You let the silence stretch between you. There’s a smudge of blood on your sleeve you hadn’t noticed until now- faint, rust-colored, streaked across your cuff like it didn’t want to be remembered, and you tug it down over your wrist.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You need a break,” Robby says. It isn’t a question.

“I need to finish notes.”

“You’ve been sitting in the same spot for twenty minutes and finished one.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong. You’re only half here. The rest of you is still in that trauma bay, still hearing the mother’s voice break when her toddler stopped seizing and went limp in her arms.

He shifts closer, subtle but unmistakable. “Come on.”

“I’m on shift.”

“You’ve got five minutes. I’ll cover.”

You almost laugh. “You’re not even on tonight.”

“I think I can cover you in my ER for 5 minutes,” he says, already turning like he plans to guard the door if Jack comes looking.

You glance toward the break room. “You just want the last of the good coffee.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You saying you didn’t want the one I made you?”

You’re not sure how to answer that. The truth is, yes, you did want it. You always want things from him that you don’t know how to name.

You stand as if it were never even a question, following him towards the break room.

The hallway is dimmer here, further from trauma. The sound of suction and crying recedes behind you as you push open the door to the staff lounge. It smells like someone’s burned popcorn and someone else’s vanilla lotion. There’s a half-full pot of coffee on the warmer and a chair in the corner with your name on it. Not literally, but it’s the one you always take when your legs give out halfway through a double shift, and tonight is no different as you collapse into it.

Robby follows you in. He doesn’t sit, just leans against the counter and pours himself a cup- like it’s his personal kitchen, like this is just another shift you’re working together, not some strange middle-of-the-night orbit you’ve both chosen to fall into.

“How’s Abbott?” you ask, assuming correctly that Robby had stopped to see him before finding you. You’d seen him come in at 7 when you started your second half of your double, but not since, attesting to how busy the pit always stayed.

Robby sips. “Still teaching residents how not to kill people.”

You grin. “So angry, but effective.”

He nods. “And bored out of his mind. He said to tell you that if you don’t start bringing muffins for night shift again, he’s going to start baking his own, and no one wants that.”

You let your head fall back against the chair, choosing to ignore the fact that Jack knew Robby would find you. “I’ve created a monster.”

Robby snorts. “More like unleashed one. Abbott’s been talking about buying an apron. Pink. With ruffles.”

You laugh, sharp and sudden. “If that man bakes half as well as he burns through residents, I’ll be out of a hobby.”

Robby leans back, arms crossed. “Guess you better get back to baking, then.”

You grin. “Maybe I will.”

His eyes flicker down to your hands. He doesn’t say anything, but his mouth curves, just barely. It makes you feel warmer than it should.

He sets his cup down. “I’m gonna grab a blanket. Don’t move.”

You watch him go.

The moment he’s out of the room, your chest tightens like you’ve been holding your breath. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You never have, not around him. It’s been years, and still this soft ache in your chest hasn’t dulled. You told yourself it was a crush. Told yourself it would fade once you stopped needing his approval, once you finished residency, once you got your fellowship, once you found something real.

But he keeps showing up with coffee. Keeps remembering what you like. Keeps bringing granola bars without asking.

And you keep saving every damn sticky note he leaves you.

You’re still thinking about that when he comes back in, a thin fleece blanket in his hands, and he tosses it toward you. It smells like the linen closet. A little like him.

“Five minutes,” he says, settling into the chair beside yours. “Close your eyes.”

You do. Just for a minute. Maybe two.

And when you feel your head start to fall sideways, when you feel your temple brush his shoulder and he doesn’t shift away, you let it happen. Just for five minutes.

The blanket is thin and hospital-issued, scratchy in the corners, but it’s warm. You pull it tighter around your shoulders, feet tucked under yourself in the awful break room chair you’ve collapsed into a hundred times. Usually alone and vibrating from caffeine and cortisol. Tonight, your pulse is steady. You blame the granola bar.

Robby doesn’t speak. He doesn’t shift, just sits there beside you, long legs stretched out, hands folded loosely in his lap like this is something the two of you always do.

You wake up, god knows how much later, to the sound of someone knocking softly on the lounge door.

Robby stirs beside you. You shift from where you’ve fully slumped against him without realizing it, your cheek sliding off his shoulder. He doesn’t move away until you do.

Kim pokes her head in without waiting, gently calling your name. “Five-year-old with an asthma flare in South Three. She’s stable but climbing.”

You rub your eyes, belatedly realizing you were smearing your mascara. “On it.”

Her gaze flicks to Robby, eyebrows arched. She doesn’t say anything, but you can read her smirk like it’s printed on a chart. You’ve been on the receiving end of enough nurse gossip to know when you’ve just handed them material.

“Thanks, Kim,” you say, voice scratchy. She disappears, and you stand, stretching out your back, wincing at the pins and needles in your feet. Robby stands with you, slower.

You hand him the blanket. “Thanks. For this.”

He just shrugs. “Figured I owed you one.”

“For what?”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t answer.

You step out into the hall together. You should split off. He’s not on shift, you’ve got a patient waiting, but you hesitate for a second. There’s something about the quiet between you, the way it softens your jaw, makes the ache in your shoulders a little more bearable.

“Get home safe,” you say.

He says your last name like a secret kept between the two of you. “You too.”

He always calls you that when he doesn’t want to say something else.

You turn down the hallway toward South Three, and you don’t look back.

You’re halfway to the locker room when the day shift rolls in like a slow, caffeinated tide.

Princess is the first one through the bay doors, still in her coat, coffee thermos under one arm, muttering about traffic on the Fort Pitt bridge. She spots you immediately and tsks your last name like a disappointed aunt. “You look like death and poor decisions.”

You grunt. It’s the most language you’ve got left in you.

“Did you even eat?” she asks, already digging into her bag. She doesn’t wait for an answer, just slaps a protein bar into your palm and points a perfectly manicured finger at your chest. “You will eat this before you drive. Swear on my ovaries.”

“Your what now?” you mumble.

“Swear it.”

You nod, obedient and sleep-drunk.

Then Perlah breezes in behind her, laughing before she even hits the desk. “Don’t listen to her, ngulót, she gets dramatic when she skips breakfast.” She gently pinches your cheek on the way past. “You okay?”

“Pulled a double,” you say. “Still standing.”

“Barely,” she mutters, and reaches out to fix the collar of your fleece, hands warm and quick. “You going home or collapsing in the on-call room again?”

“Home. I think.”

“Good.” She leans close and whispers, “Jack left twenty minutes ago. Said if you didn’t get out soon, he was coming back to carry you.”

You snort. “Sounds like him.”

“Did you tell her what he called that kid in trauma last night?” Perlah asks Princess, eyes alight.

“Oh my god, yes. ‘Little bastard’s lungs are doing a samba.’ Right in front of the mom!”

You groan into your hand. “Why do we let him near people?”

“Because he saves them,” Dana answers from behind the triage desk, voice steady as always.

You turn, don’t even remember pivoting, and there she is. Reading the board like she can feel which rooms need her without walking in. Her eyes flick to you and hold.

“You’re still here?” she asks, not unkind.

“Just leaving.”

She nods once. No fuss. No scolding. “Go. Rest. You’re no good to me burnt out.”

It’s the closest she’ll come to I worry about you.

You clutch the protein bar a little tighter.

Then there’s a shift in the air.

You don’t hear his footsteps, but you feel him.

Robby’s voice calling your last name is somewhere behind you, low and easy: “Morning.”

You turn.

He’s in a clean set of scrubs, hair damp from a shower, badge clipped to his collar. He smells like eucalyptus shampoo and maybe cinnamon. You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you stuff them in your pockets.

“Morning,” you say.

He walks past you toward the desk, nodding at Dana, fist-bumping Perlah, stealing Princess’s coffee without asking. Everyone’s talking around you, but all you hear is the echo of your head on his shoulder. The weight of the blanket. The heat of the coffee cup in your hand.

Robby glances back just once, mouth quirking. “Go home before you end up unconscious in triage and really get the pit treatment.”

You should say something clever. Something funny. Something like I could be unconscious anywhere, really. The on-call room, my room…your room.

Instead, you watch him walk away.

It’s almost 6:45 a.m. by the time you leave the hospital. Pink is just bleeding into the sky over the Allegheny, and the wind cuts sharper than it did last week. You don’t have a hat, but you pull your coat tighter around you and keep walking toward your car, parked somewhere near the construction zone that’s been eating the south lot for months.

Your body is running on crumbs. You didn’t even realize how hungry you still were until you hit the air.

You unlock your car, slide inside, and grip the steering wheel with stiff fingers. You sit there for a long time just breathing. Thinking about the coffee. The granola bar. The way he didn’t even ask before handing it to you. Like he already knew.

You think about the first sticky note. The way he drew the little stethoscope on the cartoon cat. The way you stuck it in the pocket of your white coat and never took it out.

You think about his shoulder under your cheek. Solid. Warm. Unmoving.

You think about marching back into the ER where you know he’ll be clocking in soon, and asking him what he really came back for.

You don’t.

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐕

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Juicy thought she could play it cool, but between Smoke’s games and Stack’s hands, she’s caught in a heat she wasn’t ready for. Good things there’s a pool party to keep things chill….right?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild sexual tension, lots of kissing, suggestive dialogue, jealousy, light cursing, let me know if I missed anything!

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - my wifi is bugging….

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 13, 867+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the rooftops of the neighborhood, painting the sidewalk in streaks of orange. The old wood of the Hall family porch creaked gently beneath their weight, and the heavy scent of weed hung in the air, thick and warm like the summer itself.

Mary lounged in the wicker chair, her curls pulled up high with a pencil sticking out the back. Smoke, ever the picture of calm, sat on the porch swing in a man spread, puffing on w joint with one tucked behind his ear. Stack, sat on the porch floorboards, legs laid out as he rolled the blunt between his fingers with the same precision he used on car engines. Juicy rocked gently on the porch swing, wearing a cropped Baby Phat tee and cotton shorts that hugged her hips just right, her glossed lips pursed as she blew smoke toward the sky from the blunt Smoke passed her.

They didn’t say much—just passed the blunt, breathed in the heat and let the wind do what little it could.

“Hey.” Mary spoke suddenly, flicking ash from the joint onto the rim of the pot by her foot. “Y’all heard about that pool party over at the rec center tomorrow? I think Tyrell and ‘nem throwin’ it. Word is they got a DJ this time.”

Juicy let out a soft hum and pulled her legs under her on the swing, already imagining the scene. Shirtless men with water guns, music blasting, somebody bringing their cousin who couldn’t dress, and the ice cream man pulling up just in time to cause drama.

“I ain’t heard about that.” Smoke replied, voice smooth and distant, like he already knew where this was headed.

“Well, we’re going.” Mary declared, gesturing between her and Juicy. “I told Megan we’d slide through for a bit.”

Stack gave a little grunt from his place on the floorboards. “Damn. Guess we’re goin’ then.”

