#i'm gonna be thinking about this even in the nursing home

[notiddygothgf]

xiv

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ I'm sorry.❞

★ c.w.: situationship-typical confusion, smut, cunnilingus, poorly timed confessions, phone sex, so much yearning and so much angst, oh my god.

★ a/n: oh my god. this chapter was such a MONSTER TO WRITE!!! i will say, it's like 70% angst. BUT!!! we get to see some majorrrr development. Honestly, i'm a little nervous about posting this, as I'm not very confident, but i think that's only because it takes such a bold turn. I'm gonna HOPE it translates well lol... i don't wanna say too much (other than to keep on dropping those beautiful comments that make me giggle), but... strap in lol. it's a ride.

★ w.c: 12.4k

pornstar ; chapter index

YOU HAD ALWAYS wanted to be a nurse – white uniform, slicked-back hair, the whole nine yards. You had gone as far as first aid training before the reality of your situation kicked in, of course. Realistically speaking, you had no way of financing such an endeavor. Your father passed when you were young, leaving the financial burden of raising a child alone to your mother. You wished you could say that she did the best she could, but that would be a lie. In reality, your mother spent much of her time spending what little spare money she did have on maintaining her social life. Nights at bars and parties that bled early into the morning – some days, she would be coming home and kicking her shoes off with that tipsy grin of hers just as you were getting ready for school.

So, when the two of you had a big argument and she yelled at you to “take your shit and get the fuck out of my house,” you weren’t exactly leaving much behind. Freshly 18 and completely overwhelmed by possibilities, you didn’t have the means – financially or emotionally – to build yourself the future you had always wanted. It was there that you approached the first decision that led you here – the decision to join Public Safety.

You were far too frail for the military. No, bootcamp didn’t sound appealing at all. Not only that, but you weren’t all too crazy about the principle of killing people for money. 

So, your only other option – the only other way you would be able to afford college – was Public Safety. If you worked for them for at least a year, they would pay for your college. The best part of all? There would be no human blood on your hands.

At least, that was the idea.

You had it all planned out. Hell, you even had a little binder… one that had your transcripts, hopes, and dreams contained within. One that had been collecting dust for the past few years of your career as a Public Safety officer. Year after year, those application deadlines would roll past, and year after year, your dreams drifted further and further away from you. Before you knew it, you seemed to have forgotten about it entirely.

Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe you lost your resolve. Either way, you sure as hell weren’t a nurse.

Two paths diverged into a yellow wood, or whatever the hell it was that Robert Frost said – and you sure as hell took the road less traveled by. Decision after decision had led you to your position. Similarly, it was through a series of truly unfortunate decisions that you found yourself where you were today.

That is, of course, running away the moment you made eye contact with your superior, Aki Hayakawa. You had seen him walking up the same hallway he always did – the one on the second floor, somewhere between his office and Makima’s.

Truthfully, you had been avoiding him for two days now – you hadn’t answered either of his phone calls, and you certainly hadn’t answered his “Are you up?” text. Yesterday hadn’t been hard, but today was office day. That meant that the chance of you running into him was a hell of a lot higher. 

He was walking toward you, his long strides easy, effortless—just like they always were. Hair tied neatly, coat slung over one arm, and head tilted slightly toward the colleague beside him. He was saying something, probably about a mission. You couldn’t hear it. Didn’t need to.

The moment you saw him, something in your chest lurched. Not in a cute, fluttery kind of way—but more like your organs suddenly wanted to evacuate your body.

You winced. Immediately.

Then you did what any emotionally stable adult would do: you veered.

Hard left.

The breakroom door opened under your hand with a faint creak and closed behind you just as quickly. You pressed your back to it for a second, exhaling slow. Relief bloomed through your chest like something warm.

That was a close one.

Safe.

Or so you thought.

The door clicked again.

You froze.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The click of it shutting gently. The hush of movement behind you. You could feel him…calm, still, and watching.

“Good morning,” you said, after a beat.

Your voice sounded even, maybe too even. Like you weren’t currently regretting every life decision that led to this very moment.

Aki’s voice followed close behind, low and measured. “You’re avoiding me.”

No shit.

You turned around, meeting his eyes. He looked like he always did, clean lines, sharp gaze, emotion held just behind the eyes. But something else was there too. Curiosity. Concern. Maybe a bit of frustration.

Maybe he’s overthinking, too.

“No, I’m not,” you replied quickly, lifting your mug like some kind of deflective totem.

His expression didn’t change. “You literally just took off running when you saw me.”

Dammit.

You winced again. “…Okay. Maybe I didn’t wanna interrupt your conversation.”

Aki raised a brow. Slowly.

“You haven’t answered my calls,” he said. “Or my texts. Not even the one where I asked if you were up. Something’s wrong.”

You hated how direct he was. Always had. It made it impossible to brush things under the rug.

You hesitated, glancing to the side like the coffee machine might offer you divine intervention.

He was still watching you.

Still waiting.

You took a breath and set your mug down on the counter with a quiet clink. “Do you really wanna do this here?”

The words came out more tired than defensive. A quiet admission.

Aki didn’t move. But you saw the faint shift in his expression, something soft threading its way into the angles of his face. His eyes dropped briefly to the floor, then back up to you.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Unless there’s… some reason we shouldn’t.”

There was a pause. A thick, stretched silence that seemed to fill every inch of the tiny breakroom. You looked down at your hands.

“It’s stupid,” you said.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how small the room was. How close he was. And how tired you were of trying to pretend.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” He went on, “Something’s wrong.”

God, I hate how self-aware he is.

You crossed your arms over your chest – not out of anger, just to hold yourself together. “I didn’t know how to talk to you after… the night at my apartment.”

He blinked. Just once. “That’s it?”

“The hell do you mean, ‘That’s it’?” You hissed back, fingers gripping the mug a little tighter. 

“I mean,” He sighed, walking over to the breakroom counter and leaning up against it like he owned the damn thing. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because I spent the night?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, eyes trained on the floor tiles.

“Jesus, Aki.” You shook your head. “I really don’t wanna do this here.”

“Why not?” he asked, and he didn’t sound smug—he sounded genuinely confused. Like he hadn’t realized just how deep that night had burrowed itself into your chest.

You glanced up at him sharply. “Because this is the breakroom,” you said, voice low and tight. “Because there are cameras in the hallway and people two doors down who love to gossip. Because I’m barely keeping it together and I’m not interested in becoming office entertainment for the day.”

His brows pulled together at that, his gaze softening, but you saw the way his jaw flexed. He wasn’t going to let this go.

You crossed your arms over your chest – not out of anger, just to give yourself something to do with your body that didn’t involve reaching for him.

He was about to say something, something serious by the look in his eyes, when the breakroom door creaked open behind you.

You both turned.

It was Fujioka from Records – mid-thirties, always a little too cheerful in the mornings, and unfortunately, incredibly observant. He walked in holding a chipped white mug and blinked at the two of you standing just a little too close in the corner by the counter.

“Morning,” he said with a polite little nod, but his tone held a hint of curiosity, his eyes flicking between the two of you like he was trying to piece together what he’d just walked in on.

You instantly stepped back, putting a little space between yourself and Aki, suddenly very interested in the stale coffee pot behind you.

“Morning,” you mumbled, reaching for a paper cup you didn’t actually need.

Aki nodded too, a little stiffly. “Hey.”

Fujioka moved around the room casually, but you could feel the change in the air—how the tension still clung to the walls even as everyone tried to pretend otherwise. You focused on fixing your nonexistent coffee, stirring an empty cup just to avoid looking at anyone.

Fujioka cleared his throat as he poured himself a mug, the sound of liquid hitting ceramic loud in the painfully quiet room. He lingered by the sugar packets longer than necessary, as if waiting for someone to resume conversation. No one did.

Eventually, mercifully, he gave up.

“Well… see you two around,” he said, lifting his mug in a lazy salute before strolling back out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud.

The moment he was gone, the spell broke.

You hissed under your breath, spinning on your heel to face Aki again. “I can’t keep doing this– this… push and pull thing. I can’t.”

“So your solution is to just pretend I’m not here?” He asked. “Instead of, I don’t know, maybe telling me that?”

Damn, he’s good.

Why does he actually sound… worried? He had the nerve to stand in front of you and actually give a shit about you.

Folding your arms protectively over your chest, you tried your best to not let it show how much his tone affected you. He was scolding you again – in that way only he could… subtly, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and… fuck, okay, maybe ignoring you wasn’t really fair, but I… I needed space to think.”

When he didn’t reply, merely crossing his own arms in response, you added, “Distance.”

“...Distance,” He repeated back, the words sounding a whole lot stupider now that you were hearing them coming from someone else’s mouth.

“I don’t… We shouldn’t be doing this, Aki,” You sighed. “It’s not healthy. For either of us.”

His silence was fucking deafening. 

“So,” he finally said, voice careful, “You want to break it off. If that’s what you want, I completely understand.”

It wasn’t a question.

Then his voice dipped even quieter, something raw at the edges. “That is what you want, right?”

Say yes.

Dammit, say yes.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Because it wasn’t what you wanted – and, by the looks of it, it wasn’t what he wanted, either. You couldn’t even nod. You just stood there, swallowing down the lump in your throat, knowing your silence was all the answer he needed.

Aki held your gaze for a beat longer. He didn’t ask again. Didn't press. But something in his expression faltered. Subtle, barely there, like a hairline crack in ice.

He stepped past you slowly, deliberately. His shoulder brushed yours, and he lingered just a second longer than he had to. Not long enough to be noticed. Just long enough to be felt.

“When you make up your mind, give me a call,” he said as he reached the door. His hand paused on the handle. “If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Then he left.

No parting look. No sigh. Just the soft click of the door shutting behind him.

And then it was just you.

The hum of the old vending machine filled the quiet. The smell of burnt coffee lingered like something gone stale. You exhaled, but it didn’t make you feel any lighter. If anything, the weight in your chest settled deeper, a kind of ache that made it hard to stand still, but harder to move.

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

You stared at the counter, at the same cup of untouched coffee you’d been pretending to drink.

What do I want?

The next few days at work dragged like a bad dream you kept waking up inside of. Everything was functional, fine, normal—which somehow made it worse. No one noticed the shift but you, because the shift wasn’t in the air. It was in him.

Aki didn’t avoid you. Not exactly.

He said hi when he passed you in the hallway. Nodded politely when you sat in on briefings. Never once cut his eyes toward you longer than necessary. And it was that restraint—measured, precise—that killed you the most. The way he’d returned to the version of himself you used to know before all this, before the apartment, before the softness. The version that kept things clean. Professional. Cold.

You used to admire that about him.

Now, it just made your chest feel hollow.

The week stretched out like an endless gray horizon, every day bleeding into the next without ceremony or relief. You told yourself silence would help. That stepping back, shutting down, giving space, was the only way to protect what was left, maybe even save something.

But it didn’t. Not really.

It started with the same hollow knot twisting in your stomach that you’d been trying to ignore since the break room confrontation. You showed up early, trying to drown out the unease with the routine – filing reports, restocking supplies, moving through the motions like a ghost. 

You caught yourself glancing toward the hallway, expecting maybe, just maybe, Aki would be there. Maybe he’d say something, anything. But he wasn’t.

He greeted the team when he walked in, clipped and professional, but the moment his eyes found you, they flicked away like you were a shadow best avoided. It wasn’t cold exactly, but it was… distant. Like a radio that had lost signal, static filling the space where connection used to be.

You swallowed hard, telling yourself it was fine. That you were fine. That this was how it had to be.

The next day was worse.

The office was busier, and the tension was thicker. He passed you in the hall with a nod that didn’t quite reach his eyes. During the briefing, you sat close enough to hear the sharpness in his voice as he gave orders, precise and clipped.

You remembered the night at your apartment – how he had held you like he meant it – and the ache that still lingered under your ribs. Now, all of that softness felt like a fragile illusion, shattered and left behind in the past. You hated how badly you missed it. Hated how much you wanted to call him, to hear that same low, satiny voice.

Thursday’s mission day was the worst.

You woke up with that familiar churn of anxiety twisting your stomach, a knot tighter than the day before. There was no room for confusion on missions, no space for hesitation or doubt. You had to be sharp. 

But, fuck, every time you caught Aki’s eye across the briefing room, you saw the same cold, unreadable mask he wore in the field.

He was professional, all business. No cracks. No softness. No trace of the man who had whispered “I’ve never had this before. Otherwise, I think I’d know how to handle it,” in your apartment just days ago.

He gave commands like a machine, precise and unyielding. When he passed you, there was a nod. No warmth, no recognition. You could have been a fucking stranger. A ghost haunting the edges of his focus.

He was putting up walls again. You could feel them being built, brick by brick, every time his gaze slid past you. Every time his voice dropped into something carefully neutral when you entered the room. And the worst part? You were the one who’d started it. You’d handed him the bricks.

That is what you want, right?

By the time Friday night rolled around, the question was buzzing around inside of your head.

You told yourself you were going to have a self care night. All of the week’s situationship drama had you at your wit’s end. You wanted nothing more than to sink into a nice, warm bubble bath, to clean the troubles away from your face, to snuggle up into freshly cleaned sheets in your favorite pajamas.

So, that’s exactly what you did.

You scrubbed at your face until it felt dry – aching to rid yourself of some of the week’s tension. You tied your hair back and settled into bed at the ripe hour of nine thirty.

The radio played a gentle tune, low and steady, like a soft breath in a room full of too much noise. You had your book open, but you weren’t reading shit. The words spilled past your eyes, blurry and meaningless, lost beneath the weight of everything you couldn’t shake.

No, instead, your mind kept looping back to him, replaying snippets of conversations past like a fucking broken record.

“I’ve never had this before,” 

“You missed me that much?”

“You did so good for me,”

“When you make up your mind, give me a call.”

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

You thought of how fucking cold he had been to you all week. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t dealt with before. No, you wished you could say that he was being petty and taking it out on you. That’s just the thing, though – he wasn’t. For the most part, things had returned to the way they used to be.

It seemed that you were the only one who couldn’t.

You were the one who was falling apart, which was crazy, because you had been the one to call for a break in the first place. You were the one who had insisted that distance would help to clear up some of the congestion in your mind, and what did you have to show? A few sleepless nights? A boatload of stress?

God, I bet he’s not even stressing about this, you thought – briefly. Then, your mind wandered right on back to the argument in the breakroom. The way he had stopped just before leaving, eyes glancing over you like he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to let you go, either, uttering those damn words that you had been thinking about all fucking week.

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Then, the memory of his lips lingered on your spine – warm and hot and tender, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. 

“You did so good for me. I should give you a reward, hmm?” 

The quiet always brought him back. The memory of his hands tracing slow, reverent paths over your body like he was trying to map out every scar, every soft part of you, like he wanted to memorize all of it. The way he hovered just above you for a moment, just breathing you in, like he couldn’t believe he had you beneath him again. Like he didn’t want to rush it.

"Tap my thigh three times if you want me to stop."

Your thoughts dipped lower, slower – his mouth, warm and open at your neck, dragging over your shoulder, his breath skimming the curve of your spine. The way his voice dropped when he issued a command, quiet and aching, like it meant something different when he said it in the dark.

“You feel me, Baby?”

“You’re such a good girl for me.”

He had always touched you like he wanted to prove something. Like no one else had ever touched you right before. And you let him, because maybe that was the only place the two of you ever made any damn sense…

Skin to skin, breathless and tangled in the half-light.

The memory pulled tight in your gut, sudden and sharp, the ache curling low in your belly. Your thighs pressed together without thinking. Fuck.

You swallowed and squeezed your eyes shut.

Because it wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was what he did when that look shifted, when the tension cracked and gave way to hunger. That unspoken give it to me. That fierce, unrelenting pull between his control and the way he unraveled when he had you underneath him. The way he’d pin your wrists down with one hand, his mouth dragging down your collarbone with the other, low and hot and wanting.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

He always knew how to draw it out of you—how to get you trembling and soaked and desperate before he ever even got inside. He took his damn time. He liked watching you fall apart. Liked the way you said his name in pieces.

“You’ve probably fucked this pretty pussy to the thought of it, haven’t you?”

And you were remembering it now a little too vividly. The way his voice dropped an octave when he whispered in your ear, telling you not to look away. The drag of his hips against yours, slow and firm, like he wanted you to feel everything. The way he tasted on your tongue. The way he grunted when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have no… fucking idea how I feel when you call me that.”

You could practically hear him now… rough and low and barely coherent, right at the edge, telling you how good you felt, how tight you were, how close he was. His fingers digging into your thigh. The heat of his skin pressed flush to yours.

“Do you have… any clue… What you fucking do to me?”

Your hand twitched where it rested on your stomach.

You were turned on. Ridiculously.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just the sex that was wrecking you. It was the way he held you after. The way he tucked his face into your neck and breathed you in. The way his thumb brushed soft circles into your hip like he couldn’t stop touching you even after it was over. The way his voice went quiet, honest, like things slipped out he didn’t mean to say.

Things like “I’ve never had this before.”

And now you were alone in your bedroom, hand inching down your stomach, chest rising and falling too fast, flushed and aching and stupid with want for a man you said you needed space from.

God, space didn’t feel like the clarity you needed – it felt like fucking torture.

You’d told yourself it was about relief, about easing the pressure in your chest, in your gut, the kind that had been building all week. But it wasn’t just about that. Not really.

Because the second your eyes slipped closed, your mind brought him back. His eyes, his lips, the way he’d made love to you only a week earlier, patient and tender and far too careful for someone who claimed not to feel shit.

Your hand moved lower, and you tried to chase the ghost of that night, the way his breath had caught, the sound he made when you pulled him closer. But it was no good. Your skin didn’t burn the way it did when he touched you. Your pulse didn’t stutter the same way. You were too aware of the absence, too aware of the space between then and now.

Your fingers slid down between your folds, collecting slick onto the tips. Slowly, carefully, you found your clit and began rolling the digits over the little nub in circles. A little faster, then, as you kept on thinking about how he’d felt, how he’d kissed you.

It wasn’t scratching the itch. It wasn’t even fucking close.

Before you knew it, the frustration crept back in. Nothing’s working.

Your eyes found your phone on the nightstand almost instantaneously. It was folded shut, sitting aimlessly atop the wooden surface, but it glared back at you.

He was just one call away, after all.

No, stop it.

You sat up, dragging a hand down your face like that might scrub the thought away, like that would ground you in something rational. Your chest felt too tight. You could still hear his voice in your head—low, steady, the way it used to sound when he was whispering things against your neck like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

God, what the hell am I doing?

And then you were spiraling again. Remembering the weight of him. The way he looked at you like he was trying not to fall. Like he already had.

Your eyes flicked to the phone again.

No.You clenched your jaw, swung your legs off the bed. Maybe some water. Maybe cold air. Maybe anything else.

But you didn’t move.

You sat there, breathing too hard, fingers paused on your clit like you were holding yourself back from something reckless.

God, what the hell am I doing?

You reached for the phone anyway. With the other hand, you continued to rub yourself up and down, side to side – slowly, tentatively.

And, dammit, you were weak. You knew you were weak because it wasn’t sex you thought about in your time of need. No, it was him – nothing casual about that.

I’m so sexually frustrated right now, I don’t even care.

Then, his words, a cruel echo in your mind, “When you make up your mind, give me a call.”

“If you need me, I’ll be there. That won’t change.”

Still, you couldn’t help the way you shifted your hips to get a better angle, thumb flicking through the contacts until you found that damn name at the top.

Aki Hayakawa.

Fuck it.

You clicked the dial button, and let it ring. Once, twice…

Then the line clicked.

“Hey,” He answered, voice deep and groggy, thick with sleep, “Something wrong?”

I knew he would answer, you thought. Still, it was uncanny, the way relief blanketed you. You were so relieved, in fact, that your heart wasn’t the only thing that twitched at the sound of his voice.

Whoops.

“I… No, I…” You trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words now that you finally got him on the line. 

God, what do I even say? Hey, you know how we’ve been ignoring each other for a week? Yeah, I want to fuck. Ridiculous.

God, this whole situation was ridiculous.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” You admitted, hand pausing its movements over your clit for just a moment because, fuck it all, you were nervous. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the shifting of fabric, like he was in bed when you’d called. “My voice?” He asked. “It’s the middle of the night. Everything okay?”

It’s like I can’t stay mad at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Was all you said, hoping he’d get the hint.

“Bad dream?” He grumbled.

Fuck, his voice is so hot, You thought. 

“No, just… thoughts,” You replied, waving your hand around like he could see it. “Won’t shut up.”

Only a partial lie.

“...What kind of thoughts?” He asked, and your heart fucking dropped – suddenly, his tone shifted, and you weren’t so confident about your little mission any longer.

I’m a fucking idiot.

Oh well.

Quietly, you breathed out the answer, like you were scared of it, “About you.”

Another pause, and this time, your heart was racing against your ribs. Your pulse thrummed in your veins, electric. You couldn’t take the words back now that they were out there – you’d officially thrown in the white flag.

Then, he replied, suddenly a lot more breathy, “Yeah?”

Fuck, you thought. Slowly, you resumed your ministrations, touching yourself to the sound of his voice even though you knew it was wrong. 

I’m going to hell, anyways. Might as well go out with a bang.

Before you could control it, a wanton whimper slipped out from your lips. Fuck.

“What are you doing right now?” He asked. The words were a silky, devilish croon, sweet like they’d been dipped in chocolate.

I’ve been caught red-handed.

Rather than answering him like you probably should have done, you stayed quiet, too ashamed of the situation to speak – which was arguably a whole lot worse.

“I was… trying to get off ‘n…” You huffed out, rolling your hips down into the bed, fingers drawing shapes and circles over the most sensitive part of you and, fuck, it wasn’t nearly enough. Arching your back, you sighed, “Get my mind off of you.”

He replied, “Did it work?”

You answered with a soft, breathless laugh, “Clearly not.”

“Needy baby,” he said, voice dipping just low enough to graze your spine, and you nearly moaned at the mere sound of it. There was a pause on his end, weighted, knowing, before he added, quieter this time, “Put the phone on speaker.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the device, pressing the button with more hesitation than you cared to admit. A soft click, then the room filled with him. That damned voice. That voice that had whispered against your neck, your shoulder, your chest, now flooding the silence of your bedroom like it belonged there.

Like you hadn’t spent the past week hating his guts.

“Can you hear me?”

You swallowed, heart stammering against your ribs. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I hear you.”

And God, did you. You heard the rough edge to his voice, still heavy with sleep. You heard the warmth threading through it despite the hour, the kind of warmth that made your stomach flutter and your chest tighten in the same breath. You felt it in your fingertips, in the back of your throat.

You heard him and, somehow, you knew he’d missed you as much as you had missed him.

“Good,” He answered, “Let me take care of you. Where are your fingers?”

Oh my god, you thought, I’m really doing this, right now?

I’m really about to have phone sex with my fucking Captain.

