#this is like the third time in a row this has happened

[abyssyby]

Talking about wedding banner, could u imagine how the lil twins found out their parent wedding photo and sulking cause their papa and mama didn't invite them. I wanna know how they woud react cause I think it will be cute�� thx uuu have a nice day

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: oh NOOOO they would be devastated ｡°(°¯᷄◠¯᷅°)°｡ this got away from me again lmaoo, i hope u enjoy!!

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | light hurt/comfort (littles have big feelings!), fluff fluff, dad!sylus, mom!reader, bigbrother!kieran&luke, itty bitty twins werent invited to the wedding! (•́ ᴖ •̀)

you asked lucian nicely not to climb too high when seeking his sensory need for heights and balancing.

"just the second shelf, and maybe the third if papa is around," you begged, squishing chubby little cheeks in your palms. the request honeyed with a kiss on his nose and a chocolate schmeetie (sweetie).

the primary concern is his safety, of course. so he doesn't get hurt—no matter how badly he believes his little belly is going to help him bounce off the floor like a bubble blobbu pal. "I softy, I bounce, mama!"

you laugh whenever he says it. a laugh that morphs into a sob as you press your nose to his hair and say hopelessly, "that's not how it works, my angel."

and motherhood has always been daunting. the magazines and articles, your friends and relatives always said that the instinct the wisdom will come to you, eventually, and the blessing of always being right and knowing best will develop in time. you didn't know it would develop in the most mysterious of ways.

wailing. there is a wailing in the distance as you haul yourself from the trenches of a dream. body moving before your mind catches up. you rise from the couch in a haze, a headache pinching at your nerves behind your eyes, a strange taste in your post-nap mouth. and through the bleariness, you cannot find your children. "Lucian? Kyros?!"

your feet move, carry you to the sound of crying—whoever's it was, you needed to get to them fast. now.

in your husband's study, there sits a tall bookcase. five columns, endless rows. heaven for a little boy with vestibular needs. the middle column is sparse in material and literature, giving way to sylus's favorite mementos. jewels and small artifacts, weapons, things that looked far too archaic for your liking. fire-hazards, choking-hazards, literal death traps.

it's only natural, the scream you let out, as you find the glass that protects the items from environmental harm, wide open. and not one but both your sons in a circle of trinkets and treasures on the floor, sobbing hysterically.

you call each of their names, falling to your knees as you take them in your embrace. kyros clings to your neck, lucian uses your sweater as a tissue to wipe his nose. "are you hurt? did you fall?"

"mama, mad! mad, mad!" lucian harrumphs loudly, pushing away from your embrace and stomping his feet. your brows knit together. you reach for him despite his protests and examine his arms and legs for any cuts or bruises. while he still tries to pull away, "mad!"

"no yell to mama." kyros pitches in, turning slightly from his embrace and swiping a hand that doesn't quite reach his brother. "no mean!"

"who is yelling at mama?" sylus enters then, walking into the room with quick, long strides at the sight of you all on the floor. he takes in your confusion, how lost you look, the toddler in your arms mediating.

then he zeros in on the fiery twin with puffed cheeks and arms crossed clumsily over his chest. "lucian?"

"mad papa too!" lucian whines, stomping his feet like an angry rabbit.

"woosian, 'top it!" kyros scolds.

"angel, what happened?" you ask, finally having come to your senses. there is no broken glass, the casing was just open. the trinkets on the floor— the veil, a small sampling of stained glass, dried flowers, a tiara, a bow tie, a set of ceremonial rings and—

"where me—woosian?" your son demands, using all his strength to drag the big wedding album out from under sylus's desk and into the light. for you to see, to realize, to know the absolute sin you committed against him. "and kee-ro? you leave!"

sylus snorts. you shoot him an angry glare at how drastic the whole thing truly is. a small problem to you, a monumental betrayal to your little ones.

tak-tak-tak lucian points to his father's face in the blown-up photo. the two-page spread of you and sylus in your ceremonial silks, reminding you of the very day in the cathedral a few years back.

kyros, just as hurt, murmurs. "no ee-bite us? we sleepin'?"

you melt. oh, your sweet boys. wondering why they were left out of such an important looking ceremony. they'd seen it in their storybooks—weddings of royals and knights and creatures, then the happily ever afters. they've raved on and on about wanting to see a white-puffy-cake dress with their own eyes.

and here you all are, standing around a photo of you and their father in the attire. and them having no memory of being there, of being invited. thinking you'd snuck out on a date as they slept and crept back into the house by morning.

oh, your sweet boys.

when lucian is effectively distracted with sylus's playful raspberries and kisses on his face (him personally acting on his cuteness aggression to the bunny-stomps), only then do you gather both of your children out of the study with the wedding album. you settle back on the couch with them, the pictures between you, and explain.

"we haven't met just yet in this picture," you tell them, placing each of their hands on the page. their eyes watch as you trace the outlines of their hands on your wedding photo with a silver marker. "you were both still sleeping somewhere, but we didn't know where. so we couldn't wake you up."

"ah!" kyros giggles as your get a bit of ink on his finger. lucian gasps and forces his hand to stay still. sylus helps him keep his hand sturdy.

"did you and papa find us?" lucian asks. he looks up at you with such hopeful eyes it's impossible not to fall more in love with his wonder. you brush silver-mist hair out of his eyes and nod, "of course we did, angel."

"we'd never stop until we find you," sylus assures him, curling an arm around his middle and nuzzling his temple.

"but—but the 'appy endin'?" kyros pouts. "we missing..."

sylus reaches out to him and squeezes his ink stained hand. his own heart swelling. "we can always have another one, kyros."

"we can?" lucian perks up, turning his head to look at his father.

you laugh, sharing a quick glance with sylus who has already made up his mind. and you wholeheartedly agree. "of course. that one wasn't as happy as it will be now that you're here."

"we ee-biting?" kyros jumps, hands clasped together as if to contain his excitement. sylus's laugh shakes mountains as he tugs onto his sons' cheeks. "yes, you're invited."

the pair cheers, clapping and whooping like they'd won the lottery. in much higher spirits than they were earlier. you continue to flip through the pages of the album. the littles enthusiastically pointing to your face and swooning over how pretty you looked. and then asking papa 'why he smiling 'ike that?'

sylus asking 'like what?" in borderline offense.

kyros laughs. "'ike a tiger." then screams when sylus lunges at him to show him his tiger teeth affectionately.

you watch lucian, whose eyes are soft and fond as he flips through your wedding photos like it's his favorite storybook, trumping any fairytale of oswald octopus in his collection.

and then it comes—the feeling of right, and what's best in that moment. and it's not about proving a point, but recognizing what feels right for your kids, and making decisions with them to arrive at the best possible outcome.

seeing the joy on their faces, you conclude—having them find the album was just right, and having a second wedding just for them is what's best.

you watch as his face brightens at the sillier photos, grins at blurry ones and upside-down ones (thanks, mephisto). but then the light vanishes, dark clouds loom once more on his then sunny face.

you don't get to ask before he's angrily tak-tak-taking on the page. his twin and father's attention turns to him as they halt their little game of chase. you groan at the photo he points at.

luke and kieran, unmasked and grinning from ear to ear in their nice tuxes. arm in arm, photobombing a perfectly romantic photo of you and sylus. but lucian doesn't care about the photo being ruined. It's the fact that—"biggies there too?!"

you wince. you hope brotherhood wisdom has developed in time too as you watch your toddlers drag the heavy album out of the living room to hunt down the convicts in the photo. angry-bunny stomps and all, the big twins are in for it.

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for sending in & reading! ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

[pucksandpebbles]

MAKE IT MESSIER, QH⁴³

quinn hughes x ballerina!reader

CHAPTER ONE… getting reckless

a/n : i don't entirely know where this came from, probably my old love of ballet, me getting my splits again and watching DCC but this happened okay. also disclaimer that i never actually did dance competitions/was a part of competitive dancing and companies so some stuff will be wrong but i'm not expecting anyone here to be a prima ballerina okay. i hope y'all enjoy this even though its so unproofread its shameful

reminder !! show some love through reposts, comments and likes, I love seeing it and it does encourage my unmotivated ass. I love you guys so much honestly, this community and platform has revived my love for writing.

wc : 4.4k

link to series masterlist

When the lights are on you, the brightest white shining right into your eyes, it's like the whole world falls apart around you. And it does. When you get up on that stage, with already aching muscles and the rush of adrenaline disguised in anticipation, it is the only thing you can focus on. Each count of the music, each minute flex and point of your toes, each straining muscle when you move - it’s a high that is incomparable to much else in the universe. To you. 

Tonight, everything hurts. Its the third night of performance in a row and its beginning to feel difficult to keep going. You are certain that you are one mistake away from a serious strain and you have definitely not been getting enough sleep. It’s draining, this season - the Christmas one that is. 

The company has chosen to do Nutcracker and whilst you were delighted to be given the opportunity to play Clara, the lead role, there was an undeniable dread that came with it. Being the principal dancer comes with a pressure that cannot be expressed, not only as a leadership role but the stress of performing at such a high technical level and it is beginning to get to you. It is even harder, admittedly, with the lack of a support system for you in New York. Although most of your close friends are in New Jersey, including your best friend Madeline, with such full-time jobs and careers, you often feel lonely. Loneliness, physical strain and the pressure of your job builds up and it’s resulted mostly in the death of your love life.

The last time you went on a date has died a slow death in your memory. A horrific dinner date that made you delete Hinge and swear yourself off men. That might have been over two years ago now, and it did allow you to focus on your dance but it’s also resulted in incessant bullying from Madeline - who, in the time it took for you to swear off men, since got engaged. It’s kind of crazy to you, that in a couple of months, your best friend will be walking down the aisle, you will be watching her walk down the aisle. In contrast, you are dateless, overworked and will probably be unable to stand at the end of the Christmas season. 

She would do anything for you though and tonight, after the show, you’ll be going to dinner with her and her fiance Luke and his brothers. 

Stretching in the wings though, you can’t find it in yourself to be as excited as you should, the crushing weight of tonight. As you stretch at your hamstrings, tauter than a tightrope, a sick feeling swirls in your gut. You’ve already fended off a headache in morning rehearsals and now you are trying the massage out the knots that have seemingly formed overnight in your neck and upper shoulders. Someone close to you is breaking in a new pair of pointe shoes so loudly that you can hear it through your headphone and the podcast you have playing and it is so fucking irritating.

Your ballet mistress can also be heard shouting out a ten minute warning which gets you up on your feet and brushing out your ridiculous costume and rushing over to a mirror to touch up the hideous red circles on your cheeks that characterise you as Clara.

From ten minutes to places, time runs away from you. Even more so when the curtain opens and you see the spotlight on you. 

Very little people talk about that feeling of the warm light on you and how it blinds you from the audience but it’s a sensation that it’s impossible to get over. All the adrenaline and panic fades, your breath slows and it’s almost as if you black out from there on in.  

When the first act ends, you slip behind the curtain, your chest heaves with the exertion of making it all look effortless and you stumble into a chair as a makeup artist crowds you. It’s not a quick change per se, however it always feels like a rush to get all changed - new makeup, new costume and still managing to get a break from the long performance length. Just before you go out on stage, stood slightly behind the curtain in the wings, you spot in the crowd Madeline, Luke and his brothers.

You’d managed to bag them box seats and they’ve almost got a perfect view of the stage. Madeline has her head resting on Luke’s shoulder and the two of them are chatting quietly between themselves and to their left are Luke’s brothers. Having never met them, only seeing them in the corners of photos, it’s interesting to see them in person before you meet them at the wedding. The elder, you already know, is Quinn - dressed in a casual black shirt and his hair that pokes out of a cap even though it’s plenty warm in the theatre and he needn’t be wearing one. You watch as he chats to his brother and adjusts the way the cap sits on his head, he looks almost nervous which is hilarious to you, because he isn’t the one in the spotlight right now. Madeline says that it’s just how he looks.

“I don’t know babe, that’s his perpetual expression, like he’s seeing some demons or shit. That’s what the internet says.”

The music cue hits and you forget all about it as you step out onto the stage, feet perfectly on pointe and arms holding fourth position as you move into the centre of the bright white light again, kicking off Act 2.

Quinn Hughes, on the ice, is a Captain. Technically, he’s extremely talented as a defenseman in the NHL league - that’s what the stats say anyways, on top of that a Norris winner and Captain of a struggling team. The Vancouver Canucks. The busy part of their season is approaching - read, the playoffs and God, Quinn is desperate for them to make the playoffs this year, truly aching with the possibility for them to be in the contention to win the Stanley Cup, one step forward. With the minute break the team gets over the Christmas season, Quinn is honestly a little crestfallen that this is what he is doing with his time off. Watching a Christmas Ballet production. 