Juicy perked up at that, turning toward the boys with a grin. “Y’all coming with us?”

Reluctant nods came from both twins—mild annoyance coated in curiosity. Juicy smirked, satisfied. “Well shoot.” She said, pushing herself up from the swing with a small bounce. “Now I gotta get myself together before tomorrow.”

Smoke arched a brow, glancing over his shoulder at her. “What you mean ‘get together’?”

“Gotta get my nails done, toes, hair—maybe pick out a new suit.”

Stack lifted his head just a bit, blinking up at her through lashes thick as trouble. “Didn’t you just get your nails done last Friday?”

Juicy tilted her head, one hand on her hip. “Yeah, but I need something new. You know I like my designs. Everybody’s already seen these.”

Stack didn’t even smile. He just exhaled a stream of smoke and said. “Only you payin’ attention to that.”

“Oh, and apparently you too, stalker.” She shot back, a little giggle slipping out before she could catch it.

Stack turned his head fully toward her now, blowing smoke through his nose with that same calm, hungry gaze. “You wish I stalked you.”

Her breath caught for just a second, her lip curling up in surprise. “You’d like that.”

“I would.” Stack said smoothly. “You’d like that.”

Juicy’s eyes widened, a soft gasp leaving her lips. “What? Nuh uh.” She muttered, half-turned away, trying to play it off. “Well… I’d probably be flattered. But I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

That’s when Mary stood up and stretched, letting out a little groan. “Let’s go, Ju. You know if we don’t get there soon, we ain’t gon’ get a spot.”

Juicy followed, snatching her bag off the porch railing. The girls headed toward Missy’s car, Mary jangling the keys as they walked down the steps.

“Where y’all goin’?” Smoke asked suddenly, his voice sharper than usual. It wasn’t the question—it was the way he asked it. Watchful. Protective.

Juicy turned around with a pointed look, her lips shiny and slightly smirking. “Uh! You’re stalking too. Is that y’all’s thing now? Stalking me?”

“Yeah.” Stack said without hesitation, that devilish look in his eye. Smoke stayed quiet, but his eyes stayed on her, low and unreadable.

“Where?” He asked again, tone clipped now.

Juicy rolled her eyes a little at his shift. “I told you! I gotta get my nails did. Now you’re making me late to a walk-in appointment I haven’t set yet.”

Her arms folded across her chest, the attitude sliding into her tone before she even noticed. She glanced between them. Smoke’s stoic stare, Stack’s crooked smirk, and added quickly, “And no, we don’t need a ride. We got Missy’s car. Are we done here?”

There was then a pause, brief, but heavy. Smoke didn’t say anything. His gaze didn’t soften. That familiar warmth he usually reserved for her had gone cool, and she felt it in her chest more than she expected.

Stack, though… Stack had the nerve to look entertained. He liked her sharp tongue. He liked how her voice pitched up when she got annoyed. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips when he said, “Yeah. We’re done.”

Juicy didn’t even know what to do with the flutter in her stomach, but she gave a little nod and turned away, making her way down the steps with Mary.

Once they slid into the car and Mary started the ignition, she cut her eyes at Juicy.

“They keep a tight leash on you.” She said, adjusting the rearview.

Juicy scoffed, twisting her mouth and buckling her seatbelt. “I guess they try to do that since Martin can’t, but no. I keep a tight leash on them. They don’t run me.”

Mary just laughed and pulled out of the driveway. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, girl.”

As they drove away, Juicy dared one last glance back at the porch. Smoke was still sitting, still watching, his eyes unreadable under the glow of the setting sun. Stack was now leaned against the banister, mouthing something to his brother—but she didn’t need to hear it to know.

They might not run her.

But they were running through her mind all the same.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The nail shop had the unmistakable scent of acrylic and coconut oil, the low hum of fans swirling semi-cool air through the room as the girls settled into their usual pedicure chairs. A wall-mounted TV played 106 & Park on low volume, the sounds of a summer hit barely audible over the buzz of foot files, laughter, and idle chitchat. Juicy and Mary were regulars at Tipz & ToeZ, a pink-and-white storefront tucked between a beauty supply and an old fried fish joint.

They knew their techs by name—Tina and Mimi—who already had their tubs filled with warm water by the time they walked in. Flip-flops slid off, pants rolled up, and legs dipped into swirling bubbles. As Juicy sank back into her seat with a satisfied sigh, Mimi leaned over and plucked at her ankle.

“You let too much time go,” Mimi teased in her usual sing-song tone. “Nail polish chipping.”

“Girl, you act like I walk barefoot in the streets,” Juicy joked, giggling. “That’s just my summer hustle feet.”

The girls chuckled, falling into their usual rhythm of gossip, neighborhood news, and hushed complaints about Mimi’s cousin who borrowed her car last week and came back with it smelling like weed and disappointment.

After a lull in the conversation, nothing but the click of tools and splash of water filling the space between them, Mary tilted her head slightly and peeked at Juicy from the corner of her eye. Her voice came soft, hesitant, but laced with intent.

“Do you like…the twins?”

Juicy’s brows furrowed. “Of course I like the twins,” she said, her voice light with a laugh as if the question was ridiculous.

Mary didn’t budge. “No, I mean like, romantically.”

The smile then dimmed from Juicy’s lips, and her breath caught in her throat. Her heart skipped the way it always did when Smoke looked at her just a second too long, or when Stack said something slick that she pretended not to hear. Her mind stuttered through a thousand versions of what if, but she tried not to let it show.

“Oh.” She said finally. Her voice was softer now. Smaller.

She turned to Mary and met her eyes, the air thick with something unspoken. “No.”

“No?” Mary echoed, her brow lifted.

“Yeah, no.” Juicy replied quickly, brushing the idea aside as if saying it fast enough would make it true. “I mean, they’re attractive. Anybody can see that. But I don’t think…nah.” She tried to sound convincing, even if she was talking more to herself than Mary.

Mary wasn’t buying it. “I mean, I think they might have it for you.”

“For me?” Juicy blinked, startled.

“Yeah. Especially Smoke. I know Stack’s always flirting, but that boy flirts with every girl, hell, and probably with his reflection in the mirror. Smoke though? He don’t look at nobody the way he look at you. It’s like you the only girl in the world to him.”

Juicy’s stomach flipped, warmth blooming in her chest despite herself. But a part of her wilted too—the part that heard Stack’s name tossed out like he was just playing a part. Like he didn’t mean some of the looks, or those slick little comments that lingered longer than they should’ve.

“I don’t know.” Juicy murmured, letting out a shaky breath and laughing it off like she wasn’t falling into a spiral.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Hey, there’s no shame in trying. I get it. You’re scared it’ll mess things up for your friendship. But if a fine-ass man like that looked my way, girl, I’d dive headfirst. Even if it’s just to fuck.”

“Mary!” Juicy hissed, looking wide-eyed toward the techs working on their toes.

“What? I’m serious,” Mary whispered, grinning.

“Oh, I know you are.”

Mary waved a hand like she was swatting a fly. “Anyway, I only asked because Monica told me Anika’s been sniffing around. Says she’s on the hunt since her and Donavan broke up. Again. Says it’s for good this time but we all know that’s a lie.”

Juicy rolled her eyes. “That girl’s always on the hunt. She’d prowl her way into a church function if she smelled cologne.”

“And Yalonda said she don’t even care which twin she gets. Just wants one.”Mary added, her lip curling in disgust. “Like, what kind of thirsty behavior is that? Not even caring which person you want, you just care that they’re sexy so you’ll take either. This isn’t a damn store.”

Juicy hummed in agreement but didn’t say much. Her chest felt tight, the thought of other girls sizing up the twins—her twins—leaving her strangely defensive.

“I mean, if I had to pick…” Mary trailed off, her voice laced with mischief.

Juicy turned to her sharply, caught off guard. “Pick?”

“Yeah. I think I would choose Stack. Stack’s more rugged, bold. I like that. Smoke’s too chill for me. He’d probably make me second-guess myself every five minutes.” Mary laughed, then grinned. “But if I was greedy—which I am—I’d swoop up both and leave these bitches mad as fuck.”

Juicy blinked. Her heart pounded again, louder now, her cheeks warm.

“Who would you choose?” Mary asked innocently, turning to face her with that knowing look.

“I—uh—I don’t know,” Juicy muttered, glancing down at her feet. Tina was painting her toes a soft, pastel yellow, but she couldn’t focus on that. “That’s a hard question.”

“Girl, just answer.” Mary groaned. “It’s just us. I ain’t about to go runnin’ to them with your secrets.”

Juicy took a long breath, let it out slowly. She thought about Stack’s grin when she got annoyed. About Smoke’s eyes watching her like they saw things she didn’t even show. She thought about how her heart never picked a side. And then she said it, quietly, like it didn’t mean everything.

“Both.”

Mary’s eyes widened, a big smile breaking out on her face as she leaned in. “Both?”

Juicy didn’t answer.

Mary gasped dramatically. “Juicy!”

“What? You told me to answer.” Juicy shrugged, still avoiding her gaze, but her lips twitched into a small, guilty smile.

“I know, I just didn’t know you were such a freak like that.” Mary grinned. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m not a freak.” Juicy said with a small smirk as she leaned back in the seat before turning to look at Mary. “Just why have one when you can have both?”

Marin’s grin widened as she looked at her best friend next to her, the sweet and innocent Juicy almost unrecognizable as she looked at her. And she couldn’t stop her grin from widening, almost in pride.

“Exactly.”

As Tina began the second coat on her toes and the shop filled with the chatter of another customer walking in, Juicy leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling fan above them. Her heart was still racing, but her smile—subtle and soft—lingered. Summer was just getting started.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The sun was just beginning to dip below the skyline as tires rolled to a gentle stop at the curb. The cicadas still singing under the thick and sticky veil of southern summer heat that was finally softening into something a bit more bearable as Mary’s car pulled up to Juicy’s driveway. The street was dim, the soft yellow of porch lights glimmering against humid air. Mary turned to Juicy with a knowing smile, her glossed lips shining faintly under the dome light of the car. The AC had been blasting the entire ride, a faint trace of the nail salon’s lavender lotion still lingering in the air. They were both loose-limbed from their pedicures and still giggling over Mary’s bold claims and Juicy’s reluctant confession.

“Alright, babe,” Mary said, slipping the car into park and turning in her seat with a knowing grin. “Don’t act brand new next time I bring up the twins.”

Juicy rolled her eyes with a laugh, already gathering her little purse and salon flip-flops. “Whatever.”

“You know I love you, girl,” Mary said, leaning in. They exchanged their signature goodbye—cheek kisses, one on each side, exaggerated and dramatic. “Mwah. Mwah.”

“I’ll call you later.” Juicy said, pulling the door shut behind her.

“You better.”

Juicy stepped out into the warm evening air, her eyes lazily drifting across the street. Only one car was parked in the twins’ driveway and her chest gave the smallest deflated sigh at the sight of the familiar cutlass absent. Either they were both out, or—more likely—Smoke was gone. Not that she was disappointed. Not really. She turned her attention to her front door, keys already in hand.

