#i'm looking at you dark blue kiss

[strongermonster]

i'm in the middle of painting my bedroom, which is going Eh bc i want a very specific colour, but the lightbulb colour + basement darkness has made this an annoying trial and error in paint matching. however, i discovered only now in my life that plain ol' black + regular old yellow makes green.

i didn't know that??? i feel like... i shoudl've known that. was i not taught this when i was 8 or something?? it's making me feel 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ that i didn't know? it makes such a good green too

i hate this bc i feel like it was something that—now that i'm looking at it swatched out—i'm like "duh yeah, that's obvious, you knew that." but i just spent 4 days in a paint-fume-fuelled mania mixing greens, yellows, blues, reds, coppers, whites, blacks, etc to find a Perfect Green, and she was there in 2 colours all along...

[meownotgood]

pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

read on ao3

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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?" 

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes. 

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat. 

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions. 

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest. 

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face. 

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers. 

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register. 

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug. 

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks. 

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone. 

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-" 

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy. 

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus. 

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this." 

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?" 

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins. 

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop." 

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?" 

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath. 

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice. 

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh. 

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic. 

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this. 

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose. 

"That's when you find it." 

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right. 

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside. 

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze. 

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles. 

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest. 

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days." 

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration." 

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again." 

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you. 

"And what is it I'm doing?" 

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to." 

"I am not-" 

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down. 

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count." 

Your mouth forms a hard line. 

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-" 

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that." 

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach. 

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-" 

"It is a necessary risk." 

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.  

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…" 

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going. 

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his. 

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him. 

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was. 

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn. 

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together. 

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background. 

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear." 

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal. 

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron. 

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula. 

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away." 

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on." 

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity. 

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again. 

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy. 

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles. 

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning. 

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams. 

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-" 

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet — 

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back. 

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving." 

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately. 

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale. 

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-" 

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me." 

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones. 

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion? 

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench. 

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please." 

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?" 

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears. 

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die." 

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears. 

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness. 

It's a reminder that you're right. 

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time. 

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions. 

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him. 

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands. 

He knows this body is… wilting. 

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him. 

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last? 

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted. 

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. 

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology. 

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do. 

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus. 

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying. 

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to. 

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once. 

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful. 

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change. 

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline. 

It's something Viktor picks up on. 

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him. 

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you. 

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can. 

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral. 

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice. 

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned. 

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring. 

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him. 

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop. 

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt. 

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it. 

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before. 

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth. 

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it. 

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull. 

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve. 

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead. 

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back. 

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special? 

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck. 

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone. 

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks. 

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand. 

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you. 

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens. 

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his. 

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration. 

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead. 

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like. 

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone. 

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together. 

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat. 

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair. 

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold. 

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight. 

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation. 

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun. 

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his. 

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things." 

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids. 

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway. 

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different. 

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough. 

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to." 

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?" 

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired. 

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…" 

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting? 

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw. 

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?" 

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap. 

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession." 

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his. 

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression. 

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate." 

"Oh? Enlighten me." 

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears. 

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late." 

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?" 

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance." 

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate. 

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious." 

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day. 

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly. 

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you. 

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe." 

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress. 

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you. 

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd. 

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'" 

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums. 

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time. 

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional. 

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene." 

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you. 

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget. 

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm — 

"Vik-" 

"I need to have your trust." 

Your eyes widen. 

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-" 

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you." 

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open. 

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking — 

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please." 

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it. 

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you." 

Viktor softens. 

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you. 

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark." 

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close. 

[pepperyduck]

pins & needles

summary: how various jjk men react to ur new/unnoticed piercings! incl. nanami, gojo, geto, choso

warnings: veryyyyyyy suggestive (esp in nanami's), (new) piercings, geto's & nanami's is a new relationship type thing. excuse any typos pls😞. 18+ mdni!

a/n: i got like 3 new piercings over the weekend, this is just self indulgent and cute methinks. also tyyy for 700 :3, i'm trying so hard to get over the writer's block. love u all!

choso + smiley piercing!

"i've never been happier to see you," choso groans as soon as he enters your dorm, kicking off his shoes at the door. though his voice is monotone, you can infer he's tired, worn out from a day's work and fighting curses.

"rough day?" you scoot over in bed to allow room for your boyfriend, smoothing out the sheets and flipping your blanket up.

"very." the singular word is the only response choso gives before beginning to strip his uniform right in front of you. as you're watching intently, choso gets almost completely naked before grabbing some clothes he'd left over; a pair of baggy pants and an "i heart my girlfriend" shirt that you gifted him, and lazily putting them on.

"i did something today, cho," you inform him, and choso’s attention immediately snaps to you, eyes showing that he was obviously wondering.

"what’d you do?"

you give him a bright smile, all the teeth in your mouth shown to him, the shiny ring glistening atop your pretty gums. choso’s brows furrow together, his pupils coming to realize there was something new in your mouth, something different about your smile.

"what’s…that?" he asks, stepping closer and closer and eventually sitting on the bed with you. you giggle at his curious looking, his eyebrows still knitted together in an inquisitive way.

"a piercing, silly," you inform him, carefully flipping up your top lip to show where the jewelry went through the frenulum of your inner lip.

"does it hurt?" choso leans in even more, straightening his eyes with the freshly pierced hole in your mouth.

"not really, just a little bit," you tell him, letting go of your lip and pressing a quick peck to choso’s lips. it catches him off-guard, choso’s face lights up red because he thought he couldn’t kiss you. smiling triumphantly, you pull away from your boyfriend.

"it—um—it looks really pretty on you." choso compliments, "can i kiss you again? please?" and he’s so sincere and sweet, always asking permission for everything. so endearing, really, even with his deep, dark voice.

needless to say, when he kisses you again, choso is making sure to flick the jewelry all around with his tongue, faintly enough to not hurt the new wound. and it becomes a habit from thereon.

gojo + bellybutton piercing!

"i missed you so much, baby."

satoru is on top of you, arms caging you in while you lay underneath him, smiling and feebly grasping the biggest part of his bicep. it had been over a month since you'd seen your husband, he'd been away on a business trip for far too long.

"did you miss me?" his words are drawn out and dramatic, like always, like he was teasing you—but he was practically always teasing you.

"yes, satoru," you blankly reply, "i missed you."

just before you can roll your eyes, gojo's kissing you, a bit enthusiastically, but you quickly melt into his touch. as annoying as he could be, you loved him, you missed him. you had longed for him the moment he left—that was a fact you couldn’t deny.

as quickly as he meets your lips, satoru leaves, disconnecting himself to trail down your torso that was draped in a way-too-expensive t-shirt of his. but the one thing that doesn't leave you is his eyes, he keeps an intense stare on your face as he moves lower and lower towards your waistline. his fingertips dance along your sides before pinching the fabric of the bottom of the shirt and slowly lifting it up.

his eyes are no longer able to stay on yours when he catches a glimpse of the sparkly blue rhinestones on each ball of the jewelry stuck through your navel. of course, you chose the shade that best matched satoru's eye color.

"no way!" satoru exclaims, beaming with a new-found excitement for the little hole in your tummy, "you actually did it?"

"yes, satoru," you repeat, threading your fingers through the white tufts of your husband's hair.

gojo's nimble fingers come to play with the jewelry—the size comparison comedic from how large his hands are. he studies the now fully healed wound, moving the jewelry all around and practically forgetting the previous heated mood.

"do you like it?" you somewhat nervously ask, intimidated by the tedious investigation of your bellybutton.

"yes, duh," satoru dramatically quips, "you think i should get one next?"

nanami + nipple piercing!

kento had tried so hard to ignore it.

you didn't mean to distract him, really. it was a simple mishap at first, not wearing a bra when kento came over. but after the first time, he didn't seem to mind, he was gentlemanly enough. his eyes stayed averted—when you were looking at him, at least—so you took it as a green flag to remain braless when he was at your house without worry.

but nanami's only a man.

so here you are, after work, after your boyfriend had come over, ranting to him in your kitchen about your boss and whatever bullshit you had to put up with that day. but your words land upon deaf ears, noise drowned out by the sight of the little hearts poking out from the shirt you're wearing. he's sat at your dining table, legs lazily spread as he half-listens to you.

"—like, what?! what else am i supposed to do in that situation?"

for the first time in your venting session, you lock eyes with kento, noticing how they flash up quickly from...your chest.

"ken?"

"um—yes?" he chokes, a little too obviously for him to not be embarrassed over.

a smug smile rests over your face, nanami was caught red handed, ogling at your boobs and the cute heart-shaped jewelry that adorned them.

"what'cha staring at?" trailing closer to him with a teasing tone in your voice, you're killing him, embarrassing the poor man as the seconds roll on. kento doesn't reply either, only a raspy breath leaving his lungs as his response. his face heats up and his expression drops, shamelessly glancing down at your chest once more—one, two—counting the peaks of your nipples through the shirt.

"i'm sorry," he finally chokes out, unable to keep his eyes from flashing up and down, to your eyes then to your chest, again and again.

without any words, you slot yourself between nanami's legs, inching your chest closer to his face. it was so funny how easily his stoic persona disintegrated under your presence. he'd never been this close to your chest—to you. and it's intoxicating to him, he's ashamed how he loses himself by simply being eye level with your boobs.

but that guilt quickly washes away when you take his hand and place it perfectly to cup your tit—index finger and thumb resting right around the pretty jewelry under your shirt.

tdlr; that's the first night your boyfriend stays over at your place.

geto + clavicle piercing!

"you look lovely tonight."

smooth as ever, geto compliments you, his voice dripping with a sweet nectar. your insides warm up despite the harsh cold outside, the thick coat draped over your frame doing little to combat the weather.

"thank you," you whisper and smile at him, stepping into the door of the fancy restaurant suguru had chosen for your date. third date, to be exact.

once you're at your table, suguru helps you shimmy the bulky jacket off your shoulders, revealing the tasteful, deep-cut top you had chosen for your date—along with the two studs on each side of your collarbone that your clothing showed off rather perfectly.

it takes suguru a few moments to notice once he sits down. he tries to strike up conversation, relying on the simple questions and responses he can utter without getting too distracted. however, within a few minutes, geto is cracking, eyes every so often flickering down to the gems that aligned your clavicle so prettily. he can't help it, because with every slight movement you make, the jewelry sparkles in the dim light of the restaurant—it's hard to ignore.

"are you okay?" you interrupt your previous dialogue when you take note of geto's increasingly hazy replies, and how he seems a bit spaced out.

"yeah," suguru swallows deeply, "i really like your—um," his pointer finger vaguely motions to his own collarbone, and you have to look down at your chest before you realize what he’s talking about.

his mouth is dry. he’d already thought you were, like, the sexiest woman on earth, but this, oh this, was just too much. geto was unsure as to why he found the piercings so distracting, so hot, but nonetheless enjoyed the view he had.

"oh, thank you!" you giggle, smiling brightly and ghosting your fingers over the piercings—you’d honestly forgotten that this would be the first time he’s seen this much of your body, and the piercings ended up being the perfect touch to make suguru lose his mind.

and he can't wait until he's able to feel on 'em, too.

[bunny-jpeg]

the redbull princess

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, driver!reader, mad!max, rough sex, chokehold, jealousy, jealous!max, slutty!reader, threats of baby trapping, dirty talk/degrading language, bruises & bites

everyone adored you. the angel, the dove, the princess of redbull. beloved by fans, drivers, even the british press had a soft spot for the princess. you even made the likes of toto wolff feel soft with your sweet smiles and positive demeanor.

max had the (mis)fortune of being your teammate, after checo's retirement you were scooped from alpine and given the sought after seat. you were magnetic, charming in ways that made you a darling, even when you failed to win a race. but, you were a winner. a princess in her chariot passing all the others on the track.

max just simply thought that a princess deserved her prince.

"maxie." you pouted as you leaned up against your teammate, "whatcha doing?"

max looked up at you. he was currently on his knees as he tried to set up his sim-racing for the weekend. he asked, "how did you get into my room?"

you shrugged, "don't think about it too hard. i wanted to see what you were doing! you didn't to lunch, so i got... worried." you gave a small laugh. there was a look in your eyes. you weren't here to check on max. not when you were dressed in a tank top, shorts with that thin gold chain around your neck. you played with it between your fingers, "you look like you need a break."

there it was. max chuckled as got up from being almost under the desk. when he stood up, he eventually had to look a little down at you. red bull's princess wasn't the angelic virgin that many assumed. you had a dark streak to you.

you had most of the paddock wrapped around your fingers. charles, george, alex, even horner. and especially max. a simple look got you everything you wanted. a laugh had many men a little flustered. so of course max couldn't help but wrap his arms around your middle and pulling you closer to him. he looked at you, his eyes were so blue.

you licked your lips, "what do you say, maxie... let's have a little fun before our weekend begins.' then leaned in to give his a kiss square on the lips.

the kiss didn't last long before max pulled away and held you by the back of the head. he looked at you, something jealous crossed his expression, "i know what you're trying to do. you think that you can get out of this with a few thrusts of your hips...it's cute honestly, thinking that you're so much smarter than you actually are."

you swallowed and realized that you were playing with fire at that moment. you felt your pulse quicken when he put an hand around your throat. not enough to choke you, but enough to get you looking at him. he smiled and you wondered what he had planned.

you really shouldn't have flirted with max's secondary rival. you shouldn't have been smiles and giggles with lando days prior. you whispered things into the brit's ear and giggled when you pulled away. you didn't get too far, he pulled you in and in a quiet privacy, he kissed you on the lips.

max could've killed lando over that.

you pouted a little more, "i said it was sorry, max. you can't be mad at me forever!" and max crowded your space a little more and looked down at you with something in his eyes that spelled danger.

he said, "no, i can't. but i can try." he took you by the hair, "so i guess you'll just have to make it up to me." and soon you ended face first on the bed. red bull's prince was often possessive of it's princess as he got into bed with you and pulled down your shorts. he pressed his weight up against you to keep you pinned down to the bed.

you moaned, "fuck, max. i'm sorry! i mean it! i mean it!" you tried to squirm out from under him as he got your shorts off of you and near ripped your panties off of you.

max frowned as he got his shirt off over his head, "sorry isn't going to cut it. you are such a whore, you like having all these drivers' eyes on you. i bet you've fucked top to bottom the grid." he raked his nails down your sides and watched you try to get out from his touch.

you whimpered, "no! no!" you knew that was a lie. if max wasn't going to fuck you tonight. you had a few other keycards in your back pocket. you were that charming. max was just lucky to be your first pick.

and you knew that he wouldn't give up the chance to sink into your poor cunt tonight. give you something to scream about. he stripped you of your clothes, tossed them off the bed before he was fully nude as well. he bit into your shoulder roughly as he sank his teeth in your shoulder and pressed himself further against you.

the indents of his teeth promised a bruise come morning. and he held onto you tightly as he moved at a quick pace. his voice in your ear with his chest against your back. there was no escaping max verstappen, "you know you can be a good girl, right? i know it's in you. the press think you're so perfect princess and you could be that if you just stop being a goddamn whore. i see right through the act, i know after a race you want this cunt stuffed. you want to squirm on my cock, you want it to hurt. because you are a glutton for pain. a disgrace to all women in the sport. you set them back by being a stupid, cock hungry slut." his words burned in your brain and you felt the heat pool in your gut.

you gasped into the covers and said, "please, max. holy shit. ah!" you knew that max was the best fuck in the grid. at least to you. most gave you the princess treatment or were worried about being too rough. you found them boring unless you were in a bit of a pinch.

but not max. the current world champion fucked you until there were sparks in your vision. he left your pussy soaked and your brain empty. he made all his degrading words ring true, you were nothing more than a soft cunt for max to fuck. that was why you always came back to him. he had that effect on you.

he was your favourite. not that you'd let him know that. as he thrusted up into you and left you feeling the pleasurable heat in the back of your head and down your shoulders. it was the buzz that left you shaking. it was the heated want that left you panting into the covers.

you were the princess, but max knew better than that. the smiles were all part of your little performance. if you had it your way, you'd be doing interviews with runny mascara and cock down your throat. but, you were still very capable on the track. one of the best they ever had, you just enjoyed having your world flipped inside out and upside down due to orgasm after orgasm. that max was more than happy to provide.

"please, max. fuck, please max!" you gasped loudly. your back arched, but you didn't get too far. you were rather stuck under max as he fucked up into you. the headboard rocked against the white wall of the room.

"you don't deserve the princess treatment they give you. the press give you. you don't deserve any of it! you deserve whatever you can get it. you let men much more powerful than you do terrible things to you." he wrapped his arm around your throat and continued to fuck up into you. the bed moved every more as he jackhammered his cock inside of you. your body bounced with each of his movements.

you felt stupid as he fucked you. your tongue hung out of your mouth a little as his cock hit against all against the right areas. he knew exactly how to make you crazy. how to make you feel so much dumber with strokes of his hips.

"but you're mine." he said, "in the end your mine. i let you play your silly little games, be the charming little flirt i know you are." he tensed up his arm around your throat as he continued to slam his cock in and out of you. the pace was brutal and the movements made your heartbeat hammer in your ears. he could feel every inch of you as he fucked you with a fierce fever.

you tried to say something, but the words died in your throat.

he chuckled and kissed the side of your face. then he pushed your face further into the covers. he still held you in a choke-hold as he fucked you roughly. he said quietly as the bed squeaked under you, "i'm not stupid, princess. you think i'm some idiot, but i'm not... maybe tonight's the night we end these little games. what do you say? maybe tonight you and i should make a baby... end these games and finally make you all mine."

you whined and tried to get out of his grasp. but he was simply much stronger. he chuckled and kissed you on the face once more as he quickened his pace. it left you feeling on cloud nine as he really worked himself inside of you.

the princess was at his mercy. such a shame.

with a few more heavy thrusts, you came around his cock. your noise was a high pitched as you clawed at the covers. you panted heavily and felt so pathetic under him. and he loved the sight of you, you looked beautiful. angelic. he had you all to himself.

"see, you can be a good! make such a good mother to my children. that'll fix you right now." he buried his face in your neck as he continued to fuck you roughly. he didn't last much longer, a few more heavy thrusts of his hips and he was finishing inside of you with a hot groan in your ear.

he kept his arm around you, a hold to keep you still while he fucked his spent cock inside of you to push all the cum further inside of you. the over stimulation let you feeling dizzy. and when max finally let go of you, you laid out on the bed like a dumb little toy.

he slapped your ass before he panted heavily beside you. you curled up next to him, there was a reason why he was your favourite fuck of them all. he took you by the jaw and you looked back at him.

"going to behave now?"

"yes, maxie."

-

max heard your giggled nearby and his head whipped around.

you looked at max out of the corner of your eye before you went back to kissing lando deeply. you smiled against the kiss before you said to lando, "why don't you come visit me tonight, we could have some before the weekend?' and winked at the other driver.

max clenched his fists and exhaled deeply. like hell lando was going to your room tonight. because by the time he got there, max would already be keeping those greedy holes of your filled.

he knew the last thing you wanted was the princess treatment. <3

[churipu]

SAY "DADA" 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, nanami kento x fem! reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. toji cries but he doesn't admit it bye

note. i just spent a good hour watching the "glimpse of us" parents-baby trend, it's so cute. i just had to make something family themed for the jjk men :( i'm so sorry for the lack of updates, i just finished work and boy— it was stressful.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

"come on, little guy . . . say dada, da . . . da!" gojo nodded his head slowly, in his grasp stood his one year old son.

all he got in return was a loud strained laugh from the little boy, "it's okay, baby. take it slow, come on, dada . . . da . . ." the blue eyed male softly spells out the word.

"satoru, you've been trying for an hour now." you informed him, eyeing the father-son duo every now and then, "he's going to get it eventually . . ."

gojo chuckled, "i know, baby. 'm just so excited, what if he said his first words when 'm out on a mission," a sad smile etched onto his lips as he cradled the baby in his hold.

"dada!"

it took gojo a few seconds to process what his son just uttered in excitement. slowly, the corner of his lips tugged upwards in happiness — gojo cheers loudly, nuzzling his face into your son's little belly, making him craze out in pure euphoria.

"you just said your first word, good job, buddy! 'm so proud of you," gojo muffled out into the baby's tummy, "daddy's so proud of you."

gojo then faced you, "his first word is dada, i'm going to cry . . ."

to which he did, sniffling loudly — making the little boy imitate him, scrunching his face into a big frown before wailing out a loud cry. hearing your baby cry, gojo softly hushed him, patting his back, "no, no, baby. daddy's crying of happiness, not sadness, please don't cry."

"aren't you two just the cutest?" you asked, kissing the baby on his chubby cheek — calming him down almost immediately. his loud cries ceasing down under your touch.

"we are." gojo chuckled, nose raging red from sniffling mucus.

"please get rid of your snot, satoru . . ."

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

"come on, dada. say it." toji mutters, pulling on megumi's little cheek — gently, and the baby seemingly annoyed, swats off his father's giant fingers.

toji scoffed, "huh, wonder where y' got that attitude from."

you eyed him, "what do you mean? megumi's exactly just like you — i carry him for nine months and he ends up being a copy of you," you chuckled, ruffling megumi's hair.

the young ten month old baby crawled his way over to you, settling himself on his lap, eyeing his father sharply, "what're y'looking at, huh?"

instinctively you hit toji's bicep gently, "stop that."

"'m not doing anything . . ." toji replies back, rolling his eyes before crossing his arms, "stupid baby."

"dada!" megumi shrieks out, pointing his small finger accusingly at toji, a cute glare looming over his dark eyes, "dada!"

toji blinked once. twice. thrice, and he ended up scoffing, looking away from both you and megumi, "he said his first word, and it's me," toji mutters into his skin, clamping his palm over his lips as his elbow propped down onto the couch's hand rest.

"good job, 'gumi!" you cheered, raising the boy up in the air, kissing his cheek which made the baby erupt in small laughter.

megumi crunched his legs happily, yelling out gibberish with a mix of "dada dada!"

"that's right, dada!" you parrot happily, gently hopping with megumi in your arms. eyeing toji who had been silent, "toji, are you okay?"

he grunted, brushing his face with his hands, "do i not look okay?"

"did you cry?" you ask.

toji grunted yet again in disdain, "why would i cry because the brat said his first word?" he did.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

nanami sat on the floor cross-legged with his eleven month old daughter on his lap as he scanned the newspaper. at every page, his daughter didn't miss every spot on the dull colored paper, pointing at the paper and muttering out incoherent words.

"mhm, that's terrible news, isn't it?" he replies, sipping on his coffee mug.

you emerged from behind the bedroom door, hair disheveled, "good morning," you mumble out, wiping the back of your finger over your eyes.

"dada!"

you froze and eyed your daughter, and nanami did too. his head looked down onto the young girl in amusement, his gaze softening, "your first word . . ." he whispers, carrying the baby into his strong arms.

"you just said your first word, baby!" your raspy morning voice chirped, it was as if your exhaustion had disappeared in a heap of moments and you trotted down the ground, approaching the father-daughter.