And you confessed, “Rubbing… circles–”

You could almost see him – seated on the edge of his bed, one hand raking through his hair, jaw clenched, brows knit with something he wasn’t letting himself say.

“Aw… poor thing. Can’t get off without being told what to do, hm?” 

Your throat tightened. He sounded like he was teasing, but there was something else woven into it. That deep, domineering tone – the one that made you want to give yourself up to him entirely.

And, just like that, you were wrapped around his finger all over again.

“Bring those fingers up to your mouth, pretty,” He said after a beat passed. “Get them nice and wet for me.”

Mindlessly, you followed his command. You pulled your fingers away from your needy pussy, out of your pajama pants, and brought the two digits up to your parted mouth. Then, slowly, you wrapped your lips around them, sucking them clean, getting them wet with your spit. You could taste yourself on your own tongue, tangy and sweet.

Oddly enough, you didn’t feel stupid. No, for the first time in a week, you felt sexy, wanted, desired.

“Are you in bed?”

“Mhm,” You hummed back, the sound muffled by your fingers. The wet digits came out of your mouth with a quiet pop. You couldn’t help but yearn for him – wish that he could have been there in person instead of over the phone, wish that it could have been his fingers, pressing down on your tongue, thick and long.

“Put the phone down next to you,” He told you.

You followed again, hand shaking slightly as you laid the phone down on the bed beside you. 

God, this is so depraved, but I don’t even care.

“Good girl,” His voice was warm, low… almost reverent. You would do anything for him so long as he kept on calling you that. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the sound of his voice, to picture him.

“I want you to reach under your shirt,” He continued, “And tease yourself. Lightly. Just enough to work yourself up.”

Feeling an awful lot like you were blindly following his commands, you slipped your other hand up beneath the hem of your cami. You weren’t wearing a bra – because why the hell would you – so it didn’t take much at all for you to get a handful of your own breast. The skin was warm, soft, malleable beneath your touch. You gave it a tender squeeze, then massaged the flesh in your palm like you had all fucking night. 

A blissful little sigh slipped out as your thumb skittered across your nipple. The skin perked up beneath your fingertips, forming a stiffened peak. Then, as you repeated the gesture – intentionally, this time – another. 

“You sound so pretty, Baby,” He commented, and, fuck, it was enough to send warmth fluttering through your chest, your veins. You felt like you were fucking melting. “What are you wearing?”

The classic line.

“A– A cami and…” You whined, “‘n some pink shorts. No panties.”

It was true. You had planned on getting off tonight (one way or another), and had decided to ditch the panties in an effort to make things easier. 

Of course, you hadn’t banked on calling the man you’d been avoiding to get off, and you sure as hell hadn’t banked on him actually picking up.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” His breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Why don’t you pull those shorts to the side for me, then, and use your fingers to get off, hm?”

Shaking, you reached down between your thighs. Your fingers grazed the lacy hem of the pink shorts you had on. Then, without questioning where he was going, you pulled the crotch to the side and put your fingers back where they had been only a few moments prior.

You moaned, then – quietly, but it was loud enough that he heard it. The skin between your thighs was gooey, slick, coated in your own arousal. The effect he had on you was absurd. He’d just picked up the phone, and you were already soaked.

“Just like that. Nice and slow,” He hummed. “Now, tell me about those thoughts you were having.”

You swallowed, eyes fluttering shut, chest rising with the weight of the words stuck somewhere between your ribs. Your fingers found your clit once more – like muscle memory – and rolled over the bud in tight, narrow circles.

“Was thinking about what I’d do if I saw you again,” you said softly. “Thinking about – fuck – about how good you feel inside of me.”

Well, this call went 0-100 very quickly, didn’ t it?

“I miss your hands,” you went on, “On my body, on my neck… Fuck, your fingers always feel… so good. Mine don’t feel the same.”

You heard him exhale, a sound like a quiet wind through the receiver.

“Don’t tempt me,” He replied. “Go a little faster now, pretty.”

“I keep thinking about the last time,” you confessed. “How you punished me. How you fucked me.”

Another pause. Then, his voice, softer now. “You’ve got a dirty mouth.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, lips parting. “I’m literally fucking myself to the sound of your voice, and you want to talk about dirty?”

“Never denied it. Keep playing with your chest, Baby,” He continued, “And slip a finger into that pretty pussy for me. Wouldn’t wanna keep her waiting.”

“They’re not as big as yours,” You remarked. Still, you took your hand away from your clit, drawing shapes around your aching entrance. “They won’t feel the same.”

“I know,” He sighed, like he wished he could come through the phone and feel you for himself, “But pretend for a moment. Push it all the way in, then crook it up for me.”

You did exactly that. Your finger caught on that place nestled oh-so deep inside of your cunt, that mushy spot that sent electricity flying up and down your spine. The movement caused another cry to slip out, one of his name, “Aki.”

“I’m here,” He replied. “Feel good?”

“Fuck, yes,” You breathed out. You moved the finger back and forth, caressing your walls, pulling more of those noises out of you – the ones he seemed to love so much.

“Add another finger,” Was his next command, “Let me hear you.”

You swallowed, heart thudding so loud it nearly drowned him out. The silence in your room was too soft, too full of want and everything you hadn’t said. Still, you obeyed, shifting where you lay, skin warm beneath the sheets. The second digit breached your entrance, stretching you open, filling you out just right.

A quiet sound escaped you – breath catching as your body answered before your mouth could.

“There you go,” he murmured, gentler now. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” You answered in kind, sliding the two fingers in, out, in again… You were still so tight, so much so that your wrists burned with the strain of moving your knuckles. Still, your fingers found that spot again – over and over, and it was enough to have your jaw dropping, sinful noises pouring from your lips like he was actually here. “Wish it were your fingers instead– Oh my God, Aki.”

And then, you heard it. The quietest sound on the other end of the line. A shift. A breath. A high-pitched, muffled whimper. Your lips parted.

“…Aki?” You asked, your voice gentle, curious. “Are you…?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice had changed – rougher around the edges, deeper. “Keep going, Baby.”

Oh my god.

He’s doing it, too.

He’s getting off to the sound of my voice. 

At the mere thought – the mere image of him laying down with a hand down his pants, stroking himself languidly to the sound of your moans, your words – you tilted your head back, exposing the column of your neck, and breathed, “God, fuck– I need… I wanna feel you moving, throbbing– wanna hear you tell me how good I am for you.”

“You’re always so good for me,” He exhaled, a shuddery, airy sound, followed by a deep, velvety moan, “And you feel so fucking good, too– every time, it feels like the first. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

You giggled – yes, really giggled – and plunged your fingers in a little deeper, until your vision was hazy. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, “Should’ve just told me. Instead of ignoring each other, we could have been fucking each other.”

“You’re the one who said you needed space,” He retorted. 

Touché.

Continuing, he added, “But no one else can make you feel the way I can, huh?”

No, you thought, You have no fucking idea.

“No one– ngh,” You breathed. “Shit, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fuck anyone else.” Arching your back, you let out another moan – long, drawn out, and debauched. “Fuck, Aki, I need you.”

You had been stupid to believe otherwise – stupid to believe that you could possibly have stayed away from him.

No, you were addicted.

“Scissor those fingers, stretch that pussy open for me,” He uttered. “Mmh– bet you look so perfect right now, fucking yourself on your fingers like that. Wish I could see you.”

With a laugh, you teased, “Get your ass over here, then– mhm, shit–” Another arch, another shift of your hips, and your eyes were fluttering shut, “Aki-i.”

“You keep saying my name like that and I just might,” He laughed breathlessly. 

A spark lit inside you – dangerous, reckless. “Please. I’ll be good, promise. I’ll make you feel so good.” The words slipped out before your mind could stop them, raw and urgent.

“I know you will. You always do,” he said, the softness in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please,” you begged, voice barely a whisper.

“Use your words,” he teased, but there was something steady in his tone. “You want me to come over there and make you feel better?”

You hesitated, reality pressing in. It was late, too late for this. “Probably not a good idea. It’s two in the morning.”

“Fuck, it is,” he laughed, the sound warm and rough. “But I would do it if you asked me. I’d take good care of you, too.” The promise in his voice was almost enough to make you say yes.

Hell, with a voice like that, he could make a nun peel her clothes off.

“Really?” You held your breath, the thought of him closing the distance between you sending heat rushing through your veins.

“Of course,” he said simply. “Why, you thinking about it?”

Your mind raced. The loneliness, the ache for him… it was loud, relentless. But, fuck, if you didn’t get him inside of you by the end of the night, you were going to blow your fucking brains out.

He laughed again, low and teasing, like he was reveling in the sound of you begging for him, “God, you’re so bad. You want me, baby?”

You knew this was a terrible idea. You just told him you needed space—that this had to stop—and yet here you were, heart pounding, breath shallow, daring to ask him to come over.

Shit, what am I doing? The question burned in your chest, but it was drowned out by the ache deeper down, the one that made your skin tingle and your stomach twist in desperate knots. You’d been holding it in all week—those unspoken words and half-remembered touches—but tonight, the distance was unbearable. He was the only thing that could soothe the fire that had been growing inside you.

“I need you,” you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper. “Please come over.”

There was a pause, a soft exhale on the other end. “I shouldn’t,” he said, the weight of hesitation heavy in his voice. You could almost hear the struggle behind it.

Then the unmistakable jingle of keys being grabbed. Your heart surged.

“Think you can wait ten minutes?” he asked, a thread of something unreadable – Concern? Longing? –underneath the words.

You closed your eyes, swallowing down the part of your brain still screaming Don’t do this. 

You’d already come this far. 

“I’ve been waiting a whole week,” you said, voice low and shaky but honest. “Just come over and fuck me, Hayakawa.”

There it was. The name on your lips sent a shiver racing down your spine.

He laughed – soft, breathy, a sound that felt like a warm caress through the phone. “I’m coming. I’m coming, don’t worry.”

“I wouldn’t leave my favorite girl waiting,” he added, and that simple sentence made your heart feel impossibly full.

I’m his favorite girl.

He hung up before you could say more, leaving your thoughts spinning.

Your hands trembled as you jumped up, rushing to straighten your apartment like it would make a difference. You wiped the faintest traces of your day off your skin, trying to erase the evidence of any debauchery.

But you didn’t want to disappear – not tonight. Not when he was coming.

You barely recognized your own apartment as you hurried through it, your heart thudding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Every surface got a quick wipe down – the coffee table, cluttered with scattered papers and half-empty mugs, was cleared and polished until it caught the light just right. You shoved laundry into the hamper, smoothed out the rumpled blankets on the couch, and flicked off the harsh overhead light, switching on a small lamp to cast a soft, warm glow across the room.

Your bedroom wasn’t much better, but you did your best to make it look less like the chaos of your week and more like a sanctuary. You plumped the pillows, pulled the sheets tight over the mattress, and folded back the blanket just so. The faint scent of lavender from the linen spray mingled with your own perfume, a hint of something sweet and familiar.

Then you caught your reflection in the mirror and paused. You were still in the same soft, worn pajamas you’d been wearing all night – comfortable but nothing special. 

You tugged at the loose fabric of the pajama top, smoothing it over your curves. With a slow, deliberate motion, you loosened the top few buttons, revealing a sliver of skin at your collarbone. You ran your fingers over the silky material, adjusting it until it clung in just the right places – soft, but… probably sexy.

You hoped.

Your hair was a mess from the day, so you took a moment to run your fingers through it, pushing strands back behind your ears and letting the rest fall in loose waves. You traced the line of your neck, feeling the familiar ache of want settle deeper inside you.

A quick swipe of lip balm, a not-so-subtle douse of perfume and body mist – just enough to make you feel like you were somewhat presentable.

And then, after eleven minutes (yes, you had been anxiously watching the time), a knock sounded at the front door of your apartment.

Your breath hitched, and your hand shook as you moved to answer it.

When you opened the door, there he was – a great deal taller than you, looking like something straight out of a wet dream. He had on a form-fitting black tee – one that hugged his muscular arms and narrow waist, illuminating his broad chest and shoulders – and a pair of loose-fitting gray sweatpants. His hair was down, a little frizzy, and he smelled like a fresh spritz of that cologne you wished you knew the name of. Most importantly, his eyes, wild and blown full of lust, were on you.

He came. And, from the looks of it, he wasn’t in the mood to bring up old grievances, either.

His gaze swept over you, slow and steady — from your tousled hair to the sliver of skin at your midriff your pajama shirt didn’t quite cover. There was hunger in his eyes, sure. But there was something softer too. Like he’d been thinking about this. About you.

“Missed me?” He teased you, shining that crooked grin and, fuck, you couldn’t care less about what the two of you had said in the break room nearly a week earlier. 

He was here, in front of you, and all you wanted to do was jump his bones. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to your level, “Shut up.”

His mouth met yours before you could second-guess yourself. Heat, pressure, the familiar curl of want. Your back hit the door as he deepened the kiss, one of his hands bracing against the wood beside your head, the other sliding down to rest at your waist like he was holding back. Like if he let go, he’d lose control.

You didn’t want him to hold back.

Somewhere between breaths and half-formed words, you stumbled backward together – his hand finding yours, your laugh caught in your throat as you bumped into the hallway wall, then the other. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, warm against your hip, and the way he touched you – not rushed, not rough, just like he knew exactly where you needed him – made you shiver.

“You look good,” he murmured, voice low as his lips grazed your jaw. “These yours?”

You blinked, confused.

“The pajamas,” he clarified, fingers brushing over the fabric at your hip.

I knew he would like it, you thought with a smug little grin.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Didn’t exactly have time to change.”

He huffed a soft laugh, lips brushing your ear. “Good. I like you like this.”

“You came all this way to say that?” you teased.

“Nope,” he grinned, pulling back just enough to look you over, thumb brushing your cheek. “Came here to do this–”

He bent slightly and, without warning, scooped you up in his arms, throwing your legs around his waist with very little effort.

You yelped – and he laughed harder, stumbling a little as he adjusted your weight. Your arms looped around his neck, faces brushing close again, and you were kissing him before he even made it halfway down the hall.

It was clumsy. Dizzy, but fuck, it was hot.

You felt your shoulder bump a wall, and he muttered “shit” between kisses, trying not to trip over his own feet – but neither of you could stop laughing. 

Or kissing. Or touching, for that matter. 

You were pressed so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the strength in his arms, the warmth of his skin through that tight black shirt. Close enough that your lips slid together like fucking puzzle pieces, tongues slipping against one another like you were fighting for dominance.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging at it, and when you whispered, “Need you to fuck me, Aki,” he groaned – just loud enough to make your stomach twist.

“Don’t say shit like that unless you want me to drop you,” he warned, voice gravel-soft, teasing, lips brushing your neck now as he made it through your bedroom door.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you again – slower this time, deeper –and the world around you spun just a little.

Oh, you were so screwed.

By the time he reached your bed, you were breathless. Your fingers tugged at the back of his shirt. His mouth was at your jaw. You felt like you were burning alive in the best possible way.

He leaned down, pressing you gently to the mattress like you were something fragile. Like he wasn’t about to break you.

He hovered over you for a moment, gazing down like he was trying to piece together something he didn’t have the words for. Then he leaned in again, brushing his lips across your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Not rushed. Like he was trying to linger in every second before it slipped away. You tilted your head, welcoming him closer, a shaky breath leaving you when his mouth found the base of your throat.

He sighed against your skin – long, slow, and pretty – like this was the one place in the world he wanted to be. 

Your fingers drifted up the hem of his shirt, tugging it off of his head, needing more of him, needing to feel all the places where he was warm and solid and real. You weren’t even sure what you were chasing anymore.

“I missed this,” you whispered without really meaning to.

He didn’t answer with words. Just exhaled softly, the sound muffled against your collarbone. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he sat back on his knees and reached behind his head, gathering his hair to tie it. The motion was efficient, practiced, but there was something about it that made your stomach turn over. A kind of anticipation that curled low and deep.

Oh, he’s about to get to work.

His pretty blue eyes flicked up to meet yours once he finished, like he wanted to make sure you really wanted this. Then, he smiled.

Still, he reached for you again, hands steady, gaze lingering on your face like he was trying to read you. You spread your thighs for him instinctively, welcoming, open – and he didn’t need words to understand.

No, the moment before his head dipped, before his mouth met your skin again, you knew he understood. Nothing else mattered – not the conversations, not the arguments, not the consequences.

Just him. Just now.

“Oh my God,” You gasped out, feeling his tongue ghost over your sodden slit, parting the folds and gathering slick into his mouth.

He sucked on you with the most satisfied moan, like you were a fresh-baked dessert, melting on his tongue. Then, without a word of warning, he gripped the back of your thighs with two strong hands and got to work making a mess out of you. 

His mouth was hot, warm, everything your fingers couldn’t be. And, shit, he was on a mission to devour you. He dragged his tongue up and down, up and down, until the tip of it caught on your clit. Then, like he was trying to finish the job you had started, he sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth and licked over it. 

Over and fucking over again.

You leaned back, all the way back, and arched up, lifting your stomach off of the bed. You weren’t even trying to hide it – the way your body reached for him, the way you gasped softly every time his mouth skimmed over a new inch of your skin.

God, you needed this. You needed him, all along.

He lowered his head again, lips barely grazing the skin of your stomach, each touch feather-light and slow, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. The warmth of his breath against your cunt sent shivers rippling through you, igniting a fire deep inside that spread with every little lick. His mouth moved with an urgency, practiced and insistent.

Your body responded immediately, arching into his touch, the small of your back lifting higher off the bed.. The tension you’d been holding onto – the ache, the longing, the frustration – started to melt under the heat of his mouth. 

Fuck, he knew how to make you forget.

Every suck, every kitten lick was a whisper of desire, slow and deliberate, pulling you deeper into a place you hadn’t been since the last time he was with you.

Holy shit, you thought, Why is he so good at that? It’s unfair.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers tracing lazy, intimate patterns across your ribs and along your waist while he dove in deeper, shifting his head to the side to get a better angle into your needy pussy. The contrast between his cool fingertips and the heat of your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising and falling unevenly beneath him. 

He moved with a speed that was almost unbearable, lips exploring, tasting, worshipping the apex of your pleasure.

Then, he slipped two fingers into your hole – right where yours had been only half an hour earlier – and began to move them around.

You felt your body begin to unravel beneath him, nerves alight and skin humming with pleasure from his touch. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging gently as if to pull him closer, to keep him where you could feel him – close enough to burn. 

“Oh my fucking god,” You pleaded, “Please– Fuck, don’t stop.”

His tongue drew expert shapes over your clit, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses that made your breath shudder. At the same time, his fingers crooked up, easily finding your G-spot like he knew your body better than you did. 

The ache in your belly deepened, a delicious tension tightening in your core. You pressed into him, arching higher, wanting more of the way he made you feel – wanted, alive, undone. The room shrank around you, fading until all that mattered was the warmth of his lips on your heat and the steady rhythm of his mouth, the way your moans tangled together in the thick air.

At the curve of your hip, he paused, lips pressing a tender kiss that made your entire body pulse with need. Then, as if savoring the moment, he licked a stripe from the bottom to the top, then back down again – sucking you into his mouth again and again until you were seeing fucking stars.

A raunchy moan escaped you, breath ragged and trembling, as the sensation built inside like a wave about to crash. 

His hands roamed higher now, tracing the sensitive skin just below your ribs, fingers splayed as though to hold you together even as you fell apart. You were burning alive in the best way, consumed by the torment of his touch.

But even as the fire inside you blazed, a part of your mind whispered warning, reminding you of the promises made, the lines drawn, the distance you’d sworn to keep. The tangled mix of desire and caution pulled at you, making your breath shallow, heart hammering in your chest. 

You wanted to surrender completely, to fall into the heat of the moment and forget everything else, but a flicker of doubt held you back.

“Fuck!” You cried out, “So good, just like that–”

Still, the pull of him was too strong. Your fingers tightened in his hair, nails digging gently into his scalp, urging him closer. Your body arched instinctively, craving the fullness of him, the weight of him pressed against you. The ache in your stomach was no longer just frustration – it was need. Raw, undeniable need.

His eyes lifted to meet yours briefly, dark and searching, filled with something you couldn’t name but recognized deep in your bones. For a heartbeat, the world stood still – just the two of you, caught between the pull of what was right and what felt inevitable.

Breaking away to gasp for air, he spoke gruffly, “Look at me. You close?”

“Mhm!” Was all you managed to get out. While his mouth had broken away, his fingers hadn’t slowed down one bit. No, they kept on massaging that spot inside of you, pulling the strings of your orgasm apart bit by fucking bit. 

God, you were so fucking close. 

“I want you to look at me when you cum,” He groaned.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pressed his lips back to your pussy, trailing kisses down your neck, each one a soft promise, a whispered plea. Your breath hitched again, body trembling under the weight of sensation. The sound you made was quiet but full of everything you were holding back: longing, desperation, the ache of missing him more than you could say.

You let your fingers drift lower, exploring the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, needing to feel every part of him close. The heat of his touch, the softness of his lips against your skin, it all made your head spin. 

You told him you needed a break.

And yet, here you were, unraveling on his face, unable to resist.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ cum,” You gasped out, clawing at the sheets with one hand, tugging at his ponytail with the other, “Fuck, don’t stop–”

With a small, breathless sigh, you finally let go. The walls you’d built around yourself crumbled, piece by piece, as you surrendered to the moment. Your body melted beneath him, every nerve ending alive and aching for more. The tension that had coiled inside you snapped free, leaving you trembling and undone.

You came hard. His hands held you steady, grounding you as you gave in completely. You arched into him, lost to the sensation, to the feeling of being seen and wanted and held. It was messy, raw, and beautiful all at once.

You rode out the waves of it, hips jumping against his face, smearing an obscene mix of your juices and his spit all over his face. 

You came down slowly, the heat inside you fading into a delicious ache that spread through your limbs and settled deep in your bones. Your breath was ragged, chest rising and falling unevenly, your skin slick with sweat, every nerve ending humming with aftershocks. That desperate, raw craving that had driven you moments ago still lingered, like a spark waiting to ignite again.

It was only then that he broke away.

Aki’s breathing was heavy too, rough and uneven, his chest rising and falling. His hair was wild, tousled in all the right ways, bangs falling over his forehead, sticky with sweat. His eyes caught yours, wild and hungry, like he was burning from the inside out, like he couldn’t get enough.

He pushed himself up, slow and sure. Then, with the bottom half of his face still dripping wet, he leaned in and kissed you – with a hell of a lot of tongue, like he wanted you to see how you tasted.

I need more, You thought.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands slid over his chest, fingertips dragging lightly across hot skin, as you pushed him down onto the bed with a slow, fierce smile. Your hips settled onto his, straddling him, the heat between your bodies scorching through the thin fabric of your clothes. Like they were personally at fault for the fact that he wasn’t buried inside of you at the moment, you wiggled out of your shorts and cast them to the side. 

Your next mission? To get Aki out of those damn sweatpants and into your guts.