Inside, her house welcomed her with the cool hush of an AC unit humming low and the faint scent of lemon cleaner. She slipped off her white flip-flops with the little rhinestones and flexed her freshly done toes on the cool tile. Her body relaxed, ready for a shower and some water—only for her ears to perk up at the unmistakable sound of the TV murmuring in the living room. She blinked, her brows furrowing as she padded softly across the hardwood floor.

When she turned the corner, she froze.

There on her couch, sprawled comfortably like he paid rent, was Stack, the glow of The Wayans Bros lighting up his face in flickers of sitcom chaos. Remote in one hand, legs stretched, and a bag of chips resting casually on the armrest. The volume was low and he turned his head lazily just as she stepped in, both of them locking eyes beneath the dim yellow hue of the side lamp. The air shifted immediately.

“Hey.” He said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Hey.” She replied, blinking in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching your TV.” He barely even looked sheepish, starting it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And Juicy just let out a breath of a laugh, shaking her head as she walked further into the room. “I can see that.” She said saintly. She didn’t ask for more than that. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was easier to just… accept the warmth that settled in her belly at the sight of him there. Comfortable and at ease like he belonged there normally. It was nice to see.

Stack leaned forward a bit, his eyes skimming over her. “Let me see the nails.”

Juicy arched a brow but held her hands out, fingers spread. “They’re just French tips with a little bling. Nothin’ wild.”

“Yeah.” He said, taking her hand, turning it slightly to catch the light. “But they’re not your usual.”

She tilted her head. “You know what my usual is?” She asked with a small smirk, and Smoke copied her grin as he raised his eyes up to meet hers. “I pay attention.”

Her smile twitched wider at that. He let her hand go, but his gaze didn’t move far.

“Let me see the toes.” He added casually, though there was something in his voice that sent a flicker up her spine.

Juicy laughed again, but leaned back against the couch, swinging her legs into his lap with a teasing look in her eyes. She wiggled her toes, freshly polished with the same glossy French tip, tiny gems them as well.

“Be still.” He murmured with a grin, wrapping his hands around her ankles and lifting one foot to examine it like it was art. His fingers were warm against her skin, rough in all the right ways, and it sent a low, subtle shiver up her legs as he handled her feet like it was the most natural position for them. “You like?” She asked, her voice dipping low, almost instinctive. Soft. Sweet. Sultry.

Stack’s eyes lifted to hers, his smile slower this time, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I love.”

Juicy’s breath hitched just a little, and it surprised her. She tried to mask it with a smile, but there was something about the way he was looking at her now. Like she wasn’t just he and Smoke’s childhood friend or the neighbor or the girl he teased sometimes for fun. There was a weight to his gaze.

His fingers moved in slow, absent circles over her arch, rubbing without thinking, like it was second nature. She shifted slightly, trying to keep her breath steady, but the tension in the room was undeniable now. The TV might as well have been turned off.

The room went quiet, the TV nothing more than background noise now. The air thickened, their energy humming beneath the surface like static before a storm.

“Is… Smoke mad at me?” Juicy asked suddenly, voice quiet.

Stack looked up, his brow lifting just slightly, which emptied her to continue. “He seemed a bit irritated at the way I was acting earlier.” She added, eyes dropping to her lap. “I guess I was being a little…much.”

“Yeah, you were a brat.” Stack said plainly. Juicy frowned at his words, her lips pushing into a pout. “I know.” She sighed. “And I don’t know why.”

“Because you’re spoiled.”

Her mouth dropped open in mock offense. “I am not spoiled!”

Stack chuckled. “Yes you are, Juicy.”

She moved to protest again, but he lifted a finger, silencing her with a teasing smirk. “You’re the youngest girl in your family. You did everything mommy and daddy dearest wanted, no matter how wild they acted back then. To them, you were the good one. The golden one. Compared to your drug-dealin’ brother and your teen-mom sister, you look like a damn angel.”

Juicy wrinkled her nose but wasn’t sure if she could even fully deny it.

“I blame me and Smoke.” Stack continued, rubbing slow along her heel with one bad while the other toyed with her anklet. “We used to do whatever you said. No matter how crazy it was. Then it rubbed off on everybody else. Mary, Missy… hell, even strangers do what you say.”

“Well.” She said sassily. “You could’ve said no.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “And see that pout? Oh baby, you know I couldn’t.”

He lifted her foot and placed a kiss on it—quick, but lingering enough to make her toes curl. Juicy giggled and half-kicked him, not hard, more playful than anything.

Silence fell again, warm and full.

“But no, he’s not mad at you.”Stack finally said. “At least, not for long. You know how he gets when people don’t listen.”

“Yeah, I know how you both get.”Juicy said with a small roll of her eyes. “You just be glad I like that attitude you give me.” Stack said, gaze sharpening just slightly. “Or else we’d have some issues. Issues I’d have to fix, real quick.”His tongue swept across his bottom lip slowly, and Juicy’s breath caught in her throat. She shifted, thighs clenching slightly, something that Stack caught and made him grin.

“You got real soft feet.” He murmured, eyes dropping again.

“I know.” She said, trying to play it cool despite the butterflies blooming in her chest.

“You get ’em done for someone?”

Her eyes searched his face, trying to figure out if it was a joke or something more. “You.” She said after a beat. Stack eyes made their way back to his, his brow lifted slightly. Juicy simply smirked, letting the words hang in the air. “And every other fine man who might be watchin’.” She added.

Stack laughed then, that low and deep sound that made her knees feel weak even though she was sitting down.

“Well.” He said, setting her feet gently back in his lap, “You definitely got my attention.”

Their eyes locked again, and this time, neither of them looked away.

The TV flickered in the background, forgotten. The ceiling fan hummed low overhead. But all Juicy could feel was the heat between them, thick as the summer night outside, and just as electric.

Stack’s fingers lingered just above her ankle now, the circles slower, heavier. Like he was remembering the feeling of her soft skin under his. Juicy swallowed hard, the thrum in her chest matching the quiet hum of the ceiling fan, blowing out warm air that didn’t help cool her flushed skin.

Stack hadn’t said anything since his last comment, but his eyes were still on her. And his gaze was so heavy and intense that she felt a heart eat start at the lower part of her body. He didn’t stare at her in that way boys used to look at her when she walked by in low-rise jeans. He did it in that way that made her feel seen. He was peeling her open with a glance, figuring out where to press, where to touch, how to unravel her.

Juicy sat up a little, her legs shifting so her calves rested across his lap instead of just her feet. A bold move, maybe. But it was hot. And his hands were warm. And that look in his eye made her forget how to second-guess herself.

“You good?” Stack asked, his voice low, like velvet soaked in heat.

Juicy nodded, slow. “Mhm.”

He raised a brow, but the corners of his lips tugged into a knowing grin. “Alright then.” His hands moved again, this time sliding from her ankle to her shin. His thumb brushed the curve of her calf, just slow enough to make her squirm. She looked away for a second, then back at him, only to catch his eyes already there—watching her reactions. He was closer to her legs now, and he watched as she took a sniff, and the way his eyes closed briefly had her wanting to clench her thoughts together.

“You smell sweet.” He stated as his large hands rubbed against her legs, squeezing her thick calf every now and then. “This the lotion they put on you at the salon?”1 He asked, voice playful, but the rasp in it gave him away.

Juicy licked her lips. “No, it’s the one I carry with me. Gotta stay soft.” She shrugged.

That earned a chuckle, low and deep, and his fingers didn’t stop moving. Now they were tracing the line behind her knee, then higher. She felt her breath hitch, but she didn’t stop him. Her body was humming. Like her skin was remembering the nights she used to dream of this exact thing and pretend she didn’t.

“You tryna drive me crazy?” He murmured, his fingertips brushing along her thigh now—just below the hem of her little shorts. It was light. Barely there. But it lit a fire under her skin.

“I thought I already did.” She replied, voice dipping, almost shy but not really. Stack smiled. That slow, lazy smile that said he liked where this was headed. His hands slid further north, one staying on her thigh, the other moving to her waist, like he was trying to anchor her and set her on fire at the same time.

“Juicy…”

She looked at him, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her lips. “Yeah?” She asked breathlessly.

“You ever think about us?” He asked, thumb stroking just under the band of her shorts.

Her heart thumped. “Like what?”

His gaze was heavy now. Weighted with meaning. With memories of all the late nights they’d danced around each other, shared jokes a little too flirty, lingered in the same room just a little too long. “Like this.” He said simply. “Like… me and you. No frontin’ or nothin’ like that. Just us.” He said, and the way he was speaking, that soft voice like he was begging, had Juicy’s heart beating hard within her chest.

Juicy’s throat felt tight, but she nodded. “Yeah… I think about it.” She said, her eyes wide and twinkling as she stared into his eyes. “Me too.” His hand drifted further, palm cupping the outside of her thigh now, fingertips brushing the curve of her hip. “All the time.”

His touch turned more confident, the tease of it replaced with intention. He leaned in slightly, close enough for Juicy to smell the faded cologne on his neck—something warm and woodsy that clung to him even through the heat.

Her hand found his chest, soft at first, then gripping the front of his white tank like she needed something to hold on to. Stack leaned forward, his mouth brushing her shoulder before his lips pressed there, then higher—up her neck, slow and deliberate.

“You want me to stop?” He whispered, his voice sending a shiver straight down her spine.

She shook her head, breathless. “No…”

That was all he needed.

His hands moved with more purpose now, dragging her closer until she was nearly straddling his lap. One arm hooked around her waist, the other dipped lower, beneath the hem of her shorts. She felt his hand explore the curve of her thigh, the hush between them thick as the moment stretched.

Then… he slid further, his fingers brushing against her clothed heat. Then he pressed against her, his large fingered rubbed her through her panties.

Juicy gasped—quiet, startled, but far from unwilling. Stack’s eyes never left hers, watching every flicker across her face, gauging her every breath and reaction as his fingers moved in slow, deliberate rhythm. His mouth brushed hers, feather-soft, like he was asking for permission even as his hand spoke for him.

She gripped his tank tighter, her eyes fluttering shut as she subconsciously, slowly rocked her hips against his hand.

And in the sweltering quiet of that summer night, Stack got to work—steady, focused, and with the kind of confidence that told Juicy he’d been waiting a long time to do this right.

The air felt heavier now—thick with something unspoken but deeply understood. Juicy’s breath hitched, and for a moment, all she could hear was the slow hum of the fan and the soft rustle of Stack’s hands as they moved against her skin.

He kissed her again. This time just beneath her jaw, then down to her collarbone, letting his lips linger. Like he was memorizing her. His hand, still tucked beneath the waistband of her shorts, moved with a deliberate rhythm that had her thighs tensing and her hips subtly shifting, almost involuntarily. A slow, languid ache built low in her belly, and her fingers slid across his cornrows, gently tugging at the long end as if to ground herself in something.

