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secretlyazombi3 · 1 day ago

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hallo!! (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝* ⋆ ⁺ ₊

i'd like to request a royal reader x knight!leon smut, if it's totally okay + within your comfort zone! i'm leaning towards a more submissive leon here, he's a man of a few words and typically doesn't chat a lot with people he isn't close with but he's reaaaallyy whimpering and whiny with reader when he gets his world rocked, much to their pleasant surprise :3 some overstimulation and praise thrown in would be nice too if you'd like hihiii

-🍮

⌞⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Armor .ᐟ⌝

leon kennedy x afab! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count: 3.9k ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NSFW !!!, 2nd person, leon is a bit subby, reader and leon r both desperate for each other, unprotected (as always, pls don’t do that), riding, a bit of overstimulation + praise, ‘forbidden’ in a way, leon is implied to be a bit older, squirting

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: Your knight in shining armour catches you trying to sneak out past midnight.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: HII 🍮TYSM FOR THE REQUEST ! :3 sorry i’ve been slow on writing, i’ve had writer’s block and been busy w school (i have finals coming up soon :c) but my requests r still open and i’m working on the requests i have ! ty all sm for the support :3 <3 sorry if there r any errors !

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You stood against the wall, mostly covered in shadow as you watched everyone on the floor of the great hall, all dancing and having a good time. Your arms were crossed as you puffed a bit until your knight approached you.

He was a calloused man, very quiet, very protective of you. His parents ordered him to follow you around like a damn lost dog to make sure you were safe at all times, despite being an adult. Your parents always babied you and affected how Leon treated you. Like some sort of damsel in distress. He’d always try to dismiss it with some comment about how important it was for your parents to have an heir to the throne or whatever. You didn’t really care about it; it was just bullshitting excuses to keep you from living your life.

“May I go now?” you asked him as you eyed the dancefloor. Your parents were hosting the yearly Spring Ball at the castle again; this was your first year you were actually allowed to attend the damn thing. Every past year, your parents had insisted that you were ‘too young’, and they were only ‘trying to keep you safe’. Of course, to an extent, it was reasonable, but that didn’t make it totally justified. Everyone at the ball had been personally invited, and the other knights were at the front of the castle approving each guest, so it wasn’t like there were any real threats they were worried about. You knew the real reason - they didn’t want you meeting anyone from outside the castle walls.

Your parents never explicitly stated it, but you were sure that you were going to be packaged into an arranged marriage one day. They didn’t want anyone less than perfect to sit beside you on the throne one day, so it’d likely be someone they’d trust and someone who knew how to rule over a kingdom.

Leon nodded his head at your question, grunting out a quiet “yes”. You moved away from the wall and towards the crowd of others before Leon gripped your wrist and pulled you back. “Not so fast.” he started.

You squirmed a bit out of Leon’s grip, despite it being gentle, all while Leon spoke to you in his usual cold, monotone voice. “Your parents want me to keep an eye on you the whole evening.”. He didn’t wait for your reaction before he sighed, he already knew you’d be upset.

“I’m not a child; I don’t need to be babysat.” You replied as Leon’s grip finally faltered and you headed off to the mass of people dancing together, only for Leon to follow after you. Typical. That man acted like a baby duckling following their mother duck. He was practically chained to you. Couldn’t your parents see that you didn’t need to have some helicoptering over you at all times?

You hurried away from the corner, not wanting to spend any more of the evening alone in the corner. This was your first time ever attending a dance, after all, and you were going to make the most of it.

Every girl in the palace was all dolled up in ruffle-covered dresses and fancy up-do hairstyles that accentuated their facial features. All the men were dressed up in fancy suits, detailed with gold, tailored specifically for them. It was your first time seeing everyone up close like this, so you took a moment to admire every detail.

“You just going to stand there staring, pretty thing?” a man asked you from behind, making you turn around. It was some guy you’ve never seen, you hadn’t a clue what relationship he had with your parents that let him get invited, but you didn’t care. He was cute, and you barely ever got social interaction with anyone besides the knights and the maids here.

He took your hand and offered you to dance, and God, how could you refuse such a pretty face? Time had gone by rather fast; the lack of windows nearby did not aid your blindness to the time. You hadn’t been able to see the sun fall past the horizon and the moon begin to take its place. You wiped your forehead clean of all the beads of sweat that had accumulated from spending so much time dancing in a hall packed with so many other people. Leon had just been standing a few feet away, just watching… Guy probably had nothing better to do, you thought.

“Are you going to be attending that, uh, afterparty for this ball tonight? The one east of the village?” the man you’d been dancing with had asked you once you two had paused for some air and water.

“Huh?” you replied, tilting your head a little. It was your first time hearing about anything of that sort.

“The king- or, your dad, I mean… his friends host an after-party of sorts. Lasts from dusk till dawn. Are you coming?” You hesitated before replying. You hadn’t even heard about it, probably because your dad knew that you’d want to go if you had known about it. And your parents would never let you outside the castle walls during the night. Even if Leon came to chaperone you.

“Ah-” you started, stumbling over your words until you felt a large hand prop onto your shoulder. Turning to look back, you saw Leon moving to stand beside you. He leaned down a bit closer to you so he could talk just softly enough for you to hear. “Your parents want you back in your quarters by midnight. It’s five past.” he said to you quietly.

“God damnit, I’ve got a bedtime now too?” You replied as you glanced at Leon, then back at the man you’d been dancing with, dying to kiss all night. Years of being cooped up behind castle walls made you desperate.

Leon didn’t respond, his expression as unamused as always. The man hadn’t cracked a smile at all the whole night, it was honestly depressing. He was a dedicated knight alright. He had the opportunity to dance with anyone he wanted to - admittedly, he was quite handsome. But instead, he spent the hours just standing there, watching you have the time of your life simply because your parents told him to.

Leo had a firm grip on your arm as if he were anticipating you’d try to flee with the guy you’d just met - yeah, you were desperate, but not that desperate.

You paused for a moment, trying to think of how to reply. You didn’t want to cut the night short, you knew there was a zero percent chance you’d ever see this guy ever again if you did. But you felt Leon beginning to tug on your arm, insisting that you two leave.

“I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll… I’ll find a way.” You replied before reluctantly walking away with Leon. It was somewhat less pathetic than letting him drag you away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The past hour or so, you’d been keeping the closest eye on the status of the Spring Ball you could form inside your room. You’d waited a full hour to hear the music from the grand hall to stop, and you did, you’d heard the liveliness of the dance slowly die out like a flame being extinguished.

You still waited a few moments until you were sure most of the castle had been put to rest. By now, most of the staff would have returned to their quarters and gone to bed, right? You were sure it was safe to make your move now. Sneak out. You knew it was super risky, but you were also desperate. Desperate to something not controlled by your parents. Desperate to see that man. You hoped that of all people to be arranged married to, it’d be him. Maybe that was because you’d had little interaction with many men before this, but you were head over heels.

You took a lantern in your hands and exited your room, quietly tiptoeing down the corridors of your quarter. The halls weren’t too dim thanks to some moonlight peering in through the windows.

You weren’t exactly sure where this after-party was, all you knew was that it was east of the kingdom, meaning you’d have to move toward the moon for guidance. You could probably ask around to try and locate a specific manor it’d be held in.

You were only a few feet down the hall, just a little bit away from the round staircase tower you’d need to go down to reach the exit, barely away from your bedroom before you saw Leon approaching you from the dark. “Shit.” You muttered to yourself. Of course, you should’ve expected this. Leon had dark circles under his eyes, the guy never slept, and he was there when you told that man, you’d find a way to get to that party.

“Come on now, back to bed.” Leon said simply in his gruff voice as he gestured to your room, his movements still somewhat stiff thanks to his armor that he was still wearing. He knew your plan; he didn’t even bother heading back to his quarters to change. He’d probably been waiting right there at the end of the hallway since he’d insisted, you’d go to bed.

You stuttered out a reply, trying to talk your way out of it, make up some lie that you just wanted a midnight snack or something, but Leon saw right through your bullshit. He held your wrist again and brought you back to your room.

“Your parents would be so disappointed.” Leon said, his tone sounding like he was scolding a naughty dog.

You sat down on your bed, glancing out the door to the balcony. Climbing down would’ve been a more viable idea than trying to leave out the main exit.

You crossed your arms and puffed out a sigh as you looked down at the floor. “I know.” you replied simply.

“I’m not going to tell them, though, don’t worry.” Leon added as he gazed down at you.

“That’s a shocker.” you mumbled out.

Leon tilted his head at that comment, he raised an eyebrow. That was probably the most expressive you’d ever seen him before this moment.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“You’re so loyal to my parents, you do every damn thing they tell you to. You spent the whole night standing against a pillar and watching over me like a stalker just because that’s what they ordered you to. Could’ve danced with any pretty girl or guy in there you wanted to.” You replied as you looked up at him, standing up to look him in the eye.

His expression softened slightly, lips moving upwards although it wasn’t entirely a smile. Not yet at least.

“You think I did that just because your parents asked?” he asked you, sounding somewhat amused. It wasn’t usual for Leon to be this expressive, even though now he was still barely showing any emotion.

“Yeah, why else would you do that?” You asked, still looking up at Leon. You felt his hands gently brush against the side of your neck. He wasn’t very touchy - at least, not like this. You were used to him grabbing your wrist whenever he wanted to keep you in sight, but this? “I… I wanted to dance with you.” he admitted, his words coming out with a sigh, his voice still as soft and gentle as ever.

You were puzzled by that response. Surely, he was joking. Surely, he didn’t actually mean it, he didn’t actually have feelings for you.

All your thoughts became a messy blur as you felt his lips crash against yours and pull back just as fast. His cheeks were slightly pink, he looked more embarrassed than anything.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He felt like he’d done something dirty. He was your knight, hired to protect you, not to fall for you and kiss you without at least asking first. What happened to his chivalry? Leon revoked his hand from your neck, looking down as if he were ashamed. “No, it’s fine.” You assured him, wrapping your fingers around his hand and gently guiding his hand onto your cheek. “Don’t apologize, I… I liked it.”

All these years you’d longed for a man had turned you desperate. Tonight, you’d been willing to sneak out alone in order to go see one. All this time, you’d had a man head over heels for you right in your reach. Perfectly attainable. You just didn’t realize it.

How could you? Leon was quiet and reserved. Tonight was the first time you’d seen his face change from an always annoyed one to literally any other emotion. How could you have known?

Your head was flooded with thoughts, the rational part of your brain was drowning in all the thoughts yelling at you to kiss him again. You were so, so desperate. You pulled Leon in for another kiss and felt him wrap his large arms around your waist, kissing you sloppily. Clearly, he was as desperate for you as you were for him. You pulled him onto your bed, underneath the frame with the pretty canopy, resting against the cushioned headboard.

You sat on his lap; he pulled away from the kisses and gasped. The armor he was wearing was probably the worst thing he could have a boner in. He shifted around uncomfortably and bit his bottom lip to keep himself from moaning.

“Fuck.” he grunted, out of breath.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” you asked quietly, as if you were scared your parents would hear. You knew logically they wouldn’t - their quarters were across the whole damn castle. You could moan like a slut all you wanted all night long and they’d still be resting peacefully, not a clue in the world you’d been up fucking your knight.

“I’m-I’m hard...” Leon admitted, audibly embarrassed by his situation. You pulled back a little from his lap, allowing him to pull off his bottoms desperately, tossing them aside.

Despite your room still being dim, the only light source coming from the moonlight sneaking its way in through your sheer curtains, you managed to see the large bulge in Leon’s boxers, a few tiny wet spots from some pre-cum.

Leon had been waiting to fuck you for what felt like forever. He’d been head over heels longer than he’d like to admit, and he’d spent more nights in his private bathroom pumping his cock with his fists while staring at pictures of you than he’d like to admit.

You felt yourself begin to drip in your panties at the sight. You were horny, you were so fucking horny. You hadn’t felt the touch of a man ever. At least, not like this. And you were just desperate to experience this intimacy. You longed to feel a man’s cock inside you, as embarrassing as it was to admit. Leon removed the chest plate armor on him, tearing everything off of him like a wild animal. Like he couldn’t contain how bad he wanted to fuck you. You did the same, you stripped down on your bed until you were just in panties.

You took a moment to admire Leon’s body all while he admired yours. He’d seen the outline of your body when you’d worn tight clothes in the past, but you were a thousand times sexier than he could’ve imagined. He felt his dick throb as his eyes fixated on your nipples, your pretty tits…

You’d never seen Leon in anything other than that stiff armor, so you had spent the years completely unaware that he’d been jacked this whole time. His arms were toned and muscular, not to mention his abs… where did he even get the time to work out when he spent so much of his time watching you.

“So fucking hot...” you whispered to Leon as you felt on his abs, feeling his happy trail brush against your hand. Leon let out a pathetic whine at the touch.

He stared up at you. He’d been working here to protect you. He was working with your parents; he agreed with them that he’d protect you. But he’d gotten too close to you, and now… He couldn’t help his feelings. Even though he knew he should do anything but fuck you, even though you seemed so willing for his dick, he couldn’t help himself. You were the forbidden fruit he just couldn’t resist.

Leon gently grabbed your hips, his grip on you gentler than ever. You gently grinded against him, rubbing your clothed pussy against his dick that was still restrained by his boxers.

“Oh fuck, don’t we need protection? We should use some, right? I-” Leon stuttered, his face visibly becoming more and more pink with every word that he let slip from his lips. “Fuck it, it’s fine, I just want you… I-I need this.” you stuttered out desperately. It was almost cute how desperate you two were for each other, in a pathetic way.

You peeled down the fabric of Leon’s boxers slowly, a smirk crawling on your lips as you watched his hard cock spring out excitedly, the red leaking tip desperately begging for your pussy.

You gently slid down your panties, down past your ankles before tossing them aside, not caring about where they’d land.

Leon’s face was bright pink at this point, he was resting back against the headboard as you gently stroked his cock, sizing him up mentally, imagining how good it’d feel when you finally felt this long dick inside you. Leon whimpered as he felt your soft fingers wrapped around his shaft, moving up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Please-” he gasped out, his tone abnormally whiny. He looked at you with puppy eyes, silently begging you to stop teasing and just bounce on his cock already.

You leaned closer to him and gently kissed him before positioning yourself on top of him, his tip right at your entrance. You whined as you slowly lowered yourself down, feeling his dick slowly slide between your legs. He felt incredible.

Leon was already hot and sweaty just feeling you on top of him, seeing your face contort with pleasure as you took his dick inside you.

“So… so fucking tight…” he grunted out between desperate pants and gasps for air. Leon shut his eyes as he leaned back, staring up at your ceiling as he tried adjusting to the sensation of your tight walls practically milking his cock.

You were whining loudly, not used to the sensation just yet, but after a second you managed to quiet down.

“Feels so fucking good…” You moaned quietly as you placed one hand on Leon’s cheek. You leaned back slightly and sighed, taking in a few deep breaths before beginning to push yourself up and down, bouncing on Leon’s dick.

Leon’s whimpers grew louder with each bounce; his eyes clenching shut for a few moments as you rode his dick. He was never one to be vocal in any situation, but now? He couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers that were escaping his lips. He was moaning like a whore.

God, this felt wrong. He was supposed to protect you, keep you safe for your parents, now encourage you to ride him raw. But God, it felt so right, and your parents didn’t need to know about your fun time with your little knight.

“Ah... ah… Leon...” you breathed as you kept bouncing on his cock at a steady, somewhat swift pace, your pussy desperately clutching onto his dick, not wanting this moment to even end.

Your hand moved down Leon’s cheek as you admired his beauty. His eyes were welling up with tears, ashamedly. Leon’s dick was so sensitive, he hadn’t fucked a real pussy in years, this just felt so damn good to him.

Leon moaned your name desperately as you leaned forward to kiss him, wanting to soothe his tears. “You’re doing so good… you feel so fucking good in me, Leon...” You moaned out, not bothering to quiet yourself. Leon’s eyes were glued to your chest, enjoying the way your tits bounced with each movement.

You were progressively getting louder and louder as you kept riding. Leon gripped your hips a bit tighter. “Your pussy feels amazing, baby…” Leon grunted out quietly, some tears beginning to slip as he felt his balls tighten up slightly in anticipation of an orgasm.

Poor boy had been trying to hold it in this whole time. He’d been leaking precum since you pushed him onto the bed. If he wasn’t trying to wait for you to cum with him, he would’ve come while you were stroking him.

“You’re doing this so well, ah, fuck...” he added, his eyes shutting involuntarily as you moved your hand up and down his abs, your touch was intoxicating. “You ride so damn good…” he whispered to you, his hand rubbing your side. You began bouncing a bit faster, feeling his tip occasionally brush against your spongy spot. You moved your fingers down, gently rubbing circles into your clit.

“Ah! Fuck!” you squeaked as you felt his tip finally slam against your spot, making your whole-body twitch with pleasure. Leon felt you clench around his cock, causing him to whine out as his hips involuntarily bucked up into you, his tip pressing deeper into your spot.

Leon bit his lip as he felt more tears leak, his vision blurry as he looked up at you. You wiped his tears as you kept bouncing on his dick. “So fucking good, you’re going to make me cum, you feel so good…” you breathed.

“Fuck… so tight, so wet, so perfect I- I’m gonna cum..!” Leon gasped out, his hips thrusting up involuntarily and beginning to stutter as he watched you squirm. You leaned your head back, squealing desperately as you felt yourself peak, squirting warm juices all over his abdomen. Your head was fuzzy, and you were dizzy in the aftermath of your orgasm. God, you didn’t even know you could squirt. Who knew Leon’s dick was all it took?

Leon tightened his grip on your hips, forcing you down and still as he came, releasing his hot seed deep inside you. He sat there for a few moments before finally relaxing back down onto the bed as you pulled off of him, his cum dripping from between your legs.

“Oh, fuck, baby… I should’ve pulled out, ‘m so sorry…” Leon said quietly as he gently rubbed your back.

“It’s fine…” you assured him, your lips gently pressing against his neck as you rested against him. You were both sweaty, laying together in your bed as you pulled over the fluffy comforters to cover up your guys’ nude bodies.