This whole trip, in his opinion, is a bit of a piss take. 

He flew in from Vancouver to New Jersey just a day ago and has to go back out again soon to play so soon after Christmas. So it feels like a waste of time to travel a couple of hours to see Luke and Jack as well as Luke’s fiance, and then spend half of the day watching one of Madeline’s best friends prance around on stage to Swan Lake. It’s not that Quinn dislikes dance, he thinks that everyone on stage is incredibly talented - they stretch and leap in a way that is borderline unfathomable to Quinn; it’s more that if he was to choose how to spend his Christmas break, this would not be it, ballet performances don’t interest him and are not the peak of his Christmas season. 

So yes, he would much rather be spending this time perfecting his and team's craft for the games that shortly follow after Christmas is over. Especially important if they want to make the playoffs.

 But he was invited. Not just by Madeline, but evidently this is something that Luke and Jack enjoy doing too. Quinn is nothing but polite, raised right by his mother, and such has accepted the invite. 

Quinn hadn’t spent last Christmas in New Jersey with the boys, but this is clearly a yearly activity that the boys do with Madeline, which makes sense as they’re all living in the same apartment at the moment. Which makes Quinn feel… some type of way. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the easiest way to express it would perhaps be loneliness. A detachment that makes him feel left-out from the strong relationship his younger brothers had formed while they spend years together on the same rinks. He should be there. The eldest, he should be there to look after them. Except he’s not, and Quinn is somewhat dismayed to find out they’ve built their own lives together in New Jersey - without Quinn.

Quinn’s trying to swallow it all down. On top of his feelings about the Canucks’ season. It’s stifling.

It’s an entirely other beast that Luke is engaged. His youngest brother is getting married in a couple months and Jack has some weird situationship going on. No, seriously, he is on his phone texting every five seconds; he’s trying to be so sneaky about it but Quinn knows, he knows, it’s obvious on Jack’s face. On the other hand, Quinn hasn’t been on a date in almost spot on eighteen months. Not a serious one, anyways.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, his love life had just stopped and fizzled out. There has been a lot on his plate recently with the Captaincy and hockey in general. Essentially, his job has stunted his love life. It’s a little sad and does make Quinn wonder how the guys with families find the time to spend with their wife and kids when he can’t even make the time to scroll on Raya or Hinge.

In conclusion, Quinn’s life in general is a bit of a mess. He comes to this conclusion sat in a box at a Theatre in New York, watching Madeline’s best friend dance Clara in the Nutcracker on stage. Which they do, every year, apparently. This nugget of information is a bit of a jab in Quinn’s chest, he’s not bitter about it, he’s not.

It leaves even more of a sour taste in Quinn’s mouth when on the way there Jack cannot stop talking about this goddamn ballerina. 

“No dude, it’s like incredible, unfathomable now she can balance like that. She’s balancing on her toes man, her toes! Can you do that because I can’t?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t met her yet Quinny, she’s amazing. No I’m serious, she’s so fun but the dancing is so good too.”

“I haven’t seen the Nutcracker before man, but like I know she’s going to kill it as Clara.”

“How is it even possible to get your leg up that high?”

“I bet she stretches every day.”

“Dude, you’ll love her”

After a while, even though Quinn loves Jack, but it makes him want to scream. Particularly because he does not care about whoever the hell this girl is. Even if she does dance pretty well. And for all Jack’s raving about her skills and shining personality, he’s spent half the performance on his phone texting that girl, and whilst Quinn is very much not enjoying sitting here watching it, at least he has more decency than Jack to keep his phone inside his pocket.

He knows it is probably close to the end as they’re about a half hour into the final act and Quinn couldn’t be more relieved, he’s getting hungry and the jet leg is still catching up to me. By now in Vancouver, Quinn would be tucking into his post-practice meal, putting on an old game and taking mental notes. How he could move better, more efficiently - he needs to be better. That’s really what he would like to be doing, if not now then later tonight, but the night is yet to be over. After this Madeline and Luke are taking him, Jack and the prima ballerina out to dinner. Quinn’s already had a look over the menu to find dishes that will fit in with his meal schedule which is how he knows that it’s a fancy place. Quinn will fit in with his theatre appropriate casual suit but will have to take off his cap, Jack might fall short of the dress code though.

When the final curtain falls, Quinn lets out a sigh of relief and shuffles in his seat. Jack actually looks up from his phone. As the company comes out to take a bow, Madeline and Luke stand up and begin to clap, Jack pops up immediately and Quinn follows behind dumbly.

Madeline’s friend, the little prima ballerina, comes out and takes her bow and the crowd erupts. She has a smile on her face, it’s taut and forced - Quinn can tell, maybe it's the older brother in him, maybe it’s because he practices his own in the mirror, but he can always tell. It’s the first time that Quinn actually takes an interest in her. Nevertheless, she drops into an elegant and sweeping curtsey, and flashes her smile to the crowd then disappears with the others back into the wings.

You had said to Madeline that you’d meet her and the boys at the restaurant later which bought you some time to stretch off and get changed.

Jack had texted just after the show to tell you that they were headed down, the two of you had met a couple times since Madeline had moved in with Luke and Jack and he was a good friend to you. Had he tried it on, yes? But you’d made it clear that it was not going to happen and since he had respected your boundaries and was nothing more than a good friend. His text said to not worry about putting on your sweats even though Madeline had clearly booked a nice restaurant and yet still you taped up your legs and put on a nice dress. Although heels were out of the question, or any open-toed shoe for that matter due to the fact your calves hurt horrifically if you went up on tip-toes and there were welts and bandages all over your feet. 

You were starving after being on stage for such a long time and skipping lunch to keep your figure inside that tight skirt. Being a ballet dancer wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, in fact it was hardly that. Many a ballet teacher had yelled about seeing someone lunch under their leotard and you were a principal dancer, the lead, so that couldn’t be you. Which is why you’d analysed the menu for the restaurant beforehand and how you knew that you couldn’t wear sweats.

Your muscles ache with the short distance it takes to walk from the uber to the table which is a nice table, inconspicuous and in the corner but not bad, it’s a front row seat, table or whatever. Expensive. You know what it looks like. 

Madeline gets up to greet you, pulling you into a warm hug and says,

“Oh my goodness, how are you, you were incredible out there?”

You sit down in the only empty chair around the circle, which is just next to Madeline and on the other side is the brother that you haven’t met yet - Quinn. You let a sweet smile grace your face, as if like natural, good old customer service and shook his hand as you borderline collapsed into the chair.

“Hi, it’s Quinn isn’t it?”

His smile is tight in response, “Nice to meet you.”

When all five of you had sat down, drinks were ordered. The boys stayed away from alcohol for game related excuses but you and Madeline had one. You hoped that the vodka might soothe the pain and the adrenaline come down that you were currently experiencing.

Then food. Quinn and you passed each other odd looks when you both ordered the same thing, the blandest thing on the menu. 

The conversation flowed gently, ebbed and flowed between the boys and you and Madeline and as much as you loved them all, except Quinn, who you didn’t know and he didn’t seem to want to know much about you. 

You tolerate the conversation, half your attention on the topic at hand and whoever is speaking but the other half is focused on the painful sensation radiating up your left leg. The aching pulses irritatingly, causing you to shuffle a little in the hopes that a readjustment of your spine might soothe the pressure on the muscles. However it’s all to no avail, the production is taking its toll on your body you knew, but you smiled along placidly and try to forget about your troubles for the evening. It is the least you could do for Madeline and the lovely evening she had planned. 

About halfway in, between mains and the deserts which you were planning on, Luke and Madeline slip away, for something, you weren’t really concentrating and you were on your third martini. Jack too, got up and snuck away - he’d been on his phone all night, you had noticed and you knew Quinn had too judging by the roll of his eyes every time he caught him.  

So then it was just you and him. 

He leans over to whisper in your ear as you sip at the dregs at your martini, “Don’t you think you should stop.”

You shake your head, snarking back,  “I’m good thanks, mind getting me another?”

He leans back in his chair, but there’s little reaction from his face, it’s cold and hard and somehow you like it even less than a sneer or a scoff. You stay leant forward, chewing on the olives and swivelling your head over your shoulder to look right at him. 

“It’s not going to help in the morning,” he offers.

Confusion washes over you, you turn around a little more to face him more directly, “Sorry?”

He raises an eyebrow and gestures at the empty glass which was already being taken by a waiter, “No matter how much you drink, your leg will still be fucked up in the morning. Probably worse.”

Instinctively, you reach down to rub at your left leg, massaging it over the tape layered over and over and the pair of tights covering up such tape. 

You consider for a moment lying. What fucking leg injury? But Quinn’s got this look, like he just knows. It’s not necessarily care, but you can’t put your finger on it, what it is dancing over his face.

So instead you say, “That’s not what it’s for.” And yet still, somehow, it’s sort of a lie.

Disappointment flashes over his face, deepening in his brown eyes and it makes you shuffle in your seat and look away. You’re almost certain that he knows.

Thankfully, it is then that Luke and Madeline come back in with Jack shortly behind. They’re giggling to themselves and it makes you feel a little sick - or maybe that’s the mix of the ibuprofen, martinis and subsequent adrenaline rush. You take Quinn’s coca cola that’s right next to you - uncaring - and take a sip, hoping it unclogs whatever’s stuck in your throat. It helps for a moment. You don’t catch it, but Quinn passes a look over to you.

Then you catch Madeline’s eye and there’s something in it which makes you pause, stop. There’s a twinkle and she sits. For just a moment. You watch her eyes dart over to Luke, who you can tell, she is holding his hand under the table; they were so utterly in love, and had been since they met, it was adorable. 

Only she could be so lucky.

It’s a sparkle that catches her eyeline from the corner. You flick your head around and see the cake. It’s a chocolate thing with sparklers fizzling on the top of it and a cute little sign which reads - Happy Engagement. It’s adorable.

You’re almost sick.

Somebody’s filling up your glass with champagne. You don’t try to protest but you can’t drink it and don’t complain as Quinn moves it away from you.

Madeline starts talking, sweetly and hand hanging in Luke’s, “So, there’s a reason we wanted to invite you all here.”

Your leg pulses with pain. Jack looks up from his phone from opposite you. Luke smiles. You don’t look at Quinn.

“We wanted a chance to talk to all of you about the wedding, which as you all know will be in the off season.”

The wedding, of course. It makes complete sense that that is why they’re all here. Since they got engaged, just a couple months ago, wedding planning has been flying along; you don’t know all the details and Madeline has been very hush hush about it, but your invite came in the mail the other week and you of course accepted. 

A slice of chocolate cake is served in front of you by a kind looking waiter - he’s kind of cute, and you smile at him when he flashes you one. He moves away around the table and you pull the plate of cake towards you, looking down at the thick slice of chocolate and icing a little dumbly. 

Madeline is still speaking, gripping the stem of her champagne glass with a smile that you know reads as nervousness, “We would like all three of you to be a part of our wedding parties,”

Jack’s grin expands, “I thought that was a given.”

Madeline laughs in response, she’s very clearly used to this, “Well we’d like to extend a formal invitation to you and Quinn to be groomsmen.”

“Don’t be a dick Jacky,” Luke retorts, but it's light-hearted and in good faith.

Quinn shuffles forward in his seat next to you, he’s serious and genuine as he speaks - to Luke or to Madeline, you’re not sure, “Thank you, we appreciate it and I’ll be there for both of you.”

Then, with a playful look, Madeline turns to you and says, “And you,” she points a finger kittenishly, “I’d like to invite you to be my very special maid of honour.”

“Maid of honour, are you serious Maddy?” You gasp, standing up from your chair suddenly and trying to ignore the way your leg screams at you.

You bring her into a close hug, letting her pull you inwards warmly and let yourself smile brightly. It’s not a surprise but it just reaffirms the strength of your friendship despite the distance lately due to the rush of the engagement and the busyness of your career and let out a quiet sigh of relief as you relax into the embrace.

“Of course you’re my maid of honour.”

It feels like a blessing.

The rest of the night is not a blackout per se, but to say that you will have full vivid recall on the events the next morning would be nothing short of a miracle. Everything gets kind of crazy after the announcement and excitement of the wedding which descends upon the group of them. Except for Quinn, who’s kind of a buzzkill. To be fair, it’s something which Jack had warned you about, Quinn is fighting his demons or whatever and is probably going to be a killjoy due to the fact that it’s the middle of the season and playoffs are approaching. You get it, but not really. You can show the fuck up, why can’t Mister Canucks Captain. It’s stupid.

Anyways, you have one more drink and then a couple more after the cake and Madeline in her ultimate wisdom assigns Quinn to walk you home.