“Stack…” She breathed, barely able to get the name out.

He looked up, eyes hooded and warm, his smile crooked like he knew exactly what he was doing. “You good?” He asked, the rough edge in his voice betraying how much he wanted to keep going.

She nodded—maybe a little too fast—but she couldn’t help it. Her voice was soft when she answered, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

That smile deepened, and he kissed her again, this time on the mouth—slow and full, with tongue, like he wanted to make her forget any man who ever kissed her before.

Stack’s hand was slow and sure, trailing up the outside of Juicy’s thigh with the kind of care that made her nerves hum. The couch beneath her felt too soft, too warm, like it was melting beneath them, and her heartbeat thudded in her ears louder than whatever was still playing on the TV. His fingers moved with ease, confident and patient, making her body respond before her brain could catch up.

Juicy let her head fall back as Stack nipped at her neck, her breath coming out in shallow little sighs, eyes fluttering shut. Every inch of her felt like it was waiting on him—like her whole body was leaning into the moment, breathless and trembling.

Then—

Click.

The sharp sound of a key turning in the front door lock cut through the air like a lightning bolt. Juicy’s eyes snapped open just as Stack’s hand stilled beneath the soft cotton of her shorts. For a beat, neither of them moved, suspended in disbelief.

The door creaked open, and Juicy practically leapt up, pulling her shorts down as if they’d betrayed her.

Stack sat back with a groan that was barely audible, raking a hand over his face as Juicy scrambled to look like she hadn’t just been caught on the edge of sin.

Into the doorway stepped Sinclair, her arms full with a sleeping Tyson slumped against her shoulder, his little curls damp with sweat. She didn’t step fully into the living room, but her gaze drifted—just for a second—over to Juicy, who stood awkwardly next to the couch with her curls a little too messy and her tank top slightly askew.

Sinclair didn’t say anything, but one brow arched ever so slightly.

“Hey.” Juicy said quickly, voice too high. “Y’all back already?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sinclair hummed, tired but alert. “Tyson crashed on the way. Figured I’d just carry him up.”

Stack stood up then, brushing his hands on his jeans, and Juicy caught the faintest smirk playing at his lips, like he found the whole interruption funny. “I’mma head out.”He said casually, his voice warm but cool. Not too rushed, but not slow either.

“Yeah… okay.” Juicy said, following him toward the door, trying to smooth out her curls as they went.

Sinclair disappeared down the hall without a word, but Juicy could feel the suspicion lingering in the air. She knew she probably wasn’t going to get questioned later but whatever just happened would linger between them until it was bright up again.

The porch light buzzed faintly as she stepped into the doorway while Stack stepped outside. The warm night wrapped around them like a slow, sticky blanket. Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance, and the faint scent of grilled meat still hung in the air from someone’s barbecue earlier.

Stack turned to her, hands slipping into his pockets, his tall frame backlit by the porch light. “You alright?” He asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

Juicy rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. “I was, until somebody got me caught.”

“You wasn’t caught.” He murmured, stepping just a little closer. “She ain’t see nothin’. ’Sides… you the one that got all flustered.”

“I was not flustered.” She argued, eyes narrowing.

“You are flustered.” He leaned in even closer now, his voice low and lazy like syrup on a hot day. “Still got that little red blush right here…” He tapped her cheek lightly, and Juicy swatted his hand, but not really. They both laughed softly, the kind of quiet, private laugh that was meant to only be shared between two people in close quarters.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed lightly over her chest, watching him. “I’m grown.” She said, her usual sassy attitude coming back as she smoothed what we gloss she had left on her lips.

Stack’s gaze flicked down to her lips—quick but not shy. And then back up to her eyes. “Trust and believe I know that.” He said, his eyes training over her again. Juicy bit at the inside of her lip at that, looking up at him. “I should go.” He said, but made no move to leave.

“Mm-hmm.”Juicy hummed, still watching him with those big, round eyes. “You should.”

And yet… neither of them moved. The space between them tightened like a rubber band stretched too far. Then, without warning, Stack leaned in.

His lips found hers—warm, full, and hungry.

Juicy didn’t think. She just melted into him, her arms coming up to rest against his chest as his hand slid around her waist. The kiss deepened fast, hot and breath-stealing, like all the tension from earlier had been waiting for permission.

Then his hand, so bold and certain, slipped lower, gripping her behind in one smooth motion.

Juicy gasped into his mouth, the sound soft and shocked, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on like he might float away if she didn’t.

Stack broke the kiss then, just barely, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavy.

He looked down into her face, those dark eyes searching hers. She looked wrecked in the prettiest way—lips parted, cheeks flushed, her curls wild, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

He kissed her again, quick and tender, right on her slightly open mouth. Then his hand slid slowly from her behind, the warmth of his touch still tingling against her skin.

“Have a good night, Juicy.”He said softly, his voice lower than before. Something about it sent a shiver down her spine. She swallowed and whispered, “Goodnight, Stack.” She said, but she wasn’t even sure the words made it past her lips.

She watched him walk down the steps, his tall frame cutting through the quiet of the street until he crossed over to the porch across from hers. He didn’t look back, not before she went quickly slipped inside and shut the door, pressing her back against it. Her hand went to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

She stared up at the ceiling for a second, completely dazed. Then, finally, the words slipped out in a breathless, disbelieving whisper.

“What the fuck did I just do?”

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The morning sun had just begun to stream through the gauzy curtains of Juicy’s bedroom, casting a warmth across her floor. The summer air was already thick with heat, promising a sweltering day ahead. She stood near her dresser in nothing but a black tank top and her favorite pair of boy shorts, the soft cotton clinging to her curves in all the right places. Her hair was up in a bun with a silk scarf wrapped around the base, though a few strands were curling down the side of her face as she rubbed sunscreen onto her arms. The scent of coconut filled the room, mingling with the faint trace of her vanilla perfume.

She paused mid-rub, her eyes drifting toward the door as she remembered something.

Sinclair.

She needed to tell her sister about the pool party. Dropping the sunscreen onto the vanity, she wiped her hands on a towel and padded barefoot down the hall. Tyson’s door was slightly ajar, but she walked right past it, heading straight for the largest room in the house. Sinclair sat cross-legged on her bed, meticulously going through Tyson’s diaper bag, organizing bottles and wipes like she was preparing for war.

“Hey.” Juicy called softly, catching her attention.

Sinclair looked up from a pack of baby wipes. “Hey, what’s up?”

Juicy stepped further into the room, her bare legs brushing against the side of the bed as she smiled down at the toddler who sat surrounded by soft toys, babbling to himself. “Mary and I are gonna hit the pool party at the rec center in a few. Martin might be there, so I thought maybe you and Ty could slide through. Make it a family affair.”She said, reaching down to scoop up the baby.

Tyson squealed with delight, giggling as Juicy peppered his chubby cheeks with ticklish kisses. The baby’s laugh was contagious, filling the room like sunlight.

Sinclair’s smile was tentative. “Uh… yeah, I can see if we can do that.” She said, but something in her tone held hesitation. “It’s just that—”

Knock knock knock.

A knock at the door cut her off.

Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “I’ll get it.” She said quickly, gently placing Tyson back on the bed before heading down the hallway.

She didn’t ask who it was, didn’t pause, didn’t peek cautiously through the side curtain like she normally would. It was almost like she knew who was there form the knock alone, even the presence.

As she pressed her eye to the peephole, her breath caught. There he was. Those familiar full lips she knew better than her own name, framed by the smooth lines of a face she could spot even in a dream.

She opened the door, slow and unsure.

Smoke stood on the other side, tall and still and undeniably handsome, his expression unreadable but his eyes glued to her.

“Hey,” He said, voice low, intimate.

“Hi.” Juicy’s throat tightened, her breath catching. It was the first time they’d seen each other since her impulsive outburst yesterday. She’d sent two texts last night, trying not to sound too desperate, but they’d gone unanswered and call her an over thinker but know she didn’t know where they stood.

“Can I come in?” Smoke asked gently, watching her closely.

Juicy blinked, shaking off the trance. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Come on in.” She said, stepping aside.

He moved past her into the house, his presence immediately grounding, immediately consuming. She shut the door behind him and took his hand without thinking, leading him down the hallway to her bedroom. The house was still and quiet, Tyson’s babbling just a murmur in the distance.

Once inside, she closed the door behind them. Like he’d been here a thousand times, Smoke crossed the room and sat on her bed, picking up one of her pink decorative pillows and resting it against his knees. His eyes scanned her slowly. Her bun, her bare arms still glistening with sunscreen, the tank top that hugged her chest just tight enough for him to see the curve of her nipples underneath, and the boy shorts that left little to the imagination.

She stood with her hands on her hips, heart thudding against her ribs. “You mad at me?” She asked, lips pouted.

Smoke shook his head. “No.”

“Well…”She dragged the word out, tilting her head.

“…Were you mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you, baby.” He said, that low rasp in his voice drawing her in like a magnet.

That last word—baby—settled right in her chest and melted whatever walls she’d tried to put up. She exhaled softly, stepping forward until she stood between his knees. Her arms wrapped around his torso, pulling herself closer to him. “You didn’t answer my messages.” She murmured, her voice small and vulnerable. “I thought you were mad after what I did yesterday.”

Smoke’s arms slid around her waist, grounding her. His hands rested gently on her lower back, fingers drawing soft circles there.

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” He said. “After you dipped out to get your nails did, I had to handle some business. Came back late and crashed. I was tired.”

Juicy lifted her head just enough to look him in the eye, glancing down at her hang as she toyed this his gold chain. “So you weren’t mad at me? Not even a little?”

“Baby, no.” He repeated gently, then his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shorts, teasing the bare skin of her hip. “But you better never talk back to me like that again.” He added in a low, commanding voice. “Or else you’re due for a punishment. Am I understood?”

A sharp thrill ran down her spine at the firm warning.

“Yes.” Juicy answered breathily, her thighs instinctively pressing together.

“Mmm, good.” Smoke said before leaning in to kiss her, slow and possessive, his hands traveling downward to rest on the curve of her ass. His words and touch made her heart skip. She felt a slick warmth pool between her legs at the way he claimed her without even needing to undress her.

“I been thinkin’ bout you.” He muttered, lips brushing hers. That thick sexual tension, so thick it could choke, melted into something else—still hot, still heavy—but now softer. Sweeter and longing.

She kissed the corner of his mouth with a feather-light touch. “I missed you.” She confessed, voice tight with emotion. Smoke tightened his hold with another soft him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. “I missed you too.”

They stayed like that, tangled in each other’s limbs, in a moment so intimate it felt like time slowed. The outside world ceased to matter. All that existed was this boy she’d grown to crave and the way his body molded perfectly to hers.

Juicy’s chest tightened, her heart blooming into something dangerous. Something real, and that she wasn’t sure she ready to name, but couldn’t deny.

“I was worried.” She whispered, afraid to say it out loud. She practically spoke the words into his mouth since didn’t want to pull away, but he didn’t seem to mind as his around her tightened.