God, your parents would be pissed if they found out. If they knew the man they hired to protect their precious kid, heir to the throne, had fucked them raw in their bed in the castle they all lived in. And they’d be upset at you, too, for developing a relationship with someone that wasn’t arranged. The other staff would talk. The knights would be shocked that one of them had been so bold to do such a thing. The maids wouldn’t be happy having to clean up your bed.

But right now, that didn’t matter. All that mattered to you was lying down next to a man who loved you; something you’d been wanting for forever.

#resident evil #fanfiction #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy #{¬ºཀ°}¬ z writes ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #fluff #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut

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ayrtonswnna · 1 day ago

Text

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀GOOD BOY oscar piastri smut

⠀⠀⠀⠀my masterlist | requests are open! | more oscar!

+18. MDNI | wc: 2,6K. ─── oscar gets home knowing exactly what he wants. his girlfriend does too.

› oscar piastri x dalilah bartocci (female!oc)

› warnings: stabilished relationship, p in v, sub!oscar!!!! soft dom!oc, use of toys, overstimulation, a whole lot of praising, sweet puppy behavior from oscar.

Different couples have different dynamics. Dalilah and Oscar, for example, could switch positions in bed as easily as he does behind the wheel of a racing car.

Today is one of Oscar's favorite days.

He usually sets things off very easily, and it's just as easy for his girlfriend to catch the signal. The Aussie drops his bag right by the door, toes off his sneakers with lazy kicks, and climbs onto the couch, where Dalilah lays sprawled on her back, scrolling through TikToks.

The soft mess of her dyed curls glows in the screen’s reflection as he squeezes himself between her arms, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck, rubbing his nose all over her skin until she lets out a little hum.

"Hello, baby," she coos, the soft tone in her voice enough to send chills racing down his spine — but what really gets him is the slow sweep of her hand up and down his back. "You okay?"

"Yup," he mutters, muffled against her neck. "You smell so good..."

That's his way of asking for it.

Body rubbing against the Italian girl, breath slow and warm against her skin like the brush of a feather.

"Thanks, babyboy," Dalilah murmurs, and Oscar replies with a soft, pitiful whine.

He loves pet names. Babyboy, good boy, darling... Any of them could turn him pink-cheeked and bashful in a heartbeat.

"Tough day, huh? You seem tense," she teases gently, thin fingers tracing lazy lines across his muscles, pausing at the waistband of his pants before gliding back up the nape of his neck. A slow, promising little touch — the kind that could set the whole night spinning.

"A bit," he rasps, voice low and thick with that husky Aussie lilt, almost purring like a spoiled cat. "You fine?"

"I'm great, actually. Called Mom today, she asked about you," Dalilah answers, curling his light strands between her fingers. "Dad’s excited to see you race."

"Dad gets more excited than I do," Oscar jokes, a small grin pulling at his lips. "Did you book the hotel rooms?"

They're comfortable enough now — long enough together to call each other’s parents Mom and Dad, long enough that sprawled over each other like this, half-talking, half-touching, feels as natural as breathing.

The conversation is barely a prelude, a lazy dance before what they both know is about to happen.

"Yeah, everything’s sorted. It’s going to be a good weekend," she promises.

Oscar wishes he had the focus to care about the details, but Dalilah’s fingers are back at the nape of his neck, not just caressing this time — squeezing, softly, firmly, sending sparks racing down his spine.

A needy sound breaks from his throat before he can stop it. His body moves without thinking, grinding against her subtly, desperately — as if close will never be close enough.

"In need of something, babe?" she whispers against his ear, sweet and dangerous all at once.

Oscar nods into her skin, almost frantic, but it isn’t words he finds — just a breathy, needy little noise that has Dalilah smiling against the crown of his head.

“Oh, baby.” she murmurs, shifting under him, coaxing him to lay flat on the couch. He follows without hesitation, body pliant, breath shallow. “You're always so good for me.”

He barely catches the kiss she presses to his forehead before she’s slipping out from under him, leaving a sudden, shivering emptiness behind. A little whimper punches from his chest, but she’s already padding away down the hall, hips swaying in that easy, lethal way she knows he watches.

"Stay there," Dalilah tosses over her shoulder, soft but leaving no room for argument. Oscar grips the couch cushions with his hands, knuckles white, biting his lip.

When she returns, she’s carrying the box.

The box that has Oscar blinking up at her, cheeks already heating before anything even touches him.

Dalilah sets it down with a soft thud beside the couch. Her fingers skim his jaw, his chest, trailing lazy circles until she can feel how fast his heart is hammering.

“All for you tonight, babyboy." she hums, pulling a couple of items free — a silky tie, a sleek little bullet vibrator, a small bottle of lube. Nothing too cruel. Not tonight.

Oscar shifts, trying not to rut up into the air like some desperate thing, but Dalilah sees it anyway. She always sees.

“Patience,” she chides lightly, straddling his hips in a single, smooth movement. She can feel him — hot, hard, throbbing beneath her — even through his jeans. Poor boy’s probably been half-hard since the second he walked through the door.

"You gonna be good for me, baby?" she coos, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Yes,” Oscar chokes out, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Dalilah hums approvingly, catching his wrists and bringing them up over his head. She doesn't tie them — not yet. Just holds them there, pinning him with the weight of her body and the unbearable tenderness of her gaze.

"You don't have to think about anything, sweetheart," she whispers, kissing his temple. "Just let me."

Oscar whines again, helpless, almost writhing under her. His eyes flutter shut, then open wide when he feels her pop the button of his jeans and drag the zipper down agonizingly slow.

She's unfair. She's devastating. She's everything.

Before he can beg, before he can even formulate a thought, Dalilah has his cock freed, leaking, twitching in the cool air. She strokes him once, twice — light, teasing, nowhere near enough — and smiles when his hips stutter up into her touch.

"So sensitive," she murmurs, clearly delighted.

Without warning, the slick tip of the bullet vibrator presses to the head of his cock, sending a violent shudder through his entire body.

Oscar gasps, back arching, fists clenching in the empty air above him.

Dalilah shushes him sweetly, curling over him like a soft, beautiful trap. "It's ok, baby. I'm going to make you feel really good, hum?"

Oscar is trembling already, bright pink blooming across his cheeks, his chest, the tips of his ears. He tries to be good, he really does, but he can’t help the tiny sob that escapes when she toys with the speed settings — higher, then back down, never enough to let him fully slip over.

"That’s it," she whispers, pressing little kisses along his jawline, his throat. Now in a steady speed of the vibrator as she presses it fully into the tip of his cock, a brand new gasp coming out of her boyfriend's lips as she allows him to come.

"Such a good boy for me."

He nods desperately, tears prickling his lashes now, pleasure burning too hot under his skin. She doesn't stop, knows his body too well. Knows exactly how to keep him just on that knife's edge — trembling, whimpering, pliant.

Dalilah slides her free hand down, wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing gently in time with the vibrations. "You can take it, can't you? My strong boy."

He's sensitive, riding the same orgasm.

"Y-yeah," Oscar sobs, his hips jerking helplessly under her.

Dalilah smiles — soft, proud, wicked.

She knows he’s close again. She knows exactly what she's doing.

And she’s not even close to done with him yet.

Oscar's whole body trembles under her, muscles straining with the effort to hold back, to be good, to earn every drop of the praise spilling from her lips.

Dalilah leans down, mouth brushing over his ear, voice a velvet threat.

"We're not ready for another one, alright? Wait for me, don't come yet."

A whimper. A broken sound.

He shakes his head rapidly, squeezing his thighs together, hips jerking against her grip and the incessant, cruel little vibrator still buzzing right over the slit of his cock.

"Good boy," she coos, dragging her nails lightly down his chest, watching him shiver and twitch like a livewire under her touch. "You’re doing so well, baby. I know it's hard. You're so sensitive already, aren't you?"

He nods frantically, gasping when she barely drags the vibrator down along the underside of his cock, featherlight and devastating.

"You’re gonna give me everything tonight, Oscar," Dalilah promises, voice still soft, still so fucking tender it breaks something in him. "Every little piece of you."

The words hit him harder than any hand could. His head falls back against the cushions, a wrecked, breathless sound tumbling from his throat. His cock leaks helplessly against her hand, and Dalilah smiles like he’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

"Such a mess already," she croons, moving down, settling between his spread thighs like a queen surveying her kingdom. "And I haven't even tasted you yet."

Oscar lets out a broken sob, his hands twitching above his head, desperate to touch her, to ground himself, to do anything.

But Dalilah only taps the inside of his thigh, sharp enough to snap his attention back.

"No touching, babyboy," she chides sweetly. "Good boys don't touch unless they're told."

He moans — fucking moans — like the perfect little thing he is.

Dalilah rewards him with a kiss to the leaking head of his cock, tongue flicking out to taste him, slow and deliberate. She hums approvingly, like he's the sweetest treat, the most perfect meal she could have asked for.

And then — because she’s merciful but still mean — she wraps her lips around him just enough to make him keen.

Oscar bucks up instinctively, eyes squeezing shut, thighs trembling under the effort to stay still, to stay good.

Dalilah pulls back with a wet pop, laughing quietly at his desperation.

"You’re close, aren't you, sweetheart?" she purrs, stroking him with the hand not holding the vibrator. "I can feel it. Feel you twitching. Trying so hard for me."

He nods again, too far gone to speak.

Dalilah tilts her head, studying him like something precious and pathetic all at once.

"You want to come, don't you, baby?"

"Please," Oscar gasps out, voice wrecked.

Dalilah smiles, all teeth, and taps his flushed cock lightly with the vibrator, making him jolt and sob.

"You deserve it, right? Come for me, Osc." she says sweetly.

Another sob, another frantic nod. And there he is, like it was all he needed. His body flicker slightly to the side the mess done all over his flesh, his girlfriend's hands and his brain. No words, just whines and his skin only in brighter tones of red.

She leans in, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his cock, pressing her tongue hard into that one spot that makes him twitch so violently it knocks the breath out of him. Oversensitive, still feeling everything from the last orgasm. Dalilah licks him clean, holding his thighs in place.

And then she pulls back again — leaving him trembling, desperate, falling apart right there on the couch.

"One more, baby," she whispers, crawling up to straddle him again, slipping out of her own clothes with lazy, unbothered grace. "You can give me one more, can't you?"

Oscar nods — tears leaking from the corners of his eyes now — wrecked and beautiful and so perfectly obedient.

Dalilah smiles, sinking down onto him in one slow, agonizing movement, taking him in to the hilt without a single stutter.

Oscar cries out, hips jerking helplessly.

She’s so wet, so tight around him, and he’s so close yet again he might black out.

Dalilah leans down, kissing the tears from his cheeks, rocking her hips in lazy, slow circles.

"There we go," she murmurs against his mouth. "Such a good boy. My good boy."

Oscar sobs again, hands fisting the cushions, trying — failing — to hold back.

And Dalilah just rides him — slow, sweet, devastating — until he finally breaks apart under her, coming with a wrecked, gasping cry, his whole body convulsing under the soft, brutal sweetness of her hands and mouth and voice.

And even then — even when he thinks he’s given her everything — Dalilah just smiles and whispers:

"That's it, baby. That's one more. Now be good and give me another."

Oscar's body is still twitching, every nerve ending raw and sizzling from the orgasm she dragged out of him. He’s so far gone he can barely catch his breath, still buried deep inside her, cock pulsing weakly even though he’s already spent.

Dalilah gives him a moment — a single, generous moment — to gasp against her shoulder.

Then she shifts her hips again, grinding down onto him, slow and merciless, her walls still fluttering and squeezing around him, dragging every last shred of sensation from his overstimulated cock.

Oscar sobs into her skin, hands gripping uselessly at the couch cushions.

"Dalilah," he whines, voice shredded.

"I know, baby," she croons, voice sugar-sweet. She kisses his temple, trailing her fingers down his heaving chest, nails raking lightly over his trembling stomach. "I know it's a lot. You're doing so good for me."

She rocks her hips again, deeper this time, and Oscar lets out a broken, beautiful sound — somewhere between a gasp and a moan — that makes Dalilah throb around him.

"You're gonna take it, aren't you?" she whispers, grinding down harder, panting now against his ear. "Gonna let me come all over this pretty cock? You can be strong for me, can't you, babyboy?"

Oscar nods frantically, tears streaking his flushed cheeks, wrecked beyond words, beyond thought — just raw obedience and need.

Dalilah smiles against his mouth, still moving with agonizing slowness, using his overstimulated body for her own pleasure, chasing her orgasm ruthlessly now.

"Good," she breathes. "Be good and let me use you, sweetheart. Just a little more."

She circles her hips again, faster, chasing that perfect drag of his cock against her swollen, desperate walls, the slippery, messy slide of him making her gasp aloud. Oscar sobs helplessly under her, his body jerking and twitching, cock still rock-hard inside her despite the tears running down his face.

"So good," she pants, voice breaking apart with pleasure. "You’re so fucking good, baby — you take it so well — make me feel so fucking good —"

Dalilah shudders hard, hips stuttering. She buries her face in his neck, biting down just hard enough to make him whimper — and then she comes, body clenching around him in long, rolling waves, dragging another broken, shuddering orgasm from Oscar with it.

He cries out underneath her, whole body locking up as he spills into her again, trembling and sobbing from the overstimulation.

Dalilah rides it out, grinding and gasping through the aftershocks, holding him down, owning every fucking second of his collapse.

And when she finally slows, finally lets up, she kisses him — open-mouthed, messy, filthy — tasting his tears and his pleasure all mixed together.

"That's it," she whispers against his lips. "You did so good for me, my love. So, so good."

Oscar just whimpers, eyes fluttering, chest heaving like he’s run a fucking marathon.

Dalilah slowly, gently lifts herself off him, careful with his hypersensitive cock, kissing every inch of skin she can reach as she moves.

"Shh, shh, babyboy," she soothes, pressing kisses to his burning cheeks, his wet eyelashes. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

She disappears for a moment, and he makes a broken little sound at the loss — but then she’s back, draping a warm, soft blanket over him, easing him down into the cushions.

Dalilah wipes his face with the gentlest touch, cleaning the mess between his thighs with a warm cloth, whispering little praises the whole time.

"My beautiful boy," she murmurs, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead. "You were perfect for me."

Oscar just clings to her, still whimpering softly, completely wrecked, completely hers.

She kisses his forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth.

"I’m so proud of you, darling," she whispers. "You gave me everything. You’re my favorite thing in the world."

Oscar lets out a little, broken laugh — half-sob, half-love-drunk — and nuzzles into her, breathing her in like air.

Dalilah just holds him, stroking his hair, rocking him slowly back and forth under the blanket until his breathing evens out again.

And even then — even when his eyes finally drift closed — she doesn't stop whispering to him:

"I love you. I’ve got you. Always."

#oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri smut #sub oscar piastri #sub!oscar piastri #oscar piastri x oc #oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri x reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #imagine #oscar piastri #mclaren imagine #mclaren racing

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ryuyejiho · 2 days ago

Text

"Yours again" Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Smut Summary: Once lovers, then strangers. Now — even with someone else by her side — they're finding their way back. Word Count: 1.7k

I was lounging on a sunbed by the pool, lazily sipping on my drink. Soft chillout music played somewhere in the background while the warm breeze toyed with my hair.

Without thinking too much, I snapped a photo — my legs stretched out against the backdrop of the turquoise water, a sliver of the pool... and completely by accident, part of Jungkook's tattooed arm as he stepped forward in the water.

I didn't even notice. Honestly.

I posted the picture on Instagram and tossed my phone aside. It was supposed to be innocent. Just another vacation snapshot.

Minutes later, my phone started vibrating like crazy. The calm was shattered by an endless flood of notifications.

I picked it up.

"Who is that?!"

"Whose arm is that?!"

"ANSWER ME NOW."

Texts from my boyfriend blew up my screen, one after another, getting angrier by the second.

"Are you hiding something from me?!"

"Who the hell are you with?!"

"You think I'm stupid?!"

The phone kept ringing, notifications popping up nonstop. I let out an annoyed sigh.

Jungkook, leaning against the edge of the pool with his drink almost empty, raised an eyebrow at me.

"Someone's losing it," he said with a smirk, but there was a darkness behind his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago.

I scrolled through a few more messages, each more frantic than the last.

"Where are you?"

"Why aren't you picking up?"

"If you don't answer, I swear I'll fly there and find you myself."

I scoffed under my breath.

"I can't believe I ever let him treat me like this," I muttered, tossing my phone down onto the pool tiles like it was nothing.

"He doesn't even deserve to know your name," Jungkook said, his voice low and rough. "Let alone have any claim on you. Why the hell are you still with him?"

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes for a second. Jungkook didn't push, just watched me with that intense, half-lidded gaze.

Jeon was my ex. Someone I shouldn't have been anywhere near. And yet — here we were. No promises, no grand declarations. Just stolen glances and small touches that said more than words ever could.

No one knew about us. And honestly? That was fine.

My "current boyfriend" — if I could even call him that anymore — was just a ghost in my life. All that was left between us was fights and his sick jealousy. He treated me like property. Like something to control, even when he knew he couldn't keep me.

I heard Jungkook climb out of the pool, the sound of dripping water hitting the hot tiles.

Then I felt his fingers ghost over my bare shoulder, slow and deliberate.

I didn't look at him — I didn't need to. His touch told me everything. Anger. Lust. The desperate need to remind me who I belonged to.

"Maybe I should remind you who really sees you... who actually treats you like you deserve," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear.

A shiver ran down my spine. Not from fear — never from fear.

I turned my head, meeting his gaze.

"Show me," I said, voice steady.

He didn't hesitate. He grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet.

The sunlight danced across the water, but all I could feel was the heat radiating off Jungkook's body standing so close to mine.

"You already have everything you need," he murmured, his hand sliding down to my hip, gripping it firmly enough to make me gasp.

"You're not his anymore," he added, like it was a simple, undeniable truth.

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

My heart was racing, and my body — my body had already chosen long before my mind could catch up.

Jungkook's fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me flush against him, closing the last sliver of distance between us.

"You have nothing left to lose," he growled, his breath hot against my skin.

And instead of replying, I kissed him.

Our bodies crashed together like waves under a burning sun, the heat between us making the world blur at the edges.

There was something in his eyes — not just dominance, but a flicker of something softer, something raw. Like he wasn't just claiming me. He was begging me to let him.

Our breakup had never been clean.

