#this started out as a joke but then I went all in with the feels WHOOPSIE

[luna-azzurra]

Story Starters #2

“I’m Fine” Starters (for characters who are breaking but hiding it behind practiced smiles and default sarcasm)

✧ I’m fine. I mean, sure, I haven’t slept in three days and my thoughts sound like static, but yeah, I’m great. ✧ It’s easier to make jokes about the chaos than to admit how much of it is mine. ✧ Every time someone asks how I’m doing, I lie a little more convincingly. ✧ I can’t tell if I’ve gotten stronger or if I’ve just gotten better at pretending. ✧ I cried in the bathroom stall and came back out with a joke ready. No one noticed the red eyes. They laughed. ✧ I tell people I’m tired. It’s easier than saying I can’t remember the last time I felt okay. ✧ I’m the go-to friend for advice. No one ever asks if I’m surviving. ✧ I don’t know what scares me more—someone noticing or no one ever noticing at all. ✧ I’ve built this version of myself that everyone seems to love. The only problem? I don’t recognize them anymore. ✧ Smiling is just muscle memory now. I wish it meant something.

 Enemies Softening Starters (for when hate starts turning into understanding, and understanding starts burning a little too sweet)

✧ I used to hate the way they looked at me. Now I hate how much I want them to do it again. ✧ We don’t talk about the moment our hands brushed. But we haven’t stopped thinking about it either. ✧ There’s still tension when we speak—but now it’s the kind that makes my stomach flip, not clench. ✧ I catch myself defending them when they’re not around. I don’t know when that started. ✧ I know I’m supposed to hate them. I just don’t remember why as clearly anymore. ✧ They’re still annoying. Arrogant. Impossible. And I think about them way too often. ✧ When they’re angry, I find myself watching too closely. Like I want to understand the fire, not put it out. ✧ We bicker the way fire crackles, dangerous, but kind of addictive. ✧ They’re the last person I should trust. And yet, when things went bad… they were the only one who showed up. ✧ It’s not that I want to kiss them. It’s just… I wouldn’t dodge if they tried.

“I Thought I Was Over It” Starters (for characters who swore they’d moved on—until the memory hits like a bruise)

✧ I saw them across the room and it felt like a ghost walked through me. ✧ I thought the ache had gone. But one song, and suddenly I was seventeen again, heart cracked wide open. ✧ I can say their name without flinching now. But thinking about them still feels like biting into something bitter. ✧ I told myself I healed. But then I saw that smile—our smile—and all the old hurt came flooding back. ✧ I let them go. I did. I just didn’t expect to still miss them when it rains. ✧ I don’t want them back. I just want to know if they still remember me too. ✧ I laughed when I saw their name. That sharp, bitter kind of laugh that tastes too much like grief. ✧ There are people I’ve loved since. But none of them cracked me open the way they did. ✧ I found our old photo and couldn’t throw it out. I just… moved it to a drawer. ✧ Healing isn’t linear. Some days, I forget them. Some days, I remember everything.

[poisonofthepaint]

total control

after a wild shift, you head back to jack's apartment to hang out like you usually do, but today, something feels different. inspired on the song total control by djo :)

cw: age gap, lots of exposition, kissing, dryhumping briefly, fingering, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, honey,), jack calls reader young lady in a nonsexual way, jack is an old man and it shows, dom!jack, sub!reader, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 3.8k

It wasn’t completely unusual to go back to Jack’s apartment with him after a shift. It had become a habit after the PittFest casualty. You had been put in the red zone with Robby, Abbot, and Samira, and you and Jack had hit it off immediately. You flowed together so easily, it made you switch to night shift. The way he taught was more attuned to you than the way Robby taught. All excitement, all thrills, unconventional medicine, doing stuff you probably weren’t exactly ready for, but Jack was standing beside you the whole time. It wasn’t that exciting surgical stuff didn’t happen on the day shift, because it definitely did. But, when your mentor doesn’t have the boss breathing down his neck every hour, you can get away with a few more things. Jack let you do procedures that you had once believed you would only ever read about. Anytime there was something interesting going on, he’d pull you from the bedside of a patient just so you could perform it.  Ellis joked that he was playing favorites, but he didn’t seem to care.

The first night shift you worked after PittFest, he had let you do a REBOA. The patient had fallen onto a wooden fence after a night of drinking, and he came in with the piece of wood still inserted right next to his pelvis. Jack stood at your shoulder, carefully walking you through everything. How to remove the wood, where to place the balloon, how much to fill it up. He described everything that was happening while you performed it. He was huddled behind you, almost whispering it into your ear. To say Walsh was pissed was an understatement, but after that? You never wanted to work while the sun was out again.

Despite the age gap, it had slowly divulged into a friendship rather than a mentorship. Jack was really, really fucking funny. He had always seemed like a hard ass to you when you saw him for the brief transitions from night to day, but on his shift, he was a lot looser, less tense. There had been times you had to step away to gather yourself. It was mostly that he didn’t bullshit people. He once told a disorderly patient that he was going to give him a spanking if he didn’t stop being a jackass to the nurses, and you thought you were going to die. 

You started hanging out after your third week. At first, you would just go out to a diner after. A lot of time all you wanted after a shift was sugar, and you knew the waitress at the small joint. She would fire up the milkshake machine for you, even though it was seven in the morning. Jack gave you shit for it, but you didn’t care. He was more simple, just some scrambled eggs and sausage, maybe a black coffee if it was an especially difficult shift, and he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.

But, you two were drawn together, it was a nice friendship. You trusted him to tell you what to do, and he trusted you to listen. And that was that.

The first time you went to his apartment, you were shocked by how empty it was. He was a simple man, to say the least. A recliner, a nice couch, a huge, mounted flatscreen, and a framed photo of some of his army buddies. Eventually, you convinced him to get a small, fake plant for the corner. He told you no at first, saying he didn’t need decorations, but the next time you came over, you saw a big, fake Monstera in the corner. He mumbled a quick, don’t even say anything, and you kept your mouth shut. 

Hanging out with Jack after work in his apartment made you feel like a guy. He would hand you a beer some days, and turn on the TV. He watched old man shit, like Gold Rush, or American Pickers. You realized this was his equivalent to doomscrolling. It was his way to turn off his brain. At first, you found the hangout a bit strange. But then, you also realized that he probably didn’t know how to hang out with a woman half his age, so he just treated you like he would any of his guy friends, which you found inexplicably endearing. You would hang out for a few hours, talk about the shift, and then head home. 

But today was different. Today, you felt the tension between you two. For the first time, you realized, oh, I might actually like this guy. Not in the friend way, not in the mentor way, but in a crush way. Usually, after a shitty full moon shift, you just wanted to be alone, but not today. All you wanted to do was watch American Pickers, drink his beer– well, drink the type of beer that you liked, that he had started buying for you– and sink into his couch. You realized, you didn’t just want company after this shift, you wanted Jack.

You push off the feeling as you exit the hospital together. Jack doesn’t live far, a fifteen minute walk down the street. It was nice out today, the sun shines down on you, it makes the top of your head feel hot. After the horrible winter, it felt really nice to see the big star again. You let out a content sigh.

“Sometimes I think the sun fixes everything.” you say, the vitamin D seeping into your skin. 

“Why the hell are you on night shift then, kid?”

“Dumb question. Because if I work the day shift, then I can’t be outside while the sun is shining, duh.”

He opens his mouth in a dramatic way, raising his eyebrows, “Wow, you finally made a good point.”

You scoff at him, “Oh, c’mon,”

He looks over at you and gives you a small smirk. Like he knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he does.

“I cannot believe how many people were in tonight with dumb shit. Like, how do you even get a whole wine glass stuck in your foot? Literally, how is that possible?”

Jack shakes his head, “I used to think the full moon shit was a joke, but I don’t know anymore.”

The rest of the walk is quiet. You hadn’t even discussed going back to his apartment, it was just part of routine now. 

When you reach the door, he unlocks it, and swings it open, heading to the fridge first to grab the two cans. 

He settles into his recliner, and you go to your spot on the couch. You notice he folded the blanket you always use. You lay it across your body, and it smells, clean? Like fresh cotton.

“Did you wash this?”

“Yeah, you’re gross after your shift, didn’t want it on my couch.”

You scoff again, appalled at his truthful statement. “You’re one to talk, old man.”

“Old man?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ll tell Robby to put you on day shift if you keep talking like that, young lady.”

You don’t want to admit that the nickname makes your face feel hot, “God, please no, I cannot deal with Gloria.”

He huffs out a laugh, the TV is playing low in the background, the volume almost completely mute. 

“Could you imagine if she saw how we dealt with that patient in chairs?”

“I think we would have to get the crash cart for her.”

He laughs again, and you both settle into silence. You want to talk more, you want to ask him if he feels this too– the pull to each other, like the moon and the tides. But you don’t know how far to push it. You want to do something about this crush, you don’t want to shove it down and let it get worse, and then really have to go back to day shift. But, you’re unsure how Jack feels, if he thinks of you that way, or if he just thinks of you as a young lady, as he put it. 

After a while, when you’re almost drifting into a soft sleep, Jack speaks, “Hey, when that teen came in, and needed to be intubated, you didn’t start until I told you to, why?”

While Jack didn’t bullshit patients, he also didn’t bullshit you. He didn’t believe in biting his tongue, in letting things slide, if he wanted to know something; he asked.

“I don’t know, it’s complicated, and weird.” You didn’t want to admit the truth to yourself, much less to your boss.

“What’s complicated? You’ve done a million intubations. What stopped you?”

“Sometimes I feel, um–” You sneak a look at him and he’s already looking at you, his hands locked on top of his head. You notice his biceps bulging through the t-shirt he’s wearing, and it makes your throat feel dry. You reach for the beer, and take a long sip, needing some liquid courage. “Sometimes, I feel like I can’t do something unless there’s someone guiding me through it. I think that’s why I like learning from you so much. You’re always right behind me, telling me what to do. I know that I know how to intubate, but I’m used to being— told by you, I guess.”

He nods, a signal for you to keep talking. You’re sitting criss-cross now, body facing him. You stare straight down at your hands, twisting your fingers together in anxiousness. 

“I just like to be guided sometimes. Maybe that makes me a bad EM specialist.” You leave out the part where Jack is really the only person you want to tell you what to do. If anyone else had told you to intubate when it was obvious to, you would’ve shot daggers through them. You feel the sudden urge to defend yourself, “I would know what to do if you weren’t there, I really would.”

“I know, that’s why it shocked me that you didn’t start.” Jack says, sitting forward a bit, “It doesn’t make you a bad EM specialist. You’re only in the second year of your residency anyway, you shouldn’t be doing everything by yourself.”

You nod, trusting what he says. “Is that weird?”

“No,” he says, and you swear you see his jaw tick. “No, it’s normal to want to be guided.”

“You’re very good at it.” you blurt out. “At guiding– teaching. I always just want to follow your lead, and do what you tell me.” You laugh; shake your head. “Sorry, I think I’m being weird. Maybe it’s the full moon.”

“Not weird, kid. I’d tell you if it was.” Jack gets up from the recliner and comes and sits next to you. “Can I ask you something else?”

You nod, and he doesn’t talk. He lowers his head so you can see him out of the top of your eyelids. You realize he wants you to look at him, so you do. “It’s your turn to tell me if I’m being weird, okay?”

You don’t move a muscle. Like you might scare him away.

“Does that translate to anywhere else in your life?”

“How do you mean?” You think you know, but you want to be sure.

He tilts his head in a quick flick, like he thinks you’re being obtuse on purpose. “In your personal life, y’like to be told what to do? Like to be— guided?”

“I think.” your voice is as low as the television. “I’ve never really done it, though. Never done it, like that, I mean.”

“You’ve never done it?” He has a small smirk on his face.

You groan and dramatically fall back on the couch, hands covering your face. “Yes, Dr. Abbot, I have done it.” You say, muffled, from the palms pressing into your mouth. 

You sit back up. “Just not in the way you’re asking.” 

“Yeah, because the people you’ve been with don’t know jack shit. I clocked it the first time we worked together, during PittFest.”

“I am not that easy to read.” You say it like it’s a fact.

“I hate to break it to you, honey, but you are.” He places a hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing deep circles, and you think you might combust right there, on his couch. “You followed me the whole night. Not a bad thing, it was nice knowing you were right there, ready to follow, to assist.” 

His words are going in one ear and out the other, all you can focus on is his hand on you. 

“Hey, you with me?” He inquires; reading you again. “I want to make sure this is okay, I can stop right now, and we can act like it never happened, okay?” 

“Yes, it’s okay. More than okay.” You nod, locking eyes with him, so he knows.

“I want to treat you right. I want to turn your brain off, so you aren’t thinking about anything but me. Following my orders, doing exactly what I say. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” 

That’s all it takes for Jack to kiss you. 

He isn’t gentle with it. He kisses you hard, like he’s been waiting years to do it, despite only knowing you for a few months. You have trouble catching up at first. It’s true what you told him, that no one else seems to know how to treat you. It’s not that your other partners were necessarily bad, they just couldn’t read you like Jack can. No one else is able to.

He pushes you gently back onto the couch until you lay flat. His chest presses against yours and it’s comforting, like a weighted blanket. You try not to wriggle your hips too much, not wanting to jump too far ahead, but you can’t help yourself, they press up into his growing bulge and he groans into your mouth. He winds down on you quickly to meet you halfway, the lower halves of your bodies mold together. The friction it’s creating makes you think you could come just like this. It’s all so hot. There’s no other way to describe it. 