Your hands slid down to the waistband of his pants, fingers trembling just a little as you pulled them down, slow and deliberate. The cool air kissed the skin it revealed, sending goosebumps racing along his hips. That pretty dick of his bounced free, hard as hell and flushed a pretty shade of pink at the tip.

Without hesitation, you shifted forward, pressing your warmth against it, grinding slowly at first, testing the reaction. Then, once you looked down at him and saw the need in his eyes, you lined up with him and sank the rest of the way down

His breath hitched on a moan – a low, ragged sound that vibrated through your chest – and you felt it in your own throat.

“God,” he hissed.

“Fucking hell,” You gasped out, reveling in the feeling of him splitting you open from this angle.

Your movements grew bolder, more urgent, hips rolling with more intent as the heat between you flared higher. You braced your hands on his chest, fucking back onto his dick over and over again like you were on a fucking mission. You could hear the soft, desperate noises slipping past your lips, the rough sound of his breathing quickening.

God, I missed this.

You were both flushed, your skin slick with heat, breaths uneven and voices tangled in quiet need. Your heart pounded like a drum in your ears, the air thick with tension that wrapped around you both like a second skin. Every time he bottomed out inside of you, your nerves burned so deliciously that you couldn’t help but moan, whine, cry out for him like you didn’t have neighbors.

He shifted beneath you, hands finding your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you, steady you. In tandem, you shifted your weight onto the balls of your feet, adjusting your hands on his chest to give you enough leverage to start bouncing a little harder, pressing your body flush to his, feeling the tight coil of desire building between you. You could feel how much he wanted you – not just the wild hunger in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched, and the tremble in his breath, but in the way he fucking throbbed inside of you, filling you out like you were molded to the shape of him.

Your moans mingled, quiet and needy, filling the space between you like a secret language only you two understood.

Aki’s eyes were still on you, wild and storm-colored, lashes low and damp from the heat of the moment. His hair was a mess, falling into his boyish face in loose strands, some of it clinging to his cheek, others caught behind his ear. 

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, not even if you tried. Not from the way he looked at you. Not from the way his hands settled at your hips.

And God, the way he exhaled. A sound so low and shaky you felt it in your throat.

“You look good on top of me,” He noted with a hum.

"You're… ridiculous," you murmured, but there was no venom behind it. Just breathlessness.

"Yeah?" His voice was raspy, fingers twitching slightly on your hips. “You look like you’re about to pass out and still won’t slow down.”

"I can't," you admitted. “Feels too good.”

His hands shifted, gliding from your hips to your thighs, squeezing once – slow and grounding – and you shivered. Every inch of your skin was alive, electric with how close you were. How warm his abs felt under you, how his every breath moved you with it. His sweatpants had ridden low on his hips, just enough for you to be able to fuck him without wasting time on getting them off.

You moved again, faster this time. Testing. Letting the friction build in small, incremental waves. And when your breath hitched, he breathed out a curse, gripping your thighs just a little tighter.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So desperate for it. You’re squeezing me, Baby.”

You rolled your hips again in response, slow, deliberate. “Like you’re any better,” you whispered.

His hands slid up to your waist again, holding you steady now as your rhythm faltered from how sensitive you’d become. You tried to say something smart, something teasing, but all that came out was a stuttering moan when he guided your hips up, down, up, down.

“Doing so good for me,” he said softly, just beneath his breath, like he couldn’t fucking believe it. “Shit, this pussy was made for me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, half-choked by the way your legs were starting to tremble. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

“Why?” He hummed, the sound of it low and amused, but warm. “You gonna fall apart on me again?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

You were too busy fucking his brains out.

Everything was getting fuzzy. Your hands slid up his chest, over the curve of his shoulders, anchoring yourself against him. Your body moved without thought now, chasing the high, chasing the warmth of his voice and the press of his fingers and the way he let you use him without question. 

You were wetter than you had been moments ago. In fact, every time you bounced up and down, the most sinful sounds came from your bodies – squelching, moaning, fucking.

And Aki looked like he was about to break.

He watched your mouth fall open. Watched your lashes flutter. Watched your head tip back and your fingers clench and your rhythm stutter. You clenched down around him like you would die if he slipped out, even for a moment.

“Come here,” he whispered, sitting up just enough to press his forehead to yours.

You let your arms wrap around him, forehead pressed back to his. Your nose brushed his, your breaths tangled, and he held you like you were something fragile again. Like this wasn’t just a release, but something more. Something heavier.

And when your thighs finally started to give out—when your body gave that last little twitch of exhaustion—he didn’t hesitate.

He caught you. Picked you up. Shifted you back without a word and guided you against him, moving you in his lap with an urgency that made your eyes sting.

You let him. And, somehow, he slid even deeper in.

“Oh my god,” You gasped out.

Let him take over, let him hold you, guide you, let him breathe your name in that low, reverent way that always turned your bones to ash.

You weren’t thinking straight. Not about the breakroom, not about the space you’d asked for. Not about how complicated everything had gotten between you.

Right now, there was only him.

Only Aki, fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

Only the warmth of his skin and the rasp of his voice and the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together you swore there was nothing left between you. Just tension. Just longing. Just heat.

And when he finally let go, when you felt the tremble of it in his body, the quiet gasps against your collarbone, the way he pulled you in closer.

You knew.

You could lie to yourself all you wanted about needing distance, about making clean breaks. But deep down, you were already his.

“Aki–” You cried out, fucking back onto his dick while he moved you up and down. “‘M gonna fucking cum.”

“I’ve got you,” Aki murmured, voice low and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around your back. One hand slid to your spine, fingers splayed there, grounding you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Your breath caught, staggered, stuck in your throat like a sob. You couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore.

A tremor ran through your limbs, and then you gasped, sharply, while the world tilted on axis. You came for the second time that night, and it was glorious. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, his chest, your thighs trembled, and you burst like a bubble on top of him. 

You collapsed onto him a moment later.

Your chest pressed flush to his, your forehead landing clumsily against the curve of his neck. Your hands found his shoulders, warm and solid and shaking just slightly beneath your fingers, and clung there, trying to steady yourself, trying to breathe.

But it was hard. Everything was spinning.

Your eyes fluttered open, catching his wild gaze. For a moment, everything slowed down. The tension, the chaos, the confusion all melted away, leaving just the two of you.

And then it hit you – like a spark igniting a fire you hadn’t dared admit before. 

You realized, really fucking realized, just how deep this went. 

Your breath hitched, trembling as you pressed your forehead to his neck. The words tumbled out before your mind could stop them, raw and urgent, carried on the heat of the moment.

“I love you,” you gasped, voice breaking.

His breath hitched too, a sharp intake just as his body tensed beneath you. His fingers clenched at your back, and you felt the pulse of him deep inside of you as he finally came, sending shockwaves up your spine. He finished with the prettiest, most velvety moan you’d ever heard, eyes and head rolling back while he reached his peak, spilling heat into your guts.

He was breathing hard, too – quick, uneven exhales. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your thighs, the warmth of his skin, the steady drum of his heart. 

Then, like he just processed what you’d said, he looked at you, “What?”

Your throat went dry. You swallowed hard, the truth slipping out before you could stop it. “I… I love you.”

There was a pause, long and heavy, but he didn’t say it back. You hadn’t expected him to.

But, fuck, that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I…” He trailed off.

You lay on him after, your breath still shaky, the weight of your confession hanging in the quiet between you. Your fingers traced faint circles on his chest as you tried to steady yourself, as he pulled his pants back up over his hips.

Breathe.

“You don’t have to say it back, but…” you whispered. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He stayed silent for a moment.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” you continued, voice soft but steady. “And… I think this has to be the last time. The last time we’re like this.”

“Okay,” he finally said, still sounding out of it.

“Okay?” Your voice cracked with disbelief. “That’s all you have to say? After everything?”

“What more do you want me to say?” His voice was low, tired. “I can’t ask you to stay. It would be unfair.” He sighed deeply. “My heart can’t be in it. You deserve something better than that.”

You searched his face, desperate for something real. “Is it, though? Is your heart in it? Because one minute, you don’t give a shit, but the next, you’re asking to see me, telling me you care, that I’m your favorite girl. I think you’re bullshitting me.” Your voice broke, the ache coming to the surface. “I can’t keep doing this – the back and forth, the waiting. It’s messing with my head.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than I probably should. But this job… it doesn’t leave any room for that. Getting close like this – it’s dangerous. There’s no place for love in Public Safety,” He opened his eyes again, meeting your gaze with raw honesty. “Besides, you deserve more than half of me. I can’t… be what you need.”

He was breaking your fucking heart. The worst part? You couldn’t even hate him for it.

No, he was right.

There was no place for love in your line of work.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Aki. I need you to be real.” You searched his face, desperate to find some flicker of what you knew was there beneath the walls he put up. “It’s more than just Public Safety… You say you don’t feel anything, that you can’t. But the way you act– the way you look at me sometimes – tells me otherwise. Make up your fucking mind!”

He looked at you then, that usual armor faltering for just a second. He was at a loss for words, and for once, you saw the man beneath the surface – the one caught between what he wanted and what he thought he should do.

“I meant what I said,” You continued, “But, God, you’re such a fucking dick sometimes.”

“I told you from the start that this would be a bad idea,” He retorted, furrowing his brows. “Don’t act like you didn’t beg me to do it anyway– like you weren’t the one who begged me to come over here tonight. Yeah, maybe I’m a dick, but you’re just as guilty as I am.”

The sting of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, the accusation wrapped in truth. You had pushed, pressed, begged for moments like this even though the consequences loomed large. You’d been the one to open the door, to invite chaos in, and now it was crashing down around you.

You couldn’t even blame him.

You felt the ache settle deep inside – the hurt of being called out but also the frustration of the tangled mess you both had created.

He sighed, the fight draining from him. The tension in his shoulders softened, his voice dropping to something quieter, almost remorseful. “That was mean. I’m sorry. Look, I think we should talk–”

Your heart hammered in your chest, raw and aching, but your voice was firm, trembling with the weight of everything you couldn’t say aloud. “I don’t want to talk.”

“But, I–”

“I think you should leave,” you cut him off, the anger simmering just beneath your words. “You were right. This won’t work.”

“Maybe I should,” he said back, voice low, heavy with a weight you could almost see pressing down on him. He looked as if he was about to say something else, something that could change everything, but the words got stuck, lost somewhere between his heart and his mind. Instead, he simply looked at you, conflicted, torn.

He slid out of bed slowly, like he was trying to avoid the inevitable. 

He reached for his shirt and pulled it on, the fabric slipping over his skin like a barrier between the two of you. You watched him, your chest tightening, every second feeling like you were fucking dying inside.

He paused by the door, turning to face you one last time. His eyes were dark and serious, but there was something softer there too – regret, perhaps. 

“I’m sorry,” he uttered quietly, the apology so heavy it seemed to fill the room with silence.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, but it echoed through your chest, louder than anything else had ever been before. You sat there frozen for a moment, the quiet swallowing you whole.

And then the dam broke.

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable, sliding down your cheeks, burning your skin. Your whole body shook as you sank into the mattress, overwhelmed by the weight of everything – the love you couldn’t hold, the future you’d lost, the man you wanted so desperately but couldn’t keep.

You cried until there was nothing left but the memory of his face – dejected, words on the tip of his tongue – when you had sent him away. 

Had he been about to say it back? You thought. No, don’t be ridiculous.

You slapped the pillow over your face, groaning into it.

If I’m doing the right thing, then why does it feel so wrong?

All you knew was that you'd sent him away, and it felt like you'd just fired a gun through your chest.

a/n: how are yall? im sorry lol. as i said over on tumblr, we're going to see more glimpses into aki's mind as the story progresses to its conclusion. will that be a good thing? stay tuned ;) as always, feel free to say hi or drop a comment telling me what you thought (if you hate me, thats okay too, feel free to let it out. this is a safe space lMKFAOAOAO). love you all!! x (dont worry, i'll do some damage control. trust the process.)

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa, @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

[lvmimis]

Part of you believes you should find standing in the middle of the immaculate improved and remodeled church where Asta grew up to be something quaint and below you. Your upbringing was that of perfectly manicured events, days spent in a sun drenched parlor taking tea in delicate gowns, but you aren’t the girl you grew up as anymore.

You’re a woman, blossoming into the most beautiful part of your life, rainbow tinted light shining down over your face, sun shining through the recently finished stained glass panel that covers the back wall of the church. Red over your cheeks and lips, blue over the tip of your nose, gold from the yellow star at the very top of the depiction.

“What do you think?”

Asta breaks you from your reverie, eyes nervously darting between you and the art his wages as a Magic Knight funded. He’s been sending money back home for years and the once dilapidated place where the children slept six to a bed has now become something sprawling, a community hub where the hungry are fed and the needy are provided for.

It wasn’t all his doing, of course, but this was.

The moment he knew he wished to devote his life to adoring you he planned to create something beautiful to give you even if your feelings weren’t the same as his have always been. It benefits the village but most of all, it has always been to see the look of awe on your face

Depictions of love and family; of safety and protection come together piece by piece in front of you. Every shard of glass paints a picture that has unfolded right here in Hage Village, heroes born from tough soil just as those potatoes they’re so fond of do.

You turn to glance at him and reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. It’s hard to render you speechless yet he manages to do so often and well. He squeezes your palm against his and leans into you, eager to be as close as possible always.

“I think it’s breathtaking,” you marvel, glancing from the top and downward again, smiling when you recognize a tiny spiky haired figure that must be him. “It’s…wow. I fear I may not have the words to describe it.”

He chuckles, looking up at it again himself but quickly dragging his eyes back toward what he’d rather stare at. Rubbing circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, his face warms when he remembers why he brought you here in the first place and you notice the shift in his being, the soft furrow of his brow and the glimmer of uncertainty he’s trying to hide.

“What do you think, Asta?”

Nervously chuckling, he reaches to rub the back of his neck and smiles boyishly. You love that smile and all that you know has made it so bright. Love shines through him just as it does this masterpiece and you’re currently being warmed by both.

Lucky you.

“I know this might be a lot to ask and it’s okay if you want to say no,” he starts and you raise a brow, keeping your gaze fixed on him. “But I’d like to marry you here.”

Red light colors his cheeks rosy, although the flush across the bridge of his nose is likely doing most of that. Green matches his eyes and makes them gleam. Yellow shines further down on his body, a slip of color across the ring finger of his left hand that is joined with your right one.

You’ve never been one to ignore a sign when you’ve seen it.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, not yet anyway,” he rushes to add when your silence lingers a beat longer than he’s comfortable with. “But when we do...”

He trails off and you shift toward him, cupping his cheek and kissing him. Happily kissing you back, his hand falls from the back of his neck to your hip to hold you close. Each of you smile, a curve you can feel against the lips of the other, blissfully in love and happy.

“Yes.” You whisper against his mouth. “I’d love to.”

Asta breaks away from you and searches for any signs you may be changing your mind or only saying yes to be nice but instead he sees his world, honest and life changing as she is, staring at him with affection he could not have dared dreamed of in her eyes.

“I did it for you so I’m really happy you said yes.”

He admits this quietly, perhaps fearful that your humility will rush in and you will let him know that nothing so grand should be done on your behalf.

“For me?” It’s coming and he can feel it, tensing slightly. “You shouldn’t have but I am so grateful that you did.”

Giggling, you lean into him, letting him gently rock the pair of you back and forth in the middle of the aisle.

Someday you’ll be wearing a white dress, dappled with rainbow light, while promising him all of your forevers.

Someday cannot come soon enough.

i think i might turn into seafoam what did you just do to me

[fandomsandfeminism]

Yall wanna hear a kinda funny, kinda sad story about my grandmother and hetero-normativity?

Ok, so... when my grandmother was in her 50s (I was an infant), she met a woman at the Unitarian Church. And, as can happen when you meet your soul mate, this event made it impossible for her to deny parts of herself that she had fiercely hidden her whole life.

All the drama- their affair being found out, the divorce with my grandfather, the court battle over who got the house, happened while I was a baby. Even in my earliest memories, it's just Mama Jo and Oma, and my grandfather lived elsewhere (first his own apartment, then a nursing home, then with us.)

But here's the thing- no one ever explained any of this to me. No one ever sat down and was like "hey, Rosie, so do you know what a lesbian is?" It was the 90s. It was Texas. I think my mom was still kinda processing all this, and just assumed that like... I was gonna figure it out. Don't mention it, let it just be normal. Like I think my mom thought that if she explained the situation, she would be making it weird? I dunno.

But like. In the 90s, in all the movies I had seen and books I had read, do you know how many same sex couples I had seen? Like. 0. Do you know how many "platonic best friend/roommates" I had seen? A lot. I had no context, is what I'm saying.

I literally thought this was a Golden Girls, roommates, besties situation until I was like...I dunno, 11? 12?

It was actually their parrot, an African Grey named Spike, imitating my grandmothers voice saying "Johanna, honey, it's getting late", that triggered the MIND BLOWN moment as I realized that *there's only one master bedroom and it only has 1 waterbed* when all the pieces finally clicked.

Anyway. I think it's a real important thing for kids to know queer people exist, for a lot of reasons, but also because kids can be clueless and it's embarrassing to have your grandmother be outted by a parrot because everyone just thought you'd figure it out on your own.

Anyway, here is my grandma and her wife, my Oma, after they moved to Albuquerque to be artsy gay cowboys and live their best life. They helped run a "Lesbian Dude Ranch" out there (basically just with funding and financial support. As Oma has explained "traditionally, most lesbians don't have a lot of money" so they wrote the checks and let the younger ladies actually run the ranch.)

[luveline]

hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 

"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 

Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 

"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 

You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 

You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 

"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 

"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 

"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 

You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"You're Peter?" you ask. 

Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 

Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 

"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."

"What do I usually look like?" 

"Not so, you know. Daunted." 

"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 

"Oh, you think so?" 

You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 

"Let's get you to the car, baby." 

"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 

"Home." 

"Together?" 

"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 

"Thank you," you say shyly. 

You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 

He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 

"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 

"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 

"You're my boyfriend?" 

"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 

"You want to get married? To me?" 

Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 

"We did?" 

He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 

"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.

"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 

"I love you," you say quietly. 

Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 

"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 

You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 

Which reminds him. 

"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.

"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 

[usagiarchive]

tired and loved — jing yuan x reader

sypnosis. [ 0.4k words. fluff + baby yanqing ]

usagi's note: hey i hate work and i WISH jing yuan was real so he'd do this to me 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 ALSO REQUESTS ARE OPEN !!

You came home late.

This wasn't unusual, often times, Jing Yuan came home earlier than you did, and for the past week, that had been your arrangement.

He'd come home just before the sun had set and you'd come home far past when the sun dipped in the sky.

Today, however, was even later than usual.

It had been close to midnight when Mimi perked up and trudged towards the front door, she'd always been the first one to meet you after all.

When your face emerged from behind the gate, you smiled wearily.

“I'm home,” you say as you pet Mimi.

Jing Yuan dutifully takes your bag and places a hand on the small of your back to lead you inside your home.

“Have you had dinner?” He asks, he worries.

You shake your head and he shifts the course of your steps towards the dining room.

Dutifully, your lover heats up the meal he's cooked earlier. The knowledge that he cooked for you settles warm in your heart.

He tells you about his day as he cooks, and you know he refrains from asking about yours in the event that something bad has happened.

He knows you'll tell him if you wish, anyway.

He lovingly looks at you as you eat, nursing his own cup of tea in lieu of dining together.

When you finish up, you opt to was the dishes but he shoos you away to spend time with Mimi instead. You take him up on that offer.

…

He finds you asleep on Mimi the moment he finishes the dishes.

Jing Yuan sighs lovingly and carries you to the bedroom, changing you into pajamas and putting your scrubs into the laundry basket.

Yanqing, only seven and missing a tooth, pops his head into the bedroom.

“Is Mama asleep?” he asks.

“Mama is asleep, yes, come,”

The kid trods towards the bed and Yuan lifts him to help him get on.

“Mama needs to do her skincare!” He whispers.

Your lover smiles, glad at the fact that Yanqing knows what you do.

“Can I help?” he asks, looking up at Jing Yuan.

“Yes, baobei, you can,”

…

In the morning, when you wake up, you'll find that not only had your makeup been removed, your skincare had been done as well, but you'll also find that you've been given a day off by Lady Bailu.

The best part? A breakfast in bed surprise made by your dearests.

usagi's note: im currently thinking of making a connected one-shot series, like u guys can read them as stand alones but they're all connected, and it's all abt reader being jing yuan's spouse like ?!?!?!? this idea is eating my brain

mydei ideas too like what the hell im gonna play the quest to characterize him better i swear !!! im currently focused on hsr cuz my kuya is piloting my genshin acc, he's building my characters for me cuz idk how the genshin one is so bad, like i have good builds in hsr, but genshin is just eugh

TELL ME WHAT U THINK, FEED A STARVING WRITER COMMENTS !!! 💕💕💕

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your tension with Joel comes to a head as you make a confession that will change your relationship with him forever.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Langauge, oral (F receiving) , one thigh slap, p in v, Joel being super into boobs

Word Count: 3.5k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

July 2024

Joel stands a mere five feet from you. His chest heaves a bit, like he's dashed out of the bar to catch you. His hands rest on his hips as he leans on one leg.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to leave a man on the dance floor?"

You look down at the grass and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

"Sorry." You say earnestly, "Just needed some air."

Joel shakes his head, "It's alright, sweetheart, Y'just scared me it's all. Thought you might've been getting sick or something."

You shake your head. No, you're not sick. He's considerate to ask though. Ellie had a nasty stomach bug a week and a half ago, you had become her in-home nurse and spoon-fed her thin chicken broth until she could eat solids again.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong then?" Joel asks

You curse him. He always seems to know when something is off with you. Even here in the low light of the streetlights in Jackson, he could see you were thinking.

Yeah, thinking about him.

"It's nothing." You brush him off, "I think I'll just go back home and take a shower. You should go back to the party, though, I bet Tommy misses you."

Joel catches you by the elbow as you go to turn away from him again.

"Now, hold on. It's clear I've upset you, tell me what's wrong." He prods, "Lay it on me, I can handle it."

You scoff. Yeah right. He couldn't handle it in 2003, what made him think he'd be able to accept it now.

"Just let me go." You huff, pulling at your arm

"No, Not 'til you tell me what's wrong." Joel's grip tightens, not enough to bruise, but firm enough so you feel his fingers leaving indents in your skin.

You struggle again for a moment before relenting. Fine, if he wanted to know, he was going to know. No sense in hiding it until one of you dies or gets munched on by a Clicker.

"It's you, Joel." You say

"Me?" He asks, dropping your arm, confusion taking over his stupidly handsome face.

"You're the fucking problem." You point your finger into his chest for good measure, "Giving me all these nicknames and letting me sleep in your bed. You're under my fucking skin and I can't get over you."

Joel is looking at you like you've lost it. Good, maybe if he thinks you're crazy, he'll leave you alone, and you can get over him.