It’s cold outside, much colder than when you set off and with the first shiver of your shoulders, Quinn is taking off his jacket and slipping it over your shoulders before you can even protest. Which feels like something he’s been doing all night, not hovering but just noticing, just being there; it’s not annoying but it’s strange for once, being noticed, especially as you’ve barely known each a couple of hours.

You walk, however, in silence. Mostly.

Quinn’s voice is low and husky when he finally does speak out in the dark night’s sky, “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?” You respond.

“The dance. I mean you’re obviously in pain, it’s hurting you.” He replies and it’s calm but you’re anything but.

There’s desperation in your defensive tone, “It’s not, it’s just how it is. And I’m not being obvious about anything, the reviews have been very pleasant thank you.”

“It’s obvious to me and it’s dangerous.”

“And I’m supposed to care about that. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Also, I don’t think you should be talking about dangerous sports when you get paid to be checked into walls. Still got all my teeth so there’s that.” You spit back, crossing your hands over your chest.

He stops.

“I’m not trying to criticise you, it’s a question.”

You huff, whirling around, cocking your head as you look back at him, “What are you trying to do Hughes, please enlighten me.”

“I just- I get it.” He concedes, and it only adds to the confusion swirling in your gut.

“You get it?”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks around, he looks lost as his eyes point up towards the sky, “You’re killing yourself for the thing you love because you love it right, and nobody else sees it. You don’t have anyone, a support system. I get it, I am there, I understand. I- I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Something flares in your gut, deep and cruel. He’s right too, he’s right but you hate being seen like that. It’s not right, not with this man who you’ve known for barely a couple of hours. To suggest that he knows you at all, it’s wrong, all completely wrong.

He’s stood there, looking like some sort of lost puppy.  

You say, “Speak for yourself, it’s not like that for me.”

Quinn says nothing and you turn around and walk away. Part of you, the sick and conflicted side, wants him to catch up to you, try again. But all you can hear is the click of your own shoes against the pavement. He doesn’t follow you, of course he does. You don’t want to be disappointed, but you can’t help feeling it anyways.

[malachianderson]

[Once the two parted ways, it wasn't long before David was globbed onto Chi like usual, talking his ear off about nothing even remotely important as the two picked their usual seats (6 rows above everyone else--as was tradition now) and put their stuff down before starting to walk towards the concession stand.]

...How's Patrick feeling? [Chi asked, trying to at least make some sort of conversation while they walked past Vince and Patrick (and the rest of the team) warming up.]

Besides his hips being sore? [David sassed easily as the two walked.] He's fine. So glad he's here because baseball was all he could talk about all week. He came over and we were supposed to be watching 'Wicked', but you know what he did instead? He spent the whole movie going on and on about that one guy that performs for the Bears. --You know, the one with a Superman chin? I mean, why is that all he can seem to talk about these days? It's like... [David rambled on and on as the two walked and waited in line--with Chi very quickly tuning David out (except for saying 'mhmm' every minute or two).]

[When the two finally made it to the front of the concession stand, Chi ordered his usual black coffee along with two Gatorades, one for Vince and one for Patrick. He handed Patrick's to David then started the trek back over to where the team was warming up--only to stop short when he made it just close enough to notice that Vince was in the middle of being handed a Gatorade by a different man, of a reasonably similar build to his own, that he didn't recognize.]

...Uh, [Chi said in confusion, still holding the Gatorade in his hand.] David--[he hissed, pulling the other out of whatever random bullshit he had been yammering on about.] ...Who's that?

...Never seen him before. Looks like he should be up in the same row as us though! [David pointed out easily--even though this stranger was in much closer to basic street clothes than either of them, there was still no question what 'team' he played on, so to speak.] ...Should I recruit him? I'm gonna go recruit him, [David said, already starting to walk forward again before Chi could respond.]

--No. Stop it. Look, [Chi stopped David from walking over by grabbing his forearm--just in time for the two of them to see this stranger be just a little too giggly and linger just a little too long on touching Vince's hand as he handed him the bottle. After the hand off, he finished up his conversation with more over-the-top giggling and made sure to flash Vince a wide, flirty smile before heading back over to the bleachers.]

[Chi and David stood there in silent disbelief for a moment. Eventually though, it was David (of course) who finally broke the silence.]

...Should we kill him? We can go kill him, [he said, once again not waiting for a response before he started walking towards the bleachers.]

--No! David! [Chi hissed, just tightening his grip on the other's arm since it happened so quick that he hadn't even let go from the first time yet.]

Vince and I got back from our Honeymoon less than four weeks ago, David. Try as he might, some tiny, blue-eyed, himbo isn't changing that, [He sassed easily. ...Although he couldn't ignore the slight feeling of... something bubbling his stomach. He took a deep breath, then did his best to push it off.]

Go give Patrick his drink, [he commanded to the other.] Meanwhile, I'm sure Vince wouldn't mind a third Gatorade. It's basically a sauna out here, [he added, more to himself than to David, before finally walking the rest of the way up to Vince.]

Kenny... [Chi cooed in his sweetest voice the moment he was in Vince's line of sight.] Your loving Barbie has a present for you, [he added as he walked up, holding the bottle in his hand and swinging it back and forth playfully.]

I'll grab two--one for you and one for Patrick, [Chi said easily as he leaned in to give Vince a kiss.]

Go score all the sportsball points. Mwah! I love you!

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I'm curious, when you get these asks about pez dispenser debris, to what degree do you already have all the answers? Like on a scale from "oh it's all written out in excruciating detail in a top-secret Google doc somewhere" to "every time someone asks a question i make up the answers on the spot," where do you fall? Your characters and universe are so rich and fascinating and full of life, I'd love to know more about the kind of process that gets you there!

For the most part, I already have the answers.

There’s no top secret google doc. These are just the silly little tales I play with in my head. For the most part, they don’t really exist on paper. I also have 3 long suffering friends who I sometimes spam text 96 times in row about my ideas that later turn into these asks. I copied and pasted some of the Yokohama asks and the Dabi Izuku Mirio buddy cop adventure straight from my text messages.

A lot of the adventures sort of spawn the others. Like, Izuku being licensed at bomb defusing happened because in the Yokohama arc, he tries to steal the gang a very high tech, very sensitive comms system called a HUB from the school, which is locked into its wall charger at the time and will irreversibly brick itself if someone tampers with the locking mechanism as a safety feature. I decided that All Might eventually showed up and just gave it to him, but I was like “okay, Izuku has no real technological acumen, why does he think he has so much as a shot at getting this thing out of the wall” and I decided that he had taken a week long bomb defusing symposium and he was really, really hoping at the skills would transfer (they didn’t) and the rest of it sort of flowed from there.

Sometimes minor details I come up with while answering the asks? Like, for example, in the Dabi Izuku Mirio buddy cop, Dabi always was there because he was trying at some random fucking redemption arc thing because he heard some lady who was being abused talking to her mom about it, and then I decided while answering the ask that he overheard it while eating his feelings post-break up from the League. But the overarching plot of the buddy cop side quest had already been worked out and info dumped over text.

Some of the little stories come because I’m trying to facilitate other plot points, like Izuku’s bomb defusing being made to facilitate a minor detail in Yokohama. Sometimes there’s just a vibe that I’m chasing and I build the story around it. Yokohama happened in part to facilitate why they were so famous by their third year, in part because I just loved the idea of them having a battle that was so tangled in desperation and hope that you could choke on it. I thought there was a kind of magic in that sort of battle that I really wanted to capture.

Sometimes I have other stories that I like so much that I want to sort of repackage in part for other universes. I’m big on recycling my story details. The line in pez where Tiny Izuku is talking to all might and is like “is that a photo of me crying on the beach? Why do you have that?” was actually originally from a different fic where AfO kidnapped Izuku before he even reached the Entrance Exam, and it culminated in Izuku escaping a month or so later, completely amnesiac and having forgotten that vigilantism is illegal so he does a fuck ton of it. Aizawa catches up to him when he saves Iida from the hero killer and speed runs his gay awakening with Todoroki and when he’s reunited with All Might, All Might tries to show him pictures of their time together, and accidentally scrolls to the photo he canonically took of Izuku on the sand crying. And this Izuku says, “is that a photo of me crying on the beach? Why do you have that?” with a lot more judgment than Tiny Izuku.

The Dabi Mirio Izuku buddy cop actually spawned from a fic I’ve had that’s been frakensteining in my head for a while. Before we found out about the vestiges or any of the past users save the fact that the first user was all for one’s brother, I had this elaborate backstory fic where Izuku was the reincarnation of the first user and he, Iida, and Todoroki are sort of hurriedly covering that shit up because fuck if it won’t cause problems if people all for one find out. That got redrafted when more information came out about the past users and the vestiges into a fic where All for One, who wanted his brother back, kidnapped Izuku from the training camp and forcibly brought his brother’s consciousness to the forefront and buried Izuku’s consciousness within One for All. Izuku’s trapped in the depths of the First User’s memories trying to find his way back out and meanwhile the First User is having the mother of all crash outs in Izuku’s body and has gone completely rogue because his brother wants to vault him and the heroes want to keep him in strictly controlled protective custody and he gets very very skittish at any implication of confinement after his vaulting. Todoroki is hunting him for fucking sport because that is not his body and he needs to get the fuck out of it for reasons that Todoroki is electing not to inspect until he gets Izuku back and maybe they hold hands a little. I loved the shenanigans between Izuku and the past users once Izuku figured out how to start navigating the sort of wonky mind space that was existing inside of One for All and wanted more of it, and so it sort of turned into the past users hazing Izuku into doing underground spy bullshit with them and went from there.

I think primarily the reason why my stories end up sprawling is because I love there being an explanation or backstory to things. I like it being shenanigans all the way down. So I just sort of build outwards from other story details until you end up with this convoluted mess of a universe where everyone is having a terrible fucking time

[varjopeura]

.

[muteddaydreams]

I got a photocard in the mail earlier and why was it just loose in the bubble mailer

[the-kipsabian]

kinda high key need someone to convince me im not stupid or a burden tbh

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

"Oh man I wonder what time it is. Oh hey it is only 10:30! I got plenty of time and- OH NO! NOPE! IT IS THE PM!!!! IT. IT IS DARK OUTSIDE."

[iris-qt]

The Boy Who Stares

Theodore Nott is staring at you again.

You don’t know why. You're not even doing anything particularly interesting. Just sitting in the third row of Ancient Runes, dutifully highlighting a passage about something very old and very cursed, as one does at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday.

But there it is. That intense, brooding stare from two seats to the left. Again.

You risk a glance. Yep. Still happening. His quill is poised mid-air like he forgot how to write. His mouth is slightly parted.

You blink. He blinks. You look away. He doesn’t.

Okay.

Maybe you have ink on your face. Or a troll horn growing out of your forehead. Or maybe he’s plotting your murder, slowly deciding which corridor would be least suspicious to lure you down. Totally fine.

You swipe your thumb across your cheek, just in case. Nope. No ink. Still cute, still confused, still alive. Probably.

Why is he looking at me like that? you think to yourself, nose back in your book.

What you don’t know is this:

Theodore Nott: stoic, unflappable, academically terrifying, hasn’t heard a word Professor Babbling has said in thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds because he’s been trying to figure out how you manage to tuck your quill behind your ear without it falling out.

That, and how you’re the only person in class who managed to finish the Ancient Runes translation without using a single cross-reference guide. And how you chew on your bottom lip when you’re focused, and how your handwriting slants slightly to the left, and how—

You glance up again, catching him mid-gaze.

He immediately jerks his head away so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t snap in half.

You squint. He suddenly finds his parchment very interesting. His ears, traitorous things, go a bit pink.

You blink again.

Nope. Still a murder plot. Definitely.

...

Class ends with the soft clack of textbooks shutting and chairs scraping across the floor. You take your time gathering your things, mostly because your bookmark has disappeared into a void of loose parchment.

Okay. That’s a problem for later.

Theodore Nott is still sitting there. Not moving. Not packing up.

You glance his way again. He pretends to yawn, which would be normal if it weren’t so obviously staged. Like, hand-to-chest, slow-motion, opera-singer yawn. No one yawns like that. You watch in real time as his brain short-circuits trying to look casual.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward the door. And then:

“Wait.”

You stop. Turn. Blink.

Theodore Nott is standing. This feels promising.

“You, um—” he begins, voice low and uncertain. “You left your—uh…” He looks over at your desk. There is nothing there. Not even a scrap of parchment.

He stares at the empty space like it might help him. It does not.

“I left my…?” you say slowly, eyebrows lifted.

He panics. “Presence.”

Your brain takes a full three seconds to process that.