Jack groans again, this time in dissatisfaction. His hand comes down fast between your bodies to press you back into the couch, his thumb digs into the spot of skin right next to your hip and you whine, the pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

“Not yet, honey.” His tone of voice is a lot kinder than the cruel hand pressing you down.

You feel like you’re in a club with the way your heart is thumping, you can’t help but count the beats of it, taking your own pulse into account. Jack moves away from your mouth to your neck, sloppily trailing kisses all the way down. You can’t believe that you were so close to sleep a few minutes ago, now you feel like you’re running a marathon. 

He gets off of you, fully stands up. You’re out of breath, you try to make a noise of protest but nothing comes out, you stare at the ceiling for a second until he clears his throat.

“Are you sure–”

You jerk your head to look at him, “If you ask me if I want it again, I’m gonna scream.” Jack lets out a low laugh. “I’m just regaining my sanity.” you express.

“The whole point of this is you won’t have any sanity left. C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom.”

You stand and follow him back, you realize you’ve never seen his bedroom until now, and it’s the same as the rest of the apartment. Plain, minimalistic. He has black sheets with a white comforter, and his bed is made perfectly, probably a habit from serving.

You stand awkwardly in front of the bed, twisting your hands in front of you.

“Nervous?” 

You hum in response, keeping your eyes on him.

“You know me, it’s the same as working. Just follow me, do what I tell you, yeah? Just be a good girl.”

The praise goes straight to your legs and you feel your knees wobble a bit.

“Take this off for me.” He tugs on your shirt, “And these too, while you’re at it.” He puts his pointer finger into the top of your pants and swipes in across your stomach, the digit edging on the top of your underwear. If you knew this was going to happen, you might’ve tried to wear better undergarments, but this felt better, in a way; more natural. You knew you didn’t have to play it up for Jack. It was nice that he didn’t need all the fuss, he just needed you.

Obviously, you do what he says, stripping the shirt and pants off. You take your bra off too, letting it fall onto his floor. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head at the sight of your chest. “So beautiful.” Jack says, mostly to himself.

He walks towards you, until his body is pushing you back onto the bed. You sit instead of lay down, eyes staring straight into Jack’s. Sometimes his eye contact intimidated you, but not today, you wanted to catch every slight movement, every small inclination of what to do. His eyes shoot up to the top of the bed and then back at you, and you move yourself up until your head rests on his pillows. You feel loose, like your body has water running through your veins instead of blood. You feel like your limbs have connected to Jack’s mind, ready to do whatever he asks. Your brain feels a bit fuzzy, and all you register is that he’s climbed on top of you again, his eyes staring holes into yours. His shirt is off now, but he keeps his pants on. The vein on his bicep is prominent and it makes your mouth water. 

He places his hands on the sides of your head. His lips ghost over yours, but he pulls away when you reach up to catch them. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to have you like this. I see how you are with Shen instead of me, how cocky you are, how independent you are. But anytime we’re on a case together, I know you’ll follow my lead. It’s not just about guiding, huh? It’s about me.”

You swallow harshly, knowing he’s right. Knowing that you’re independent when he’s not the one in charge of you. 

“It drives me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Knowing that you only get this docile for me.” One of his hands starts trailing down your body, tracing your curves before it flows to the middle of your stomach. He rests his palm right on top of where you need him most, pressing gently. Your brows furrow, and he smirks. 

He pulls your underwear off with one hand, and you lift your hips to help him. Once they're off, he slips a finger through your folds, feeling the wetness. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head, eyes still locked to yours.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard that there won’t be anything on your brain after, okay?”

“With your fingers?”

“Is that doubt I hear?”

“No!” You protest. “Sorry, just— usually people care about themselves.”

“I’m not like other people, baby.” He makes a ‘tick’ noise with his tongue. “Thought I made that clear.”

That’s the last thing you hear before he stuffs two fingers in you. His mouth falls open at the same time that yours does. You throw your head back in pleasure, and your hand flies up to grip his arm. Your body writhes below you, like you’re chasing his fingers, making sure they won't stop.

“There you go, just like that.” he says, low, into your ear. “Tell me what you like about this. About us.”

You moan, trying to push out the words through the noises that involuntarily leave your mouth. “I like that you know I want you to take control. I like that you’ll always go to the diner with me, or let me come over when I have a bad shift, even when I can tell you want to be alone.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“I like that you call me sweetheart. Even before this, it’s always made me–god– always made me mad when other people did it. But it’s not condescending from you. I like how you look out for me at work. You can tell when I need a break before I do. I like how your fingers feel inside of me. I like when you take control.”

You pant, the ramblings taking the air out of you. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg and it makes you feel even hotter. Your orgasm is creeping up on you, your stomach tightening into a coil before you know it.

Jack moves quickly, so that he’s sitting on his knees. You wonder briefly if it hurts him to sit like that, but the thought leaves your brain when he brings his other hand onto your clit.

“Jesus Christ, Oh—”

“Not him, all me.” Jack says, cockily. You huff out a laugh before it’s taken over by another moan.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes, please Jack.”

“God, you sound so good moaning my name. You’re fucking perfect.”

He picks up the pace, and you can feel the pressure building up behind your clit, your all familiar tell that you’re about to finish.

“Please, I need to come, please.”

“Asking so nicely. Of course you can, Go ahead.”

You preen; zero in on the feeling of your orgasm and let it wash over you. 

“There y’go. Yeah, just like that.” His words barely register in your head. 

It takes you a while to come back down, your brain still a bit fuzzy when you do.

“Good?” Jack asks once you’ve regained your breathing.

“Good.” You answer.

He makes you go to the bathroom before you get too comfortable in bed.

When you lay back down, your head falls harshly on the pillows, your body bouncing the bed lightly. He moves up next to you so that his head is on the headboard. He’s stripped out of his pants now, just his boxers on. He took the prosthetic limb off too, so that he could be more comfortable. He opens his arm and you scoot over to lay your head on his chest. He kisses your forehead, in a soft way. In a way that tells you this will happen again, that it wasn’t a fluke.

“Another question.” He says, softly, just loud enough to stir you from the sleep that was trying to take over your body again.

“Mm?” you reply.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I think I always have, but last night was the first time that it was really obvious to me. You?”

“Yeah, same, actually. It was always in the back of my head but, wasn’t sure how to make it real until today.”

“Must’ve been that full moon.” you say, groggily.

He pets your head and laughs, “Yeah, must’ve.”

[alohajix]

𝐍𝐨 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Description: friends don’t kiss like that… and they definitely don’t spend the night tangled up in each other, learning what it sounds like when years of tension finally snap. But here you are. In his bed. Breathless. Wrecked. His hands shaking on your skin like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And you both know—there’s no going back now.

Warnings: smut, pining, begging, creampie mention, friends to lovers, feelings finally surfacing.

Word count: 6,090.

author note: hopefully you’ll love this one; I had a writer’s block trying to finish this one up 🥺

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

It's the same Friday night ritual you've fallen into for years now—predictable in a way that should feel boring by now, but somehow never does. You don't remember when exactly it became your thing, but you know it started sometime after his last relationship went up in flames. Somewhere between his dry, sarcastic text—"bring snacks or don't bother showing up"—and the way he always leaves the door unlocked when he knows it's you coming over. You don't knock anymore. Haven't in ages. You just toe off your shoes by muscle memory, drop your bag on the little hook by the door he hung there for you a year ago, and slip into your usual spot on his couch like it's second nature. It is, really.

Tonight's no different. The air smells like leftover pizza and the two cheap beers you grabbed from his fridge on your way in. You're half-curled under one of his worn-out throw blankets, your legs stretched long across the couch, your bare feet pressing into his thigh like they always do. He doesn't even flinch when you do it anymore. Just rests his warm palm on your shin absentmindedly like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's reckless, really, how easy this all is. How dangerous it feels sometimes when he doesn't pull away.

The TV's playing something you've both seen a thousand times—something neither of you are really paying attention to. The real entertainment, like always, is the stupid conversation unraveling between sips of cheap beer and leftover takeout. He makes a joke about your taste in men, you roll your eyes and throw one right back at him. The back-and-forth feels sharper tonight though, like you're both playing closer to some invisible line neither of you have dared to cross. Not really.

You don't know what makes you say it. Maybe it's the second beer loosening your tongue, or maybe it's the way his laugh curls in your stomach when you throw your head back against the cushion and groan dramatically. You mock the high-pitched whine one of his exes once made you promise not to bring up again. You pitch your voice higher on purpose, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead in the most ridiculous overacting you can manage.

"Oh, Harry... oh my God... you're so—so loud—" you gasp, drawing the word out, clutching your chest like you're seconds away from fainting.

You expect him to laugh. That's how it always goes. You take the piss, he rolls his eyes, throws something back, and you both move on. But tonight... tonight he doesn't laugh.

Instead, he goes still. His palm on your shin tightens just a little—barely noticeable, really, if you weren't suddenly hyperaware of every inch of his skin touching yours.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, and for the first time all night, you swear the air between you crackles like something you shouldn't touch.

"You really wanna keep pushing, sweetheart?"

The words come out low. Thicker. Not playful like they should be.

And your mouth goes dry.

Because that's not the kind of thing he says to you. Not like that.

You blink, heart stuttering, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too tight. "What? I'm kidding. Relax."

But he doesn't.

He leans back a little, his arm curling casually along the back of the sofa like he's suddenly aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to pull you closer. His jaw flexes as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, like he's thinking too hard about something he shouldn't say.

And then he does.

"Maybe you should find out for yourself before you start laughing."

You freeze.

So does he.

The silence that falls between you isn't the usual kind—the one you fill with easy shrugs or dumb jokes. This one feels loaded. Heavy. Like you've both been balancing on this stupid little edge for so long you didn't even realize how close you'd gotten until you both looked down.

He swallows hard, flicking his gaze to your mouth and back up again so fast you almost think you imagined it.

You could laugh. You should laugh. That's how you survive this. You let it roll off your back, you change the subject, you make another joke and pretend you didn't hear it like that.

But you did. God, you did.

And something in your stomach twists.

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. Barely above a whisper. "What if I did?"

Harry's breath catches. You feel it more than hear it—right there where his palm is still pressed to your leg, fingers curling in slow motion like he's grounding himself. His mouth opens and closes again, like he's trying to figure out if you're fucking with him, if this is just another game.

You're not sure what kind of answer you're expecting—some dumb, cocky retort, maybe, or worse, a nervous laugh to remind you this is all one big misunderstanding. But when he finally speaks, it's nothing like that.

"Then you're gonna have to come over here and show me."

It knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

Because that's not a dare. Not a joke. Not something he can walk back if you say yes.

His hand slides a little higher on your shin, thumb dragging slow and steady like he's making sure you feel it. His gaze doesn't drop this time. Doesn't waver.

"C'mon, love. What's stoppin' you?"

You've never moved so slowly in your life. Shifting your weight, setting your half-finished beer down on the coffee table like you're moving underwater. Your heart's thundering so hard you're half-convinced he can hear it. You swing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of his hips until you're straddling him, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

And he's just... looking at you. Like you're the fucking answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask.

"Hi," you whisper, suddenly breathless, nerves crashing over you in one dizzy wave.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. His hands find your waist, curling slow and careful, as if he's terrified you'll shift back and realize this is a mistake.

"Hey."

It's the softest thing you've ever heard from him. No edge, no teasing, just quiet and wrecked and right there between you like you've already passed the point of no return.

His thumb drags along your waist, and you swear you feel his hands tremble just a little.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" he whispers, voice cracking on the last word like it's killing him to hold back.

There's a second—just one—where the fear kicks in. Not the bad kind, not really. It's more the holy-shit-what-are-we-doing kind, the one that flickers right behind your ribs like a warning bell that's come a little too late. Because this is Harry. Your Harry. The one who steals your fries without asking and makes you playlists when you're having a bad day. The one who's held your hair back when you've had too much to drink, who's let you crash in his bed more times than you can count without ever once making it weird. He's always been safe. Uncomplicated. Yours in every way that didn't require you to risk everything by leaning in and closing the gap.

But now? Now his breath fans across your cheek, his hands tense on your waist like he's waiting for you to change your mind, and you know there's no coming back from this if you do it. No pressing rewind. No laugh-it-off in the morning.

And still—you lean in.

You don't even really kiss him at first. It's slower than that. Softer. Like you're both testing the weight of the moment, hovering close enough that you could pull back if you had to. You feel his breath catch when your nose brushes his, feel the tiniest tremor run through him when your fingers curl tighter in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. His lashes flutter against your cheekbone when you tilt your head, nudging your mouth toward his. And just when you start to wonder if he's going to make you do all of it—if he's going to sit there and let you chase the whole thing all the way down—he meets you halfway.

It starts careful. Almost clumsy with how long you've both tiptoed around this. His lips part slow, brushing yours once, twice, barely there. You almost pull back to say something stupid like "was that okay?" but then—God—he makes that sound.

Low in his throat, wrecked and quiet and so fucking real it short-circuits every rational thought you have left.

You melt.

The second time you kiss him, it isn't careful at all. You tilt your head, fingers sliding up into his curls like they've always wanted to, pulling him closer, chasing that sound like it's oxygen. He groans again, louder this time, and you feel him sink under you like his whole body's giving out.