It wasn't a final conversation or a huge fight — just silence stretching longer and longer until the space between us became impossible to cross. His career took off, he was gone more than he was home, and then he left for the military.

he birthday party of our mutual friend was the moment when we started talking again.

We were supposed to be rebuilding a friendship.

Instead, we ended up rebuilding something very, very different — in his bed.

Now, his lips crashed into mine, rough and desperate, like all those buried feelings were too much to hold back anymore.

"Don't go," he snarled against my mouth, hands anchoring me in place like he was afraid I'd vanish.

He kissed me harder, messier, rawer, like we had wasted too much time pretending we didn't still belong to each other.

"Fuck this," he growled. "Fuck your boyfriend. Fuck pretending. Fuck hiding."

Before I could say anything, he grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the hotel.

We didn't care who saw. Not anymore.

My heart thundered against my ribs, adrenaline and desire sparking electric under my skin.

As soon as the elevator door slammed shut behind us, Jungkook pushed me against the wall and kissed me like a man starved.

His hands roamed down my body, yanking at the strings of my swimsuit like they were nothing more than annoyances in his way.

"You were never his," he hissed against my skin. "You were always mine."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. He already knew.

The door clicked shut behind us with a heavy sound.

And then he spun me around, pinning me to the wall with a force that stole my breath.

His hands slid possessively down my hips, tearing at the fragile ties of my swimsuit like they offended him by even existing.

I felt his hot breath against my neck, ragged and shaky.

"I've had you before," he growled, freeing himself with one hand while still holding me captive against the wall. "But now? I need you even more."

I braced my forehead against the cool wall, trying to steady my breathing — but then he thrust into me in one hard, brutal move.

A helpless moan tore from my throat.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, gripping my hips even tighter.

He moved fast, rough, relentless — but there was something new in the way he touched me.

Something raw. Something desperate.

"My girl... mine," he whispered, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my neck, leaving behind marks, proof, branding me.

My hands scraped against the wall, searching for something to hold onto as his pace became merciless.

His hand slid up to my throat, holding me there, a soft but undeniable reminder of exactly who I belonged to.

"No one else will touch you," he growled, voice dark and low. "No one else will even fucking look at you."

I felt him bite down on my neck, a fierce mark blooming under his teeth. A mark everyone would see. A mark that would scream to the world that I was his.

"I want everyone to know you're mine. I don't care about hiding. I don't care about anything but you," he hissed, every sharp thrust of his hips driving the words deeper into my bones.

Then, without warning, he spun me around to face him.

I sagged against the wall, legs trembling, heart hammering against my ribs.

Jungkook stared at me — wild, intense, something dark and something tender swirling in those deep, dark eyes.

Before I could catch my breath, he lifted me up, forcing my legs around his waist.

He carried me to the bed, throwing me down onto the soft sheets.

He didn't give me time to think.

He was on top of me instantly, his hands mapping every inch of my body like he was trying to memorize me, claim me all over again.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he murmured, voice low and ragged.

Before I could even form a reply, he was inside me again — deeper, rougher, more desperate.

Our bodies moved together in a rhythm that was frantic, messy, real — like all the time we lost had finally caught up to us.

His forehead pressed against mine, sweat mingling between us, and in his eyes I saw everything.

Not just lust.

Love. Longing. Regret. Hope.

Everything we had lost and everything we were still too scared to name.

He cupped my face with one hand, kissed me so fiercely it felt like the world might end — and I didn't care if it did.

Because right now, there was only him.

Only us.

When we finally shattered together, it felt like the world tilted off its axis.

We stayed there, tangled up, breathing in the same rhythm.

He didn't move. Just held me tighter, like he was afraid if he let go, I'd disappear.

"You're not going anywhere," he whispered against my temple, his voice sure and steady.

He rolled us onto our sides, pulling me close against his chest.

His hands roamed my body, never staying still, like he needed the constant reassurance that I was really there.

But it was his gaze that seared into me most of all.

I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, his hand slid up to cup the back of my neck, forcing me to meet his eyes.

They burned into mine, raw, aching, desperate.

"Fuck pretending," he growled. "Fuck acting like I don't love you."

My heart stopped for a beat.

Jungkook didn't look away. Didn't flinch.

He just held my gaze, waiting.

I didn't say it back.

I didn't need to.

He already knew.

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #smut bts #bts smut #bts #kpop #kpop reactions #smut kpop #kpop scenarios #bts jungkook #bts imagines #bts reactions #kpop smut #smut

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charlieg1rl · 1 day ago

Text

(✮⋆˙‬) ─── high tension

lines blur and tension finally snaps, pulling you and jisung into something reckless, heated, and long overdue. in the thick of smoke and low murmurs, nothing feels uncertain anymore—only inevitable.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. charlies note: OKAY this is a long time coming, maybe a months time ? but its finally here !! 4.3k words

warnings : VERY suggestive

back to library | req? yes / no

you never expected to be this familiar with your dealer.

at first, it was just a business arrangement—a text when you needed something, a quick exchange, and then you’d both go on with your lives. han jisung was well-known on campus for two things: having the best weed and being absolutely insufferable. his reputation preceded him. everyone said he was funny, maybe a little too chatty, but reliable. which was all that mattered.

your first deal was simple. a friend had given you his number with nothing but, “jisung’s got the best. just text him.” so, you did.

you: hey. chris gave me your number. jisung: either you’re looking for an existential crisis or some quality bud. which one is it? you: second one. jisung: nice. meet me outside the library in 10.

that was the start of it. nothing special. just a clean transaction. except jisung had a way of making even the most basic interaction feel like an event. “first-time customer discount,” he had said, grinning as he passed you a carefully packed bag. “because i’m generous.” you rolled your eyes but took the deal. and that should’ve been it.

except it wasn’t.

now, somehow, he texts you first.

jisung: yo. got some new stuff. fresh, just for you. discount included, 'cause i'm generous like that. you: are you seriously running a customer loyalty program? jisung: obviously. you’re a vip now.

what started as casual transactions turned into late-night conversations on his beat-up couch, the smell of weed and ramen mixing in the air as he ranted about music and you ranted about life. at first, he was just the guy you went to when you needed to take the edge off. but now? now, he’s showing up at your apartment with food. now, he’s making sure you get home safe from parties. now, he’s your favorite part of the week.

and that’s when you realize: you might be getting addicted. and not to the weed.

it hits you in the middle of a tuesday night when jisung shows up at your door, a plastic bag in one hand and an unlit joint between his lips.

“you look like you need this,” he says by way of greeting, wiggling the bag.

you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “what gave it away?”

“the fact that you texted me three times in the past hour.”

you scoff. “i was just asking questions.”

he steps inside without invitation, already making himself at home as he kicks off his sneakers. “questions like ‘are you awake?’ ‘where are you?’ ‘why do you take so long to reply?’”

“you do take forever to reply.”

jisung plops onto your couch, making himself comfortable. “i was rolling.”

you snort, locking the door behind him. “rolling what?”

“guess.”

you shake your head and drop onto the couch next to him. he pulls out a container of takeout, handing it to you like it’s second nature.

“you brought food?”

“yeah. thought you might need something to soak up the smoke,” he says, finally lighting the joint. he takes a slow drag, then holds it out to you. “want?”

you take it, but don’t smoke just yet. instead, you watch him exhale, the soft glow of the cherry illuminating his face in the dim light of your living room. it’s strangely intimate. more than it should be.

“jisung.”

he turns his head to you, lazily raising a brow. “yeah?”

you hesitate, then take a hit. the smoke burns in your lungs before you release it. “never mind.”

he watches you for a second longer, then smirks. “you sure?”

no. not at all.

the air between you shifts after that night.

jisung still shows up unannounced, still texts you about new strains like he’s running a startup, still steals your leftovers when you’re too high to fight him for them. but now, there’s something else. a tension neither of you fully acknowledge but both of you feel.

it’s in the way he lingers when he hands you a joint, fingers brushing yours for a second too long. in the way his gaze drops to your lips when you inhale, watching the way they part, the way your chest rises and falls. it’s in the way he sits just a little closer, his knee knocking into yours like it’s an accident.

one night, you’re both sprawled on his couch, passing a blunt back and forth as some old-school hip-hop plays in the background. you’re not even sure whose playlist is on anymore.

jisung stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. he catches you looking and grins. “like what you see?”

you scoff, taking the blunt from his fingers. “in your dreams.”

his grin widens. “you are in my dreams.”

your heart stumbles. he says it so casually, like it’s not a big deal. like he’s not just admitted something that makes your stomach twist into knots.

you cover it up with a laugh, exhaling smoke in his direction. “sounds like a personal problem.”

jisung doesn’t respond immediately. instead, he watches you, head tilted like he’s deciding something.

then, suddenly, he leans in.

your breath catches. he’s close—closer than he’s ever been. his eyes flicker to your lips, and for a second, you think he’s actually going to do it.

then, at the last moment, he pulls back with a smirk. “you blinked first.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “you’re an idiot.”

“and yet,” he says, plucking the blunt from your fingers, “you keep me around.”

you don’t have an answer for that. or maybe, you do, but you’re not ready to say it out loud.

without warning, he reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a small packet.

“here,” he says, tossing it into your lap.

you pick it up, eyebrows furrowing as you inspect the package. mango-infused rolling papers.

your lips part in surprise. “what—”

“figured you’d like them,” he interrupts, lighting another joint of his own. “said you liked the smell of mangos once.”

you don’t remember saying that. but he does.

something warm blooms in your chest. you trace the edge of the package with your thumb, an unfamiliar feeling creeping in beneath the usual haze of smoke.

jisung exhales, watching you closely. “you gonna roll one, or just stare at it?”

you shake your head, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “shut up, han.”

he grins. “make me.”

and just like that, the tension coils tighter.

the next few times jisung comes over, the tension keeps building, but it’s always there in the back of your mind: am i imagining this?

at first, it’s subtle. a lingering touch as he passes you a joint. his gaze a little too long when you laugh at something he said. but you’re probably just reading too much into it. after all, he’s han jisung. the guy who makes a joke out of everything, who treats every moment like it’s a bit for his own personal comedy show.

so, when he texts you one evening, “yo, got something new for you tonight. think you’ll like it,” your heart doesn’t skip a beat. it doesn’t, really. except maybe it does.

he shows up late, as usual, with his usual lazy grin and a bag that smells like something distinctly new. but instead of the quick exchange you’ve grown used to, he lingers a little longer at your door this time, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

you clear your throat, feeling heat creep up your neck. “you’re staring.”

“i’m not staring,” he says, but his voice is low, an edge to it you haven’t quite heard before. “just thinking.”

“about what?”

he shrugs but there’s something unspoken between you, something that hangs thick in the air. something you can’t quite place.

“do you ever wonder,” he starts, his fingers brushing yours as he hands you the joint, “if we’re more than what we pretend to be?”

you frown, heart stuttering in your chest. “what do you mean?”

jisung just gives you that smirk. “you tell me.”

you swallow hard, trying to ignore the feeling curling in your stomach. you’re not sure if he’s joking or being serious, and honestly, you don’t want to know. because the thought that he might actually mean something makes you feel something that’s far too complicated to unpack right now.

instead, you change the subject. “you’re an idiot,” you say, taking the joint from him.

he chuckles, but this time it doesn’t feel like the easy, playful laughter you’re used to. there’s something else there. something that makes you doubt yourself even more.

the next night, you're sitting on your couch, the glow of the tv flickering softly, when jisung knocks on the door again. your stomach tightens before you can stop it, the familiar feeling of his presence throwing you off balance.

he steps inside, holding a bottle of wine and that same lazy grin. “you ever smoked with wine?” he asks, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

you raise an eyebrow. “that’s a thing?”

“anything’s a thing if you’re willing to try it,” he shrugs, and his eyes are on you—just a little too long.

and just like that, you’re caught in another moment, wondering if you’ve imagined it all.

you keep your focus on the wine, on the rolling papers, on anything other than the way your heart seems to beat just a little too fast every time he looks at you.

but it’s definitely just in your head. right?

when you’re both sitting on the floor, half a bottle of wine gone, rolling yet another joint, something shifts. your fingers brush as you take the paper from him, and this time, neither of you pull away. it’s not an accident.

jisung’s gaze flickers down to your lips again, and this time, he doesn’t look away. “i think i like this,” he says quietly.

you look up at him, confusion swirling in your chest. “the wine or the company?”

he pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “both.”

the words linger in the air between you two, heavy and loaded with something you can’t quite name. but you know it’s there, just beneath the surface, waiting.

you laugh, more out of nervousness than anything else. “you’re ridiculous.”

but inside, your heart’s pounding, and the only thing you can think of is the question you’ve been too afraid to ask: is he flirting with me? or am i just imagining it?

the wine’s long gone, and so is the joint you’ve been passing between you two, the air thick with smoke and something else you can’t place. jisung’s on his third one, and you’re starting to feel the warmth spreading through your limbs. but in this moment, something’s different.

for the first time in a while, the haze doesn’t make you forget everything—it sharpens things. your thoughts, your awareness. your feelings.

you’re both sitting a little closer than usual, and you can’t help but notice the way his eyes flicker over your face, the way his lips quirk into that teasing grin that’s beginning to feel a little less playful, a little more… personal.

he catches you looking, and for a moment, the space between you feels too small.

you pull the joint back to your lips, your fingers brushing against his again as you do. this time, it’s impossible to pretend it’s an accident.

jisung leans back into the couch, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. “you ever realize how much clearer everything feels when you’re high?” he asks, looking over at you.

you blink at him, feeling strangely attuned to his presence in the dim light. “clearer?” you repeat, your words coming out a little slower than you intend.

he shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. “yeah. it’s like all the noise in my head clears out, and i can actually think about stuff. like, really think about stuff.” his gaze flickers to you, just briefly. “i guess when you’re high, the sober thoughts don’t seem so hidden anymore.”

you blink again, his words cutting through your own haze. high words and actions are sober thoughts, you realize, the thought hitting you with a strange clarity you hadn’t anticipated.

it’s almost like the high is making the things you both never say, the things you both dance around, impossible to ignore anymore. maybe that’s why the air feels charged, maybe that’s why every time your eyes meet, there’s that pull, like something is about to snap.

“you ever think about stuff, jisung?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended. you feel almost nervous now, the blunt between your fingers nothing but a prop for the words you can’t seem to stop from spilling out. “i mean… really think about it.”

he turns his head slowly, catching your gaze with a serious look, his voice dropping low. “yeah,” he says softly. “i think about you.”

the words are simple, but they hit harder than they should. you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. the room feels too warm now, your mind scrambling to process what he’s said. it’s one thing to joke around, but this—this feels different.

you laugh, but it comes out breathless, more to cover the sudden weight of his words than anything else. “you’re such a jerk.”

he smiles, but there’s no teasing in it now. “you think i’m joking?”

the air between you is thick with tension, thick with something that’s become impossible to ignore. the weight of your unspoken thoughts hangs in the air like smoke, swirling and curling around you, suffocating you.

“i don’t know,” you reply honestly, feeling the truth of your own words more than you want to. “i think i might be imagining it.”

jisung doesn’t say anything at first. he just watches you, and for a second, you wonder if maybe he’s reconsidering saying what he just did. but then he leans in slightly, his eyes still locked onto yours, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t think you are.”

your heart skips a beat, and you look away, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting. you wish you could just laugh it off, like you always do with him. but this time, it’s different.

high words and actions are sober thoughts, and right now, you’re both too sober to ignore what’s brewing between you two.

the silence that falls between you both is thick, heavier than any haze that’s filled the room. it’s like the air’s been sucked out, and all that’s left is this palpable tension, the kind that lingers in the space between two people who almost say what they’re really thinking, but don’t quite dare.

jisung shifts on the couch, his body so close to yours now you can feel the warmth radiating off him. it makes the room feel even smaller, more intimate than you’re ready for. you fight the urge to look at him, your eyes glued to the floor, trying to distract yourself with anything that isn’t the way he’s breathing just a little deeper than usual.

“so,” you say, your voice a little higher than it should be, a weak attempt at breaking the silence, “you were saying something about sober thoughts?”

his lips curl into that familiar, cocky grin, the one that usually makes your heart race. but tonight, it’s different. tonight, it feels like he’s just about ready to say something that’ll change everything.

“yeah,” he mutters, eyes still on you, tracing the curve of your cheek with his gaze. “i was thinking… maybe we’re both just too good at pretending we don’t know what’s going on here.”

you’re not sure if it’s the wine, the weed, or maybe just the way his words sink deep into your chest, but you finally meet his gaze. the air crackles between you as his eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to your eyes, an almost imperceptible shift in his posture. your heart skips, and you can��t decide if it’s the anxiety or the adrenaline that’s making your palms sweat.

“pretending?” you repeat, the word hanging in the air like smoke. you know exactly what he’s talking about. the tension—it’s been there for weeks now, building and building with every touch, every glance. but hearing him say it out loud somehow makes it all too real.

“yeah,” jisung says quietly, his voice almost like a confession, “pretending like we don’t know we’re both walking around this whole time pretending we don’t want to… do something about it.”

your pulse quickens, and you can feel the heat rising to your face. you want to respond, but your mind’s a tangled mess of thoughts that don’t seem to make sense. you’re high, but you’ve never felt so aware of everything happening around you—of every little shift in his expression, every tiny change in the way he’s looking at you.

and then, without thinking, without even realizing you’re doing it, you close the space between you. one hand moves to his chest—tentative, unsure—and the other touches his shoulder. your breath hitches in your throat as his gaze drops to your lips again, and just like that, the world seems to slow down.

you’re about to kiss him.

no, you tell yourself, but your body doesn’t listen. you can’t stop it. you don’t want to stop it.

jisung’s breath comes a little faster now, his eyes searching yours, like he’s looking for some kind of permission, some kind of answer to the question neither of you has asked out loud. he leans in just a fraction more, and then he stops, waiting for you to make the move.

you can’t breathe. the tension is unbearable, and you know this could change everything. this could be the moment where everything shifts from playful teasing to something much deeper.

but instead of kissing him, you pull back, just enough to catch your breath. “are we really doing this right now?” your voice cracks, betraying the mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside you.

jisung’s lips twitch in the beginning of a smile, and he leans back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “no. we’re just talking about it.”

you blink in confusion. “talking about it?”