“My what?”

“Your—you left your—pencil sharpener,” he blurts. “Quill sharpener. Yes. That.”

You do not own a quill sharpener. Is that even a thing?

“Oh,” you say, smiling like you’re talking to a slightly confused, very pretty ghost. “Do you…have it?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then he blinks, visibly resets, and tries again. “Sorry. I meant—Hi. I’m Theodore. I mean, you know that. Obviously. We’ve had class together for like six years, I just—well.” He gestures vaguely toward your general existence. “Hi.”

You blink again. You’re doing a lot of blinking lately. “Hi…?”

“I like the way you annotate,” he says.

You stare.

“What?”

“I mean, not in a weird way. Just in a—your notes. Your margins. The way you organize them. It’s very…” He swallows. “…structured. Efficient. There’s a system. You color-code.”

You keep staring.

His voice lowers slightly, like he’s confessing to a crime. “I think about them sometimes.”

This might be the most unhinged flirtation you’ve ever witnessed.

“…Thanks?” you manage, because what else does one say when a gorgeous Slytherin boy admits to daydreaming about your annotated footnotes?

“Anyway,” he says, suddenly flustered again. “I’m going to leave now. With my dignity. Or…what’s left of it.”

He turns, walks directly into the doorframe, mutters “brilliant” under his breath, and disappears.

You stand there blinking at the empty doorway.

And then you laugh. Like, properly laugh.

You’re still laughing when you find your missing bookmark sticking out of Theodore’s textbook.

A/N: missed writing for theo -> pt. ⅠⅠ - The Boy Who Folded First

[daemonbrain]

"One of me is cute but two though!"

2.4k, cw: breeding kink, smut, kinda baby trapping (?), not proofread

a/n: based off Juno by Sabrina Carpenter hehe happy reading :)

Simon Riley who would go to the ends of the earth for his bird. You wanted to watch your favorite movie for the millionth time with him? Done. You were craving take out from that special spot across town in the middle of the night? He’s placing your order and grabbing his keys to go pick it up after a quick goodbye kiss. You wanted him to kill a little red-haired prick who got too close to you -grazed your arm- yesterday at 17:37 while in a crowded line when he went to the loo, with his bare hands? Fan-tastic. (He may be projecting a little)

But he was worried. He might not be the most perceptive man, but he wasn’t so thick headed he couldn’t see the signs.

The way you made googly eyes at every baby you passed by. Fuck sakes he had never seen so. many. babies. 

Little things everywhere nowadays, though it might just be he’s now paying enough attention to notice. It definitely helped the unintentional search that your grip on his arm tightened every time you saw one. Your soft coos as you turned to him to say for a third time in a row that the babe was the “cutest thing you had ever seen”.

He loved you like he loved his gun after it got him out of a tough spot (he loved you more, but he's pretty poor at putting an example on it), but there was one thing he was wholly unsure he could give you. Being a father has never been something he was sure of, his own making his childhood a living hell assuring him that it wasn’t in his genes or anywhere in his future. He came to terms with that years ago and shoved the idea out of his mind entirely. 

As you both sat down at a coffee shop while taking a break from your park walk, you just happened to get seated right next to another woman, a stroller in your direct view.

Fuckin’ great.

Biting your lip you take a peek at the chubbiest little thing in a deep sleep. Catching the gaze of the mother you smile. “She’s adorable” you chirped. 

As the mother responded with a smile of her own, Simon felt a foot gently nudging his leg as gave him the prettiest eyes. Did you even try to hide it anymore? No, you really didn’t. Eyes filled with thinly veiled intentions, eyes that said “Look how cute! Jump across this table and give me one now,” 

“Isn’t she cute Si?!”

He sighed and replied in his usual grumble, “course, ‘er little jumper is nice.” Tactics. Swiftly move out from the topic and do not let the missus see the little bows… on the jumper… he just pointed- for fucks sake you saw it.

After quite some time giggling with the mother over photos, because of course that had to be the natural progression of things, Simon observed in his characteristic shadow-like demeanor before the little one began to fuss in her sleep. The mother excused herself and the babe to nurse and it’s then you finally turn back to your silent companion with your usual beaming.

“ ‘avin fun there, yeah?” He laughed which came out more as a snort as you mockingly kicked him under the table.

“I am as a matter of fact!”

Pulling his hands into the air in surrender he looks you head on. “Okay, I get it.”

“The baby was just so- ugh! Did you see how chubby she was? Her little hair.. Gosh!” Stay on task. Do not get distracted by the target's beautiful smile or laugh. Someone had to be the voice of rationale after all.

“Like I said ‘er jumper was nice.”

When the pout came to your lips, he considered it a success (you were hot either way) and chalked the whole thing as a minor bump in the road. Whatever this baby fever was would pass.

Nonetheless, he should’ve known his bird better than that. She wasn’t a quitter, that’s for damn sure. As you cooked up dinner in that cute apron and served it plated up so nicely it dawned on him just how… domestic this all was.

It was nice, he concluded. Calm.

You remained pensive and quiet for the most part during dinner, clearly desperate to say what you had been on your mind for weeks. He could see the way your mind's gears turned, wanting to blurt it out. Like an animal going feral at the bars of its cage. Except your the animal and your cage is the inherent trust you will not go awol and chuck your birth control pills into the trash while he’s not watching.

“Simon…” 

Here it comes.

Simon grunted out his response while chewing on his food, looking up to meet your cautious gaze. Leaning across the table you gently lay your hand on his which held his fork, pushing it down.

“I’ve been thinking… a lot lately.” There you went with that look again. “Have you… ever thought of kids before? I- I know we’ve had this talk before… but-”

“C’mere.”

He outstretched his big arms and patted his lap. With quick acceptance you hurried over and let him pull you on top of him, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on your ass for support. The deep kneading of it was also for support of course. 

“You know how I feel about them. ‘Is jus not somethin I think about.” He didn’t dare look away from your eyes. If he was about to take that gleam out of your eyes he at least owed it to you to watch.

You grabbed his face with a light touch and caressed the stubble which had begun to grow with a look beginning to resemble a spot of desperation. Pressing yourself further into his body, you couldn’t help your protests.

“Si.. I just- I want one so bad.” You began to slide your hand down the side of his neck, pressing forward to gently place a kiss. Leaning your forehead in the junction between his shoulder and neck you continued before he could respond.

“Don’t you? A little baby with us all the time.”

Someone had to be the voice of reason and Simon was going to have to put his foot down on this.

“You’re not thinkin straigh’. It would be cute-” He was cut off in shock as he felt the slight rock of your hips as you cowered into his shoulder.

“Just imagine it! One of me is cute enough, but two!” The pace began to speed up as you blatantly started grinding against him. He let out a little huff. Voice of reason. Though his reason was nowhere to be found when he put his hand that was idly on the chair to your backside to encourage the movement.

You knew what came next, you had to sweeten the pot. You knew you were being mean, but you just had to! You were practically given no choice!

“Don’t you want that Si! Don’t you wanna make something together?” You all but pleaded. He looked straight past your head with a crumbling steely demeanor. Fuck.

You already began to tug at his shirt and with a final glare, Simon couldn’t help but look at his pretty bird. His pretty bird on top of the prize she coveted, heat passing between their bodies. Just one time. One time and then they could talk about this properly. 

Simon gathered you up in his arms and stood while pressing an eager kiss to your lips. It was a soft and long thing as he brought you both to the bedroom you shared. He threw you down on the bed and stripped himself as you excitedly did the same.

Smiling up at him as if you won. You did not win. This was not a win, right? You were on your birth control either way, he would pull out as needed. What harm is there in fucking his own girl.

Pushing you on to your back he parted your legs to look what lay between them. There was the prize he was most proud of. Puffy cunt at the mercy of the cool air being pushed out by the vents. You were already beginning to shine.

“You were just waiting for it weren’t you? Knew I couldn’t leave you hanging, yeah?”

With a giggle you spread your thighs further and wiggled your hips teasingly. Simon dropped to his knees and pulled your body to the edge of the bed. Throwing each of your legs on either of his shoulders he spit into your cunt, taking two thick fingers and rubbing it in, catching on to your hole lightly as he played with the slick. He could see the way your stomach tightened as he circled your clit and he winded you up further when he firmly flicked it.

“Si” you whined.

“Wha’ is it?” He grinned as he lowered his head to press a kiss down. Devolving from a kiss, he grabbed onto one of your thighs with a strong grip and began to sloppily lick while you let out your breathy little moans, sensitive to the absolute tank holding you still as he ate straight from the source.

He licked and it just kept going. Dragging his tongue around your cunt, up to your puffy clit. He harshly sucked as he latched on to it drawing a cry from your vulnerable form. Tugging at his hair, he only looks up with his eyes, refusing to pull away his mouth. 

Shaking your head with wide eyes you couldn’t help but push your fluffy little agenda.

“Si please. Please. Please, I need it! I’d never ask for anything else-” you moaned in surprise once again as he added a finger into your hole. Willing himself to pull away from you, Simon continued to fuck his finger into you as he spoke up, spittle and slick coating his mouth. He had to switch gears, use logic (and cum) to deter you.

“We’d never have time. All this?-” He added another finger into your clenching pussy “Gone. We’d be cleaning spit up instead.”

“We’d have a baby!” You exclaimed insistently.

You were practically off the edge, usually by now Simon had you fucked into your own little world. This incessant begging for a little one of your own is keeping you sharper than usual. He’d fix that.

“Please Simon” You pulled him up, the strain of his cock to be inside you encouraging him to follow your movements. He looked at you pretty tits, pretty like everything else on you. Taking a nipple between his fingers and rolling hard.

“These’d get all full.”

Fuck that backtracked his own point. His mind fighting back the onslaught of thoughts at the sight of your tits growing round and heavy because of something he could do. Would your body get all soft- NO.

Lining himself up and looking at that pleading expression, the only time he’d ever seen you so wanting of something you were willing to roll around with nothing else on your mind.

“Just one Si, just one with your eyes your nose your hair-” Your breath went short as he pushed himself in, giving shallow thrusts to feed into your aching cunt. Recomposing yourself you gripped on to his bicep, “Just do it, lock me down tonight.”

Simon couldn’t help the way he subconsciously began pushing your thighs up to give himself a deeper angle, your ankles dangling weightlessly above your head, knees to your chest. The groans which sounded through the room as his hips hammered into you in a desperate chase. 

The two of you could do nothing but stare into each other's eyes, losing yourselves in each other while your cunt squeezes him like a vice. Determined to keep him there, body obstinately stuck on one thing.

 Someone had to be the voice of reason. Someone had to object to a little one with his eyes and your personality. Someone had to be rational and not think about painting the nursery while you waddled about. Someone had to remain level-headed and not imagine the way your eyes would light up with unfettered joy.

You tossed your head back and he couldn’t help but grip your face in his hand, tugging it right back to him.

“With me bird, with me. Look at me.”

Someone had to be rational.

Nodding your head shakily you keep your eyes on the massive man pounding away at you, feeling the way your stomach bulges trying to accommodate all of him, your cunt coaxing him further into the sticky trap.

Your body begging for one thing, you looked like you needed it. Tongue lolling out of your mouth as you were fucked stupid, sweat collecting on your brow. You looked perfect. Your whining swallowed by his own mouth when he presses another kiss to your swollen lips, body enduring in hopes the fat cock ruthlessly disturbing its peace would grant it the big load it craved.

Someone had to be rational?

Maybe it was the way you sucked him in, the way he couldn’t stop thrusting into you, but it’s as if your body sent some message to the receptors in his mind. All that flashed before him images of happy and full and with his baby.

As if you could sense his thoughts, your own peak quickly overcame you white hot. The way you spasmed around him with a loud cry of pure ecstasy.

“Give it to me!” You somehow managed. His mind went blank as drunk off the pleasure as you were, the only thing he could do was thrust, unable to comprehend anything else.

 A shame Simon couldn’t be rational when it came to his bird.

With the final slam of his hips, his release went into the deepest depths of you. His grip on your hips burning from how tight it was as he kept himself flush against you.

It took a few moments to come down from the high. Simon looked at your sweaty face, hazy from lack of energy. Maybe you did win this one, but he really didn't get all this effort (not that he was complaining) if you were still on birth control.

Birth control... which he hasn't had to remind you to take for quite some time...

Out of pure curiosity at his realization, he gently pushed the two of you further up the bed while keeping you plugged up. Opening the first drawer he manages to grab the box which contained your birth control pills. Upon further inspection, he notices it remains unopened and untouched. Shaking his head with a gruff laugh he peers down at you as you shiver from the rumble.

“Dirty girl”

You just smiled.