"Fuck," he breathes, muffled between kisses, hands flexing tighter on your waist. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna ruin me."

The word baby snaps something loose in your chest, like you've just unlocked a part of him you never knew you were allowed to touch.

Your breath stumbles out in a shaky laugh, your lips brushing his as you gasp, "You really are loud."

He freezes for half a second like he's about to pull back, but you barely give him the chance. You roll your hips over his, testing the friction, chasing the heat, and it punches another groan right out of him—louder, needier this time.

"Yeah?" he pants, teeth scraping your jaw as he pulls you closer, rougher, like he's trying to fuse you to him. "You like that? Huh? Wanna keep mocking me, baby? Gonna let you hear it all fuckin' night if you let me."

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

And God, you should stop. You should slow down, give yourself half a second to think this through, to figure out what the hell this means. But his mouth finds that spot under your ear that makes your whole body jolt, and suddenly you don't care about what tomorrow's going to feel like.

You rock against him again, chasing the pressure, the heat curling low in your belly. He hisses, dragging his hands up under your t-shirt like he's starving to touch you.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice cracking like he already knows you won't. "Tell me right fuckin' now if this isn't what you want."

But you don't. You can't. Not when you're already dizzy with it. Not when you've wanted this longer than you've let yourself admit.

So instead, you lean in again, brushing your mouth against his ear until you feel him shudder under you.

"I don't want you to stop."

His breath hitches, hands curling tighter like he's barely holding himself back.

"You sure?" he rasps, nose brushing along your jaw, voice so wrecked it makes your chest ache. "Tell me you mean it. Tell me this isn't just the fuckin' beer talking, baby, 'cause I swear to God—"

You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

He looks wrecked already. Like this is costing him. Like this has been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than you've even dared to hope.

And you swear something inside you snaps.

"It's not," you breathe, shaking your head as you cup his jaw in your hands. "Swear it's not."

He curses under his breath, dragging his hands down to your thighs like he's grounding himself, like he's trying to keep himself from breaking.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes screwed shut like it physically hurts to keep his hands from sliding under your shorts. "Need you to tell me what you want, baby. Please."

And it's there, on the tip of your tongue.

The thing you swore you'd never risk saying.

But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already crossed the line.

So you whisper it like a secret, like it's been sitting there in your chest for years.

"I want you."

It happens fast after that. Like the air finally snaps between you and there's no holding it back. One second you're still hovering, trembling with it, your hands on his jaw like you're terrified he's going to pull away—and the next, you feel him exhale the most broken sound you've ever heard from him, his grip tightening on your thighs like he's lost the battle with himself.

"Come here," he groans, breath hitching, voice barely holding together, and before you can even blink, he's dragging you closer—sitting up straighter, chest pressed to yours, his mouth finding yours again like he's starving.

This time, it's different. Hotter. Desperate. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no careful second-guessing. It's messy, frantic, like you've both finally stopped pretending this wasn't inevitable. His hands are everywhere—sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging across your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You gasp into his mouth, shivering when his palms flatten against your back, pulling you flush to him, your thighs tightening around his waist instinctively like you can't stand even an inch of space between you.

You swear you feel him shudder under you, like you've knocked the breath clean out of him.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, dragging his mouth across your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck that make your whole body jolt. "Feel that? Feel what you fuckin' do to me?"

You do feel it—hard and hot between your legs, pressing up through your thin shorts—and the realization knocks every ounce of breath from your lungs. You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down with more pressure this time, and you feel him stiffen, hear the sharp curse tear from his throat.

His head falls back, curls brushing the back of the sofa, and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows hard, jaw so tight you can see the effort it's taking him not to lose control right there.

"Jesus Christ, you're killin' me," he groans, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say it. Please."

You don't even hesitate. You can't. You're already shaking with it. Already soaked in it. Your voice comes out as more of a gasp than a whisper, breathless and messy against his jaw.

"Want you to touch me. Want you so bad it hurts."

The groan he lets out sounds like it physically knocks the breath out of him.

Before you can process it, he's moving. One strong arm sweeps under your thighs, the other curls tight around your back, and you let out a squeak of surprise when he stands, lifting you off the couch like you weigh nothing.

"Harry!" you gasp, clinging to him, laughing breathlessly as he stumbles toward the hallway.

"Shut up," he breathes against your neck, mouth dragging hot along your skin, "Not lettin' you go. Not now. Not ever."

You swear you feel your heart split in two right there.

By the time your back hits his mattress, you're trembling with it—skin buzzing, breath catching, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

He doesn't move for a second, just hovers over you, curls falling into his eyes, his chest heaving like he's trying to memorize every inch of you before he ruins it.

"Tell me again," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please. Need to hear you say it's not just the beer talkin', baby."

You sit up on your elbows, heart swelling so painfully full it feels like it might burst, and reach for the hem of your shirt.

"It's not," you whisper as you pull it over your head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. You're trembling a little now, but you don't stop. You meet his eyes—wide, glassy, hungry—and you nod, slow and certain. "It's me. I swear."

His eyes drop to your bare skin, and he drags his hand through his curls like he can't fucking believe this is happening.

"Jesus," he breathes, crawling over you again on his forearms like he's scared to crush you. "You're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

You barely recognize the sound you make when he kisses you again—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, like your body is short-circuiting under his hands. You've kissed him before—drunken pecks on the cheek, playful lips pressed to his jaw when he made you laugh too hard—but never like this. Never with the weight of every line you've tiptoed around collapsing all at once between your bodies.

His hands are greedy now, trembling just slightly as they trail along your sides, slipping under the curve of your ribs like he's afraid to rush, like he wants to memorize every inch of skin he's never dared to touch. He dips his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking softly at the base of your neck, and you swear your back arches off the bed all on its own.

"So fuckin' soft," he murmurs under his breath, voice low and rough and right against your skin like it's a prayer you weren't meant to hear. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your bra, hesitating just barely like he's giving you that last out.

You nod before he even asks.

"Please," you whisper, breath catching, "I want you to touch me."

He groans like you've wrecked him completely, leaning up just enough to tug the fabric over your head and toss it aside with your shirt. The moment your chest is bare to him, he just... stops. Stares. Like you're the first thing in his life that's ever left him speechless.

His palms come up slowly, reverently, cupping you like he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks too long. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your whole body jerks with the heat of it, breath spilling out in something dangerously close to a moan.

"Fuck me," he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone too fast. "You're... fuck, you're unreal."

You can't stop yourself—you hook your legs tighter around his waist, grinding up into him again, desperate to feel all of him. His breath stutters, hips jerking like he can't help himself.

And then he's moving again, dragging his mouth down your body—slow, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Down your ribs, over your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.

He looks up at you from there, lips pink and swollen, curls a mess, chest still heaving.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asks, voice so thick and wrecked it makes your stomach clench. "Wanna see all of you. Need to."

You nod so fast it almost embarrasses you, lifting your hips for him without a second thought. He drags your shorts and underwear down slow, eyes never leaving yours as he bares you completely.

The air feels electric on your skin. Too much and not enough at the same time. You feel exposed, trembling, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes you feel like you could fall apart right there and he'd hold every single piece.

He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispers, voice cracking, like it's physically painful to hold back. "Can't believe I get to touch you."

You reach for him again, curling your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he gets the message. He peels it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and when his bare chest presses to yours, skin to skin, you swear you could die from how right it feels.

"Please, Harry," you breathe, burying your face in his neck, rocking your hips up again without thinking. "Need you so bad it hurts."

He shudders, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing you slower this time—deeper, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into you.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," he whispers between kisses. "Promise. Gonna make you feel so good."

And you believe him. God, you believe him with every shaking breath you take.

You barely register the way your breath shudders in your throat when his mouth finds yours again. It's slower now. Deeper. Less frantic, more certain—like every kiss is meant to make you feel it. Like he knows you already do. His weight settles a little heavier on top of you, hips sinking between your thighs, skin hot and slick where his chest presses to yours.

You can feel him—all of him—hard and thick, pressing right where you need him, just separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath catch, makes your hips tilt up instinctively like you're chasing something you're both too far gone to slow down for.

He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist like he needs to feel closer, needs to make sure you know how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking as he drops his forehead to yours, hips rocking forward once—slow, steady—grinding into you just enough to make your whole body jolt. "Baby... I—"

He doesn't finish. Doesn't have to. You already feel him shaking above you, like he's holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

"Harry..." You can't even hear your own voice, breathless and wrecked, but you know he hears it by the way his grip tightens on your skin. "Need you. Please."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, wide green eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to memorize every single thing about you in this exact second.

"You sure?" he whispers, voice barely steady. "I don't—fuck—I don't wanna do this if you're not sure, baby."

You almost sob. "I've never been more sure of anything."

His face crumples like you've broken him, lips crashing onto yours again with so much force it steals every bit of air from your lungs. You feel his hand slide between you, pressing low over your stomach, slipping down until his fingers brush over the slick heat of you.

You let out a noise that sounds nothing like you—high and desperate, something you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't already too far gone to care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, voice shaking like he's seconds from losing control. "You're so wet, baby. All for me, yeah?"

You nod frantically, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you roll your hips into his touch.

"All for you," you whisper back, voice cracking, "Please, Harry, just—please."

He shudders so hard you feel it in your bones, his breath spilling hot and shaky over your skin as his fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit so slow you could scream.

"Gonna take my time with you," he whispers, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers first. Wanna feel you fall apart for me."

And God, the way he says it—wrecked and hungry and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted—you don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life.

You try to brace yourself. You know you should. But it's useless the second his fingers slip lower, dragging through your folds like he's already memorized every part of you. He's so gentle at first, so fucking careful, like he's afraid to hurt you or rush it. Like he's determined to make this the best thing you've ever felt.

Your body arches off the bed before you even realize you're moving, a broken moan catching in your throat when his fingers find that perfect spot again and again. It's slow, torturous, the way he circles your clit—light at first, just a tease, until your hips are chasing his touch, until you're gasping his name like you've forgotten how to say anything else.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your jaw as he keeps moving, building you higher with every slow stroke. "You're doin' so good for me. Sound so fuckin' pretty when you fall apart, you know that?"

You dig your nails into his shoulder, gripping him like he's the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You've never been this sensitive, never been this wound up, like every nerve in your body is buzzing under his touch.

You try to warn him—you really do. But the words die in your throat when he adds just a little more pressure, a little more speed, his mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck while his fingers work you open.

"C'mon, baby," he breathes, "Wanna feel you let go for me. Been dreamin' about this for fuckin' years, swear to God—"

You cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as the pressure coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, crashing over you so hard it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers, feel him groan right against your ear like he feels it too, like he's just as wrecked by it as you are.

You're still gasping, still trying to catch your breath, when he pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His lips are pink, swollen, his hair a complete mess. But it's his eyes that leave you breathless.

Wide. Shiny. Like you've just torn him to pieces and he doesn't know how to put himself back together.

"Baby," he whispers, voice breaking like it's too much, "Need to be inside you. Please. Please tell me you want that too."

You don't even hesitate. You reach for him, curling your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down until you feel him bare and hot and thick against your thigh.

You look up at him, heart in your throat, and whisper the only thing that's been sitting on your tongue since the moment this started: "I've always wanted you."

And you swear, in that split second before he sinks into you, he breaks all over again.

You feel him hesitate just for a breath—just long enough to make sure you don't change your mind. His forehead presses to yours, his nose brushing yours softly, like he's checking again without needing to ask out loud.

You slide your hands up his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and whisper the only thing you know will tip him over the edge.

"Please, Harry... I need you inside me."

The groan that rips out of him sounds almost pained. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, pulling your body up to meet him, and when you feel the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, you nearly stop breathing altogether.

He moves slow. So slow it's almost unbearable—like he's savoring every inch, dragging it out just to make you feel it. You gasp, clawing at his shoulders, your body stretching around him inch by inch until you're completely full, until there's no part of you that isn't pressed to him, surrounded by him.

"Fuck—" his voice cracks, shaking like he's seconds from losing it. "So fuckin' tight... Jesus Christ, baby, you feel... you feel like heaven."

You're trembling beneath him, breath stuttering out in little gasps you can't control. You feel stretched, full, claimed in a way that makes your head spin. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, grounding yourself against the overwhelming ache and pressure that feels like it's going to swallow you whole.

"Move," you gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, "Harry, please— need you to move."*

He groans again, low and wrecked, and finally—finally—he starts to move.

Slow at first. Barely pulling back before pressing right back in, hips rocking steady, grinding deep like he's tasting you from the inside. You cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound, but he shakes his head, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

"No," he pants, voice thick and ruined, "Let me hear you. Don't fuckin' hold back, baby. Want everyone to know how good I'm makin' you feel."

You let go of the breath you've been holding, head tipping back as a moan rips from your throat, loud and broken and real. His hips snap a little harder, a little faster, and the sound of it—skin on skin, your name falling from his lips like it's the only thing he knows how to say—makes you feel like you're coming undone all over again.

He presses his mouth to your ear, breath hot and shaking as he fucks into you harder, deeper, each stroke dragging a wrecked little whimper from your lips.

"Tell me this is mine now," he growls, voice pure filth in your ear. "Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this, baby. Ever again."

You can't think, can't breathe, can barely get the words out between gasps.

"It's yours," you choke out, clinging to him like your life depends on it. "Only you, Harry. Fuck—only you."