"You don't like it when I do those things for you? Want me to stop, cuz I will." Joel says, his anger beginning to rise to meet yours.

You groan, deep down, you really don't know what you want. Maybe you do. God, it was all so fucked up, falling for him again, you were losing it.

"No! I just...I don't..." You huff, wrapping your arms around your body, "I can't keep going like this. Pretending like it's all platonic because it's not."

Here goes nothing, no taking this one back.

"I'm in love with you, Joel. I'm fucking obsessed with you, and your nicknames, teasing, and constant worry over me aren't helping."

Joel is quiet as he takes it all in, you can practically see the gears turning in his head. You squeeze your arms around your body, digging your fingers into your arms til it burns.

"I-I know you dumped me for a reason, I get it, I do." You stammer, "I can get over my feelings again, I'll do it again, I swear..."

Joel finally finds his voice as he gives you a one-word reply, "No."

You ignore him and continue your warpath, "Look, let's just pretend I never said any of this, okay. I'll move back to my house and we can keep being friends."

Your voice practically dies in your throat as you add, "Please, just don't...leave me again."

"I'm not goin' anywhere." Joel sighs deeply and takes a step forward. His natural scent invades your nose as he takes your face in his hands.

"You're crazy, y'know that, girl."

"If you're gonna ridicule me, you can let go and do it further away." You huff in annoyance. You'd just laid your soul bare for this man, and the first thing he does is call you crazy. The audacity he had.

"Now, let me finish." He says sternly

"You can't take your confession back," A small smile plays on his lips. "Because I am just as fucking obsessed with you, baby."

You scoff, yeah, right, he was fucking with you. Joel's thumb runs a soothing path across your cheek,

"I'm not lying, scouts honor." He says

"You weren't even a boy scout." You remind him. thinking back to what you knew about Joel's childhood.

"Hmph, you're right about that one," Joel gives you a coy smile, "Guess I'll just have to show ya then,"

His voice drops a bit and you swear your heart skips a beat,

"Let me show how fucking in love with you I am, baby..."

Before you have a chance to blink, his lips are brushing yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and you tilt your head a bit to deepen the kiss. Joel lets out a deep groan when your hands come up to brush through the hair at the back of his neck.

Joel pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, "Still think I'm lyin' to ya?"

A giggle escapes your lips as you shake your head, and he steals another kiss from you.

"I was in love with you again the moment I saw ya shoveling horse shit when I first got here." He confesses, "Couldn't believe you were still alive."

You snort and pull back from him to look him in the eye, "Cuz the overalls and rubber boots I wore are so attractive. Besides, if you were so into me again, why'd you say you didn't know me to Ellie?"

Joel's eyes soften as he takes in your determined look, you want the truth, not some half-assed excuse.

"I dunno," Joel mumbles, his eyes dropping down to the neckline of your dress.

You scoff as he looks away, here he is not owning up to anything.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Joel? You're a fuckin-"

"I'm sorry." He blurts out, "For all of it. I'm sorry for dumpin' ya before the world ended, I was a real dick, baby. Mailing your shit back like that. I shouldn't have done that."

You hum, in acknowledgment, looking up into his deep brown eyes.

Joel leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, "Shouldn't have said I didn't know ya to Ellie when we got here either, don't know what I was thinking."

"I get it, if ya change your mind. I'll let you go, just say the word and I'll let you go, I swear. You deserve better than I can offer anyway, I had my chance and blew it already."

You shake your head, no you don't want that.

"What part of I'm fucking obsessed with you, don't you get?" You breathily ask, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

Joel smiles, basking in your forgiveness. Here you were, finally standing in front of him, your feelings laid bare to each other. It's a small step, just letting your fears of the past go yet you feel infinitely lighter now, wrapped up in him.

Your hands fiddle with the buttons on his shirt and curl into the soft fabric. You suddenly feel unbearably hot but you get it now, why love drove so many people mad. Joel's soft gaze on you had your chest buzzing with and excitement you couldn't quite name.

"You wanna go back to your house?" You ask hopefully

"You mean our house?"

"Right, our house." You softly correct yourself

Joel gives you a nod and a smile, Course I do, darlin' lead the way."

You and Joel nearly faceplant three times as the two of you fumble your way up the steps to your shared bedroom. Joel catches you after you stumble over a pair of his discarded jeans from earlier.

"I'll clean that up," Joel says apologetically, kicking them to the side.

"Later." You breathe as his lips tickle the soft skin on your neck

"Later." He parrots with a smile into your skin

You let yourself fall onto the bed, welcoming it's softness and the way it smells of Joel. Before you can miss him, he's hovering over you, stealing kisses from your lips and letting his hands begin to wander across your form.

"Fuck..." Joel sighs as his hands squeeze at your chest.

"You alright up there?" You tease, he sounds so utterly wrecked and you've barely begun.

Joel gives you a playful glare, "You don't fucking know how long I've been waiting to feel these, baby. Been thinking about it since we went to that Macy's."

"My bra shopping got you going, huh?" You tease

Joel grumbles in annoyance and presses a kiss to the skin of your collarbone,

"You're real mean, y'know that."

"You poor baby," You laugh, throwing his nickname back at him, "You'll be alright."

You want to tease him some more, he's so easy to make fun of like this. Your words die in your throat when Joel presses his knee against your core through your dress.

"Not laughing anymore," Joel notes as he fixes his attention on your neck, his hands pulling your cardigan off your body.

Your hands undo the buttons of the shirt he's been teasing you with all night, and you push it off his broad shoulders. Finally, at long last, his torso is all yours to admire.

"Quit staring." Joel orders, "Nothin' there to admire."

"I beg to differ." You smile

Joel scoffs as he leans down to let his lips capture yours as hands roam up your back, searching for the zipper to your dress. Your resolve loosens as your hands curl against the soft skin of his chest, fuck you were really going to do this.

The loud hiss of your still zipped dress as you break the kiss, your eyes begin to swim with fear. That's right, sex with Joel also meant being naked with Joel.

"You want me to stop?" Joel asks, freezing

"No, I don't." You honestly say, "I just..."

"Take your time," Joel says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, and then to your cheek

Your breaths come out shaky as you speak again, "Just scared you won't like what you see. I don't look like I used to."

"Are you fucking with me?" Joel laughs

"No." You groan, thinking of how your scars ruined your skin, and how age had filled your curves out.

"Baby, you could be neon green under this dress, and I wouldn't care." He presses a kiss to your cheek, "l love your scars, I promise."

Your face warms in embarrassment, how did he say stuff like that so easily, "You haven't even seen them yet."

"Don't gotta," Joel promises, "They're a part of you, I know I'll love them."

It isn't much just a simple sentence, but that's all it takes for fear to be banished from your mind as you smile up at him.

"Take my dress off, Joel." You say

"Yes, ma'am." Joel teases as his fingers find the zipper once more.

Joel pulled your dress from you, delighting to see that you'd forgone a bra with said dress. His hands ran over the raised pink lines and gently caressed your hips and soft belly.

"Even prettier than the last time I saw ya." He assures

Your clothes disappeared onto the floor as Joel disappeared from above you, only to reappear between your thighs, kneeling in front of you. One big hand snuck between your legs as he teased you through your panties. His fucking mouth locked onto the skin of your thighs whispering dirty things into the skin there.

Bold as ever, he slipped his hand under your panties and let his thumb brush over your sensitive clit while two fingers slipped lower and teased your hole.

"Fucking soaked." Joel comments as you blush, "Can I take these off?"

You nod, eager to get out of the suffocating underwear.

Without the restriction of clothing, he was able to latch his mouth to your needy clit. His fingers teased your slit as he ran them along the soft flesh there, teasing but never entering.

"Joel..." You gasp, your hand wrapping around his wrist, unsure if you want him to stop or keep going.

"All mine." He whispers as you cry out, your orgasm washing over you quicker than you expected, your hips nearly flying off the bed. It'd been so long since you felt pleasure like this.

Joel straightens up and rejoins you on the bed, lying beside you as he runs a hand across the scars on your belly, murmuring something about them being beautiful.

"Can we keep going?" You ask breathlessly, looking over at his handsome face

"Course we can." He smiles, sitting back up

You hum in delight as his hips lift and he pulls his pants off, finally exposing the rest of his body to your greedy eyes. The softness of it all, god you fucking loved him.

Joel shook his head a bit as you pulled his boxers down, letting his cock out, "Greedy."

"Can you blame me?" You giggle

The hiss he let out when you ran your fingertips along the head had you dizzy with lust. Joel repositions so he's above you and his lips ghost over your nipples, teasing them with his tongue as he lifts you up so he's notched at your entrance.

"Wait." You say as he pauses above you

"What's wrong?" Joel asks, concerned, his eyes never leave yours

"I just, um," God, this was embarrassing, but he had a right to know, "Dr. Hill did an exam on me a few years back. Said I have a lot of scar tissue inside, so don't be upset if I can't y'know...cum."

"We'll go slow, alright. If it hurts or something is off, you tell me and I stop, okay?" His voice laced with concern

You nod and grip at his forearms, grounding yourself to him.

"Words, baby. Let me hear 'em," Joel says softly, refusing to move without your permission

"I wanna keep going." You say honestly

A gasp escapes your lips when he enters you. He was big, you knew it, you had seen it just seconds ago, yet it still surprised you as he pushed forward, just barely inside

"Fuck..." Joel gasped above you, his hands gripping the pillows beside you

You grimace when he shifts again, pushing more of him into you. Fuck, the doc told you this would hurt, but this bad?

"Need me to stop?" Joel asks worriedly when he sees your face

That's the last fucking thing you want.

"Keep going." You say, determined to see this through.

Joel looks at you, concerned yet he inches forward, letting out ba soft groan under his breath.

Slowly but surely you get there, letting him inside as pain slowly becomes pleasure. His fingers toy with your clit as you squirm under him. What he does next though, it has you nearly passing out from how hot it is. Joel fucking Miller leans down just a bit and actually spits on his cock.

"You're insane." You comment

"You love it," Joel says, stealing your lips in a kiss that's nothing but spit and teeth.

Joel begins to move, soft and slow at first before you demand more from him. You moan as you feel yourself growing even wetter, between his spit and your own arousal, it's actually begun to feel really fucking good.

Joel's hips slam into yours as he finally gives in to your begging for faster and harder.

"This what you want, huh? Is it?" He asks, leaning down to your ear, pressing your thighs up towards your chest a bit.

"Yes!" You yelp when his hand smacks at your inner thigh

"Such a good fucking girl..." Joel mutters as his hips begin to stutter when you tighten around him

"Joel!" You warn, fuck your stomach feels tight, no way is he actually going to get you to cum.

His hips backward, and your jaw drops into a silent moan as he enters again, this time with his thumb teasing your clit.

"C'mon, let go." Joel coerces, "Know you wanna."

You groaned as your orgasm rolled over you, your eyes slammed shut as Joel sucked a hickey onto your chest.

"Fucking hell!" He gasped, freeing himself from you before cumming all over your tummy.

Joel presses a kiss to your damp forehead before dropping himself onto the mattress beside you. Your heart squeezes when he scooches towards you, resting his sweaty head in the valley between your breasts.

"You okay?" You ask softly

"Am I okay?" Joel laughs into your skin, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." You smile, running a hand through his greying curls atop his head.

Joel lets out a soft hum and presses a kiss to one of your nipples,

"Hungry? Thirsty? Sore?" He asks, apparently ready to provide a world of aftercare despite looking exhausted himself

You wiggle your hips a bit, testing the waters. A twinge of pain shoots through your belly, and you grimace. It had felt so good, yet your body was punishing you anyway.

"Sore." You softly admit, kissing his head, "And kinda sticky."

You motion to the cum that is drying on your body

Joel shifts so he can get a better look at you, examining the way your face is pinched together as your thighs shift again before looking down at your dirty skin.

"I'll run us a bath. " He offers, "Get us some food while I'm at it too."

You nod as he disappears, naked as the day he was born, to run you a bath and get food.

You snort when he returns, clad in your bathrobe you had hung up in the bathroom on your hook, he wipes at your stomach with a warm wash cloth.

"I look good, no?" He asks gesturing to his body

"It's up for debate." You laugh

Joel scoops you up, bridal style, and walks towards the bathroom, "Well, I happen to think I look fabulous."

The bath is perfectly warm, even smelling like the lavender bath fizzes you keep for special occasions. Joel lowers you into the tub before turning to sit on the closed toilet, a plate with crackers and cheese balanced in his hands

"Get your ass in here." You say before he has a chance to sit down fully

"You sure?" Joel asks

"You just fucked me for the first time in two decades and now you're asking to take a bath with me?" You say

Joel sets the food on the edge of the rub, unties the robe, and climbs in. He fidgets nervously as you lean back into his chest.

"You nervous, Miller?" You ask, feeling the way his breath stutters a bit.

"We've never done this before." He points out, "Not even back then."

You hum in acknowledgment, "Lucky you, I guess."

Joel laughs a bit as he links his arms securely around your middle, hands brushing the underside of your breasts, "Lucky me, indeed."

"Would you leave them alone?" You laugh as he squeezes the flesh

"Can't. " Joel mumbles, pressing a soft kiss on your neck, "I missed them."

"Pervert." You say softly

You and Joel sit in the bath til it goes tepid, feeding each other crackers and cheese, and basking in each other's company. Then, he coaxes you to your feet and washes both of you under the steam of the shower.

Now, you were wrapped around him in bed, listening to the crickets chirp. Your eyes are beginning to droop when he speaks,

"I'm sorry," Joel says

"I'm not hurting that much, Joel." You say sleepily into his bare chest.

"No not that. Well, yes that. But I'm sorry for dumpin' ya before the world ended."

You hum, "Mmm. It's alright, I forgive you, remember?

"I know, I just..."

"I forgive you." You softly say, scooting closer to him

Joel presses a kiss to your forehead, "You're too good to me. I'm an ass, I know that."

Joel yelps when you pinch his side.

"Glad you're self-aware." You laugh

"I got real scared back then. Thought I was fucking your life up by sticking around." He admits

"Right, cuz dating a 35-year-old at 24 was the worst thing to ever happen to me" You joke

"No!" Joel protests, "You know what I mean."

You nod, you do know what he means.

"Don't have to be scared anymore." You say quietly

Joel hums and chuckles a bit, rubbing a soothing circle into your back as you lay here with him under the covers.

"No, I don't. You're all mine." He declares

You shift a bit, shuffling so you can look him in the eyes, and press a kiss to his lips. Your voice comes out confidently, as you say something you've wanted to say for so long now,

"Yours."

Here we are...at the end. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am very busy right now, but I may write more for these two later.

Thank you all for reading and following this story as it progressed. If you'd like, leave me some comments with feedback!

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[nineteenninety-six]

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Dr Dad

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

AN: This was requested by anon and I struggled towards the end but I hope y'all enjoy. Also, I wrote a second part to chocolate bars and injuries but hated it completly, so i'm gonna have to rewrite it.

Also also, I had an idea of a mortician!reader but idk who to pair it with, i was thinking Dr Shen but i'd love suggestions.

TW!!: drugging, implied attempted r@pe, assualt , regular medical misinformation

Synopsis: Jack Abbot's worst nightmare comes true when he daughter arrives in the ED unconscious.

Jack Abbot's brows furrowed in confusion as his call to his daughter went to voicemail for the fifth time that evening, something extremely out of the ordinary. It had been just him and his daughter for years, ever since his wife had passed away years ago and they had an extremely strong bond, constant texting with at least one phone call a day.

When you went to college, you stayed close by, choosing a college in the city so you could remain at home and commute daily despite your fathers protests. He wanted you to experience dorm life and the typical college experience but you were steadfast in your choice. You liked living at home, it meant you didn't have to have a roommate or share a bathroom and even though he'll deny it, your dad was a very decent cook and you loved sharing meals with him, whether it be something either of you cooked or a takeaway. Besides you had a solid group of friends on campus, occasionally staying at theirs if you had gone to a party or an event and it was too late to come back home, so it wasn't as if you were missing out.

Whenever Jack did work nights, you usually called to check up around nine p.m but when no call buzzed his phone, Jack became worried but he couldn't dwell on it as an emergency came through the door, occupying his time for a few hours. So when he tried to call you the next free moment he got and it rang unanswered until it reached your voicemail, a pit forms in his stomach. 

"What's wrong?" Bridget, the night shift charge nurse asked, noticing Jack's expression.

Jack updates her with what has happened, "She hasn't called me and she's not answering her phone…this never happens."

"It's friday night, maybe she went out?" Bridget offers.

Jack shakes his head, "She would tell me, she always does and her friends have my number in case of emergencies, if she can't message me then they will."

Bridget gives him a comforting pat on his shoulder knowing how protective and how worried he gets about his doubt and no words she could say would ease his stress and the only person who could, is his daughter.

Then the phone goes off and Bridget answers it, taking the information with experienced ease before she hangs up and relays the information to everyone around, preparing them for the incoming patient.

"We've got a young woman, early twenties, found unconscious on the street with a head lac. ETA is three minutes."

Dr Shen looks over at Jack and notices how he's still worried about his daughter and so offers to take the new patient which Jack gratefully accepts before he seeks privacy by the lockers. 

After another failed phone call to you, Jack is one press away from calling one of your friends when he hears Bridget yelling his name and he quickly returns to doctor mode and rushes over to her, snapping a pair of gloves on.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"The new patient," Bridget is almost breathless, "It's your daughter. She's in South seven."

Jack is gone in a blink of an eye, stethoscope bouncing on his chest as he rushes to the room and bursting into the room with a bang, startling Dr Shen and the nurses but he pays them no attention as he makes his way to your bedside, gentle hands cradling your face.

"What the hell happened?" Jack looks around for answers.

"We've ordered scans and tests but the head lac seems straightforward enough, it'll need staples." Dr Shen informs him but it doesn't ease the weight on his chest.

"I'll get a rush on it" Jack nods as he reaches for the phone in the room.

Jack stewed in anger as he sat by your bedside, waiting for you to finally wake up. The results of the tests they sent for had him shaking in anger and demanding for the police.

You had been drugged.

All Jack could do is clench his jaw and fist as he waited for you to finally wake. He wanted the name of the person who had done this to his daughter and he became even more incensed when he realised that the legal punishment for this would never be enough.

Shuffling from your bed brings Jack out of his head and he stands up, leaning over the rail watching as you slowly wake up, blinking confusedly at your surroundings.

"Wha…"

Jack reaches over and takes your hand in his, "Hey honey, it's me. You're at the hospital but you're fine, you're safe here.  I'm taking care of you, don't worry."

"...Dad?"

"Yeah it's me honey"

You grip your father's hand tightly as you try to arrange your scattered thoughts, "What happened? Why am I here?"

"That's what I want to know honey." Jack soothes you, "They found drugs in your system, they made you unconscious. Did you go out to a bar? Maybe someone spiked your drink? Are you not using those test strips I gave you?"

"I didn't go to the bar." You blinked at the rapid set of questions your dad threw at you, "I was at the library, someone from one of my classes asked to study together."

 Jack's frown deepens, "What happened?"

"He came up to me after class and asked to study together-"

"And you agreed?! You can't just hang out with strangers." Jack's fierce overprotectiveness reared its head.

"It's finals week soon and this course is hard, having study partners isn't out of the ordinary" You huff at your dad, not liking the blaming tone.

"Honey, I've told you-"

"It's not my fault!" You snap, tears in your eyes, "He offered to grab us coffee and what did you expect me to do huh?"

"Oh fuck-" Jack closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, kid. Of course it wasn't your fault, I just want to find this fucker"

"How was I supposed to know?" You sob, your emotions hitting you all at once, "I wasn't planning on staying late, I told him that and he said he'll get me a coffee as a thank you. Once I felt the effects, I tried to leave but I was so dizzy, I think I fell somewhere, that's what gave me the head injury."

"He must have run once he saw you, but it's okay, the cops will be here soon and you can tell them when they arrive," Jack wipes your tears, "What's the guy's name?"

You furrow your brows as you try to remember the name, "Chris…Chris something. I can't remember but it's on my phone."

Your phone had been in your pocket when you had been found and placed with your clothes to the side after you had been changed into a hospital gown. Your father quickly passed it to you, watching closely as you unlocked it and brought up your text messages, quickly finding Chris' details.

"Chris Baker." Jack murmurs, reading the phone before turning to you and locking your phone, "You've gone through alot tonight, you should get some more rest."

You're reluctant to let go of his hand, squeezing tightly,"Can…can you stay?"

Dr Shen steps in at that moment, overhearing your question and before Jack can answer, he does.

"You can stay, we'll just yell when we need your help" Dr Shen laughs.

You laugh as well, easing Jack's worried frown but man still sends a glare at the younger doctor.

"You can't shirk your attending duties dad," You laugh again, taking a jab at your father, waving goodbye as Dr Shen left after noting your vitals.

"Alright," Jack presses a kiss to the top of your head, "Get some rest. I love you honey-bun."

You settle back into the hospital bed, eyes fluttering close "I love you too dad."

[bratbarzal]

How do you think Poppy and Luke's gf get along/hit it off when they first meet? Like what are the vibes, is it at a game? I'm assuming it would be after Cheeto is born?

written as a follow up to LIH and TSOU and including characters from OYS (none of which have to be read to enjoy this hopefully lmao) this is such a niche blurb but it's really sweet!! trust Luke to mess up the ending of tsou by getting surgery 😔😔 no more reader jumping into his arms 😔😔 let's pretend he catches her on one side so I don't have to think too much about it thanks 💕 also this ties into another blurb I have planned for their first date lmao but that will hopefully be done by the end of the month!! contains: fluff!!! in abundance!!! wc: 2.8k

"You know you're gonna have to let me get up at some point, right?"

You feel the vibrations of his words against your cheek before you fully register what Luke is saying, his neck warm against your temple as you rest against it, your body slung over his just enough that you're not crushing him.

"Don't have to do anything," you hum in defiance, lips moving against his skin as you hook your leg over his from above the sheets so he has no actual leverage to move away - like he would in the first place - and stretching your arm across the width of him, your fingertips tracing featherlight touches along his collarbone - careful to avoid his bad shoulder - until the arm on the side you're resting on curls as much as it can around your hip. "You're not the boss of me."

He snorts out a laugh that makes your chest feel tight, and you suppose he sees the irony in that statement just as much as you do - considering how you'd only just promised him when you'd both set off from Detroit yesterday that you'd be happy to play nurse for as long as he needs.

For as shitty as the timing of Luke's injury has been - missing out on the rest of the playoffs, and subsequently ruling himself out to play in the world championships - you've been reaping the benefits of the whole thing, entirely.

He'd somehow managed to schedule his surgery so that he could surprise you at your commencement - lying that he hadn't been fit to be discharged yet and showing up alongside Jack as you waited with Ellie for her to be able to see her boyfriend while you worried endlessly about your own.