“yeah,” he says, his grin widening. “you’re not ready for that, huh?”

your chest tightens, heart racing. you stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s teasing or serious. but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s not the usual cocky, playful look. it’s something deeper. something that makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall but unsure if you should.

“why are you doing this, jisung?” you ask, the question escaping before you can stop it. you need to understand—because you don’t know what’s real anymore, and what’s just the high talking.

he doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he leans forward again, his voice low. “maybe i’m doing this because i can’t stop thinking about you.”

the words hit harder than you expect, a weight settling deep in your chest.

the room is silent again. the weight of the unspoken words hangs in the air, heavy and pregnant with possibility.

and suddenly, it feels like the only thing you can do is lean in again.

this time, you don’t stop.

you kiss him.

it’s tentative at first, a slow, almost unsure press of lips. but then, just like the way the tension between you two has been building for weeks, the kiss deepens. it’s more than just an answer—it’s the release of everything you’ve both been holding back. his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if trying to close the gap that’s been lingering between you both for far too long.

the warmth of his lips sends a jolt through your body, your heart pounding in your chest. you taste the remnants of the wine on his breath, the faint sweetness mingling with the earthy flavor of the weed. the combination is dizzying, a mix of flavors and sensations that blur everything around you.

and it’s all so natural. it feels right.

you pull away for a second, breathless, to catch your bearings. you’re not sure how to process this, how to make sense of the rush of emotions flooding your chest. but jisung doesn’t give you time to think.

his lips are on yours again, more urgent this time, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you even closer. you let him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. the way he holds you, the way he kisses you—it’s like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

and when he pulls away again, there’s a fire in his eyes, one you haven’t seen before, not like this. his breathing is shallow, and his fingers are grazing the side of your face like he’s still processing the fact that this is real.

“don’t make me regret this,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with desire. there’s a vulnerability in his tone that catches you off guard, a rawness you hadn’t expected from him.

you look up at him, heart in your throat. “i don’t want to regret this either.”

and for a second, it’s like the world stops moving. the weight of everything—of the flirting, the late-night conversations, the stolen moments—crashes down on you. this is the moment where everything changes. where you stop pretending. where you stop running from it.

jisung leans in one more time, and this time, there’s no hesitation. no second thoughts. just the feeling of his lips pressing against yours again, urgent and hungry. it’s a kiss that tells you everything you need to know. that tells you he’s not just playing around anymore.

he’s in this.

and maybe, just maybe, you are too.

the kiss lasts longer this time, slow and deep, the kind that makes everything else fade into the background. the buzzing from the weed, the lingering taste of the wine, the tension that’s been building for weeks—all of it disappears in the space between you two, until there’s nothing left but him and you, tangled together in the moment.

when you finally pull away, both of you gasping for air, you don’t know what comes next. but you know one thing for sure.

this is only the beginning.

the moment his lips meet yours again, it’s not slow anymore. it’s fast, hungry, desperate, as if you’ve both been waiting for this moment for too long and now that it’s here, neither of you can hold back.

his hands are on you—everywhere. one hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, while the other slips around your waist, pressing your body into his. the heat between you intensifies with each passing second, the softest moan escaping you when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck.

jisung doesn’t let you catch your breath. his lips are insistent against yours, each kiss deeper than the last, until you’re both breathless, the room spinning around you. his tongue brushes against your lips, asking for permission, and you give it, parting your lips for him. the kiss turns hotter, the world shrinking until there’s only him and the feel of his hands roaming your body.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, trying to deepen the kiss as much as you can. it’s messy and frantic, but neither of you seem to care. his lips move with purpose, taking the kiss from soft and slow to urgent and fierce. you feel the heat rise in your chest, your body pressed so tightly against his that you can feel every inch of him, every muscle tensing as he pulls you impossibly closer.

jisung groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he pulls you onto his lap without hesitation. your knees settle on either side of his hips, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. the joint—forgotten—smolders in the ashtray beside you, the scent of weed and roses lingering in the thick air between you.

his hands roam, slow and teasing, fingertips grazing the bare skin beneath your hoodie. you shiver, a breathy sigh slipping past your lips when he presses his palms flat against your back, pulling you closer. his lips move against yours, unhurried but deliberate, as if savoring every second.

“you’re high,” you murmur against his mouth, though you don’t pull away.

jisung exhales a laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “and?”

“high words and actions are sober thoughts,” you remind him, voice barely above a whisper.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, dark and heavy with something you can’t name. his thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your lips.

“exactly.”

your breath catches.

the weight of his words settles between you, thick and undeniable. he’s not hiding behind the haze of smoke. not playing it off like a joke. he means it.

and you’re fucked.

because you believe him.

because you want this—sober, high, or anything in between.

his hands slide down your back, settling at your waist as he leans in again, this time slower, deeper, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension snap and coil until all that’s left is you, him, and the quiet hum of something inevitable.

your fingers tangle in his hoodie, gripping tight as you meet him halfway, lips parting, bodies pressing closer, heat pooling between you like a slow burn waiting to ignite.

and this time, neither of you stop.

perm 🏷️ : @devilsdiabrete @jeonginsbaee @omgsecretsecret @amarecerasus @estella-novella @phannyone

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pomelace · 4 hours ago

Text

amber liquid

pairing: frank langdon x afab! reader

content warnings: not proofread, no physical desciptors used for reader, implied age gap (about 11 years), takes place after s1 of the pitt, mention of breakup & divorce, alcohol consumption, intoxication, emotional vulnerability, flirting, kissing, mild smut (nothing to graphic, I can't write smut to save my life). as always let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : this legit came to me at 2 a.m. when I should've been sleeping, but honestly, when you have a good idea, you have to write it. I wanted to try writing smut but gave up — I legit can't do it; all props to those who can. let me know if you guys want more fics like this! I really enjoyed writing it and stepping outside of the usual hospital setting. as always, I hope you enjoy, and requests are open! (someone pls request)

word count: 3504

Maybe you should’ve seen it coming. Maybe you should’ve guessed he wasn’t ready. And maybe—just maybe—a small part of you wasn’t either.

But guessing that he didn’t want to be together anymore?

That had never even crossed your mind.

Six years together. Six years of laughter, of holidays spent hand-in-hand, of whispered promises in the dark. You thought you were happy. You were sure he was too.

So what went wrong?

You don’t have an answer as you sit hunched at the bar of the restaurant—the same restaurant where, less than an hour ago, your boyfriend dumped you.

It was supposed to be date night. A special night. You had curled your hair, slipped into your best dress, painted your lips the shade he said he loved. You had even dared to hope he might propose.

Instead, he gave you a goodbye.

Now, you sit at the bar, your hair slipping loose from its carefully pinned bun, staring blankly ahead as the waiter slides a shot of tequila toward you.

You toss it back without hesitation, the liquor scorching your throat, leaving a burn that barely registers. Another. And another. You drink until the line between anger and sadness blurs, until your own misery drums in your ears louder than the soft music playing overhead.

It’s a slow night. Quiet. You barely notice when someone slides into the seat beside you.

You keep your eyes down, tracing the rim of your empty glass.

“What are you drinking?” a voice asks—a man’s voice, low and easy.

“Tequila,” you reply, your voice quick, almost defensive. You glance up—and meet his gaze.

He’s older than you. Not ancient, not graying, but maybe a decade your senior. His blue eyes catch the warm light above the bar, sparking just a little.

Before you can say another word, he lifts a hand to the bartender.

“Another shot for her,” he says, smooth and sure.

You manage a small smile—your first real one tonight—as the fresh shot slides in front of you. You raise the glass, clink it lightly against his, and down it in one quick swallow.

He mirrors you—less gracefully—coughing once as the burn hits him harder than expected.

“Celebrating something?” he manages between coughs, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“More like mourning,” you murmur, your fingertip circling the rim of your glass.

He coughs again, this time from surprise, struggling to find the right words.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry for your loss,” he says finally, voice soft, almost tangible in the way it wraps around you.

You laugh—a sharp, unexpected sound. He looks confused until you set the record straight.

“No one died,” you say. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”

For a second, Frank just looks at you—then relief floods his face, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh. Well... in that case,” he says, shifting to face you fully, “the guy’s a goddamn idiot.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“Smooth,” you say, dry.

He shrugs, utterly unapologetic.

“Hey, I'm not here to win points. I'm just telling the truth.”

For a moment, you just look at him. The easy way he smiles, the unbothered tilt of his shoulders, like nothing in the world could hit him too hard. It’s a little annoying. A little comforting, too.

“I'm Frank, by the way,” he adds, tapping his chest like you might’ve been dying to know.

You glance up, eyeing him with a bit of suspicion.

“Well, Frank, are you always this charming, or is it just the tequila talking?”

He shrugs with a grin, clearly unfazed.

“Maybe a little of both. But I assure you, the charm’s mostly natural.”

You snort. “Natural, huh? More like 'forced'.”

“Hey, I'm not the one drowning tequila like it’s water,” he points out, raising an eyebrow as he gestures to your empty glass.

“I think you’ve got your own coping mechanism.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Touché. So, what, you just come to bars to offer unsolicited life advice and overpriced shots?”

“Nah,” Frank says, leaning in slightly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’m here to save you from a night of self-pity. A public service, really.”

You stare at him for a beat, then shake your head with a quiet laugh.

“God, you're a piece of work.”

He grins, unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”

You set your glass down with a soft clink, taking in the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Alright, Frank Langdon. You’re buying the next round, right? Or am I supposed to keep drowning my feelings while you play bartender?”

He lifts his hand in a quick motion, signaling the bartender.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I’m here for the long haul. Just don’t expect me to let you drink your problems away.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what, you think one more round of tequila will fix it?”

He leans back, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Maybe not, but it’ll definitely make it more interesting.”

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

By the fifth shot, the tequila had softened the sharp edges of reality.

The hollow ache you'd carried has dulled, replaced by something lighter—something dangerously close to joy. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the stranger at your side, but for the first time all night, you feel a little less alone.

Tipsy now, you and Frank lean against the bar like old friends, shoulders brushing, each too stubborn to admit just how much easier the night feels with the other there.

He’s in the middle of telling you a story about the time he stitched up his own hand in med school—because he was, in his words, “too stubborn and too drunk to admit it hurt”—and you’re laughing so hard you nearly spill your drink.

“You’re such an idiot,” you gasp, clutching your stomach.

“Certified,” Frank says proudly, slamming his shot glass down. "Got a degree and everything."

You shake your head, grinning. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose a finger.”

He holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers dramatically. “All ten. Still sexy.”

You snort into your glass. “Debatable.”

Laughing, he flips his hand over, showing you a faint scar that cuts across the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes catch on the mark—small but jagged, like the story behind it—and for a second, you're almost charmed by the ridiculousness of it all.

Almost.

Because that’s when you notice it.

The thin silver band, sitting there plain as day on the fourth finger of his left hand.

You blink, the drunken haze clearing just enough to register what that means.

He’s married, you think, the realization landing with an uncomfortable thud in your chest.

You sit back a little, the weight of what you’ve just seen settling heavier than any amount of tequila.

Frank doesn’t notice at first—still grinning like an idiot, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. You watch him, every instinct firing warning shots in your head.

“You wound me, sweetheart,” he says dramatically, tapping a hand over his heart. That cocky, lopsided smile is back—the one you’re starting to realize isn’t an act. It’s just him.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you say, your smile fading clean off your face.

He catches the shift instantly, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eye.

“What should I call you, then?” His voice drops a little, playful but not heavy, the kind of flirting that feels easy, harmless—if not for the ring still sitting heavy on his finger.

You open your mouth, ready to fire back something sharp—but all that comes out is a scoff. Your brain is too clouded with tequila and the sudden, sour taste of disappointment.

That’s when he notices. The coldness he hadn’t seen before. Confusion flashes across his face, and he leans in again, trying to catch your eye.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, his voice quieter now, genuinely concerned, as if he has no idea what he's wearing.

You tilt your head, voice sharper than you mean it to be: “Does your wife know you’re out here handing out pity shots to heartbroken strangers?”

His smile slips, just a little. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face before he sits back in his stool, schooling his features into something easy again.

“No wife,” he says. “Not anymore.”

You arch a skeptical brow.

He huffs a low, humorless laugh, reaching for his glass and twisting the ring around his finger.

“Divorced,” he clarifies. “Signed the papers six months ago. Just... haven't taken it off yet, I guess.”

You study him now, properly. The easy charm, the quick wit—it’s still there. But underneath it, you can see the cracks. The exhaustion. The way some people carry their hurt like it’s stitched into their skin.

“Why keep it on?” you ask before you can think better of it.

Frank shrugs, the barest lift of one shoulder.

“Habit. Guilt. Laziness. Pick your poison.”

You don't have an answer to that. So you just nod and reach for your drink, letting the silence stretch out between you, strangely easy, strangely human.

Frank’s eyes stay on you, a little too intense now, like he’s not quite sure whether to keep poking the fire or step back.

He leans in slightly, his grin returning, though it’s more of a soft, knowing smile now—like he’s trying to find the right words, but not quite sure how to approach it.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low but playful, “I could’ve been a counselor, right? Deep stuff, just me and a couple of shots of tequila. I’d charge you, but I’ll give you a free session for tonight.”

You snort, trying to fight the grin threatening to tug at your lips.

“Uh-huh. What’s your rate, then?”

He gives you an exaggerated, thoughtful look.

“Well, it’s a sliding scale. But for you? Free. For now. We’ll work out the details after you pay with a drink.”

You roll your eyes, but the laughter slips out anyway.

“You’re ridiculous. What else do you charge for? Self-pity sessions?”

“Of course,” Frank says with a deadpan expression.

“I’m a pro at helping people feel bad about themselves while simultaneously offering unsolicited life advice. It’s a talent.”

You chuckle, shaking your head.

“I think you’re selling yourself short. You could really make a business out of that.”

“Hey, it’s a full-time gig,” he grins, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s all about commitment to the cause.”

You shake your head, feeling the liquor starting to work its way through you, loosening your muscles, softening the edges of the night.

“I guess I should be grateful. I was about to start feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I get a free therapy session.”

“Least I could do,” Frank says, his voice taking on a quieter tone.

“But don’t expect any miracles. I’m no miracle worker.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and something shifts between you two. He isn’t joking anymore. There’s a sincerity to the way he watches you, like he can see something in you that maybe you’re trying not to acknowledge.

The silence lingers just a beat too long, and you can’t help but feel a tug in your chest.

You glance away first, clearing your throat as you take a long sip from your glass.

“Guess we’ll see if the tequila does its magic, huh?” you say, trying to brush it off.

Frank nods, but his eyes stay locked on you, searching, like he’s trying to figure out what’s behind your smile.

“I think it’s already doing its job,” he says softly, his gaze lingering.

“But maybe not in the way you think.”

You meet his eyes, and for a moment, it feels like the air is charged, a quiet tension settling between you two. The playful edge from before has softened, replaced by something more unspoken, more intimate.

For a second, you almost wish you could just forget the world outside of this conversation, forget the hurt that brought you here, forget the ring on Frank’s finger that keeps reminding him of the reality he lives in now.

But the weight of it all presses down, and you break the silence with a soft laugh, the sound forced but somehow real.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

Frank had insisted he take you home, by that, he meant riding a cab with you. You two were far too drunk to get behind the wheel, and to walk straight without stumbling.

The cab pulls up in front of your house, the engine humming to a slow stop as the late-night air wraps around you like a cool blanket. For a moment, you just sit there, staring out at the dark, quiet street.

The lights from the porch are soft and welcoming, but the weight of the night presses in on you like a fog.

The door opens, and Frank is the first to step out. He moves with that same easy confidence, like everything in the world is exactly where it should be. He stands outside the cab, waiting for you to follow.

You hesitate for a second, your mind buzzing with a mix of tequila and too many unanswered questions. The cool breeze hits your face, clearing some of the fog in your head. Frank turns back toward you, catching your hesitation, and gives you a playful grin.

“You know,” he says, his voice teasing but with an edge of something softer, “I’m not gonna carry you to the door if that’s what you’re waiting for. I’m already pushing my luck by not falling over on the sidewalk.”

You laugh lightly, the sound a little more genuine than you expected. You push the door open and step out, the ground under your feet feeling a little less solid than it should.

“Good thing I can walk myself,” you say, brushing past him.

He hands the cab driver some money and asks him to wait as he follows you at a leisurely pace, matching your steps but keeping his distance—just enough to give you space, but close enough that his presene is felt.

As you approach your door, the key feels heavier in your hand than it should. You fumble with it, trying to fit it in the lock, and Frank steps up beside you, leaning slightly against the doorframe as if he's been here a thousand times before.

“You need help with that?” he asks, his voice a little quieter now. The playfulness has faded, replaced with something that feels almost... careful.

You shake your head, finally getting the key to turn. The door clicks open.

“Thanks for making sure I got here,” you say, your voice quieter now, more serious.

“I probably would've ended up face-down in a bush if I tried it alone.”

Frank chuckles, a low sound that rumbles in his chest, easy and warm.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

As you reach for the handle and push the door open, you almost stumble, your balance slipping for a second.

Frank moves instinctively, a hand shooting out to catch you, but you tighten your grip on the handle just in time, steadying yourself with a small, breathless laugh.

You turn back to him, lingering in the doorway, the porch light throwing a soft halo around the two of you.

“I want to say I'll see you around,” you murmur, sincere and soft, "but we probably won't."

Frank’s smile falters, the grin fading into something smaller, more real. He scratches the back of his neck, looking suddenly, painfully sober.

“Who knows,” he says, a thread of hope weaving through his voice.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Then you offer him a small smile — the kind that feels like a goodbye and a maybe all at once.

Before you can turn away fully, Frank shifts his weight, like he’s fighting with himself. His hand brushes lightly against the doorframe, hesitating.

“You’re not the only one who needed tonight,” he says, voice low, almost rough.

You freeze, heart catching somewhere between your ribs. The air between you stretches, electric and fragile. For a moment, neither of you breathes.

Then you’re moving — or maybe he is — it doesn’t matter, because the next thing you know, you’re reaching for him, pulling him by the collar of his jacket.

Your mouths collide in a kiss that's messy and desperate, all teeth and heat and aching need. His hands find your waist like he’s done it a thousand times before, anchoring you against him.

The cab outside gives an impatient beep beep — a harsh reminder of the real world waiting just beyond your front porch. Frank breaks the kiss for half a second, glancing back toward the street — then without a word, he guides you inside and kicks the door shut behind him, the soft thud echoing through the quiet house.