Smoke tilted her chin gently, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “You don’t have to be. I’m here.”And for a second, she believed him. Fully and completely. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, touching the warm skin of his stomach. Her voice was soft. “You better come to that pool party later.” She said.

Smoke smirked, that lopsided grin she both hated and loved curling on his lips. “I might pull up. Depends on how good you look in that swimsuit.”

“Oh, I’m gon’ look good.” She grinned, tilting her head. “So you better be there.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Then I’ll be there.”

And just like that, the tension returned, but this time, it wasn’t uncertainty or doubt. It was anticipation. It was summer heat, sticky and sweet, and the thrill of knowing something good was coming.

Before they could Steele back into the heat of their moment, Sinclair knocked twice before easing the door open, her hand resting lightly on the knob as her eyes scanned the room. The first thing she noticed was Smoke, sitting casually on the edge of Juicy’s bed like he’d always belonged there, while Juicy was bent slightly at her dresser, sifting through clothes. Her back was to the door, unaware of her sister’s entrance at first.

Sinclair paused mid-step, almost doing a double take when her gaze landed on the man lounging comfortably in her baby sister’s bedroom. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She said slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit, like she couldn’t decide whether she was suspicious or surprised. Juicy, halfway through tugging open a drawer, turned and blinked. Her brows pulled together at the same time Smoke’s did, the pair of them mirroring each other like they were already synced without trying.

“He knocked a few minutes ago.”Juicy replied plainly, but her voice held the faintest trace of dry amusement. She stood up straighter, one hand still resting on the dresser as she looked back at Sinclair.

Sinclair’s eyes darted between them, then shifted toward the floor as her toddler son, Tyson, who came bumbling in with soft patters of his feet and the sweet sound of baby banter falling off his tongue. He wore a lopsided grin, his little hands reaching for whatever was nearby—his mother’s jeans, the air, the bed frame—giddy from just being seen.

“Oh, yeah.” Sinclair muttered, rubbing the side of her forehead as the memory finally clicked into place.

“Damn. I think the mom brain is starting to get to you.”Juicy said with an arched a brow, lips twitching with a small smile.

“Yeah, me too.”Sinclair let out a low sigh and adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Anyway.” She started, a hesitant note sneaking into her tone. “We might pull up to the pool later, but first I’m taking Ty to see Mom and Dad.”

Juicy’s expression shifted, just barely. She was careful, giving her sister nothing but a sharp nod, her mouth set, and a blink. “Oh.” She said with a quick uptick of her chin. “Okay.”

But there was a new stillness in the room. One that Smoke picked up on instantly, his eyes flicking from Juicy to Sinclair. Something unspoken had entered the air. Sinclair’s eyes stayed on her sister for a moment longer, trying to gauge the exact temperature of her reaction. Then she spoke again, casually.

“They haven’t seen him in a while. And neither have I, so…” She trailed off with a slight shrug, feigning nonchalance, but even Tyson seemed to slow in his babbling, sensing the shift in his mama’s voice.

Juicy hummed, soft and brief, not looking directly at Sinclair as she turned back to her drawer. “Okay.” She repeated, her tone light but not warm. Her hand paused over a folded orange swimsuit, fingers tapping the fabric once before picking it up. Smoke didn’t say a word. He sat still, observing, but his jaw flexed slightly, like he could feel the tightness forming under her skin.

Sinclair gave a weak smile, the corners of her mouth barely lifting. She nodded once, lips pursed. “Alright.” She said, stepping back toward the doorway. “See y’all later.”

Juicy finally looked up again, flashing a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “See ya.” She waved.

Then her gaze dropped to the little boy now holding onto the seam of his mother pants and grinning up at her with his two tiny bottom teeth showing. Her whole face softened.

“See ya, Ty!” She grinned, leaning down a little to wiggle her fingers in his direction.

“Say, ‘See ya, TT,’” Sinclair cooed in that syrupy baby voice as she leaned down beside him. But Tyson only giggled at the attention, waving his hand in a messy arc and showing off those same little teeth like he knew he was the moment.

Juicy laughed softly, the sound light and brief, but Smoke could tell her mind wasn’t fully in it. She was still stuck in whatever thoughts Sinclair had stirred up.

Sinclair gave her sister one last look, her eyes lingering a second longer than necessary on the man behind her. She clocked the way he sat—comfortably, as if this wasn’t his first time in that room. And something about that seemed to settle, or unsettle, in her chest. Then, without another word, she stepped out, gently guiding her son with her, and pulled the door shut behind them with a soft click.

Silence bloomed in the room like smoke after a match strike.

Juicy stood there, still holding the swimsuit, but her shoulders had stiffened. Smoke watched her quietly for a moment, studying the way her jaw tensed ever so slightly, the way her fingers gripped the bright orange fabric too tightly.

He didn’t speak right away. Just let the moment breathe. The silence between them was the kind that said a lot without either of them needing to say a damn thing. Summer heat curled in through the open window, thick and lazy, stirring the edges of the sheer curtains and gliding across her skin.

“You alright?” Smoke asked finally, his voice low, careful.

Juicy blinked like she’d just come out of a daze, turning to face him with a quick nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Smoke didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push—not yet. Instead, he let the moment sit. Let the tension hum like the faraway cicadas outside. He didn’t say anything for a second, just tilted his head slightly. “You sure?”

She gave him a softer smile then, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, just surprised me is all.” She pulled open the bottom drawer of her dresser, sifting through neatly folded swimsuits. “I didn’t know she was going over there.”

Smoke leaned back slightly, palms pressing into the mattress. “You not cool with that?”

Juicy shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “I mean… it’s whatever. It ain’t my business.”

But the edge in her voice betrayed her. Smoke caught it.

“She told you about taking him over there?”

“Nope.” Juicy popped the ‘p’ as she pulled out a swimsuit—bright orange with gold detailing—and tossed it onto the bed without looking at him. “But like I said, it’s whatever.”

Smoke nodded slowly. He didn’t push, just watched her for a beat longer. “Your folks… y’all not on good terms?”

Juicy paused again, her hand resting flat on the dresser, nails tapping rhythmically. The pause stretched out a little too long before she answered.

“We cool. Just… history, you know?” She said vaguely, grabbing a pair of shorts to go with the swimsuit. “It’s nothin’ new.”

Smoke hummed low in his throat, but didn’t press further. He could feel the wall going up in real time. Whatever the story was, she wasn’t ready to unpack it right now—not with her sister freshly gone and her mood already shaken.

He stood, walking up behind her slowly. “You don’t gotta pretend with me.” He said, voice softer now. “You don’t wanna talk about it, fine. But don’t do that ‘I’m fine’ shit.”

Juicy looked at him over her shoulder, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she gave a small smile—this one a little more real.

“Noted.”She murmured.

Smoke leaned down, pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Good.”

For a while, they stood like that. Quiet. Though everything unspoken still buzzed beneath the surface, but neither one of them needed to say anything. Outside, the world was still alive with chatter, sprinklers, and the faint bass of someone’s car rolling down the street.

Juicy finally pulled herself away from the stillness, tucking the different swimsuit options and shorts under her arm. “I’m gonna change real quick.” She said, tilting her head toward the bathroom. “Don’t peek.”

A slow grin began pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I ain’t say nothin’,” He murmured, voice rich and playful as he moved and sat back down on the bed. “I’ll be here.”

She raised her brows at him with a small laugh, disappearing into her bathroom with a soft click of the door behind her.

She gave him a quick glance before disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind her. And as soon as she was gone, Smoke leaned back on his hands again, his gaze drifting toward the closed door.

Something in her sister’s visit—and Juicy’s too-calm reaction—lingered in his chest like smoke that wouldn’t quite clear. Whatever it was, he figured it wasn’t just history.

It was something more.

And he had a feeling that it wasn’t done showing its teeth.

Inside the bathroom, Juicy peeled off her tank top and shorts, stepping into the cool lining of her black-and-white gingham bikini set. The top had a halter neckline that hugged her curves just right, and the matching mini skirt hit high on her thighs, barely grazing the bottom curve of her cheeks. It was more fashion than function—more for looking good than getting wet. She had no intention of swimming today. Just a little sun, a little music, a little flirtation. Maybe a drink or two, maybe a little dancing. And with Smoke around… maybe more of the last one.

She smoothed down the skirt, adjusted the top, then stood back to glance at herself in the mirror. Hair still fresh from her wrap the night before, she slicked her high bun back with her fingers, adding a pair of gold hoops to finish the look. A swipe of glittery gloss, a spritz of body spray that smelled like coconut and vanilla, and she was done.

When she stepped back out into the bedroom, Smoke sat up a little straighter. His mouth opened slightly like he was about to say something slick, but no words came—just a long, appreciative glance that traveled from her glossy lips to her honey-toned thighs.

Juicy caught it and smirked. “What?” She teased.

He let out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “Ain’t nobody even gon’ make it in the pool wit’ you lookin’ like that.”

Juicy rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the little blush that crept up her neck. She crossed the room to grab her sandals, bending just a little too slow when she picked them up, and when she straightened, Smoke was still watching her.

“You tryin’ to be funny.” He said, narrowing his eyes playfully.

“I’m tryin’ to be fine.” She replied with a wink, slipping on her sandals and tossing her purse over her shoulder.

“Mission accomplished.”

They shared a grin as well as a laugh, something more easy and light, as if yesterday’s tension had been blown away with the breeze rolling through the window. Whatever that conversation had been, it didn’t follow them now. This was a new rhythm. A new beat.

As they headed out the door, Smoke opened it for her. “After you, Miss Juicy.”

Juicy giggled, flipping her silk scarf, which she now wore as decoration, as she passed. “You gon’ call me that all day now?”

“Yup,” He said, trailing behind her. “Miss Gingham if I’m nasty.”

She swatted at him as they walked down to his car, laughing. The heat had crept up since the morning, and by the time they got in, the leather seats were already warm under her thighs. She shifted, adjusting her skirt with a little tug.

The drive through the neighborhood was quick, familiar streets lined with porches and sun-faded cars, kids running through sprinklers and old heads playing dominoes under shade trees. Mary’s block was alive with the sound of a Saturday in May.

As they pulled up to the curb, Juicy leaned out the passenger window, scanning for her friend. She barely had time to blink before the screen door flew open and Mary burst out onto the porch, her high ponytail bouncing behind her and her gold sandals clacking against the wood steps.

“Y’all ready?!” Mary shouted, waving both arms like they hadn’t seen her in years. Her swimsuit was loud and proud, a bright yellow with white flowers, and a sheer cover-up that fluttered behind her as she jogged down the walk. “Let’s gooo, I been waitin’ since eight o’clock!”

Behind her, Missy stood on the porch, arms crossed and a faint smile on her lips. She was still in her house dress, a phone in one hand and the news paper tucked under had arm. She raised her hand when she spotted the car.