And the two of you had disappeared together after the ceremony, spending the whole weekend holed up in your room at the sorority before you would have to clear it out. He had attempted to help you pack up the few things that remained, and had come with you to move what you couldn't ship home to your mom's place into storage with the promise that he'd help you sort through it when you came back in the summer to the lake house.

He hadn't been the best assistant, his arm all slinged up, and all, but you still liked having him around - even if it was just to be a pretty face and a warm body to cuddle into at the end of the day, too exhausted to do much else.

And then you flew out to Jersey with him to clear out his locker at the Rock away from the whole media circus, spending the week in his apartment with him while he dealt with some other business. It had never been the plan to come out here - but you wouldn't trade this time with him for anything.

The latter end of the season had been hectic for Luke, and you wrapping up with school had been just as bad - and finding time to fit in the tribulations of a new, long distance relationship was hard work, but the two of you got through everything, the worst of it behind you entirely.

And you've been enjoying playing house with him, away from everybody else - it's the first time you've really gotten the chance.

Ellie and Jack are back in Michigan, and Quinn left to go back at the same time Jack did. His parents are there, too - and your mom is where she always is, back in Chicago.

No sorority sisters, none of Luke's friends or his teammates, who have all dispersed back to their home states or countries.

It's just the two of you, and no responsibilities, and it's been incredible, even if it has only been a day, so far.

"We should probably get up and do something," he hums, "Feel like all I've done for the past week is sit around and watch you."

"Like that isn't your favourite thing to do," you scoff, leaning up and pressing your lips to his jaw, planting a soft kiss to the scratchy skin there and making a mental note to convince him to shave, later - maybe even offer to do it for him. Clinging on to the 6 hairs that remain from his attempt at a playoff beard is getting a little sad, unfortunately.

"You got me there," he smiles softly, and you kiss the curve of his lips, too, too pretty not to. "We could go watch a movie?" he mumbles against you, "Maybe grab food after,"

"Mmhm," you respond, too into kissing him over and over, the soft bump of his nose against yours the only thing to get you to part.

"There's a viewing for Thunderbolts in like an hour," he tells you, and you roll your eyes while biting back a laugh.

"I was ten seconds from climbing on top of you, and the only thing on your mind is showing times for Thunderbolts?"

"I can only avoid spoilers for so long, babe." He pouts, and you huff as you roll off of him.

"Such a dork," you mutter fondly to yourself as you push yourself off of the bed and watch his eyes trail down your figure as you stand. "I need to go get my bag out of the car," you tell him as you reach for the hoodie you had helped him shrug out of last night, and the shorts he'd fumbled you out of with just one hand. "Do you want me to make you something to eat when I come back up?"

"I doubt Jack left anything in the refrigerator while he was here," he grumbles, eyes still on you as you bring his hoodie down over your body and jump into your shorts, "I'll shower while you're downstairs and try get ready quick enough that we can stop for breakfast, yeah?"

"Okay," you lean back over to kiss him, "Please be careful in there, I don't want a lecture off of your brother for not taking care of your properly."

"Damn," he smirks, "I was gonna try and fake another injury so that you'd have to jump in with me to supervise next time."

"You just have to ask, idiot, don't hurt yourself on my account."

You part with one more kiss before you're making your way through his apartment, picking up your shoes on the way and grabbing his keys from where he'd left them on the hook by the door.

The two of you had been in such a rush to get up to the apartment the night before that you'd left your bags in the trunk of his car - the car he'd actually let you drive from the airport, despite the fact he'd once told you that you drive like a maniac and he'd never trust you behind the wheel again - and you're grateful that Luke didn't bring a bag himself or you'd have to haul them up on your own.

Getting your bag from the car back to the elevator is hard enough work - overpacking to the point of ruin, as always - and when you're finally inside and stretching out the muscles in your back, you hear the faint call of, hold the door, from around the corner.

Your hand shoots out before the doors can close, palm pressed to where they disappear, and then you're face to face with another girl - hair astray, chest heaving to try and gain her breath back, and the cutest baby you've ever seen attached at her hip.

"You're a lifesaver," she huffs as she steps in, leaning back against the far wall of the elevator as the doors start to close again, "I mean these things are quick, but if I don't get a snack in her hands in the next two minutes, this whole building is gonna know about it."

You chuckle, slightly tranced by the way the baby girl is staring at you - brown eyes wide and soft pink lips turned up in what you hope is a smile.

You reach into the front pocket of Luke's hoodie, and of course there's a pack of cookies in there, unopened from your flight yesterday. "Here," you smile, reaching out to the girl in front of you with them in your hand. "They're oatmeal cookies, I'm pretty sure. My boyfriend can't go anywhere without a snack either, but he's a grown man," you scoff, "Nowhere near as cute."

"You really are a lifesaver," she accepts the packet with a grateful smile, tearing them open, breaking one in half and handing it straight to the little girl, who brings them up to her mouth with zero hesitation. "I'm Poppy," her hand extends back out to yours, "And this is Lina."

You tell her your name while you shake her hand, and there's a flash of recognition as you say it, her eyes darting past you to check the buttons on the wall of the elevator.

"You're Luke's girlfriend!"

"How did you know that?"

"My partner is one of Luke's teammates, Nico." She smiles, "You made Mitchie!"

"Mitchie?" You frown, and she twists her hip until the diaper bag slung across her body comes into view, a familiar crochet giraffe slotted into the side pocket.

"We don't go anywhere without Mitchie."

A slow grin creeps onto your face as you look back at the baby clinging onto Poppy's side - dark eyes, soft brown hair, dimpled cheeks, just like Luke's team captain. The captain whose baby shower he had been trying to find a gift for all of last summer.

You've heard little pieces here and there about Poppy and Lina. Random little stories from Luke, a recollection of a brief encounter with Ellie, but you hadn't expected to meet her yourself in the middle of the building elevator without Luke around.

"I didn't realise you guys were back, I would have come to introduce myself, Luke's been telling us about you all year, hasn't he, bug?"

You feel the warmth seep up into your cheeks at that fact - the two of you technically only being together for the last 6 weeks or so.

"We got in last night," you tell her, only realising the elevator has come to a stop when it's on your floor, and the doors start to open. "He's inside if you want to come and say hi?"

"Are you sure?" Poppy asks, "I can always drop by later, or something?"

"No, it's fine, he's going a little stir crazy to be honest, might be good to see a familiar face that isn't mine."

"I get that," Poppy snorts as she follows you out of the elevator, Lina still happy as a clam on her hip with her gums wrapped around the cookie, soft little lip smacking sounds and hums coming from her direction. "Nico left a couple days ago and we've been walking circles around the local park just to stay busy. Everybody just disappears this time of the year."

"At least the weather's nice," you chuckle, unlocking the door and letting the two of them in before you close it again - relief flooding you at the fact that Jack had blitzed the whole place clean before he left last week. "We're around all week if you need us for anything."

"I see why the kid's so in love with you," Poppy grins, switching her daughter to the other side of her hip and pressing a kiss to her temple. "We might just take you up on that offer, you love your Uncle Lukey, don't you, Lina Bug?"

The sound of Uncle Lukey spreads something warm and crackling through your chest - the picture of his dorky self entertaining a baby, putting on dumb voices and getting super into all the play pretend and make believe stuff is sparking thoughts within you that you never even had before.

And at the mere mention of his name, Luke emerges from his room down the hall - thankfully dressed after his shower, though his shirt is creased and his jeans are unbuttoned - an immediate smile brought to his lips that you haven't seen in the last few days.

"Cheeto!" he exclaims, and you stop him just before he reaches the two of them so you can button his pants together, patting a hand to his stomach to signal that he can go.

He curls his good arm around Poppy, the two of them falling into a sweet and familiar embrace before he diverts his attention to the baby in her arms, who's round cheeks flush just at the sight of him - similar to the way you seem to react to him sometimes.

He coos at her, and she giggles back - her cookie discarded as she throws her arms out to be held by him, and you barely stop yourself from wincing as he picks her straight up, his bad shoulder be damned.

"Are you supposed to be lifting babies?" Poppy frowns, and you're thanking God she seems to be on the same boat as you as the two of you watch him softly bounce Lina about.

"Other babies, probably not," he replies, "Nothing will stop me picking up my little Cheeto, though." The voice he puts on is deep, almost comical, lips pouting and brows furrowing as the baby giggles back in response, little squeaks of delight erupting from her chunky little figure.

"Cheeto?"

"She didn't have a name for a long time," Poppy smiles over at you, "Looked like a cheeto in all of her scans, so that's what we called her before she was Lina, and some people can't let it go."

You smile back, sort of weirdly grateful that she didn't clap back with an, it's a long story, so that you could be involved.

"What are you doing here?" Luke asks, twisting until he's facing Poppy while the little girl he's holding puffs her cheeks out at him.

"We were just gonna go out for a walk and grab something to eat, but I realised I forgot snacks for the walk and I met your wonderful girlfriend in the elevator. We have you to thank for this mushed up cookie, I think," Poppy holds her hand out to show him the soggy mess in her hand from where Lina had discarded it before, and you press your lips together to bite back a smile.

You can't really imagine holding anybody's half chewed food - let alone a baby, the thought of it sending slight shivers down your spine.

"We can get breakfast with you, if you want, we were heading out too, right babe?"

Luke looks over at you with widened eyes and a slight, hopeful smile, all thoughts of Thunderbolts seemingly forgotten. You can hardly say no to him, though - you haven't seen him this excited since he got injured, maybe even before then. And you like Poppy, too.

She probably has some dirt on Luke, and she seems like the type who's willing to share.

"Yeah, I bet you know way better food spots than this one does, he'd shovel anything in."

"Hey," he pouts, but he's overshadowed by the laughter of the woman beside him, who looks over at you with a warm smile and gratitude reflecting in her eyes.

"That sounds incredible, actually," she beams, "I'd really appreciate the company."

And that's how the two of you end up spending the entire day with Poppy and Lina - grabbing breakfast at a little cafe Poppy recommended, her catching you up on all her favourite Luke stories as the baby ends up on your lap at one point, stealing half of the avocado from your toast as she let you feed it to her, then joining them on their walk through the park, and even looking after Lina just the two of you while Poppy has a much needed break for an hour up in her and Nico's apartment.

You see a different side to Luke - and as much as you loved him before, as much as you didn't think you could possibly love him any more, you somehow do.

You love the responsible side to him - the side that for some reason knows what temperature Lina likes her bottles, and the signs that she's sleepy, or hungry, or wanting to explore. You love the caring side to him - the side that urges Poppy to leave her baby in your care, and take some time for herself after days of Nico being away, knowing that she's in for a lot more solitude in the weeks to come.

You love the side of him that shares it all with you - gets you involved in such an intimate part of his life you never had access to, before.

And by the end of the day, when you're feeding Lina some blended vegetable concoction Luke had made for her just before Poppy gets there, and you're catching the bits she spits out in your bare hand like you'd been cringing at just hours ago - you realise you love how he gets you to open up to ideas you wouldn't have ever considered until you became familiar with Uncle Lukey, and you can't wait to see what other sides of him you can uncover in all the unlimited amount of time you now have with him.

[tra1nchi]

HIIIII omg, first time asking so I'm kinda nervous 👉👈 so, would you mind writing about an ftm reader with an obsessive dragon which reader once helped who became such a simp for reader and ended up in heat, and reader is really nice so reader decided to help with the heat. If it's the kinks how about breeding kink if you wouldn't mind🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

-💌 anon

MINORS DNI!! bttm ftm reader,,breeding,,Overstimulation,

When you first found him, he was sick and malnourished. His ribs protruding through his skin, arrows poking out of his skin but when he had expected you to finish him off, sell the scales of his tail to some weirdo in the woods, you didn't.

You were kind and gentle with him, nursing him back to health in the cutest little cottage the dragon hybrid had seen. He couldn't believe that he was getting taken care of by such an adorable little thing, your gentle hands roaming over his skin, it wasn't his fault his injuries were so close to his crotch!! You were nice enough to not point out his clear erection atleast.

He had gained a bit of weight during his stay with you, growing comfortable to start marking his scent around your home and eventually marking you, it was a safety precaution he assured you, just for other dragons to know you were off limits and all his.

Spring had finally rolled around, this would be the time that he would go searching for a mate, his instincts would flare telling him to go on long treks to find the perfect hole, but it didn't. All he could think about was you, stuffing himself inside of you until you both couldn't breathe, He could feel himself leak at the though of you filled with his kits.

He would grow even more affectionate with you, purring as he rests his larger body over yours like a massive cat, his tail wrapping tightly around your waist or legs. Of course he was just being touchy!! He wasn't sizing up how well you would take his cock..no..

When his heat really started to get bad, you thought it was a simple fever until you noticed his cock practically peaking in the sheets, his mouth agape and panting as he starts at you with unrestrained lust. "Please, Help me one more time yeah? I'll be good and quick, I promise." His whine was pathetic as his clawed hands reached out quickly gripping your hips.

You quickly agreed since all you ever did was help the dragon, what was a little fuck gonna do? His seemed ecstatic when you agreed, his large hands pinning your wrists together as he quickly changed the positions, his tail practically trembling in excitement.

"Mhm yes! Gonna breed you so good..you'll be such a good daddy, my pretty boy." He buries his face in your neck, licking up until he bites down on your pulse point, moaning at the taste of your flushed skin as he gives into the urge to hump his cock against your clothed boypussy.

in seconds you were bare before his eyes, which were by this point glazed over with desire, He was barely thinking about anything else other then burying himself deep inside of you and thrusting until his hips grow tired.

He threw your legs over his shoulders, spreading them wide, feeling himself start salivating when your pussy is revealed to him, teasingly dragging his tip down, barely kissing your folds. "I can't wait..you'll be so tight and perfect for me." He groans as he starts to push himself in, one of his hands firm on your chest to hold you down while the other one lazily rubs your nipples.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you is when all his restraints snap, bouncing into you with reckless abandon, the bed creaking with the force of his thrusts, he purred when you started to use his horns as leverage, fucking into even faster and harder until all that could be heard is lewd slapping against skin.

"Good boy, that's it..take me, take all of me!" His voice chokes out as he cums, unbelievable amount really as he stills, panting heavily and looking down at you, his tail wagging as he seems proud of himself. "More? You can handle more right?" He doesn't hide the excitement in his voice and before you even get a chance to reply, he's thrusting again relishing in your moans and using his heavy amount of cum as lube.

[eunoiiaff]

| 7 minutes - J.M |

Pairing: Joel Miller x Wife!Reader WC: 2.2k

Summary: You were there with him on that day as he faced Abby. In another universe maybe that would have helped, maybe you could have saved him. But life doesn't always work that way.

Warnings: Major character death, blood, violence, heavy angst, 2x02 spoilers, no use of y/n. A/N: Angsty imagines take my heart REQUESTS OPEN

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Masterlist ______________________________________________

YOU COULD HEAR THE WIND HOWLING ANGRILY, WHISTLING AS IT WEAVED THROUGH THE TREES UP IN THE MOUNTAIN. The cold nipped at you ferociously even from inside, your nose cold to the touch, lips chapped and dull. Despite where you lay on the floor you could still see Jackson; see the fire as it roared, smoke enveloping the town you had been sleeping safely in only hours ago. But yet in that moment, none of that mattered, all that mattered was the gun set on your husband. You couldn't care less for the one trained on you, digging into the side of your head, your eyes instead jumping from Joel who stood with his arms up in surrender and Dina lying unconscious on the floor next to you.

"I'm gonna give you one chance to tell the truth, Joel. If you do... let's face it. We'll all know. I'll let 'em live." Your body shook from the cold, your head turning as far as it could to look at Abby. You'd just saved her; Joel risked his life to help her and this is what you get in return. You'd felt uneasy about her from the get-go, the looks she kept giving your husband irking something inside you. And God you should have fucking listened.

"Wait, Abby, I thought-"

"Shut up!' You tried to think, tried to come up with a plan. But you couldn't. You were outnumbered; even more so with Dina drugged unconscious. You knew that if you really wanted to you could get out of the man's hold, Owen if you remembered correctly. His knee pressed harshly onto the centre of your back, his free hand pulling your left arm back until it stung leaving your right on the floor next to you trying desperately to ground yourself. Despite his tall stature, if you waited for an opportunity you knew you could break free. But then what? Get shot down leaving your husband to deal alone? Some part of you didn't want to believe it, but deep down you knew you were fucked. "Where was the last place you saw the Fireflies?"

At that, your blood ran cold, and you knew Joel's did too from the way his eyes jumped to yours. You kept silent. "Salt Lake," Joel said shakily.

"At least you're honest." She said as she turned her back to him.

He looked back at Jackson for a moment, at his home. "I saved your life."

"What life." Your ears rang as the shotgun sounded, a scream escaping your lips as you watched your husband's knee get blasted in. His scream echoed in your brain, your eyes wide with tears as you watched him grunt and wheeze in pain. "Tourniquet him."

"Mel, let's just do what we came to do," Owen said from above you, his knee pressing you further into the cold floor.

"Please, please, stop. Please, don't." You cried impulsively through trembling lips as your husband screamed once again. A sob escaped your lips as Abby ignored you, moving to kneel in front of Joel.

"You're tough. I guess you probably have to be, killing all those people. Do you know how many you killed that day? How many your - what, your wife? -, how many she killed that day?" She questioned, turning to face your scared face for a moment before turning back to Joel. "Did you count as you went, or... I guess maybe it just didn't matter? Eighteen soldiers. And one doctor. You remember that one. An unarmed doctor you shot in the head. Yeah. That was my Dad. Guess you probably already figured. The nurses said you barely even looked at him when you pulled the trigger. And then, you two just walked right past his body and out the door. But I looked at him. I saw him. I was nineteen."

You saw Joel's lips flutter, trying to think of what to say that could make it all better. But you both knew there was nothing. "I-I killed him. I killed your Dad." You lied through your teeth, willing to do anything. Abby's jaw clenched before she stood up to face you, taking a few steps closer. Your eyes glared into hers, your breaths shaky.

"You know, they told me about you too. How you shot my Dad in the leg right before he killed him." She said gesturing behind her to your husband. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, Abby towering over you, looking down as though you were nothing but dog shit on the bottom of her shoe. Then, a crunch sounded out, a scream of pain scratching your throat as it left your mouth; Abby's snowboot slowly lifted from your right hand. You saw Joel's mouth moving but you couldn't focus on what he was saying, your eyes too focused on the mutilation of your hand. She'd put her full weight into it when she trampled. Your hand was red and purple with spots of blood, at least two of your fingers broken and your thumb seemingly dislocated.

Shaky breaths escaped your lips as you tried to calm yourself, the pain overwhelming as Abby turned back to Joel. "I've been in a militia for five years now. Seattle. I'd warn you not to go there, but little chance of that. Anyway, our commander trained us to follow a code. We don't kill people that can't defend themselves. And right now... that's you. But I am going to kill you. Because it doesn't matter if you have a code like me, or you're a lawless piece of shit like you. There are just some things... everyone agrees are just fucking wrong." Tears fell from her cheeks, Joel watching her cautiously, his eyes jumping to you every few seconds. Abby slowly stood up before walking away. "You know, it's funny. I have waited so long-"

"Oh, just shut the fuck up and do it already."

"No, listen, we can figure something out. Okay? Please- just, just let me think." You heard Abby mutter something from where she stood, the man above you tensing for a moment. Then, pain scorched through your body yet again. He pulled your left arm further back, grunts of pain escaping you as you tried to lean back with him in attempts to ease the ache. Your legs kicked desperately, your shoes squeaking against the glossy floor.

You were sure your arm was moments away from popping out of its socket, tears welling in your eyes as you watched Joel, your husband looking back at you. You could see it in his eyes, the way he tried to comfort you, silently trying to reassure you that it would all be okay. But you knew it wouldn't. When his eyes traveled back to Abby they darkened, his brows furrowed with anger instead of concern.

"You... stupid... old man." You panted through clenched teeth as you watched Abby near closer to Joel, the golf club secure in her grasp as her knuckles turned white. "You don't get to rush this."

It was like a car wreck, you just couldn't look away; screams and cries escaped your lips and tears fell from your cheeks soaking the floor as you watched her torture your husband. You jumped at every hit of the golf club, your sobs, screams, and pleas eventually falling upon deaf ears.

You watched your husband get beat to death, tortured, hit so hard with the damn golf club it snapped in two leaving Abby to repeatedly punch his head into the wooden floor. With your ear pressed against the floor, the sounds were only amplified, each hit rattling your bones until Joel was left silent, his face caked in blood as he quietly watched you scream and cry for her to kill you instead.

"Abby. Abby." You heard the man above you call out, the girl only ignoring him as she continued to punch. Your face was covered in tears, your head pounding from the tension and stress. Owen had moved the gun from your temple a while ago as he watched Abby, though you were too preoccupied to notice. You felt as though your teeth were shaking, each breath only rattling them more as you began hyperventilating. "That's enough!"

A gunshot sounded out, your cries falling quiet, only soft sniffles and light sobs escaping your lips, your breathing still heavy. It took you a moment to realise what was happening, who had just arrived. "Ellie, no please." You sobbed quietly; though, everyone was too preoccupied with unarming her to listen.

You felt the man on top of you move - likely to subdue Ellie you'd assumed -, your left arm falling harshly onto the floor. Despite the pain that continued to shoot through it along with the throbbing of your broken and mutilated right hand you tried to get up. You heard yelling, some from Ellie and others swears from Abby's people, though it was difficult to decipher with the loud ringing in your ears. Grunts escaped your lips, your body shaking as you tried to get up, that is until you were kicked down again, your jaw aching as it hit the floor harshly.

You sobbed, your eyes just managing to spot Manny on top of you, a bloody cut adorning his forehead. He was rougher than Owen, his boot pushing onto your back rougher as he tugged your arm back further. "Joel!" You heard Ellie yell, your eyes watching your husband as he lifted his fingers whilst Ellie begged for him to get up. "Joel, get up! Joel fucking get up!"

Your throat was raw, whimpers escaping your lips despite your attempts to calm them. "Please- please don't hurt them. Please, I'm sorry. Please." You were almost incoherent.

"End it."

You screamed out, your chest heaving, the pain that echoed throughout your body falling to the back of your mind. You were running out of time. "P-Please. If, if you're trying to get him back for- for your Dad then kill me. Make him, make him feel how you felt. Kill me." You stuttered out through trembling lips. As you sobbed, you saw Abby's head turn to you slightly, your heart lifting for just a moment, and then, she walked to your husband.

It was as though everything went silent, Ellie's cries and pleas along with your own, all you could see was the broken golf club stabbing through Joel's neck. You saw his body flinch as it pierced his skin, his eyes dulling as the life drained from them. Despite the tears covering most of your vision, you could still see it sticking out of his neck. All you wanted to do was comfort him, hold him, clean the blood from his face; but all he got was the cold floor as he met his demise.

Things almost felt like they were moving in slow motion as Abby turned to you, Manny still putting all the weight he could into your back. He continued to pull your left arm back until it finally happened, though, not in the way you had expected. You screamed when Abby kicked, her foot hitting your left arm so hard the bone snapped; Manny let it go as it fell to the floor.