And then he's on you again — gripping your hips, your back hitting the inside of the door with a soft thump. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, kissing you harder, hands sliding up under the hem of your dress like he can't get close enough.

Clothes, decisions, consequences — they all fall away, unimportant in the face of this electric, reckless need.

Frank lifts you with startling ease, and you wrap your legs around his waist without thinking, your arms tightening around his neck.

He carries you a few steps deeper into the house, bumping blindly into a wall, laughing quietly against your mouth like he can’t quite believe any of this is happening.

You break apart just long enough to catch a breath, your foreheads pressed together, both of you panting. His hands skim down your thighs, rough and reverent all at once, as if grounding himself to reality through you.

“Bedroom?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and breathless.

You nod, dazed, and point down the hall.

Frank doesn’t hesitate — just turns, still holding you close, and starts down the hallway, kissing you between every few steps like he physically can't stop himself.

The world narrows to the feel of his mouth on yours, the strength of his hands on your skin, the way he murmurs your name like a secret he’s afraid to lose.

When he finally finds the door, he shoulders it open and stumbles inside, both of you laughing breathlessly through the haze of want.

He drops you onto the bed with a gentleness that doesn't match the wildness in his eyes, then crawls over you, kissing you again — slower now, deeper — like he’s determined to memorize every inch of you.

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, down the line of your throat. He lingers there, breathing you in, his hands splaying wide across your ribs like he’s trying to steady himself.

“God, you’re...” he starts, voice breaking like he can’t even find the words. He kisses you again before he can try.

Clothes become an afterthought — a barrier that both of you work to strip away with frantic hands, punctuated by soft gasps and half-laughed curses when fabric gets stubborn or tangled.

Frank pauses every few seconds, checking your eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. But you just pull him closer, giving him your answer without a word.

When there’s nothing left between you but heat and skin, he looks at you like he’s seeing something he doesn’t think he deserves. His thumb traces the line of your cheek, gentle, reverent.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, rough and honest.

And then he’s kissing you again — slower, more deliberate now, like he's savoring every second, like he’s afraid it’ll be ripped away.

His hands map your body with careful, aching thoroughness, every touch setting your nerves on fire.

His hand roams down the curve of your sternum, slow and sure, until he cups one breast in his palm. You gasp, the sound spilling from your lips before you can catch it, your back arching into his touch.

He strokes his thumb lightly over your skin, reverent, almost awed, as if he’s memorizing you one careful inch at a time.

He touches you with such aching tenderness, like you're something precious — fragile, irreplaceable — something he’s terrified to hurt or lose.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice so low it’s almost a prayer.

You shake your head, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

“Don't stop,” you whisper, barely audible, but it’s all he needs. His mouth finds yours again, a little more desperate this time, his hands mapping every curve of your body like he’s trying to brand the memory of you into his skin.

You cling to him just as fiercely, drowning in the way he feels, the way he makes you feel — alive, needed, wanted.

Tonight, you’re not thinking about tomorrow.

Tonight, you’re just feeling.

©pomelace 2025

#the pitt #frank langdon #frank langdon x reader #the pitt x reader #patrick ball #dr langdon #dr langdon x reader #the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #x reader

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followsfrankiep · 20 hours ago

Text

Don't Worry About Her (Eddie Brock x Reader)

GIF made by @rei-is-still-here 💕

Divider from @plum98

Summary: They always say, when a guy tells you not to worry about his girl best friend, you probably should. Izzy's wild and free-spirited nature has always contrasted with her best friend Eddie's quest for stability. Now that Eddie is engaged, he never expected Izzy to complicate things for both of them.

TW: Smut, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Burn Injuries, Explicit Words, Cheating, Minors DNI.

Word count: 6.2k (It's getting hefty bc its ending soon!)

A/N: I appreciate the love for Izzy and Eddie! But there's something inevitable in the story. I'm afraid this is one of the few since it's going to end soon. Let me share my pain with u 😭

No pressure tag 💕 @rei-is-still-here @feveredvisions @potter-solomons @tickettride @rach5ive @dreamygirli3

Previous Part

Part 6 - Burn Victim

Eddie lounged in her bed like it was partly his now. Lately, he’d been different—the space between them wasn’t something he could tolerate anymore. He was more present, their intimacy was more constant and pronounced as ever, like he couldn’t get enough of her. And truthfully, Izzy didn’t mind. There was something about the way he claimed her.

She was perched on her bed, cross-legged, her laptop on her knees as she scrolled through pages of dresses. It was another regular lazy day for Izzy and an after work unwinding for Eddie. She wore a rose printed white tank top and matching shorts that made up her perfect pajama set. He lounged behind her, sprawled across the pillows with one arm tucked behind his head while the other slowly traced up and down her arms.

“You know,” he muttered, sitting up, his lips brushed against her shoulder, “this whole shopping thing would be more productive if you, dunno... picked one.”

“You know,” she echoed, her gaze fixed on the screen, “this would be faster if you stopped distracting me.”

When it was mentioned said Eddie had been extra affectionate lately—it meant, he's really all in on him and Izzy. His lips pressed gentle, lingering kisses along her shoulders and neck, his breath brushing against her skin. Izzy didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into it. He'd been like this since that night in Muir Woods.

His movements slowing slightly as his gaze flicked to the screen. “That one,” he said, nodding toward a sleek, elegant dress displayed in the screen. His lips resumed their trail along her shoulder as he added, “That’d look perfect on you.”

“It's nearly two grand,” she announced flatly upon seeing the price tag, turning her head slightly just enough to shoot him a pointed look. “For a dress.”

“Yep,” Eddie replied casually, his kisses undeterred. “So buy it.”

“Oh, sure. Let me just pull two grand out of thin air.”

Eddie didn’t miss a beat. He shifted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his credit card with an almost nonchalant ease. He placed it beside her laptop, his lips quirking into a soft smile.

“Here. Go nuts.”

She blinked at him in disbelief before letting out a breath of laughter. “Wow,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Your show must really be rolling in it now, huh?”

“You could say that. Or you could just say 'Thank you for spoiling me.'.” He tilted his head, the mischievous glint in his eyes softening slightly as he added, “I mean it, Iz. Get what you want.”

Izzy rolled her eyes, the amusement still lingering in her smile as she placed the card back beside her laptop. I guess sex is not the only thing Eddie didn’t hold back from.

She resumed her scrolling, and Eddie rested his head against her shoulder, his lips brushing her skin once more. You could say he's having an advanced honeymoon phase but not to the woman he's bound to get married to, but to his best friend.

Eddie leaned back against the headboard, the card still sitting on the bed beside Izzy’s laptop. He watched her with silent pleasure as she shifted in her spot, his fingernails grazing gently along her shoulder. She clicked a few buttons, then paused dramatically, tilting her head just enough to smirk at him. If anyone could take advantage of the rare Eddie Brock generosity, it would be her as shameless as she is.

“Alright, Brock,” she cooed yet her tone laced with mischief. “The dress is settled. But… you know what would really crank it up a notch?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. “This ought to be good,” he muttered, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, Knight, hit me.”

“Heels,” she said, dragging the word out like it was some grand revelation. “Tall, sleek, head turning heels. You know the kind.”

See? Shamelessly adorable.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Not just any heels—the kind that make you call me after a few hours to come wherever you are with fuzzy slippers because your feet hurt?”

She gasped playfully, eyes widening, pretending to be offended. He did know her so well.

"First of all, how dare you? Second, you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.” She leaned back into him, her tone dipping into a teasing drawl.

“Third… you also have no idea how hot you are right now.”

Eddie smirked, his lips brushing against her ear and whispers, “Oh, I know,” the confidence in his tone both infuriating and endearing. “That’s why you better wrap this up quickly. Can’t have you distracted when I’m on a roll.”

His newfound confidence was magnetic, so irresistible that drew her to him in a way she hadn’t expected. She had spent years coaxing him out of his shell, watching him struggle against his insecurities, and now, here he was—a fucking tease, delicious, and more captivating than ever. She can't help but to bite her lip down. Damn, it was impossible not to get turned on and ignore the heat rising in her chest.

“You’re really leaning into the whole ‘sugar daddy’ thing, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, baby.” Eddie shot back, his voice smooth, his arm wrapping loosely around her waist as he settled in closer. “Now, go on—pick the heels. You're expensive but I don't mind spending my money on you.”

It seems like their previous conversation paved a way for them to dive deeper into whatever they are. Izzy was living the dream. A dream she wouldn't admit to herself that she wanted. But the truth about dreams is they don’t always end with soft awakenings. Sometimes, they end abruptly, with the sharp sting of a scalding pain that forces you back into reality.

And what are you supposed to do when you get burnt?

When something scorching presses against your skin, your instincts tell you to pull away—to retreat before the pain becomes unbearable. But Izzy? Izzy plays with fire, wants it closer, somehow attracting it to consume her. And now, after all the secret meetings, the unabashed intimacy, she finally feels the heat sinking in. The pain of playing with it is inevitable. The real question is—how long will she hold on to Eddie? To what extent does she have to get herself burned until she realizes it was time to let go?

Playing with fire, for Izzy, also meant wearing her Prada Sunglasses inside the mall. Yep. No sunlight, just something to hide the fact that she's rolling her eyes at the couple walking in front of her. Apparently, Carlton Drake happened to ask Anne about Izzy during a deposition she was working on for the Life Foundation and their conversation sparked Anne's curiosity about her unpredictable personality. She was surprised to hear Eddie's best friend dated the billionaire she was working for and asked why didn't he tell her about it. On top of that, how could he say no if his fiancé wants to get to know his treasured best friend more?

If only she knew...

First Degree Burn

The wild card was painstakingly dragging her feet slightly behind Eddie and Anne, her heels clicking against the mall floor as she adjusted her sunglasses. To anyone passing by, she might’ve appeared perfectly unbothered but within, she was counting every second until this supposed "bonding" ends. A third wheel wasn’t exactly her preferred role, especially when it came about to couple she found herself involved with in one way or another.

Their first stop was Eddie’s wardrobe—a rare moment of unity between Anne and Izzy as they both agreed it was time to retire Eddie’s infamous, godforsaken hoodie that somehow still made several appearances on The Brock Report. Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his best friend’s cheeky, dimpled grin as she teamed up with Anne against his questionable fashion choices. For a fleeting moment, Eddie let himself soak in the rare warmth.

But that was short-lived.

As soon as they stepped into the store, it became a silent battleground as to who knows Eddie Brock more. Anne, meticulous and poised as always, was on a quest to refine Eddie’s look, holding up sleek blazers with an air of determination. "Honey," she called to him, "you should wear this to look more professional."

Izzy, meanwhile, rolled her eyes dramatically. Good thing she was wearing her sun glasses. She pulled a rugged leather jacket from the rack and tossed it toward Eddie. "No, this..." she countered, "is what Brock should wear. You’re not just a host—you’re the guy everyone wants to have a beer with."

Eddie stood between them, caught in the cross roads of their differing styles, careful not to make anyone of them upset. Anne’s vision spoke to his role in front of the camera, the polished professional she believed he could be. Izzy scoffed silently, arguing that the leather jacket fully captured his essence—the casual, unfiltered, and unapologetic charm that made The Brock Report what it was.

None of them was backing down.

It was a tamed exchange between them yet Eddie couldn’t help but shake his head in surrender. It wasn’t really about the clothes; it was about how they saw him. And while their opinions couldn’t be more different, the sheer effort they put into arguing over his look only reminded Eddie how deeply both women cared—each in their own way. Now, he's weighing his options carefully.

“It’s perfect for you,” Anne was still championing the blazer. “More refined and elevated. An upgrade you need for the show.”

Izzy, leaning lazily against a nearby rack with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow and shot Eddie a knowing grin. “Yeah, Brock. How much is the real estate commission lately?” she joked, earning a forced smile from Anne.

“Come on, big guy. The leather jacket is you. Let’s be honest, its way cooler.”

Eddie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced between the two women. Finally, Eddie reached for the leather jacket, sliding it on and adjusting the collar with an amused smile. “I gotta say,” he murmured, glancing at his reflection in the store’s mirror, “this feels more like me.” He turned to Anne with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe. The blazer’s nice, but the show’s called The Brock Report, not House Hunters.”

The power she had.

He chuckled, casting a glance toward Izzy, who tugged her sunglasses down and shot him a quick wink, clearly pleased with his choice.

Feeling defeated, Anne sighed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I should’ve known,” she said, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "if that’s what you want, it’s your choice." she continued before stepping back. "I’ll see if they have a new stock in your size."

Izzy saw how dismayed Anne was with his choice and how oblivious Eddie was to it. Her best friend did look absolutely delicious in that jacket but her guilt creeped in, and she knew what to do. The moment Anne walked away, Eddie felt a gentle nudge against his arm. He turned to see Izzy leaning against the rack, holding out the blazer to his reach. She placed the sunglasses on top of her head, and he can now see her neutral expression.

"What’s gotten into you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Just pick the blazer, big guy," she murmured under her breath so only he could hear. "She’s trying. I realized this is a big deal for her and I’m not about to ruin it."

Eddie tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. "You’re the one who pushed for the leather jacket, Iz." he reminded her, feeling both confused and amused. "Now you’re backing out? What happened to being ‘timeless and rugged’?"

Izzy sighed, her fingers massaging her forehead as she avoided his gaze. "Look, you know I hate doing this, but... she’s your fiancé. She just wants you to look your best—her version of best." She finally looked at him. "So, make her happy, alright?"

Eddie stared at her for a moment, his chest ached when he noticed the guilt in her voice. He knew Izzy has always been thoughtful of others despite her constant reckless choices. He also knew how much she loved things being her way, so this was a huge sacrifice on her part. His instinct told him to stick with the leather jacket—it was him, after all—but his best friend's insistence weighed on him. With a small sigh, he shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine." he muttered.

When Anne returned, a fresh leather jacket draped over her arm, Eddie straightened and cleared his throat. "You know, babe," he began, his tone warm but steady, "I’ve been thinking. The blazer might actually be the better choice after all." Her face lit up in surprise, her smile genuine as she handed the jacket to the staff.

"Really? That’s great! I promise you’ll look amazing in it."

Eddie caught Izzy’s gaze as Anne started talking to the staff about sizes. Izzy gave him the faintest nod, though this time it carried a quiet understanding rather than triumph. She did not mind giving it away when she saw how happy it made Anne feel. She's done far worse towards Anne, unforgivable things she does not have the slighest clue. Letting this moment belong to her felt like the least Izzy could do. A small gesture to balance the scales she’d tipped so unfairly. Not for the points for forgiveness, not for herself, but for Anne—the person Eddie would come home to by the end of the day.

The cashier handed Eddie the neatly packed blazer, his card now safely tucked back in his wallet. Anne stood beside him, her smile bright with satisfaction as she brushed her hand against his arm.

“You’ll look amazing in this,” she said warmly, her excitement radiating. “Trust me, it’s exactly what the show needs.”

Eddie forced a smile but Anne didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t about the blazer—he didn’t mind wearing it, really—but a part of him felt like something was missing, an piece of himself left behind on the rack. He asked himself: is this who he really was? Or was he once again settling for the path of least resistance, the thing that wouldn’t disrupt the peace of their world? Again, he is trying to convince himself it didn’t matter. But deep down, the pull of something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want was there.

As they exited the store, Eddie adjusted the shopping bag in his hand, glancing over his shoulder at Izzy. "You coming?" he asked.

"You guys go ahead," Izzy replied smoothly, waving them off with a flick of her hand. "I just saw something that caught my eye. Don’t wait up."

Anne didn’t question it, tugging Eddie’s arm lightly as she led him toward another shop. Eddie lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting Izzy’s briefly. She knew he wouldn't leave her behind so she mouthed "Go, Go!", her head nudging towards Anne's direction, her smile returning as if to reassure him. Satisfied, Eddie turned to follow his fiancé, disappearing into the flow of mall traffic.

Once they were gone, Izzy straightened and turned back to the counter. The cashier glanced up at her with a polite smile. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah," Izzy said then gestured toward the leather jacket Eddie had tried on earlier. "I’ll take that one. Same size." She pulled out her card, as she glanced toward the door, checking if they truly left.

She didn’t need him to choose the jacket—it wasn’t about that. But a part of her wanted him to have it anyway, a piece of himself he didn’t have to sacrifice to make someone else happy. She had been selfish enough to keep up with their affair, it was the least that she could do.

"Gift receipt?" the cashier asked.

"Sure."

She tucked her card back into her wallet and took the bag with a small nod of thanks, her fingers gripping the handle tightly as she turned toward the door. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she walked out into the mall, the jacket now safely in hand. For now, though, she’d let Eddie live in his new blazer, playing the role he needed to play. But when the time was right, Izzy would give him the jacket—because what she felt for him was like how fire needed oxygen, burning with the kind of intensity that didn’t beg nor asked.

Looped around his arms, Anne was a walking ball of sunshine, enthusiastically chatting with her fiancé about wanting to grab a cup of coffee, and making an effort to glance back and include Izzy in the conversation.

"Izzy, you drink coffee, right?"

"As needed." Izzy flicked her gaze toward Anne, her lips curving into a faint smile when she replied, glancing towards Eddie, who was already watching her with a subtle smirk.

"She needs food first," he interjected, glancing at Izzy with a knowing look. "She can’t have coffee on an empty stomach—it messes her up."

Izzy paused, her lips curving into a cheeky smile as she adjusted her sunglasses, her gaze flicking playfully between Eddie and Anne. "I guess someone knows me too well." she teased lightly.

After a couple hours more of shopping, they ended up at a quiet corner of a restaurant for a late lunch. Eddie insisted on taking the bags back to his car, leaving Anne and Izzy to order first. The atmosphere at the table shifted again the moment Anne called over the waiter.

“I’ll have the Salmon with Quinoa and Spinach,” Anne said, before gesturing toward Eddie’s empty chair. “And the same for him.”

What?

Izzy blinked, her brows lifting as she leaned back in her seat with her arms crossed. “Salmon?” she asked, skeptic. “You do know Eddie’s practically married to burgers, right?”

“He needs to eat healthy. The wedding’s coming up, and staying fit is important,” Anne said with a smile that didn’t falter as she folded her hands neatly on the table.