"i'm so proud of you," nanami gently placed a kiss on top of his daughter's head, cradling her small body.

you were pulled into a hug by nanami, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and he pulled you to his side — his cheek leaning on your head in content, "good morning."

"dada dada!" your daughter cheered happily, patting nanami's face with her small hands.

"mhm, i'm dada, baby." he mumbles, letting the young girl do as she likes. you cooed softly at the sight, wrapping an arm around his waist.

a good morning it is.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　CAR CRASH

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where an amazing date night leads to a devastating car accident, leaving Y/N severely injured and Matt hospitalized and feeling extremely guilt.

WARNING: Car crash, blood, gore (nothing too extreme), mentions of surgery and death.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The night had been perfect. The kind of night that made Matt wish he could bottle up every second and live it over and over again. As they cruised down the road, Y/N’s laughter filled the car, bubbling up with a joy that made his heart swell. He stole a quick glance at her, unable to resist the smile tugging at his lips as he watched her eyes crinkle at the corners.

It was all almost too serene. The road was deserted, stretching ahead like a long, winding ribbon through the dense forest. Trees lined both sides, their dark silhouettes swaying gently in the cool breeze. The glow from the dashboard lights bathed Matt’s face in a soft blue hue, highlighting the way his jaw clenched whenever he concentrated on the road.

Matt’s hand rested gently on Y/N’s thigh, fingers intertwined with hers. The music in the background was just soft enough to allow their conversation to drift through the air. Their fingers were laced together like they had been for years, her thumb softly brushing over the back of his hand in a way that always sent a thrill through him.

"You know." Y/N started, turning to look at him with that familiar, teasing sparkle in her eyes. "I still can’t believe you almost choked on that dessert tonight."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Hey, those strawberries were huge, okay? It’s not my fault they didn’t fit in my mouth." Matt chuckled, his voice low and slightly raspy as he lifted her hand to press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"Sure, that’s what she said." She quipped, sending a playful wink towards the brunette.

His laughter echoed through the car, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Hey, babe, we should-"

But before he could finish his sentence, Y/N's heart jumped to her throat as she noticed something.

"Matt!" Y/N’s scream pierced the air like needles.

Matt’s heart seized, his veins flooded with pure adrenaline. The world seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching into infinity as he turned his eyes from Y/N to the approaching car. It was swerving uncontrollably, zigzagging across the two-lane road, headlights blinding and erratic.

Panic gripped him like a vice. His instincts kicked in, hands flying to the steering wheel as he yanked it to the right with all his strength, desperate to avoid a head-on collision. The tires screamed in protest, the smell of burning rubber filling the car as the vehicle veered off the asphalt, gravel spraying against the undercarriage like bullets.

The seatbelt bit into his chest, and Matt let out a guttural grunt as the force of the swerve tried to rip him sideways.

"Hold on!" He shouted, the words raw and choked with fear.

But there was no time to process, no time to think. In the chaos, Matt’s vision narrowed to a tunnel. He could barely make out the blur of trees and darkness as the car skidded off the road. The other car blazed past them, its horn blaring like a scream of rage, disappearing into the night as if it had never been there.

Matt’s heart hammered in his chest, every beat like a drum of dread. He tried to correct the car’s course, but it seemed to be impossible with the velocity of it, and the steering wheel slipped under his frantic grip. The headlights illuminated nothing but shadows and thick trees ahead, and before he could even register what was happening, the world exploded into chaos.

The impact was instant. The front of the car crumpled like a tin can as it collided with the tree, the force of the crash sending them both jolting forward. Y/N’s scream was cut short as her side of the car bore the brunt of the crash, the airbags exploding around them in a cloud of powder.

Everything went black.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few seconds - or maybe minutes, Matt couldn’t tell - passed before he came to. The first thing he noticed was the sharp, metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his head throbbing like it was being split open. His vision was blurred, darkness and flashing colors swirling together as he tried to blink them away.

"Y/N..." He croaked, his voice barely a whisper. Panic seized his chest like a vice grip as he turned his head, trying to see her through the haze. "Y/N!"

She was slumped against her seat, her head tilted unnaturally to the side, blood smeared across her forehead where she’d hit the window.

"No, no, no, no!" Matt’s voice came out in a broken sob as he reached for her, his hands trembling violently. Pain shot through his ribs with every movement, but he ignored it, his vision blurred with tears. "Y/N! Wake up, please, wake up!"

But she didn’t move.

"C'mon, please. Please- fucking shit!"

He could barely breathe, his chest tightening as though an invisible hand was crushing his lungs. Warm blood trickled down his temple, but he barely noticed it. All he could focus on was Y/N, slumped lifelessly beside him.

"What do I do? What do I do?" His bloody hands flew to his head, smearing it all around his skin. "An ambulance, I need-need to call an ambulance."

His trembling fingers fumbled with his phone, hands slick with blood and sweat, and his vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t think straight; everything was a whirlpool of noise, pain, and terror. As he finally managed to dial 911, he searched for Y/N hand, squeezing the cold, unmoving member, his other hand shaking so hard it almost dropped the phone.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Matt could hardly get the words out, his throat so tight it felt like he was being strangled.

"We-we've been in an accident! Oh god, please- please help us! I... I don’t know what to do!"

His voice was a broken sob, the words tumbling out in a chaotic rush, barely coherent. He was gasping for breath, panic clawing at him with icy fingers. He kept glancing at Y/N, hoping, praying that she would suddenly move or blink or give any sign that she was okay. But she was too still, her face shining with blood, eyes closed, and her chest...

He couldn't even tell if it was moving.

"Okay, sir, I need you to try to stay calm. Where are you? Can you give me your location?"

Matt’s mind was spinning, the world around him a dark blur. He tried to remember where they were, but it was like every thought was slipping through his fingers.

"Uh- I, I don’t know! Somewhere near... near Elm and... I think we’re by a park or something. There’s glass everywhere, and- she's not... she’s not waking up!"

As he spoke, Matt’s voice cracked again, his words coming out in choked sobs. His free hand kept shaking Y/N’s shoulder, trying to rouse her, to pull her back to him.

"Alright, I’ve got your location. Help is on the way. Sir, I need you to focus for a moment. Is anyone else in the car with you?"

Matt’s voice broke into a desperate wail.

"Yes, yes, it’s my girlfriend. She-she’s not moving! I tried to wake her, but... but she’s just lying there, and she’s bleeding. Oh god, there’s so much blood!"

He couldn’t stop his crying, his entire body shaking as if he were freezing. Maybe he was.

"Okay, I understand. Help is on its way, I promise. But I need you to check if she’s breathing. Can you see if she’s taking any breaths?"

Matt let out a strangled noise, almost animalistic, as he leaned back to try to see. His hands were unsteady and he wiped furiously at his eyes to clear his vision. He leaned closer to her, straining to see if her chest was rising, but everything was too dark and chaotic.

"I-I can’t tell! I’m trying, but she’s not moving! Please, just help her!" His voice rose to a scream at the end, cracking under the weight of his despair.

"We're doing everything we can, sir. You’re doing great, okay? Just stay with me. Take a deep breath. I need you to look at her chest. Is it rising and falling, even a little?"

Matt tried. He really tried. But all he could see was blood. Blood on her eyes, her lips, her collarbone. He could barely make out her features through the darkness and the horror of what was happening.

"I don’t know, I don’t know!" He cried, his voice breaking into another sob. "It’s too dark, and her hair- there’s so much blood on her face. I’m scared to move her, I don’t want to hurt her more! Y/N, baby, come on. Please, don’t leave me." He begged, his voice raw with desperation.

He reached for his own seatbelt, fingers fumbling as he tried to undo the latch, but it was jammed. Tears blurred his vision constantly, frustration and fear boiling over as he yanked at it, the metal digging into his palms.

When the seatbelt finally gave way, he turned his attention back to her face.

"I’m here, I’m here." He whispered, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead, ignoring the cold of her skin and the taste of blood hitting his tongue. "I’m not leaving you, okay? Just stay with me."

"You’re doing the right thing by staying with her, sir." Their voice made him remember that he was still with the call on-going. "Just keep talking to her, alright? I know it’s hard, but you need to stay calm for her. What’s her name?"

Her name. God, her name was everything. It was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep. He let out a shuddering breath.

"Y/N... Her name’s Y/N." He whispered, his voice raw. He cradled her face with his free hand, gently brushing the blood-streaked strands of hair away. "She’s so cold. Why is she so cold?"

"Y/N is going to be okay, sir. We’re sending an ambulance to you right now. I need you to tell me: are you hurt? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

Matt’s mind was short-circuiting, the edges of his vision tinged with black spots. But he couldn’t focus on himself. He couldn’t care less if he was bleeding or broken.

"N-No, I’m fine. It’s just her. She-she hit her head so hard." His voice broke into a whisper at the end, as if saying it too loudly would make it more real.

"I understand. But you might not realize you’re hurt because of the adrenaline. Can you check if you’re bleeding or if you feel any pain?"

Matt’s eyes darted frantically between his phone and Y/N. He couldn’t think about himself, couldn’t even process what they were asking.

"I told you, I’m fine!" He screamed into the phone, his voice cracking with a desperate fury. "I’m fine! It’s Y/N! Just... please save her! She’s... she’s everything. I can’t-" His words broke off into a series of harsh, broken sobs.

"I hear you, and I promise we're doing everything we can. Help is almost there, okay?"

Matt nodded frantically, even though they couldn’t see him. He clung to Y/N’s hand like a lifeline, pressing it to his lips, whispering her name over and over.

"Please, baby, stay with me... Please. You’re so strong. You can get through this. Just keep breathing for me, okay? Please..."

Outside, the wailing sirens grew louder, the red and blue lights flashing through the shattered windows of the car.

"Please... don’t leave me." He whispered one last time, the sound of his door being ripped open sounding muffled before the darkness around him finally swallowed him whole.

The last thing he felt was Y/N’s cold hand slipping from his grasp as the world went dark.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A slow, rhythmic beeping was the first thing Matt became aware of as he drifted back into consciousness. His eyelids were heavy, as if weighed down by invisible anchors, and when he finally managed to pry them open, his vision was blurred, everything around him a hazy mix of white and blue. The smell of antiseptic stung his nostrils, making his head spin, and the low hum of machinery filled the air.

Matt blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The room was dim, a soft light glowing from a corner lamp, casting long shadows across the pale walls.

There was an IV taped to his arm, the clear tube connected to a bag hanging from a metal pole beside the bed. His body felt like it had been crushed, every breath sending a dull throb through his ribs.

It hurt to move, but he turned his head slowly, trying to get his bearings. That’s when he noticed the figure slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position on a small armchair near the bed.

Chris.

His brother was fast asleep, his face drawn with exhaustion, dark circles etched beneath his eyes. The armchair seemed to have been pushed so close to the bed that it almost touched it, like Chris had wanted to stay as close to him as possible.

Matt’s mind was sluggish, like wading through thick mud. He couldn't remember how he’d ended up here. Why was he in a hospital? What had happened?

As he lay there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory, a flash of vivid color cut through the fog like a lightning bolt; Y/N’s face, pale and covered in blood, slumped in the seat next to him.

The memory hit him like a truck, and suddenly everything came rushing back at once: the crash, the panic, the desperate phone call. Y/N’s lifeless body beside him.

"Y/N!" The name ripped out of his throat, raw and broken.

Adrenaline flooded his veins, pushing away the pain as panic seized him. He tried to sit up, ignoring the sharp agony that shot through his side and the dizziness that made his head sway. The only thought in his mind was finding her, making sure she was okay. He had to see her. He had to know if she was still-

His hands scrambled at the IV taped to his arm, trying to yank it free.

"No, no, no... C'mon, I need to find her!" He gasped, his voice frantic and uneven. His vision blurred with tears, anxiety closing in like a vice around his chest.

Chris woke with a sudden start, his eyes snapping open. For a split second, he was disoriented, but then he saw Matt struggling on the bed, clawing at the IV line.

"Matt! Hey, stop. Stop!" Chris practically leaped from the couch, crossing the short distance to his brother in a heartbeat.

Matt barely registered Chris’s presence.

"Let go of me! I need to find her!" His voice was wild, a desperate, guttural scream. He shoved at Chris with what little strength he had, the effort sending another stab of pain through his ribs, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was Y/N. She was out there somewhere, alone, hurt. He had to get to her.

Chris’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of his brother in such a state. He grabbed Matt’s hands, trying to stop him from tearing the IV out.

"Matt, listen to me! You need to calm down!" His voice was steady, but there was an edge of panic in it, fear for both Matt’s physical and mental state.

He pushed the call button for the doctor frantically, knowing they needed help, now.

Matt was beyond reason. He was sobbing, his voice breaking as he shouted like crazy.

"Get off me, Chris! Please, I have to find her! Y/N- where is she? Where’s Y/N?!" He thrashed against Chris’s grip, raw terror coursing through him. His mind was a whirlwind of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

Chris used every ounce of strength he had to pin Matt’s hands down against the bed, his fingers digging into Matt’s wrists. He leaned in close, his face inches from Matt’s, forcing him to make eye contact.

"Matt, you need to stop!" He shouted, his voice cracking. "Listen to me, please! Nick is with her, and they’re taking care of her! You have to stay here and let them help you, okay? You’re hurt, too!"

But it was like Matt couldn’t even hear him.

"No, no, no! She’s not okay, she wasn’t moving! I need to see her, Chris! Let me go!" His screams were hoarse, filled with a raw, primal agony that tore at Chris’s heart.

Before Chris could say anything else, the door burst open, and a doctor, along with two nurses, rushed in, their expressions tense and focused.

"What’s going on?" The doctor demanded as she approached the bed, her gaze flicking between the brothers.

"He’s trying to rip the IV out." Chris said breathlessly, his voice shaking. "Please, he won’t calm down!"

The doctor nodded sharply, gesturing to one of the nurses.

"We need to sedate him before he injures himself further."

"No!" Matt screamed, thrashing even harder against Chris’s grip. "Don’t you dare! I need to find Y/N!" His voice was broken, desperate, his eyes wide and filled with terror.

Chris's hands tightened around Matt’s, holding him down as the nurse prepared a syringe. Tears streamed down Matt’s face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

He was looking at Chris with an expression so lost, so utterly heartbroken, it nearly broke Chris, too.

"Matt, listen to me." Chris pleaded, his own voice breaking. "She’s going to be okay. But you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop. I promise, I promise I’ll take you to her as soon as they say it’s okay. But you have to calm down, okay? Please, Matt..."

Matt’s eyes were wild, searching Chris’s for any sign of a lie, any hint that he was just trying to placate him. But Chris’s face was so full of anguish, so full of love and sincerity, that Matt’s resolve wavered for a moment.

The nurse took advantage of that brief second of hesitation, quickly inserting the needle into Matt’s IV line. Within seconds, the sedative began to take effect. Matt’s thrashing slowed, his screams dying down to broken sobs as the world around him began to blur again.

"No... Chris, please... It was my fault... Y/N..." Matt’s voice was barely a whisper now, his eyelids drooping as the drug pulled him under. The last thing he saw was Chris’s tear-streaked face, mouthing something he couldn’t quite hear before the darkness swallowed him whole.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The darkness that had pulled Matt under before slowly began to recede, but this time, it was different. Darkness enveloped him in a terrifying nightmare, pulling him under like the tide dragging him out to sea.

He was back in the car. The smell of gasoline and blood was suffocating, the crunch of broken glass grinding beneath his legs as he struggled to move. Y/N was next to him, her face ghostly pale, her eyes closed, blood streaming down her forehead and pooling beneath her. Her body lay limp, lifeless against the car seat, and no matter how many times he screamed her name, she didn't stir.

"... Y/N, please! Wake up!" Matt’s voice was raw, his throat burning with the force of his screams. He shook her shoulder frantically, his fingers slick with blood. "No, no, no... please, Y/N, don’t do this to me!" But she remained still, her head slumped to the side, blood trickling down her delicate features.

The world around him was spinning, the sound of sirens in the distance growing louder, yet somehow they never seemed to get closer. His breaths were short, and frantic gasps as he clutched at Y/N, his tears falling onto her lifeless body.

"God, no! Please!" He was breaking, unraveling, his heart tearing apart as he held her close, praying for a miracle that wouldn’t come.

"Matt!"

The voice was distant at first, barely cutting through the thick haze of his panic. But it grew louder, more urgent, like a beacon trying to pierce through the storm in his mind.

"Matt! Come on, wake up!"

But Matt couldn’t make sense of it. His eyes were still glued to Y/N’s lifeless form, his hands desperately trying to stop the flow of blood, his heart shattering with each second that passed. The voice was there again, louder this time, sounding so familiar, so achingly real.

"Matt, it’s okay. You're safe. Matt, listen to me!"

The scene in front of him wavered, flickering like a glitch in a broken film reel. The wrecked car, the blood, Y/N’s unmoving body; all of it seemed to blur, like someone was tearing the nightmare apart at its seams. Matt blinked, his vision shifting between the nightmare and something else. A figure - blurred, indistinct - hovered above him. He could hear that voice again, so much clearer now, so desperate and familiar.

"Y/N?" Matt’s voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes darting around frantically. But his mind was still caught between the nightmare and reality. He could feel Y/N’s cold body beneath his fingers, could see her blood staining his hands. "No, please! Don’t let her die! God, please, don’t take her from me!" His voice broke into anguished sobs, raw and heart-wrenching, as he pleaded into the darkness.

The figure above him froze, and then, in an instant, arms wrapped around him. Matt was pulled into a tight embrace, warmth pressing against his trembling body.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Matt, it’s me. You’re safe." Chris’s voice was thick with emotion, his own tears spilling as he held Matt close.

The youngest dropped to his knees beside the hospital bed, leaning over Matt’s shaking form, one arm cradling the back of his head as he tried to bring him back from the brink.

"Shhh, it’s okay, Matt. Y/N is okay. I promise you, she’s alive. It was just a nightmare." Chris whispered desperately into Matt’s ear, his grip tightening when he felt his brother’s body shake with gut-wrenching sobs. He rocked them both slightly, his own chest heaving as he tried to keep it together for Matt’s sake. "I’ve got you, alright? I’m right here. She’s okay. I swear."

But Matt couldn’t process the words. His mind was still stuck in that twisted nightmare, where Y/N was cold and still beneath his hands, where he’d failed to protect her.

"No, no... I have to get to her." He choked out, struggling weakly in Chris’s arms. "I can’t lose her... I can’t..."

"Matt." Chris said more firmly, his voice breaking. He pulled back just enough to look Matt in the eyes, his hands cupping Matt’s face, thumbs brushing away the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Listen to me. You’re not in the car anymore. You’re in the hospital. Y/N is okay. She’s being taken care of. She’s safe."

Chris’s words were slowly, agonizingly, starting to sink in. Matt’s sobs grew softer, his breaths still ragged and uneven, but the desperate thrashing stopped. He could feel the warmth of Chris’s body, the steady pressure of his hands holding him down, grounding him in the present. The nightmare was slipping away, reality clawing its way back into his consciousness.

Matt’s fingers, which had been gripping Chris’s shirt with bruising force, gradually loosened. He blinked, his vision clearing enough to see the hospital room around him. The blinding lights, the beeping machines, the sterile scent, all of it slowly registered, pulling him further away from the nightmare’s grip.

"Chris...?" Matt’s voice was small, broken, like a lost child. His wide, tear-filled eyes searched Chris’s, looking for confirmation that this wasn’t another twisted dream.

"Yes, it’s me." Chris whispered, his forehead pressing against Matt’s. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Matt collapsed into Chris’s arms, his body going limp with exhaustion. The adrenaline that had kept him going drained away, leaving him weak and trembling. He buried his face in Chris’s shoulder, his hands clutching at his brother’s back like a lifeline.

"I thought... I thought I lost her..." He sobbed, his voice muffled and choked. "I couldn’t... I can’t lose her, Chris..."

"I know, I know." Chris murmured, tears streaming down his own face as he held his brother tighter, laying his cheek above his head. "But she’s alive. She’s okay. And you’re okay. We’re all here, Matt. You’re safe."

Slowly, so slowly, Matt’s sobs began to quiet. His breathing evened out, but that only brought the pain to control. Each breath sent a jolt through his bruised ribs. His head throbbed, the pain pulsing behind his eyes, and his skin was clammy with cold sweat. He shivered, his body exhausted and aching, but he let himself lean into Chris’s embrace, the warmth of his brother’s presence keeping him grounded.

Chris continued to murmur soothing words, his hands rubbing circles on Matt’s shoulder, trying to calm the tremors that still wracked his brother’s body.

"You’re okay, Matt. You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Matt let out a shaky breath, his body finally beginning to relax, the nightmare fading further into the recesses of his mind, the steady rhythm of Chris’s heartbeat against his ear helping to calm the storm inside him.

For the first time since waking, Matt felt like he could breathe again. He was still in pain, his body battered and broken, but Chris’s comforting presence kept him anchored, keeping him from slipping back into that dark abyss.

"Can... can you call me the doctor?" Matt whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

"Are you feeling pain?" Chris asked worriedly, receiving a small nod as an answer. "Okay."

Chris brushed back the damp hair on Matt's forehead while pressing his free hand against the red button.

"Chris." Matt croaked out again. "Y/N... how is she?"

His younger brother's face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath. He looked away for a moment, trying to collect himself before turning back to Matt.

"She... she was in surgery." He said quietly, every word seeming to cost him. "Nick told me... she had internal bleeding, and they had to go in to stop it. She hit her head super hard, too. But... the surgery went well. She’s stable now and probably still asleep."

Matt’s heart shattered at those words, a cold, sick feeling twisting in his stomach. Internal bleeding. Surgery. Y/N had gone through so much, and it was all because he couldn’t control his own damn car. If he had just been paying attention... He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to hold back the tears.

"Can I... can I maybe see her?" He asked, his voice so small, so broken, it almost didn’t sound like his own.

Chris stared at him for long seconds, his eyes searching Matt’s face, like he was trying to read the thoughts swirling in his mind. And maybe he could see it. Maybe he could sense the guilt that was eating Matt alive. But Chris didn’t press him. Instead, he sighed heavily, searching for his hands and stopping him from hurting himself further.

"The doctor is the one who has to let you." He whispered, biting his bottom lip hard. "You know... I was really scared, Matt. I thought... I thought I was going to lose you forever."

Matt watched the pain swimming inside Chris's blue eyes.

"I’m sorry, Chris." He muttered, his voice cracking. "I’m really sorry for scaring you. You and Nick."

Chris looked down at him, his eyes shining with tears, and shook his head.

"No, Matt... no, it’s not your fault." He said, his voice fierce despite the tears. "I just... I’m just so glad you’re here. That you’re alive."

Matt swallowed hard, his throat tight. He didn’t deserve Chris’s relief, not when Y/N was still out there, hurt because of him.

Before he could say anything else, the sound of the door creaking open echoed, and a doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. Behind her were two nurses, ready to assist with whatever was needed.

Dr. Patel, a middle-aged woman with gentle eyes, gave Matt a small, reassuring smile as she approached his bedside.

"Good to see you awake and calmer, Mr. Sturniolo. How are you feeling?" She asked, her tone soft yet businesslike.