Smoke leaned a little, giving her a respectful nod after a quick blow of the horn in greeting. Juicy lifted her fingers in a wave, and Mary grinned, turning around to blow her mom a kiss.

“Be good!” Missy called, though her voice held no real warning. “And tell Sinclair I said hey!”

“I will!” Mary and Juicy called back.

The woman waved one last time, then disappeared inside with the slow creak of the screen door behind her.

Mary slid into the backseat, breathless and already pulling a tube of lip gloss out of her bag. “Okay. Playlist ready? Vibes set? Let’s go, I need to feel fine today.”

Juicy turned in her seat, grinning over her shoulder. “You always fine, girl.”

Smoke laughed softly, pulling off from the curb as the music kicked in, Ashanti’s ‘Rock Wit U’ floating through the speakers like the soundtrack to a perfect afternoon.

The sun was high now, casting long shadows and soaking the world in a white gold. And with Smoke behind the wheel, Juicy in the front seat in her barely-there skirt, and Mary gassing herself up in the back, everything about this moment felt exactly right.

Summer had never looked better.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

The car rounded the corner and dipped onto the long gravel road leading to the city pool, tires crunching beneath the heat. The closer they got, the louder the music became, the bass vibrating through the thick, humid air like a heartbeat. Juicy leaned forward in her seat, peeking out the windshield as she caught sight of the blue glint of water and the crowds already swelling behind the black barred fence.

Smoke nodded toward the commotion. “Stack said he’ll meet us here. He on his way now.”

Mary perked up in the backseat, tugging her sunglasses down over her eyes. “Oop—Stack comin’? Say less.” Her voice danced with excitement, and she reached for her strawberry-scented body oil, giving her legs a quick gleam.

Juicy glanced at Smoke, smirking. “So this really gon’ be a thing, huh? Y’all going everywhere with us?

He shrugged, amused. “I just drive the car. I don’t ask no questions.

Mary rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Please, you always ask questions.” Then she leaned forward between the seats, grinning. “But thank you for the ride, Mr. Chauffeur.”

“You welcome.” Smoke replied coolly, pulling into a shady patch near the edge of the lot. He cut the engine and leaned back in his seat, watching the scene unfold beyond the windshield. He then furrowed his brows, looking over at Juicy. “Dwait, didn’t y’all ask us to come?” He questioned.

“I thought you didn’t ask questions?” Juicy asked as she popped a piece of him in her mouth, smiling at him as Mary hopped out of the car to get the party started.

Despite the official Parks & Rec flyer calling it a “Family Fun Day,” the vibe was anything but kiddie. Sure, there were toddlers splashing in the shallow end and a few aunties under the pavilions eating BBQ on Styrofoam plates, but most of the crowd was teens and twenty-somethings, all fresh fits and flip-flops, drippin’ with baby oil and bottled water, posted up in every corner of the pool area with red solo cups.

The scent of grilled hot dogs and chlorine mixed with the blare of Chingy’s ‘Right Thurr’ booming through a set of old speakers someone had dragged to the edge of the pool deck. It was hot, it was loud, and it was everything summer was supposed to be.

Juicy opened her door and stepped out, the sun immediately warming her legs. She tugged her mini skirt down on instinct, though it didn’t do much. The fabric barely covered her, and when she turned, Smoke’s eyes flicked upward. She caught him.

“You lookin’?” She asked, hands on her hips.

“I ain’t say nothin’,” He replied, voice smooth as syrup.

“That’s not what I asked you.” She shot back with a wink, then reached into her purse to pull out her lip gloss. “Just know I seen it.”

Smoke chuckled low in his throat, closing his door and nodding toward the gate. “Let’s go before it get too packed. Some lil boy already doin’ flips by the ‘No Diving’ sign.”

Sure enough, as they stepped through the open gate, a boy with plaits came sailing through the air in mid-cannonball, splashing a group of girls who screamed and laughed while holding their phones and purses above their heads. A tangle of floaties bobbed along the edges of the pool, and people were posted up on every available inch of concrete—some laid out on towels, others perched on plastic lawn chairs with drinks in hand.

Juicy spotted a mutual friend of her, Lamont, almost immediately.

He wasn’t hard to miss. Shirtless in red trunks, chain swinging against his chest as he grinded behind some girl in a lime green bikini. One hand held a red cup, the other was suspiciously low on her waist, and he looked like he hadn’t seen a lifeguard whistle in at least twenty minutes.

Mary laughed when she saw him. “Lord, Lamont really acting like he ain’t on payroll.”

“Girl, he never act like he on payroll,” Juicy said, adjusting her hoops. “He only work here for the free hot dogs and attention.”

Up in the high chair, their homegirl Megan sat post, stoic as ever with her arms crossed, and clearly unamused. Her mirrored shades hid her eyes. She tapped her whistle once, loudly, then pointed at the boy gearing up to dive again.

They walked deeper into the party, weaving between coolers, foldout chairs, and sunbathing bodies. Juicy felt the eyes on her immediately—she always did—but today, with the sunlight catching her skin and the black-and-white gingham hugging her like it was made just for her, she felt it too. She wasn’t trying to swim. Wasn’t here for the water. Just the vibe. The music. And maybe the way Smoke’s hand brushed the small of her back every now and then as he guided her through the crowd.

Mary skipped ahead to greet a few friends already camped out by the edge of the pool, but Smoke and Juicy lingered by one of the empty loungers. He gestured to it, offering it like it was her throne.

“You tryna sit, or you gon’ stand here and let the sun hit you like a sexy model on a magazine cover? Cause I wouldn’t be mad at it if you stood in front of me.”

Juicy rolled her eyes and sank into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Magazine cover, huh?”

“Yeah, girl. You’re my Jet Beauty of the Week.” He said smoothly. “But better.”

She laughed, tipping her head back, and for a second, everything else disappeared—the splashes, the laughter. It was just them.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

Juicy lounged like she belonged in a music video. Her legs glistening from the shimmer lotion she dabbed on earlier, ankles crossed, chin tilted just enough to keep her glossed lips in the sun. Her magazine was open across her lap, pages fluttering in the breeze, catching her on a spread of luxury heels. Delicate strappy numbers from Jimmy Choo, those Miu Miu platforms she’d been eyeing since March, and some throwback Gucci slingbacks in cherry red. She licked her thumb and flipped the page lazily, humming along to “Frontin’” as it poured from the speakers set up by the snack stand.

Mary, meanwhile, was perched up next to her in the chair beside the lifeguard chair where Megan sat post—legs swinging, sunglasses halfway down her nose as she leaned in to whisper.

“No, like—he really tried to play in my face.”Mary said, voice low but clearly animated. “He called me from a random number and said he was at his grandmas. I called back a day later and some bitch named Tamika answered.” She scoffed.

Megan sis the same, disgust tracing her features. “He bold and dumb. That’s a deadly combo.”

“He’s a clown.” Mary muttered, adjusting her top. “What’s wild is I really liked him for a second. Like, I was plotting playlists for this man in my head. That’s how far gone I was.”

“Playlists?” Megan echoed, horrified. “Girl.”

“I know.” Mary groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I almost burned a CD.”

They both gasped dramatically in unison, and that was what caught Juicy’s attention. Her gaze shifted over the top of her magazine, brows lifting. “What? I wanna know.”

But neither girl responded. They just stared past her, toward the pool’s entrance, mouths parted in small, stunned expressions that leaned more into irritation than awe.

Juicy, never one to be left in the dark, lowered the glossy pages and followed their line of sight.

And there they were.

Anika and her crew.

Like clockwork, the pool gate creaked open and the temperature seemed to shift. The girls stepped through like they owned the pavement, all matching energy but not outfits. Anika’s hair was freshly pressed, as always, bouncing with every calculated step. She wore a coral bikini that looked expensive, her top tied perfectly above a flat, glistening stomach. Her girls followed close behind, equally beat—each with a fresh press, glossy lips, designer shades, and earrings that sparkled like the pool itself.

Their heels clicked against the concrete, like a warning shot.

Juicy turned her lip up slightly.

They were beautiful, no doubt. But that little flash of insecurity never even got the chance to rise—not after what Mary had whispered to her at the nail salon yesterday. About how Anika had openly talked about wanting to fuck either Stack or Smoke, like it was a game of eeny meeny miney hoe.

So Juicy didn’t gape like the others. She just squinted, unimpressed. “They not even dressed to swim.” She mumbled, flipping through her magazine with one hand and shrugging to herself.

Mary, without missing a beat, said, “Neither are you.” Glancing over at her.

Juicy’s eyes cut sharp to the side, a little grin curling at the corner of her mouth even as she rolled them. “And?”

Mary tilted her chin like Exactly, and turned back to Megan.

Juicy sighed and folded her magazine carefully, placing it in her chair. She stood, smoothed down the hem of her gingham mini skirt, and sauntered across the hot concrete until she reached the edge of the pool. It was packed—teenagers doing cannonballs, couples lounging waist-deep, kids with floaties. But she found a spot and slipped her sandals off, dipping her freshly-pedicured toes into the cool water.

She lowered herself until she was perched on the edge, knees drawn up, arms crossed as she turned back to Mary, who watched from afar like a proud big sister.

“Is this good enough?” Juicy asked, sass dripping off every syllable.

Mary stood from the lifeguard chair, smirking. “Nope.”

Before Juicy could respond, Mary marched over and without hesitation, slid right into the pool. A soft splash echoed, water rippling around her as she dunked everything but her hair. When she emerged, she slicked water down her arms and looked up with a wide grin.

“You gotta have more fun, girl.” She called.

Juicy answered with a very matter-of-fact middle finger, flashing her acrylics. Mary cracked up, kicking away and floating backwards into the deeper part of the pool.

Juicy couldn’t help but smile. Not the tight-lipped kind she reserved for strangers or polite moments, but something softer and much more easy and natural. Even in the middle of a party, with Anika’s clique parading around like they were filming a music video feature and the sun beating down like a spotlight, she still felt good. Still felt wanted.

Juicy let her legs sway gently in the water, toes flexing as they sliced through the shimmering blue. The sun warmed her skin, and the air smelled like cocoa butter, grill smoke, and chlorine. Her elbow rested lazily on her knee, her chin tucked into her palm as she scanned the poolside crowd with a dreamy kind of smile. Laughter rose in waves around her. Somebody hollered across the deep end. Girls squealed when a boy cannonballed too close.

Juicy’s eyes wandered, taking it all in—the summer buzz, the unapologetic joy of being young without weighing responsibility as if right now. For once, she wasn’t worried about how she looked or who was watching as she enjoyed the setting around her.

Until she saw Smoke.

He was crouched near the back corner where a group of guys surrounded a towel spread with bills and dice. Martin and a couple of his boys were laughing, talking shit, slapping palms between rolls. And Smoke was in his element, white wife pleaser clinging to his back, gold chain swinging low as he leaned in and watched the dice tumble.

Then he scooped the money up with one hand, the other brushing against his waves. He then glanced up and caught her in the middle of ogling.