“Fair enough,” Izzy muttered, reaching for the menu. Fighting the urge to shake her head in dismay with Anne's order. She couldn't help but wonder how much her best friend loves this woman. The only thing that this day proved to her was how Eddie was a completely different person in his fiance's eyes. She continued,

“Double cheeseburger. Extra fries. Thanks.”

The waiter nodded and left, and Izzy leaned back in her chair, catching Anne’s gaze briefly. She didn’t press further, biting back her instinct to defend his usual choices. If Anne thought she knew what was best for him, assuming that she did, then Izzy wouldn’t interfere. Eddie returned just as their orders were set down and his smile faltered slightly the moment his eyes landed on the plate in front of him—the delicate salmon, the bed of quinoa, the neatly arranged spinach. He sat down slowly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

Oh boy. Izzy didn’t miss it.

He sighed, poking at the salmon with his fork. Izzy watched him for a moment longer. She didn’t say it outright, but she knew Eddie well enough to see the guy who loved greasy burgers and simple comforts force himself to like what's chosen in front of him. She didn’t watch him directly, though. Instead, she kept her gaze on her burger as she sliced it cleanly in half, taking her time with the first half while she waited for him to finish his meal.

She ordered extra fries for a reason, to compensate for what she's going to do next.

When Eddie finally finished, he set his fork down with a quiet sigh, leaning back in his chair. His expression gave it all away—the meal hadn’t come close to satisfying him, and she knew it never would. Without a word, Izzy slid the remaining half of her burger onto his plate casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He glanced down at the burger, then up at her, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself. “Someone's getting soft.” he teased but filled with quiet appreciation.

"Just eat the damn burger, Brock."

He didn’t hesitate as he picked up the burger, taking a bite with the kind of contentment she’d expected all along. Anne, sitting beside him, shifted slightly in her chair, her fork pausing mid-cut. Her eyes flicked between Eddie’s sudden happiness and the half-empty plate in front of Izzy. She couldn’t help but feel... disconnected when she realized that she wouldn’t have done that—not because she didn’t care, but because it wouldn’t have even crossed her mind. His best friend seemed to understand him in ways that felt effortless and instinctive. It wasn’t jealousy she felt but rather an uneasy awareness that there were parts of Eddie she might never fully reach.

Izzy kept her focus on her phone, scrolling aimlessly, the screen lighting up her otherwise expressionless face. She didn’t need to look at Anne to know the questions forming behind her gaze. Izzy wasn’t interested in explaining herself—not to Anne, not to anyone. Eddie shot her another happy look mid-bite, and though she still didn’t meet his eyes, the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t need acknowledgment, just the satisfaction of knowing he’d get through the rest of the day with a little less tension in his shoulders.

For Izzy, that was enough. It always had been.

"Time to go?” Anne asked and swung her bag over her shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she glanced at Eddie still comfortably reclined, his attention fixed on his phone screen. He didn’t respond immediately, his posture relaxed, his thumb lazily scrolling. Before he could answer, Izzy chimed in, her voice casual but laced with a smile.

“How about we wait for another ten or fifteen minutes?”

Anne blinked, paused as she glanced at Izzy, puzzled. There was no explanation, no follow-up, it was just Izzy cooly scrolling her own phone. Confused, she settled back into her chair, her curiosity bubbling and she turned to Eddie, raising an eyebrow in question, but all she received was a shrug.

He didn’t elaborate, and neither did Izzy.

It was like a timed magic trick, Anne tried to distract herself, sipping what remained of her drink and idly scanning the restaurant. Izzy remained absorbed in her phone, her cheek resting on her hand. It wasn’t until Eddie suddenly pushed back his chair, rising fluidly and slipping his phone into his pocket, that the pieces began clicking into place.

“Be right back,” he excused himself, weaving through the tables toward the restroom.

Anne sat frozen, her lips parting in silent realization as the scene replayed in her mind—the timing, the unspoken understanding between her fiancé and his best friend, the way Izzy’s seemingly casual suggestion had lined up perfectly. Her gaze flicked to Izzy, who hadn’t even glanced up, her attention still on her phone. She knew Eddie well. Too well.

It wasn’t romantic, she told herself, but it was enough to make her skin prickle. She couldn’t shake the lingering thought that this unspoken system in place was theirs, and Anne couldn’t help but feel like an outsider looking in.

Two days later, Eddie pulled up to the Knight Mansion after work.

When Eddie walked into her bedroom, Izzy was sitting up on her bed, scrolling through her phone until her gaze flicked up, and she saw him leaning against the doorframe, the rugged leather jacket hugging his shoulders, fitting him like a glove.

So fucking hot.

Her brow arched as she set the phone down beside her, smirking. “Well, look who’s decided to embrace his Brockness,” she teased.

Eddie grinned, stepping inside, closing the door behind him, and shrugging as if it were no big deal. “Someone left this in my car the other day...” he said casually. “Pretty solid choice, don’t you think?”

“Not bad,” Izzy murmured, leaning back on her elbows as she eyed him. Her gaze lingered, tracing the way the jacket framed him—strong, sure, unmistakably him. “Well, I did not want to steal your fiance's thunder so I just left it there.”

Eddie chuckled, his grin softening as he walked closer. “You think I didn’t notice?” He stopped just in front of her, tilting his head slightly, then climbed on top of her slowly. “Come on, baby. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, her smirk tugging wider. He was now pinning her down. “I just figured I’d save you the trouble of missing it. You seemed... attached.”

“Attached, huh?” Eddie echoed, his voice dropping making her stomach flip. He leaned closer, his knees spreading her legs. “Guess this jacket makes us even?”

"If I’d wandered off again, I would’ve found you something better,” she shot back playfully. “You know me—I don’t settle.”

Eddie froze for half a beat when Izzy mentioned wandering off. Anyone else could have dismissed her words but he hated it—how natural it sounded coming from her lips, how easily she acted like she could pull herself away from him and not feel the gravity of it. She had always been the wildcard in his life, the constant he couldn’t control, and the idea of her going away again felt like losing a piece of himself he couldn’t afford to lose.

"You're not wandering off,” he commanded, making her pause. “Not until I’m married to Anne. You stay.”

Izzy’s smirk faltered for a moment, and she didn’t argue, already knowing what he felt. He made sure she knew that previously. Instead, she let out a sigh, circling her arms around his neck.

Eddie closed the gap, his hand brushing lightly against her cheek as his lips met hers. He kissed her, slow and steady, their eyes were closed but their lips moved like a dance they’d both memorized, tasting her favorite pomegranate flavored lip balm she always applied on her soft lips. His tongue swiping on her bottom lip that made her mouth part slowly, deepening their kiss while his large frame pressed against hers.

Since the night he made her say you're mine, their dynamic shifted. Eddie took the lead more often than not. He knows he's engaged and is about to get married, but something about having no barries in their intimacy both physically and somehow emotionally, aroused the possessive side of Eddie Brock over Izzy.

The closing time,

The unspoken feelings,

The secrecy of their relationship,

The lies...

She pulled away slightly, her hands pressing against his chest gently, slowly gasping for air. "Jacket off, big guy.” she murmured, sliding her hands in between his jacket and shirt, tugging it down.

They loved exploring various positions now that they're doing it unprotected, though nothing beats the classic. They are gazing in each other's eyes, her knees spread out and bent, and her hands gripping on his arms. Eddie on top of her, thrusting his cock slowly, gently, repeatedly, in and out of her. His left hand gripping on her hips to keep her in place, while his right elbow kept him propped up as his face dipped into hers capturing her lips once again for a deep kiss. It feels so good, making her moan against his lips.

"Shhh, baby... they're gonna hear us." he mumured and nibbled on her lower lip before moving to neck, sucking and kissing her skin, all while continuing his pace. His hands holding her hips glided the curves of her body up to her chest, kneading it gently, while his mouth sucked on the other one.

He often swung by her parent's mansion earlier these days, right before her mom serves dinner, so he could spend more time with Izzy. Sex was usually reserved towards the end of his stay, when her parents have retreated to their bed room since her dad was a deep sleeper. They could make all sorts of noises they would want.

However, that night, sex came first.

Izzy arched her back when her stomach coiled, she huffed letting him know she was about to cum, and not to stop. His head nodded, tugging her nipples in between his teeth as he responded. Eddie was taking it slow, yet deliberate in hitting her spot again and again until her juices gushed warmly around his cock. She came and he was close.

He steadied himself, brushing her hair away from her face, the other hand secured her jaw, making her look at him. He made her cry out his name discreetly, bending her leg up to her stomach, plunging in her deeper. She pouted, lips red and her dark eyes looking up to him. She was fucked up, satiated, still receiving him, and moaning his name quietly. Slowly, she felt her stomach get filled with Eddie's hot seed, jolting at every whirl he made. Not a single drop wasted, he thrusted his cum inside her, grumbling "Take it all in, baby. It's all yours."

Izzy nodded absentmindedly, her eyes half-lidded as she sank into her pillows. Her limbs draped over the bed like she was holding on for dear life. Her lower abdoment was warm, filled to the touch, god it felt so good. The shot was worth it, they did not have to worry about anything, except the fact that they're only falling deeper into this pit they keep digging themselves. Eddie loved filling her up, giving him the perception that she was his, and his alone. He smiled, pulling out slowly. She looked so endearing in his eyes as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple.

"Good girl."

And as he pulled back, he couldn’t help but feel that even in her spent state, Isobel Knight, in his arms, looked vulnerable yet radiant in his eyes. The woman he can't seem to let go.

Second Degree Burn

Five months out from the wedding, Eddie found himself falling deeper with the woman he couldn’t let go of. Every time he sat beside Anne, he’d nod and murmur agreements at the wedding preparations.

Anne saw it, too.

The way he seemed more distracted these days, coming home later than usual, brushing off her questions with vague mentions of “work stuff". The future Mrs. Anne Weying-Brock was starting to realize how distant her fiance has been lately, and the "bond" she wanted to establish with Izzy a few days ago got her wondering.

So, she did what any fiancé in her position might: she reached out to Izzy.

If Anne was being honest, meeting her was daunting. She was not that comfortable talking to Izzy without Eddie around. However, she was desperate for clarity. She wanted to understand her fiance, reach out to him in the same effortless manner his best friend did. She was not even sure that Izzy would show up in the said café but she did arrive, twenty minutes late. She slid into the seat across Anne, skipping the pleasantries and conversation appetizers. Izzy knew she would not have called her if this was not about Eddie.

“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” she admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “Eddie’s been pulling away, and I can feel it—even when he’s right there beside me.” She paused, her throat tightening, but forced herself to keep speaking. “I try to plan things, make it easier for him, take the stress off his shoulders... but it’s like the more I try, the farther away he gets.”

Izzy didn’t respond immediately, shifting slightly in her chair. It was uncomfortable to hear, but she was all ears. Her eyes are fixed on the blonde woman pouring her heart out.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any more uncomfortable...

“It’s hard to say this, but... we haven’t been..." Anne started, yet stopped for a second, clearly hesistating before she continued, "..intimate lately. Not for weeks. And I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him pull away like this.”

Fuck.

She did not want to hear that. Izzy had assumed naively, that perhaps Eddie’s relationship with Anne remained intact in 'certain' ways, even despite their affair. It dawned on her. He has been more consistent with her, making time to see her inside or outside the mansion, frequent calls and messages to check up on her, then their sex—the raw and unapologetic sex.

It was her doing.

Anne’s voice broke slightly as she continued, her composure slipping. “I love him—I love him so much. And I know he loves me, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a part of him I’ll never reach. Like there’s this invisible wall between us, and no matter what I do, I can’t tear it down.”

Izzy’s gaze flicked to Anne’s trembling hands, her stomach twisting in a way she hadn’t expected. She wanted to look away, to detach herself from the rawness of Anne’s words, but something about the vulnerability in front of her that held her trapped in the moment.

Is this it? Is this finally it?

“And I don’t know how to fix it,” Anne said, her voice cracking as tears pooled at the edges. “I’m supposed to be the person who knows him best but it seems like I don't. Not the way you did at the mall.”

Izzy froze at the mention, her chest filled with guilt as it clawed its way into her throat. She did not mean to make her feel that way. She had only wanted to care for Eddie, to be there for him in the only way she knew how. She never realized that those small, intimate moments could haunt her like this and now, hearing Anne reference it so earnestly, Izzy couldn’t help but feel the sharp sting of her own actions. She thought, this was only the tip of the fucking iceberg she and Eddie created. She can't imagine how Anne would even look at her if she knew the depth of their relationship.

It was a scalding pain. Her conscience was a boiling hot water pouring in her skin.

Anne wasn’t accusing her, wasn’t even looking for blame. She was opening her heart, searching for help, clinging to the hope that Izzy might hold the answer to better understand Eddie. And in that hope, Izzy felt an unbearable guilt, the kind that comes from knowing she's part of the wall Anne was desperately trying to tear down.

She IS the wall.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Anne met Izzy’s gaze then, her cheeks tear-streaked. “Help me, Izzy. You know Eddie better than anyone, and I can’t do this on my own. I don’t want to lose him.”

She felt a huge lump on her throat, listening to Anne's plead as she nodded slowly, struggling to maintain her calm facade. She had never felt like the villain before, but as Anne looked at her with such raw trust, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of her guilt settle deeper. “O-okay,” she murmured quietly, her tone softer than Anne had ever heard it.

“I will help.”

And in that moment, Izzy realized she wasn’t just helping Anne reconnect with Eddie, she was desperately trying to atone for the fire she’d helped create.

But this conversation was not the most excrutiating part of it all...

It was when she realized that the Third Degree Burn was ending it all at once. Facing Eddie, knowing she had to let him go and burning through all the layers of their relationship, for the sake of his engagement. For the sake of the woman he loved.

She called him later that night at the Bay area, a quiet spot where no one would hear what they were about to say.

Izzy rehearsed this conversation on her head over and over again. She thought about the right words to say, how she would open this topic up, and how she's going to hold herself in the process. What she did not realize how painful it could be until Eddie appeared in front of her.

That devilishly handsome crooked smile of his that always made her heart pound is now making it ache...

“Hey, baby,” he called out, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “So, you’ve summoned me out here at this hour—what’s next? You plotting to start some scandalous sand sex? Because I’m all in, but let’s just say ‘Brock caught in bay-side mischief’ isn’t the headline I’m dying to see tomorrow.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with mischief as his voice took on that teasing tone she knew too well. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his hands naturally grabbing her waist. But Izzy didn’t laugh. She didn’t have a witty retort or roll her eyes like she usually might. Instead, she flinched that was enough for Eddie to stop as his grin faded.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She took a shaky breath, her expression blank, her gaze distant as she finally spoke the words she’d dreaded saying aloud. She can't look at him without breaking.

“Anne spoke to me earlier...” her words came out sounding detached, as if she had to remove all feeling from them just to get them out even though it felt like her feelings are burning through her chest.

She had to do this, even if it left her in ashes.

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teddybeartoji · 8 months ago

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Shaking and violently frothing at the mouth I am FIGHTING the urge to send you some Cowboy/Outlaw!JJK ideas like OOOH ITS SO BAD

None of them are safe either, Toji? Outlaw. Sukuna? Outlaw with a bounty of at *least* 5,000 (not a lot but for the time it was basically like 50,000 and possibly even a bit more). Suguru? Probably a gang leader of outlaws since he's basically a cult leader in the JJK anime. Satoru? I'm thinking an Outlaw from a really upperclass family who hated it and decided he wanted to follow his Gang leader BF and be an Outlaw with him.

HIII BB!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE COWBOYS YEEEEHAAAWWWWWWWW!!!!!! i'm fairly sure i have a bounty hunter/outlaw!toji piece somewhere in my drafts lmao i hope i can go back to it some day bc i really do love cowboys!!!!!!!!!!!!! you just wait until i get my rdr2 back and then i'm sure that i'll spiral into the cowboy world again lmao there no holding back then

I LOVE THE IDEA OF A RICH BOY TURNED OUTLAW SATORUUU!!!!! he just wants to live he just wants to have some fun with his boyfriend:333333333 and i do agree that they all have some big ass fucking bounties on them lmao they are all unhinged as fuck. aaand i like the idea of toji and sukuna being like kind of partners yk? they don't do everything together but they do just seem to bump into each other all the time lmao they've helped each other out of jail a number of times they've saved each other from hangings it's all very romantic ngl

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand i also really like the idea of toji and sukuna having a kind of silly rivalry with satoru and suguru lmao they all try to screw each other over again and again but they're all also good enough to make their escape every time and it's just a stupid little beef between them

#RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH #I LOVE LOVE LOVE COWBOYSSSS #and i really should be getting my game back soon i think and when i do i am starting another playthrough immediately i miss it so baddddd #HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #WAIT ALSO CMON NOW YOU KNOW YOU CAN ALWAYS SEND IN YOUR THOUGHTS #ALWAYSSS!!!!!!!!!!!#i'm just slow with the replies but that's on me and that is never like a personal thing #I PROMISEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!#MWAH MWAH ILYYY #bb <3 #friends!!