[checkeredflagggs]

Stepping Up

Pairing: oscar piastri x spouse!reader

summary: when tragedy strikes Oscar’s in-laws, the Piastri’s step up.

a/n: needed to write something angst and this is what happened.

Warnings: Parental Death

Masterlist

Phone Call, Family Lawyer

Private Messages, Oscar and y/n

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 728,823 others

f1gossip: Uh-Oh! Something seems to be wrong in the world of Oscar Piastri, seen here rushing away from the Chinese GP despite his stunning win.

view all comments

user1: I hope everything is ok…

↳user2: I wonder what’s it’s all about…

↳user1: I suspect we’ll find out

user3: do you think it has anything to do with y/n? They weren’t at the GP and they’ve said they love the Chinese one!

↳user4: oh that’s a good point!

↳user5: oh I love y/n and Oscar

↳user6: they are such a cute couple!

↳user3: this is all making me hope I’m wrong…

↳user4: ngl me too — Oscar almost never runs off like that and for it to maybe include y/n?!?

user7: ok so i know he’s like rushing and maybe panicking but like? He’s so adorable?!?

↳user8: omg thank you for saying that i thought i was the only one

user9: sending good thoughts and vibes their way, if something has gone wrong…

user10: some gossip from the paddock is that not even Zak or Andrea knew why Oscar left in such a rush

↳user11: oh man that’s really not a good sign…

↳user12: not at all…

Private Messages, Zak and Oscar

Bluesky

user12: shit really??

user13: who?!

user14: ok but it would be fucking hilarious if this was about Max and Kelly?!?

↳user15: hilarious but that’s been known forever

user16: ok but who is it talking about?!

↳user17: Well it’s not the Ferrari or Alpine men

↳user18: not the Williams or Haas men either…

↳user19: just did a deep dive on the revolving door of Redbull and Racing Bull drivers — not likely

↳user20: I don’t think it could be any of the rookies??

↳user21: probably not George and Lance doesn’t have another girlfriend (that we’re aware of)

↳user22: Fernando or Nico??

↳user23: that’s my guess

↳user24: I’m gonna go wild shot and say Y/N Piastri!

↳user25: and I’m gonna say you’re crazy!

↳user26: they’ve never talked about kids and y/n has been so open about their life — it’s not them

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user and 827,382 others

f1gossip: Movers spotted going in and out of the Piastri residence in England! Is this the end for our favorite McLaren couple?

view all comments

user27: it better fucking not be

↳user28: your honor they’re my emotional support couple — they can’t be split up…

↳user27: you get me

user29: ok where are you getting this from?! They could literally just be getting new furniture or something?!?

↳user30: this looks like they’re taking EVERYTHING from their house though…

user31: what if y/n is the one who had a kid from a previous relationship?!

↳user32: don’t even speak that into existence

↳user31: no but listen — y/n misses the Chinese GP (despite saying it’s among their favorites and saying they’d be there)

↳user31: then Oscar is seen rushing from the race and then goes silent for like 2 weeks

↳user31: during that time we get a gossip piece that a racer’s partner has kids from a previous relationship

↳user31: and now there’s movers in front of the Piastri house?!

↳user31: Oscar found out about the kids and they’re breaking up about the secret

↳user33: I’ll agree with everything but the last bit — I think they’re moving to make space for a kid in their lives

↳user32: I like that thought more

f1partners

liked by user, user, user, and 493,923 others

f1partners: Missing in action! Y/N Piastri, Oscar’s spouse, has been absent for a third GP in a row — a shocking twist compared to last year when the Piastri’s ruled the paddock! Trouble in paradise or just a break in the chaos?

view all comments

user34: hey! Let’s normalize leaving them alone???

user35: they don’t have to go to every single race you know?!?

user36: let’s be real here — those 2 are so disgustingly in love, let’s stop it with the break up rumors??

↳user37: so true! They’ve literally never looked at anyone else ever

user33: user31 more proof I think! Y/N is definitely staying home to help the kid acclimate

↳user31: I’m starting to agree…

user38: ummm if Oscar is free…

↳user39: I want to know if they need a third!

↳user40: ok user38 you can have Oscar but I’d do some major crimes for even a moment of y/n’s time

↳user41: mood

Private Messages, Oscar and y/n

f1_updates

liked by user, user, user, and 627,823 others

f1_updates: Post Oscar’s win in Saudi Arabia, he seemingly dodged all questions related to his spouse, Y/N Piastri, and the persistent rumors of an imminent divorce. More proof of trouble?

view all comments

user42 or maybe he just wants to talk about his race???

↳user50: right? Like ask him about stuff that actually matters!

user51: god i wish people would just leave it alone???

↳user52: someone who gets me. like what does it matter if he and his partner are having issues or not??

↳user53: we’re here to watch him race, not speculate over his relationship status

↳user54: ^^^^

user56: I know it’s because he’s annoyed but god he’s so hot

↳user57: ngl i was watching yuki in the back being a cutie

↳user58: so real for that

Private Messages, Oscar and y/n

mclaren

liked by y/n, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 2,822,293 others

tagged: y/n, oscarpiastri

mclaren: Watch out Imola! The Piastri’s have arrived!

view all comments

user59: 3 kids?!?

↳user60: my jaw? Dropped!

y/n: Oh McLaren admin you didn’t have to roll out the red carpet!

↳mclaren: anything for our favorite Australian and his family!

↳y/n: you spoil me liked by mclaren

oscarpiastri: glad to have you guys here 😃

↳y/n: we wouldn’t want to be anywhere else

user61: ohmygod the Piastri’s are so cute!

↳user62: they really really are

charles_leclerc: does this make me a grandfather?

↳oscarpiastri: it does, yes

↳y/n: family dinner Tuesday

↳charles_leclerc: I’ll be there!

landonorris: uncle Lando to the rescue!

↳y/n: rescue from what??

↳landonorris: your ice cream-less existence!

↳y/n: you’re watching them when the sugar high hits liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri and y/n

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, logansargeant, and 1,834,734 others

oscarpiastri and y/n: Earlier this year, tragedy struck our family when y/n’s parents unexpectedly passed away in a car crash. In the aftermath, our lives were turned upside down when we took custody of y/n’s younger siblings. Since then, as many people have noticed, y/n has taken a step away from Formula 1 to focus on helping their siblings acclimate to a new life. As we continue to settle into our new normal, we ask for a measure of privacy and of grace — we’re happy together and that’s not going to change.

view all comments

user63: oops

↳user64: I bet some people are feeling very stupid right now

landonorris: make some space cause uncle Lando is on his way!

↳y/n: if you have any kind of candy or sweet food on you, turn your ass right around

↳user65: Shut. Down.

↳landonorris: 😣😣

user66: ok I’ve only had the Piastri’s for like a week but if anything happened to them, I’ll kill everyone then myself

↳user67: big mood

logansargeant: space for an American?

↳y/n: always Lo 🧡

charles_leclerc: how do you guys feel about dogs?

↳y/n: very enthusiastic

↳alex_albon: good because we’re converging on your house with furry cuddles

↳y/n: that’s gonna make some rounds on the internet Alex

↳alex_albon: regretted it immediately

user33: I told you all

↳user31: yes you did

Taglist

Please interact with my taglist post if you want to join — I don’t always check the notes on the individual posts

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @lost4lyrics @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @il0vereadingstuff @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @princessesgarden @galaxygurlll @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @allthings-fandom @mountainshuman @moonypixel @nikfigueiredo @daisydaze111 @deephideoutmilkshake @mimisweetz @books-fangirl-books @woderfulkawaii @fastandcurious16 @lilyofthevalley-09 @rexit-mo @alessa-the-enchantress @1800-love-me @greantii @toodeepintofandoms @tukes @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lecfosimaxbull @dramaticpiratellamas @devilacot @supernatural-harrypotter7 @nightrose-18 @alexxavicry @vhkdncu2ei8997 @purplephantomwolf @shadowreader07 @spilled-coffee-cup @stuffyownswrld

[angelsafa]

My void success story

Hello everyone,

I fckn entered the void yesterday what the hell!! Tbh I've always had the feeling that I would somehow make it, because I belive in myself and because I control my reality (and you do too). Anyways, I am literally shaking while typing this because, even tho I knew I was gonna make it, I didn't expect it to happen so soon, in my third attempt. So here's the thing:

In saturday 7th of june one of my favourite f1 drivers came to do a roadshow. Basically show his car in this new track and stuff. Anyways, I was so so excited and kept affirming it was going to be a great day and stuff, which honestly was, but there was a little problem. When he got closer to the railing and next to the fans I had the amazing luck of being in the front row and being able to see him closely. And here's the thing. I kinda still doubted myself and didn't expect myself to be so close to him that day, so I haven't brought anything that he could sign on for me, and the phone was with my sister which was far away, so not even a photo !! So I had to conform with simply watch him closely while everyone got their things signed and photos and stuff. When he walked away and stuff, I felt so so dissapointed and sad, so I got to one of the bathrooms and started crying. Like raw crying. You guys cannot realize how much I cried that afternoon. And I kept blaming my strict parents for not letting me borrow the phone that day. When we got home my sister and me I honestly could not stare into my parents and not cry or get angry, so I went to sleep early that day. I cried. A lot. And then fall asleep. The next day while I was having breakfast I've decided that I was done with blaming everyone and being sad and angry. And I said to myself "Well, Safa, you know LOA, you know shifting, you know revising and you know the void. You can simply wake up with a new phone with a picture of you and him there, and a shirt signed literally on your wall. You have been procrastinating manifesting your dream life, so it's time for taking action again." And well, the rest is history. I decided that I would be entering the void that night and change some things of my life, like my strict parents or the small house I used to live in, or some appearence changes (which tbh with you guys I was already too pretty so I didn't care a lot about it but still) or more money. So I did it. The night came so I did the most basic method, kinda mixed with the distraction method. I laid on my side because I honestly thing it's more comfortable than the back, I focused on my breathing and then let my toughts and even a song pass by. I didn't force anything or be desperate, I simply got sick of the shitty life I was living in and I decided. Guys this is the key. Decide.

Don't try, don't attempt, don't hope.

Decide.

Decide that you're getting into the void. Decide that you're shifting. Decide that you have that life. Because you do. You already have it. You do. You don't have to worry. Everything else? Is past. That's simply who you no longer identify with. It's old story. That doesn't matter anymore. You are no longer that person. You've decided that you have your dream life? Then the 3D has no choice but to reflect. It's a literal mirror.

Anyways, I entered the void after some minuts and holy shit, I didn't know it was that easy. People put it in the pedastal. It's so fucking easy but I was procrastinating and stuff. Anyways, today when I woke up I did with my dream life. Guys I still cannot belive it. It's overwhelming. I literally woke up with an Iphone 16 pink under my pillow, in my dream bedroom in my dream room and dream house!! But the most important thing, my fucking white shirt (the one I decided to), was hanging in my wall with the driver's sign!!! Guys I'm crying. Literally crying. It's so fucking wholesom.

Anyways I just wanted to say this is your sign to not give up because I literally did it in the third attempt.

You got this. You're a master manifesting and shifting.

Lots of love,

Safa

[ari-ana-bel-la]

I love Dad Lando! I wonder if you could do one where his little girl has a crush on Max Verstappen and runs away to the Red Bull garage, and Max has a lot of fun with her.

Tiny Crush

Lando had always loved bringing his three-year-old daughter, Yn, to race weekends. Ever since she was old enough to babble excitedly about cars, she had been his little shadow in the paddock, clinging to his hand and absorbing everything he told her. It made his heart swell every time he saw her wide-eyed wonder as she watched the cars zoom by.

But lately, he had noticed something—Yn was spending more and more time at the Red Bull garage. And not just anywhere in Red Bull, but specifically with Max.

At first, Lando had shrugged it off. Max had always been good with kids, and Yn had known him since she was a baby. But when, for the third race in a row, Yn asked to see Max before even stepping foot in the McLaren hospitality, Lando started to wonder. Was she mad at him? Had he done something wrong?

So, naturally, he did what any slightly panicked father would do—he called his mother.

"Mad at you?" His mum had laughed down the phone. "Lando, sweetheart, she’s three. She’s not mad at you."

"Then why does she keep running off to see Max first? It used to be me," Lando had huffed, pacing around his hotel room.

His mother chuckled again, and he could practically hear the amusement in her voice. "Oh, Lando. She probably just has a tiny crush on Max."

"A crush?" Lando nearly dropped his phone.

"Yes, darling. It happens. Little girls get their first crushes on nice, safe adults they feel comfortable with. It’s harmless."

Lando had groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "So she’s not replacing me?"

"Of course not. You’ll always be her number one, but sometimes, little girls like feeling special around someone new. Just enjoy it. And maybe tease Max a little while you're at it."