You don't know how he manages to keep it together. You're falling apart with every slow, deep thrust—clutching at him like you'll float away if you don't anchor yourself to his body. He's everywhere. Filling you, surrounding you, breathing you in like you're the only thing keeping him alive.

His hands frame your face like he needs to feel all of you to believe this is real. His thumbs swipe at the damp skin under your eyes, like he's trying to catch the little gasps and wrecked sounds falling from your lips. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your skin as he groans, low and breathless.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he pants, hips rocking harder now, the bed creaking with every deep push. "Could stay right here all fuckin' night, baby. Stuffed full of me... takin' every inch so good... fuck— look at you."*

His voice hits something deep in you—something raw and helpless—and your back arches off the bed like your body's chasing every word.

"You're killin' me," you gasp, barely able to hold yourself together. "Harry— please—* harder, I—fuck, I need—"*

You don't even finish. He growls, actually growls into your neck, like you've snapped whatever restraint he had left. He pulls back, grabs your hips, and slams back into you, so deep and rough you choke on a cry you can't hold in.

"Like that?" he rasps, voice shaking as his hips piston faster now, driving into you like he's making up for every second you both wasted pretending you didn't want this. "S'that what you fuckin' need, baby? You need me to ruin you properly, huh?"

You nod, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from the way he's looking at you like you're his entire fucking world.

"Yes," you whimper, breath catching on a sob you didn't know was there. "Please— ruin me—* all yours—* always—"

He groans again, shaking above you, forehead pressed to yours like he's trying to climb inside your skin. His breath fans hot across your mouth as he slows just a little, grinding deep again, hips rocking in filthy little circles that make your whole body lock up.

"That's it," he pants, "Let me feel you again, baby. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me? Huh? Wanna hear you fall apart one more time."

You can barely nod, already so close you could taste it. You grab at his back, wrapping your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, faster, until you can't even think anymore.

"Harry— I—* fuck—* I'm gonna—"*

He doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He keeps fucking you steady and deep, his hand sliding between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast messy circles that destroy you.

You come hard, stars bursting behind your eyes, your whole body locking up under him as you cry out his name loud enough to echo through the room.

You hear him groan so deep it's almost a snarl, feel him jerk, hips snapping faster now, losing his rhythm like he's chasing his own release.

"Where— fuck—* where do you want me, baby? Tell me—* fuck—"

Your head spins. Your body's still shaking, still buzzing, but you manage to drag him down, mouth at his ear, whispering the filthiest thing you've ever said in your life.

"Want you inside me... fill me up, Harry... please— want all of you."

He loses it. Full-body shuddering, hands gripping your hips so tight you'll probably bruise, burying himself deep with a wrecked cry as he comes inside you, hips rocking through every last pulse of it until he finally collapses on top of you, shaking and breathless.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

His body is heavy on top of you, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him tighter, as if letting go might shatter whatever spell has just woven itself between your ribs. His breath fans hot and uneven across your neck, every exhale trembling like he's still coming down from it—like he doesn't quite know how to land.

You feel him shift slightly, just enough to brace his weight on his elbows again, careful not to crush you. His nose brushes yours as he pulls back to look at you, curls sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You've never seen him like this before. Wrecked. Fragile. Wide-eyed and terrified in the best possible way.

He blinks, searching your face like he's waiting for you to wake up and realize this was a mistake.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, so quiet you almost don't hear it.

Your throat tightens. You reach up, cupping his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until your lips brush softly over his.

"I've never been better," you breathe. "Promise."

You feel him sigh, like you've just cut every string holding him together. His forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say without falling apart.

"I—" His voice cracks. He pulls in a shaking breath. "I don't wanna ruin this. Don't wanna fuck this up."

Your heart breaks a little at how scared he sounds. Like you could somehow forget what just happened. Like you haven't already fallen so far there's no way back.

You trace your thumb along his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking at you again.

"You couldn't ruin this if you tried," you whisper. "I'm yours, Harry. I've been yours for so fucking long."

He lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh—and leans in to kiss you again. This one's slower, softer. No heat, no urgency. Just yours. Just his.

You don't know how long you lie there tangled together, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync. Long enough for the air to shift. Long enough for the weight of it all to settle over you both in the best kind of way.

When he finally rolls to his side, pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest like you belong there, you hear him murmur against your hair:

"You're not leavin' me after this, yeah?"

You smile, nose brushing his throat as you snuggle closer.

"Not a chance."

And you swear you feel him smile against your skin, arms tightening around you like he's never letting go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839

[itzpookiepooh]

Who?

Mentioning a random name to him

You came home walking past Raf, who is sketching, kissing his cheek. He hums leaning into it his eyes closing, taking it in. You put a bag on the counter making him turn around to you.

“How was your day?” He asked with hazy eyes. You smile almost feeling bad for what you’re about to do to him. Almost.

“I went to training with Enzo and then we went to get lunch.” You explained putting away what you bought. Rafayel cocks his head back as you said the name so effortlessly.

“I’m sorry, who?” He asked crossing his arms and leaning on the counter.

“Enzo?” You question as if it were nothing. Rafayel blinks harshly at you like you had 3 heads.

“I’m sorry I’m just confused.” He says cocking his head to the side. “You come home talking about an Enzo who I never heard of or met! Then he takes you to lunch?” He asks in shock making you shrug.

“Absolutely not.” He stands up leading you to the door. He makes you put your shoes on and you turn to him.

“What are you doing?” You ask with your arms crossed. Rafayel gawks at you before mimicking you.

“We’re going out to lunch. I won’t be outdone by some random man you met at work.” He explains making you laugh.

“You’re pranking me aren’t you?” He deflates making you snort and nod. You both still go out to lunch and he complains to you how you’re giving him heart problems.

You and Xavier were spending the evening together. You were going to have dinner and catch a movie. He had been looking forward to this all day that he’s well rested. You both were walking down the street hand in hand, finger intertwined when he asked you about your day. You smiled brightly at him.

“It was good! I’m tired though, I went to the bookstore with Alexander and we chatted there for a bit.” You explained your day to him. He quirked his eyebrow at you. Who is Alexander?

“Who?” He asked looking over at you. You look at him with an innocent smile. “Alexander! He’s my friend.” You say cheerfully.

Xavier was confused since he’s never heard you speak about him. He was also upset that you spoke so cheerfully about him. He started to pout thinking about how ‘Alexander’ was able to make you smile like this.

“I’ve never heard of him.” He mumbles, his footsteps slowing down.

You chuckle watching him obviously become glum about the situation. You sigh, “We don’t get to hang out much.”

Your sigh sounded sad to him as if you were missing Alexander. You turn to catch a glimpse of his face when you froze and saw how sad he looked. You pouted feeling bad for your bunny before you stopped walking. He faced you his big eyes filled with sadness and confusion.

“I feel bad. I was just joking you don’t have to pout.” You say sadly as you hold his face. His body relaxes into your hands.

“I’m glad. I thought you rather be with Alexander instead of me right now.” He explained holding your hand that was on his face.

“I’d never want to be with anyone more than you Xavier.” You coo as you kiss his nose. The blush creeps up his neck and to the tips of his ears as he lets you hold him there.

Zayne was off today and wanted to treat you to an afternoon together. He missed you considering he worked overtime all week. As soon as he got home Friday he slept for over 12 hours. Today he was refreshed and ready to be with you. He asked how yesterday was for you as you both walked to the destined area for your date.

“It was fine. I went to get a sweet treat with Cassian so that was fun.” Zayne wasn’t usually the jealous type but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He tensed up slightly squeezing your hand.

“Did you now?” He tried to sound intrigued. You nodded softly. He decided to bite the bullet and ask.

“Who’s Cassian?” His voice not wavering. You turn to him and smile softly.

“My friend. I’ve known him for a while.” You explain to him as the walk turn silent once more.

You’ve known him for a while? How long is a while? He couldn’t be friends with you since adolescence because there’s only been Zayne and Caleb. The gears were turning in his head until he came up with the conclusion that Cassian is someone you met through your other friends or work.

“I can hear your gears turning Zayne.” You tell him. He looks at you waiting for you to continue.

“I’ve never heard of him so I suppose I’m worried.” He tells you making you quirk your eyebrow. “Worried?”

“Yes, I don’t particularly like sharing your affection. I also worry about your safety.” He says not looking at you as his ears turn red. You almost squeal at him.

“No one can take my attention away from you.” You tell him squeezing his hand in reassurance. You kiss his cheek softly as he melts into you.

You were visiting Caleb in Skyhaven this weekend and you decided why not trick him a little? He was out doing his training with the fleet today so what’s a more perfect time. Don’t get it twisted you had friends in Skyhaven however, making up a story sounded better considering you didn’t want to leave the house today. Caleb came home and he was still in his workout attire. He smiled seeing you as he asked how your day was.

“It was good! I hung out with Adrian today. We’ve been trying to reconnect forever.” You tell him as you laugh. Caleb’s smile falters as he stares at you.

“Adrian?” He asks moving closer to you. He’s never heard of this dude before and Caleb knew all your friends. “I’ve never heard of him.” He leans on the back of the couch behind you. You tilt your neck up to look at him as he looks down at you.

“He’s a friend I met through Simone.” You explain making him nod his head slowly. He licks his lips thinking to himself.

“What else did you guys do?” He asks his pointer finger tapping the back of the couch. You glanced at it before looking back at him.

“Had lunch but then he had to go so we’re doing a rain check for…” You check your watch, “Next week.” You smile at Caleb. He felt this nagging irritation.

“That’s nice.” His smile is tight lipped as he stepped away. “Maybe I’ll meet him next time.” His voice low as he walks to the fridge.

You were scared to tell him you were joking. Maybe this wasn’t the best person to play a prank on considering how he gets.

“Where did you meet him? Work or?” He asks fiddling with something in a drawer.

“Caleb.” You call to him as he hums in return not looking at you at all. “It’s a joke.” You say calmly, he turns to you as if he wasn’t just acting menacing.

“You’re not funny, pips.” He tells you shaking his head. You stare at him like he was crazy when he sits next to you pulling you in.

“You do know you can’t just kill people right?” You tell him as you eye him suspiciously.

“Who said he’d die?” He tells you as he snickers. You hit him with a pillow a few times to teach him a lesson.

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!” He yells shielding himself from your fluffy attacks.

Sylus usually doesn’t fall for your pranks. He can see right through you except for this one time. You made sure your prank was in line and perfectly executed. You came home from a mission and walked straight into Sylus’ bedroom. Sylus usually woke up when you came home from work so this was more than a perfect time. He was sleeping on his back, hands on his stomach, breathing softly.

You glided onto his chest peppering kisses on his face. He groans before stretching as you hear cracking beneath you. His red eyes flutter open and catch yours making him smirk. His hands fall on your waist as he chuckles. This was the best way to wake up a sleeping dragon. He half expected you to be late today so this was a great surprise.

“Hi sweetie. How was your day?” He asks his voice groggy from sleep. You were so close to calling the prank off but where was the fun in that?

“It was fine. I did so well today I got Damien to buy me lunch.” You smile innocently as you put your chin on the backs of your hands that lay on Sylus’ chest. His eyebrow quirks at your statement.

“Lunch?” He questioned almost as if he didn’t hear you say ‘Damien’. He lifts up slightly waiting for you to continue.

“Yeah. I was starving.” You whine to him. He blinks at you before replying.

“Are you still hungry?” He asks making you lift up off of him. You shake your head softly.

“Damien fed you well? Then should I do the same to Damien?” He asked you as if this were a loving question but you knew those eyes like no other. That tone had an underlying meaning to it.

“Uh—“ You stutter, Sylus chuckles before leaning closer, whispering in your ear, “I can make him disappear. Like that.” He snaps his fingers with a spark of his evol.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laugh nervously as you push at his chest. He gets close to your ear again before whispering, “Next time you try to prank me make sure you’re not being watched.” His gaze shifts to the mechanical crow.

“Wait til I catch you.” You point at Mephisto and narrow your eyes. Sylus chuckles holding you close.

[stzrgirl4norris]

born to be with you

Lando Norris x Best Friend!Reader

summary: reader and Lando were best friends to their eyes only, but they were forced to face their true feelings once confronted by an uncomfortable situation

based on this lovely request

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ yourinstagram posted on their story

"can't take him anywhere 🙄"

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ lando posted on their instagram story

"she told me to write matcha princess"

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 229,547 others

yourinstagram guys this lando norris guy is everywhere i swear

view all comments

maxfewtrell you guys went on a date without me??

> user likely place for them to be

charles_leclerc Omg what is Oscar doing there?

> yourinstagram i can tell you were proud of that joke > charles_leclerc It was funny > oscarpiastri No it wasn’t

danielricciardo no one cares about lando show us your face (respectfully)

>yourinstagram omg anything for you king 👑

> maxverstappen1 I wasn’t expecting this > yourinstagram are you jealous??? @ maxverstappen1 👀

> maxverstappen1 No but someone else might be… > user OMG MAX ??? > user Max knows something we don’t

pierregasly just kiss already

❤️liked by lando

liked by georgerussell and 3,766,911 others

lando teaching her that golf is fun

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yourinstagram the only fun part about this is driving the cart and looking cute

> lando you didn’t even drive the cart >yourinstagram but did i look cute?? 👀 > user i know he blushed

maxfewtrell you can’t say it’s fun when you actually competed against her you dumb fuck

>yourinstagram it's okay to feed his ego sometimes 🥱

lilymhe @yourinstagram would you like me to teach you next time?