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fisheito · 9 months ago

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@murdertramp25 replied to your post “excuse me blade, sir, drioid,maam, why are u so...”:

i stg Blade sneaks up on you like that tho!! im like 'haha yeah idk blade is okay i guess' and then i see him and im like '!!!! babey! baby boy!!! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!!!'

i'm stuck in a slow burn with all these goddamm pnjpegs and i don't know when the oh. is gonna hit this is a neverending daymare

#WHO TF OBFUSCATED THE CHAPTER COUNT ON THIS FIC #*rotating my life at various angles to try and see inside*#imagine meeting this roster of characters and instantly being assigned a Deadline of Affection Reveal #it could be months from now. it could be years. it could be never #maybe you'll actually get the reverse of a slow burn! slow... fizzle? like?? you'll actually DISLIKE this character more as time passes?#but no. no. i'm subjected to whwatever *petulant handwave* this is #if i could describe my relationship with some of the clan members as a bobbing biorhythm #where i go thru periods of increased affection followed by moments of chill armslength #and blade was like. zero interest. i was actively not looking to get involved. FOOL ME ONCE!!!!!!!!#but idk... lately... i miss him... and i laugh eevry time i see him interact with the crew #i see a blade fan pumping out fanart of him and i nod in the corner approvingly like. yes. yes. the world needs you. beloved edroid needs u #then there was the moment i was sitting in my intimacy room menu (a week ago)#looking at all the locked event SSRs and wondering which i should unlock...#i had options. almost everyone was an option. but. i chose blade...????#WHY? WHAT IS CHANGING MY BEHAVIOUR? WHY NOW??? NOW!!???! WHY???!??!???!#SNUCK UP ON ME *INDEED*#he just plays nice with everybody and that makes me smile...#just like how garu is unstoppable with the puppy charm and no clan member is immune to his friendliness #blade has a similar ability. he'll run around and get away with things that others won't because of his adorableness #it's kuya standing there. garu nuzzling him on the left. blade poking him on the right (and calling him obnoxious nicknames)#and yet neither of them are set aflame #too powerful....ly cute........#replies

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sagechan · 1 year ago

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tell me you don't know how AO3 ratings work without telling me you don't know how AO3 ratings work

#this is actually a couple weeks old but I am even older and slow to check emails so here we are #incredible to me how people will just come onto your posts and say whatever bullshit they want #without stopping to do any kind of thinking whatsoever #pretty sure they deleted the reply so I'm guessing they figured out how they fucked up #but JESUS maybe figure that out BEFORE going off like some high and mighty prick in my replies #you're some rando I've never seen in my notes before who the HECK are you #get tf outta here

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haarute · 2 years ago

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randomly coming across tumblr accounts i've interacted with like 7 years ago and remembering how i used to be so desperate for friendship and how that never worked out and it instead turned me into a hermit who saw themselves as fundamentally unlikable and someone that should not bother others and how long it's taken me to even consider the possibility of that not being a healthy mentality

#because i was SURE that that was the correct thing to do #weirdly coming out at the other end and right back at the beginning here #because i spent so long living inside my own head and torturing myself for really no reason #and it wasn't until like last year that that changed and i decided to finally like. talk to people somewhat.#something i used to do years ago was send people positive messages on anonymous and keep like a nice relationship where i never show myself #just because that was like. the only outlet i had.#but now i just reply to people normally. like humans do.#not that i do it a lot nor i am any good at it but. it's something.#and it's better i think.#it's just wild to me how #''people are all worthy of love and care and also that applies to you too'' was something that took me 26 years to learn.#i suppose i'm just that slow is all.

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tvrningout-a · 2 years ago

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my mutuals: omg i'm sorry this reply took so long

me, queuing up my reply after about a month: omg i'm sorry this reply took so long

my mutuals, another month later: omg i'm sorry this reply took so long

me, another month later: omg i'm--

#ASDFG LISTEN #can we all agree that it's okay to take your time bc it is! i never mind y'all answering stuff late #bc to me it isn't late -- you answered it exactly when i needed you to #bc seeing a reply or an answered ask when i wasn't expecting it is such a lovely feeling!!#and really how can i be mad when i'm as slow as it gets?? i have my moments but man i take forever i'll admit it #so never feel bad for taking your time with writing <3 you're doing just fine!!#almost everything i'm queuing is late btw like i'm not joking when i say i'm queuing month old replies asdfg #get ready to ramble | ooc

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thanoskin · 4 months ago

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you belong to me

Pairing: Frontman x Reader

Summary: you’re the daughter of a volatile VIP, you draw the frontman’s attention during your visit to the games.

Warning: Smut (+18), Rough sex, Degradation kink, Age gap, Fingering, Dom! Frontman, Sub! Reader, vaginal fluids, overstimulation, Pussy slapping, Unprotected sex, no aftercare.

Word count: 1519 words.

The air was heavy with the scent of luxury-imported cigars, fine leather, and expensive cologne. You sat on a lavish velvet couch in the VIP lounge, nursing a glass of champagne that had gone warm in your hand. Around you, the other VIPs laughed and cheered as they watched the carnage unfold on the massive screen before them.

Your father, one of the most notorious and impulsive of the VIPs, sat at the head of the room, reveling in the chaos below. His booming laughter grated against your nerves, but you kept your expression neutral. You'd learned long ago how dangerous it was to show any weakness around him.

Still, the games didn't hold your interest. Not like they did for him. Your attention drifted instead to the enigmatic figure known as the Front Man, the creator of the games.

He was always there, silent, observing, his black mask concealing his face but not the sharp intelligence in his movements. You'd caught him watching you more than once, and though he never said a word, you felt the weight of his gaze.

Tonight was no different.

You glanced up, and there he was, standing at the edge of the room, his posture rigid, his presence commanding. Even surrounded by the chaos of the VIPs, he seemed untouchable, untamed.

Hours later, it was finally lights out.The VIPs eventually retreated to their private quarters, leaving you alone in the grand lounge, your father was too drunk to notice you were still around. The silence was a relief after the overwhelming noise, but it didn't last long.

"You shouldn't be here alone."

"I'm not afraid of being alone," you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

He stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the marble floor. "You should be."

You raised an eyebrow, meeting the dark void of his mask. "Is that a warning?"

"It's a fact," he said, stopping just a few feet away.

"Your father isn't the only dangerous man here."

You set your glass down, leaning back against the couch. "I think I'll take my chances."

The Front Man tilted his head, studying you. "You're not like the others," he murmured.

"No," you said, your lips curving into a faint smile. "I'm not."

He didn't respond, but the weight of his gaze was palpable. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence crackling.

"What do you want from me?" you asked finally, breaking the stillness.

The Front Man stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "What makes you think I want something?"

You stood, closing the distance between you.

"Because men like you don't get involved unless there's something in it for them."

He chuckled softly, the sound distorted through his mask. "Maybe you're right."

His hand came up, the black leather of his glove brushing against your cheek.

The touch was surprisingly gentle, and it made your inner thighs warm.

"Careful.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his other hand slid to your waist, drawing you closer. His mask pressed against your forehead, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you both.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

You didn't. Instead, your fingers moved to the edge of his mask, your breath hitching as he allowed you to lift it just enough to see his lips.

The kiss was slow at first, testing, but it quickly deepened. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips moved against yours. The weight of his mask and the secrecy of the moment only heightened the intensity.

He pulled back, his breathing uneven, his voice rough. "My quarters. Now."

The room was stark, utilitarian, a sharp contrast to the opulence of the VIP lounge. But it didn't matter. The moment the door closed behind you, he was on you, his mask discarded, his lips capturing yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

You clung to him as he backed you against the wall, his hands exploring, his touch possessive yet careful, as if he were afraid you might vanish.

"You don't belong here," he murmured against your skin, his voice raw.

"Neither do you," you replied, your fingers tangling in his hair as he chuckled at your innocence.

His lips trailed down your neck as his hands slid beneath the fabric of your dress, and he gripped your ass, hard, causing you to gasp in surprise.

Suddenly, he lifted you by your hips and tossed you on the bed, not giving you a chance to breathe as he crawled on top of you like a predator hunting its prey. You were face to face with him now.

He slowly pulled off his mask to reveal an older, handsome man with dark and determined eyes. You kissed him deeply, almost savagely, he let you for a couple of minutes before placing his hand on your throat, pinning you beneath him.

You whined softly, your breaths ragged as you adapted to his strong grip. He let you go, his hands now roaming over the thin fabric of your dress, and tracing over your hard nipples.

“You’re not wearing a bra…” he whispered teasingly, and you blushed as he removed your dress.

He stared at your naked body, ignoring your horny whimpers as he ran his hand through your wet folds. You moaned softly as his thumb grazed over your clit. He smirked teasingly and began to use slight pressure as he moved his thumb in a circular motion on your sensitive ball of nerves.

You moan and writhe, attempting to close your legs from the pressure. Suddenly, you feel two cold fingers enter your aching hole, and you gasp in surprise.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He asks, his gaze curious and intense, causing you to look away.

“Answer me when I speak to you.”

You feel his fingers curl against that spongy spot, and you cry out.

“Yes! Please don’t stop..” you begin to squirm, moaning uncontrollably as he continues to curl and thrust his fingers into your virgin hole.

You dig your nails into his back and start to get louder and louder, your moans desperate, and your pussy soaking wet.

Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out and begins to remove his belt, staring at your sprawled and exposed form.

“I need your cock please.” You murmur, and he doesn’t reply, he tosses his belt on the far end of the room and removes his pants and underwear, crawling towards you again. His cock wasn’t too big, but wasn’t too small either.

You found yourself terrified, but your arousal only grew as you stared at his hard, throbbing cock.

He roughly grabs your thighs, spreading them wide, digging his nails into your sensitive skin, causing you to whine.

You closed your eyes and he immediately pinched your inner thigh.

“Open.”

Your eyes flew open at his command, and you whine as you feel his tip against your throbbing clit.

“Look at me while I take you.”

you obeyed, he began to enter you, and you hissed and cried out from the pain. He didn’t respond, but you were grateful for his patience, and his gentle touches as he stroked your legs while he broke you in.

Suddenly, he hit a spot, causing you to moan loudly. He began to thrust quickly, causing you to moan uncontrollably.

“oh fuck!” You cried and used your free hands to try and push his shoulders, desperatey feeling the need to cum already.

he growled and pinned your hands above your head, his strong hands nearly breaking your wrists as you moaned loudly and sobbed.

“Look at me!” He shouted, he was panting, his eyes locked into yours as he fucked you mercilessly.

“I’m gonna cum!” you cried out, trying to close your legs.

“Don’t you fucking….”

you squirted all over his cock, and he stopped moving inside of you. He sighed and pulled out, and you’re rewarded with a harsh slap to your clit.

“You cum when I tell you to, not a moment before that. Understood?”

You cry and before you can respond, he enters you again, pinching your sensitive nipples and tugging the skin as he fucked you hard, and fast.

“Fuck…” he whispered, before pulling out and panting.

He yanks your legs apart again, only to rub your throbbing clit, with force and speed.

You’re overstimulated, and on the brink of cumming.

“Please, let me…” you cried and moaned.

“Come on, squirt all over my fucking hand.”

You squirted hard and he groaned in delight as you coat his fingers in your juices.

“Such a good little…”

He groaned again, kissing your thighs. You’re exhausted and sore, you lay limp and spent, your eyelids suddenly heavy, and before you knew it, you hear the rustling of his clothing being put back on, and the door closed behind him.

#squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #squid game x reader #smut #female reader #x reader #front man #frontman x reader #hwang inho #in ho x reader #player 001

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greengoblinswifey · 6 months ago

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Trust— Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

summary— based on season 4 episode 9, slight spoilers. rafe is convinced he can help you relax, take your mind off the drama on the ship and make you trust him.

warnings— manipulation, oral, praise kink, degrading kink, bondage, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.

Rafe looked up as you entered the small, cramped bathroom, his blue eyes narrowing before softening a bit as he registered your expression. “Come to check on me again?” he drawled, his voice low and rough after days of confinement. Despite his irritation, there was a hint of something else in his tone, something that felt almost, relieved.

“Yeah,” you replied, sighing as you slid down to sit on the floor next to him, finally giving yourself a break from the chaos upstairs. “I needed to get away from everything. JJ's out of control, everyone’s on edge, and it’s just—it's all a lot.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, shifting a bit to get more comfortable despite his tied-up position. “Sounds like a mess,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “But not surprising. I’d be losing it, too, if I were up there. Though, you don’t seem the type to lose it.”

You exhaled, glancing away. “I don’t know, sometimes I think I'm just about at my limit. It feels like I’m the only one who, I don’t know, tries to keep it all together by being civil.”

Rafe smirked slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to, you know. Keep it together all the time,” he murmured, his voice taking on an edge. “Sometimes, you just need to let off some steam.” His voice dropped, a bit huskier. “Maybe even relax a little.” His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt your pulse quicken.

You frowned, glancing at his wrists, still bound. “Rafe…”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his tone almost too smooth. “Untie me. I’m not going to hurt you.” He held your gaze with an intensity that made you falter. “Let me help you relax.”

Hesitating, you chewed on your lip. There was something, different about him right now, and you couldn’t quite pin point it. But, against your better judgment, you reached forward and undid the ropes around his wrists, slowly freeing him.

Before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, and he pulled you in close, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was both rough and gentle, catching you completely off-guard. You melted into it, the tension you’d been carrying washing away under his touch. Your mind went blank, and you felt yourself leaning in closer, craving the connection.

“You’re so needy,” he murmured against your lips, “So naughty for letting me loose like this.”

Flustered, you pulled back slightly, breathless. “Rafe…”

He only smirked, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “It’s alright,” he whispered, holding your gaze with a soft, challenging glint. “Now that I’m out, maybe I can return the favor and help you feel a little better.”

You slowly nodded. You couldn’t deny the way he was making you feel.

Rafe’s hands moved slowly over your bare stomach, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your skin, sending shivers up your spine. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So responsive,” he murmured, watching your breath hitch as his hands continued their slow exploration.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, feeling vulnerable but completely unable to pull away. Rafe’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your skirt, and with a quiet confidence, he slipped it and your thong off, leaving you feeling even more exposed. He let out a quiet chuckle, his hands never leaving your skin.

When he pulled off his own shirt, his eyes never left yours, and then he moved closer, his presence between your legs grounding you in the moment. “Trust me,” he whispered, voice low as he leaned in, and before you could fully process the warmth of his breath, he began to press soft, deliberate kisses along your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from you.

“You’re so—” you managed, words slipping away as he looked up at you with that familiar smirk, his gaze unrelenting.

“So what?” he teased, “I haven’t even started.”

Your breath grew shallow, anticipation building as his hands traced along your hips, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

His mouth attached to your clit and it sent a spark through you, his touch patient yet undeniably intent, and you couldn’t help but give in to the sensation, letting yourself relax under his steady hands. His tongue was precise, lapping up every part of your pussy that was soaked with your juices.

“Don’t hold back now,” he murmured. His constant sucking and flicking over your clit made your orgasm wash over you, leaving you completely captivated, and all you could do was let yourself melt into the moment, trusting him entirely.

“I’d say you were my good girl and you are but fuck, you’re such a slut just letting me make you cum like this, I thought you and your friends didn’t trust me?” he chuckled, sitting up til he was beside you. You buried your face into his chest, embarrassed that he was right.

“Oh that’s okay baby, don’t be embarrassed,” he laughed, “you know what would make it all better? Me doing to you what they did to me.”

Your head shot up, confusion etched across your face.

“Not like that baby, you’d be willing wouldn’t you? Would you let me tie you up and use you? Gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked huskily.

Slowly, you nodded. You couldn’t deny his words made you throb. You’d let this man do anything to you. He smirked at your obedience and took up the rope, beginning to tie you in the same position he was before. The rope was tied firmly, but not firm enough to hurt or bruise you.

“Is that okay baby? You like being all tied up for me?”

“Y-yes Rafe,” you muttered, eyes big and full of need.

He slipped down his boxers and your eyes went wider, gasping at the size of him. He was so thick and leaking for you. You needed a taste.

“Open up that whore mouth,” he growled.

Immediately, you did what was told and he shoved his cock straight to the back of your throat making you gag.

“Breathe baby, breathe, I know you can take it, you seem like you’d be such a good cock sucker.”

You wanted to prove him right, you wanted to be exactly what he thought of you. As he slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue went to work, swirling over the base and the tip, getting it as sloppy as you could. He moaned deeply above you, as his thrusts grew faster, your lips suctioned around him, making the sweetest little sounds.

You would’ve played with his balls if your hands weren’t tied and so, you leaned your head down, slurping and sucking on his balls as he threw his head back and shivered.

“Fuck, I knew you could do it, I knew you were a little whore, what a fucking mouth.” He slipped back into your mouth, his hands now going to your curls as he held you down on his cock, but before he could shoot his load down your throat, he pulled out.

“I know you’d swallow every last drop of my cum like the whore you are but I’d rather your pussy swallow it,” he chucked.

Heat rose in your cheeks as you thought about him filling you up. You weren’t on any form of birth control and you knew for a fact him or anyone on the ship did not have a condom in their possession. He’d definitely get you pregnant, just like his sister was at the moment. Ironic.

“Now, I have an idea.” You looked up at him curiously then gasped as he lifted your lower body, your hands in a slight awkward position as he held you up to fuck you mid air.

“Think you can take it— oh who am I kidding, you’re going to fucking take it,” he muttered, rubbing the leaking tip of his cock up and down your pussy lips.

“Your pussy is so wet and pretty, so happy you just gave it up to me.” You both moaned in unison as his cock slowly penetrated you. In that moment you partially wished your hands weren’t tied so you could’ve placed it on his abdomen, halting him from any further movements.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began pounding into you, your tits spilling out of the skimpy top you had on. His cock was deep inside you due to the angle, the feeling making your pussy quiver.

“Who’s making you feel this good huh?” he asked, his hands squeezing your hips harshly.

“You are Rafe, you,” you cried out. Your friends had definitely heard your screams.

“Good girl, trust me now?” he chuckled, breathlessly.

“Yes Rafe, I trust you. Faster, please,” you pleaded.

His rough thrusts sped up and the sound of your sloppy pussy and your loud moans filled the bathroom, possibly alerting your friends above.

“I need to feel you cum on my cock baby, you can do it,” he urged.

He went faster and deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you to draw the orgasm out. Before long, you screamed his name, your pussy squirting all over the bathroom walls as he continued fucking you through your high, pulling everything out of you.

“You’re so fucking hot, good girl,” he cooed.

He began chasing his own orgasm, his hand wrapping around your neck and his other skillfully holding under you as his thrusts grew more sloppy.

“Clench around me baby, I’m gonna pump this sweet pussy full of my cum. Gonna get you fucking pregnant, have you carry my babies inside this sexy body.”

You couldn’t protest even if you wanted to and your walls clamped around him, milking him of every ounce of his cum as he slammed into you. His thrusts grew slower and slower and he held you with one hand, the other unbinding your hands and when he did, he held you close to him, his cock still deep inside your pussy.

You both shivered under each other’s touch, panting slowly subsiding.

You shifted off him, the feeling of his big cock slipping out of you making you wince and whimper at the loss and you sat beside him.

“You look so beautiful and relaxed,” he smirked, pushing your curls behind your ear.

“Well you were right, you could help me relax,” you giggled.

“I’m always right. I meant what I said by the way, you’re gonna carry my babies inside that sexy fucking body,” he smirked, rubbing your stomach.

Before you could respond, there was a pounding on the door, it was your best friend.