You could hear Ellie's screams. As much as you wanted Abby to end it, all you could think about was how she'd be left alone; again. You felt Abby's boot as she pushed at your torso, flipping you onto your back. Your teeth chattered as you faced death, your body aching. You felt as Abby hit you, again, and again, her fists hitting your face punch after punch.

Part of you thought about how her fists had been covered in Joel's blood, the idea that, in a way, you were able to feel him one last time almost comforting you. "Please stop!" You heard Ellie scream out, your heart aching. Your face felt sticky from the blood, your nose sore and likely broken.

You watched as Abby pulled out her handgun. Before you even had a chance to prepare yourself you heard the bang, heat emitting from your abdomen. You were almost so numb you didn't feel it. Almost. You felt the warmth of blood as it slipped past your lips, your coughs wet and sticky as you groaned and cried in pain. Abby's aim lifted until it was aimed directly between your eyes.

You remembered hearing that the human brain lived on for seven minutes after death replaying its best memories. At that moment, you could only hope it was true. Maybe then you could see Joel again, see his smile, feel his warmth envelop you, wake up beside him again, feel Ellie's arms wrap around you on horseback, have dinner with your family one last time.

Your world went silent. No pain, no emotions, just darkness, silence. But not Ellie's. No. She watched as Abby pulled the trigger, the bullet piercing your forehead and killing you instantly. She felt the pain, she felt the grief, she saw the light shining in from the windows casting shadows past you and Joel's bodies, but she also heard the silence. She heard the lack of cries escaping your lips, the lack of pleas. Before she had wanted you to be silent, for there to be no reason for your cries. But now, all she wanted was to hear your pain again. Because at least that meant you were alive.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Expect The Unexpected

Pairing: Eddie Brock/Venom x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: oral (m&f recieving), some praise, restraint via tentacle, implied overstimulation, multiple orgasms- I think that's it

Genre: Smut, it's smut

Summary: Reading minds makes people much more predictable so of course you're intruiged when the voice inside someone's head is nothing like you've encountered before

***

I don't even understand why we are here Eddie!

Your head snaps around the crowded club you're in. Usually you have no issue blocking out other voices in busy places. If you couldn't, you'd never be able to leave your house as a mind reader. But for some reason, you can hear a gravely voice in someone's head somewhere in this building.

It's too loud in here.

Focus. Where is it coming from? Whose internal voice sounds like that? You have to find the source. Sounds like it's coming from near the bar maybe?

You are infuriating!

It feels like you're hearing half of an actual conversation, but that's not how inner voices work. These have to be someone's thoughts- but why does he speak as though he expects a response? All the other voices sound so normal, you can't tell who he's even expecting to respond to him.

 You listen harder, wait for the voice to speak again, several minutes and nothing. Dammit.

"Babes! I'm gonna get another drink, do you want anything?" You ask your friend Layla.

"Uh- no I'm good." She doesn't even look at you, her gaze is focused on, something across the room. A group of guys.

"It's a bachelor party. Girlfriend, girlfriend, that one's the bachelor, the one in the corner is single, obviously doesn't wanna be here. You should talk to him if you're gonna go over there." You nudge her. Layla's well aware of your abilities and you use them a lot to talk about men when you're out like this.

"Obviously?" Layla frowns.

"Open your eyes girl, besides the three taken men everyone else over there is chatting up someone except him. This isn't his scene, he'd rather be at home... watching some docuseries on Star Wars."

"Star Wars?!"

"Oh don't be like that! He's cute, nerds are usually freaks and built like that there's no way he's not packing." You shrug.

"Y/n!" She gasps, laughing at your honesty.

"What?! It's true! And don't act like you're not thinking about it that's like the whole point of picking up a guy at a bar."

You're so crude sometimes." She shakes her head.

"You're the one looking over there, if you're interested, go talk to him. If not there's a guy over there who's your type and if he's got a girlfriend he's not thinking about her." You tell her.

"If I need a rescue-"

"You know I'll be there to get you out of it." You say. You grab her arm before she can walk away.

"And if you choose to go home with anyone, you let me know before you leave this bar." You warn her.

"Of course!" Layla nods.

"I'll be at the bar listening for your update." 

The two of you split up then and you head to the bar. As you make your way through throngs of people you listen out for possible matches for your mystery inner voice. At the bar there are a few folks sitting on the stools, nursing their chosen poison and you find an empty spot to take up.

"Hey darling, what can I get ya?" The bartender asks.

"I'll have a vodka cran please babes." You tell her.

"Coming up." She nods. You turn to the man next you, sipping an amber liquid and occasionally looking over his shoulder at other people around the room.

"What're you drinking?" You ask him. He looks down at his almost empty glass and then turns to you.

"Jack and coke." He says.

"You big on people watching?"

"What?"

"Just- you seem pretty sedentary here. Usually barflies are people watchers." You shrug.

"I'm just having a drink."

"You gettin another one of those Eddie or are we closing out?" The bartender asks as she slides your drink towards you.

"Yeah I think I'm done Di, close me out." He says.

Wait- Eddie? Did she just call him Eddie? That's the name the mysterious inner voice used. Does that mean that voice came from this guy?!

"Eddie, she called you?" You hum.

"That's my name." He says.

You're being rude Eddie.

Butt out V

She's pretty, I like this one.

Wait- there are two voices! He has two voices? That talk to each other? What's going on here?

That's not why we're here man.

It seems like you just came here to drink which we could have done AT HOME. Talk to her.

What? No.

If I have to put up with the noise and crowd, so you can drink, the least you could do is talk to the pretty girl!

"My name's y/n. Pleasure to meet you." You smile. You have to know more about this strange phenomenon.

I want her Eddie.

She's not a toy Venom.

She's ovulating.

"Dude?" Eddie says this out loud, you're sure he didn't mean to. You're also surprised that the gravelly voice he's arguing with was able to notice you're ovulating.

"Dude?" You blink at him.

"Uh- nothing. Excuse me. I- was clearing my throat."

"What an odd way to clear your throat." You chuckle.

I can smell it on her Eddie. She wants to-

SHUT UP. You're being crude and we don't even know this girl

Well it's not like she can hear me

How lucky she is.

You have to fight the snicker in your throat at that.

"You here by yourself?" He asks. You're surprised he asked a question. Is the other voice... Venom? - actually convincing him to engage with you?

"Ah I came with a friend but she found herself different company." You smile.

Taking the bachelor party boy home tonight!

Layla's voice rings in your head. Good for her. Honestly, you're glad, you'd feel too guilty to leave with your own prey if she didn't have a target too.

"Are you after the same?" Eddie asks.

Oooo good one!

"If good company is to be found." You sip your drink.

"Yeah? How's that going?"

"Well, someone's definitely caught my attention. Still figuring out if he's as interesting as I hope."

"Oh yeah?" He hums.

"Mhm. What about you? Are you here alone?"

"Yeah. For now."

"Waiting on someone?" You ask.

"No but, I think I've stumbled upon some good company of my own." He smirks, hiding it behind his glass.

"Have you, now?"

"I think so."

I think she likes us Eddie! How do we take her home?

Venom, please.

What? We are taking her home aren't we?

I don't know. You're jumping ahead man.

But the point is to take her home. Isn't that what you humans do here?

It's not that black and white V

Her body wants to-

Venom, behave

You want to laugh again. Whoever or whatever Venom is, he's incredibly funny. And the back and forth you hear from him and Eddie feels like watching a sitcom episode.

"I hope this isn't too bold but I find you very attractive Eddie." You tell him.

"Oh- thank you."

Compliment her back!

"You're also very attractive."

"You came here alone, and don't seem all that interested in socializing, so can I ask what you're escaping?" You ask. Eddie chuckles.

"Everything I guess." He shrugs.

"Sounds rough." You muse.

"You have no idea."

DON'T UPSET HER!

"I'm happy to help you forget it all, at least for a while, if you'd like me to."

YES!

Dude don't yell

TAKE HER OFFER EDDIE!

What did I just say man?

"Eddie?" You prompt. You figure if you don't interrupt, he and Venom will continue going back and forth without ever actually making a decision.

"Sorry, lost in thought." He says with a wry smile.

You owe her an answer!

"What does forgetting it all look like with you, y/n?"

"I've got a few ideas, but they mostly require us to get outta here." You say.

"I live down the block." He tells you.

YEEESSSS

"Lead the way then," you lean towards him with a slight smirk on your face "Eddie."

Let's GO!

Eddie jerkily rises from his bar stool and grabs your hand, pulling you through the crowd.

Venom chill you have to let me do the moving or you'll freak her out.

You move SLOW

I move normally. You make us move like we're a broken robot

FINE! Just get us home.

You chuckle to yourself as they bicker while walking you out of the club, but you also note Eddie told Venom not to move them? What is Venom? Why can he control Eddie's body? If he can do that then- it's more than just having another voice in his head. Could it be DID? Occam's razor would tell you to assume yes.

It takes about five minutes to walk to Eddie's apartment, and once inside you grab his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. He places his hands on your hips, matching your intensity as you stumble through the apartment.

Hey buddy, bedroom please.

With pleasure!

You barely break the kiss as Eddie, or Venom rather, leads you down the halls until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You rotate the both of you, and shove Eddie down onto the bed. You climb into his lap and trail your lips down to his neck, planting hickeys along his throat.

You undo his belt and drop to your knees in front of him. You watch his face as you pull his dick out of his pants, wrapping your hand around the base of him and squeezing lightly. He takes in deep breath and you drag your tongue along the length of him.

Holy-

She looks like she's going to eat you alive haha

You wrap your lips around his tip, because if you don't you'll laugh at Venom's words. You bob your head up and down varying the speed based on his reactions. Eddie is mostly breathy moans as you suck him off.

"Fuck you're good." He groans.

I want to taste her Eddie

Dude buzz off

But Eddie!

Venom you are an 8 foot alien, you cannot come out! And quit distracting me dammit

You're no FUN!

How many times do I have to tell you

I'm the reason we brought her home in the first place, it's not fair!

I'm not having this conversation with you right now. And I'm not telling this beautiful woman that an alien lives inside me and wants to fuck her.

An alien? What the hell?

You stand up and take off your clothes. Eddie follows your lead and shucks off his t-shirt and jeans. Eddie adjusts his position so that there's enough room between his legs for you when he pulls you closer to him by your hips.

"I have to taste you." He breathes out. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and buries his tongue between your folds. He groans at the taste of you flooding his senses as he explores you with his mouth. You tangle your fingers into his hair trying to steady yourself while he explores your cunt. He practically drinks you and rather loudly and you love every pass of his tongue against you.

She must taste amazing.

Venom

You won't let me out to play but you can't keep me from commenting

Don't be petty man

I am not being petty, I'm just... hungry

Like actually hungry or is this still about her?

The girl Eddie, I mean for the girl.

Hey now, she has a name.

You're impressed he's able to maintain an internal conversation while he eats you out. He's even holding you still, keeping you from squirming as his tongue pulls you closer and closer to the edge. Eddie focuses his attention on your clit and soon, with a loud whine your orgasm hits you.

"You taste so fucking good." Eddie groans.

"Thanks." You chuckle. You drop your leg from his shoulder to straddle him. As much as you want to ride him, you can't let your curiosity rest until you have some answers on Venom.

"I have to ask you something Eddie." You say.

"What is it?"

"Who- or what, is Venom?" You ask. He jolts back, nearly shoves you out of his lap actually.

"W-what?"

"Relax okay, I, I can read minds. You've been talking to someone in your head since we were in the bar. You call the other voice Venom and it seems to have it's own thoughts, and feelings, and opinions- you even argue. I am very curious about it. I've been trying not to- focus on it but I'll admit he's a bit distracting."

HEY!

I don't think she's being rude pal

"I'm not!" You shake your head.

"What?" Eddie frowns.

"I'm not being rude. Sorry if I offended you Venom." You say.

She can hear me?

"Yes I can." You nod.

"And you've been able to hear him this entire time?" Eddie asks.

"Yes I have." You nod.

"I am- so sorry." Eddie blinks.

"Sorry? Why?"

"Well he's not been exactly... couth this evening."

"Oh I- I don't mind what he's been saying. He's kind of funny."

Funny? She likes me Eddie!

Not for long

HEY!

"You're bickering again." You smile.

"Sorry- he's basically an annoying roommate I can't get away from."

That is rude Eddie

Oh shut up

She wants to know who I am, let me meet her

No fucking way

Why not? She can read minds I'm sure she doesn't spook easy and if she tries to run I can always eat her.

"Eat me?"

"He's kidding, he's not gonna eat you- shit- you really can hear him."

"Well yeah, did you not believe me?" You smile.

"It's- pretty unbelievable ya know."

Eddie!

Fine, you fucking nightmare, go on, introduce yourself.

FINALLY!

You're not quite sure what to make of Eddie's angry internal grumble but you don't get a chance to ask him about it. Inky black- something appears out of seemingly nowhere and starts to envelop Eddie. Your eyes widen as Eddie disappears and in his place a large black creature peers at you with huge semi-circles that you presume must be eyes.

If not for his arm wrapping around you, the abrupt difference in size between Eddie and Venom probably would've caused you to fall out of his lap.

"Hi." He smiles at you, revealing large sharp looking daggers for teeth

"Hi, you must be Venom." You say looking at him curiously. He seems to have a similar curiosity as he stares back at you.

"I am. Nice to meet you, y/n."

"Nice to meet you too." You smile.

"You're very pretty." He says.

"Thank you. May I touch you?" You ask softly.

"As much as you want."

Behave Venom!

Ah, so Eddie is still sentient even without being visible.

You reach a hand up and run it along his cheek. He's smooth, slick, cool to the touch, not quite cold or uncomfortable, almost like latex. His cheek even warms against your palm. He even seems to lean into your touch a bit.

"Hm, smooth." You hum.

"Your hands are soft." Venom says. You trail your hand down, across his neck, over his chest.

Don't spook her!

Hey I think I'm being very controlled. 

"And you're- an alien?" You ask him.

"Yes."

"Hm, curiouser and curiouser. And you... are attatched to Eddie?" You continue your path down his arm and find yourself wondering about the functionality of his very large muscles. Are they an asthetic choice? If he can hide within Eddie's body he clearly- has some control over how he looks, is it to intimidate people or is he superhumanly strong?

"Something like that yes." He nods.

"So you feel what he feels and see what he sees?"

"Mostly."

"You convinced Eddie to take me home, sorry if this is crude, but do you have sexual organs?" You ask. You're sitting in his lap, there's no way you wouldn't be able to feel if he had a dick and you can't see or feel anything that could suggest he has one.

"I can alter my form at will. Including the perfect appendage for your enjoyment." Venom pulls you closer to him and something shifts below you. You're pretty sure he's just- grown a penis?

"Oh my,"

"I'm happy to answer as many questions as you have little mind reader, but- I've been wanting to taste you since you sat next to us at the bar and I'm trying not to give Eddie reasons to get all upset about my 'behavior' but you smell intoxicating and I'm struggling to stay controlled here."

"I don't need you to stay controlled."

Whatever you're thinking of doing Venom, don't.

You heard her Eddie, she doesn't care!

She doesn't know you, you could break her!

I don't think she's that fragile Eddie.

She's not fragile you're freakishly strong with poor judgement of what's too much!

You place your hand on Venom's cheek to get his attention.

"Eddie is-"

"I know. I can hear you going back and forth. But I'm not made of glass."

"He thinks I will hurt you."

"Do you think you will?"

"No! I hope not." He deflates a little.

"I don't know you really but if you think you won't hurt me then I'll take your word for it." You tell him.

Control yourself Venom

"I'm an adult, just- let me tell you if it's too much." You say. You don't understand why Eddie is so concerned, and you hope you're not making the wrong choice by giving this very large and possibly dangerous alien basically free reign.

Venom takes a deep breath and suddenly you're on your back in the middle of the bed with Venom creeping up it. Black tentacles wind up and around your body and he opens his mouth wide to reveal a tongue larger than you've ever seen. It practically rolls out of his mouth and between your folds. You gasp. He glides the huge wet muscle heavily over your clit and your body tries to squirm but Venom's tentacles have practically immobilized you.

You groan and arch against his tongue as it rubs your bundle of nerves.

"Even better than I imagined." He grunts. Venom then slips his tongue inside you and the sudden intrusion makes you jolt, but as he stretches you across his snake like tongue you moan loudly. He uses it to explore your inner walls and each movement of it inside you is maddening, you can feel your orgasm creeping up on you.

"Oh god!" You cry, tossing your head back against the pillows. Tentatcles climb up your waist and wrap around your tits, circling your nipples, slow, agonizing, so contrasting to his tongue between your legs that your orgasm hits you. Hard. Your arm snaps up, and you grab the sheets, you writhe- or try to, Venom holds you in place. He's not done. He continues to work you, his tongue carressing your insides.

I want more from her

Don't overdo it

"God, Venom, please! Don't stop!" You pant, grinding against his tongue, chasing another orgasm, drowning in the pleasure.

She tastes so good

Venom continues using his tongue on you, making you cum again and again even after you lose count and your throat is sore from crying out.

V I think she needs a break, it's been over an hour!

Venom reluctantly pulls away from you. He tilts his head, trying to gauge if you truly did need a break. He hasn't had much experience with humans, he doesn't necessarily know their limits.

"Eddie thinks you need a break, are you okay?"

"I'm alright Venom." You smile at him.

Water Venom, get her water.

One of Venom's tentacles flies out of the room and returns a few moments later with a glass of water.

"Drink."

"Thank you." You chuckle taking a sip.

"You're very cute." Venom says.

"So are you." You pat his head.

"You think I'm cute?" Venom's big white eyes widen. Why does he seem so surprised?

"Very." You nod.

Eddie! She thinks I'm cute!

Yeah I heard buddy

I like her! We should keep her.

She's not a pet dude

But I want her to stick around!

I get that, but it's not just up to you, she may not want to see us again

NO!

"I want to keep you." Venom tells you.

Venom!

"Eddie's right you know, I'm not a pet. You can't cage me like a bird." You tell him.

"I don't want you to go."

"I will have to eventually, I have a home, and a job, and a life. But I can come see you again."

"Will you?"

"I'd love to." You nod.

"Then do."

Manners Venom.

"Please." He adds shyly.

"You two are ridiculous." You laugh. You're not sure what's in store for you when it comes to this guy and his alien companion but it's rare something really comes as a surprise to you these days, so you welcome the change.

***

[andhumanslovedstories]

you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?

I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.

--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?

--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.

--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.

--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.

--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.

--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.

--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.

--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.

--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.

--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."

--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.

--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.

--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.

--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.

--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part I

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: While out on a Friday night with your friends, you're struggling to pay for your second drink of the night. You are about to send it back when a stranger steps in to pay for your beverage. And really, what's the price of a drink?

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 7,109

A/N: Part one is just setting the tone, besties. I needed to build the atmosphere slowly because the next few parts of this? Unhinged. Truly. You can probably tell from the title that this one? Gonna be a different breed to the other works I've done. Obviously it's an AU, Ben isn't Soldier Boy here, but some (exceptionally) wealthy prick. And—good god—he's about to be the most controlling I've ever written him. I'm so beyond excited for the next few instalments of this one. I hope y'all are too. <3 Feel free to give me feedback, tell me if you're looking forward to the next part, tell me what you think. My gross little heart loves it. And yes, this is part one... so you know the drill: if the warnings listed above aren't evident yet, they will be. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

New York made you tough fast. It had to.

You’d come here alone, chasing a future that didn’t come with a safety net. No trust fund. No monthly deposits from a parent who still called to check in. No handouts, no home-cooked meals waiting for you in a house you no longer belonged to. You’d left it all behind—the family who told you it was them or college, the life you could’ve had if you’d just been what they wanted.

But you chose yourself.

And now? You were paying for it.

Rent was due in five days. You had barely scraped together enough, and there were still textbooks to buy, bills to pay, groceries to figure out. Your job—some soul-sucking gig that barely covered the essentials—kept you too exhausted to focus on anything else. But tonight, for the first time in weeks, you’d let your friends drag you out, promising yourself you’d try to have fun.

They didn’t understand, not really.

They weren’t cruel, just privileged. All born into wealth, raised in big houses, given credit cards they never had to check the balance on. You liked them—loved them, even—but you’d stopped trying to make them understand what it felt like to have nothing.

So you smiled, let them buy overpriced cocktails, laughed at their meaningless complaints, and sipped your one, carefully nursed vodka soda.

The rooftop bar was packed, warm from the heat of too many bodies, the glow of the city stretching out behind it. Your friends were already tipsy, ordering another round while you debated whether or not you could justify one more drink.

You couldn’t.

But for one night, you wanted to feel normal.

You followed one of them to the bar. She ordered some expensive, ridiculous thing—probably something with elderflower and gold flakes.

"Just put it on your tab, babe."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’ll get my own. I’ll meet you back at the table."

She shrugged, flounced off, and you turned toward the bartender, already digging through your purse.

That was your first mistake.

The second was realising too late that you didn’t have enough.

Shit.

Your stomach sank as you counted out the crumpled bills, the few lonely coins at the bottom of your clutch. You pushed the drink back across the bar, heat prickling up your neck. Elbows on the counter, you pressed your face into your hands, forcing slow, steady breaths.

You could handle this. It wasn’t a big deal. You’d just… go back, tell them you weren’t drinking anymore.

And then—

"How much you need, sweetheart?"

The voice came from behind you.

Rough, low. Amused.

You froze. Shook your head, already mumbling, "No, it’s okay. Really, I—"

And then you looked up.

And fuck.

He was standing right there. Tall, broad, menacingly gorgeous.

A dress shirt stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the flex of his forearms. Dark, expensive-looking pants. A thick watch on his wrist. Clean, manicured beard, hair swept back, and green eyes that looked like they could see straight through you.

He looked like a million fucking dollars.

And he was looking right at you.

"Tough night, sweetheart?"

His voice curled around you like smoke—low, deep, amused.

You barely had time to process it before he stepped forward, before he was in your space, before he was there like he'd been waiting for this moment all night.

You turned your head just as he slid into the empty spot beside you, just as the bartender reached for the drink you'd pushed away—ready to pour it down the drain.

And then he clicked his tongue. Just once. A sharp, quiet sound, and the bartender froze. Then nodded. Like that single fucking noise was enough to halt the whole goddamn world.

"Another," the man said, fingers tapping once against the polished wood of the bar, easy and sure. He had a voice like a slow drag of whiskey, rich and rough-edged, as he lifted his chin toward the bartender. "And get her extra lemon in both."

No hesitation. No questions. Just a quiet nod as the bartender went to work.

You swallowed, pulse kicking against your ribs, the air between you thick and electric.

Who the fuck was this guy?

"You didn’t have to do that," you said, voice steadier than you expected, even as heat burned up your throat. "I can’t afford to pay you back."

That got his attention.