> yourinstagram you don’t even need to ask

carlossainz5 Her form actually looks great

>lando obviously duh 🙄 i was her teacher

> yourinstagram let’s give ourselves the proper insignificance

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Lando's twitch stream

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ twitch chat

user omg did bro actually ended the stream? user jealous!lando out of the closet user that was hot ngl user y/n better do something

liked by oscarpiastri and 4,566,123 others

lando told you guys she wasn’t free on friday

view all comments

georgerussell63 @yourinstagram blink twice if you need help

> lando funny i’ve been telling carmen that for the last 5 years

yourinstagram not brad pitt but i might like you more

> lando this is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me

maxverstappen1 Telling Lily these are her real parents 😂

>kellypiquet Max... Delete this... 😅

oscarpiastri Clap if you’re surprised

> oscarpiastri Notice how no one clapped

francocolapinto jesus @yourinstagram release the grip no one is taking him

>yourinstagram nice try... i've seen the way you look at him 😤

danielricciardo bro really thought no one knew

kimiantonelli Why are fans surprised they are dating? I thought we've already established that

>georgerussell63 They weren't dating before >kimiantonelli They weren't?????

carlossainz55 About time 😍

liked by lando, lilyzneimer and 1,333,212 others

yourinstagram i heard a rumour

view all comments

lando can you do weddings?? like as the bride??

>yourinstagram omg i blushed 🤭

alex_albon close enough welcome back romeo and juliet

kikagomes and the crowd is.... not surprised

oscarpiastri big fan of whatever this is

>mclaren when are we having a papaya double date?? 😍 > oscarpiastri bold of you to assume we can take these two anywhere

alexandrasaintmleux mom and dad

user how many flowers did he give her??

user they're getting married in five days bet

user con😭gra😭du😭la😭tion

lilzneimer prettiest! 😍❤️

>yourinstagram no YOU

charles_leclerc When is Leo going to have a brother?

>lando chill mate baby steps > yourinstagram i'll text you leo's brother's name tomorrow

georgerussell63 Watch them start to breath each other's air

maxfewtrell it's not a rumour if it's true

[solastarr]

I’m Grown

Sammie/Preacher's Boy x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot, Modern AU?(ig)

Warning: Smut, fingering, D in P, unprotected

Word Count: 3.8k+

Summary: You and sammie basically grew up together. Though you were only half a year older, you always treated him like a little kid.

Then college came, and you moved away. Now it's summer, and you start to realize the little preacher's boy you left...is a man now.

Writers note: I’m still new to writing fan fics, so i’m not the best, but i hope y’all still like it! I plan to keep practicing and getting better!!���️

In the past…

Your mother and Sammie’s mother were next-door neighbors turned best friends. They did everything together, meaning you and Sammie had to do everything together too. From Sunday school, choir, same school, clubs, sometimes y'all's mom thought it was cute to dress y'all up in matching outfits. 

Eventually  leading to you and Sammie to become besties. 

Now even though you were only a half a year older than him, you made it your soul duty in life to make sure he knew he was the baby. From calling him nicknames like little boy, baby, baby bro, and eventually preacher’s boy. 

Sammie had a deep hatred for these lame ass names, but it was you so he let it slide.

Over time as you and Sammie got older and the teasing continued but started to tone down, as your crush on him started to flourish. But you denied it with all your heart. 

“He’s too young for me. Plus he’s my best friend… and I doubt he likes me.”, you explain to anyone who’d ask about you and sammies relationship. 

But everyone else could see it– how Sammie would zone out to watch your smile across the classroom, the way your lips curl up when you smile at his jokes, how he’d analyze every curl that fell from your hair, the way your skin glistens when you run around the tract for P.E., and the way yall sound beautiful together when harmonizing during choir. 

Sammie had feelings for you–no doubt bout it, but both of you had too much pride, and too much love for your friendship to ever say anything. 

Jump to the end of  Senior year of high school…

You and Sammie are now done with highschool, and now it’s time for you to figure out what the world has to offer you. You and your mother had been going back and forth for months about whether you should go to college near home and out of state. You wanted to stay close to home where your family, friends, and childhood were. But your mother insisted that you’d go much farther in life if you went to a big college some states over. 

Eventually, you caved and agreed with your mother’s claims and chose to go to school out of state.

Now, the day you leave for school, and it’s time to tell your friends, family, and the person you dreaded telling the most goodbye… Sammie. 

Going from seeing each other everyday to seeing each other for only a few months out of the year was going to be rough. But there was no avoiding it now. 

You and your mother walked over to Sammie’s house, greeted by a long hug from his mother and some positive words from his father. You put on a brave face while  talking to them all, not wanting them to see the fear of leaving choking you in your chest to show in your face. You barely talked to sammie the whole time you were over, unsure what to say or even how to say it—avoiding conversation with him at all costs. 

Before it was time to leave, you slipped away to the bathroom, trying to think of what to say to sammie that won’t leave you in tears.

“He’s my best friend, I’ll know what to say…”, but as soon as you opened the bathroom door, there he was. Sammie. Waiting in the hallway like he knew you were hiding from him.

“Damn you already ignoring me you couldn’t wait til left?”, he says sarcastically, but you can hear the concern underneath it. You froze, caught off guard, not thinking your silence would make him think you were ignoring him. So, you immediately threw your wall up.

“Boy, I didn’t know how to let you down easy without leaving you in tears,” you joked, nudging his side. “Plus, don’t think a little distance could make me forget about my little bestie.” You gave him a warm—if slightly worried—smile.

The tension between you was thick as he stared at you, like he was trying to find the words too.

“Of course not. You know you can’t get rid of me girl”, he says with a smirk on his face. “And stop treating me like a baby, I've been grown. You just won't accept it.”

He nudges you back, making you laugh. “Nah,” you teased. “You’ll always be my little preacher’s boy.”, you pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. He held you back even tighter—like he didn’t want to let go.

You could both feel it—the warmth, the bond, the love between you. But the hug didn’t last forever. The tall, masculine figure in your arms would have to stay behind.

For a second, you wanted to say everything. That you didn’t want to go. That you wished things were different. That maybe, if you both had just been a little braver, things could’ve been more than late-night phone calls and unsent texts.

But instead, you just held him like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

“Now gon on,” Sammie said, voice low and playful. “Before it gets too late and you miss your train.”. You nodded, eyes a little misty, and started walking toward the front door where your mom was waiting.

“Bye, Sammie. Don’t grow up too fast, now!” you called over your shoulder with a laugh.

He chuckled, just enough to cover up the lump in his throat. “Yeah, yeah. And you don’t get into too much trouble, little girl.” 

You turned around one last time and flashed him a mischievous grin.

“Let’s remember who the little one is here.”

Before he could reply, your mom’s voice cut through the moment, calling your name.

And just like that, you were on a train to Georgia…
…leaving Sammie back in Mississippi.

Now your back home for summer…

You hadn’t been home for more than 24 hours and already your mama was dragging you around town, making you run errands like you hadn’t just survived your first year of college. Between unpacking, catching up with cousins, and fake-smiling through “You don’ grown up!” comments from nosy church ladies, there hadn’t been time to stop and breathe—let alone see him.

But you finally slipped away… finally getting a moment to go visit your ole best friend.

You walked down the sidewalk in your old neighborhood, past the familiar houses with chipped paint and crooked mailboxes, past the corner where you and Sammie used to race on bikes. Everything felt the same and yet… you didn’t.

And when you turned the corner toward Sammie’s house, you definitely didn’t expect what happened next.

He was outside. Shirtless.

Standing in the driveway like a man who knew damn well he looked good. He was taller, broader, and his skin was glistening from the heat—golden brown, smooth, and definitely not the “little preacher’s boy” you left behind.

He was working on his car, arms flexing just enough to make your breath catch.

You tried to act unfazed...Tried.

“Boy, you still out here pretending to be a mechanic?” you called out, trying to sound playful.

Sammie looked up, wiped sweat from his forehead with a towel, and his lips curled into that familiar smirk—but there was something different behind it this time. Something slower. Deeper. Like he was seeing you for the first time too.

“Well well well…” he said, voice lower than you remembered. “Look who finally decided to come home.”

You swallowed hard.

His voice was deeper too, not just in tone but in presence. He moved slower, more deliberate. Like a man who wasn’t in a rush to prove anything anymore—just sure of himself. Of what he wanted.

He walked up to you, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every inch.

“You gon' give me a real hug or just stand there lookin’ surprised?”

You blinked, then gave him a tight hug, suddenly hyper aware of how solid his chest felt against yours. He held you for a second longer than expected, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“I’ve missed you, my little preacher’s boy” you say softly. 

He scoffed, stepping back a little, “Still calling me that, huh?”

You nudged his side, now more muscular and lean than you remember, “You know you love it.”

He smirked, wiping his hands on the towel. “Love it? Girl, I barely tolerated it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. You would’ve cried if I ever stopped.”

“Cried? You forget who you talkin’ to.” He squinted at you, leaning in a little. “I’m not that lil boy you used to boss around, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, glancing him up and down. “You done grew up a lil, huh?”

Sammie raised a brow, clearly catching the way your eyes lingered. “You tryna say I look good or something?”

Your throat went dry. You weren’t used to this version of Sammie—direct, confident, making it hard to tell if he was joking or if he really saw you now... like more than a friend and not just the girl who used to beat him in Uno.

“I’m sayin’ you don’t look terrible.” You shrugged casually, biting back a smile.

He stepped closer. “A year away and you still playin’ with me like we kids.”

“You ain’t ready for grown-woman compliments, preacher’s boy,” you teased, folding your arms.

Sammie chuckled and tilted his head. “Oh, so you grown now? One year outta town and you all woman now, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you smirked. “I eat my greens now.”

That made him burst out laughing, deep and from the chest. “Greens? Girl, you used to cry over broccoli.”

“Growth.” You lifted your chin proudly.

“Well, I like this grown-up you,” he said, eyes scanning you again, slower this time. “Confident. Mouth still slick. But I’ma warn you…”

You cocked a brow. “Warn me about what?”

He leaned just a little closer, voice dropping. “Keep teasing me like that and I might start actin’ like I’m grown too.”

You blinked, heart thumping just a little harder.

“Boy, hush,” you muttered, but your voice came out softer than expected.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, backing up toward his car. “That’s what I thought.”

You stared at him, biting your lip before shaking your head.

“Still cocky, I see.”

“And you still love me,” he tossed over his shoulder.

The next morning…

It was barely 10 a.m. and you were still in your pajamas— some old cartoon shorts and a stretched-out tank top—hair in a messy scarf, and attitude already on 10 because somebody was banging on the door, and you wasn’t expecting no guests. 

You lazily walked over to the door opening it with frustration all over your face. To your surprise it was Sammie. 

White T-shirt clinging to his arms, cargo shorts low on his hips, tool bag in one hand, smug grin in the other. Looking good as hell, unfortunately for you.

You froze.

He didn’t.

His eyes raked over you slowly—taking in your bunny slippers, your tank top with one strap hanging off your shoulder, and your scarf slowly falling off your head.

“Well damn,” he said, cocking his head, “did I catch you fresh out the bed or is this what grown looks like now?”

You crossed your arms instinctively, suddenly aware of every exposed inch of skin and how his eyes didn’t flinch away—not like before. It wasn’t teasing this time. It was... something else. He was really looking.

“Boy, what the hell are you doing here?”

He held up the tool bag. “Your mama told mine y’all kitchen faucet was leakin'. You know how they are. So my momma volunteered me like I’m the damn neighborhood handyman.”

You stepped aside with a sigh.

“She ain’t mention nothing about you coming over.”

“She probably knew you wouldn’t clean up anyway,” he teased, walking past you. “Or put on a bra.”

You threw a couch pillow at the back of his head as he walked past you, mortified. “Don’t play with me this early, Sammie.”

He laughed, easily dodging it. “I’m just sayin’. You had all that grown woman energy yesterday, now I pull up and it look like yo childhood fought you and won.”(damn sis)

“I’m still living out of boxes,” you snapped, following him toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t  find my good pajamas, so don’t start.”

“Right, right. Excuses.” He knelt down by the sink, glancing up.

You crossed your arms. “Fix the sink and shut up, Sammie.”

“I will,” he said, reaching under the counter. “Soon as you admit you missed me.” He smirked as he positioned himself under the sink to find the leak.

You rolled your eyes, smirking despite yourself. “Mmm. I missed peace. And silence.”

He chuckled, tools clinking under the cabinet. “Keep lyin’. You couldn’t even open the door right—you was too busy starin’.”

You blinked, your smirk faltering just a bit. He said it differently this time. Lower. Serious.

But before the silence could stretch too long, he flicked a piece of plastic from under the sink at you.

“You gon’ stand there or at least make yourself useful and pass me that wrench?”

Your fingers brushed his when you handed it over, and neither of you commented on how neither of you pulled back right away.

Trying to focus on literally anything except how his shirt lifted just enough to show the waistband of his boxers and the deep V line leading down.

Flashing that cocky grin.

“Dang you not even gon’ offer me a drink or wipe my sweat or somethin’?”

“I didn’t know ‘neighborhood handyman’ came with customer service demands,” you shot back, leaning on the counter.

He slid out from under the sink, sitting up on his knees. His eyes flicked over you again—longer this time. And it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking you over like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You really grew up, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That surprise or disappointment in your voice?”