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed in their hotel suite, Lando gently brushed Yn’s long, slightly tangled hair. She sat in his lap, her tiny hands resting against his arm as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

"Papa?" Her voice was small, hesitant.

"Hmm?" Lando carefully worked out a knot, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"Can we see Max today?"

Lando had to fight down his grin. He knew it. He knew it.

"Yeah, princess, we can see Max," he promised, pressing another kiss to her temple.

Yn giggled, her little feet kicking happily against his legs. "Yay!"

Lando shook his head fondly. "You’re lucky I like Max."

Yn turned in his lap, blinking up at him with her big, innocent eyes. "You love Max."

Lando sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, I do. But not as much as I love you."

She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. "Love you too, Papa."

When they arrived at the paddock, Lando automatically reached down to pick Yn up, but she huffed, swatting at his hands.

"Papa, I’m big," she reminded him. "No carry."

Lando smothered a laugh. "Alright, alright. No carrying. Hand?"

Yn considered it for a moment before nodding, slipping her tiny fingers into his. Together, they walked through the paddock, greeting a few people along the way. But the second the Red Bull garage came into view, Yn dropped his hand and took off running.

"Yn—!" Lando started, but it was no use. She was already weaving through the crowd like she owned the place.

Lando jogged after her, arriving just in time to see her tug on the shirt of one of the Red Bull mechanics. The man turned, grinning when he saw who it was.

"Hey, sweetheart," the mechanic greeted. "Looking for Max?"

Yn nodded eagerly. "Is he here?"

The mechanic chuckled, pointing toward the back of the garage. "Right over there."

Yn wasted no time. She darted toward Max, who was leaning against a workbench, chatting with one of his engineers. The second he saw Yn running toward him, he crouched down, opening his arms just in time for her to launch herself at him.

"Max!" she squealed.

Max laughed, catching her easily. "Hey, kleine prinses," he greeted, using the Dutch nickname he had given her. "Missed me already?"

Yn nodded, her small hands clutching at his race suit. "Missed you lots."

Max grinned, shooting Lando an amused glance. Lando, now leaning against the garage wall with his arms crossed, rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re stealing my child."

Yn turned her head, frowning at Lando. "Papa, no stealing. I still love you."

Max snickered. "See? She still loves you."

Lando sighed dramatically. "Barely."

Yn giggled, then turned back to Max, her voice suddenly shy. "Max?"

"Hmm?" Max adjusted her slightly in his arms, giving her his full attention.

"Can we go on a track walk today?"

Lando watched as Max’s expression softened completely.

"A track walk?" Max repeated. "With me?"

Yn nodded eagerly.

Max glanced at Lando. "That okay?"

Lando sighed but smiled. "Yeah, go ahead. Just make sure she doesn’t run onto the track."

Max grinned. "Deal."

Before they left, Max grabbed a spare Red Bull cap, adjusting it on Yn’s head. It was far too big, practically swallowing her whole, but she beamed up at him like he had just given her the best gift in the world.

Lando groaned. "Great. Now she’s Red Bull-branded."

Max just smirked. "She has good taste."

Yn reached for Max’s hand, gripping his fingers tightly as they made their way toward the track entrance. Lando followed a few steps behind, watching as Max slowed his pace to match Yn’s tiny steps.

"Max, how fast do you go here?" Yn asked as they reached the main straight.

"Really fast," Max replied. "More than 300 kilometers per hour."

Yn’s eyes widened. "That’s so fast."

Max chuckled. "It is. But don’t worry, I’m very good at driving."

Yn nodded seriously. "I know. That’s why I like you."

Lando bit his lip, trying so hard not to laugh. Max, on the other hand, grinned.

"You like me, huh?" Max teased. "More than Papa?"

Yn gasped dramatically, spinning around to face Lando. "No! Papa is best! But Max is second best."

Lando feigned offense, clutching his chest. "Second?!"

Max smirked. "I’ll take it."

They continued their walk, Yn firing off questions about everything—the corners, the tire marks, the pit lane. Max answered each one patiently, even demonstrating a few racing lines by jogging ahead and showing her where to brake.

By the time they made it back to the paddock, Yn was yawning, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Max handed her back to Lando, who hoisted her up despite her earlier protests about being "too big to be carried."

"Thanks for entertaining her," Lando said, adjusting Yn on his hip.

Max smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Yn’s forehead. "Anytime."

Yn wrapped her arms around Lando’s neck but peeked over at Max, her voice soft. "Can we do it again?"

Max grinned. "Of course, kleine prinses."

Lando groaned. "Great. Now I have to share my daughter with you."

Yn giggled sleepily. "Love you, Papa. Love you, Max."

Max patted her back gently. "Love you too, little one."

And despite his teasing, Lando couldn’t help but smile. Maybe sharing wasn’t so bad after all.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[lovableapocalypse]

scar tissue

dr. jack abbot x female!resident!reader

wc: 2k

summary: an unexpected patient arrives in the er and turmoil arises

warnings: medical inaccuracies, mentions of injuries and medical procedures, mentions of alcohol abuse aka reader has a shitty alcoholic dad who yells, mentions of brief sexual content but nothing explicit (mdni!), power dynamic in relationship/reader is a 3rd year resident jack is an attending, unspecified age gap, wrote this at 4am

a/n: this is soooo inspired by greys specifically the scenes where meredith's mom is a patient at sgh and then the mark and lexie (deleted?) scene of them after the shooting. i struggled a lot with the ending of this one so sorry if it sucks lol. hope you like and enjoy and thank you guys for all the love

Tonight’s shift hadn’t been too wild, but you would never risk speaking the words aloud. Jinxing the remaining 3 hours would only ruin the night you’d had so far. 

A few random cases had come through and one drunk driver who was already stable and moved up to the ICU. One of the more chill night shifts you’d had in a while. 

Glancing up from your seat at the nurse’s station, you watch him move from South 15 to the curtain over- checking on patients. 

Your cheeks heat unprofessionally and unintentionally at the sight of him. A habit you needed to kick soon for you worked with the man 4 nights a week. That, and your flustered appearance was becoming more obvious than you’d realized. 

Dr. Abbot has been your attending for over 2 years now. Starting as an intern on an emergency med rotation and thrown to the night shift due to scheduling conflicts- you found yourself working closely under the army vet. 

His dynamic teaching and advantageous reassurance drew you to the emergency department. Deadset on surgery, you completely pivoted after working with the doctor. Declaring your specialty, you were now well into your third year of residency in the pit. 

You felt confident when you worked under Abbot. He gave you the room to make decisions and he trusted your opinions- only stepping in to assist during especially challenging moments. 

He glanced at you as his eyes passed over the board above your head. You shifted your gaze away, crumbling under the slightest look from him. 

This was new. This nervousness. You had always thought Abbot was attractive, harboring a small crush, but he was your superior and that was a boundary you would never feel comfortable crossing. 

Or so you thought. 

It happened 11 days ago. Not that you were counting. 

Your shifts had aligned that week to where you had three days off in a row, a rare occurrence. 

Since residency had put your social life on the back burner you took the opportunity to call up a couple of friends and go out.

By some means of the universe, you had ended up at the same bar as Jack that night. How you ended up in the back of his car was a blur. Skirt bunched around your waist, hips thrusting roughly into yours, hands pulling and grasping at anything they could touch, his mouth whispering dirty words and kissing soft desperate kisses against your skin. 

It was the heat of the moment. That’s what you kept telling yourself. It was a one-time thing. A mistake that wouldn’t happen again. Despite how much you secretly wanted it to. 

So you glanced away. You kept it professional. You avoided him like the plague and spent as little time as you could in his presence.  

You even traded a day shift with McKay to get a night away from him. You didn’t feel guilty or ashamed, you just didn’t want Jack to treat you differently. To see you differently. 

The calm of the ED was short-lived as the charge nurse shouted out, “Incoming ped versus vehicle. 3 minutes.”

You stood from the desk and Jack stepped out of the room he was in. You reached for gloves and moved much slower than you should’ve. 

The ambulance doors opened in a rush and the paramedics pushed in the patient on a stretcher. You were focused on snapping on your gloves. One tore as you pulled it on and you cursed under your breath, reaching for another. You listened to the paramedics as you grabbed a new one. 

“Male. 64. Was hit by a driver. Multiple femoral fractures and a blood alcohol level higher than I’ve ever seen.” The paramedic huffed and the patient slurred aggressively in response. 

You glanced up, approaching the stretcher, and your heart fell out of your chest. Your throat closed up on instinct. The patient was spewing nonsense but his demeanor was obvious. He was angry and drunk. And he was your father. 

Abbot calls out your last name, voice sharper than normal as he motions for your frozen self to come help. To do your job.

You don’t move. Your heart races uncomfortably. You hadn’t seen your dad in a few weeks. He was a drunk who had treated you like the biggest regret of his life from as far back as you could remember. 

You avoided him and only checked in on him every once and a while. Mostly to see if he was still alive. 

Even in his drunken state, your father recognized the last name Jack had spoken. The one you shared with him. 

Your father stopped squirming enough to glance up, directly at you. 

“Look who it is.” His sneer was exaggerated and he threw his head back on the gurney. 

Abbot’s brows furrowed and he looked between the man and you. 

“You know this guy?” He spoke as they moved the gurney to the trauma bay. 

The nurses tried to ask for his name and information but your father was shouting nonsense- mostly about giving him drugs to stop the pain. 

You swallow harshly and follow into Trauma 2. 

You feel like you’re in a dream. Watching your worst childhood memories clash with reality. 

“I need your help here.” Jack snaps at you, his eyes searching yours.

They’re already working. Moving your dad to the bed, cutting his clothes. And you’re useless. Watching and trying not to break down.

Your dad shouts and you flinch involuntarily. He yells at the nurse for morphine. Jack is frustrated at your lack of help, but more so concerned about your behavior. 

Your dad’s head snaps up and he glares right at you. “I’m talking to you! Give me something for the fucking pain-” His words are a jumble, but you understand him loud and clear. 

“Sir-” The nurse starts and your dad shouts over her. 

He keeps his head up, his gaze and words directed at you. 

“Do you know him?” Abbot repeats his question from earlier, harsher this time as he works over the chaos. 

Your dad answers for you unintentionally, shouting your name, “Give me something here. I’m your father for fuck’s sake!”

The room falls quiet for a beat and your stomach twists. 

“This is your dad?” Abbot’s eyebrows meet his forehead. 

“Is he an addict?” The nurse asks you. 

“Only alcohol. That I know of.” Your voice is a whisper. 

Abbot sighs harshly and the nurse moves to give your dad a stronger painkiller. 

“Right, get her out of here and send in Ellis, please.” Jack nods to another nurse. 

She grips your arm softly and you watch as your father finally stops shouting and lays his head back in a morphine-induced haze.

The nurse squeezes your arm and sits you in a chair before rushing off to get the other resident. 

You watch numbly as Ellis goes into the bay. You don’t know how long you stare at the wall for, your mind seeming to shut off. 

You hear Shen’s voice behind you and it sounds like he’s asking you a question but you’re not registering anything. 

Your stomach lurches violently and you stand, walking to the ambulance bay doors. 

They slide open and Shen calls out to you. 

You stagger to the bushes and the contents of your stomach come up. 

You cough and wipe your mouth, catching your breath. 

You grip the wall, needing something to stabilize your influx of emotions. 

His voice comes from behind you after a moment. 

“You okay?”

You turn to him and nod. 

He stands across the bay, hands on his hips. He’s unconvinced. 

He approaches you carefully, like a wounded animal, and you hate it. 

“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” You call back. 

You turn away from him and run a hand over your hair, gasping for a breath. 

His hand finds your elbow in a gentle grip and you glance his way. He doesn’t say anything. He just grabs your arm and slowly moves you to the curb outside the building. 

He sits you down and moves beside you, his knee brushing yours. 

Your eyes well up despite your best efforts. Your breath wracks and your head sags. 

You wipe at your tears as they begin to fall and try to hide your face in your shoulder. You feel his arm come around you, wrapping you in warmth. 

“You’re okay.” His voice is so steady and reassuring that you almost believe him. 

You nod, but the tears keep falling. 

“I’m sorry.”

You feel his head shake beside you. “Don’t apologize.”

Tears stream down your face and his arm squeezes you closer. You let your head fall to his shoulder and let his comfort consume you. 

Processing what just happened, you let Abbot ease your emotional toll. You feel his lips brush your hairline and your eyes squeeze shut. 

Sniffling, you sit upright again. Abbot’s hand stays on you, sliding down to rest on your back. 