“Y/N, what’s all that noise? What’s going on in there?” Cleo called out.

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thepencilnerd · 25 days ago

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And Through It All

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: What starts with years of coffee, rooftop conversations, and quiet closeness unravels in the aftermath of a violent patient attack. As the hospital reels, so does Robby—until everything he’s buried comes to the surface. warnings: depiction of violence towards women genre: slow burn, pining, angst, fluff, you both suck at feelings word count: 3.6k a/n: yes this show still has me in a chokehold, this man is old enough to be my father, and protective/emotionally constipated Robby has consumed my every waking thought. also someone please sedate me because I don't know how I'm going to make it between episodes.

p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | Feels Like Trouble) if you're interested

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch always clocked in just after you.

It started as coincidence—years ago, when you were a new year-2 resident fumbling your way through charting and sleep deprivation. You’d arrive blurry-eyed at 5:58 AM, and two minutes later, he'd walk through the side door with two cups of coffee. One always ended up in your hand.

"This is my warm welcome to the pit, I’m not on coffee rounds," he’d grumbled the first time.

"Yet, my savior, here you are," you smiled, taking the cup. "Thanks, Dr. Robby."

He gave you a look, dry and fond. "Don’t get used to it."

Needless to say, you both did.

Now a senior resident, you’ve long since earned your stripes—but the morning coffees kept coming. So did the banter.

"That differential on bed 7 was a mess," Robby muttered one morning.

You sipped from your cup. "I was experimenting with chaos as a teaching strategy."

He stared, deadpan. "Rein it in, Nietzsche."

Late nights sometimes ended on the roof—shoulders nearly touching, silence stretched long between you. The rooftop was a liminal space: above the noise, between shifts, between you and him. You'd talk about patients. About medicine. About what the job takes and what it leaves behind.

One night you’d murmured, "Do you think we make a difference? Or are we just putting out fires that never stop?"

Robby didn’t answer right away. You could hear him breathing. "Some burning buildings are worth running into," he said eventually, voice low like he was admitting something he'd carried a long time.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t not. You were close—so close it blurred. You never noticed how often he drifted into your orbit. But others did.

"So... you and Robinavitch—what’s the deal?" McKay would tease with a grin.

You furrowed your brow, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

She leaned on the nurses' station, unbothered. "C’mon, you really don’t see it? The way he looks at you? Brings you coffee every morning? Steps in before anyone else can when the ball rolls downhill?"

You waved a hand dismissively. "He just… cares. That’s his job."

McKay raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Except he doesn’t bring me coffee. Or look like he’s going to deck someone if they so much as raise their voice at me."

You opened your mouth to reply—but the sliding ER doors slammed open. A gurney rushed in, shouting echoing off the walls. Without thinking, you turned and ran toward the trauma bay.

"Saved by the bell," McKay called after you, but you were already gone.

But you didn’t see how his eyes tracked you in a crowded hallway, lingering just a second longer than necessary—guarded, but unmistakably drawn. How he'd appear at your side before anyone else when things turned sideways, voice calm but stance protective, like he was positioning himself between you and whatever chaos had just erupted. The way his jaw would tighten when residents spoke too casually around you, especially if their tone dipped into flirtation. The moments when his voice dropped low, quiet and edged with something softer, when asking if you’d made it home safe after shifts—always phrased like a passing question, but one he never failed to ask.

Earlier that week, Robby had been leaning against the counter in the break room with Dana and a few of the nurses clustered nearby. He was sipping bad coffee and flipping through a chart when Dana nudged him lightly with her elbow.

"You know," she started with a smirk. "You're getting pretty soft on that senior resident."

Robby didn’t look up, adjusting the frame of his glasses. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"

Princess glanced at Perlah, who grinned. The two exchanged a few rapid lines in Tagalog—something teasing and full of mischief. Robby raised an eyebrow.

"Just because I don’t speak Tagalog doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what you’re saying," he said dryly, finally taking off his glasses and staring at the nurses judgementally.

Dana just about cackled. "Come on, Robby. You bring her coffee every morning, you hover when she’s in a tough case, you barely let interns breathe near her."

Perlah added, "And you always look at her like you’re trying not to."

Princess laughed. "Sir, that’s not just coffee—that’s courtship."

Robby rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. "You all have too much time on your hands."

"We're just saying," Dana said as she turned toward the door. "If you're gonna pine, at least be subtle."

He shook his head and muttered, "Back to work, people."

Then came the day everything cracked.

The patient had come in hostile—angry at the world and bleeding from a cut above his brow—muttering about how no one respected him, how women thought they were better than him. According to his chart, he had a record of violent outbursts and a chip on his shoulder the size of the hospital.

"You think you're smarter than me, don't you?" he sneered when you entered the bay, his arms crossed and chest puffed like a bull ready to pick a fight.

You kept your voice calm and professional. "Sir, I'm just here to update your chart and make sure you're getting what you need."

He laughed—sharp and bitter. "What I need is for people like you to stop looking at me like I'm some kind of freak. All you female doctors think you're so much better."

You froze for just a second. "I'm here to provide care. Nothing more."

"Don't lie to me!" he spat. "I see how you talk to the others. You think you're above me like some queen. But you're not. You're just another stupid cunt—"

"I'm going to get another physician to help with your case," you said quickly, trying to disengage, stepping back toward the call button.

"You walk away from me, and I swear—"

The second he was out of your peripheral vision, he lunged.

You cried out as his weight slammed into you, sending you hard to the ground. Everyone around you scattered, the staff protecting patients and patients protecting themselves.

Your elbow struck tile and pain bloomed across the crown of your skull. Your head snapped back like a slap bracelet. He loomed over you, shouting a string of vile insults, hands grabbing at whatever they could. Another set of fingers clamped around your throat. A scream pierced through the air shouting, "Robby!" Only after a set of doors burst open did you realize it was yours.

Before you had time to process what was happening, he was there.

Robby knocked the patient off of you with brute force that stunned the entire hospital staff. Without help, Robby pinned him to the floor facefirst with practiced strength, knees braced, and jaw clenched. "Security!" his voice thundered.

Subduing the attacker by his wrists, Robby's knee dug into the man's back thigh without mercy, making him cry out in pain. "Collins! Dana!" he barked, voice sharp and commanding, reverberating through the trauma bay like a shockwave.

You were on the floor, dazed, breath knocked out of you. The two women rushed to your side in the blink of an eye. All around, med students and residents stood frozen, eyes wide.

They had never seen Robby like that.

No one had ever seen Robby like that.

The patient struggled once more before Robby leaned in and drove his knee harder into the attacker’s thigh, his grip unrelenting, voice low and deadly calm. "Stay down."

Security took over a moment later, but Robby didn’t move until he was sure it was safe. Then he stood, exhaled once, and turned to Dana and Collins.

"I'll be over as soon as I can, brief me later," he said. "I'll assess her myself."

Dana crouched beside you, one hand firm on your shoulder. "We've got you," she said gently, then glanced over her shoulder. "We'll be in 4."

Collins helped you up with care, guiding you slowly down the hall while Dana kept close at your side. You were still disoriented, a sharp ringing in your ears, but you caught a glimpse of Robby speaking to security. He didn’t even glance your way—focused, furious, deadly calm.

In Exam Room 4, Collins set you down on the cot, already checking your pupils with a penlight. "You hit your head?"

"Yeah," you managed, wincing as you moved. "Elbow too. Think I caught most of the floor on the way down."

Dana pressed a cold pack into your hand. "You’re in shock. Just breathe. We’ll handle this."

Collins nodded, gently examining your face and palpating around your ribs. "No obvious trauma, nothing broken. Expect some bruising around your throat the next few days. We should get you in for a head CT just to be safe. You took a hard hit."

"I'll get that booked ASAP," Dana said, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping out to handle the order. She paused at the doorway just long enough to exchange a glance with Collins—an unspoken check-in—before disappearing down the hall.

Moments later, the door opened again. Robby stepped in, his expression unreadable but his eyes scanning you like he was cataloging every mark, every breath.

"I’ll take it from here," he said quietly to Collins.

They exchanged a glance, then wordlessly stepped out.

And then it was just you and him.

He crossed to your side, kneeling. His hands moved automatically, gently tilting your chin to check for swelling, eyes flicking to your pupils, then the scrape along your cheekbone. "Can you look up for me? Good. Follow my finger."

His voice was low and clinical, but his touch was careful—too careful.

"Headache? Nausea? Double vision?" he asked, bringing your hand into his and turning it over to assess for any injuries.

"No, just a little dizzy," you murmured.

He nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed your elbow, then the bruising along your neck. Then the questions stopped. His hands stilled.

He just looked at you—really looked at you—and the silence took hold.

His jaw flexed, like he was trying to say something but couldn't. Something had cracked open in him. Not just from what happened. From what it revealed.

And you could feel it—the weight in the room. Something unsaid between you, thick as blood and twice as loud.

You tried to fill the silence. "Dana said she'd put in a rush order for a head CT. Collins didn’t think anything was broken, just some bruising and—"

"Don’t," Robby said, almost too softly.

Your words faltered. You watched him—how his shoulders stayed tense, how his eyes didn’t move from yours, how still he was, like saying the wrong thing might make everything unravel.

"Robby," you said gently. "It's okay, I’m fine."

His jaw clenched, masseter muscles carving his sunken cheeks like a marble sculpture. "No, it's not. You’re not."

He said it so quietly, like he hated the truth of it. Getting up, he ruffled his hair and shook his head, voice still quiet but heavy. "Just... give me a second."

It wasn’t the injury that had shaken him—it was the realization. That in those terrifying few seconds, the worst thing he could imagine had nearly happened. And it wasn’t because you were his resident. Or his colleague.

It was because you were you.

You watched him pace as the silence dragged, your heart still pounding faintly in your ears. "Robby," you tried again, softer this time. "I'm okay, really..."

Still, he said nothing.

You gave a half-scoff, half-sigh, trying to shake off the tension. "I’ve had worse nights. Dana and Collins already cleared me—CT’s just precautionary. Nothing to worry about."

His movements stilled and eyes didn’t leave yours.

"What is it?" you asked, finally, your voice gentle but steady—like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it.

That cracked something in him. He looked away for a beat, jaw flexing again, his breath hitching as if he was holding back something too big to name. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw—nothing like the sharp, composed attending everyone else knew.

"I didn’t know it would feel like that."

He rubs the back of his neck, a self-soothing gesture in an effort to hold back whatever threatens to overflow. "Seeing you on the ground. Hearing you scream. For me. I’ve seen worse—God knows we all have. But nothing’s ever felt like that."

You froze.

His eyes met yours again, and the walls he always held in place—stone and steel and professionalism—weren’t there anymore. He looked at you like he wanted something he had never allowed himself to want. Like he was terrified of the feeling and already grieving it.

You felt the shift like gravity tilting. Like the air changed around you. It was as though the ground beneath you had tipped on its axis.

And suddenly, everything between you was different.

Not unspoken anymore, just unbearable to say aloud.

You felt yourself retreating into the space between what you wanted to feel and what you needed to believe. The part of you that ached wanted to lean forward, close the distance, tell him you felt it too—that terrible, awful, beautiful clarity.

But another part held you back. The part that lived in hospital hallways and stared at name badges and remembered what it meant to be professional. To be younger. A resident. His resident. The part that convinced you it could never be more.

You searched his face, trying to decode what this moment was, or if it had always been there, hiding in quiet coffees and rooftops and restrained glances. And still, he said nothing. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe he didn’t know how to cross that final line either.

So you just sat there in the quiet with him, suspended between the ache and the boundary—between what was true and what you were still too scared to say.

Eventually, you broke. Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

His brows furrowed instantly. "For what?"

You shook your head, feeling heat rise behind your eyes. "I don’t know. For not calling for help. For being alone in there. For... allowing this," you gestured between the two of you, "to happen." You sniffled. "For letting myself—"

"Don’t," he cut in sharply, but not unkindly. "Don’t you dare apologize for any of that, you did nothing wrong."

You blinked.

He leaned in slightly, voice steady now, like he needed you to hear every word. "You did everything right. You followed protocol. That man was unstable, and what happened wasn’t your fault."

Your lip trembled, but you didn’t speak.

His voice softened again. "And if this is about me... if you think you’ve done something wrong because of how I feel about you—how I care about you—don’t."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was everything neither of you knew how to name. It sat heavy between you—thick with the ache of things buried too long and the sharp edges of everything that couldn't be said. You could feel it in your chest, pressing against your ribs and threatening to claw itself out, the unspoken confession of a man who just laid bare more than he meant to, and your own desperate need to pretend you didn’t hear it.

But you had. You’d heard it in his voice, in the way his hands had trembled just slightly when he touched your face, in the way his eyes wouldn’t leave yours even when they should’ve.

And now, as your chest rose and fell too quickly and your heart tried to find steady ground, all the small moments you’d buried—or maybe just refused to examine—rushed back like a crashing wave. His hand guiding yours during your very first incision, firm but not overbearing. The coffees every morning—always your usual, always on time. The time he’d found you on the stairwell after you lost your first patient, sobbing uncontrollably, and he didn’t try to fix it—he just sat there beside you until you could breathe again. The rooftop shifts when you couldn’t quiet your incessant thoughts, he somehow always found you there.

The silence that needed no explanation.

It had always been there. A quiet, steadfast presence. Not loud, not showy—but constant.

And now, undeniable.

And maybe you were still trying to find the line between what had always been there and what had just changed—but the silence was no longer uncertain. It was waiting.

You decided to break it.

"Can I kiss you?" you whispered, eyes searching his, breath catching somewhere in your throat.

Robby didn’t answer. Not with words.

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His eyes searched yours, one last moment of hesitation flickering there—one last out, if you wanted it.

But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, reverent, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed. His skin was warm against yours, soft in a way that surprised you. Your fingers found his jaw, the roughness of his beard brushing your palms as your hands slid down slowly, until they came to rest at the curve of his neck—right where his pulse thrummed hard beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepened a breath later, quiet and aching, full of everything you’d both held back for far too long. His hands rose to cradle your face, holding you like something fragile, like if he wasn’t careful, you might break. His thumbs grazed the corners of your cheekbones, grounding and gentle, anchoring you both in the impossible tenderness of it.

There was nothing hurried about it. Just warmth and softness and the quiet admission of something real. Something that had lived in the silence between you for years.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, exhaling shakily.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a confession.

He let out a breath, rough and shaky against your cheek. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he murmured. His voice cracked just slightly at the edges—like the truth cost something to say. And maybe it did.

You pulled back enough to see him clearly, your hands resting on his neck, feeling the steady, trembling pulse beneath your fingertips. He looked at you like the moment might vanish if he blinked.

For years, probably. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it. Not through the early mornings or the long nights. Not even when he stood too close, or when his voice turned soft just for you. Not even when your heart always found him in a crowd. But now, with his breath still warm against your lips and his hands still cradling your face like something precious, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

You’d been his and he'd been yours, long before either of you were brave enough to say it. You pulled back just enough to look at him—really look—and gently stroked his cheek, admiring his freckles like newly formed constellations in the sky.

His eyes drop ever so slightly. "I'm old," he starts. "My work-life balance is absolute shit. You deserve someone who can give you what you need."

You stare at him, puzzled. For a second, you think he’s serious—like he's about to start building walls where they’d only just crumbled.

Then you catch the flicker in his expression. The barely-there smirk at the corner of his mouth. He’s only half-serious. Nervous. Teasing you.

You grin, easing the weight with a well-aimed jab. "At least you're not old enough to be my father. And it's not like my hours spent outside work ratio is any better."

He scoffs, ducking his head before shaking it all too lightheartedly.

"And for the record," you add, tapping his chest with a pointed index finger. "This is not some personification of daddy issues, I'll have you know that my father and I have a very healthy relationship."

"Well, that’s a relief," he murmurs, his smile softening as he encloses his fingers around your hand.

You sit back, playful. "I’ll keep you up to date on all the hottest trends the youths engage in. Like cat cafés and strawberry milk matcha lattes. And emotional vulnerability."

He groans, rubbing his face shyly. "God help me."

You grin, careful not to laugh too hard, and lean into him again. "Too late for that, Robinavitch. You’re stuck with me."

"Yeah," he whispered. "I really hope I am."

Outside, the hospital buzzed as it always did—pages overhead, heels echoing on tile, lives beginning and ending behind curtain walls. But for a moment, the noise faded. The only sound was your breathing, his.

And the quiet hum of something long overdue settling into place.

You didn’t know what came next—how this would unfold outside the safety of Room 4, outside of bruises and adrenaline and low-lit confessions. But for now, with his forehead still resting gently against yours, and the weight of unspoken feelings finally aired between you, it didn’t matter.

You had time.

Until a round of cheers and high fives broke the stillness like a confetti cannon bursting into the air.

Both of you jerked apart, startled. Just outside the half-closed door to Room 4 stood a cluster of med students, nurses, residents, and paramedics—huddled together like a peanut gallery, barely containing their glee.

Your face flushed tomato red. You buried it in Robby’s chest as he turned around slowly, one hand instinctively coming up to rest on your back as he started to laugh.

Langdon, of course, was the ringleader. He held up a neon orange post-it like a trophy, waving it proudly as the group chuckled and whooped behind him. In black Sharpie were the words:

UNPLANNED CONFESSION - Langdon & King—the bet circled and underlined. And below it: $7/week. Scribbled in tiny pen just beneath that, barely legible, was a date—six months ago.

He high-fived someone out of view next to him just before giving the two of you an exaggerated thumbs-up, grinning like he’d just won the Super Bowl. On cue, Mel stood up from beside him and gave you a quick wave and a shy smile, arms held tightly by her sides.

You groaned, still pressed into Robby's chest. "I swear to God, if they made a bracket—"

"Oh they definitely made a bracket," Robby said, laughing into your hair.

You peeked up at him, still mortified but grinning. "Are we seriously the plot twist in someone’s trauma bay soap opera?"

"Apparently," he muttered, pulling you closer. "Should we give them something to talk about for next week's episode?"

You scoffed, swatting lightly at his chest. "Take me out to dinner first, will you?"

Outside, the group began to scatter—some called back to rounds, others still giggling as they walked off. But you stayed there, tucked into Robby’s side, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chaos. Whatever came next, you’d figure it out. Together.

And if the hospital had front-row seats to your slow-burn becoming a soft landing? So be it.

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