Matt swallowed, his throat dry and raw from the crying.

"I... I’m in pain." He admitted hoarsely, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Everywhere."

Chris squeezed his hand reassuringly before turning to the doctor.

"Is there something more you can give him for the pain?" Chris asked, his voice thick with concern.

Dr. Patel nodded, her expression turning more serious as she flipped through the pages on her clipboard.

"We’ve been managing his pain with a mild dosage to avoid any complications, but given that he's more conscious now, we can adjust his medication." She gestured to one of the nurses, who immediately set about preparing a new injection.

Matt’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he tried to focus on breathing through the pain. Each inhale felt like it was slicing through his ribs, the weight of his guilt and worry making it even harder to catch his breath.

"Doctor, can... can I see her? Y/N, I mean... please." He pleaded, reopening his eyes before looking at her.

Dr. Patel paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him.

"Let’s take care of your pain first, Matt." She said kindly, her voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "I promise, as soon as you are stable enough, we’ll let you see her."

The nurse approached with the syringe, and Matt turned his head away, too drained to watch as she injected the painkiller into his IV. Moments later, a cooling sensation spread through his veins, slowly dulling the sharp edges of his agony, but it did nothing to ease the turmoil inside him.

As the medication began to work, Matt’s eyelids grew heavier, but he fought against the sleep that threatened to pull him under.

"I'm fine now... please." He begged, his voice wavering. "I'm fine, I need to see her. I... I have to make sure that she’s okay." His breath came in shallow, slow gasps, and his eyes darted to Chris, silently pleading for help.

Chris stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Matt’s shoulder.

"Hey, hey." He whispered, trying to soothe his brother. "Let the doctor decide if you're stable enough, okay? I promise you’ll see her soon."

Matt shook his head stubbornly, the panic still clawing at his chest.

"I promise that I'm feeling okay now, m-my pain is gone." His words sounded slurred, his eyes blinking slowly while trying to keep himself awake, looking at the doctor with determination.

Dr. Patel’s face softened as she listened to Matt’s broken pleas. The room was quiet for a minute, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. She glanced at Chris, who was holding his brother’s shoulder tightly, as if trying to anchor him to the present moment.

"Please... I have to see her." He whispered again, the words more of a gasp now. "I just... I need to know she’s really okay."

The doctor sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She understood his desperation, his need to see Y/N with his own eyes. It was a common reaction, patients often believed that seeing their loved ones would somehow confirm their survival would make it more real. And judging by the fear and panic still etched into Matt’s face, this was something he desperately needed.

Dr. Patel turned to the nurse beside her, exchanging a brief, silent conversation before she turned back to the brothers.

"Alright." She said finally, her tone gentle but firm. "We can take you to her room, Matt... but only if you’re in a wheelchair. You’re still recovering yourself, and moving around too much could set back your progress."

Chris’s head whipped toward the doctor, a glimmer of hope lighting up his tired eyes.

"Wait... you mean... he can see her?"

"Yes, but only for a few minutes." Dr. Patel clarified. "And he must stay seated. We’ll have to monitor him closely."

Matt’s entire body seemed to sag in relief at her words. He would have agreed to any condition at that moment if it meant seeing Y/N, even if it was just for a second.

"Yes... yes, please. I’ll stay in the wheelchair. I promise." He breathed, the frantic edge to his voice slowly easing into something softer, more hopeful.

Chris nodded gratefully at the doctor, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice thick. He turned to Matt, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. "Okay, Matt... just breathe, alright? We’re gonna see her."

The nurse quickly wheeled in a padded, adjustable wheelchair. Chris helped Matt shift carefully from the hospital bed into the seat, wincing with every grimace of pain that crossed Matt’s face. Matt tried to hide it, but his stiff movements and shallow breaths were enough to betray just how much he was still hurting. Once seated, Matt clutched the arms of the chair with white knuckles, willing his trembling legs to steady.

Chris crouched in front of him, locking eyes with Matt.

"Are you sure you’re good to go?" Chris asked softly, his voice laced with concern. "If you start to feel worse, we can turn back, okay?"

"No." Matt said quickly, shaking his head even though the motion made him dizzy. "I need to see her, Chris. I won’t... I can’t rest until I know she’s a-alive." His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper now, but it carried a weight that cut Chris to his core.

The small entourage - Matt, Chris, the doctor, and a nurse - began their slow journey down the fluorescent-lit corridor. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the occasional sound of distant monitors and hushed conversations drifted from other rooms. Chris stayed beside the wheelchair, his hand on Matt’s shoulder the whole time, a steadying presence as they moved.

Matt’s heart was a wild drum in his chest, each turn of the hallway only ratcheting up his anxiety. He felt like he was caught in a nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from, the fear that he might find Y/N still and lifeless on a hospital bed eating away at him.

Finally, they stopped outside a door marked with Y/N’s name on a small placard. Dr. Patel turned to Matt, giving him one last assessing look.

"Remember, just a few minutes." She reminded him gently. "She’s stable but still heavily sedated. It might be a while before she wakes up."

Matt nodded, barely hearing her as his eyes locked on the door. Chris leaned down to give his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before opening it. The soft creak of the door seemed to echo through Matt’s mind, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.

As they wheeled him inside, Matt’s breath hitched. There she was, his Y/N, lying so still in the bed, surrounded by machines that beeped and hummed softly, tubes and wires connected to her fragile form. Her face was pale, bandaged in places, and her chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. But she was breathing. She was alive.

Before his eyes could drink in every detail of her condition, his attention was pulled to another figure in the room.

Nick.

Nick’s head shot up at the sound of the door, his eyes widening in surprise. Relief washed over his face, softening the lines of exhaustion and worry that had been etched there. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed.

"Matt." Nick breathed, his voice trembling with emotion.

He quickly crossed the room in a few long strides, his eyes scanning his brother’s face like he couldn’t quite believe he was awake and here in front of him. Without a word, he dropped to his knees beside the wheelchair, wrapping his arms around Matt in a tight, desperate hug.

"Oh God, Matt." Nick’s voice cracked as he held on tight, as though letting go would make this moment disappear. "I thought we lost you... I thought..."

Matt weakly lifted one arm, patting his brother’s back as best as he could manage.

"I’m okay." He whispered hoarsely, though the pain in his body begged to differ. "I’m here, Nick... I’m here."

Nick pulled back, his eyes shining with tears, but he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"You have no idea how scared we were, Matt... but God, I’m so glad you’re awake."

Chris, standing close by, put a comforting hand on Nick’s shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze.

"He’s okay, Nick. We’re okay." Chris murmured, nodding assuredly.

The doctor and nurse patiently waited for the brothers to have their moment before gently nudging the wheelchair forward.

"Let’s get you closer to her, Matt." Dr. Patel said softly.

As they wheeled Matt to Y/N’s bedside, all the noise of the hospital seemed to fade away. All he could hear was the soft, steady beep of the machines monitoring her vitals.

Matt’s eyes welled up with tears as he took in her pale face, the bruises peeking out from under the bandages on her forehead and the soft rise and fall of her chest.

He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against hers. Her skin was cool to the touch, and a sob tore through him. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, bringing her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles softly, over and over again, his lips lingering on every bruise and scrape he could see.

"I’m so sorry." He whispered, his voice raw with anguish. "I’m so, so sorry, my love. Please... please forgive me. I love you so much, Y/N. I need you. You have to wake up soon. Please."

He kept pressing gentle kisses to her hand, his tears slipping down and wetting her skin. His heart ached in ways he never thought possible, the guilt eating him alive. This was his fault. If only he had been more careful...

Nick watched silently, his own eyes filled with tears, and Chris had to turn away for a moment, pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle a sob. The sight of their brother - usually so composed - completely broken over the woman he loved was almost too much to bear.

Finally, Matt’s strength gave out. His body, already weakened and worn from the medication, was quickly reaching its limit. He slowly leaned forward, resting his head gently on the edge of Y/N’s bed, his cheek pressed close to her hip. He stayed there, clinging to her like she was his lifeline, his breaths coming in soft gasps as he struggled to stay conscious.

"I’m here, Y/N... I’m right here." He whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "I won’t leave you... I promise."

The pain was slowly fading, his body seeming to finally allow the medication to work its way through his system. Matt’s eyes grew heavier, his body sagging with exhaustion. But he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to stay with her, to watch over her, to be there when she finally opened her eyes.

Dr. Patel watched him with a soft, sympathetic gaze. She could see how much this was costing him, but she also understood that this was what he needed.

"We’ll let him stay for a little longer." She said quietly to Chris and Nick, who both nodded gratefully. "But you must agree that, if anything changes, if he starts showing signs of distress, you call for me immediately.”

"We will." Chris promised, his voice low and earnest. Nick nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving Matt.

With that, the doctor and nurse quietly exited the room, leaving the three brothers alone with Y/N. The room was dim and quiet. The only sound was the soft beeping of the monitors and the occasional muffled sniffle from Nick or Chris.

Matt finally let the exhaustion pull him under, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep. His fingers were still wrapped loosely around Y/N’s hand, and his head rested against her side as if he could protect her even in his sleep.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Several hours passed in quiet vigil. Chris and Nick stayed sat on the small couch by the wall, watching over Matt and Y/N like silent guardians, their hearts heavy with worry but relieved that, for now, their family was still holding on.

As the soft light of dawn began to creep through the tiny window in Y/N’s room, there was a faint stirring.

The world around her was a hazy blur, everything out of focus and spinning, like she was caught in a dream she couldn’t quite wake up from. There were distant beeps and muffled voices, but they all seemed so far away, like she was listening from underwater.

A faint, familiar smell flooded her nose. Matt. Or is it Nick? It was something like strawberries or maybe coconut. She couldn’t tell, but it was comforting enough. She tried to move, to lift her heavy eyelids, but her entire body felt like it was weighed down by an invisible force.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N finally managed to blink her eyes open, the harsh bright lights above her making her squint. The ceiling was white and sterile, and as her vision adjusted, she could make out the faint sounds of machines beeping rhythmically around her. Her mind was foggy, like a thick cloud had settled over her thoughts, and it took her a moment to realize where she was.

A hospital. She could feel something tight around her ribs, a dull, throbbing pain in her head, and an odd numbness throughout her limbs that made it difficult to move. Her throat was dry, like sandpaper, and when she tried to swallow, it sent a sharp ache down to her chest.

Panic started to bubble up in her chest, her heart rate quickening as fragmented memories began to resurface - the blaring headlights, the screech of tires, and the sudden, jarring impact that had stolen her breath away. She let out a small, pained whine, her chest tightening as she tried to remember more, but it was all so blurry, so confusing.

A voice cut through the haze, it sounded quiet but rough, like it had been scraped raw.

"Y/N? Hey, it’s okay... you’re okay."

She turned her head slowly, every movement feeling like she was wading through thick mud. The face that came into focus was familiar, a face that brought her the feeling of home amidst the confusion.

Nick.

Y/N’s eyes blinked slowly, struggling to focus on the two faces in front of her. She was still groggy, the world around her hazy, but the concerned expressions of Chris and Nick gradually came into focus. Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion clouding her tired gaze.

"N-Nick...? Chris...?" She mumbled, her voice rough and barely audible. Her throat was parched, every word scraping against the dryness.

Nick let out a shaky laugh, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Oh my god, I was so... I'm so glad you're back." He whispered, his voice breaking with a mixture of relief and emotion. He stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face.

Chris nodded, his face lighting up with the first real smile in what felt like an eternity.

"We’ve been really worried about you, Y/N." He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re a fighter, you know that?"

Y/N tried to smile, but even that felt like lifting a mountain.

"What... what happened?" She asked, her voice weak, her words slurred from the medication and anesthesia coursing through her veins. "I... I remember the crash. I remember..." She trailed off as she recalled the moment of impact, the way everything had gone black in an instant. "It all happened so fast."

Nick’s eyes filled with tears, and he traveled his hand from her hair to her shoulder, squeezing the covered skin tightly.

"It was... it was really bad. But you are here now, okay? You made it through the surgery. You’re safe."

"Surgery?" The word sent a chill down her spine. She tried to remember, but everything after the crash was a blur. "What... what happened to me?" She asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Nick took a shaky breath, his grip on her tightening as if he needed the contact to ground himself before connecting his eyes with Chris's, begging for him to answer her.

"You had internal bleeding caused by some broken ribs." Chris explained gently, cleaning his throat to disguise the emotion in his voice. "You’ve been out for at least 15 hours after a four-hour surgery. And... and you hit your head really hard. But the doctors said the surgery was a success, and your concussion is mild. You’re going to be okay."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, the reality of it all crashing down on her. Surgery. Internal bleeding. The thought of how close she’d come to... She couldn’t finish the thought, the fear overwhelming her.

"Where... where’s Matt? Is he okay? Oh god, he was driving-"

Chris’s eyes softened, and he exchanged a glance with Nick.

"He’s right here, Y/N." Chris reassured her gently, pointing towards Matt's figure with his head.

Y/N’s gaze flickered downward, and her breath hitched when she finally registered for the first time Matt slumped over on the edge of her hospital bed, his head resting beside her hip. His brown hair was disheveled, and his face looked paler than she had ever seen, decorated with a variety of bruises and cuts, but he was breathing, his chest rising and falling steadily.

It was then that she noticed the weight of his fingers against hers, holding her hand firmly as if she could disappear at any moment.

"He’s been by your side from the minute he woke up..."

The sound of the boy's voice, combined with the familiar touch of his girlfriend, pulled Matt from the depths of his medication-induced sleep. His eyelids fluttered, a groggy groan escaping his lips as he slowly stirred awake. For a moment, he looked confused, his eyes unfocused as he blinked against the harsh lights.

But then, as his gaze settled on Y/N’s face, now wide awake and staring back at him with teary eyes, everything clicked into place. His heart leaped in his chest, and any remaining fog of sleep vanished instantly.

"Y/N?" He croaked, his voice raw with disbelief. His eyes widened as he looked at her, truly seeing her awake for the first time. "Oh my god... you’re... you're awake."

Y/N managed a weak smile, tears gathering in her eyes as well.

"Hey, baby. I'm here." She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You look like you’ve been through hell."

Matt let out a choked laugh, a mix of relief and joy bubbling up inside him. He quickly pulled himself closer to her, his hands shaking as he reached for her face, brushing his thumb tenderly over her bruised cheek.

"I thought... I thought I had lost you." He confessed, his voice breaking. "God, Y/N, I was so scared. I... I couldn’t-" His words were cut off by a sob he couldn’t contain, and he buried his face in her neck, pressing desperate kisses to her exposed skin, his curls tickling her chin in a grounding way.

Y/N’s heart ached at the sight and feeling of him so broken. With what little strength she had, she squeezed his fingers, trying to comfort him.

"I’m here, Matt." She whispered. "We’re okay. You don’t have to worry anymore."

Matt shook his head, his tears soaking her neck.

"I’m so, so sorry." He choked out between sobs. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve protected you... I couldn't even-"

Y/N’s brows knitted together in confusion as she tried to process his words. She lifted a trembling hand to stroke his messy hair, trying to calm him down.

"Matt, baby, hey... where's this coming from?" She asked, her voice soft and full of concern as her eyes traveled momentarily to Chris and Nick, searching for an answer in them that they didn’t seem to have.

Matt just kept shaking his head, his sobs growing louder, muffled by her skin.

"It’s my fault... it’s all my fault." He whispered, his voice breaking. "I should’ve seen the car... I should’ve done something... God, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. I'm really, really sorry..."

Y/N’s confusion turned to anger as she realized what he was saying.

"Matt, look at me." She demanded, her voice suddenly stronger despite her weakened state.

He slowly lifted his tear-streaked face from her shoulder to meet her gaze momentarily, his eyes red and puffy.

"How can you blame yourself?" She asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "You... Matt, there was nothing you could’ve done. A crazy driver was coming to our direction. You didn’t cause this."

"But... but I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve done more." Matt insisted, his voice cracking terribly. He couldn’t meet her eyes for more than a second, ashamed of the guilt that had consumed him. "You got hurt because of me... I should be the one lying in there, not you."

"Don't you dare say something like that, Matthew." Y/N said firmly, her fingers gripping his hand as tightly as she could manage. "Listen to me. It was not your fault. There was nothing you could have done to stop it." She let out a shaky breath, her eyes softening as her free hand traveled to his face, softly brushing away the tears from his cheeks. "I’m okay, Matt... because of you. You were there. You kept me safe until help came."

Her words only made Matt’s tears flow harder, dripping directly where her fingers met his skin, his sobs causing his body to tremble and his ribs to ache, but there was a shift in his eyes, a flicker of something like relief. He didn’t fully believe her, but hearing her say it, seeing the sincerity in her expression, it was like a balm to his raw, bleeding heart.

"You did everything you could, baby. You saved my life. If it wasn’t for you..." Y/N couldn’t even finish the sentence; the thought was too painful to bear. To lose a life with the love of her existence.

Matt sniffled, pressing the side of his face against her palm and wiping the other side of it with the back of his hand, still holding on to Y/N like she was the only thing keeping him afloat.

Nick and Chris watched the whole scene unfold in silence, their hearts heavy with the raw emotions in the room. Chris discreetly wiped away a tear while Nick stood there, his arms crossed over his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

"I love you so much." Matt whispered, nuzzling against her hand. "I can't even picture a life without you."

"I love you too, Matt." Y/N murmured back, her fingers weakly squeezing his. "But you don’t have to picture anything. I’m right here."

Matt let out a shaky breath, nodding.

"Now, why don't the both of you rest a little bit more?" Nick's voice seemed to remind them of the brother's presence. "It will do good for your healing process." Y/N's eyes lifted to the oldest momentarily before nodding slowly.

As the room settled into a comfortable silence, Matt gently laid his head back down on the bed, still holding Y/N’s hand as if it was his lifeline. Y/N stroked his hair softly, her heart aching with love and relief.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they could finally breathe. They were together, alive, and that was all that mattered.

[fallbhind]

‘OH SWEET 'N SOUR LEMONS’ RAFE CAMERON

genre smut wordcount 2k

“we can work on it”

content warnings ,, dilf!rafe, old!rafe, young!reader, fem!reader, unprotected sex (wrap that shit 'fore you tap it), oral (m! receiving) p in v, slight tit play, more of 'make up' or 'i'm sorry' sex rather than it coming from real emotions, aftercare tho.

per usual, another fucking (typical) stupid argument with rafe because you wanted to hang out but he had his kids that weekend, so he was busy. sure, you typically wouldn't mind, but his ex-wife was totally slacking on her duties, and maybe you thought that because you were almost a decade younger than rafe, but he'd been stuck with the kids for almost a month with no break.

it wasn't fair. but you knew that bitch-of-an-ex was doing it out of spite because he found someone younger, hence, you.

you were helping the kids to bed, in the maze of tanneyhill, you led them to their bed room. "in your beds." you said softly, tucking them both in one at a time. you pressed a soft kiss onto his little girls head.

with a flick of the light, the dark room was instantly lighted with the ladybug night light plugged into the wall, "night." you muttered to the two, leaving the door cracked. you were a good stepmother, a stark reminder in you and the children's relationship. you'll never be able to replace their real momma, but you can try.

rafe was rewinding after a long day. flicking through every channel as you settled on the couch, the couch dipping underneath your weight. rafe constantly fiddled with the ring on his finger, which reminded him more of his dad every. single. day. after a few minutes of dwelling on the animal planet channel, he switched it, before deciding to switch off the tv. you both saw your reflections. rafe's pouting expression, and your even poutier expression.

he turned the tv back on, disliking the fact he could just see his reflection in the tv, as well as yours as the screen went to black. the soft flicker of the tv coming back on, you drew your attention to it.

"mm." rafe said gruffly, a poor attempt to start even the slightest conversation with you. you let out a soft grunt back, initially saying he could continue. "'m sorry about earlier." he said quietly, not to mention quickly.

you nodded softly, turning to look at him as he scratched his fingers into his freshly shaved buzz cut. not even going to lie, he looked oh so good in his blue-white button up shirt. "me too." you whispered back, going back to whatever was playing on tv, feigning you were actually interested.

you nervously played with the drawstring off your jacket. you were more of a carefree person with a hobo-ish style. and it fit rafe just fine. "nothin' good is on." you said admittedly, turning your head towards rafe, unconsciously moving closer to him.

he shifted slightly, his arms welcoming you in his hold. you leaned into him, closing your eyes as you took a deep breath. rafe's arm calmly laid across your shoulder, weighing you down slightly. you pulled your legs off the ground, pulling yourself closer to rafe. that was the main difference between rafe and his ex and you and rafe. you and him got over arguments, while rafe and his ex tended to go with out talking. maybe it was just your attachment issues with him you couldn't stay mad, or you didn't want him to say he wanted to break up because sure, the sex was good, but at the end of the day, you always wanted to be a mother to his kids rather than leaving.