“I didn’t know what to do. Or why I reacted like that. I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting to see him. Not here.” You wipe a stray tear away as you try to explain yourself. 

“From what I witnessed, your reaction tells me there’s a whole other story to your relationship with that man. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You’re a good doctor, but everyone has their limits. Things that hit close to home- or things that come from home.”

He sends you a sympathetic look and you nod at his words.

“I can’t have my best resident freezing up again. Or avoiding me. Which I know you’re doing by the way.” He raises a knowing brow.

The sigh that escapes you is full of embarrassment and nerves. 

“I don’t want to talk about it-”

“About the fact that we slept together or that your dad is an abusive drunk?”

“Jack.” 

“Either topic is up for debate.” His lips rise slightly and you can’t help but shake your head at his persistence. 

“I want to forget it ever happened. All of it.”

It’s silent for a moment and at his lack of response you turn your head to look at him. 

His words are quiet, “If that’s really what you want, I’ll never bring it up again. But if it’s not, I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care deeply for you. In a way that I definitely shouldn’t.”

His words are a punch to the gut. A reality check.

“You do?”

He nods, “Have for a while now.” 

He reaches up to brush a rouge hair off your forehead and you lean into the touch. 

“I do too. I care about you.”

His smile is small, “I figured.”

“Was it that obvious?” You cringe. 

He shakes his head, “You’re just easy to read sometimes.”

“It’s inappropriate. Us.” You state the obvious, though you know the words are a useless feat. 

“Very.” Jack huffs a laugh.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. 

After a moment you speak up again, “Is my dad okay?”

“He will be. He needs surgery, but he’ll live.”

You nod. 

Jack runs his hand up your back, his lips meeting your head. He stands slowly, reaching down to grasp your hand. He pulls you to your feet gently. 

“You don’t have to see him, but if you want to I can go with you.”

“Thank you.”

He nods and starts back towards the automatic doors. 

“Jack.” You call. 

He turns, eyebrows raised in question. 

You step closer to him and repeat the sentiment. 

“I’ll look after you.” He squeezes your hand and moves back inside. 

He drives you home that night. And many more nights after that. Your dynamic changes. While still supportive and professional, it’s deeper and fervent- your relationship building a whole new layer of trust. You loved him and it was easy. No more glancing away or avoidant behaviors. You let Jack into every aspect of your life and he cherished it- nurtured it. 

He was everything you needed and more. You accepted each other in whole, scar tissue and all. 

[chrattho1]

bsf!chris x reader

“what took you so long?”

summary: chris is in love with you more or less,he never made a move on you though, always scared that might ruin your friendship. but now that you’re taken—he wants you even more. in your grey set that he loves so much, you come around for a movie night and he is painfully hard the moment he sees you walk in.

warnings: male masturbation, pet names(?) idk what else to put in, not proofread

a/n: this is a blurb for my bsf! chris au,find more of it here

“we’re not watching cars for the third movie night in a row chris!” you snatch the remote from his hands and settle down next to him on the bed.

too close for his liking.

dont get him wrong, being close to you only makes him happy, the way you smell, the way your hair smells and sometimes tickles his face when you move. but right now he is focused on covering the lower half of his body with the covers, to say that he has a raging boner is an understatement.

“do whatever kid, and can you move i feel nauseated by your perfume” he puts his head on the headboard, trying to act like he is not in excruciating pain.

“woah there, whats got you all riled up?” you ask, tilting your face so its closer to his.

chris’s breath hitches the moment he feels your pretty features come close to his flushed ones. your long lashes fluttering as you blink at him in question, your plump lips sitting ideally waiting for an answer, a small strand of hair falling in between your eyes—right above your nose. god you’re beautiful.

“nothing im just snacky, mind getting me some snacks from downstairs?” he asks with a sincere smile.

you nod thinking nothing suspicious of it, he does get hangry alot so this was nothing new.

you walk out the room telling him to pick a movie before you come back.

chris watches you walk out, your ass swaying in perfect sync in that soft material that sticks to you, his thoughts not helping him one bit. he quickly puts a hand under the covers,reaching his hand down to adjust himself just a little bit before you come in again. that slight friction from his hands making him bite his lips.

“okay..i got you skittles and pepsi, thank you for restocking redbull before i come, you’re the best” the comment earning you a wink from chris to which you smile, his cheeky behaviour is not-not normal to you, thats how he has always been.

you both settle on watching “how to lose a guy in 10 days” , because , well chris lost the rock-paper-scissors game.

not even halfway through the movie, you notice chris moving every few moments, shifting and stirring next to you.

“motherfucker, could you stay still for a moment im trying watch the movie!” you yell lowly at him clearly not aware of the agony he is in right now.

“my allergies are making me itchy” chris whines and speaks softly knowing you’re too focused on the movie currently to actually pay attention or listen to him.

and then he realised it. you are too distracted.

“im going to go to the bathroom” he finally decides he’s going to do something about it or else he might come in his pants just by looking at you for so long (he has been staring this entire time, ofcourse).

you nod in response watching him go up to the bathroom attached to his room.

“turn the volume up will you? i wanna hear whats happening in the movie” he says standing by the doorframe of the bathroom, his oversized hoodie kind of covering the tent in his sweats.

“i can just pause it until you come back weirdo” you shrug at him with a mouth full of skittles.

“nah, i might take a little while” he smiles at your disgusted face, watching as you turn the volume up.

he closes the bathroom door behind him and lets out a huge sigh,he looks at himself in the mirror not believing what he is about to do with you sitting right outside.

he pulls his sweats down, looking down at his boxers which have a dark patch growing on them.

he cups his dick through them, biting his lips to prevent letting out any sounds.

he strokes himself a couple of times over his boxers before pulling them down,his cock springing up—desperate for touch more than ever, his tip swollen and leaking.

his thumb spreads the bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip, making him groan softly, his hand drags from there to the base of his dick, slowly starting to pump his slick cock in his hand.

“fuck” he curses softly, thinking about you— who is in his room right now, sitting on his bed, the bed that he has imagined doing the most unimaginable things to you on.

“oh—shiiit” his strokes get faster,the contact of his hand with his dick making wet sounds, but the movie playing outside is still louder.

“chris!” he hears you call him, but he doesn’t respond, scared his voice might betray him and let out a moan.

hearing your voice only made him feel closer, closer to cumming, cumming on your face, cumming in you, cumming in your mouth, these are all the things he thinks about, that grey set stained with his release.

“fuck-f-fuck-oh—-fuck ma- im-gon” his voice breaks apart with whimpers.

“ah—shit” with that, hot, white ropes of cum spray all over his hoodie.

his legs quiver when he looks down at the mess he’s made.

he quickly gets rid of the hoodie, balls it up and throws it into the laundry basket that he started keeping in the bathroom after nick told him too, thanks nick-he thinks.

he was still wearing a black tee under so he wasn’t walking out shirtless, its not like you’ve never seen him shirtless but he wanted to be decent (?)

he cleans himself up and walks out of the bathroom in a record of 6 mins. yes .

he sat down next to you,now comfortably snuggling close.

“what took you so long? and wheres your hoodie?” you ask him,noticing that his hoodie is not on him anymore

“had some bad food for dinner last night, and the hoodie was making me hot and itchy” he smiles at you when you reply with an “ew” not questioning his response.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @nononononshahsbba @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @kier-with-a-k @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @numberonekiddie @whore4chris @chris-hallelujah @sl4ttformattsturniolo @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrisslittleslut @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @idkwhatthisis2009 @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @herewegoagain-b @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo

[xervn]

melatonin | 2

two-shot | enemies to fuckers sevika x reader

pt. 1

ao3 link

summary: the aftermath.

18+ MDNI | 3.5k words | tags; canon divergence, sevika is a little mean, reader is a brat, angst?, very light sub/dom, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, porn w/ plot-ish, no use of y/n

i rewrote this so many times, but here we are... mama i made it..

It’s not what you were expecting. It’s not how you saw things moving forward—not at all. 

Anyone would agree that you two shared a passionate night. Sevika fucked the insomnia out of you. 

So how’d she manage to make you hate her more?

When you woke up, Sevika was on her side of the room, adjusting her deep red poncho. She noticed you were awake and went straight to barking orders at you and proceeded with her thousandth attempt to get you to follow her schedule, which never worked.

It was as if last night didn't happen, and it was all a lucid, raunchy dream with deep moans you could still replay in your head. However, you woke up missing more clothes than you remembered taking off, so you knew that wasn't the case.

You decided to pass her crankiness off as stress, since it was a big day and all, but she only seemed crankier after the meeting. 

Don’t be fooled; you aced it. Your negotiating skills have always been top tier, and you’re incredibly personable, especially with good sleep on your side. You were so buddy-buddy with the Bilgewater traders, they invited you to their pub that night for drinks and karaoke. Exactly your style, a fun offer, but you declined. Declined because you were positive Sevika was going to give you congratulatory sex. Wrong. She gave you nothing but pure silence. 

You can hear hints of humor or sarcasm weaved into words, but you can’t hear any of that in silence. Was she mad at you? Jealous of you? Annoyed by you? 

It reminded you of when you first met Sevika, a time when you tried super hard to impress her, but everything you did ticked her off. You were so good at making friends with clients; total strangers, but not Sevika, even after months of trying. It hurt especially more since you had a massive crush—one everyone but her knew about; Ran still teases you about it from time to time. 

When you think back on it, you’re embarrassed. It shouldn’t have taken you a year to finally get on her case about it, but when you did, there was less judgmental silence and more words. Not the nicest words, but at least it created a semblance of balance—honesty that wasn’t outweighed by one-sided affection. But after that meeting, it was like it all reverted to square one. Silence and one-sided affection. 

That triggered you. 

So, what was it that you were expecting? Marriage? A gold medal? 

No, it was something much simpler. Kindness. The smallest amount of chivalry would’ve made you swoon, but she didn’t give you any. She continued to be the dickhead you were used to, and what did you do? 

You continued to be the dickhead she was used to, obviously. Amplified it even. There’s no such thing as being the bigger person in your dictionary. Not for this. If there’s anything you were bigger at, it was being a bigger cunt. If she was going low, you were going lower—and you stuck to it.

-

Days after the trip, you still haven’t talked to Sevika out of solidarity with yourself. Nothing but surface-level words have been exchanged between you two since that day. No witty remarks, no unnecessary teasing, no fruitless arguments. 

To be fair, there’s nothing you want to talk about. You’re too upset and ashamed. At the time, you couldn’t even discard the little dignity you had left to ask her to “help” you one last time because she factory reset you, and you slept like a baby all night. 

That is until now. Sevika’s magic has worn off, and you’re falling back into your regular routine of staying up late and getting wasted so you don’t have to watch the sunrise for a third time in a row. It wouldn’t be such a bother if you weren’t thinking about her every single night. 

Or during the day when someone says her name and the hairs on your arms stick up. Or when she’s a glance away and your body starts to think you're in a sauna. 

It was undeniable; you still have a crush. As obnoxious as the day it blossomed. You hate it. You should be hating her now more than ever, but your heart is fucking you over, and you’re sleep-deprived and pent up on top of it.

You’ve found yourself fantasizing about and craving a woman that has most likely moved on. It’s pathetic, and it shows you have no backbone, meaning it’s only a matter of time before you do something you will regret forever. 

You couldn’t back down, not after your dramatic promise to yourself that you weren’t going to let her play you again. 

Thankfully, fate graced you with an opportunity to redeem yourself. Silco put you on another short trip back to the port city, and he assigned Sevika to accompany you—expecting her to, since he didn’t bother to call her to his office because of how often you work together.

That meant the ball was in your court, so you did something neither you nor Sevika had ever had the guts to do.

You protested. 

Well, you lied. You told him that Sevika didn’t want to work with you anymore and that it’d be better for you to go with someone else. It’s probably not far from the truth anyway, but honestly, you thought he’d give you a speech about life or ask you to tell her to get over it. Maybe even a ‘fuck off,’ but instead he said, “Very well,” and shooed you out of his office. 

So now you’re at a loss because you didn’t think that far ahead. You didn’t really give it much thought at all and figured, realistically, both of you should be happy in the end. You knew it meant you’d see Sevika less, but you managed to convince yourself you were fine with it; that it was for the best.

“It’s probably the best decision I’ve ever made,” you tell Ran, who’s fiddling with the straw in their drink as they listen to you talk. Laughter, drinks clinking, and jukebox music makes for good background noise. “I’m just shocked, y’know? If I knew he’d accept it so quickly, I would’ve asked earlier.” You laugh half-heartedly. 

Ran twirls around the straw in their cup. “Didn’t I tell you it was that easy?”

You freeze. “Yes, but…”

“You still wanted to work with her.” They grin, going in for a sip.