Slowly, his gaze dragged back to you, head tilting slightly, like he was deciding whether or not your words deserved a response at all.

Then, finally—finally—he smirked.

"Wasn’t offerin' so you’d pay me back, sweetheart."

You exhaled sharply, something tight winding in your chest.

His eyes dropped for a fraction of a second—your mouth, your throat, the rise and fall of your breath—before flicking lazily toward the empty stool beside you. Then back to you.

He didn’t speak, just lifted an eyebrow. A question. An expectation.

You glanced at the seat, pulse hammering. Something told you that this—right here, right now—was the moment. The choice. The one that would set everything else in motion. Your fingers curled around the cool glass, and with a slow, careful nod, you gestured to the seat.

Permission.

His mouth curled at the corner, something smug, something victorious, and he sank onto the stool. And then he leaned in. Just enough to tilt his face toward you, just enough for his scent—woodsmoke, leather, something dark, something rich—to curl into your lungs.

"Ben," he said. Just that. A name, simple and short. A gift, or a warning. "And you are?"

You hesitated, lifting the drink to your lips, tongue flicking over the extra lemon wedge as you took a slow sip. His eyes followed the movement.

You told him your name.

He repeated it, like he was testing it, rolling it over his tongue just to see how it tasted. Then—

"So," he murmured, the word slow, deliberate. "What’s your story?"

A question with no right answer.

You exhaled softly. "Not much to tell. Just… out with my friends."

Ben made a quiet, thoughtful sound, lifting his glass to his lips—but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was looking at them.

Your friends, back at the table, ordering another round without even noticing you were gone. All glossy lips, designer bags, endless money, the kind of girls who would never, ever have to count crumpled bills and loose change just to afford a drink.

You felt the weight of his gaze shift back to you before you even turned your head. And when you finally looked up, he was already smirking.

"Yeah." His voice was slow, edged with something sharp. "See, I don’t think you are."

A pause.

"One of them."

The words cut straight through you, precise and exact, slipping beneath your skin like a blade between ribs.

Because fuck—he was right.

You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, shaking your head before taking another slow sip of your drink.

"Yeah," you admitted, rolling the condensation-slick glass between your fingers. "You’re right. I’m not one of them."

Ben didn’t look particularly surprised. He just hummed—low, deep, expectant. Waiting.

And for some reason, you gave him more.

"They’re comfortable," you murmured, staring down into your drink, watching the ice melt. "They don’t have to worry about money. College is just a fun, cute idea to them. Something to pass the time before they go off and do whatever rich girls do when they get bored." You swallowed, the truth suddenly sitting heavy on your tongue. "They’re all pretty. They dress nice. They never have to worry about whether or not they’ve got enough crumpled bills in their purse to pay for a measly vodka soda."

Silence stretched between you.

Then—a sharp tut. Ben clicked his tongue, shaking his head like you’d just said something ridiculous.

"They’re not that pretty."

Your brows furrowed. You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

But he didn’t answer. Not right away. No—first, he looked.

And fuck.

His gaze dragged over you in one slow, unapologetic pass, starting at your legs, bare where they crossed beneath the bar, lingering just a little too long at the hem of your dress. His expression didn’t change, but you felt it when his eyes darkened, when they lingered on the soft, subtle curves of your body, when his gaze flicked up, finally—finally—to your face.

And then he smirked.

"Yeah, they’re pretty," he admitted, his voice a lazy drawl, like he was indulging the thought just for the hell of it.

Then his eyes locked onto yours.

"But you?" He leaned in, forearms braced on the bar, and his next words were just for you—low, rough, dangerous. "You’re a fuckin' knockout, sweetheart."

A flush crawled up your throat, warm and insidious, and you were so goddamn grateful for the dim lighting because what the fuck.

You weren’t used to this. Not the attention. Not like this. Not from a man.

Not from someone who looked like that—who looked like he had at least fifteen years on you, who carried himself like he had twice as much experience, who was looking at you like you were something worth his time, worth his attention, worth every second he was spending sitting here, watching you squirm.

Your breath caught. You took another sip of your drink, hoping like hell it would cool the heat spreading through your veins.

But his eyes? They told you—you weren’t getting off that easy.

Because Ben didn’t stop looking at you.

If anything, his attention sharpened. Every time you wet your lips, every slow sip of your drink, every flick of your tongue against the rim of the glass—he tracked it, eyes dark and unreadable.

He wasn’t subtle about it. Didn’t even fucking try to be. And worse? You could feel it.

Feel his gaze pressing into you, lingering on your mouth, dipping to your throat every time you swallowed, flicking back to your face just to catch the way heat bloomed beneath your skin.

He knew. He fucking knew. But when he spoke again, his voice was easy, casual—like he hadn’t just been devouring you with his eyes.

"What are you studyin'?"

You blinked, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

"Literature and Language," you answered, trying to sound normal, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary before he nodded.

"Huh." A slow, thoughtful sound. "Why those?"

Your fingers curled around your drink, rolling it between your palms. "I love words."

That made him smirk, like you’d just said something that amused him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling almost shy under the weight of his gaze. "I want to write. I don’t really care what. Just… something."

Ben nodded, tapping his fingers idly against the bar.

"You on campus?" He asked. "Or you got your own place?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to answer. But because you weren’t sure why you felt so fucking compelled to tell him the truth.

His voice wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t prying. But something about him—about the way he looked at you, the way he asked, slow and expectant—made it impossible to brush him off.

You parted your lips to answer, but—

"Hey!"

Your name, bright and teasing, cut through the moment.

You turned to see one of your friends making her way over, heels clicking against the polished floor, eyes flicking between you and Ben with obvious curiosity.

He didn’t look at her. Not once. Even as she stopped beside you, even as she smirked and let her gaze drag over him, assessing, intrigued—Ben didn’t fucking blink.

His focus was still on you.

"We’re heading to another club," your friend announced, raising an eyebrow. Waiting. Watching. "You coming?"

And you—God help you—you were about to say no. You were about to say I want to stay. But before the words could even form—

"She’s good," Ben said smoothly.

Your friend blinked, startled, before her eyes snapped back to him.

"We’re having a nice conversation," he continued, voice easy, unreadable. Final. "Don’t worry about her. I’ll make sure she gets home safe."

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But your friend? She just grinned, because of course she fucking did.

"See ya later, babe!" She sang, giving you a knowing look before turning back toward your table. Back toward the others, who were already watching. Already smirking, like hungry fucking wolves.

Then your friends were gone, and the bar felt quieter, smaller without them. But Ben? He was still here. Still right beside you, still watching. Still holding all of your attention hostage.

He tapped his glass against the wood once, slow and thoughtful. Then—

"You want somethin' different?"

You blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. "I’m okay."

Ben made a noise in the back of his throat, something between a hum and a scoff, before waving a hand, cutting you off before you could say anything else.

"Didn’t ask if you’re okay, sweetheart." His voice was smooth, lazy, but edged with something sharper. "Asked if you want somethin' different to drink."

Your lips parted, but you hesitated.

Ben didn’t.

"I’m gettin’ another whiskey," he said easily, before his gaze dragged over you again—slow, indulgent, knowing. His smirk deepened. "I can get you one of those fruity little drinks if you want."

You frowned, shaking your head. "I don’t choose those for a reason."

His eyebrows ticked up, but he didn’t interrupt.

"I like alcohol to taste like alcohol," you murmured, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

And that? That earned you something new. A slow, low whistle. Ben grinned, sharp and approving.

"Atta fuckin’ girl."

Your stomach flipped, heat curling somewhere low and slow.

"Here," he said suddenly, reaching for his drink. "Try mine. See if you want that."

You barely had time to react before he pressed the glass into your hands, fingers brushing against yours, firm and deliberate. You weren’t sure why, but your breath hitched.

Not because of the whiskey. Because of him. Because of the way his pupils visibly darkened as you hesitated, as you lifted the glass, as your tongue flicked against the rim of the glass—

The same place he’d been drinking from.

Your lips parted around the sip, slow and small, the liquid burning warm and smooth down your throat. You shut your eyes, exhaling softly.

"Fuck," you murmured, sighing just a little.

You didn’t even have to look. You already knew. But when your lashes fluttered open again, Ben was already watching you, one brow cocked, a knowing little challenge hanging in the air between you.

You swallowed, ignored the heat spreading across your skin, and shrugged.

"It’s nice," you said lightly, reaching to slide the glass back to him. "But I don’t want you to spend any more money on me."

Ben scoffed, like the idea of money was a joke.

"Chump change, sweetheart."

Then, without another word, he whistled for the bartender, tapped his glass against the counter, and lifted two fingers in the air.

A silent command.

Seconds later, two fresh glasses of whiskey slid across the bar toward you. Your throat felt tight. You exhaled, a small breath of laughter slipping free before you even realised it.

"You’re a little young to have such a refined palate."

You huffed, rolling your eyes, before saying, "I used to steal sips of my dad’s whiskey when I was little." You paused, eyes flicking down to your glass, swirling the amber liquid absently. "I’ve always liked the burn."

Ben went still.

Just for a second. But it was enough. Enough to notice the way his nostrils flared, the way his fingers tightened around his glass, the way his gaze dropped back to your mouth like he was suddenly thinking about something else.

And then—

"Come with me."

His voice was low, thick with something weighted, something hot.

You blinked. "Where?"

Ben tipped his glass toward the entrance, toward the doors leading outside to the private rooftop patio.

"Need a smoke." A pause. "You should come."

He didn’t ask. Not really.

It was a suggestion. A promise. A fucking test.

And you? You took your glass and followed.

Ben held the door open with his foot, one arm braced against the frame, the other pressing lightly against the small of your back as he guided you outside.

The touch—warm, firm, easy—made you shiver.

His hand didn’t move. Didn’t slide away, didn’t lift, didn’t hesitate as he steered you toward the back of the rooftop patio—away from the clusters of people near the entrance, away from the noise and the neon city glow.

He led you to a hidden corner, tucked behind hanging plants and low-lit lanterns, a secluded little alcove that smelled like whiskey and leather and cigarette smoke. A place that felt expensive. Exclusive. Like somewhere you didn’t belong.

Ben sat, sprawling out across an outdoor sofa, legs spread wide, exhaling slow as he placed his whiskey down on the table. Then he stretched, arms draped over the back of the couch, rolling his shoulders with a satisfied hum before tilting his chin up at you.

"You gonna stand there all night?" He drawled. "Or you gonna come sit down?"

Your breath hitched. You slid your drink down next to his, then hesitated. Ben smirked. Then he patted his thigh.

Patted. His. Thigh.

"C’mon, sweetheart." His voice was low, teasing, wicked as sin. "I don’t bite."

Something thick and molten curled in your stomach, pooling warm at the base of your spine. And you didn’t know why—why the hell you actually listened, why you obeyed like it was the most natural thing in the world—

But you did. You perched yourself in his lap, delicate and careful, settling neatly on his thigh, just like he told you to.

His hand smoothed over your back, slow and deliberate, before wrapping around your waist and pulling you in closer, settling you against him as he sank deeper into the couch.

His warmth seeped through you instantly.

You hadn’t realised how cold it had gotten—the sharp chill of the evening settling deep in your bones, biting at your skin, leaving you barely covered in the slinky black dress.

But now? Now you were wrapped in his heat.

He reached into his pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes, fingers working slow as he tapped one loose. You watched as he flicked open his lighter, gold flame illuminating his face, sharp and stunning in the low light.

He took a long drag, exhaling thick ribbons of smoke into the air before tilting his head back to look at you.

"You smoke?"

You hesitated. "Only sometimes."

Ben hummed. "Why only sometimes?"

You scoffed softly, lifting a brow. "Can’t really afford it."

That made him laugh—low and amused, smoke curling from his lips as he shook his head like you were something funny, something ridiculous.

Then—without warning—he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and held it to yours. The move was smooth, effortless, like it wasn’t even a question whether or not you’d take it.

Like he already knew you would.

Your lips parted before you could think, before you could stop yourself, and you let him press the cigarette between them.

Ben’s eyes darkened visibly as he watched you inhale. Watched the way your lips wrapped around the filter, the way your lashes fluttered as smoke filled your lungs.

And then—still watching—he took it back. Lifted it between two fingers, brought it back to his own mouth, inhaling slow and deep from the same spot your lips had just been.

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse pounded.

And in that moment, you understood. He was doing this on purpose. Every touch, every look, every slow, lazy movement. All of it.

Ben shifted slightly beneath you, his thigh flexing against you, his fingers tightening just a little against your hip. And you—God help you—you stayed perfectly still. Right where he put you.

Ben kept smoking, the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers as he leaned back, the picture of easy, indulgent satisfaction. He didn’t move much—just enough to shift his thigh beneath you, just enough to flex against the softest parts of you when he adjusted his sprawl.

And you?

You didn’t move at all.

Not when he kept feeding you drags of his cigarette, the filter brushing against your lips in slow, deliberate offerings. Not when he exhaled thick ribbons of smoke past your shoulder, keeping you close, keeping you still.

"You didn’t answer me earlier."

You blinked, head tilting slightly, forcing yourself to keep your breath even.

"Sorry?"

"You live on campus?" His voice was lazy, deep, completely unbothered. "Or you got your own place?"

You hesitated for a beat, shifting your drink between your hands before answering.

"I have my own place."

Ben hummed, dragging another slow inhale from his cigarette, eyes steady on you. "That right?"

You nodded. "It’s nothing special, but I managed to get it all by myself. It’s not the worst neighbourhood, but it’s good."

He nodded, exhaling smoke in a slow, steady stream.

"You like it?"

You blinked, caught off guard. No one had ever asked you that before. You’d lived there for two, almost three years now. Since you’d started college. It wasn’t something you’d ever thought about, wasn’t something you’d ever stopped to consider.

It was just… a place. A roof. Somewhere to study, sleep, survive.

"I—" You hesitated, licking your lips. "I like the fire escape."

That made him laugh, short and sharp, the sound richer than the whiskey on his tongue.

"The fire escape?" He lifted a brow, smirking. "Why’s that?"

Your fingers traced absently along the rim of your glass. "I like sitting on it. Reading when it rains."

Ben made a low, thoughtful sound. A soft hum that rumbled somewhere deep in his chest. Like that was interesting. Like you were interesting.

His eyes flicked back to your face, pinning you in place, holding you there, trapping you without even touching you. Then, smoothly, effortlessly—

"You goin' home tonight?"

The question landed like a punch to the ribs. Your throat went dry.

"Or," Ben continued, flicking ash into a tray, his voice even, unbothered, "you wanna come home with me?"

You choked. Your lips parted, a rush of heat crawling up your throat, your skin prickling with something hot and tight and suffocating.

"I—"

Ben’s smirk deepened.

You forced a breath, shaking your head quickly. "I—no, I’m not—" You swallowed hard. "I’m not that type of girl."

That only made him grin wider.

"Yeah?" He exhaled slow, tilting his head as he took another drag, watching you through the smoke. "What kind of girl?"

You panicked. You could feel it, the clumsy mess of heat and nerves unraveling inside you, twisting your stomach into knots.

"I don’t—" You exhaled sharply, tripping over your own words. "I don’t just go home with guys and have sex after only knowing them for a few hours."

Ben let out a low, amused sound. And then—the kill shot.

"Didn’t say we were gonna fuck, sweetheart."

Your face burned. Your heart stopped.

And Ben just smirked. Smirked like he already knew exactly how you’d react. Like he’d known from the second he said it. Like he’d already fucking won.

Heat flushed up your throat, creeping high into your cheeks, and Ben noticed.

Of course he fucking noticed.

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking over your face before his knuckles brushed against your cheek, slow and deliberate, the drag of rough skin making your breath hitch.

"Fuckin’ cute," he muttered, almost to himself.

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed hard, ignoring the pulse hammering in your throat. "Then what did you mean?"

Ben tipped his head, watching you with lazy amusement.

"Hm?"

"If you weren’t inviting me to sleep with you," you clarified, voice softer now, breathier. "Then what did you mean?"

Ben exhaled slow, the cigarette burning amber-red between his fingers.

"It’s a Friday night, sweetheart," he murmured, stretching against the couch, his thighs shifting beneath you. "You could come back to mine."

He paused, tilting his glass to watch the whiskey swirl before flicking his gaze back to you.

"I could show you a good time."

Your stomach fluttered.

"More whiskey," he continued, tapping a lazy rhythm against the rim of his glass. "Better than this shit they’ve got here."

Your brows furrowed slightly.

Better?

The whiskey here was good. Expensive. You weren’t even sure how much better it could get—

"And," Ben added, eyes flicking lower, watching the way your legs pressed together, "I got some coke I’d love to blow up your ass."

You choked.

Ben laughed, rich and warm, whiskey-dark and indulgent, like he was savouring every second of this.

"That a no?" He teased, exhaling smoke.

You sputtered, shaking your head quickly. "I—what the fuck—"

Ben lifted a brow, eyes glinting. "You ever done coke, sweetheart?"

You hesitated. Too long. His smirk widened.

"Only once or twice," you admitted carefully, shifting slightly in his lap.

Ben hummed, something thoughtful, something knowing. Then—smooth as fucking silk—he leaned in just a little closer, fingers tightening against your waist, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet when he murmured.

"So come home with me."

Your pulse kicked.

"We don’t have to fuck," he added, smirking against the rim of his glass. "But if you feel like it after a few lines, I ain’t gonna chuck you out."

Your chest felt too tight. Your limbs felt too warm.

This was stupid. This was dangerous. This was the worst fucking idea you’d ever had.

And yet—

Yet his hand was still on you. Yet his voice was still in your ear. Yet he was still looking at you like he already knew you weren’t going to say no.

Because you weren’t. Because even if you had another choice, even if you had an escape, you’d still go willingly.

You nodded.

Ben’s grin flashed, wide and wicked, all sharp teeth and wolfish excitement.

"Yeah?"

The way he said it—rough, eager, eyes sparking like he’d just heard something delicious—made your stomach flip.

You nodded again. That was all he needed. Ben stood, all smooth, effortless power, knocking back the last of his whiskey in one swallow. Then he grabbed your glass, pressed it into your hands, and cocked a brow.

A challenge.

You understood. Your fingers curled around the cool glass. You lifted it to your lips, savouring the burn, letting it warm you from the inside out.

When you were finished, Ben was still watching you. And then? He grinned. And slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close like he’d already decided you belonged there.

"C’mon, sweetheart."

He led you through the bar, past bodies and noise and neon glow, steering you out the front doors and onto the street.

That was when you saw it. The car. Big. Black. Sleek and expensive as hell. A driver stood by the curb, leaning against the hood, one boot crossed over the other, hands in his coat pockets.

Ben steered you toward the back door, but before he opened it, the driver let out a low, rough chuckle as he climbed into the front seat.

"Leavin’ early tonight, are ya, mate?"

The accent caught you off guard. British. Cockney. A voice like gravel and burnt whiskey, rough and sharp-edged.

Ben pressed you into the back. You glanced up, catching the driver’s eyes flick toward you in the rearview mirror, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

Ben clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he slid into the spot beside you. "Made a friend, Butcher."

Your stomach tightened.

"Wanted to show her a good time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly so fucking aware of where this was going, of what you’d just agreed to. But then Ben pulled you further into the backseat, and the moment stretched thin, reality slipping away, replaced with the heavy warmth of him against you.

The door shut. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows. And you realised something. Ben had a fucking driver.

A chauffeur.

You felt a slow, sharp pulse of realisation.

Jesus Christ, this man had money.

And as the car glided through the streets, moving toward the nicest part of the city—where buildings stretched high and elegant, where penthouses gleamed from impossible heights—

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why the hell was he indulging you? Why had he picked you?

Ben just smirked, pulling you closer, thumb tracing a slow, lazy stroke against your shoulder. And you were nervous now, because you didn’t belong in his world, but you were already inside it.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a sleek, modern high-rise—all clean steel and glass, standing tall against the city skyline like it owned the night itself.

It was the kind of building that made your stomach drop.

The kind of place where people with money, real money, lived—the kind of people who didn’t check their bank accounts before ordering drinks, who didn’t split rent five ways just to make ends meet, who didn’t pick up extra shifts just to afford their next meal.

This was a different world.

The engine idled low, a soft hum beneath your skin, and then—

"So, what’s the plan, mate?"

You blinked.

Butcher was looking at Ben now, one arm slung over the back of the passenger seat, all smirk and knowing eyes.

"You want me to keep the car warm?" He asked, voice edged with thick, cockney amusement. "Or you takin’ the girl back later?"

Your stomach flipped.

Ben exhaled through his nose, grinning like he already knew the answer.

"Clock off for the night."

Butcher let out a low, rasping chuckle, nodding once as he faced forward again, like he’d already seen this a hundred times before.

The door clicked open.

And then Ben was pulling you out of the car, his hand firm against your lower back, guiding you forward—into the lobby, past the marble floors and golden light, past the concierge who didn’t even lift his head.

Because of course he didn’t. Because this was Ben’s world.

And then—

Then he was leading you to a private elevator. Not a normal one. Not one that anyone else could use. No—this one was his. A sleek, polished cage of steel and shadowed mirrors, with only one fucking button.

Penthouse.

Your pulse pounded. You barely had time to process before Ben pressed the button, the doors sliding shut—sealing you inside.

And then?

Then his hands were on you. Not in a foul way. Not in a way that made you want to run. But possessive. Purposeful. Heavy. His fingers gripped your hips, your waist, sliding over the thin fabric of your dress, curling around you like he was memorising every inch.

Your breath hitched as he spun you, pressing you up against the wall with zero hesitation, his body all heat and weight, caging you in.

He wasn’t kissing you. He wasn’t even trying to. But he was everywhere.

One hand hiked your thigh up, draping it over his hip, holding you open against him. His palm slid over the bare skin, rough and warm, trailing fire in its wake. The other? Splayed over your ribs, fingers flexing, gripping, feeling.

You gasped softly, lightheaded, dazed, overwhelmed.

And Ben? Well, Ben just smirked.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, dragging his hand up, brushing his knuckles just beneath the swell of your breast, not quite touching—just teasing. "You’re soft as hell."

Your fingers clenched at your sides, your lips parting, but nothing came out.

"Fuckin’ sweet, too," he continued, voice low, thick with something weighted, something syrupy. His thumb dragged over your jaw, over your cheek, tracing slow, lazy circles against your heated skin.

"So goddamn good."

Your knees felt weak. Your body felt like it wasn’t even yours anymore.

"Fuckin’ glad I spotted you tonight, sweetheart."

The words sent a sharp, heavy pulse of heat straight through you. His breath was warm against your throat, but he still wasn’t kissing you.

Just feeling. Just touching. Just taking.

"So glad you ditched your little friends," he muttered, squeezing your thigh, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, into heat, into want. "Didn’t wanna have to come over and pull you away from 'em."

A pause. A dark little chuckle.

"Would’ve, though."

Your breath shuddered.

Ben tilted his head, watching your reaction, like he was waiting to see how deep he could sink his teeth. His grip tightened.