"your a good co-parent." rafe whispered into your head, referring to when he flew a few not so friendly insults towards you and trying to replace his ex. sure, that's really what you were trying to do, but it didn't mean that it wouldn't hurt when he called you out on it. maybe that was partially you didn't want to face the reality of the doubts you could ever replace his girls mother. but you can try. she wasn't even a good mom in the first place, you thought to yourself, and you weren't wrong.

you nodded softly when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "i know i am." you said back to him. he rollled his eyes at the oh so bratty comment back to what he told you. "brat" he mumbled to you.

after a boring thirty minutes, rafe opted to go lay down, he left you alone in the living room to dwell about really anything. rafe was so frustrating, sexually and in general. you made your way to the bedroom, turning off the light off in the living room. you traveled your way through the dark hallway to your bedroom. you passed the girls bedroom, hearing their peaceful soft snores. you stoped at their bedroom, peaking into their bedroom where the soft ladybug night light flickered gently.

you left their door cracked, walking towards your bedroom. greeted by rafe, "hey baby, c'mere," he said softly, "come lay down." he put his book on the side of the bed.

you changed into your pajama, then you crawled into bed with him. "'m so tired." you whispered, laying right on top of him. you threw an arm around his torso, burying your face into his pillow on his side of the bed.

he nodded, "i know. but i need you to do something for me." he cupped your cheek, his hand tangled in your hair. rafe pulled you in for a gentle kiss, "i've been s'pent up since the kids have been here for weeks 'n know their sleepin'" his hand caressed your face ever so gently. after subtle hinting, you made a face before nodding before he hooked his fingers under his black fancy pants, pushing them down slightly, his boxers coming next.

it was almost gave him embarrassment on how fast it went up. but then again comes the factor of he hasn't been able to request your assistance since his children have been at home. while you enjoyed the bonding with his two daughters, he wasn't the only thing pent up. rather than having sex when they went to bed, the both of you watched tv.

you wriggled your way in between his legs, grabbing the base of his cock before gently licking the precum off his tip. he let out a soft groan, which was more whimper like than anything. you made him so submissive in a way, y'know, like he acts big and bad before sucking him off, but as soon as you lick his sensitive tip he becomes all whimpery, and it turned you on.

you slowly pushed your mouth all the way onto his cock, your plump lips moving up and down on him. he let out a soft noise out of pleasure, one of your hands going to cup his ball, feeling then already tighten.

you let out a whimper as his cock hit the back of your throat voluntarily. and it kept repeatingly hitting the back of your throat, and you let out a gagging noise, showing of your not-so-good-gag reflex. "t's'okay." rafe managed out, "we can work on it." he softly pushed your head down, not letting you up for breath of air, and than when he found himself nearer towards release, he let you up.

after inhaling air, you went back down to finish him. rafe convulsed, his hand falling away from the vice he had on your hair, his eyes rolled back, "fuck." he groaned, his back arching slight as he came in your mouth. "swallow it f'me." he tapped your chin, shutting your mouth for you. he held your chin in satisfaction as he watched you swallow his warm load. he wiped the slight load on the side of your face, which was what didn't go all the way into your mouth.

you sat up, kicking off your pajama shorts that rafe had bought you, than hooking your thumb on the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down. he shuddered, attentively going to touch your shining pussy. he massaged your clit, earning a good and well earned soft moan from you.

he pulled you back onto him, allowing you to insert his cock into your tight hole. you both let out collective groans and moans. your room felt like a fucking sauna the way your body caught fire when you made contact with his body. you rolled your hips, like how your eyes rolled into the back of your head. you let out another moan as your hips rocked back and forth on him.

he grabbed your hips, slowing your pace down by the slightest. rafe held you in a vice, despite your quiet(ish) mewls of protest wanting to rock your own hips (key thing to why he thinks your a brat). "sh, you're a good girl." he whispered insight to your slight protests

you let out a soft moan when he pushed you further down onto him, "rafe!" you cried out, allowing him to rock you back in forth before allowing you to do as you wanted, his hands merely resting on your thighs rather than have your hips in a vice grip.

you rolled your hips, creating friction between you and rafe. the sweat smells filled both your and rafe's nostrils. you started to slowly bounce on his cock, both you and rafe letting out groans and moans at every bounce. he started to unbutton your night shirt to release your tits, they were following each of your bounce. you used rafe's shoulder to provide you stability, whilst he was unclipping your bra from your body.

rafe whispered sweet praises as he and you both neared release. his hands went to cup your titties as they bounced. he massaged your tits when they bounced. they weren't huge, nor were they small. they were perfect for rafe, his hand cupping one and it fit in his hand. he shuddered when you convulsed, and in a moment of breath-taking pleasure, you came around his cock, your hot liquids gushing around his cock. it was a piece of art, really. with your panting and the squelch of your come around his cock, you rested against his chest as he let out yet another string of his load inside of it, combined with your and his come, it looked even better than before.

"maybe you'll get your own kid tonight." he whispered hoarsely, pulling you off his body to go to the walk in bathroom.

he grabbed a rag, running it over cold water to clean you. you laid breathless, spread out on yours and his bed. when he made his way back to the bed, he turned on the box fan in the floor to help cool the both of you off. he took the cool wash cloth, pressing it against your thigh, you body indistinctly flinching from the contrast of your boiling body to the cool rag being moved along your thigh. he gently rubbed your sensitive pussy with the rag to clean up any other liquid that might've found it's way out of your cunt.

"there you go baby." he whispered, gently pressing a kiss against your forehead, your eyes half lidded as you were on the verge of passing out. rafe helped you put on a new pair of underwear, but the same bra and pajamas. he picked your underwear from off the floor, going to throw them in your dirty close basket. he changed into a pair of boxers. the room reeked of sex, and he smelled like it himself. he plugged in your favorite air freshener into the wall before pulling himself to rest. he laid sat up in bed, scrolling on social media as he held you in his arms.

when he found himself dozing off with the phone in his hand, he sat it on the nightstand. he laid his head on yours as he fell asleep for the night, it was a really cute sight, some might say. like something out of silly rom-com, or any romantic movie, really.

TAGS .ᐟ @archiveofvirtue @sematarygirls @beausling @mattsdolll @pr3ttyf4wn

[witchywithwhiskey]

sweet as honeycrisp

pairing: sugar daddy!ari levinson x sugar baby!female reader

summary: your sugar daddy takes you on an autumn-themed date to the apple orchard, and what starts off as a fun and flirty day unfolds into a meaningful turning point in your relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, biting, brief cockwarming, exhibitionism, light bdsm, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, very light degradation, lots of teasing, pet names (darling, honey), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 14.5k

a/n: whew i've been working on this for like two weeks now, and i'm so happy to finally be able to post it!!! i was struggling a bit with the emotional throughline of this fic, and i only decided on it very late in the editing game so if some things don't make sense, just ignore it!!! if you can believe it, i originally just wanted to write about a quickie in the apple orchard and it turned into this 🫣 anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!!!

“Kiss.”

The warm, playful voice of your sugar daddy, Ari Levinson, met your ears as you lowered yourself into the passenger seat of his Lexus, greeting you in the way he always did. When you closed the car door behind you, the sounds of the Manhattan street were silenced, leaving you in the relative quiet with Ari.

Eagerly, you twisted on the sumptuous seat of the expensive car to lean over the center console, brushing a teasing kiss to Ari’s scruffy cheek, your lips grazing the edge of his full beard. His skin was warm and inviting, and you lingered for a moment, breathing in the the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne, smelling of vetiver and leather. 

When you pulled back, Ari’s blue eyes were glittering with a hint of mischief that made your heart thump with excitement, a warmth blooming in your core despite the cool air of the car’s air conditioning brushing your legs. It was a warm September day, the last remnants of summer clinging in the air as if it protested giving up its seat to autumn. 

The thought crossed your mind that if any man looked like the embodiment of summer, it was Ari Levinson. His skin was golden with a perpetual tan, and his brown hair had sun-kissed blond highlights that shimmered in the daylight, though they were dimmed a bit in the shadow of his car. 

Still, as he grinned at you, showing off his pearly whites framed by his dark beard, you couldn’t help but feel like the summer sun had taken a liking to you and sat beside you. When he looked at you like that, with that smile and those blue eyes shining like the sun off the ocean waves, you wondered what it would be like to have his attention all the time—to be more than just the sugar baby he took on occasional dates when he wanted to have fun.

Pushing those bothersome romantic notions aside, you raked your eyes down Ari’s form, noticing that he’d dressed down for your date. He wore a soft denim, long-sleeved button-up over a simple white t-shirt and tailored slacks. Casual loafers and sunglasses perched on top of his head completed the look. Even in such a simple outfit, he looked good. 

“Show me.” 

His voice was a deep rumble that pulsed between your thighs, and you flicked your gaze back up to his face, finding heat in his expression, the same mischievousness in his eyes that’d been there since you got in the car. The corner of Ari’s mouth was curved in a smirk, and you felt another throb of warmth in your core.

Your lips curled at the edges, a wicked smile curving your mouth as the energy in the car crackled around you, spurring your heart to beat a little faster. You knew exactly what Ari wanted you to show him, and you knew it was naughty—but that was part of why you liked spending time with your sugar daddy. 

Ari was always urging you to be a little daring, to do something that made your heart race and your breath come a little faster. He didn’t push you, so much as guide you down the path to depravity, and you followed him willingly. You never felt more alive than when you were with Ari.

So while you smiled at him, you spread your legs on the leather seat of his Lexus, the short skirt of your dress falling between your parting thighs. Ari’s smirk deepened with satisfaction as he watched your movements with rapt attention. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your dress, the fabric having ridden up quite high on your thighs. 

But before you could reveal what was beneath your skirt, you looked away from Ari, and it crashed over you that you sat in a car in the middle of a busy Manhattan street surrounded by other people. There were folks driving in their cars just outside your window and others walking by on the sidewalk beside where Ari was parked. There were even people filling up the buildings that overlooked the street. They were everywhere around you.

“Darling, look at me,” Ari murmured, his tone entreating enough to call your attention back to him. 

You noticed his sparkling eyes had lost some of their mischief when you looked back at him. But the steadiness of his gaze had you relaxing when you hadn’t even realized you’d tensed up, and the corners of your mouth flickered in an uncertain smile.

“Do you trust me?” Ari asked simply. His face was open, no hint of pressure in his tone or voice. 

For a brief moment, you considered his question, then you nodded your head. You watched as warmth flooded into his gaze, and it made you feel a little more sure. 

“Lift your skirt for me, darling,” he implored, his eyes dropping to where your thighs were still spread, the flimsy fabric of your dress barely hiding your core. “Show daddy what you have under your pretty little skirt.”

You gathered every ounce of braveness in your body and pulled up the hem of your skirt. There, nestled between your spread thighs, was your bare pussy. The air in the car seemed to heat by a few degrees when you heard Ari suck in a sharp breath.

It had been Ari’s idea for you to go without panties on your date, and you’d agreed, the idea sending excited thrills through your body. Walking through the halls and the lobby of the Manhattan high-rise you called home, you’d felt like you had a secret that only Ari knew, and it gave you a delicious kind of satisfaction showing your sugar daddy how you’d gone without panties, your pussy fully exposed beneath your dress.

“You have such a pretty cunt, darling,” Ari groaned, his hand sliding up your thigh until the tips of his fingers teased the top of your slit. 

You bit back a gasp and squirmed in your seat, trying to hold your hips back from thrusting into his touch. 

“I never get tired of seeing this pussy, and how wet she gets for me.” 

His fingers spread your lower lips and he brushed ever so gently over the tip of your clit, making you twitch in your seat, your legs shaking with the effort it took not to close them on his hand and trap him against your heated core.

“And the way your thighs tremble for me,” Ari rumbled, pulling away from your quickly dampening slit to grope roughly at your plush softness, his grip possessive in a way your sugar daddy rarely was. 

“Ari.” His name was a breathy exhale, an undercurrent of admonishment in your tone as his touches stoked the blazing fire in your core, making you squirm even more on the seat. A sliver of worry wormed into your mind as you remembered the leather you sat on, which would surely stain if he kept touching you, and you gasped, “The seat.”

Ari only chuckled, the sound cavalier in a way that made butterflies take flight in your belly, but before you could chide him again, his hand was slipping back between your thighs. Ari dragged a finger from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, flicking your clit and wringing a moan from your lips as your thighs trembled on the seat.

Then he was pulling his hand away, leaving you to drop your skirt to cover yourself, and popping his finger into his mouth. Your sugar daddy made a show of savoring the taste of you, and your head fell back against the headrest. You watched him suck your taste from his skin, your breaths heavy in your chest while Ari’s eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“Mm, sweet as apple pie,” he praised, making heat rush to your face while you shook your head and rolled your eyes—even as your chest warmed at the compliment. Ari was grinning shamelessly at you when he grabbed your face gently and pulled you gently across the car toward him. “C’mere, darling, see how sweet you taste,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you.

The musky flavor of your body made you moan into Ari’s mouth, your sugar daddy devouring every little noise you made while he kissed you thoroughly. You sank into him, reveling in the smooth glide of his lips and the possessive exploration of his tongue. Your fingers curled around the collar of his denim shirt and you clung to him, feeling the edge of something more in the way he kissed you. It left you breathless when you finally pulled away.

You fell back into your seat with a soft “oomph,” the breath rushing from your lungs when you looked into Ari’s eyes. His blue gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, and there was something in depths of his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—affection or fondness maybe. 

A small, uncertain smile curled your lips, your heart thumping in your chest as you wondered if that’s how Ari looked at someone he truly cared about. Someone special to him, who had a more permanent place in his life than the sugar baby he called when he wanted to have some no-strings-attached fun. 

For the briefest of moments, you could pretend Ari was more than your sugar daddy, and you were more than his sugar baby. 

But then the moment ended, and Ari cleared his throat as he looked away, focusing on the wheel and gear shift of his car to put it in drive. A silent sigh of disappointment gusted from you, and you turned toward the passenger side window, intent on watching the city fly by once Ari eased into traffic.

To your surprise, Ari’s hand slipped into one of yours, his palm pressing against yours while he laced your fingers together. Your breath hitched with uncertainty even as the corners of your mouth flickered in a smile. It took you a moment to get used to the feeling of his hand in yours, turning it over to trace the veins on the back gently while he maneuvered his Lexus through the Manhattan streets.

It had only been a few months since you’d started seeing Ari, and while his touches were often greedy when you were fooling around, he hadn’t been prone to physical displays of affection since the first few dates you went on with him. Back then, he’d reached for your hand a few times, but after a point he’d stopped.

Truthfully, it had been a relief. One of your greatest fears was falling for a sugar daddy who didn’t return your feelings, and considering how handsome Ari was, you’d known it was a serious risk getting into a relationship with him. But he’d been so charming and carefree, you didn’t think it would be a problem to keep your heart out of things. He didn’t seem like he was looking for anything serious anyway.

So you’d focused on having fun, and that had been easy. Ari took you to expensive restaurants with delicious food in New York City, or he’d fly you somewhere else if he was itching to get away for a little bit. During meals, you’d chat about trivial things, then fall into bed together as soon as you were back in whatever hotel room Ari had booked for the night. 

You didn’t quite know why your conversations didn’t go deeper than the shallow things you talked about, but you didn’t question it. It made everything so much easier if you didn’t truly know Ari—if he didn’t know you either. So you just stuck to safe topics, like planning dates and having sex. 

Your relationship with Ari was a nice change of pace for you. He was far from your first sugar daddy, and you’d learned some hard lessons in your past relationships. Too often, sugar daddies wanted to know things you weren’t comfortable sharing, but Ari had never pried. He’d set boundaries and didn’t push them. You were grateful for that.

But another part of you, a part that started off small and was growing with every date you went on with Ari, yearned to know more about your sugar daddy. You wanted to know what he liked to do when he wasn’t working or taking you on dates. You wanted to know if he had any family, if he celebrated the holidays with them. You wanted to know if he’d ever had his heart broken. 

Tamping down on those curious thoughts, you focused on the present—the music that was playing gently in the car, and the scenery passing by your window. The skyscrapers and high-rises of Manhattan had given way to the tightly-packed homes of the suburbs. 

Biting your tongue against all the questions you wanted to ask, not even sure how you’d begin to try to get to know your sugar daddy better—let alone whether it was a good idea—you sat in silence with Ari. The suburbs eventually gave way to the lush forests and hilly countryside of the Hudson Valley, giving you something prettier to look at.

It was too early in September for the leaves to be changing yet, but there were glimpses of golden yellows and warm oranges among the green foliage. A hint of what was to come. Autumn was inevitable and you found comfort in the changing seasons. 

Cozy weather was right around the corner, and you couldn’t wait for it. Hot apple cider and pumpkin pie, butterscotch cookies and mulled wine—you were a glutton for all the food and beverages associated with the autumn months. And you liked to make them yourself from scratch whenever possible. 

It was part of the reason you’d wanted Ari to take you apple picking, though he didn’t know that. He’d just accepted the request and planned the date. 

After a little while more of driving, Ari pulled off the paved road and onto a dirt track. There was a sign for Brothers’ Apple Orchard fixed to a worn, wooden fence, though dense trees hid the farm from view. 

A little ways down the dirt road, the trees opened up into a large parking lot that was already packed with families and groups of friends going apple picking on the warm September afternoon. The sight and sounds of all the people had nerves twisting in your stomach, and you wondered if it had been a smart idea to go without panties to a place that was meant for wholesome fun.

You’d long since learned that Ari had an exhibitionist streak, and that day wasn’t the first time he’d told you to show up to one of your dates without panties. You’d always enjoyed the excitement in the inherent risk of wearing a dress without anything underneath, but he’d never taken you somewhere with so many families before. The consequences of getting caught seemed so much worse than they ever had before.

Ari must’ve felt your fingers tense in his because he gave you a comforting squeeze as he pulled his Lexus into an empty space and put the car in park. Once done, he looked to you, his smile faltering when he took in the way your brows were pinched and the corners of your mouth were turned down in an uncertain frown.

“Do you trust me, darling?” Ari asked, cupping your face and leaning across the car’s console to press his forehead to yours. His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, matching the sweeping of his other thumb against the back of your hand. 

You were quiet for a moment, nibbling on your lower lip as you thought about his question—really thought about it.

It weighed on you a little that you didn’t know Ari very well, especially since a part of you desperately wanted to, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know his character. Ari had never pushed you to do something you didn’t want to do, and he always checked in with you when you were together, making sure you were comfortable and having fun. So while you didn’t know his favorite color, you did trust him. 

Exhaling slowly, you nodded, your forehead shifting against Ari’s. “I trust you, Ari,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper, like you were telling him a secret in the privacy afforded by the enclosed space of his car. 

To your surprise, Ari sighed in relief at your words, the exhale so short and quiet, you wondered if you’d heard correctly. But you didn’t have time to analyze it because Ari was pressing a quick kiss to your lips and then pulling back to open his door and step out into the September sunshine.

You watched as Ari rounded the front of the Lexus, a charming grin on his face as he winked at you over the hood of his car. It was only because you were alone that you allowed yourself a silly little giggle, your mouth spreading across your face in a wide smile. He opened your door and offered you a hand to help you out.

“Careful, darling, wouldn’t want to give anyone a free show,” Ari murmured teasingly while you slid your hand into his, feeling the roughness of his palm against the pads of your fingertips. 

A zing of thrill went straight to your core at his words, joining the sparks you felt when you touched him. The fingers of your other hand played with the hem of your dress as you stepped one foot out of the car. You darted a look around, finding you had some relative privacy between Ari’s Lexus and the next car over, and pretended to rearrange your skirt. 

In reality, you flashed your bare slit for your sugar daddy, biting your lip and ducking your head when you heard his sharp inhale. Ari made a low, tortured sound and squeezed your fingers, practically pulling you out of the car before pinning you against the side.

“Naughty girl,” Ari growled in your ear, pressing his big body against yours so you were trapped between his hard muscles and the warm metal of the Lexus at your back. “You’re going to get us in trouble if you keep flashing that pretty pussy at me, darling.” 

A breathless, disbelieving laugh gusted past your lips before you could stop it, even as your head went a little fuzzy from the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne filling your senses. It felt like the vetiver and leather on his skin was embedded in your mind as a reminder of all the pleasure he’d given you, and with his body pressed against yours, it took you a moment to respond.

“You’re the one who told me not to wear panties to our apple picking date, daddy,” you reminded him, gripping the soft cotton of Ari’s t-shirt beneath his denim shirt, your fingers brushing against the sides of his tapered waist. You pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, brushing your body against his firm form enticingly while your lips grazed along his scruffy cheek. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that if you didn’t want me to show you my achy, needy cunt.”

A low growl rumbled in Ari’s chest and he pressed you harder against the side of his car, his body impossibly warm and hard through the thin fabric of your dress. You could feel every firm line of him against your soft curves, including the thick bulge digging into your stomach. 

Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Ari’s hands skimmed down your sides and dove beneath the hem of your skirt, palming your ass and kneading your soft flesh with firm, possessive fingers.

“Darling, if you keep saying such filthy things, you’re gonna end up in the back of my car with my cock buried in your achy, needy cunt,” he purred, a threat in his tone that he punctuated by nipping at your ear, making you gasp and arch into him, pressing your tits against his solid chest. “You’re gonna get us banned from the orchard because you won’t be able to stop screaming while I pound your pussy—is that what you want?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes. 

In the short time since you’d stepped out of the car, Ari had you feeling wet and aching and empty. Warmth flooded your body that had nothing to do with the sun shining brightly above your heads, and you wanted badly for Ari to free his cock from his slacks and slide it inside you.

But then the shrieking laughter of children punctured the bubble of lust surrounding you, and you remembered exactly where you were. Shaking your head, you dropped your gaze to the edge of Ari’s jaw while you sucked in a deep breath, focusing on the fresh air beyond the scent of your sugar daddy’s cologne. 

Ari’s big body eased back, giving you more room to breathe and you ignored the pang of disappointment at the loss of him. Instead, you let the crisp autumn breeze brushing against your cheeks and dancing between your thighs cool you down. 

After giving you a moment, Ari curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. His brows were lowered and his eyes looked at you questioningly.

“Do you still want to go apple picking?” he asked softly, planting his other hand on the hood of his car, as if he needed to force himself not to touch you so you could answer his question. The thought made you smile, and his eyes dropped to your lips, his thumb brushing quickly over the bottom one. 

“I do,” you said in a light, breathless voice, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. On a whim, you nipped at Ari’s thumb, giving him a smirk when his eyes darkened. “If you think you can keep it in your pants until later, daddy,” you taunted him, pushing your hips forward so his bulge pressed into your belly.

“You’re such fucking trouble,” Ari growled before his mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. One of his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into him while the other cradled your head gently, holding you exactly where he wanted you while he devoured your mouth, his tongue sweeping possessively past your lips until you were moaning softly into him.

A loud, clearing throat had you finally breaking apart. Both you and Ari turned your heads toward the sound, finding a blonde woman raising an eyebrow at the two of you before cutting her eyes pointedly to the children beside her. Your cheeks heated and you buried your face in Ari’s neck to muffle a cackling laugh. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Ari called gruffly, raising a hand in a repentant wave. 

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes, which only made you laugh harder, pressing your face deeper into the warm curve of Ari’s shoulder as you tried to stay quiet. When the woman and her family were finally gone, you leaned back, giving Ari a cheeky grin. 

“Think she’s gonna complain about us and get us banned?” you asked teasingly, sliding your hands up Ari’s chest until they rested on his shoulders, trying not to think about how easy it was to touch your sugar daddy so casually. “Tell them we were acting indecently in the parking lot?”

Ari laughed, chucking you under your chin gently before ducking down for a quick kiss. “If she does, I’ll just buy the farm,” Ari murmured against your mouth. “They can’t ban us if I own them.”

Your breath caught in your lungs at Ari’s pronouncement, surprise making your heart leap in your chest. Your sugar daddy had bought you plenty of expensive gifts since you’d started seeing him, but buying a farm so you could go apple picking in peace was on another level entirely. You had to wonder if Ari was serious, but the look in his eye was genuine when he pulled back. 

“Don’t give me that look, darling,” he rumbled, his heated gaze raking over your face, taking in your wide eyes and parted lips. His thumb stroked over your bottom lip, pulling on it ever so slightly to the side, sending a little thrill through your body. “Or we aren’t making it into the orchard.”

You closed your mouth, swallowing thickly and bobbed your head in a nod. Then, you slid away from Ari, slipping from between his big body and the car and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Even with the warm September sun shining down on your shoulders, you felt a little cold without Ari’s heat and shivered. But you told yourself you were being ridiculous, shaking off the shiver and turning back to your sugar daddy.

Ari was standing with both hands planted on the hood of the car, his head hanging between them while he took deep breaths. He must’ve felt your attention on him because he lifted his head and gave you a charming smile. 

“Just gimme a sec, darling,” he said, shooting you a wink before he straightened and dropped his hands to the bulge in his slacks. 

You tried not to ogle your sugar daddy as he adjusted himself to make his hard length less prominent in his pants, but you knew what was hiding beneath his clothes and you knew how good his cock felt sliding inside you.

A sizzling, delicious warmth cascaded through your body, and you let yourself watch Ari’s big hands adjusting his bulge for a moment before tearing your eyes away and taking deep breaths of the fresh air to clear your head as much as possible.