“No! I genuinely thought he’d be against it.." You grumble.

“Right, right… Well, it’s good news then. You should be happy. Maybe we’ll be assigned together.”

Your eyes light up at the possibility. “That’d be great! There’s this pub I wanted to go to, but…“ You trail off when the bar goes incredibly quiet. There are a few whispers here and there, some more frantic than the others.

Loud, heavy footsteps pound against the wooden flooring, and you notice the pace picking up as the sound travels closer to you. 

You’re not allowing yourself to get ambushed at a time like this, so you turn, and, great heavens, there’s Sevika. 

Your chest, down to your stomach, twists uncomfortably. You’re surprised to see her, and she looks irritated to see you. Her face is plain, but there’s still a prominent frown on her lips.. 

“You.” 

You look around, pretending you’re not sure who she targeted that towards. By now, the bar has resumed its chatter, but Ran has moved three seats down. They give you a little finger wave before turning to the bartender. 

You slowly look up at Sevika, pointing to yourself, “Me?” You question jokingly.

“Get up; let’s go.” She gestures for you to start moving.

You laugh sarcastically, turning away from her on your stool. “Fuck off.” 

A large hand lands on your bicep and pulls. You stagger backwards and onto your feet before you fall over. “What the f—? Let go of me!” 

Sevika says nothing and makes her way to the back of the building, forcing you to walk haphazardly through chairs and tables. Your face warms and contorts in embarrassment, given you’re being dragged to who knows where like you’re a misbehaving toddler. 

You begrudgingly follow along, not that you had much of a choice, and she stops in front of a supply closet. 

“Open it.” She commands monotonously.

You don’t know why, but you do it; you open it. You don’t even question it, and you deserve it when she shoves you in there. 

Her mechanical arm whirs as you stumble in, and it makes a short appearance to slam the door behind herself. Then everything turns blurry in a flash, and your back is suddenly hitting the door. 

“What did you do?” She asks through her teeth.

You try to yank your arm free, but she doesn’t budge. “What did I do? Why are you so angry? Can you fucking let me go?!”

“What did you tell Silco?”

Your heart drops, and your expression must’ve shown it because Sevika groans. You interject, “I told him what you couldn’t.”

“And what is that?”

“You don’t want to work with me.”

Sevika looks at the ceiling for strength, shutting her eyes. She takes a deep breath in. “When did I ever say that?” 

“You don’t have to; I can read it off you.” 

Sevika’s eyes suddenly meet yours, and you flinch. “Yeah? What are you reading now?”

You frantically search, and you stutter, “You’re—you’re pissed?”

“Yes, I’m fucking pissed, Einstein. Did I ask you to make decisions for me?” 

God, you have no idea why she’s so mad about it. Your breathing is picking up, and you don’t know if it’s because of conflict or the fact she hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like ages. “No, but you can stop acting like you’ve never wanted to.” 

“Why do you care? If I wanted to, I would.” She states.

“Sure. You must’ve loved working with Jinx then, huh?”

Sevika looks away to sigh loudly. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“Isn’t it? You don’t like me either—“

“What is your problem? Why don’t you just admit that it’s you who doesn’t want to work with me? It’s you who doesn’t like me.” She spits. Her jaw clenches as she calms down. “I’m ‘difficult’ now because of you. I’d like one day—one week—without Silco complaining when I’m doing my best.” She sighs.

Your mind goes blank. “I’m—I didn’t know he’d say that… He seemed okay with it, and I didn’t know you’d be upset.” You utter, completely guilt-ridden.

“I swear—you only think about yourself. Fuck everyone else living, right?”

“What? No, I didn’t…”

“Didn’t think? Do you think?” She exasperates.

It works, and you huff. “I thought you would be jumping for joy. Why aren’t you fucking ecstatic?” You ask angrily.

“Nothing about this is good for me. Or you. Unless you think Dustin can protect you.” She scoffs.

“Dustin? Well… well…” You didn’t think about that. 

You abandon the sentence. “You can be mad, but not this mad. I should be this mad. We did things together. Things you don’t try to forget about, and that’s what you—looked like you did.” You say, correcting yourself because you’ve learned your lesson from assuming things. 

Sevika looks heavily perplexed. “You’re the one who stopped talking to me.”

“No, actually, you are. Not to mention your first words to me the morning after we fucked were, ‘You have twenty minutes.’”

“You had twenty minutes. Did you want a ‘good morning, baby’ first?” She scoffs, shaking her head.

Your stomach does a somersault. “I don’t know.” 

Sevika pauses, making what feels like judgy eye contact with you. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that you acted like nothing happened and went straight to being bossy.”

“Huh. I thought you liked that.” She replies, and there’s something in the way she said it that makes your legs falter.

“When did I ever—“ The air changed, you notice. “When did I ever like that…?” 

Sevika studies your face for a few seconds. The silence is unnerving. It’s like time slowed, because you have no idea when she’ll speak or what she’ll say. “Somewhere between you moaning my name and cumming on my fingers.” She bluntly states.

You choke on your spit, coughing. There were a million different ways that could’ve gone. Most of them sounded like that, but it still caught you off guard.

“What? You said I forgot about it. I’m trying to jog up my memory,” she teases.

You frown, but it comes off as endearing, so much so it makes Sevika awe. “Don’t you want me to remember? I’m remembering.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you acted no different from the day before, and you never, y’know, came to me again after that either.” 

Then regret starts rushing in. You used to curse your friends out when they got back with their shitty situationships. You know what it feels like now. You can’t believe you alluded to sex, let alone wanting it at a time like this, but she did it first, to be fair.

You two stare at each other for several beats. 

“Came to you?” A smile begins to form on Sevika’s lips.

You shake your head, as unconcerned as you can make it. “Shut up. Forget I said anything.“

Her head tilts slightly. She looks you up and down. “I don’t think I will.” 

You exhale loudly, "I'm so serious."

"No, really, tell me what you meant by that. "

"You know exactly what I meant."

She perks an eyebrow at you, and you roll your eyes in response. She huffs out a laugh.

Sevika swivels you around so you’re facing the door, so fast you have to catch yourself with both hands so you don’t face-plant into it. "What are you—!"

Her flesh hand slides across your waist, and then she suddenly jerks you towards her, making you bend over just enough for you to poke out.

In contrast to how she was manhandling you before, she slowly presses herself against your ass but makes sure to hold her place firmly, like she was planning on leaving a print there, rolling her hips into you as if she doesn’t wanna miss a spot. 

Leaning over you, she whispers, “This is what you wanted, right?” So close to your ear, you can feel her words brushing against it. Your whole body shudders, and all your sexual frustration starts to unravel.

You peer back at her with a glare that’s too clouded with lust to be intimidating. “You’re so full of yourself.” 

“You love it,” She replies, so surely, because you haven’t noticed how desperately you’ve been backing into her, chasing the sliver of friction she gave you a moment ago. She drifts her hand towards your front, and between the legs you immediately begin parting for her. "But I could stop..."

"Don't." You interrupt. You don't have to see her to know she's got on an egotistical grin.

Four fingers feel down your covered cunt, then back up, lingering at your clit with purpose. Your thighs threaten to close around Sevika’s hand, and you pathetically whine out her name. 

She hums questioningly, knowing she wasn’t getting an answer from you. She finds the waistband of your pants, shoving her hand underneath, panties and all. The warm heat and slickness of your wetness meet her palm. “You really love it.”

You inhale sharply, placing your forehead against the door. “ I hate you...”

She laughs darkly, and her fingers part meticulously over your folds, massaging your clit between her fingers. “Is that what we’re doing? I 'hate' you too,” she says, “I’ll show you.”

You moan at that, and Sevika harmonizes. You don’t feel an ounce of shame. All your self-respect left when you opened the door. “Please.” 

Sevika's finger presses against your entrance teasingly. It doesn’t take much longer before she slides two fingers in you; her middle and ring, and scissors them in you so you adjust to the size of them properly. You groan, muffling yourself into the back of your hand. The heel of her palm is so close, yet so far from your clit, and you still need it there. 

It was as if she read your mind. Sevika brings her hand closer, and her fingers curl in you as a result. They slowly straighten out, then curl again, straighten out, curl in, and now she’s restlessly fucking her fingers into you while you needily hump into the palm of her big, scarred hand. All that movement makes it messy, but messy feels so good. 

So much heavy breathing and pitchy whines. You’re trying your hardest not to make noise, but all your best attempts are strained and guttural. It drives Sevika insane. They’re better than she remembered. “Stop trying. Let them hear how much you hate me.” She murmurs against you.

You lightly shake your head, refusing to do something so mortifying yet so fucking hot—in theory. Until cold metal fingers appear under your jaw. “C’mon, baby, please?” She coos.

There’s the first crack in your metaphorical dam. Your legs start wobbling. “Fuck—I h—hate you.” You pant out, not entirely because she asked you to; you were a little upset with how well she threw that pet name in there. 

It makes her chuckle. “You said I never ’came to you,’ but I’ll tell you a little secret,” she says, breath staggering from her constant movement, “I came to the thought of your fucked-out face last night,” she confesses. You sob out her name, and she soothes it with a full kiss on your cheek; so unexpected, you can feel your heart lurch forward. “And the day before, and the day before that, and—you get it, yeah? I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”  

You’re getting closer; pussy tensing, and your heart is racing. So much to process in such little time. “… I missed you.” You breathlessly whisper. You missed her tangents, her nagging, and the dumb fucking arguments. You missed her; it was true, and you admitted it to her before you admitted it to yourself.

“Did you?” She asks softly. You can tell she’s really wondering. Her fingers still haven’t slowed down a bit, however.

“Mhmm—shit—wait.” You’re on the brink of undoing, and you don’t know if you can speak any further.

Sevika presses herself closer to you. “Tell me one more time.” She gruffly demands, like it was a need. It may as well be.

Your anticipated orgasm fills up to the brim; your eyes press shut. “I m—I missed you so,” you come; your moans are barely controllable, and your hips are stuttering against her hand, “s—ugh—much, Sev...”

Sevika’s mech hand turns your face towards her, and your heavy eyes momentarily widen when her lips meet yours in a fervent kiss. She removes her fingers from you, and when you cry at the loss, she slides her tongue across yours—that shuts you up real quick. She leaves her hand there, just so you can grind out your orgasm a little longer. 

Sevika stopped letting her brain control her; she wasn't going to let it get in the way of this. She's been dreaming about kissing you since she realized it was an option.

You didn’t know how badly you needed to kiss her. You weren’t sure you’d ever, but with how perfectly her lips feel on yours, this can’t be the last time. You really hope it’s not the last time.

But you pull away. “What is this...?” You ask shakily, trying to catch your breath.

Sevika’s eyes keep flickering to your kiss swollen lips, clearly drunk on them; she doesn’t understand what you’re saying yet. “What’s what?”

“This. What are we doing? Is it just—just sex like you said it was?”

Sevika zones back in, and there’s a lump in her throat. She can’t say she never said that, because she did. She swallows hard, retracting her hand from between your thighs, and gently turns you around so you’re facing her. 

She says your name, “It has never been ‘just sex.’ It would never be that with you.”

You try to assess the validity of that, staring at her doubtingly. “You ignored me the entire day after.” You mention.

Sevika’s face warms up, and she looks to the side. “I got jealous.”

Your brows furrow. “Of what?”

“You were so friendly with those Bilgewater folks, and it pissed me off,” she grumbles. “Then I got frustrated with myself, because I’m the reason you hate me. At the time, it made sense to go back to how it was before,” she exhales sadly, “I’m sorry.”

You awkwardly play with your hands. Sevika frowns, hoping you say something soon. “The reason why I stopped talking to you wasn’t because I hate you; I thought you did, so I... I don't know what to say other than I’m incredibly petty and childish. I’m sorry—and I shouldn’t have said anything to Silco either.” 

“I wouldn’t let you go without me anyways.” She looks so serious when she says that, but you can’t help but giggle. It’s going to take a while for you guys to get through all your apologies properly, but this is a good start.

“I do prefer you, so...” You add, smiling up at her coyly.

She has a grin—the big win kind—and you gravitate towards her for a kiss, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. It’s much gentler and warmer than the first time. You’re sure there’ll be more where that came from. 

—

“Ran, hey.” You take a seat by them, wanting to wrap things up before you go. Quickly too, since Sevika is waiting.

“Hey,” they reply, eyeing you oddly, “I went to check on you earlier; make sure Sevika wasn’t dismembering you or something, but it sounded super scary in there, like you really hated her, so I ran away…” They pretend to cower in fear before sputtering out a laugh.

“Alright then. Goodnight.” You silently get up and start walking out. Ran’s laughter doubles.