“Nah. Just… something i’m taking note of,” he said, standing up slowly. His shirt clung to his chest now, damp from sweat.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then— “You missed me, didn’t you,” he said again, stepping closer this time.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out breathy. “I missed clownin’ you. Big difference.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Nah. You missed me.”


A beat passed.


His eyes didn’t leave yours.You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him—really looked. 

“You know I did,” you said finally, your voice lower now, honest in a way it hadn’t been all year.

Sammie stepped closer, “Yeah,” he murmured, “but I wanted to hear you say it.”


Then his voice dropped, that Southern drawl thick and heavy like honey on your skin.
“You just scared.”

That made your head tilt. “Scared?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer, that cocky smirk returning. “You missed me. You just don’t know what to do with me now that I’m not some lil boy followin’ you around.”

You scoffed. “Ain’t nobody scared of you, Sammie.”

He licked his lips, eyes dragging slow over your body.
“You should be,” he murmured. “I ain’t lil no more.”

Your pulse jumped. But your mouth moved before your brain could catch up.

“Then show me how much you’ve grown.”

You reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him in, lips crashing into his like you were done playing games—and he didn’t hesitate, didn’t ease in. He kissed you back like he’d been waiting to shut you up for years.

His hands gripped your waist like he owned it, like they’d been there before in dreams he wouldn’t dare confess. He walked you backward, not even breaking the kiss as you hit the counter behind you, gasping as his mouth dipped to your neck.

“Sammie—wait,” you breathed, your hand curling in his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his voice a low rumble.
“You made me wait long enough.”

Your tank top was halfway up before you could respond, his hands slipping beneath it, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your waist. His lips returned to your throat, to your collarbone, trailing heat with every kiss. One second you were in the kitchen, half-dressed and breathless—and the next?

Your back hit the couch cushions.

He hovered over you, looking down, eyes dark and sure. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just reached for him again, pulled him down by the collar of that stretched white tee, and kissed him like you were starving.

His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath your shorts to grip your thighs. You gasped when he lifted you slightly, adjusting your body beneath his like he knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it. You felt him, hard and ready, pressing against the inside of your thigh, and it made your breath catch.

“You still scared?” he asked again, voice brushing the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips slowly into yours.

You tried to keep it playful. “I ain't scared of a little boy who had to listen to lullabies to go to sleep till ninth grade.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, then caught your chin between his fingers and tilted your face toward him. "That boy’s gone, baby. Been gone. Let me show you what replaced him."

Then he was pulling your tank top the rest of the way off, eyes devouring every inch of skin like it was the first and last time he’d ever see it. His mouth followed, lips and tongue tasting your collarbone, your chest, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch.

You moaned his name without meaning to. That only made him bolder.

His fingers slid beneath your shorts, teasing the band of your panties until you whimpered, rocking your hips into his touch. “Damn,” he whispered, "You already this wet for me?"

“Shut up,” you panted.

“Nah,” he said, voice dropping, teasing and full of heat. “I gotta teach you sum real quick.”

His fingers slipped between your pussy lips, slow and slick, finding your rhythm like he’d been studying your body in secret. You gasped, gripping the back of his neck.

“Sammie…”

“Now you know damn well I ain’t little no more, but you’re too fucking stubburn.,” he murmured, slipping one finger inside, then two. Curling them. Stroking that spot that made your thighs tighten around his wrist.

“Say it.”

You shook your head, breathless. “Fuck you.”

He smirked. “That’s the plan.”

He kissed you again—messy, possessive—while his fingers worked you open, coaxing soft cries from your throat. When he finally pulled them out, he looked at you like he was weighing a decision.

Then he tugged his shirt off, muscles flexing as he reached for his belt. Your eyes went wide when he freed his dick, thick and hard, no trace of that 'little boy' anywhere. He caught your expression and leaned down, lips brushing your jaw.

“Still think I’m playing?”

You swallowed hard. “Shut up and show me.”

He did.

He eased into your pussy, inch by slow inch, watching your face the whole time. You moaned his name again, louder this time, and his eyes darkened.

“Damn, baby,” he hissed, gripping your hips. “I know you’ve been wanting this.”

He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust. Each stroke dragged long and deep, the kind that made your eyes roll back. His lips found your neck again, whispering filthy praise between kisses:

“Look at you… takin’ me so good.”

“Still think I’m that lil boy, huh?”

“Say it, baby. Admit it.”

You couldn’t form words at first—just moans and gasps, fingers digging into his back. But he didn’t stop. He rolled his hips with steady purpose, pushing you higher with every thrust.

When he lifted your leg and angled deeper, you nearly screamed.

“Oh my god—Sammie—” 

You started to pull back just a little, breath catching, heart racing. It was almost too much—too good, like you couldn’t handle all of him all at once. Your body wanted more, but your mind flickered with the fear of losing control.

“Why you running?” he laughed, dragging you back against him. “Take this dick like the woman you say you are.”

“You gon’ remember this every time you try to play me like I’m still a lil kid,” he growled, sweat dripping onto your chest as he picked up the pace.

Your nails scratched down his back. “Fuck, you’re grown. Fuck—okay?!”

He smiled against your skin, victorious and still not letting up.

“Say my name,” he growls against your lips.

His strokes are slow, deep, and strategic. Every thrust hitting the right spot again and again.

“Preac…” you almost say out of habit, but the way he grips your thighs, the scent of his cologne, the heat in his stare—it’s too much.

He slows just enough to lean down, lips brushing yours. “Say it right.”

You try to sass back, breath hitching. “Please—Preacher’s b—”

He stops.

Just like that.

Your body whines at the sudden emptiness.

He gives you a cold look, jaw clenched, voice low and cocky.

“Try that nickname again, and I’ll leave you right here—dripping and needy.”

You shoot him a look, trying to tell if he’s bluffing. But no—he’s dead serious. That playful glint is gone, replaced with something darker.

Hungrier.

Still clinging to a shred of pride, you whisper, “Okay, Samm…” You pause, catching yourself—desperate to bring back the friction. Trying to grind against him.

He tilts his head, starts to pull out again. “Try. Again.”

You squirm. “Sammie—please Sammie!”

He grins like the devil and slams into you again, making your back arch off the bed.

“That’s more like it. Now keep sayin’ it—so you never forget who you dealin’ with.”

He doesn’t let up. Just deep, calculated strokes. His voice low in your ear. “I’m grown now, baby… and preacher’s boy ain’t round here no more. But Imma help you remember—every damn time I’m diggin’ inside you.”

He fucked you like a man with something to prove—each thrust rougher, wetter, louder. The slap of skin against skin filled the room along with your cries.

You could barely breathe, let alone think, as his dick filled you over and over, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping every inch.

“Who's grown now?” he grunted.

“You,” you gasped. “You are—fuck, Sammie—”

Your orgasm ripped through you, blinding and hot, your body jerking beneath him.

He followed right after, groaning loud and low as he buried himself deep, hips jerking through his release.

For a long minute, the only sound was the rush of breath between you.

Then you whispered, "Told you I wasn’t scared.", as you smirked against his neck.

He kissed your cheek, lips curling. “You're too stubborn to be scared, but it’s alright. Imma break that habit.”

~ i feel like this was a bit out of character for sammie in the movie, but we can play pretend 😉. Hope yall liked it!💫

Taglist:

@heyyimmisunderstood @marley1773 @sajoi

@melaninbabyboo @hauntedfestivalluminary

@blackpinup22 @milesf4vg1rl @pinkpantheris

@iiiheartfayee @cosmicautomatonshark

@bluejay2503 @omgffs @anaiyaflys143

@pinkpillzsworld @jackierose902109

@serenedragonthought @condenhorn

@thesmutconnoisseur @katsleftnip

@sisi-pink0921 @woahthatshitfat

@cocooned-butterfly @motheroffae

@bumgyalworld @queenbumblebee777

@twistedsistas-stuff @ky1le

@kenziiie @queen-stars2 @sammiesprxncess

@ignotusumbra @goddessofthundathighs

@thickemadame

[writingsforfandoms-multi]

mr. jazz hands | michael robinavitch x reader

Warnings: medical inaccuracies 

requested: yes :)

There's a reason why you didn’t go into the healthcare field. 

Whenever you absolutely had to be around needles, such as for vaccinations or blood drawn, you always prepared beforehand. you always went with someone, usually a friend, but never ever alone. and you always always had airpods. you would plug them in your ears, play your favorite song, and close your eyes, never asking for a countdown, a countdown always made it worse, and never looking as the needle went in

so needing an IV, unexpectedly, was your worst nightmare right now. 

you didn’t have anyone here to provide that comfort you needed and you most certainly didn’t have your airpods. you were brought into the ER after you passed out, but you woke up in the ambulance just in time to stop them from putting a needle in your arm. 

“Ma’am, dehydration caused you to pass out. It’s standard to give fluids through an IV” the paramedic explained 

“I understand that, and I’m not trying to be difficult, but I don’t do needles, can’t you just give me oral fluids or something?” you try to compromise. Next thing you know, you had arrived at PTMC and your stomach dropped. 

“29 year old female, passed out after running a 10K, regained consciousness en route and has refused an IV” the paramedic reports to dr. langdon. 

“y/n?” robby asks as he spots you from the nurse’s station

“You two know each other?” dr. langdon asks as his eyes dart between you two, holding back a smirk when he realizes that oh yes, robby definitely knows you. 

“I got it from here dr. langdon” robby says as he takes over as primary physician. Once you’re settled in the room and after looking over your chart he says, “sweetheart I’m sorry but you need an IV” knowing you don’t do well with needles 

“Nope, no chance. I don’t even have my airpods” you shake your head and he sighs. 

“y/n! Good to see you again. Wish it was under better circumstances” dana says as she walks in and dons gloves. Her and robby figured it would help if the person inserting the needle was someone you knew 

“Dana! Tell robby I’m fine and that an IV is just not necessary” you plead 

“Sorry honey, but you need IV fluids” she says gently 

“dana is the best, sweetheart, many many many decades of experience” robby tries to persuade 

“careful, you’re making me sound old” she laughs, trying to put you at ease 

“Fuck” you say under your breath, you were gonna be stuck with a needle today. Dana and robby both look at the screen as your heart rate shoots up to 115

“I need you to breathe baby” robby says softly and he grabs your hands in his, taking deep breaths for you to match with your own 

Once your heart rate gets below 100, he gets this look on his face and starts doing the most randomest thing you've ever seen him do. He starts doing jazz hands. 

“Robby, what in the world are you doing with your hands” you laugh

“Oh nothing, just do me a favor and indulge me for a minute” he says with a smile that melts your insides. With what he sees everyday, the moments are few and far between where you get to see him silly like this.

He starts waving his hands to the other side and you've never been more confused in your life until you feel a sharp needle stick you and your mouth drops as you look at dana in betrayal, “that wasn’t nice I thought we were friends” you say as tears well up in your eyes as you try to take a deep breath to not pass out again. Dana works quick, you’ll give her that. 

“You did great sweetheart, you’re all done” robby says as dana connects the IV to fluids 

“I’ll come back in later to check on you, okay?” dana says on her way out and you give her a nod in response

“You traitor” you say as you narrow your eyes at robby, but give him a small smile so he knows you’re joking 

“I know, I’m sorry” he says, giving you a kiss on the forehead. 

“I’m totally getting you back for that, by the way, mr. jazz hands” you add with a laugh 

“Okay, baby, okay” he chuckles

—

masterlist

[paincest]

some excerpts from the life of odysseus who returned early and his spoiled 10 year old son:

in the first few days of his arrival, odysseus was feeling really down because he thinks his son hates him till one day, telemachus drags him to a field and introduces him to all his friends who are SOOO IMPRESSED with him

"WOAHHH DID YOU REALLY FIGHT POSEIDON" and telemachus goes "OF COURSE HE DID!!!!! HE'S MY DAD!!!!"

odysseus is just so so happy that his son is actually proud to call him dad that he had to punch himself to stop himself from crying in front of these kids. he spends the rest of his afternoon telling his son and his friends about his journey

their first real dad-son bonding experience is when penelope forces telemachus to go with his dad to some meeting and some asshole made a disrespectful joke about penelope. the kill mode switch INSTANTLY activated within the both of them

telemachus keeps acting like he knows what his dad and mom are talking about all the time so odysseus would just start making things up to see what telemachus would say. sometimes he does it as an 'aha! you little liar!' moment but other times, he just wants to test his son's creativity

odysseus: oh and i fought a varkagrog. you know what that is? telemachus: o-of course! the flying fish... thing... that turns into an uh, giant owl. odysseus who literally just jumbled random words together: yep. that one. you're so smart! telemachus, puffing his chest smugly: cause mommy teaches me everything and she's super smart!

odysseus and telemachus fights over who gets to hug penelope at night. mind you, penelope sleeps in the middle so obviously, they could just share her, but odysseus likes to tease telemachus.

telemachus on the other hand is genuinely Fighting For His Life here

it's all fun and games till telemachus actually starts crying and penelope scolds odysseus. no cuddles for the big man tonight

whenever telemachus is angry at odysseus, he draws on odysseus' face when he's asleep but it doesn't really work because odysseus just gets super happy about it, lifts him off the ground and kisses him all over the face and walks around the whole day with his face all smeared till penelope forces him to take a bath

whenever odysseus and telemachus return home from an outing or if penelope went out and just got back, they race each other to see who gets to kiss penelope first. telemachus is leading the scoreboard

(telemachus doesn't seem to realize that his dad is letting him win most of the time)

during odysseus' absence, telemachus would draw himself, his mom and dad all together but after a few years, telemachus stopped believing his dad is alive or even wants to come home so he ripped odysseus out of all his drawings but when ody finally comes home, telemachus secretly tapes it back together. odysseus pretends like he doesn't wanna cry whenever he sees the obvious rips that telemachus clumsily tried to mend

epic au where odysseus comes home 10 years earlier but that means meeting his son when he was just an immature spoiled mommy's boy who can't accept that his gorgeous elegant queen mother is dating this Rat covered in dirt and blood

[studioeisa]

haunted by my feelings 🎤 seokmin x reader.

some things go quietly, like candles in their final stretch. sputtering, still giving light even as the wax pulls away from the wick. that was you and seokmin. ⸻ ikaw mula noon anniversary series 🎵 multo, cup of joe

word count: 2.7k · includes: angst with a happy ending, romance; ex-boyfriend!seokmin, ghost metaphors, post-breakup regrets · supplementary: for maximum damage, this fic is inspired by this edit of seokmin !!!