A moment later, Ari slung his arm around your shoulders and together the two of you walked toward the entrance to the orchard.

It took effort, but you managed not to look down at the front of his pants, sure that if you did, neither of you would make it any further. And you did want to go apple picking. You had so many things you wanted to bake with the apples you were going to pick. 

Keeping your chin up and your gaze forward, you and Ari walked to the small, squat red building that served as the entryway to the orchard. One side was for folks heading into the field of apple trees, and you joined the line while scrutinizing the size of baskets and crates you could get for picking. 

Ari let you choose the size, and you picked a decent size wooden basket, thinking that would give you plenty of apples to use for baking. A farm worker explained that your apples would be weighed when you were done, and you paid per pound. Then they handed Ari a map that specified where each apple variety could be found, and the two of you were set free into the orchard. 

“What kind of apples are we picking today?” Ari asked, peering at the paper in his hand while he snagged the basket from you. 

You leaned into his side so you could read the map, and pointed when you found what you wanted. “Honeycrisp, honeycrisp!” you chanted, letting your excitement overtake you. 

Ari chuckled, folding the map and tucking it into his pocket before giving you one of his charming grins. “Honeycrisp it is, honeycrisp,” he teased, smoothing his hand down your arm to lace his fingers with yours before he began walking into the orchard.

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at Ari’s gentle, familiar touch and the sweet new nickname. He’d only ever called you ‘darling’ before, and while you liked the pet name, ‘honeycrisp’ made you feel closer to your sugar daddy because it was meant for only you. It was something people in a real romantic relationship did, wasn’t it?

Your feet stumbled a little before you fell into step beside Ari. Out of the corner of your eye, you looked up at him consideringly, wondering—not for the first time—what he thought of you. If he thought you were someone worth caring about—if he thought of you at all when you weren’t together. 

Your sugar daddy flashed an easy smile at you, and you couldn’t help but return the gesture, even as you thought about how difficult he was to read. He was always charming and easygoing, and it made it hard to figure out what he was really thinking, let alone what he was really feeling.

You did your best to push those pondering thoughts from your mind and simply enjoy the walk through the orchard with Ari. You reminded yourself that he’d made it clear he just wanted to have fun with you, so that’s what you were determined to do: Enjoy the warm day and pick some apples with your handsome sugar daddy.

The honeycrisp section of the orchard ended up being quite busy, with families and groups of friends forming small crowds around all the trees closest to the entrance of the field. You paused for a moment, your face falling in a small frown.

Ari must’ve seen your expression because he tugged on your hand and led you past the crowds, strolling down a long row of apple trees to go deeper into the orchard. The excited chatter of other people faded until you could barely hear them and the farm grew peaceful. Finally, you came to the edge of the orchard, and Ari pulled you to a stop at the end of a row of honeycrisp trees. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of apples,” you said, peering up at the trees around you. They were bigger and taller than the ones you’d passed that were being picked over by the crowds. Their branches were practically bursting with ripe, red apples, the color swirling with yellow and green as it often did with that particular variety. 

It seemed no one else had thought to escape the crowds and venture deeper into the orchard, because you couldn’t hear anyone else around. It was just you, your sugar daddy and the apple trees. 

It was so perfect you couldn’t stifle the beaming grin that spread across your face.

“Should I go back for another basket—or a crate?” Ari asked, a grin in his tone. 

When you finally tore your eyes away from the trees and their bounty, you found him staring at you, something like fondness in his gaze. It struck you that Ari had no idea why you wanted apples—you’d never told him you liked to bake or what you planned to do with the ones you picked—but he’d planned the date and was offering to help you pick as many apples as you wanted. 

A warmth started in your chest, feeling as though it were wrapping around your heart and filling you up with a dizzying amount of sunshine, until your ribs were nearly bursting with it. Your cheeks felt warm, and your face ached a little from how wide you were smiling. 

When you realized that you were staring back at Ari with just as much, if not more, affection than was in his gaze, you tried to tamp it down, forcing yourself to scoff lightly at his question. 

“I think one will be plenty,” you said dryly, turning back to the trees and trying to calculate how many apples would fit into the basket Ari carried. Would it be enough for the apple crisp cheesecake recipe you’d been dying to try? You decided it would have to be. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, honeycrisp?” Ari asked softly, curling a finger beneath your chin and tipping your face to look up at him. He eased your bodies toward each other and your arms wrapped naturally around his waist. 

It wasn’t until you’d pressed your hands to Ari’s back, your hands settling against the solid muscle of him, that you even realized what you were doing. When you did, you froze, feeling a little spooked by how easy it was becoming to sink into Ari’s casual touches and return them. It felt like there was a growing intimacy between the two of you, and you didn’t know quite yet how you felt about it. 

“Honeycrisp?” you asked, latching on to the one thing you could think to say that would delay you needing to answer Ari’s question. 

He’d never asked you what you were thinking before. When he checked in with you, his questions were always more direct, and more specific about what you were doing. You didn’t know if he really wanted to know, so you hoped a distraction might work.

Ari’s grin turned a little mischievous, like he knew what you were doing, and he wrapped his arms around you, hauling you up against his large, firm body. He ducked his head and nudged your nose with his, tickling your cheek with his beard until you laughed softly into his scruff.

“It fits, doesn’t it?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that sent warmth dancing through your body. “You’re sweet as honey and as delicious as an apple crisp.” He kissed your lower lip, sucking on its plumpness with a slow, deliberate drag that had you nearly moaning into his mouth.

“Yeah, I like it,” you murmured when he released your lip, your voice obscenely breathy as your eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t remember closing them. Being so close to Ari, having his arms around you and his lips on you, was rattling your brain a little.

“Now, darling honeycrisp, tell daddy what had you thinking so hard about those apples,” Ari rumbled, his voice sweetly coaxing as he brushed butterfly kisses along your jaw. His lips were soft and his beard was coarse, and the contrast of the sensations had you sighing softly and melting further into his arms. “Unless you don’t want to tell me?”

There was a thread of uncertainty in Ari’s tone as he voiced the question, like he wasn’t sure if he was pushing too hard by asking you to tell him what you’d been thinking about. 

It was so different to how other sugar daddies—other men in general—had treated you. They’d always demanded you tell them whatever they wanted to know, as if they had a right to every part of you. 

But Ari wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that, and it didn’t surprise you that the first time he asked something even remotely personal, he was still giving you the opportunity to sidestep the question if you didn’t want to answer. It made you want to tell him all the more.

“I was thinking about what I want to bake with the apples we pick,” you answered, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. “And trying to make sure one basket would be enough.”

Ari brushed a kiss to the apple of your cheek, as if thanking you for telling him. Pulling back a bit so he could look at you, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

“You like to bake?”

You felt a little shy in the moment, ducking your head under the weight of his sparkling blue eyes, and nodded. “Yeah,” you said shrugging as if it was no big deal. Then, when Ari didn’t reply right away, you went on, filling the silence by answering a question he hadn’t asked. “I don’t usually tell sugar daddies—the one time I did, he got weird.”

Biting your lip to stem the flow of words from your mouth, you winced. You weren’t sure if Ari had known you’d had other sugar daddies before him, but it felt awkward to acknowledge the fact even if you weren’t ashamed of it. Besides, something inside you rebelled against the idea of lumping Ari in with all your other sugar daddies—he truly wasn’t like anyone else you’d been with. 

“Weird how?” Ari asked in a tone gentler than any you’d heard him use before. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, but he didn’t try to make you look at him, just stroked your skin with his thumb. The gesture was so profoundly comforting that you lay your head on his shoulder and gave a sigh of relief. 

“Once he knew I liked to bake, he expected me to bake for him,” you explained slowly, choosing your words carefully. “But not just bake—he bought me an apron and skimpy little dresses to wear underneath it with these ridiculous heels. He wanted me to bake for him and…service him.” 

You pressed your face into Ari’s shoulder, remembering the experience and cringing over what you’d let that man talk you into. He was a major reason you appreciated Ari’s boundaries so much. You felt safer, like things couldn’t spiral out of your control, with the boundaries your sugar daddy had set in place.

After you’d answered his question, Ari stayed quiet, just holding you, his thumb stroking soothingly over the back of your neck. His big arms felt so steady around you that you couldn’t help but take comfort in them, and you went on, feeling safe enough to tell Ari the rest.

“He took all the joy out of baking,” you said in a small voice. “I stopped seeing him soon after, but he wasn’t happy about it.”

Ari exhaled a sharp breath and he squeezed you in his arms, holding you tight for a long moment before he eased up a little. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “I would love to try your baking, but only if you want—hell, you can come over today and use my kitchen and bake in one of my shirts if you want.”

A relieved laugh gusted out of you, and you were so glad Ari understood that it took you a moment to realize he’d invited you to his apartment. 

You’d never seen where he lived—and even though he paid for it, he’d never been inside your apartment either. Ari had always gotten hotel rooms, even for dates in in the city. 

You hadn’t thought much about it beyond appreciating the fact that Ari didn’t act entitled to be in your space because he paid for it. But now he was inviting you to his apartment, his space, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

Pulling back, you gave him a curious look. 

“Are you sure?”

Ari leveled you with a look of his own, and though his gaze was serious, there was a hint of amusement in the curve of his mouth. “Are you sure?” he countered, his voice going low and rumbly as he went on. “If you start baking in my kitchen wearing only my shirt, there’s a very good chance I’ll eat more of you than whatever you make.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to drive home the lewd insinuation of his statement. 

But despite his dirty warning—or perhaps because of it—you only warmed to the idea of baking in Ari’s apartment. It sounded fun in a way it hadn’t been with your past sugar daddy and you bounced on the balls of your feet as excitement flooded through you. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy,” you sassed, shifting your arms to wind around Ari’s neck. You used your hold on him to keep your balance as you pushed up onto your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “I already know what I want to make.”

Ari chuckled, giving you a quick kiss before pulling out his phone and telling you to pull up the recipe so that he could forward it to his assistant to make sure his apartment had everything you’d need. You did as he asked and handed his phone back to him, watching for his reaction to the recipe you’d chosen.

To your delight, Ari groaned like he was being tortured, his thumb flicking over the screen as he scrolled through the recipe to look at all the pictures.

“You’re gonna make this?” he asked, before reading out the title, “An Apple crisp cheesecake?” He made another agonized sound before looking to you for confirmation.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, knowing he was excited despite the miserable noises he was making, and nodded eagerly to answer his question.

Ari shook his head with a disbelieving look on his face and tapped out a message on his phone before pocketing it again. Then he grabbed you around the waist and hauled you against him again.

“You’re trouble for my pants, honeycrisp,” he muttered, dropping a too-brief kiss to your lips. “First you make me hard enough I feel like I’m gonna pop my zipper.” He trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck in between his words, his mouth and beard tickling your skin while you melted into his arms. “Next you’re gonna fill me up with apple crisp cheesecake until my button breaks.” 

You made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan as you tipped your head to the side, giving him more access to nip and lick at your neck while you clung to his shoulders, your knees going weak from your sugar daddy’s attention. 

“You don’t need to eat that much cheesecake, Ari,” you wheezed in between bouts of laughter, giggling harder when he nipped playfully at your ear.

“If it’s as delicious as you, I don’t know how I’ll be able to stop myself,” he flirted, kissing the spot just beneath your ear that had you shivering in his arms. 

“Ari,” you said his name on a breathy exhale, and it was a good thing his lips captured yours in a searing kiss, because you didn’t have any hope of responding to his compliment. Instead, you showed him how much you appreciated it by kissing him back hard, your fingers tangling in his soft brown hair as you clung to your sugar daddy and made out in the apple orchard.

By the time Ari pulled away to let you get some air, you were breathless and happier than you’d been in a long time. To your own surprise, you felt good about opening up to Ari and telling him about your past bad experience. He’d made you feel heard and cared for, all while giving you reason to believe he’d never do anything like that to you. He made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t with any of your other sugar daddies. 

Because of all that, you were actually excited to finally see his apartment. It felt like an important step, the beginning of something new, perhaps something deeper, and though there was an undercurrent of anxiety in your belly, you were more excited than anything else. 

And if you weren’t mistaken, Ari looked excited, too. His eyes were looking at you with affection in their depths, and his mouth was curved into a genuine smile. 

As he grinned down at you, Ari let his hands slide down from your lower back to your ass, groping you through your dress before swatting the soft cheeks lightly. 

“Alright, honeycrisp, these apples won’t pick themselves,” he teased good-naturedly. “And I’ve got a craving for some apple crisp cheesecake now.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, making you laugh.

But you forced a serious expression onto your face and gave him a mocking salute. “Yes, sir,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to tamp down on the smile that wanted to break free.

You lost the battle when Ari gave a loud laugh, his head tipping back and the sun shining down on his golden face while he gave into your silliness. He recovered quickly, though, looking back down at you fondly as he rumbled, “That’s ‘yes, daddy’, to you, honeycrisp.” Then he slapped your ass a little harder to urge you to get a move on before he finally, reluctantly, pulled away and turned in the direction of the apple trees.

To ease some of the disappointment you both felt, Ari gave you a salacious wink that had your cheeks warming again. You couldn’t even blame the September sun on the heat in your face. Your sugar daddy was just so hot, it was hardly even fair.

To distract yourself from wanting to curl up in Ari’s arms and say to hell with apple picking, you snatched up the basket he’d dropped, arching your back and popping your ass to give him a peek at your pussy, then straightened and skipped to the nearest apple tree to start picking. 

When you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you saw Ari’s eyes were heated and staring at the way your skirt fluttered around your ass, his big hand palming his bulge in his pants. You wiggled your ass for him, turning back around to hide your laughter when his long-suffering groan met your ears. 

But you couldn’t keep your eyes off Ari and you turned your head to watch him out of the corner of your eye, catching him swiping a hand down over his face while he shook his head. Something about the gesture sent your heart pitter-pattering in your chest—which only got worse when Ari caught you looking and winked while he adjusted himself in his pants.

You felt giddy as you refocused on the tree in front of you, your breaths coming in soft little gasps as excitement and desire swirled in your core. It took you a long moment to gather your thoughts and remind yourself that you could not jump your sugar daddy in the middle of an apple orchard that was open to the public—no matter how much you desperately wanted to. 

With slightly shaking fingers, you began to pick apples, doing your best to pay attention to what you were doing and make sure you were selecting the best fruit you could find. If Ari was going to try your baking for the first time, you wanted your apple crisp cheesecake to be the best that it could possibly be. 

Ari came to stand beside you, and though you wanted him to put his hands on you, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to the task of picking apples, even reaching up to the branches that were too high for you. In turn, you showed Ari how to check for bruises and other unwanted things in the fruit before adding them to the basket at your feet.

Between the two of you picking apples, it wasn’t long before the basket was nearly overflowing, but you were having so much fun, you didn’t want it to end. So when Ari asked if you still needed more, you gave him a shy smile and said just a few. You didn’t want him to go get another basket—because, really, you didn’t need that many apples—but you didn’t want the apple picking part of your date to end just yet.

Your sugar daddy seemed to understand your desire to linger because he didn’t call you out on the fact that your basket could barely hold any more apples. Instead, he flashed you an indulgent grin and nodded, joining you under the apple tree where you’d been picking. 

But rather than moving beside you, as he’d stood while you’d worked together, he came up behind you so that his chest was brushing against your back. His hands settled lightly on your waist, loosely caging you in beneath the apple tree with your body facing the trunk. 

He ducked down so his scruffy, bearded cheek was pressed to yours and pointed to a cluster of apples just out of your reach. “Why don’t you grab one of those?” he suggested, the practiced innocence in his tone nearly making you snort with laughter. 

You knew Ari was playing a game, you could feel it in the mischievous tension crackling in the air, and you were almost certain it would lead to some sort of naughtiness in the orchard. But your body was wound tight, and you wanted to get up to a little mischief with your sugar daddy, so you decided to play along. 

“I can’t reach, daddy,” you simpered, proving your point by reaching your hand up to show that the apples were too high up, your fingertips only barely grazing the fruit. You used the movement to deliberately push your ass back into Ari’s lap and you had to smother a giggle when you felt the hard ridge of him in his pants.

“Let me help, honeycrisp,” Ari rumbled, and though you couldn’t see his grin, you knew it was there by the warmth in his voice. You bit your lip against your own wide smile.

Ari’s hand slid down your side, all the way to the back of your thigh, before he gently grabbed your leg behind your knee to lift it until your foot was planted on a low branch. Then he guided your hips deeper into his lap, where you could feel the long, stiff length of his cock wedging between your ass cheeks through your thin dress.

“C’mon, honeycrisp, reach a little bit more,” he urged, tilting your hips and bending his knees so that his hard bulge was pressed against your bare slit. Then he surged forward, lifting you just a little off the ground while he dragged the thick length of his cock against your weeping pussy. 

You fell helplessly against the trunk of the tree, the apples forgotten as a low moan slipped past your lips. Ari teased you with his clothed cock, and your spine arched to bare more of yourself to his hard bulge. Craning your neck to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder, you gave him a desperate, pleading look. 

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a whine, pushing back into his lap and wiggling your ass side to side to try to entice him into giving you something more. You’d been teasing each other all day, and you were hitting a breaking point. You needed him to give you something.

Ari chuckled, burying his face in the side of your neck, his deep laughter rolling deliciously down your spine and settling between your thighs, until you were pulsing with desire. He curled around your body until he was surrounding you, your smaller form fitting perfectly within the cage of his arms. 

He reached above you and easily plucked the apple he’d directed you to pick from the spot you hadn’t been able to reach and presented it to you. At the same time, his other hand began to wander, groping your soft tits until you moaned prettily again for him. 

“Does it pass your inspection, darling?” he asked, urging you to focus on the apple he held in front of you. 

Truthfully, you didn’t care anymore about picking apples—you had plenty of them in the basket at your feet—but you did your best to look it over. You turned it over in your trembling fingers, checking for bruises and bugs. Finding it to be perfect, you nodded. 

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” Ari murmured, taking the apple from your hands and pulling away to set it on top of the pile in your basket. 

You had to bite back a whine at the loss of him, but he was back against you a moment later, his warmth surrounding you as his arms curled around your body. His hands slid up your sides and cupped your tits, kneading them in his big, strong hands until your head fell back against his shoulder and you let out a soft whimper of need.

“Now is that enough apples, honeycrisp?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Yuh huh,” you mumbled, nodding weakly as you arched your spine and pushed your chest into Ari’s hands. He rewarded you by pinching and plucking your nipples through the soft cotton of your dress, wringing a weak whine from your lips. “Plenty.” 

“Good,” Ari rumbled, pressing his face into the side of your neck, his mouth licking and nipping at your skin like you tasted as sweet as the fruit you’d been picking, his rough beard making you shiver in his hold. “Because if I had to see your pretty pussy winking at me from beneath your skirt one more time while you were bending over or reaching for some apples, it was going to drive me fucking wild.”

A low moan slipped free from your lips while one of Ari’s hands skimmed down your front, sliding under the hem  of your dress and cupping you between your thighs. His big hand covered your entire mound, which was sticky with your juices. 

He growled when he felt just how wet you were, the sound reverberating down your spine and making your pussy spasm, more wetness dripping from your slit and into his palm.

“Fuck,” Ari ground out through gritted teeth, his voice rough with his own barely leashed desire. “You’re soaking wet for me, honeycrisp—I gotta feel you,” he said, an urgency in his voice as he sank two fingers into your drenched hole, pulling another moan from you. His hips were grinding his bulge against your ass so hard, you could feel him throbbing. “Gotta feel this tight warm cunt on my cock, ‘m not gonna make it back to the car—need you now.”

“Ari,” you whispered harshly, trying to sound angry, but the two syllables of his name came out dipped in desire and you felt your sugar daddy shudder against your back, his fingers working harder inside your sopping cunt, his palm making soft slapping sounds every time he bottomed out. “We shouldn’t.” 

Despite your weak protest, you rolled your head to the side on Ari’s shoulder, peering through the branches of the tree toward where you’d left the crowds of other apple pickers. They were still so distant you couldn’t hear them over your soft, gasping breaths, but there was no telling when someone might stray from the others. They could stumble upon you at any moment. 

The only protection you had from wandering eyes were the branches of the apple tree. Thankfully, they were close enough and the leaves dense enough that you couldn’t see much beyond Ari’s big body, but if someone came close enough, they’d no doubt hear you or Ari, and then you’d be caught.

“We’re going to get arrested,” you scolded in a hushed tone before turning your head to bury your face in Ari’s beard and stifle the moan on the tip of your tongue. He hadn’t stopped fucking you with his fingers and your reluctance was ebbing from your body just as surely as your desire was leaking into his hand. 

Instead of responding to your statement with the seriousness you felt it deserved, Ari simply chuckled against your cheek and used his thumb to circle your clit, making your hips jerk into his hand, your body wordlessly begging him for more while you muffled a whine into the underside of his jaw. 

“We’ll be fine, honeycrisp,” Ari soothed in a placating tone that made you growl like a feral kitten into his throat, so he switched tactics, his voice going low and rough. “Don’t you wanna feel me, honey?” He asked, grinding his hard length into your soft ass until you mewled pathetically. “Don’t you wanna drip your sweet juices all over daddy’s cock like a good girl?” 

It was on the tip of your tongue to give in. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew there was a very real possibility that you could get caught, and it was only your fear of the potential consequences that held your words at bay. But Ari was well acquainted with the fear that held you back, and he knew exactly how to help you break through it. 

“Just the tip,” he murmured, his voice so warm you could hear the smile in it. “Just take the tip, and stay quiet, and we’ll be golden.” He nuzzled your face, his beard rasping over your soft skin and sending tingles of delight all through your body. 

You knew it was a ploy. You knew that Ari knew that you’d never be able to settle for just the tip of his cock—after all, you never had before. But it was easier to pretend you could settle for just the tip than to say yes to Ari fucking you in the middle of the apple orchard when there were people not too far away. It was the small step you needed to break free from your fear.

Lifting your head, you looked around. There was nothing to see except dense branches and leaves and endless apples. Ari’s body hid you entirely from sight, and you still couldn’t hear anyone else close by, so if you stayed quiet, you really could get away with a quickie in the orchard. 

A wicked smile spread across your face and you turned your head to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder.

“Just the tip?” you asked, you voice laced with suggestion. You knew Ari was going to end up sinking much more of his cock into you, but you wanted to play along for a little bit. “Promise, daddy?” Your question was meant to sound innocent, but you couldn’t help the way the corners of your lips wavered in an eager grin.

Ari chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth, because he knew exactly what you were doing. “I promise, darling…” he said, trailing off as he pulled his fingers from your pussy with an embarrassingly wet sound that made him grin. “Unless, of course, you beg me like a good girl.” 

“Hurry, daddy,” you cooed, wiggling your ass against Ari’s bulge, a teasing smile on your lips as you watched him over your shoulder. 

Ari’s eyes darkened and then he was using his clean hand to fumble with his belt and fly while he swatted your pussy playfully with his drenched fingers. You gasped and twitched, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably as desperate keening sound slipped from your mouth.