"Christ on a cross," he rasped, hungry, pleased. "You’re so fuckin’ pretty."

And fuck.

You felt like you were floating, like you weren’t even inside your own body anymore, like he had fully consumed you without even trying.

You hadn’t kissed. You hadn’t done anything.

But he was already all over you. And you were already his.

Ben didn’t take his hands off you.

Not once. Not in the elevator, where his grip stayed firm on your waist, fingers curling possessively over the thin fabric of your dress. Not as he led you down the hall, past artwork that looked like it belonged in a museum.

Not as he pressed a hand to your lower back, slow and steady, steering you toward a door at the very end.

And when he got there? When he reached for the handle, turning it effortlessly, he paused. He smirked. Then, with one push, the door swung open.

And fuckshitfuck.

You stepped inside—hesitantly, breath catching in your throat. Because it was beautiful. Not just rich. Not just expensive.

Money-money.

The kind of wealth that wasn’t loud or gaudy. The kind that settled deep into the bones of a place.

Everything was earth tones, dark woods, deep greens, warm browns. A massive, open-plan living room and kitchen stretched out before you—plush, oversized furniture, sleek coffee tables, a fireplace nestled into the far wall like an afterthought. One entire wall was just glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked New York in its entirety, glittering and endless. And it was pristine.

Except for the drugs.

Half-finished baggies of white powder littered the coffee table. A bag of weed crumpled in the corner. Whiskey bottles stood like monuments—some full, some empty, some abandoned halfway.

A pack of cigarettes lay open beside a vintage lighter that probably cost more than your monthly rent.

The room reeked of money, whiskey, power. Of Ben.

And you just stood there, gawping. Wide-eyed, breath shallow, taking it all in. You hadn’t realised how long you’d been standing there until you heard him chuckle.

"Somethin’ caught your eye, sweetheart?"

You turned, heat creeping up your neck—

And Ben was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with pure amusement. Like he already knew exactly how overwhelmed you were. Like he was enjoying this just a little too much.

And that smirk? The one that said you were exactly where he wanted you? Yeah. That wasn’t leaving his face anytime soon.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you choked out, breathless, eyes still dragging over the room, over the drugs, over the absolute excess of it all. "What do you do for a living?"

Ben laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a real, warm, whiskey-thick laugh, head tilting back slightly as if the question was fucking hilarious.

"Not important."

That was all he gave you. No explanation. No answer. Just a lazy smirk as he jerked his chin toward the couch.

"Go sit down."

You nodded—still dazed, still breathless, still trying to process where the hell you were—but instead of sitting, your feet carried you toward the window. The city stretched out before you, lights spilling across the night, thousands of tiny pinpricks glowing against the dark.

It was beautiful.

So much—so big—so vast and consuming.

You didn’t realise you were staring, didn’t realise how quiet the room had gotten, until you heard him moving behind you.

The low clink of glass against glass. The soft thud of a bottle against the counter. The sound of him fumbling through something, shifting around, pouring drinks.

Then he was closer. The air shifted, thickened, and then the drinks were being placed down on the table beside the couch, and then—

Heat.

Solid and warm and undeniable as Ben stepped up flush against your back. Large, rough hands slid over your waist, slow and deliberate, fingers flexing slightly against your hips, gripping, holding.

You exhaled sharply, but you didn’t move. Not even when his fingers brushed your hair over your shoulder, exposing the bare skin of your neck. Not even when you felt his breath—hot and steady, thick with whiskey and smoke—ghost over the sensitive skin there.

He inhaled. Breathed you in deep, slow, indulgent.

Your eyes fluttered. Your heart kicked.

"Ever seen it like this?" He murmured, voice low against your throat.

You swallowed, hard, struggling to find words. "Never," you whispered.

Then he dragged his beard down your neck. Slow. Rough. Teasing. A scrape of warmth and friction as he traced down to the junction of your shoulder, where he paused, fingers tightening just slightly against your waist.

"Pretty fuckin’ cool, huh?"

You just nodded. Couldn’t do anything else. Didn’t trust yourself to speak. And Ben chuckled—low, rich, satisfied—his breath a warm rush against your skin.

Then, before you could even process it, he spun you—quick, effortless, leaving you lightheaded and breathless—until you were facing him.

"So," he drawled, smirking as his fingers dragged down your arm, as his thumb brushed slow circles into your skin. "About that coke."

A pause. A challenge. An invitation to ruin.

Because you know exactly what he’s asking. And you already know what your answer’s gonna be.

Ben took your hand. The grip was firm, steady, assured—like he was leading you somewhere you’d never been before, somewhere you weren’t supposed to go.

And you let him. You let him pull you back toward the couch, let him sink onto the cushions before pulling you down with him.

His arm draped over the back of the sofa, legs spread wide, thighs brushing against yours as he reached for something on the coffee table. You watched as he picked up a small, round mirror—not a plate, not a tray, but a perfectly cut, polished mirror disk—and set it between you.

Then, he reached for the knife. Not a normal one. Something sleek, expensive, sharp as hell.

You swallowed, watching as he tapped a small bag against the mirror, tipping out soft white powder, letting it fall in neat, delicate little mounds. He worked slowly, unbothered, using the blade to spread it out, separate it, line it up into thin, precise rails of destruction.

One big.

Four small.

Then, without a word, he leaned down. Inhaled the big one like it was nothing, like it was routine, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. The rasp of his breath pulling it in sent a sharp pulse through you, made something tight coil low in your stomach.

Then he tapped the knife against the mirror. A soft, metallic clink. And then his eyes flicked to you.

"Your turn."

You swallowed. Nodded. Leaned down, hands pressed against your thighs, trying not to overthink it.

The powder burned, sharp and electric, snaking down the back of your throat and settling like pure fire in your bloodstream.

You sat back fast, licking your lips, pressing your tongue against your teeth—

Jesus Christ.

It was good. Better than anything you’d ever had before. And you knew. Knew that even that one line—that small amount you just did—probably cost more than everything you were wearing.

And the dress you had on? It was expensive. Because it wasn’t even yours.

It was borrowed.

Just like this moment. Just like this night. Just like the breath you were taking right now, sitting beside him, sinking deeper into something you weren’t sure you’d be able to climb out of.

And Ben was watching you. Watching the way your pupils dilated, watching the way your body relaxed, then tensed, then relaxed again.

And then—softer, darker, lazier—

"Yeah, sweetheart." A slow, amused hum, tapping the knife once more against the mirror, watching the way you were already chasing the high. "That’s the good shit."

Ben tapped the knife against the mirror again, sharp and expectant.

"Go on."

Not a question. A directive.

Your pulse skipped. But you didn’t hesitate. You leaned down again, dragging in another quick, clean inhale, feeling the burn, the sharp flood of heat and adrenaline surging through your system, blooming fast and bright beneath your skin.

Before you’d even sat back properly, Ben was already taking the last two lines, exhaling through his nose, jaw flexing as he set the mirror back onto the coffee table.

Then—without missing a beat—he passed you your drink. And pulled you straight into his lap. Rough. Thoughtless. Uninhibited. The coke had already stripped away the last of his patience, his hands heavier now, more possessive, more desperate to touch.

Your knees hit the couch cushions on either side of his thighs as you let him drag you over him, gasping softly as your weight settled onto his lap.

Your fingers curled instinctively around your whiskey glass, and then you spilled it. Just a little—just a splash, just enough to stain the stark white fabric stretched across his chest. Your eyes went wide.

"Oh my God—"

Ben just waved a hand.

"Don’t fuckin’ matter, doll."

Then, to prove his point, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled. Hard. The top few buttons popped clean off, pinging against the glass in your hand, the sharp little sound ringing out between you.

Your breath hitched, then you laughed. A real, bright, breathless laugh.

And Ben froze. Just for a second. Then—low, rasping, amused—

"Shit."

His hand slid up, fingertips pressing into the hinge of your jaw, rubbing slow circles, thumb brushing over your pulse.

"That’s a pretty fuckin’ sound."

You blinked, still breathless, still lightheaded from the coke and the earlier whiskey.

"What?"

Ben’s smirk curled slow, lazy, dark.

"Your laugh." His hand trailed lower, over your throat, over your collarbone. Over your legs, kneading into soft flesh, gripping. "Fuckin’ cute."

The word sent a sharp, electric pulse straight through you.

"You’re fuckin’ cute."

Your heart stuttered.

His hands moved restlessly, hungrily—up your thighs, over the thin fabric of your dress, rubbing slow circles into your hip.

"The fuck were you even doin’ out tonight in that bar, huh?" He muttered, voice rough, almost possessive.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Ben just smirked.

"Dumb fuckin’ luck."

His hand fisted into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch.

"Wasn’t even lookin’ for a girl tonight."

His thumb dragged over your jaw, his grip tightening.

"And somehow, I see a fuckin’ angel at the bar."

You swallowed, hard, pulse fluttering against his palm.

And Ben—Ben just kept looking at you like he already owned you. Like he’d already decided you were his.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. You took a sip, letting the whiskey burn through you, and immediately, your eyes went wide.

"Holy fuck—" You stared at the glass, shocked. "This is good."

Ben’s smirk widened, all smug, all knowing.

"Told you I had better shit."

You took another sip, let the whiskey melt against your tongue, burn down your throat, let your head tip back as you savoured it. And then his hand was on you again. Big, warm, rough—fingers curling around your throat, guiding your face back down, forcing your gaze to his.

Your breath caught.

Ben’s pupils were blown wide, pitch-black, swallowing up the green. Coke-dilated. Lust-drunk. And he laughed. Low and smug and so fucking amused.

"Shit, sweetheart." His fingers tightened just slightly, enough to make your head feel even lighter. "You're fucked."

You blinked, hazy, breathless, lost.

Ben’s eyes dragged over your face, watching. Studying. Memorising.

"No pretty colour left in those eyes anymore," he murmured, voice slow, heavy, lazy as sin. "Swallowed whole by your fuckin' pupils."

A pause. A smirk.

"Can you even see straight?"

And fuck. The way he said it. The mocking lilt. The condescension. You whimpered. Soft. Small. Instinctive.

And Ben saw it.

You watched the realisation dawn on him in real time—

The way his smirk flickered, darkened, deepened. The way his pupils somehow blown out further, his grip flexing slightly against your throat because he fucking knew now.

He knew exactly what you liked.

And now? Now, he wasn’t gonna let it go.

Ben sighed, like he had all the patience in the world. Then, without breaking eye contact, he plucked the whiskey glass from your hand and set it on the side table.

Then—with nothing else between you—he fixed you with his undivided attention.

"Now," he murmured, voice dipping low, dark, warm like syrup.

"You gonna let me stick my tongue down your throat?" A pause. A smirk. "Or you need a bit more coke first?"

You whimpered again. And that was it. That was all it took.

Ben let out a low, satisfied hum, then tightened his grip on your throat and pulled you in. His lips crashed against yours, deep and consuming, nothing soft, nothing hesitant. His tongue licked into your mouth immediately—wet and hot and insistent, tasting of whiskey and sin and the kind of ruin you’d never recover from.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was possession. A claim. And you let him take it.

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 @kayleighwinchester <3

[ihaznoclue]

Hiiiiiii can I request a movie shadow x reader? Where the reader one day comes home pretty injured due to a run in with something. And we get to see shadow perhaps play nurse? And help to bandage and calm the reader down?

That would be so cute to see Shadow taking care of us

Pairings -> Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Warnings -> Injuries, Violence, Toxic Ex, swearing

Note -> Reader seemed to run into their toxic Ex while on a evening walk, they come back home to be completely injured and Shadow didn't like that so he heals you back to health

Genre -> Angst to Fluff

Shadow The Hedgehog

Today was not a good day to go out to go shopping

You just wanted to shop for some groceries

But instead you accidentally bumped into your toxic Ex that would abuse you from the smallest mistakes

You thought you got away from him

You thought you were safe from him and his actions

You tried to run when you first spotted him but he instantly saw you and he yelled out to you

"OI Name come over here right now!"

Oh no what do you do?

Run? no he's too fast for you

Find someone? No he would lie about the whole situation

What if he changed, what if he wanted to apologise to you after everything he did

You turned around as you noticed him walking over to you with a innocent smile of his face

He always did that when you guys were out in public so no-one knew

Oh God you wished Shadow came with you

You prayed that he wasn't going to do anything

You hoped he wasn't going to do anything, you body healed from those injuries you got from him and you hoped you wouldn't gain new ones

In a instant, he roughly grabbed onto you as he started to drag you away

You struggled, your voice was too caught up in your throat that you didn't have enough time to yell out for help

He then slammed your body into a wall where no-one could see you both

"You thought you could run away from me you little shit"

"n-no"

"Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

You knew you were going to get a bruise on your arm by how tight he was grabbing you

"No!"

"Oh so you think you're safe huh?"

You didn't want anything to happen but it did

You suddenly now had blood dripping from your lip, some bruises of your arm and some on your legs

You also did want to see the bruise on your neck

Before anything else could happen, someone saw what was happening and yelled out

"HEY WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING TO THAT POOR THING?!"

That's when he ran away

The lady was kind enough to stay by your side until you got home, see told you to rest as much as you could

You thanked her as you opened the door

You hoped Shadow wasn't going to freak out about all this but it was for the best

"Shadow, I'm home!" Your voice cracked

You heard his footsteps coming, then you heard a thump

Looking at him as you saw that he dropped something on the floor

You were about to say something until he spoke up

"What the fuck happened to you!?"

"Run into my Ex, don't worry a kind lady helped me walk home"

That's where you are right now, in bed while he patched you right up

Placing some ice on the bruises to heal a little bit quicker and hoping it helped

Shadow was now going to stay by your side form now on

Whenever you were gonna go out, he was now going to come with you even on the slightest trips

Now you were resting, as shadow sat beside you as he watched you sleep

Brushing some hair away from your face as you inhaled a little

His ear flicked as his nose twitched

"I'm so sorry for not coming, but for now on I'm going to protect you as much as I can"

Sorry if It's a little too Angsty

-A<3

[loveandmurders]

Imagine Michael Myers ruined your life. He killed your boyfriend and your friends because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. You have been able to run away just in time, but he left scars on your body.

You couldn't stop watching them and you couldn't stop thinking about him. You used to be such a normal and mentally stable person, but then... You grew obsessed with revenge. You were a wounded animal desiring to wound in return.

So you started to plan out how you were going to kill the big and frightening Shape.

Imagine you completely change your basement for it to become the most perfect prison. You could easily tie someone there, and you could even more easily kill them without anyone to hear anything about it.

Transforming your basement was the easy part, then you needed to get Michael Myers out of the asylum and to trap him there. But you were smart, ressourceful and ready to murder him and to be covered in his blood.

You did get him out of the asylum by briding a few guards and nurses. You patiently waited for him to go back to his house, where you were waiting for him. Gosh, waiting was driving you even crazier.

Imagine taking Michael Myers by surprise; you shot him and hit him on the head. No matter how strong he was, he collapsed. You painfully pulled him to your car and brought him to your home. Whenever people heard Michael was out of his cell, they were hiding so it was easy for you to go unnoticed.

You were quick to bring him to your basement, not caring about the way his head was hitting one step after the other, or the way his shooting wound was staining his clothes. You were quick to tie him down with chains even an elephant couldn't tear apart.

And then you waited again. You wanted for the man to see your face before hurting him and killing him. You needed him to know who was hitting him.

Imagine Michael waking up in your basement, half confused of what was going on. He quickly understood he wasn't back at the asylum. He had no idea who you were, not that he cared. He simply wanted to kill you, to dismantle you and to forget about you. He didn't show his surprise when he couldn't break free from his chains.

"I'm gonna kill you so slowly" you darkly promised him and it made him completely freeze. He recognised your cold anger. You started to interest him.

You didn't try to guess what he was thinking; no one could understand him anyways. You just wanted him to suffer. You tried to make him scream, but you could slice his skin, burn him, break his fingers... and yet he wouldn't show anything.

Imagine getting so angry, you had to leave the room. You didnt want to kill without him to experience true pain and you wanted proof he was in pain.

It was then he hit you. Physically hurting him was useless. You needed to play with something so deep inside of him, that it would break him. You needed him to fall in love with you and then to put him back into the asylum, so far away from you, driving him insane.

You read about Stockholm Syndrome a lot. You fed Michael, you took care of his wounds, and then you would let him rot for a few days alone downstaires. You were alterning between abuse and some sort of "tenderness".

You were patient and it started to pay off. Whenever you were coming downstairs, Michael was instantly trying to get free of his chains, but not to escape, just to touch you. He couldn't think, all he knew was that he needed you more than oxygen. When you were around, he was behaving like a dangerous puppy trying to please you. When you were punishing him and leaving him alone in the dark, you were only feeding his obsession of you.

Imagine one night, you got a little bit tired and hence not being as careful as you should have been around a monster like Michael. You have come too close to him and you haven't moved quick enough. He caught your wrist and easily made you fall on his lap. You found yourself straddling him. You tried to move from him but his big hands were around your waist, keeping you close.

He had never wanted to kiss or to pleasure someone before, but he would be on his knees in between your legs if only you had wanted it. Him. He took in your scent and nuzzled in your neck as his hands softly slipped under your top so he could feel how soft and warm your skin were.

"Michael" you warned him and he froze "Let me go, or I'll be very mad"

Imagine the most dangerous of killers, twice your size and three time your strenght, letting you go. You saw the shadow of a pout on his face. He was so disappointed. Everything felt so cold without you.

You quickly went upstairs, not caring about the wounded grunts echoing in the basement as Michael was desesperate to watch you go. It was then you understood he was ready. He was ready to be put back in the asylum, far far away from you.

You went to work and when the night came, you joined Michael with some meal. You watched him eat and drink his water. You praised him before settling on his lap on your own accord, but you forbidad him from touching you. And even if he was struggling he obeyed as you moved closer. You didn't really know why but you kissed him, and he instantly - and yet a little bit clumsily - replied to it.

"You're gonna be a good boy to me and you're gonna have a little walk near by your house, okay?" you told him. Michael didn't understand why you would ask him to go "But then you come back. I want to see if I can trust you without those chains" you explained to him and he nodded.

Imagine playing with fire and removing his chains. He didn't care about the bruises littering his wrists and ankles. He only wanted to touch you. He had been love and touch starved his whole existence, and if his lack of empathy helped him to pretend it was alright, now he was in need of you. You allowed him to roam your body and to squeeze your flesh with want.

Soon enough you asked him to go and he reluctantly obeyed. He left your house with the only desire to come back to you. But before, he knew he had to obey to you like he used to obey his mother. He went near his former home - because his home was now you. You called the police on him.

He fought like a lion, but there were too many cops and doctors, even for him. He got shot with sedative. Next time he opened his eyes, he was back to his cell in the asylum. And he quickly lost it. Doctors had to intervene, to sedate him again and to tie him up to his bed as he was destroying everything around.

Dr. Loomis had no idea why the usually quiet man, was getting so out of himself. Nothing could calm down Michael, who was absolutely going even more insane the more time he was being away from you. He couldn't stand a world without your warmth and presence. You were a drug, the only thing he ever desired, the only thing that made him feel something.

Imagine missing the flash news about Michael Myers escaping the asylum, as you were asleep on your couch.

Imagine waking up to your front door being torn apart. You ran to your kitchen, grabbed a sharp knife and was ready to dialled 911 when you saw Michael coming into view.

He took a few more steps before kneeling down in front of you, showing you he was no threat to you, and more importantly that he was all yours.

"Oh. You came back home" you whispered to yourself as he wrapped his arms around your mid section.

He was indeed back home.

[erwinsvow]

being popes wife while he’s in prison means the most world shattering sex when he gets out he is not gonna stop for HOURS you really would just have to let him get it out of his system and fuck you into a coma

this actually made me like almost faint i'm not even kidding. i'm just gonna set aside the internal worry i have that nothing i write for him makes any sense or is out of character and just write about this for a minute thank you -> i wrote this like a week ago and never answered and look how far we've come so i'm gonna post it because this is the anon that started it all!!!! wherever you are thank you!!

in my perfect little world he would go to his old apartment first, before going to the house. you, his perfect little wife, would be the devoted type who came to visit him once a week, once every two weeks if you really had to. it's a really long drive but it was always worth it to you. the type who without fail asks his family if anyone wants to come with you this week. in my little au i would make her a nurse who works three on, four off and she uses those four to go visit pope, sometimes staying overnight in some hotel and then visiting again the next day before she drives home. as much as it means to pope that you would drive so long to see him week after week, i don't think he would like it. he would think it's too dangerous for you to drive eight hours by yourself, that it's dangerous to visit him when there's so many leering, unbelieving eyes that this is the wife that pope's been hiding back at home. and i think he wouldn't want you to see him like this, even though you're just moping at home, that this is the part of each week you look forward to. i don't know, maybe even after a year of marriage before he got arrested and the time you've been going to visit him, pope can't process that there is someone in his life who loves him this much. that he's not a burden, that you're not scared, that you do all of this willingly just to see him and hold his hand for a couple of hours, that you're always in tears when it's time for you to go home, that you answer his calls immediately, even if you're at work.

so you can imagine the kind of loyalty he has to you, since he's seen firsthand the kind of love you have for him. so when he gets parole, he doesn't tell you about it. doesn't want to get your hopes up like he did last time, and then he had to break the news to you over the phone and listen to you cry for the rest of the allotted time, and go back to his cell with the realization that you're still at home crying and there's nothing he can do to help you. so he keeps it quiet, drives himself home with the windows rolled down so he can hear the ocean again, thinking about the face you'll make when he's in front of you again. and fuck if it doesn't live up to every expectation he's had in his head for the last three years. the way you look in the comfort of your shared home, not just dressed up for him inside the barren prison. you're probably doing something that's part of your routine, the one he's had memorized since the two of you got together, cleaning up from breakfast and baking something since it's saturday.

you freeze when you hear the door open. pope's brothers usually tell you if they're swinging by, but they normally never come around unless they need you to stitch one of them up or something. you don't think they had any jobs planned for today, but then again, you could be wrong. but it's not loud enough to be them, you'd hear cursing and shouting and screaming if it was. a little stupidly, you step out of the kitchen towards the front door, without so much as a weapon to defend yourself. but you have this hope, that one day your husband will walk through those doors again like you haven't been living alone for the last three years.

today is the day your wish came true. and he does love your expression, wants to memorize it so it can never truly leave his mind. but what's better is when the two of you get into bed because he has no intentions of getting out of bed, because he has a lot to make up for. three missed birthdays—yours and his, three wedding anniversaries (and three other anniversaries, the first day you two met). all the times he should have been there for you when you had a bad day at work or got anxious around his family or needed him there, like when your car wouldn't start or the breaker short-circuited and the power went out. i've talked enough about pope and wifey's sex life, but same as the show, he goes to smurf's house after. someone asks him where you are. "i'll bring her by tomorrow. she couldn't walk."

EXCUSE-