The hallway light flickers again.

It’s been three weeks since it started. Just enough time to stop meaning anything useful. Too long to ignore. You’ve changed the bulb twice. Checked the circuit. Even tried talking to it. Nothing.

Now it clicks off completely as you pass beneath it, plunging that stretch of hallway into a sudden, hungry dark.

You stand there with a grocery bag bruising the inside of your arm, keys still in hand, the smell of mint and vinegar from the cleaner still clinging to your coat. Your heartbeat slows into the silence.

Something shifts at the corner of your vision. A shape that isn’t a shape. A breath where no one is breathing.

You close your eyes. Count to five. When you open them, it’s gone. Of course it’s gone. You live alone now.

You’ve started seeing ghosts. 

Not the kind with unfinished business or Victorian gowns, but the ordinary, accidental kind. A shadow caught in the periphery. A laugh in the next room. A feeling that something has only just left.

You used to call them monsters. Seokmin would stand barefoot in the hallway, wielding a rolled-up magazine like a sword. “Not on my watch,” he’d say, eyes comically wide, before lunging at the air. You’d laugh until your ribs ached.

Now, it’s just the air that aches. 

The flicker returns, dull and rhythmic, like the blinking of an old film reel. You move past it, slowly. Try not to look over your shoulder. The apartment groans with the settling of old heat. Pipes sigh like someone exhaling. You drop your keys into the bowl by the door and listen to them clatter—a sound you once loved for how it meant you were home.

But home used to be different. Home used to hum with music and bad singing and the smell of late-night ramen on the stove. Home used to bear traces of Lee Seokmin, and the relationship you built over three years. 

Now, the light flickers, and your apartment gasps for air with every day that passes.

It hadn’t died all at once.

Some things go quietly, like candles in their final stretch. Sputtering, still giving light even as the wax pulls away from the wick. That was you and Seokmin. 

You loved him in the way you love a song that once saved your life. Reverently. Completely. Even when the lyrics stopped making sense. He loved you like the sun. Bright, constant, unaware of how much it burned.

You remember the morning it finally frayed beyond mending. It was raining, slow and steady against the windows, like the sky had decided to grieve with you. Seokmin made you pancakes. He always made them too sweet, too fluffy, like he was trying to fix things with sugar. You sat on opposite ends of the couch, knees not touching.

You had said, “I think we’ve been playing pretend, Seok.”

He blinked. Laughed a little, like maybe it was a joke. Like maybe if he laughed first, you’d laugh too. But you didn’t. 

You stared down at your plate and went on, “We don’t talk about things anymore. We just… circle them. Like planets. Like we’re scared to fall back into orbit.”

He said your name so softly it barely broke the air. Then: “What is this? I thought we were okay.”

You had been okay. But okay was not good. Not happy. Not together, not really.

Somewhere along the way, you had stopped reaching for each other in the dark.

You’d lie back to back at night, a gulf of blanket between you. You’d say good night out of habit. Like brushing teeth. Like locking doors. You did it because it was what people in a relationship  did. Because the absence of it would be too loud.

So you said it again, in the quiet of that morning: “I think we’ve already said goodbye. We’re just waiting for the echo to fade.”

He cried. You hadn’t. There’s something sacred in being the one to end it. Not power. Not clarity. Just the quiet grace of knowing when to stop replaying a song.

Later, you folded his hoodie and left it on the bed. The gray one that always smelled like him—clean laundry and lemon soap. He didn’t take it when he left.

You still wear it sometimes, like armor. Like memory. It’s too big. It always was.

The light in the hallway flickers again. You swear under your breath.

It’s the same every night. The sharp electric blink, the stretch of shadow across the hallway floor like fingers reaching. You’ve taped the switch in place. You’ve prayed to the god of breakers and fuses. Nothing sticks. You start leaving the bedroom lamp on, but the dark doesn’t need full cover to find you.

Tonight, it’s worse. The bulb flares once then gives out entirely. You stand in the silence, half-expecting to hear footsteps that aren’t yours. The apartment hums with the weight of all that’s missing.

There’s still a dent in the couch cushion where Seokmin used to curl up after work. A faint scratch on the bathroom door from where he slipped once, laughing, knocking over your towel rack. His mug is still in the cupboard. You’d meant to throw it out. You didn’t.

You sit on the floor with your knees pulled to your chest, the dark folding around you like an old coat. Then, almost without thinking, you unlock your phone.

YOU [11:09 PM]: hey. weird question. do you remember how to fix the hallway light? it’s doing the thing again.

You stare at the message. Consider deleting it.

The read receipt comes fast. Then:

AA SEOK [11:11 PM]: yeah. i think the contact’s loose in the fixture. you can wedge a folded matchbook behind the base plate. should hold until you can swap it. want me to send a video?

You laugh to yourself. Softly. It catches in your throat.

YOU [11:09 PM]: no, i think i remember now. thanks.

He doesn’t say anything else. But he’s typing. Then stops.

You close your eyes. Let your head tip back against the wall.

There was a night, years ago, when the whole building faced intermittent blackouts. Summer storm. You lit candles along the window sills. Seokmin danced with a flashlight tucked under his chin, making shadow monsters until you were laughing so hard you were crying.

“You’re safe,” he had promised you. “Even if the dark shows up, I’ll be here.”

But the dark has shown up, and he hasn’t. 

You stand, slowly, and find a matchbook in the drawer. One of the old ones from your favorite tapas place. The one he used to surprise you with on late nights. You fix the light. It flickers, hesitates, then steadies.

The hallway glows again. Not warm, not quite. But enough.

You sit back on the floor and stare at the light until your eyes blur. And when the shadows come again, you let them. You’re not afraid of them anymore.

In the end, the light gives out with a final, bitter snap.

No flicker. No warning. Just dark.

You stand in the hallway holding a bowl of cereal and an unreasonable amount of grief. It's not about the bulb, not really. It’s about the silence that follows. You set the bowl down. Pick up your phone. Stare at his name.

Call.

He picks up on the second ring. “Hey,” he says, warm and a little out of breath. Like he had rushed to answer and was now trying to act like he hadn’t. “Did the matchbook betray you?”

You laugh, which surprises you. “It died. A heroic death.” (The same could be said about your relationship, you almost say, but that feels like a wound too tender to poke.)

“I’ll come by,” he says so quickly it makes your chest ache. “If that’s okay.”

You say yes before you think better of it.

That same evening, he knocks like he always used to. Two soft taps and a pause. You open the door, and there he is. Wearing the same navy windbreaker you once borrowed on a chilly beach night. His hair’s longer. His eyes, the same.

“Electrician Seokmin, reporting for duty,” he grins, holding up a small toolkit covered in Sanrio stickers.

“Do you moonlight now?” you ask, stepping aside.

He shrugs. “You know me. Jack of all trades. Master of none. Especially light fixtures.”

The hallway is dim with the lamp from the living room casting a long, golden haze. He toes off his shoes without asking, like he always did. Like nothing’s changed.

You follow him down the hall. Watch him open the casing with practiced ease. The silence is soft, companionable. Familiar. “Still smells like your lavender detergent,” he says absently.

You don’t answer. You’re watching the way the light paints his face—soft at the edges. You feel something uncoil in your chest, slow and strange.

“I missed this,” he says, too lightly.

You deflect. “Fixing broken things?”

He glances at you, then back to the wires. “Yeah. Something like that.”

The joke lands between you with a softness that hurts. You look down at your hands. “You didn’t have to come,” you say, half to yourself.

“I know,” he replies without missing a beat. “But I wanted to.”

When the light flares back to life—steady, clean—he steps back, triumphant. “Behold,” he says, arms raised, “the glow of my labor.”

You smile. It’s small, but real.

He doesn’t leave right away. You offer tea. He accepts. You sit on opposite ends of the couch, knees not touching. There’s a distance now, shaped like memory. But there’s something else, too. A warmth that hasn’t fully left.

In the golden spill of the hallway light, you let yourself feel it. Just for a while. Just until the tea has gone cold.

You’re both still sitting there, curled around mismatched mugs, the table between you cluttered with crumbs from the shortbread he brought without asking. He’s telling you about his new coworker who accidentally sent a love letter to the company-wide email list. You laugh, smile half-covered behind your hand.

“I almost admire the chaos,” you say.

He grins. “You always did.”

The clock ticks gently behind you. You don’t check it.

His eyes linger on your face in quiet moments, like he’s sketching you from memory. And maybe he is. You catch him doing it once and he looks away, smiling into his cup. 

Outside, the first tap of rain begins. Then the sound grows—gradual and steady, then sudden, like the sky gave up holding itself together. You both glance toward the window. “That’s really coming down,” you murmur.

Seokmin cranes his neck to look. “It’s fine. I’ve driven through worse.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You panic every time your wipers squeak.”

“That was once.”

“That was every time.”

He laughs, sheepish. “Well, I wasn’t planning to stay.”

You hesitate. Look at him. The soft fall of his shoulders. The damp ends of his hair curling from the humidity. He’s halfway standing, but not really. Waiting. ‘Wasn’t planning to stay’ his ass. 

“Stay,” you say. “Sleep on the couch. It’s still yours, kind of.”

Something flickers across his face. Hope, barely disguised. Something he doesn’t want you to see, but doesn’t try hard to hide. “You sure?”

You nod. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

You don’t wait for his reply. Just move down the hall, heart pulling strange and quiet in your chest. You hear him exhale. Soft, relieved. When you hand him the blanket—the one you two picked out in a department some lifetimes ago—your fingers accidentally, briefly brush his. But not really.

He says good night like he means it. Like he remembers what it used to feel like to say it. You don’t watch him lie down on the couch. You don’t check if he’s looking at you when you walk away.

You just let the light stay on in the hallway, and pretend it’s only for comfort.

You pretend it’s not for him. You think this, this little light, will be enough to get you two to the morning unharmed. 

But the power cuts out at 2:17 AM. 

The rain is a hush against the windows. Wet, rhythmic, and close. The apartment sighs into silence, every hum and whir of machinery folding into stillness like the house is tucking itself to sleep. Even the hallway light, always the last to surrender, gives up its ghost without protest.

You wake to the absence. It’s not the sound that startles you; it’s the lack of it. The unnatural quiet that settles deep in the bones of the walls, in your chest, like the world is holding its breath and waiting for something to go wrong.

Your fingers twitch beneath the blanket, instinctively seeking the old comfort. The spill of light beneath the door, the low buzz of the fridge, the reassurance of motion. But everything is still. Hollow.

In the dark, your thoughts get away from you. You remember the busted bulb in the hallway, the taped switch he used to fix and re-fix with stubborn patience. You remember how, after he left, the shadows grew teeth. How you convinced yourself the flickers were tricks of the eye, that the ghosts weren’t real, that you could live with their quiet watching.

You’ve grown used to fear as a companion. But tonight, it tightens around your ribs. Fast. Sour. Electric.

Then—

Soft, socked feet against the floorboards. Rushed, purposeful.

The door cracks open, leaking in the faintest outline of him. Seokmin.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, but steady. "It’s just the power. You're okay."

You can barely see him, but you know it’s him. Not some figment of your imagination. Not one of those dreams you’ve had post-breakup. You know that quiet certainty in his tone; the shape of him, framed by the glow of street light filtering through the rainwashed window.

He steps into your room like he still belongs here. Like some part of him never left. You swallow down the ache that rises. Your voice is thin. “Did it wake you too?’

He nods, moving closer. “Heard the fridge give out. And the silence. Then I figured you might be… you know. Doing the staring-at-corners thing.”

You let out a shaky, brittle laugh. “They’ve been worse lately,” you confess to the only person in the world who wouldn’t judge your fear, your paranoia, your grief. “The ghosts.”

He kneels beside the bed, not touching you. Just close enough that his presence warms the air. “They're not real,” he says. It’s not a dismissal; it’s gentler than that. A reassurance shaped like a vow.

You watch him. The way his shoulders rise and fall, the soft pull of exhaustion beneath his eyes. There’s kindness in the corners of his mouth, even now. Even still. “Will you—” You stop. Then try again. The request is soft, unsure. “Will you lie with me? Just until it comes back?”

He doesn’t blink. He just nods and climbs beneath the blanket as if his body remembers the space it used to occupy. As if the gap you left for him never fully closed.

His warmth bleeds into yours. He shifts until you’re curled together, your bodies finding old grooves. His arm drapes around your waist like it always used to. Your forehead presses into the hollow of his collarbone. 