At your urging, Ari wasted no time, shoving his pants open and pulling out his cock, pushing your dress up over your ass and rubbing the tip through your drenched folds. Both of you groaned, Ari’s face falling forward against your shoulder while you grabbed onto the trunk of the tree in front of you, trying to stay upright while your knees trembled. 

Then Ari was pushing inside, the head of his cock sinking into the warmth of your pussy. The stretch of him was too delicious, and you moaned louder than was wise, but you couldn’t help yourself. He felt too good. 

“What’d I say about staying quiet?” Ari rumbled in your ear, right before he shoved his fingers in your mouth. The tart taste of your wetness mixed with apples burst on your tongue and you moaned again, licking wildly at his fingers to get as much of it as you could. “Mm, that’s it, clean up your mess, honeycrisp—show daddy what a good girl you can be.”

Ari’s other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady while he fucked you with just the tip of his cock, pushing into your tight hole and pulling free until the tease of it drove you wild. 

“Mm-oah, mm-oah,” you begged around Ari’s fingers, trying to push back on Ari’s stiff length and take more of him, but he held you still, forcing you to take only what he gave you. You bounced impatiently, the foot that was still lifted on one of the branches shaking it so furiously, the leaves rattled and a few apples dropped to the ground.

“Oh, did you want something, honey?” Ari asked, his tone filled with mocking innocence as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. You shot him a half-hearted glare over your shoulder, pouting. 

“I need more, daddy, please,” you begged, giving him your best desperate, pleading look while you pushed back against his hold, reveling in the way he didn’t let you move to take him further. “Please split me open with your thick cock, daddy—I need it.”

Ari blew out a sharp breath. “Fuck, I wanna tease you some more, but I can’t—need you too bad, honey,” Ari rasped, squeezing your hip while his other arm wrapped loosely around the front of your throat, so the bulge of his bicep was just beneath your chin. 

“Remember, stay quiet.” His hushed words were your only warning before Ari slammed into you, shoving every inch of his hard cock into your wet, needy cunt. 

A scream welled up inside your chest, your mouth dropping open as it clawed its way up your throat, but at the last second before it was set free, you managed to bury your face in Ari’s bicep. Your teeth sank into his warm, golden skin and you bit your sugar daddy while you screamed into his arm. 

His tortured groan was loud, but only because it poured directly into your ear, the sound dripping in pleasure as your inner walls squeezed his hard cock and made room for the thick length of him in the depths of your body.

Bliss consumed you, the stinging edge of Ari pushing inside you so fast and stretching you so suddenly making your body burn all the hotter. Already, your cunt was pulsing around Ari’s cock like you wanted him to stay buried inside you for a long time and you sighed happily, pulling your teeth from your sugar daddy’s arm. 

While Ari gave you a moment to adjust, his hand kneading the plush softness of your hip, you kissed and licked at the indents your teeth had left in his skin. He chuckled, brushing a kiss against your temple, an acceptance of your wordless apology. 

“Ready, honey?” Ari asked softly, nuzzling your cheek while he rolled his hips, grinding his cock into you in a way that had you moaning again. “This is gonna be hard and fast. I can’t—I gotta pound your pretty pussy,” he rumbled, his tone almost apologetic with the urgency in it. “Gotta feel you dripping around me, squeezing me, milking me.”

His hand shifted from your hip to slip between your thighs, his fingers finding your slippery clit and rubbing the puffy pearl. He grunted when you clenched around him, his fingers stroking you harder and winding your pleasure higher while he rolled his hips, fucking you in short, sharp thrusts.

“Fuck, honey, fuck,” he bit out, his breaths heavy in between every word. “Tell me you’re ready for me to move.”

“Please, yes, move,” you cried propping your chin on Ari’s bicep while your nails dug into the trunk of the tree in front of you. You used your grip to brace yourself and push back on Ari’s cock, taking him deeper with every thrust. “Need you, daddy, please, please, please,” you babbled, your voice coming out strained with the effort to keep it quiet.

“Fucking right you need me—just like I need you,” Ari growled, pulling his hips back and slamming forward, driving into you with so much force, you could hear the soft sound of your ass slapping against his thighs. “You have the sweetest, tightest pussy I’ve ever had—best fucking pussy in the world. I dream about it when I’m not with you,” he confessed, his words rough like he’d pulled them from the depths of his soul. “Dream about pumping you full of my come until your belly’s bulging with me, honey.”

Your mind reeled at Ari’s confession even as your body sank deeper into his hold. You were still trying to catch up on processing his words but your pussy was clenching around his cock greedily, as if begging for him to come inside you already. 

In that moment, a singular truth crystalized in your mind: You’d been deluding yourself into thinking you didn’t care for Ari—that he didn’t care for you. It was very clear that Ari did care about you, and you cared about him.

All those boundaries in your relationship, you realized you’d been the one creating them, not Ari. Ari had been patient, chipping away at the walls you’d built around yourself until he’d somehow found his way in. He’d dreamed about you, and you’d thought he was just another sugar daddy looking to have some fun. You’d been so wrong about him.

At the weight of your realization, you nearly collapsed against the tree, but managed to hold yourself up, sobbing with pleasure and emotion. Ari seemed to sense the shift in your mood and he slowed his movements, as if he was going to stop, but you shook your head, feeling feral with your need for him. 

“Please, daddy,” you cried softly, your voice hoarse with the flood of affection filling your heart. It was emphasized by the feeling of Ari inside you, surrounding you, your body cradled in his arms while he fuckd you like he wanted you to never forget the feel of him. “Fill me up, make me your perfect little cumslut, daddy, just keep me—keep me.” 

“Always,” he rasped, his lips at your temple. The promise in that single word buried deep in your heart, taking root. 

Something changed between you and Ari, and you knew he felt it too because he started fucking you faster than before, his hips snapping harder against your ass so he could push deep into your cunt with every thrust.

“Fuck, honey, ‘m almost there, are you close?” he rasped, his tone desperate. 

Your head bobbed in a nod. 

“Uh huh, ‘m close, just need a little more…” you trailed off in a whine, trying to push back on his cock and grind your clit against his stroking fingers at the same time.

Thankfully, Ari understood what you were begging for, and he rubbed you harder, his fingers relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure while he rutted into your cunt.

“C’mon, honey, come on daddy’s cock,” he rumbled in your ear, his voice deliciously deep to match his dirty words and push you closer to the edge. “Be a good little cumslut and milk my cock, make me fill your sweet pussy with all my come, honey.” 

You buried your face into Ari’s bicep again, your teeth sinking into his skin as you screamed your release. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body, until your limbs were trembling and your fingers were shaking against the outside of Ari’s arm, having forgotten when you’d let go of the tree to cling to him.

With a grunt, Ari’s cock twitched inside you, reacting to the sting of your bite and the merciless grasping of your inner walls around his hard length. His hips stuttered, then he started fucking into you wildly, his thrusts falling out of rhythm while he chased his own release. 

“Good girl, honey, so good, feel so fucking good milking daddy’s cock,” he muttered, cutting off on a deep groan while his cock throbbed inside you.

Ari spilled himself deep in your cunt and you moaned weakly, pulling back from his arm and licking his golden skin to sooth the indents your teeth had left behind. He tasted like salty skin and sweet apples and you hummed in pleasure as you rode out the remainder of your release with your bodies writhing together.

After a few long moments basking in the glorious afterglow of coming together, Ari took a deep breath and shifted his arm, chuckling lowly when you whimpered at the loss of his bicep to lick and kiss. He made it up to you by turning your head and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, pouring all the affection you finally knew he felt for you into the way his mouth moved against yours. 

When he pulled away, leaving you slightly breathless, Ari leveled you with a serious look. 

“You know you’re special to me, don’t you, honey?” he asked, using the new pet name that you knew was shortened from ‘honeycrisp’. 

You’d been too wrapped up in your own head to notice the way it rolled off his tongue—it was an endearment for someone Ari cared about, someone who was special to him, as he said.

Biting your kiss-swollen lower lip, feeling a little abashed that it had taken you so long to realize what Ari felt for you, you nodded. You could feel your cheeks warming, and tried to duck your head, but Ari only chuckled and caught your lips in another kiss, though it was briefer.

When he’d kissed away your anxiety, Ari set about extricating himself from you, pulling free from your body and helping you down from the tree. He quickly stuffed his softening cock back into his pants and then helped smooth your dress back over your hips before doing up his slacks. You turned to him, brushing his hair back from his face and warming at the way he was smiling down at you. 

Ari had an infectious grin on his face, and you couldn’t help but return it, your heart feeling warm and cozy in your chest. 

The two of you smiled goofily as you helped right each other’s appearances. Once you’d fixed yourselves as much as possible, Ari stooped down to pick up the basket of apples you’d picked, then grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together and planting a kiss on the back of your palm before heading off back to the farm stand.

As you walked past all the crowds of people, you were certain everyone knew what you and Ari had gotten up to in the orchard, but no one stopped or stared or said anything. They were all too focused on their own friends and families and the task of apple picking to notice you and Ari, or your big, silly smiles.

At the farm stand, Ari paid for the apples, then loaded them into his Lexus before helping you into the passenger seat. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, then rounded the front of the car and slid into his own seat.

You were quiet on the drive back to the city, your mind ruminating over the beginning of your relationship with Ari. When you thought back to your first few dates, you realized you’d been the one who was hesitant to answer any personal questions from your sugar daddy—and you’d never asked any of him. You’d also been the one to balk at the idea of either going back to his place or your apartment, leading him to get hotel rooms. 

Ari had been the one to respect your boundaries, even as he’d tried to get to know you better. He’d tried to ask you questions you felt comfortable answering—it was how he’d found out you liked apple picking, because you’d chosen it as a fall-themed date. He’d been so careful with you, it made your heart hurt a little that you’d kept him at arm’s length for so long.

Turning from the scenery of the foliage fading into the cityscape of New York, you ran your eyes over Ari’s profile. His expression was easy, relaxed and open, the hint of a smile on his face. You’d thought he just always looked like that, but you realized it was because he was with you. 

Reaching across the center console, you scooped up Ari’s hand and laced your fingers through his before settling your joined hands on your thigh. He glanced at you, shooting you a quick smile and squeezing your fingers, before turning back to the road.

By the time the car pulled into the underground parking garage of the high-rise on the Upper West Side where Ari lived, you were resolved to try to let your guard down a little more around him. Ari had shown you he could be trusted with your heart just as much as your body, and you were determined to show him you trusted him with all of you. 

Still, it was a little intimidating walking into his apartment for the first time, the anxiety that he was only bringing you there because he wanted something from you—something you didn’t want to give—was a knot in your stomach. But then you looked at Ari and you realized he’d never do that to you. He was bringing you to his home because he wanted to, not because he wanted something from you. 

Ari’s penthouse was warm and cozy, decorated in dark brown wood and warm golden tones, with hints of blue that reminded you of the ocean. You realized you knew Ari was a fan of the beach, because so many of the trips he’d taken you on had been close to the water. Walking into his home felt like walking into a reflection of his heart, and you didn’t take that for granted.

After setting down the apples on a table next to the door and stepping out of your shoes, Ari took you on a tour of his apartment, both the upstairs and the downstairs (because it was big enough to have two floors!). He showed you every room, including his bedroom and his study, tugging you into each by your joined hands when you seemed hesitant to enter his spaces.

Ari left the kitchen for last, but the two of you lingered in the living room, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park. Ari wrapped his arms around you from behind, swaying you lightly from side to side, almost like you were dancing. 

“You have a beautiful home, Ari,” you said, looking out over the city and appreciating the way the buildings and treetops were cast in the warm, yellow glow of afternoon sunshine. An errant thought crossed your mind, that you could get used to the view from Ari’s apartment. It was stunning.

“Thank you, honey,” Ari murmured, dropping a kiss to the base of your throat while his arms squeezed you tighter. He buried his face in your neck, so his words were a little muffled when he said, “I always hoped you’d like it enough to want to come over again and… again.”

You could hear in the pause of his words where he’d stopped himself from saying something different, and you wondered over it. But you knew yourself well enough not to ask. If just walking into his apartment felt like a big step, you knew asking him what he’d meant to say might spook you a bit too much, and you didn’t want that. So you just hummed in response.

Ari chuckled, like he somehow knew it was taking effort for you to be in his apartment, and he thought it was cute how difficult it was for you. His mouth trailed up your neck, effectively distracting you from your thoughts, before nipping at the edge of your jaw. 

“Want to see the kitchen now?” 

Nodding so eagerly, you nearly head-butted him, you turned in his hold and looked up at him with expectant eyes. Ari gave you an affectionate smile, then grabbed your hand and led the way to the kitchen.

He’d saved it for last, and when you stepped inside, you understood why. A gasp slipped from your lips as you took in the beautiful space. The color scheme of the apartment carried over to the kitchen, with dark brown cabinets and lighter wood countertops. There was a pop of blue in the backsplash, and all kinds of expensive gadgetry. 

You were so busy taking everything in, it took you a moment to spot the brand-new stand mixer sitting on the counter in a color that matched the rest of the room. Beside it were some of the ingredients you’d need for the apple crisp cheesecake you’d told Ari you wanted to make and you realized his assistant must’ve already come and gone. 

Walking over and running your fingers over the sleek mixer, tears welled up in your eyes. It took effort to blink them away, and you shook your head slightly at yourself. It seemed silly to be crying over a stand mixer, but it felt bigger than that, like it was a sign of Ari making room in his life for you. He wanted you there, he wanted to keep you, like you’d begged him to. 

“Everything ok, honey?” Ari asked, coming to stand behind you, but not touching you, giving you some space while you processed everything you’d realized that day.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice thick, no doubt giving away the emotion you were feeling. Before you could overthink it, you spun around and threw your arms around Ari’s shoulders, launching yourself at him for a tight hug. “You bought a mixer,” you stated, as if that was explanation enough. 

A soft laugh rumbled in Ari’s chest and he swept a hand down your spine, comforting you while a few tears leaked down your cheeks and into the collar of his denim shirt.

“Well, yeah,” he responded good-naturedly, a smile in his voice. “I did say I wanted you to want to come back, didn’t I?” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, laughing a little at his comment. Then you murmured, in a small voice, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ari said, sounding genuine. 

For a long moment, you hugged him, and then you pulled away, swiping at your cheeks to clear away any tears or makeup. 

“Is the offer still open to bake while wearing only your shirt?” you asked, tipping your head back to smile shyly at Ari while your fingers played with the collar of his button-up.  

A grin spread across his face while shrugged out of the denim shirt. Then, to your surprise, he yanked his t-shirt off over his head, asking you which one you wanted. 

You took the denim one with fumbling fingers, your eyes raking over his bare chest while warmth bloomed deep in your core. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Ari shirtless, of course, but you never got tired of looking at the expanse of his golden skin, dusted with dark brown hair that you wanted to rake your nails through. 

Ari let you look for a moment, using your distraction to help you slip out of your dress. Then he eased your arms into the denim shirt and buttoned it up, his big hands pausing briefly to grope your soft body every few moments. 

There was a glimmer of deep satisfaction in his blue eyes when he stepped back to look at you in his shirt. 

“Mm, you look so pretty, honey,” he rasped, taking one last look before crowding you into the counter at your back. His gaze darkened as he stared down at you, his grin turning wolfish when he rumbled, “I think I need a snack before you start baking.”

That was your only warning. You shrieked with surprised laughter when Ari hauled you back into the living room and tossed you down on one of his leather couches. Your giggles cut off abruptly in a moan when Ari descended on you, burying his face between your thighs and feasting on you like he was starving.

Your fingers twisted in Ari’s brown hair while he ate your pussy, encouraging you to scream your pleasure in the comfort of his home while he made you come against his mouth. You shattered apart with a loud cry while he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth greedily devouring your release, and the come he’d buried inside you earlier, like he hadn’t eaten in days. 

When he finally pulled away, Ari’s beard was soaked in your juices and he grinned up your body while you lay limply on the couch, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Chuckling at the sight of you sprawled out on his couch, Ari pressed wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, licking the traces of your release from your skin.

“Fuck, honey, I can’t get enough of you,” he rumbled, his big hands kneading your plush thighs and hips, proving his point since it seemed like he couldn’t stop touching you. The blatant need and desire in his voice sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“If you keep going, I won’t have the strength to bake,” you warned him in a breathless voice, managing to lift your head enough to give him a stern look. 

Ari laughed into your thigh, pressing one last kiss to your skin before he raised up and gave you a wink. “Can’t have that,” he quipped, grabbing your hands and helping you up off the couch. You stumbled a little, your legs weak from your orgasm, but Ari caught you easily, wrapping his arm around your waist while he led you into the kitchen. 

Once you were propped up against the counter near the stand mixer, Ari left to retrieve the apples from the entryway. When he returned, you noticed he carried a pair of slippers that matched the ones he’d put on. Without saying a word, he set them on the floor next to your bare feet and carried on to start washing the fruit in the sink. 

You stepped into the slippers, your heart warming when you realized they were a perfect fit. For a long moment, you stared at Ari’s bare shoulders and broad back, wondering how you’d ever kept such a thoughtful man at arm’s length. Well, you decided, once again, you wouldn’t be doing that anymore. 

Turning back to the stand mixer and the ingredients, you organized everything on the counter, going to the fridge to pull out everything else you’d need. 

To your surprise, you and Ari worked well together in the kitchen. Once he was done cleaning all the apples you’d picked, he asked what he could do next, and you put him to work peeling and coring the fruit while you worked on the other elements of the cheesecake. 

When it came time to bake, Ari took the pan from your hands and popped it into the oven while you set a timer. Tension crackled between the two of you after the oven had snapped closed, and you came together in a flurry of limbs. Ari guided you back into the living room while he kissed you, his hands making quick work of removing all your remaining clothes.

You rode Ari to another orgasm while the sweet treat baked, the golden glow of the New York City sunset keeping the apartment awash in warm hues that made you feel cozy—like you were home. 

Once you were both sated, you collapsed on top of Ari’s chest, burying your face in his neck and nuzzling into his beard. You inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, vetiver and leather, with a little bit of cinnamon from baking, and melted against him. You wanted to breathe in nothing but that scent for the rest of your life—and you refused to let that thought scare you.

Ari pulled a flannel blanket off of the back of his couch and wrapped it around you both, your pussy keeping his cock warm while you cuddled together until the timer went off. 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched Ari take the baking pan out of the oven wearing only an oven mitt on his hand. You, meanwhile, stood off to the side with the flannel blanket wrapped around your shoulders. He’d told you the blanket was highly flammable and insisted you stay clear of the oven with a stern look that made your insides go all gooey.

The two of you made out in the kitchen and made dinner while the cheesecake cooled. All the while, you kept thinking how easy it was to be with Ari, how you could see what your life would be like together. And you liked how it looked. You liked kissing him whenever you wanted and asking him about what movies he liked and what was the last book he read.

After dinner, you ate a slice of cheesecake together, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Ari’s face, enjoying every little groan and expression of pleasure he made. It was erotic enough that you left the last bite for him, getting to your feet to walk around the table and straddle his lap. 

He fucked you to another, blisteringly hot orgasm, and laughed only a little when you fell against his chest with an exhausted, but satisfied, sigh. 

In a soft voice, Ari asked if you’d stay the night, and the hope in his tone made your heart warm enough that you ignored the brief flicker of anxiety the question prompted. You shushed the worry inside you and said yes. 

Together, you cleaned up the kitchen and then Ari led you upstairs to the bedroom, pausing every few minutes to kiss you, like he wanted to remind himself you were still there. 

He gave you some of his clothes to wear to bed and showed you where everything was in his bathroom. You couldn’t help but notice that he had all of your favorite products, and a spare toothbrush for you. You smiled as you got ready for bed and slipped under the covers with him.

“Did you have a good day, honey?” Ari asked, pulling you into his body and wrapping you up in his arms. You were wearing one of his t-shirts—a clean one—while he had on a pair of boxer briefs. You hummed happily when your legs tangled together, enjoying the feel of his warm skin and tickling hair against you. 

“Mm, I had the best day, Ari,” you murmured sleepily, the comfort and warmth of his bed making it easy to let your exhaustion creep in. “Kiss,” you said, turning your head and repeating the greeting Ari had given you when he’d picked you up.

Your sugar daddy chuckled, the sound rumbling down your spine and making your heart flutter with delight. Your eyes were already closed, but you could feel his smile when he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. 

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll still be here in the morning,” he promised, his words assuaging a fear you hadn’t realized you’d felt, and you sighed in contentment.

Everything had changed between you and Ari, and you couldn’t help but think it was for the better. You were still a little anxious about opening yourself up to someone, especially a sugar daddy, but Ari had shown you that you could trust him—really trust him, with all your heart—and you were determined to do just that.

“G’night, Ari,” you whispered into the pillow that smelled like him, a hint of a smile in the curve of your mouth as sleep claimed you. 

“Good night, honey,” Ari crooned in your ear, his voice gentle and soft and oh so affectionate. “My sweet, sweet honeycrisp.”

[brunchable]

This is your boyfriend, Mom? | Beefy!Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Single Mom reader. Themes: Bucky getting absolutely roasted by a six and half year old baby boy. Summary: Bucky comes over and meets your very protective son for the very first time. A/N: I'm in a phase where I like Bucky interacting with kids. . .🥲

The doorbell chimes, and you pull open the door, coming face to face with a broad-shouldered figure that fills the entire doorway. Bucky’s piercing blue eyes twinkle with humor, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his posture, as if he’s unsure whether to step inside or bolt.

“You’re here!” you exclaim with a warm smile, stepping aside to let him in.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky murmurs, leaning in for a brief kiss before glancing around your living room nervously. “So, where’s the little guy?”

A shuffle of small feet behind you catches your attention. You turn to see your son peeking out from behind the couch, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he sizes up the man who just entered his territory.

“There he is!” You wave your hand toward your son encouragingly. “Come say hi.”

Your son doesn’t budge, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Bucky like a miniature security guard. “So, this is your boyfriend?”

You can hear the disdain dripping from each word, and Bucky’s lips twitch into an amused smile. “I guess I am.”

“Mom,” your son deadpans, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s. “This is what you’ve been hyping up? He looks like he just rolled out of bed.”

“Hey, kid, I put in a lot of effort today.” Bucky gestures to his dark leather jacket, perfectly disheveled hair, and rugged stubble. “This is my ‘I’m totally put together but still approachable’ look.”

“Approachable?” your son snorts. “With that hair? You look like a drowned dog who’s been through a tornado and then zapped by lightning.”

Bucky blinks, surprised. He looks at you, then back at your son, and his mouth quirks up in a grin. “A drowned dog, huh? That’s original. So, what’s your excuse for your hair?”

Your son’s small hands shoot up defensively to his carefully combed locks. “My hair looks great, thank you very much. I didn’t put all this mousse in for you.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. “Be nice,” you whisper to your son, who rolls his eyes dramatically before turning his attention back to Bucky.

“Alright, old man—”

“Old?” Bucky interjects, eyebrows lifting. “I’m still in my prime, kid. What are you, five?”

“I’m six and a half.” Your son’s voice drips with indignation, as if Bucky has committed an unforgivable crime by getting his age wrong. “And you’re still old. You probably creak when you sit down.”