His smirk deepened, shifting from cocky to slow and dangerous. His eyes roamed lazily, pausing at her bare shoulders, her shiny thighs, the subtle bounce of her curls in the heat. He looked like he was remembering things he shouldn’t be thinking about out in the open.

Juicy’s breath caught. Her lips parted slightly before she caught herself and looked away, cheeks warming as she let out a soft, involuntary laugh. That was all Smoke needed. He licked his bottom lip slowly and turned back to the dice game, but not before letting that smirk linger in her direction a few seconds longer than necessary, even if she wasn’t looking at him. He knew she felt the weight of his gaze.

She shook her head to herself, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks.

And then the gate creaked open again.

Juicy glanced up just in time to see Stack walk in, and if Smoke had her heart skipping, Stack had it full-on backflipping.

Unlike his brother, who stayed in his tank top, Stack came shirtless, and Lord—he knew what he was doing. The sun kissed every inch of his chest, his abs sculpted but not overdone. His torso glistened a bit, but she knew it wasn’t likely from the lotion or oil he slathered on before leaving the house, she could see the sweat beads he built up over time out in the Mississippi sun. Though the sheer did make the tattoos on his triceps pop, as the muscles flexed with each step he took. His black basketball shorts hung low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers peeking just above.

Juicy sucked in a quiet breath.

Jesus.

She didn’t even try to look away. How could she, when he walked with that kind of confidence. His eyes scanned the crowd lazily as he chewed gum, one hand dragging over his jaw before they landed on her.

And he smiled.

Stack didn’t bother to hide the way he looked at her. His gaze dropped, lingered on the way her thighs spread against the concrete, the glint of her new belly ring catching the sun— a tiny gem that matched the brightest star, little gold rays hanging. He didn’t even pretend not to notice the way her top lifted when she leaned back, or the way her lips parted ever so slightly at his gaze. She looked so good, he almost turned around and left, just to come back in again for the drama of it.

She had on something soft today, he realized. Not just her outfit, but her. The makeup, the lotion, the faint shimmer on her collarbones. Maybe it was the memory of last night, of his hand gripping the round of her ass while they kissed under the light of her porch. Maybe it was the way she said his name like a secret she wasn’t ready to share, breathing into his mouth as his hands exploded under her shorts. Either way, she was glowing, and he felt every bit of it hit him in the chest.

He winked.

And Juicy practically melted. She fumbled her gaze back to the water like it had answers, heart thudding as if the sun itself had reached down and tapped her on the shoulder.

Stack moved on toward his brother, the two of them meeting halfway with a dap and a shoulder bump. Juicy couldn’t hear what they said, but the way they laughed together, easy and familiar, made her stomach twist. It was strange, watching them like that—like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t kissed one of them in the dark the night before.

Like she hadn’t kissed the other one in broad daylight this morning.

Her fingers curled over the edge of the pool, nails tapping lightly. The music thumped on behind her, girls laughed, somebody cracked open a soda nearby—but her thoughts had narrowed to one singular sentence, loud and clear.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into.”

And no amount of summer sun was gonna answer that for her.

By the time Mary had slinked back to the spot Juicy at the edge of the pool, her body was soaked and glistening, water droplets clinging to her skin like diamonds under the sun. Her pony was slicked back, her bikini clinging to her curves as she dropped beside her friend with a sigh of pure satisfaction.

“Girl, that water feels so good.” She said, wringing a bit of water from the end of her pony tail as she leaned back on her elbows. “You better stop being cute and come float with me.”

Juicy smiled faintly, her attention still half-watching the crowd. “I’ll think about it.”

“See? That’s your problem now. Always thinking about something.” Mary teased, nudging her with a damp foot. “Loosen up, it’s a pool party, not a courtroom.”

They both laughed softly, that lazy, sun-drunk kind of laughter, the kind that only came when your skin was warm and your stomach was full of the content of the splendid afternoon.

But the someone walked by and ruined it all.

Her heels clicked lightly against the pavement, despite the pool setting, and her glossy lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk as she passed the two girls.

“Hey, Juicy.” Pearline said, voice syrupy-sweet with just enough venom beneath it to sting. She barely paused, her eyes flicking over them with a casual kind of shade.

Juicy just looked at her, chin lifted slightly. Her mouth stayed closed, her eyes cool and unimpressed. Pearline didn’t wait for a response—didn’t need one, apparently. Her smirk deepened like she expected it.

Mary blinked after her, eyebrows furrowing. “Well damn.” She muttered, loud enough to be heard. “I’m here too, but okay.” She scoffed, causing Juicy to finally let out a soft laugh, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Ain’t nobody worried about ole girl.” She said, physically waving her off.

Mary hummed as she side-eyed the woman that walked away from them. “Not since she switched up soon as Anika rolled in with that fake ass Fendi, a different accent and a fresh silk press.” Mary said, shaking her head as she thought about how it all blew over. “Tragic, really. Anika can’t even speak Spanish and she’s supposed to be half Dominican. That was, like, all of her appeal.” She said, more to herself now as she scoffed.

Juicy didn’t answer right away. She was too busy watching Pearline strut away, heels clacking. That same old ache stirred in her chest, that old mix of resentment and something else—something deeper. Something she didn’t want to name.

She and Pearline hadn’t talked since junior year. Not since Pearline switched up on her, started rolling with Anika like she’d been born in Queens herself. Like she hadn’t once shared Kool-Aid in Juicy’s granny’s kitchen, or whispered about first crushes under the oak tree in Mary’s backyard. Or gossiped with them at the Friday night games.

And Mary knew. Mary had been there for the fall. For the way Juicy cried that night after Pearline left them at the dance, choosing Anika’s afterparty instead, not before leaving a nasty note and some hurtful words to the chubby girl. She’d been there when Juicy admitted that it wasn’t just about friendship—it was heartbreak. The kind that came when a person knew too much about your body, your laugh, your secrets. Pearline wasn’t just a best friend.

She was Juicy’s first almost. Something she’d never try aging after the hurt she faced.

And maybe that was why Juicy didn’t say anything now—just stood, brushing off her thighs as she grabbed her phone.

“I’ll be back.” She said quietly.

“Where you going?” Mary asked, concerned.

“Bathroom.”

Mary nodded, letting her go without pushing. She watched her friend disappear into the crowd, her expression softening. She knew what day this was turning into.

Juicy crossed the pool area quickly, dodging wet feet and floating beach balls, slipping into the public restroom near the concession stand. The moment she stepped inside, she grimaced.

The air was damp and sour. One of the sinks had a paper towel shoved in the drain, and water pooled on the floor like the aftermath of a middle school fight. The stalls were questionably clean, one of them with a door that hung off the hinge.

Juicy stepped back, shaking her head in disgust. “Yeah, no.” She mumbled to herself, turning right back around.

The better bathrooms were inside the main building, where the events coordinator worked and the lifeguards took breaks. She’d been in there once before—clean tile floors, working soap dispensers, and air conditioning. She needed that now.

She opened the back door and stepped outside again, sunlight smacking her full in the face as the bass from the music rattled the patio furniture. She squinted against the brightness—and that’s when she saw it. Juicy hadn’t even made it three steps back outside before the sight hit her square in the chest like a punch she wasn’t ready for.

Her steps faltered.

Anika.

She was walking—no, floating—across the concrete pool deck like it was a runway. Her long legs glistened with cocoa butter under the Mississippi sun, her flowy blouse flaring behind her like a flag of war. Her glossy lips curled into a slow, practiced smile as she made a beeline straight toward him.

Smoke.

Juicy stopped, dead in her tracks, eyes narrowing beneath her oversized Dior shades. Her fingers curled around the edge of her phone, the plastic digging into her palms as she watched the scene unfold in front of her like a movie she didn’t want to star in.

Anika reached him first, tilting her head in that way that always seemed rehearsed—chin dipped, lashes low, like she was some music video girl. In her manicured hand was a red solo cup, and she extended it to him like it was a gift.

And Smoke took it. He didn’t even seem to hesitate.

And that smile she knew so well—the one that tugged at just the left side of his mouth, the one he gave her that time—it was there. But it wasn’t for her.

It was for Anika.

Juicy’s stomach twisted so hard she felt dizzy.

She couldn’t hear what was being said, not from across the pool, but she didn’t need the words. The body language told it all. Anika touched his arm, ran her fingers down it with a softness that was far too familiar. And Smoke—he let her.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t step back.

Whatever he said made Anika laugh—loud, hand to her chest like he’d just told the funniest joke on Earth. Her laugh was sharp, but Smoke didn’t flinch, he simply looked at the woman before him.

Juicy stood frozen, legs locked, sunglasses slipping down her nose. And for a moment, she forgot to breathe. She swallowed hard and turned, walking stiffly back to her lounge chair. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck, but it wasn’t from the sun.

Mary glanced over from her seat, noticing her face immediately. “Girl. What happened?”

Juicy dropped down beside her, yanking her towel across her lap and pushing her shades all the way up to hide her eyes.

“Nothin’.” She said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

Mary blinked, followed her line of sight. “Wait. Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s talkin’ to her?”

“Yep.”

Mary let out a long whistle. “Oh, she was t playin’.”

Juicy didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Because from where she sat, she could still see it all—the way Anika leaned against the fence, the way she kept angling her body so Smoke had a full view of her chest every time she flipped her hair. And worse, the way he looked.

Relaxed.

Entertained.

Interested.

It made Juicy’s throat tighten. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper.

Just this morning, he was grabbing her by the waist in her bedroom, whispering things in her ear that made her knees weak. She thought—hell, she felt—like something was building between them. Slow. Intense. Real.

But now he was out here laughing it up with a girl who wore matching designer bikinis and had two-toned highlights like they were still in a 702 music video.

And all Juicy could do was watch. It’s what she always did. What she bad grew accustomed to do.

“You good?” Mary asked again, voice softer this time.

Juicy forced a smile, but it barely held. “Course I am. Why would anyone be? I ain’t worried about no dude.”

But she was. And she hated herself for it.

Because no matter how hard she tried to sit still, her eyes kept flicking back to them. Anika was talking with her hands now, and Smoke was nodding, sipping whatever was in that damn cup. His gold chain glinted in the sunlight as he gave a smile again.

And maybe that was the part that stung the most.

He didn’t look mad anymore.

Didn’t look bothered about her walking away yesterday. Didn’t look like he even remembered.

She watched Anika press a hand to his chest—flat palm, fingers splayed like she was claiming him—and Juicy’s body tensed.

Maybe he really was feeling her. Maybe Smoke really was the type to flirt up a storm and move on the second a girl made him work too hard. Maybe all of their tension, all the flirting and teasing and late-night phone calls, meant more to her than it ever did to him.

She clenched her jaw and leaned back in her chair, trying to act like she didn’t care. Like she didn’t just see the boy who made her heart beat faster let another girl touch him like he was hers.

But inside, she was fuming.

And worst of all—hurt.

The kind of hurt you can’t even name out loud, because it’d mean admitting you care more than you said you did.