Bucky shakes his head, chuckling. “I don’t creak, but your mom might tell you I’ve got a few squeaky joints, yeah.”

“Ew, don’t—don’t tell me stuff like that.” Your son makes a gagging noise and then glares up at you. “Why is he even here, Mom? You know I’m supposed to have final say.”

“You have final say?” Bucky repeats, clearly intrigued. He shifts his weight, giving the boy a once-over. “What’s your name, anyway, kid?”

“Lucas.” He squares his shoulders, a defiant lift to his chin. “Got it memorized, old man?”

Bucky nods slowly, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Lucas, huh? Alright, Lucas, I’ll try not to forget it.”

“You better not.” Lucas looks Bucky up and down, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Mom, this guy looks like one of those 90s action figures. You know, the kind where the legs don’t bend, and they’re so top-heavy they keep falling over.”

You snort loudly, unable to hold it in, and Bucky shoots you a betrayed look.

“Kid’s got a point,” you manage to say between laughs, and Bucky shakes his head, feigning exasperation.

“Oh, really?” Bucky folds his arms across his chest, staring down at Lucas. “Well, you look like a baby duck that wandered into a windstorm. All fluffed up and ready to pick a fight, huh?”

Lucas blinks, startled for a moment before narrowing his eyes, a grin forming on his face. “Better than looking like a grumpy cat that hasn’t had its coffee yet.”

You cough to hide your laughter, and Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Grumpy cat?”

“Yeah, with all those lines between your eyebrows.” Lucas steps closer, squinting as if he’s examining a rare species. “I bet you frown at the sun, too.”

You stifle a giggle, and Bucky sighs dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me, Lucas.”

“Starting?” Lucas tilts his head mockingly. “I’m basically giving you a head start, ‘cause if I really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Bucky chuckles, glancing at you. “I like him. He’s got guts.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfy, Gramps.” Lucas gestures to the couch with a flourish. “The only reason you’re even here is ‘cause Mom seems to think you’re ‘cute’ or whatever.”

“I am cute,” Bucky agrees seriously, causing Lucas’s mouth to drop open in disbelief.

“No. Way. You’ve got metal bits, and your beard is all scratchy, and—” Lucas cuts himself off, his gaze dropping to Bucky’s stomach. “And a jelly belly! Mom, did you know your boyfriend has a jelly belly?”

“What?” Bucky sputters, glancing down at himself with wide eyes. “I don’t have a jelly belly—Also this beard?” He strokes it like he’s pondering life’s great mysteries. “Your mom likes it.”

“Yes, you do!” Lucas insists, poking at Bucky’s midsection with a tiny finger. “Superheroes are supposed to be all muscle, but you’re hiding a squishy balloon in there.”

“Squishy balloon?” Bucky repeats, looking thoroughly betrayed as he turns to you.

“Lucas,” you chide gently, but your son’s eyes are wide and innocent. “Don’t be mean,” you add, fighting back laughter.

Bucky sighs and looks down at Lucas with a mock serious expression. “You know, I’m part super-soldier, part robot, and part… dad bod. It’s a package deal, kid.”

Lucas narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Bucky’s face. “I guess that makes you a little cooler, but you’re still a metal-armed grumpy pants.”

“Metal-armed grumpy pants?” Bucky echoes, eyebrows lifting. “Wow, we’re just racking up the nicknames today, huh?”

“Yup.” Lucas grins, then frowns again, cocking his head thoughtfully. “You’re also kinda like a… metal mop. All hair up top and a shiny stick arm.”

“A metal mop?” Bucky asks, his voice filled with mock offense as he raises his eyebrows. “You’re really on a roll.”

Lucas shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think it suits you.”

“Well, you’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” Bucky says with a chuckle.

Lucas scowls, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky, you know.”

“Oh?” Bucky leans down, hands on his knees to get on eye level with Lucas. “And why’s that?”

“‘Cause Mom likes you,” Lucas mutters, eyes flickering to you and back to Bucky, a hint of protectiveness in his tone. “But if you hurt her, I’ll tell everyone you still sleep with a nightlight.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in shock. “What? I don’t—”

“Yeah, okay,” Lucas interrupts, holding up a finger. “But I’ll tell everyone you do. Including all the Avengers.”

Bucky’s mouth opens, and then he shuts it, clearly struggling for a response. “You wouldn’t.”

Lucas just stares at him, completely unblinking. “You wanna test me, Mr. Metal Mop?”

Bucky glances at you, looking for support, but you just raise your hands innocently. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

After a long pause, Bucky leans down, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Alright, kid, name your terms.”

Lucas pretends to think for a moment, tapping his chin. “You have to play video games with me… three times. No complaints. And no quitting when I beat you.”

Bucky looks horrified. “I—”

“Deal?” Lucas extends his tiny hand with a sly grin.

Bucky glances between you and Lucas, then sighs dramatically. “Deal.”

Lucas’s grin widens. “Oh, and one more thing—if I catch you throwing the controller in frustration, I’ll know you can’t handle losing.”

Bucky stares at him, completely lost for words.

“Just a fair warning.” Lucas pats Bucky’s arm as if he’s the one doing Bucky a favor. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Jelly Belly who’s gonna get his butt kicked at Mario Kart.”

You burst out laughing, and Bucky groans, running a hand down his face. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Lucas shakes his head with a grin. “Better practice up, Grumpy Pants.”

“Practice? Against you?” Bucky scoffs, but the smile pulling at his lips betrays him. “Kid, I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.”

“Sure, Mr. Nightlight,” Lucas replies smoothly. “Sure.”

Bucky glances at you and then back at Lucas, a mischievous look in his eye. “You know, at this rate, you’re gonna start calling me Dad.”

Lucas pauses, then tilts his head with a confused look. “Why would I call you Dad?”

Bucky smirks. “Because you know I’ll beat you so bad at those video games, you’re gonna need a parental figure to console you.”

“Right, I can call you Dad,” Lucas’s eyes light up, and he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Only if you pay me twenty bucks a week, Dad.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “Twenty bucks?!”

“Yeah,” Lucas shrugs nonchalantly. “Think of it as a ‘dad fee.’ I’m expensive. Mom’s got good taste.”

Bucky looks at you, baffled. “Did he just—?”

“Oh, and I’ll need a ride to school every morning,” Lucas continues, holding up his fingers as he lists his demands. “And ice cream. Twice a week. But no toppings. I’m not greedy.”

Bucky bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “You really thought this through, huh?”

“Business is business,” Lucas says with a serious nod. “So, what’s it gonna be, Dad?”

Bucky blinks, then leans back and sighs dramatically. “Sorry, buddy, but I think I’ll just stick with Mr. Metal Mop.”

Lucas crosses his arms, a sly grin forming on his lips. “Your loss. Could’ve been Dad. Now you’re just gonna be the guy who cried during Shrek.”

Bucky’s shoulders slump as he glances at you, utterly defeated. “I’m doomed.”

“Yup,” you say with a grin. “But hey, at least you didn’t agree to the ‘dad fee.’”

“True,” Bucky mutters, then he turns back to Lucas, raising an eyebrow. “But for the record, I did not cry during Shrek.”

“Sure, Mr. Nightlight,” Lucas deadpans. “Sure.”

[theosbaby]

Brother’s best friend!theodore smut please!! Super soft!dom Theo where he makes LOVE to reader. Perhaps shy!reader as well??

thank you so much for your request! i really loved this idea. i'm sorry that it took me so long to write this, but i've running low of inspiration lately. i hope you like it babe!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ casually thinking about...

brother's bsf!theo taking your virginity

NSFW content ahead, +18

you can't believe you're actually making out with the theodore nott, sprawled on your brother's bed with theo between your spread thighs. his lips are avidly kissing yours, playful tongue delving inside your warm mouth as his hands roam over your gorgeous curves, fingers gripping your sides to tug you as closer to him as possible, not leaving even an inch between your bodies.

and you swear you're on cloud nine.

you're whimpering so prettily into his mouth, your body arching against his while you grasp his dark t-shirt between your slender fingers, the sweet flavor of your chocolate birthday cake still lingering on your plump lips as you return the messy kiss with equal fervour. the act is almost sinful —you're mattheo's little sister, for god's sake. not that he cares about it right now, anyways, not when your body molds itself so perfectly to his, like you were made for each other.

theo groans into the kiss, his hands sliding down to your backside to hoist you up against him. you gasp against his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist, and you feel him grinding against the junction of your thighs, his own breath hitching as he feels your warmth through his jeans.

your pretty cheeks flush at the intimate contact between your heated bodies, your lips becoming sloppier as you struggle to keep up with him. this is the first time you're actually making out with a guy like this, and you're feeling embarrassed, nervous and excited all at once, which is kinda overwhelming.

he'd notice how your body slightly tenses beneath him. not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable, he slides his hands back to your hips to give them a gentle squeeze, trying to reassure you. he doesn't want to rush you if you're not ready —but oh how bad he wants to fuck you.

the kiss comes to an end, leaving you panting against his swollen lips, agitated. the way you find his deep set, blue eyes looking down at you when you open yours, makes you feel weak on your knees, the blush on your face deepening. he gives you a lopsided smile, his eyes glazed with lust as he brushes your long, soft hair out of your beautiful face.

"you okay, pretty girl ?" he'd ask, his voice husky, just to make sure you're not regretting what's happening. "are you enjoying this?"

the pet name he gives you makes you smile. "yeah," you whisper coyly in response, nodding slightly while your pearly white teeth sink into your bottom lip, which is a bit swollen from all the kissing.

"good," he murmurs against your mouth, "because i'm really enjoying it too." he pauses, his breath warm against your lips. "i was thinking maybe we could... you know... take things a little further?" he leans in and starts kissing your neck softly. "would you like that?

your heart starts hammering in your chest at his words, butterflies fluttering about crazily in your tummy, but you tilt your head to the side to give him better access to your throat despite your nervousness.

"we don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, okay?" he reassures you softly, his hands squeezing your waist soothingly.

he continues planting gentle kisses on your neck, feeling you relax little by little against him. you let out a sigh, eyelids fluttering shut.

"i wanna do it," you admit, not being able to look into his eyes as you do, blushing, "just... don't tell anyone about this, my brother can't know."

you feel him smirking against your throat as he stops the gentle kisses, cupping your face to make you look at him; there's sincerity in his eyes as he says, "i won't, pretty girl."

"pinky promise?"

you'd extend your pinky, waiting for him to intertwine his finger with yours. theo smirks as he tenderly rubs the tip of his nose against your cheek, and he tangles his pinky with yours. "i promise."

he keeps kissing you for a bit more, caressing you over your clothes and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, before he starts undressing you with such care, as if he's afraid of breaking you. and you look so pretty while you're naked beneath him, just like a precious doll.

then, he'd spread your creamy thighs and ask for permission to touch you, eager to get his hands on that gorgeous pussy of yours, which is fucking soaked just for him, your juices dripping down your pink slit and onto mattheo's sheets —that fact has him painfully hard inside his pants. is he a perv? probably.

he's taking his time preparing you, thumb rubbing your puffy clit in tight circles while he plunges his thick, long fingers in your pussy. you're so fucking tight he struggles to push the first one in without hurting you, but after a few minutes, you're taking two of them like a champ, completely soaking his hand in your arousal when you finally cum on it.

theo can't take it anymore, seeing you so flustered and hearing your sweet little moans have him on the verge of bursting in his pants like a bloody teenager, so he withdraws his digits to start taking his clothes off too, and you whine at the loss. but the feeling of emptiness doesn't last long, soon he's pushing his thick cock inside your little cunt.

you're so slick that he slides in pretty easily despite the resistance of your tight walls, his dick stretching you a lot wider than his fingers. and it hurts a bit, but it's a sweet pain that has you whimpering as you beg for more. after a few thrusts, you're cock drunk underneath him, nails digging into his back and leaving scratches that he'll have to hide from your brother for the next few days.

he actually gets you to cum on his dick too, pussy milking him so good that he doesn't even have time to pull out. he spills inside you with a whimper, pounding sloppily into your spasming cunt to ride his orgasm as he stuffs you full of his cum.

more.

[miss-jaye]

cw: slightly suggestive! aizawa seeing his wife in literally anything gives you the same reaction: awe, admiration, love and lust.

he still can’t believe he landed someone as beautiful as you. so when you walk into the house in a beautiful, blue floral sundress? someone might need to give him cpr—this man is on the verge of a heart attack from how stunning you are.

"honey, i'm home~" you giggle, slipping off your shoes and entering the living room, knowing your dark-haired husband is there. "hi shouta~" you give him a radiant smile and lean down to kiss his cheek.

he swallows hard. "where…" his voice is rough. "hm?" you tilt your head. he stands up, closing the distance between you, and slides his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. "where did you…" aizawa trails off, admiring the dress on you.

"oh, this?" you glance down at the dress, then smile and rest your hands on his chest, looking up at him again. "it was a gift from a friend! she ordered it online, but it was the wrong size. instead of returning it, she gave it to me as an early birthday present!" you explain.

he nods, absorbing your words. "that was nice of her…" he mutters, his thumb caressing your waist through the fabric. "it really was~!" you agree, nodding along, unaware that all he’s thinking about is how much he wants to tear that dress off of you. his fingers tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you even closer.

"shouta…?" you notice the shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes have darkened with something more intense. "is everything okay?"

he doesn't answer right away, his gaze fixed on you, taking in every detail—the way the dress flows down your body, the softness of your skin, the way your eyes sparkle as you look up at him.

"you’re just… perfect." aizawa murmurs, his voice low and rough.

you blush at his words, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you playfully swat his chest. "oh my love, you're such a flatterer." you tease.

he leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "not flattery, just the truth."

before you can respond, he captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss, pouring all the love and desire he feels for you into it. as the kiss deepens, his hands start to wander, his fingers brushing over the fabric of your dress, tracing the curves of your body.

you melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss him back just as passionately.

finally, when you pull back for air, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding. "i love you, shouta," you whisper, your voice full of emotion.

he smiles, his eyes softening as he gazes down at you. "i love you too. so much."

aizawa kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the moment. when he pulls away, he looks at you with a small grin, "i think it's about time we take that dress off of you."

you laugh and shake your head. "shouta, you’re insatiable."

"only for you."

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aegon x niece! reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter) smut please! Aegon has always been in love with her and manages to convince Alicent and Viserys to let him marry her. The reader is just as in love and when they get married, thwir wedding night is full of love and passion and 🫦. Aegon hugging her tight while fucking her and reader whimpering and moaning in his ear 🤌🏽

I received so many requests these past days and got inspiration for a lot of them (14!!), so expect more very soon <3 I'm trying to include everything (smut, angst, action)

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, p + v, loss of virginity

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Standing in the Great Sept of Baelor, your eyes couldn’t stray from Aegon. Blood was dripping slowly from his bottom lip after being cut after being cut and smeared on his forehead. His frizzy hair had been tamed and the cold of his clothes made the blue of his eyes stand out. 

A dagger was handed to you to cut your palm with. You hissed slightly, watching as blood seeped out. You held your hand away from your pretty dress, not wishing to dirty it with blood, then passed the dagger to Aegon who did the same. He clasped his hand with yours, your blood mingled together as a blood silk was wrapped over your joined hands. 

Queen Alicent wanted Aegon to marry following the Faith of the Seven, but he insisted on Valyrian tradition as the bond by blood was unbreakable. 

‘’Blood of two, joined as one. Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time or darkness and light,’’ the officiant said, reading from an old book. 

Aegon could feel his heart racing. He couldn’t wait to call you his wife, to walk around court with your arm looped around his. And to no longer have a chaperon following you everywhere. It was so annoying. The only times you were able to be alone together was when you would elope on your dragons. 

If your parents thought a chaperon would stop you from sharing kisses and letting your hands wander to places they should not be, they were mistaken. 

The officiant finally allowed you to kiss, and every part of Aegon ached to shove his tongue into your mouth and kiss the life out of you in front of everyone. But he restrained himself, settling for a kiss that would be just enough to make your cheeks flush. 

When the ceremony came to an end, everyone was bright back to the Keep. You rode a carriage with Aegon and your little brother, Joffrey, which you suspected was a scheme by your parents to make sure no sexual activities would happen in the carriage. 

Aegon's hand was resting on your thigh, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear. ‘’This is so frustrating. They really did this on purpose, didn't they?’’ 

‘’It’s not entirely a bad thing. I wouldn’t want you to crease or stain my dress before the feast,’’ you said, smoothing the shimmery white fabric of your dress as you fawned over the gold embroideries. You had never seen a more beautiful gown.  

Aegon smiled smugly, thinking back to your last dragon ride together and the kisses you shared in the clearing…and his hand that slipped into your riding pants. ‘’Little does these fools know, we’ve played them before.’’ Smirking, he leaned in again. ‘’You know what kind of effect you have on me, wearing that dress. Especially knowing what's underneath.’’ He gave your thigh a little squeeze, his hand starting to move upwards just for a moment.

You quickly covered his hand with your own, stopping him. ‘’Stop it. Not here.’’ 

You looked over and saw Joffrey sitting on the opposite seat. Luckily, the boy was too preoccupied staring out the window to notice anything.

A sigh left your husband’s lips. ‘’I don’t want to wait until tonight. I won’t be able to.’’ 

Thankfully, the journey to the Red Keep was short. The doors to the carriage were opened and Aegon stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you out. He took a moment to let his eyes roam over your body, his gaze hungry. Before he could say anything, you pulled him towards the castle and to the throne room where the festivities would be held. Inside, the room was decked out with gold drapes and beautiful flowers — nothing less for a royal wedding. 

The music began as you and Aegon made your first entrance together, your arm linked to his. He had promised to not let you fall in front of the lord and ladies. The guests cheered as you both made your way down the grand aisle, to the large table where your families stood, waiting for you to begin the feast.

As the night went on, you danced and ate cake and indulged in more wine that you would allow yourself to help with the nerves later. You were dancing with Helaena and laughing when you felt an arm snake around your waist and wet lips on your neck.  

You leaned into Aegon’s chest and Helaena took this as her cue to find another dance partner. 

‘’Do you think they will notice if we leave the festivities early?’’ he whispered in your ear, having enough of this feast and wanting to be alone with you. 

You glanced around, searching for your parents. They seemed all involved in conversations with other lords and ladies, but one last pair of eyes was on you: Otto Hightower. Since he caught you kissing in an alcove when you were five and ten, he had been following you and Aegon like a hawk, disproving of your courtship.  

‘’If you can find a way to escape your grandsire, I’ll follow you,’’ you replied. 

Aegon’s laughter mixed with yours as you were running to Megor’s Holdfast where the royal chambers were. It felt like all the times you slipped away from court together to avoid being caught.  

As soon as the door of Aegon’s chambers closed, his lips were on yours and his hands were all over you, grabbing and pulling with a hunger that made your pulse race. The urgency in his movements left you breathless, your body responding instinctively to his touch. 

Clothes were taken off in haste, allowing your lips to kiss more skin. You threw your head back and moaned softly, nails sinking into Aegon's milky skin as he kissed down your neck and to your bared breasts, giving them the attention he's dreamed of. 

‘’Aegon, please,’’ you whimpered, feeling his erect cock prod at your lower stomach. 

He pressed a last kiss to your nipple and nodded, walking you back to his bed. You crawled up to the pillows, making yourself comfortable. Aegon joined you, hovering over you, and studying your flushed face for a moment, before he bent down to kiss your lips again.

You were thankful that your mother had opposed the humiliation of a bedding ceremony. You would never have been able to relax under the eyes of men standing around the bed, waiting for blood to mark the sheets. 

While you were distracted by his kiss, Aegon moved a hand between your bodies to play with your cunt a little, helping you relax and prepare you for his cock. His girth was larger than the fingers he’s inserted before and he didn’t want to hurt you. 

It would be a lie to say you didn't feel anything when he slid into you. The pain was unlike anything you felt before. Seeing the tears prick in your eyes and your pained face, Aegon was quick to sooth you with sweet words until the pain subsided. 

His first thrusts were slow and overwhelming. It was a kind of pleasure you never experienced before. 

‘’I love you, Aegon,’’ you said, seeing stars when he reached a particular spot.

He kissed you sweetly. ‘’I love you.’’ 

You hugged him tight while he moved his hips, his ears blessed by your whimpers and moans.  

A chill blew from the windows, refreshing the warm air after your entercourse. You shivered, clinging to Aegon under the sheets. He closed his eyes, ready for a night of sleep, when your voice stirred him.

‘’Can we do it again?’’ you asked in a whisper, your head resting on his chest while bathing in the afterglow.  

Aegon grinned at the ceiling, thanking the gods for giving him a wife that was just as horny as him.

—

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[pathologicalreid]

in an arrow heart | s.r.

in which Spencer finds himself distracted by you during an otherwise routine outing to O'Keefe's

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, public-ish intimacy, they're in a locked bathroom, in a bar but doesn't mention alcohol, praise kink, softdom!spencer, oral fixation, teasing, lowkey pwp word count: 1.7k a/n: short and simple and just what the doctor ordered. i'm prescribing a spencer reid fingering fic.

The small circles that Spencer’s thumb rubs on your thigh are making your head go fuzzy. It’s the same sensation that you think you’d have if your head was being filled with helium, your head feels light and airy. His hand is splayed out on your thigh while your body is tucked in the corner of the booth, a wall on your other side, there’s no one to see your torture.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your boyfriend watches Morgan as he tells the story of how exactly he managed to strike out at the bar. Spencer isn’t even looking at you as his hand moves, periodically squeezing your thigh.

You shift in the booth, lifting your thighs from the leather seat, ignoring the way your bare skin sticks as you try to pull the skirt of your dress down. “Are you okay?” Emily asks from across to booth, raising a defined brow at you curiously, “You look flushed.”

“Oh,” you respond, your face warming even more, “Do I?” You hum, giving Spencer a pointed look before answering Emily’s question, “I’m fine. It’s warm in here.”

Emily frowns in response, but JJ nods in agreement next to her, so she seemingly drops the line of questioning. The silence enables Spencer to lift your dress and place his palm back on your inner thigh, the warmth of his skin searing your own. This time, he spares a look down at you, and you nod softly in response.

If you wanted him to stop, all you had to do was let him know.

Spencer doesn’t move his hand any further up than your mid-thigh, the fabric of your dress half covering his hand as he continues to tease.

It’s not until you have to cover up a whimper with a cough that you try to excuse yourself to the bathroom, having Spencer get out of the booth seat so that you can walk to the back of the bar, turning the corner into the restroom.

You’re not sure what your plan is now, shaking out your hands with nervous energy as you pace around the dark blue-tiled bathroom. You yelp when the door swings open, covering your chest with your hand as if it could slow the pounding of your heart as Spencer sneaks into the bathroom.

He locks the door behind him before cupping your chin with his hands and bringing your lips to his, the kisses are almost heart-wrenchingly soft until they ease into the world of desperation.

It appears as though a week and a half away from you was more than Spencer could handle, the way he gently pushes you toward the wall makes it that much more obvious as you sling your arms around his shoulders and kiss him back. Interrupted only by you shrieking when one of you sets off the automatic hand dryer.

Your surprise morphs into laughter when you realize what the noise is, giggling up at Spencer, you ruffle his hair affectionately, “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, dropping another kiss to your lips.

Letting your hands drop to your sides, you hum into the kiss, “What did the team think about you following me into the bathroom?”

Spencer shrugs in response, pressing soft kisses along your jawline, “Emily’s convinced you were going in here to throw up, she’s the one who insisted I go.”

You gasp slightly when his hand moves up to your breast, “Do I look like I’m going to throw up?”

“You look beautiful,” Spencer says, skimming his palms down the soft cotton of your sundress, lifting the fabric, and letting it flutter back down to your thigh. “I missed you,” he murmurs, resting his hand on the crook of your shoulder and kissing you, soft, open-mouthed kisses that function solely to leave you wanting more as his other hand ghosts over your body.

You sigh contently against his mouth, a gentle moan escaping your lips when he slips his tongue into your mouth, swiping it along your lower lip. “I missed you,” you repeat in kind, “Ten days is too long.”

It was a non-complaint, really, something you’d bemoan over while his mouth was pressed against yours, but nothing you’d ever hold against him. Besides, time apart just made the reunion that much better.

“Spence,” you whisper, knowing he’s waiting for you, waiting for you to cue him into what you want. “Will you touch me?”

He smiles against your lips, nodding softly as his hand lifts the skirt of your dress, his fingers tentatively hovering over your panties. “What made you so needy?”

You roll your eyes, peering up at him through your mascara-covered eyelashes, “Asshole,” you breathe, your chest deflating when he cups your cloth-covered core.

“Ah,” he says, “Strong words from someone who wants something from me,” he says, his eyes flashing deviously at you, gold shimmering under the warm light of the bar bathroom.

He increases the pressure of his hand and you moan in response, but you try to cover it up with speaking up, “I have fingers of my own,” you retort.

Pulling his hand back, you try not to pout at the loss while he smirks at you, “It’s not the same and you know it.”

Unfortunately, he was right, but you could use that to your advantage, raising your eyebrows, you hum curiously, “Why don’t you show me then?”

If there was one thing Spencer could never turn down, it’s a challenge, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties and swipes a finger through your folds, his other hand coming up to push your shoulder to the wall so that your legs don’t have a chance to give out from under you. “I can tell you missed me,” he whispers gently, his tone almost a coo in your ear as you nod helplessly. “All this from just one touch of the thigh,” he continues, spreading your slick over your cunt with his fingers.

A soft whimper escapes your lips when Spencer’s index finger firmly presses to your clit, the gentle pressure bringing that airy feeling back to your head. One touch might’ve been an understatement, but you’re in no position to correct him. “Spence,” you sigh his name.

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he says, rewarding your speech by slipping a finger gently into your throbbing pussy. The digit slowly swirls around your wet hole before withdrawing and moving back in with a second finger.

The stretch of your cunt makes your breath hitch, your head dropping to Spencer’s shoulder so you can use the fabric of his dress shirt to muffle your moans. The tile in the bathroom only bounces the strained noises from you and the wet squelching caused by Spencer’s fingers fucking into you.

As his middle and ring finger continue thrusting, Spencer cranes his neck so that he can press gentle kisses to the side of your neck. He nudges your head up so that he can use his spare hand to pull down the front of your dress, flipping over the cups of your bra so that he can massage your breast.

Your head spins while you feel him everywhere, “Oh, shit,” you gasp when he pushes his thumb against your clit, the bundle of nerves nearly buzzing with a pressure that you desperately needed to release.

Spencer hums, “My pretty girl,” the vibrations of his lips against your skin made your walls clench around his fingers. He was gently sucking at your chest, leaving little hickeys across the otherwise unmarred skin.

His thumb swipes over your clit, the movements perfectly timed with the thrusts of his hand.

“So good,” he praises you softly, “Letting me play with you in the bathroom, baby. You’re so fucking pretty when you need me,” he says, unrelenting in his ministrations.

A low whine comes from your throat, and you nod, “Ah, Spence,” you whimper, tilting your head back as you gasp for air, the dizzy feeling in your head coming crashing down as you cum. His free hand covers your mouth, muffling your moans so that you don’t alert any passersby to what is happening in the bathroom.

Your legs shake beneath you as Spencer holds you up, his hand slowly withdrawing from your panties, and you respond exactly how he wants you to when he holds his fingers in front of your mouth, enveloping his third and fourth finger within your lips and gently sucking your own slick from his digits. He gingerly presses a kiss to your forehead before taking his hand back.

He crouches down to the floor, gently tugging at your underwear and sliding them down your legs, you step out of them, your face hot as you watch him fold the damp fabric and slip them in his back pocket.

Softly, he cups both of your cheeks with his hands, skimming the pads of his thumbs over the high points, “Are you alright?”

Taking your lip between your teeth, you nod a little dazedly, “I’m not feeling well,” you murmur, a sly smile growing on your face, “I think it’s time for us to head home.”

He washes his hands, muttering something about the efficiency of hand dryers before he opens the door to the bathroom, gesturing for you to walk out in front of him. His hand on your back guides you to the table.

“Hey,” JJ frowns, “Are you feeling alright? You look a little green,” she observes, watching Spencer as he gathers your things.

Shaking your head, you shrug, “Might’ve been something I ate, we’re gonna call it a night,” you explain to the rest of the group, not even evoking a suspicious look from them.

Emily nods in what she probably thinks is absolute understanding, “Let us know how you’re feeling in the morning. Garcia was talking about going to a farmers market.”

You glance over at Spencer, wondering if he already has plans for you tonight, but you nod anyway. Waving goodbye to everyone before your boyfriend nearly drags you out of the bar, ready to get home.

[shotmrmiller]

A familiar face pays you a visit a few days after you wake up next to a living Simon Riley.

"Captain MacTavish. You are much younger now than when I last saw you."

His crystal blue eyes widen when he realizes what you've said.

"Captain? That's what I am in yer time?" he asks, his disbelief apparent. "Did I also have a wife?"

Before you can answer him, Simon Ghost storms into the room and locks eyes with MacTavish, whose spine has gone stiff, expecting a reprimand.

"Get out, Sergeant. You're not to be in here again, understood?" his tone is austere.

"Aye, sir." MacTavish mouths an apology your way, and swiftly walks out the door, leaving you alone with the man who wears the face of your husband.

"You," he pivots on his heels to look at you, his eyes dark, swirling with fury, "are to talk to no one here. As far as I'm concerned, you're an enemy. Why the Captain hasn't locked you up in a cage is beyond me."

As you feel that unmistakable feeling of your throat tightening, your eyes well up with tears, causing your vision to blur. Your Simon would never look at you like that— never speak to you like this.

Understanding that this isn't a discussion, you turn away, clenching your jaw to suppress the overwhelming urge to sob. There is a sharp ache in your chest, a poignant sting that relentlessly pierces your heart.

But a harsh grip on your chin jerks your attention back to Ghost so abruptly your neck pops, and growls, "Don't turn your back to me, bint. I'm not done talkin'."

Meeting his gaze, your eyes betray you as tears overflow, tracing a path of glistening sorrow down your face.

"Now I see why you haven't married in this life," you choke out. "You're a bitter, foul shell of a man with no sympathy."

Angrily wiping your cheeks and grabbing at his thick wrist, you lurch it away from you.

You grab at the dog tags that have been hidden under your shirt. "I have been nothing but miserable since I met you. I loved my husband with everything I had and so painfully wished I had been buried with him."

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you remark, "You may share his body, but you are nothing like him."

"I don't know how anyone could ever grow to love you."

The room is quiet, except for your shaky breathing and occasional sniffle. Ghost remains stock-still in front of you, unblinking. He slowly rises to full height and silently walks out of the room.

You lift the dog tags to press a kiss onto them with a trembling hand, and your thumb runs over the engraved 'Simon "Ghost" Riley' on it.

What have you done?

it's gotta get worse before it gets better :( sorry!

@fruitymoonbeams-blog

part 1 part 3

[23victoria]

“what did you just call me?”❁

f1 grid x fem!reader

ft. lewis hamilton, max verstappen, lando norris, oscar piastri, charles leclerc, carlos sainz

authros note: thank you anon for the request!!! hope you like it🤍! just fluff and comedy ig!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!! also sorry if your name is April!! 😭

f1 masterlist

Max

You are sitting in your apartment, the scent of Max's cologne lingering in the air. The two of you have just come back from dinner, and you're now nestled comfortably on the couch. Max is s through channels on the TV, looking relaxed in a simple T-shirt and jeans.

"Hey, Marcus, can you pass me the remote?" you say absentmindedly.

Max freezes, his hand hovering over the remote. He turns to you, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What did you just call me?"

You look up at him with innocent eyes. "I called you Max."

He shakes his head slowly, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. "No, you didn't. You called me Marcus. Who the fuck is Marcus? That’s a ugly ass name."

You feign surprise. "No way, Max. Why would I call you Marcus? I don’t know anyone named Marcus."

Max leans forward, his expression a mix of amusement and irritation. "Are you fucking with me?"

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Marcus."

Face turning red, he crosses his arms, his biceps bulging slightly. "You definitely called me Marcus. You got a boyfriend named Marcus I don’t know about?"

You laugh, unable to keep up the act any longer. "Alright, you got me. It was a prank. I would never call you by someone else’s name baby, you know that."

Max's stern expression softens into a grin. "You and your pranks," he says, shaking his head. "Don’t do it again, you had my heart racing."

You lean in and kiss him on the cheek. "Promise, Max. You're the only one on my mind."

Lewis

You're in the passenger seat of Lewis car, the city lights of Monaco illuminating the night. Lewis, ever the style icon, is dressed impeccably in a designer jacket and sunglasses, even though it's already dark.

"Lucas, can you turn up the music?" you ask casually.

Lewis takes his eyes off the road for a moment, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "What did you just call me?"

You glance at him with a confused expression. "I called you Lewis."

He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "No, you called me Lucas."

You maintain your innocent demeanor. "Lucas? Why would I call you Lucas? I think you're hearing things, Lewis."

He pulls over parking the car and turns to you, "I know what I heard. You said Lucas? Are you thinking about someone else while you're with me?"

You try to hold back your laughter. "Of course not, Lucas. Why would I think about anyone else when I'm with you?"

Lewis' jaw drops as he stares at you in shock. "Right there!?! Just now! You called me Lucas? Who the fuck is Lucas? And why is he on your mind?!"

You finally let out a laugh. "Alright, alright. I’m sorry baby! It was a prank."

Lewis shakes his head, sighing in relief, smiling. "You love messing with me, don't you? You almost made me shit my pants. I was getting ready to drive back home and say ‘fuck it’ to dinner."

You grin and laughing. "Not you getting ready to cancel dinner! You was gonna let me starve?!”

“Hell yeah! Coming in my car calling me another mans name!” he’s says exasperated.

“Baby, you know I would never call you by the wrong name." you say rubbing the back of his neck.

He reaches over and squeezes your thigh as he kisses you. "Just making sure. Because there's only room for one man in your heart and that’s me."

Lando

You're at the beach, lounging on a sunbed next to Lando. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is soothing, as the sounds of people laughing fill the air, the sun shining brightly making your skin glow.

"Levi, can you pass me the sunscreen?" you ask without thinking.

Lando sits up, his relaxed expression turning serious. "What did you just call me?"

You look at him with wide eyes. "I called you Lando."

He frowns. "No, you said Levi."

You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. "I’m pretty sure I know my boyfriend's name is Lando not Levi."

“Well I'm pretty sure you don’t since you called me Levi, I heard you, unless I’m turning deaf at 24.” he says with an annoyed tone.

He takes his sunglasses off, his boyish face looking a bit hurt. "Are you sure you're not mixing me up with your side piece named Levi?"

You stifle a giggle. "Side piece?!? I’m not cheating on you, Lando. Why would I do that?"

He narrows his eyes at you. "Because you just called me another man’s name."

“Okay, but what makes you think you're not the side piece?” you say with a straight face.

He freezes staring you at jaw dropped, in shock not knowing what to say, “Wha-“

You burst out laughing, unable to keep the charade going. "I’m joking baby. It was a prank!"

Lando still stares at you trying to comprehend what just happened. Frowning he says “Why would I be the side piece?”

You start to laugh uncontrollably, “That’s what you're focused on! Seriously! I told you I was just playing with you!”

Lando's frown turns into a slight smile. "Yea but, I’m not side piece material, I’m main piece material.” he says softly.

You smile, shaking your head. “Yes Lando, you are main piece material, that's why you're my boyfriend.”

You take his hands in yours, “You being more offended being called a side piece than another man’s name is concerning.” You say in humor and slight disbelief.

He leans over kissing you on the nose. "Because we all know I’m boyfriend material. Unlike whoever this “Levi” is."

“You’re something else.” you say laughing at his antics.

Charles

You're in the kitchen, helping him cook dinner. The aroma of fresh basil and tomatoes fills the air, making your mouth water. You take the freshly chopped onions and throw it in the pan.

"Chris, can you pass me the olive oil?" you ask casually.

Charles stops chopping vegetables and looks at you, bewildered. "What did you just call me?"

You give him an innocent look. "I called you Charles."

He shakes his head slowly, a puzzled expression on his face. "No, you said Chris."

You blink at him. "Did I? I don't think so, Chris."

He narrows his eyes, a hint of frustration in his voice. "You just called me Chris again.”

“No I didn’t, I just called you Charles.” you say seriously.

“Nope, you didn’t.” Putting down the knife, walking towards you. He says, “Who’s Chris?"

"I don’t know. I don’t know anyone named Chris.” You say trying to keep a straight face.

Charles steps closer, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well clearly you do because you just called me his name."

“I’m telling you I didn’t call you that. You’re just hearing things.” you say starting to get nervous.

“Am I?” he says, staring at you.

You can't help but laugh nervously. "Alright, holy fuck! It was a prank! Stop being all scary!"

Charles shakes his head, chuckling. "You're lucky I knew you were just joking. Just don't let it happen again." He says as he moves closer to your wrapping his hand around your neck squeezing it softly as he says “Your mine and mine only. Yes?”

“Yes.” you say breathlessly as he kisses you briefly before pulling away, smirking as he says “You burned the onions.”

“Oh shit!” you say turning around to turn off the stove as Charles laughs.

Oscar

You're sitting in the living room, watching a movie together. The lights are dimmed, and the atmosphere is cozy and intimate.

"Oliver, can you pass me the ice cream?" you ask, your eyes glued to the screen.

Oscar pauses the movie and looks at you, confused. "What did you just say?”

“I asked if you could pass me the ice cream? you say confused.

”No. What did you just call me?" He says turning his body towards you.

You glance at him, playing innocent. "I called you Oscar."

He shakes his head, a slight frown forming. "No, you said Oliver."

You feign surprise. "Who the fuck is Oliver?"

He leans back, crossing his arms. "That’s what the fuck I’m trying to figure April, sorry I mean Y/N?

You gasp saying “Who the fuck is April?”

“I don’t know, who the fuck is Oliver?” he says as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Babe I called you Oscar so why the fuck are you calling me April?” you say trying not to laugh.

“Why the fuck did you call me Oliver, April? Why are you thinking about this man instead of paying attention to the movie?" he says.

You struggle to keep a straight face. "Stop calling me April!! And I’m not, Oscar. Why would I think about anyone else? Why are you thinking about some girl named April?"

He narrows his eyes, his face holding a scowl he says, "Because you just called me another man’s name, April."

“My names not April, Oliver.” You shaking your head while rolling your eyes. "I was just trying to annoy you, it was a prank."

Oscar's frown turns into a smile. "I know April. You really like messing with me, don't you?"

You grin and nod. "Yes Oliver, I can't help it!”

“But you know I would never actually call you by the wrong name baby." you say as you crawl into his lap straddling him.

He wraps his arms around your waist bringing you closer, kissing you. "I know baby, just making sure."

Carlos

You're outside in your backyard, relaxing by the pool with Carlos. The sun is shining, and the sound of water gently splashing adds to the tranquil atmosphere. You lean back in your chair, enjoying the warmth, and then decide to add a bit of fun to the moment.

"Babe, could you get me a drink, please?" you ask sweetly.

Carlos gets up with a smile. "Sure thing baby!"

As he heads to the kitchen, you call out, "Thanks, Marcus!"

Carlos stops in his tracks and turns around, raising an eyebrow. "Marcus?"

You feign innocence. "What? I said Carlos."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, you definitely said Marcus. Who's this Marcus guy?"

You giggle. "What are you talking about? I said Carlos."

Carlos narrows his eyes playfully. "Alright, if that's how you want to play it."

A few moments later, he returns with your drink and hands it to you. "Here you go, my love."

"Thanks, Marcus," you say with a grin.

Carlos doesn't miss a beat. "Oh, okay." Without warning, he scoops you up in his arms.

You scream, "Carlos, put me down!"

He grins devilishly. "You said Marcus, remember?" And with that, he jumps into the pool, taking you with him. You both splash into the water, and when you come up for air, you sputter, "Carlos, what the hell?"

He laughs, brushing the wet hair from his face. "Oh, looks like you do know my name."

You roll your eyes but can't help but laugh along with him. " Of course I know your name baby."

He pulls you close, still smiling. "I know you do. I can play games too, cariño, if you want me to."

You both laugh, “No, no. You win.” you say pulling away from him. “For now." Then, with a quick motion, you splash water into his face and make a dash for the edge of the pool.

Carlos wipes his face, laughing. "Oh, that’s how you want to play cariño, you're so going to get it now!" He starts to chase you as you scramble out of the pool, both of you laughing.

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[rainintheevening]

They're his children of course. Richard still recognizes them; it's only been two years.

And yet...

Peter is a man. Still six months shy of his draft papers, but he stands, walks, sounds like a man. He always has a pocket knife, he tips his hat to all the females, he sings in a baritone that will only get deeper and richer. The tea he makes is decent, but sometimes he drinks coffee now. He talks about horses and crops and reads Augustine. He can drive a car. He gives orders, and expects them to be followed.

They all look to him, to Peter. Helen calls him to open a jar, Susan questions how her hair looks, Lucy runs to him in tears. As for Edmund, he and Peter are curiously joined, they turn to each other with their laughter, their thoughts, their books and newspapers and letters. As often as his family swirls around him, Richard sees them swirl around Peter, a habit, he knows, born of necessity, but that doesn't prevent it from being strange. Even painful.

Peter moves to take the head of table, catches himself. They both start to say grace, stop, glance at each other. Peter takes the newspaper over breakfast, and is a page in before he remembers. And every time he apologises. Each time he smiles at his father, and it is warm, glad, even benevolent.

One of the first nights, shortly after Christmas, Peter finds him sitting in his old armchair, staring into the fire, after everyone else has gone up to bed. "Dad?" comes the question, and he looks up blinking at the tall man, lamplight crowning him in gold, blue eyes deep and dark with knowledge and certainty.

"I'm not who I was," Richard says, a confession, the kind a father shouldn't burden his son with he thinks immediately, but then Peter is down on one knee, reaching for the mangled hand, tender with the three fingers as he clasps strong calloused palms around them.

"Neither am I, Dad. None of us are." Peter's gaze is earnest, bright. "But you are still my father. And I will always be your son. I am forever grateful for that."

It is as if a great burden rolls off of his shoulders, and he finds no shame in leaning on Peter's hand to rise.

When the holidays end, and the four go back to school, Peter says I love you to each of them at the station.

If Peter is a man now, Susan is a lady.

She sits straight, she walks gracefully, she can cook anything as well or better than her mother. She reads the newspapers with Peter, she scolds Lucy for coming home with twigs in her hair and a tear in her stocking and wet shoes.

She talks less than her father remembers, and there is a woman's sadness in her gazing out the window or into the fire. She is also very admiring of the boys in uniforms, and Richard requests her arm on the way out of church with a father's righteous sense of protection.

But she is also gentler than he recalls, she does not shy away from his injured hand, she takes care of him without making him feel as if he needs care. She sits on a cushion by his feet as she braids her hair in the evenings, leans on his knee as she reads aloud, and Richard thinks, Not my little princess, but a queen now.

At the train station, she kisses him goodbye, and he hugs her close, and there are tears in her eyes as she says I love you.

Edmund is the closest to unrecognizable, the once-obvious four year span between he and Peter seemingly halved. He greets his father wordlessly, all shining eyes and bright smile, and his face is so close to Richard's own it makes his heart break a little.

Ed is no more little boy, he is tall, slim, oddly graceful, but his handclasp is strong. He holds himself the same way Peter does, with squared shoulders and lifted head, but he wears that nobility in a quieter fashion. He's quick to see, quick to hear, quick with a wisecrack that makes Peter laugh out loud. He plays the violin now. He returns the family Bible to the living room with an apology for having kept it since the summer holidays. He reads Agatha Christie as a personal challenge, whispers to Susan in French, and his chess games with Peter are fierce battles of strategy that Richard cannot keep pace with.

In discussions of the war and its movements, he is sober and considerate, he meets each of Peter's moods with a balancing counter, he has a way of phrasing questions that pull out stories Richard had never planned to tell.

A few nights before the children return to school, Richard sits up in bed, certain he has heard a faint cry, and he slips away from his exhausted wife to check on his children, remembering how Edmund had suffered from night terrors as a child, imagining little Lucy inflicted with some dark dream.

But all he finds is shadows in the boys' room, and quiet whispers—Peter's apologies, Edmund's reassurance, and allusions to things Richard has no context for. He lingers by the door, an outsider in his home, until silence falls, and he returns with morning light to find them curled together in Peter's bed, Pete with an arm over Ed, and the father's love is bittersweet.

They have fought their own battle over here, on the home ground, Richard reminds himself. In their own way they have each faced terror and learned to conquer or be conquered, but perhaps he can meet them somewhere in between. Only time will tell.

On the train platform, Ed hugs his father tightly, gives him a smile, tells him to keep out of trouble.

Lucy is the least changed, though she too is taller and stronger, and her eyes are deeper. She still sings, still dances, still tries to make friends with all the animals, still smiles and speaks kind and stares dreaming at the Christmas tree.

She still gives fierce hugs, still climbs into her father's lap, though her head comes up higher on his chest, on his shoulder.

But then he finds gaps in his library, and Lucy returns the medical books with a winsome apology, she asks questions about his practices in the field, she winces but does not shy away from the blood and broken things he speaks of.

Then she recites long poems, words spinning off her tongue until they become half song; she dances swift and graceful, she and Peter laughing and stepping and clapping and spinning in intricate patterns to the swing song on the radio; and it is she who, breathless, quotes Byron: "On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined!"

Her comfort is both generous and thoughtful, and she strokes her father's hair with a motherly hand that makes his eyes sting, and he kisses her fingers, looks up at her to whisper, "Don't- don't grow up quite so fast, my darling."

When she hugs him on the platform, Susan waiting for her, the boys already gone, she doesn't want to let go, and there are tears on her cheek, that he wipes away gently. "Be careful, Daddy," she whispers. "Get strong. Take care of Mummy."

"Yes, little mother," he smiles back.

And then they are all gone, and he takes a cab home, weary of his still-recovering body.

He will have to learn his children all over again, he thinks. But he is proud of them still. That has not changed.