So instead, she crossed her arms. Pressed her lips into a hard line. And kept her eyes forward, pretending like she didn’t notice when Anika threw her head back in another laugh.

But she noticed.

She noticed everything.

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[pandacherryblossoms]

𐙚 Putting Enhypen on a Sex Ban 𐙚

Request

Genre: Fluff. A bit Suggestive MDNI 18+

Warnings: Suggestive content, Heavy innuendos, Light dominance/power play, Possessive behavior, Teasing/competitive dynamics, Implied intimacy

Heeseung

You’re parked on a quiet side street after your date, the kind of spot he always finds—private enough that he can lean over the console and kiss you like he means it. The kind of quiet that makes your heart race when his hand slides up your thigh and he gives you that smug, lazy grin like he already knows how the night’s gonna end.

“Missed me, huh?” he teases, voice low as he noses at your jaw, already working his way down your neck. “You’ve been looking at me like you’re about to climb into my lap.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong—and that’s exactly the problem. You let his hand drift a little higher before you catch it, lacing your fingers with his and resting them firmly in your lap. He blinks, confused but intrigued.

“I’m putting you on a sex ban.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That smile falters. “Wait. What?”

You turn toward him, totally calm, acting like this is just a casual little update to your relationship. “You’ve been way too cocky lately. Always teasing me like you know I’ll fold the second you touch me. So…” You shrug, nonchalant. “Let’s see how smug you are after a week without anything.”

His jaw drops. “A week?”

“You heard me.”

“Heavy petting? Kissing?” he asks hopefully.

“Kissing’s fine. But if your hands start wandering…” You give him a look. “That’s game over.”

Heeseung stares at you like you’ve just declared war. You watch the panic settle in behind his eyes, subtle but telling—because this isn’t just about sex. It’s about control. And for once, you’ve got it.

“Don’t act like this is punishment,” you add sweetly, patting his thigh. “Think of it as a challenge.”

His voice is dry. “Oh, I’m challenged alright.”

Jay

You’re halfway through browsing throw pillows when he says it, so casual you almost miss it.

“I swear, you can’t ever resist me. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing—five minutes alone and you’re done for.”

You glance at him over the rim of your iced coffee, blinking slow. He’s not even looking at you—just flipping through a stack of overpriced blankets like he didn’t just run his mouth in the middle of West Elm. Smug as hell. And clearly feeling himself a little too much today.

“Is that so?” you ask, like you’re just making conversation.

Jay hums, smiling to himself. “It’s fine. I like it. You’re cute when you’re desperate.”

You wait a beat, then: “Cool. You’re on a sex ban.”

His head snaps up. “What?”

You pretend to keep shopping, eyes drifting over the candles. “A sex ban. Starting now.”

Jay blinks. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

He stares at you like you’ve just told him the world’s gone colorblind. “What did I do?”

“You just said I can’t resist you,” you say, grabbing a candle and popping the lid like this is just another normal Sunday errand. “So I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

“You’re serious?”

“As serious as those ‘desperate’ eyes you mentioned.”

He doesn’t respond, just follows you to the next aisle, a little quieter than usual. His hand brushes yours. You don’t take it. He adjusts his jacket. Fiddles with his phone. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

And when you glance over, he’s already watching you, expression unreadable—but you can tell. He’s plotting.

This isn’t over.

Jake

You don’t even bring it up right away. Not when he wraps his arms around you from behind, not when he starts pressing kisses along your neck, and definitely not when he guides you onto the couch like he’s already got the rest of the night planned in his head. Jake’s warm, all charm and wandering hands, but you can’t stop thinking about what you saw earlier — the group chat open on his laptop, his name lighting up with that cocky little message:

“I could get her to fold in two minutes if I wanted. Watch.”

You let him kiss you a little longer, even kiss back just enough to get his hopes up. Then, right when his hand starts sliding under your shirt, you catch his wrist with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Actually… I think you’re cut off.”

He blinks. “Cut off from what?”

You tilt your head. “Sex.”

Jake freezes like you’ve just spoken another language. “Wait, wait, hold on. What?”

“You heard me,” you say sweetly, pulling away and getting comfortable on the couch like nothing just happened. “Since you’re so confident you can make me fold whenever you want, I figured we should test that theory.”

“You saw that?” he says immediately, eyes going wide.

“Oh, I saw it.” You glance at him sideways. “Don’t worry, I’m just letting you prove your point. No sex. Let’s see how long you last.”

Jake’s already following after you, whining like it’s life or death. “Babe, come on. I didn’t mean it like that—okay, I kind of did, but it was just a joke! You’re seriously doing this right now?”

You just laugh, tossing a blanket over your lap. “Clock’s ticking, Jakey.”

And from the way he slumps next to you with the most dramatic groan, you can already tell — he’s doomed.

Sunghoon

You’re stretched out across the bed on your stomach, scrolling aimlessly while Sunghoon gets ready in front of the mirror. He’s already changed outfits twice and fixed his hair more times than you’ve blinked in the last ten minutes.

“You know,” he says, adjusting his collar, “it must be hard dating someone hotter than you.”

You lift your head just enough to look at him. “You mean me?”

He scoffs, eyes still locked on his reflection. “Be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re lucky I even like you this much.”

He turns, arching a brow. “Oh, is that right?”

“Absolutely.” You sit up, tossing your phone to the side. “You think I walk around looking this good for free?”

Sunghoon laughs, stepping closer with that cocky little smirk you know way too well. “You walk around looking good for me.”

“You wish.”

“I know.”

You blink at him, matching his grin. “You’re actually unbearable.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

You hum. “That’s crazy. Because I was just thinking the exact same thing about you.”

He leans down, hands on either side of you on the bed. “Sure you were.”

You stare at him for a second, smile widening. “Sex ban.”

His face freezes. “Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“Wait—why?”

“For being cocky.”

“I was joking.”

Sunoo

You’re on FaceTime with Sunoo while he’s away, just a quick call before bed to catch up. The conversation’s lighthearted, full of laughter as you both banter about random things. But then, Sunoo being Sunoo, can’t resist throwing a little playful jab your way.

“You know,” he says with a grin you can practically hear through the phone, “you’re always the one who folds first. It’s kind of cute, but predictable.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile forming on your lips. His teasing gets to you, but you’re not about to let it slide without a little retaliation. You casually throw out, “Well, I think it’s time for a sex ban, then.”

There’s a dramatic pause on the other end of the call, followed by an exaggerated gasp from Sunoo. “Wait, what?! You can’t be serious.”

You stay silent for a moment, letting the tension build just a bit before you grin and shrug. “I am. You’re just too easy to tease.”

The next few seconds are filled with exaggerated, over-the-top reactions. Sunoo’s face lights up, and you can practically see him pouting through the phone. “No way! You can’t do this to me, baby. I was just kidding!”

He falls back dramatically onto his bed, completely throwing himself into the situation. “How could you hurt me like this? You know I’m too cute for a ban!”

You can’t help but laugh at his antics. There’s no doubt he’s putting on a show, but you love how much he’s leaning into it. He might have thought he could tease you, but now it’s your turn to turn the tables. And you’re enjoying every second of it.

Jungwon

You trail behind him as he unlocks the door, slipping off your shoes a little slower than usual. The night’s been easy — dinner, a walk, that quiet kind of comfort that only really happens with him. And now you’re tucked up behind him on the couch, knees pressed to his side, your arms lazily wrapped around his middle.

He’s half-scrolling on his phone, half-watching whatever’s playing on the TV, but you’re not really paying attention to either. You’re just pressed up against him, chin hooked over his shoulder, nose brushing the side of his neck. He smells good. Warm. Familiar. Like home.

“You’re being really clingy tonight,” he says eventually, not unkind — just a little amused.

You blink. “Am I?”

He shrugs, still scrolling. “Not that I mind. Just… extra cuddly all of a sudden.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not hurt, exactly, but something about the way he said it sticks. You pull back just slightly, arms still around him, but your face no longer pressed against his shoulder.

“Maybe I won’t be anymore,” you say lightly.

Jungwon glances at you, confused. “What? No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way—”

You lean back fully now, reaching for the remote to turn down the volume. “Actually…” you stretch a little, like the idea just came to you. “Since I’m apparently too clingy, maybe we should cool it. You know, physically.”

He pauses. “Wait—what?”

You smile sweetly. “Sex ban. Effective immediately.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious,” you say, folding your arms. “Since I’m overwhelming you and all.”

He sets his phone down, finally giving you his full attention. “You’re not overwhelming me,” he insists, brows pulling together. “Just… affectionate.”

You tilt your head. “I think it’s time to cool off then. I mean, no kissing. No touching. No nothing.”

Jungwon groans, running a hand through his hair like he’s mentally preparing himself. “You can’t be serious.”

You watch him carefully, studying his expression. The amusement is fading, replaced with a slight hint of frustration, and something else. “Oh, I am,” you say, voice low. “This is what you wanted, right?”

He mutters under his breath but doesn’t move toward you, instead leaning back against the couch in defeat. “Fine, whatever. You’ve made your point.”

You grin, feeling victorious. “We’ll see how long you last.”

Ni-ki

You’re on the floor of his apartment, caught up in a little game of back-and-forth teasing, a playful wrestle that started as one thing and quickly escalated into something else entirely. Niki’s laughing, squirming beneath you, his hands pressed against your sides in a half-hearted attempt to pin you down.

“You think you can take me down, huh?” he taunts, clearly having a blast. “This’ll be over in five seconds.”

You smile, feeling that spark of competitive energy flare up. You shove him off with a little more force than necessary, and he stumbles back, surprised. But he recovers quickly, his grin widening. “Okay, okay. You wanna play dirty? Fine. I’m game.”

With a quick shift, he’s on top of you now, his hands circling your wrists, pinning them to the floor. “You’re not gonna win this time,” he says, voice low, almost a dare.

“Is that so?” you challenge, wriggling beneath him, but it’s no use. He’s got you. You’re not getting out.

“I’ll prove it,” he says, leaning down to press his lips lightly against your neck. “You’re not going anywhere.”

It’s all playful and teasing — at least, that’s what it starts as. But there’s something in his eyes, something that shifts the moment he feels you tense up underneath him.

“Is that a challenge?” you ask, breath catching slightly. You give him a pointed look. “If you think you can keep me like this, then fine. You’re on a sex ban.”

Niki freezes, eyes widening. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“You heard me. No sex. No nothing,” you say, giving him a daring look. “Let’s see how long you last.”

Niki’s jaw slackens. “But I—”

“I’m not kidding, Niki. I think you need to prove you can keep your hands to yourself.”

The mischievous spark never leaves his eyes, but now there’s something more—determination. “Alright,” he says slowly, smirking. “Challenge accepted.”

You lean back, grinning. “I’m gonna win this one. You won’t last a week.”

And just like that, he’s ready for whatever this little game turns into. You’re not sure who’s winning yet, but you both know it’s only just begun.