You breathe in.

The silence doesn’t feel as loud. The shadows, for once, don’t reach. They stay tucked into corners. Obedient. Tamed. Respectful of the knight that once valiantly kept them at bay. 

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I forgot what this felt like.”

His lips find your hair. “Me too.”

For a long while, neither of you says anything.

Outside, the rain falls steady, a lullaby. Inside, there are no ghosts. No trick of the light. No dark thing waiting just outside the edge of vision.

Just Seokmin.

And you. Remembering what it means to reach for someone in the dark. Remembering what it means to love, not because you have to, but because you want to. Because love lets the light in. Because Seokmin is the light, and the love, and all that exists in between. 

For the first time in months, maybe longer, you sleep without watching the corners. 🎼

[ochacoca]

Perhapsss... can u make some timeskip/msby!atsumu x figure!skater reader hcs hehehee

Like.. maybe they could have been schoolmates in highschool and reconnected later i dunno up to u:3

HOW FAST THE NIGHT CHANGES

msby!atsumu x figure skater!reader

IN WHICH you see your teenage crush at a charity event. the same one you'd never forget and never shared your last high school dance with.

now playing ♫ night changes by one direction

word count: 2,126 words

a/n: i giggled like a maniac when i saw this request. i love timeskip atsumu and i love figure skating (i've never tried it but i used to watch ice princess religiously when i was little) also i just saw it said headcannons and i wrote a whole fic 🥀 so sorry

There were probably hundreds of athletes at this venue right now. You and others were invited to a fundraiser gala for Local Youth Sports Programs. You didn't recognize most of the people here. Even though you are an athlete yourself, you never really spend time trying to watch other sports. But none of those people mattered to you when he caught your eye.

You could recognize that blond tuft of hair from a mile away.

Even though the lights at the charity were quite dim and everything else was a bit difficult to make out, there's no way you'd be able to miss Atsumu Miya. He carried himself the same way he did at Inarizaki. He did look a bit taller and his hair was finally toned, but his loud personality never changed.

You couldn't help but stare. Your champagne glass was tucked between your teeth and as you held your gaze on him, creepily might you add, all of those memories came rushing back and felt so fresh. You were so zoned into him, you didn't even notice said man walking up to you.

“Y/N?” He called out to you, his eyes glimmering with disbelief. “Is that you darlin'?”

You froze immediately. You hadn't heard his voice in forever. Eventually after high school, you two went separate ways. With him going pro in volleyball and you going pro in figure skating, you guys never had the time to talk. The occasional ‘Hi’s or ‘How's your day going?’ slowly yet eventually came to an end.

“It's been too long, ‘Tsumu.” You greeted as a fat grin sat on your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you tried to keep your cool. You could feel the heat all over your body. It started from your head all the way to your toes and you felt exactly seventeen-year-old self again. His voice was just as you remember it: Sweet and soft like honey.

He stepped closer to you as he tucked his hand in his pockets, rocking himself back and forth as he shifted his weight from the ball of his feet to his heel. “I've seen ya on TV all the time.”

You tilted your head and gave him a small smile, playing with the hem of your dress as you tried to calm your nerves. “I've seen you too. You're still just as good as before.”

He still had that same smugness. You knew it immediately as he teasingly squinted his eyes at you. “Just like you. Spinning like a little beyblade in the air.” Atsumu joked.

You rolled your eyes and couldn't help but let out a small laugh. “Stop.” You giggled as you lightly smacked his shoulder.

He laughed with you, then held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, sorry sorry.” He said. He nodded his head to the left, pointing in the direction of his table as a silent invitation for you to come sit with him.

You two caught up on everything that's happened in the past few years after graduating from high school, but then you ran out of what to say. There were so many questions you wanted to ask him, but you wanted him to ask them first.

An awkward silence filled the the atmosphere. The air felt heavy as your mind raced with hundreds if not thousands of what if's. Everyone in the background faded out, and the only thing you could hear was the thumping of your heartbeat and soft music.

“You know-”

“Have you-”

You both spoke at the same time and held eye contact with each other. Neither of you could hold in a laugh at the situation.

“You go first.” He offered.

“No, it's fine.” You said as you waved him off. “What were you going to say?”

Atsumu seemed hesitant at first, like he didn't want to say what he had in mind. You could tell by the way he repeatedly opened and closed his mouth before eventually blurting it out. “Do you remember what we said in 3rd year? During English?”

Of course you remembered. It was the only thing you were thinking about ever since he approached and a dark thought at night that keeps you from sleeping.

Atsumu was sprawled out over his desk as he groaned in your ear, complaining about something his brother did that annoyed him so bad he wanted to rip Osamu's hair out of his scalp. You were so used to his dramatics that you zoned him out as you continued to focus on your work.

He stared at you as you worked. You felt his eyes boring onto the side of your face until he grabbed your hand and snatched your pencil out of it. “Tsumu!” You gasped.

He planted his voice dangerously close to yours, your foreheads were practically touching, and you could feel each breath of his slightly graze your lips.

“Need'ya to promise something, okay?” He slurred, most likely from the nap he was taking 5 minutes before.

It took every bone in your body to fight the urge not to kiss him right then and there. “What?” You responded barely above a whisper.

His finger swung back in forth as he pointed between the two of you. “The last song at prom. Dance with me?” He suggested.

You rose an eyebrow as you looked at him with an incredulous look on your face. “Seriously?” You asked flatly.

“What?! We both don't have dates, might as well mingle together while the other couples do whoever knows what.”

“Okay, fine. I promise to dance with you at prom.”

He never showed up. You waited the entire song near the DJ stand, people-watching as couples danced together. You looked around as everyone had a look of love on their face while all you wanted to do was break down and cry. You left the venue as everyone started dispersing. The next day at school, neither you nor Atsumu brought it up again. ‘Maybe he changed his mind or found someone else to dance with.’ You thought to yourself

“Yeah.. yeah, I remember.” You said softly. Your hand immediately flew to your mouth to bite your nails, a bad habit you've picked up from the stress over the years.

There was a pause.

“Where were you?”

“Huh?” You blinked and slightly jerked back your head.

“I waited for ya.” He said. His eyebrows were furrowed and there was a slight pain written in his eyes.

You squinted your eyes in confusion and shook your head in response. “No, I waited for you.” You corrected.

“No. I waited by the punch just like we said!”

You looked at him sharply. “.. You told me to wait by the DJ stand.”

“No I didn't!– Did I?” Atsumu questioned. His face softened from hurt to realization as he looked into your eyes and could see that you were telling the truth.

You gave him a slow nod.

“Oh.” He murmured.

“Yeah..”

It went silent between the two of you again, yet this time it wasn't awkward. It was filled with regret and guilt. You couldn't believe how much time you two wasted off of the fact you couldn't communicate properly. You could only assume Atsumu was thinking the same thing.

“’M sorry darlin’..” He broke the silence. “I really thought ya just.. left me there.”

Your lips curled up. After all these years of you losing sleep over something so minimal, it was all just a misunderstanding. You were relieved, but also so annoyed that the two of you wasted so many years. “I thought you left me there.”

Atsumu tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically as a way to distract himself from the tense situation.

“I guess we both of us were kind of stupid.” He mumbled under his breath, still loud enough for you to hear.

Neither of you said anything after that. You were looking down at your lap and played with your fingers, and you felt his eyes on you. You looked up to see him anxiously biting the inside of his cheek, like he wanted to say something so bad, but he wanted to make sure you felt the same way too.

“Maybe, we can make up for it?” You suggested.

“How?”

“Y'know, I’m not a pro like you are. ‘M gonna eat shit if you put me on that rink.” Atsumu said as he tightly gripped the handrail inside the rink.

What better way was there to make up for your last dance besides going into the empty skating rink you conveniently had the key to. All of those late night practices were really worth it now.

You let out a laugh at the way his knuckles turned white so he wouldn’t slip. You skated over to him and softly held his free hand, tugging it towards you in a way of telling him to let go. “Don't worry. I'll hold your hands.” You turned away too quickly to notice the faint blush that was on his face.

As the two of them skated beside each other, Atsumu wobbled and doubled over more times than any of them could count as he tried to keep his balance.

“You look like a baby giraffe.” You wheezed and wrapped your arms around your stomach to ease the pain of how much you were laughing.

“Sorry, only one of us here has a Japan National Championship for gliding on frozen water.”

Atsumu seemingly got the hang of it after a while. Once you saw that you were able to leave him alone without him faceplanting on the ice, you grabbed your phone and set it on the side of the rink.

You skated back over to Atsumu, who was resting on the wall waiting for you to come back to him. Once you stood in front of him, he stretched out his hand in front of you. “Can I have this dance?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes at him playfully before taking his arms and wrapping them around waist as you rested yours loosely around his neck. “You're so corny.” You mumbled.

It wasn't perfect. You didn't expect it to be. Atsumu slipped a couple of times and you felt your hands getting more sweaty as you two stared into each other's eyes.

“Y'know… ahh, nevermind.” He started but quickly cut himself off, looking off to the side.

“No, what is it?” You said as you moved your head to be in his gaze again “Tell me.”

“It's just–” He spoke hesitantly and shakily exhaled. “I was kinda.. in love with ya in school.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You blinked rapidly as your eyebrows slowly rose until it practically reached your hairline.

“Really?” You asked him softly, taking the hand that rested around his neck and rubbing his shoulder gently.

“Yeah.. that's the main reason I asked ya to dance with me. Was gonna tell you how I felt, but obviously it didn't go according to plan.”

You let out a soft giggle and buried your face into his face. “Yeah.. not at all.”

The silence between you settled again as the music from your phone bounced off the walls.

“Did.. did youu..” He started.

“Did I what?” You asked him teasingly. You knew what he was going to say. You could tell by the little pout that was on his lips. The same way he pouted while you guys were teenagers.

“Oh come on darlin’, stop teasing me. Ya know what I'm asking.”

You lifted your head from his chest and looked into his eyes, bringing up your hand to rest against his cheek.

“Well, why did you think I said yes?”

His eyes searched yours, widened and surprised. His hand traveled from your waist to meet the side of your face as well. Slowly and carefully, you two leaned in and your lips met one another.

The kiss wasn't messy nor rushed. It was soft and built off years of yearning for each other. It was filled with all the love you two failed to confess years before. The way his lips moved against yours and how is fingers trailed your cheek and your jaw made your knees go weak.

If your seventeen-year-old self were here right now, she wouldn't believe what was happening. But the you now could only smile against his lips and melt against his body, the same way he was melting against yours.

how the fuck did i write this so quickly

©OCHACOCA 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[notsodelirious]

silly little fluff bit for Jason before I turn in and ignore my writing for a while (absolute not proofread)

small cw for food insecurity in this first para of this <3 take care

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

Jason knew hunger.

He had grown up on scraps and leftovers, nibbling on the last bite of the meal after his mother had declared she wasn’t hungry anymore.

He was grown from noodle packs and stale soups, cut bread crusts and funny canned meat.

He’d been raised on hunger so he’d never cared for food.

It was sustenance, he needed it to grow, to stay awake and stay active. Food had a purpose. He just needed enough to live, it didn’t matter what it tasted like, how it felt.

It was food.

He didn’t care for food.

Not until he returned from patrol one evening to find you pulling a bake tray from the oven.

“Hi!”

He paused as he looked at you, all bright smiles and heat flushed cheeks. Whatever dish you had been cooking smelled divine, permeating your entire living space, even creeping under his helmet.

“Hey,” he said hesitantly as he stepped into your living room, closing the window behind him.

“I made lasagna,” you said as you set the tray on the burner and uncovered it just as he pulled off his helmet. His mouth didn’t water when he saw your work and drifted closer to get a better smell.

It wasn’t that he’d never seen good food before—Alfred was beyond good in the kitchen and the League always had good chefs in rotation but this was different.

You two stood together in the small kitchen, comfortably warm in the heat radiating from oven, over a dish made with nothing but store bought ingredients and a recipe passed down from mother to child.

“I didn’t know if you had preferences but I think I’ve seen you eat everything I put in this,” you said as you wiped your hands on a tea towel before tucking it away.

“No, no,” Jason said quickly, his throat tight and he didn’t know where his voice went—he pulled off his glove before resting his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing gently, “It looks great.”

“Fuck yeah,” you smiled up at him before slipping out of his grip, “Go wash up, I’ll let the table.”

“I can help-“

“You stink,” you playfully swatted his ass with the tea towel. “Wash.”

He put his hands up in mock surrender as he dragged his feet out of the kitchen but complied, taking a quick shower before coming back to the kitchen in borrowed clothes and wet hair.

“Oh, I could have helped,” he said as he watched you set glasses of water on the makeshift dining table against the wall.

“You were busying becoming less gross,” you shrugged as you gave him a cheeky smile before sitting down.

“This feels like bullying.”

“Never,” your bright eyes followed him as he took a seat in front of you. “You don’t have to wait to start,” you said softly as you picked up your own fork, watching as he awkwardly wiped his hands on your his sweatpants.

“Bon appétit.”

You snorted, softly kicking him under the table.

“Good?” you asked after he took his first bite. His shoulders dropped as he breathed in.

It was delicious—it was seasoned and warm and ever so slightly oversalted, more tomato than beef. His eyes didn’t burn and his hands didn’t tremble as he ate bite after bite, ignoring your joking warning to slow down or he’d make himself sick.

“There’s more on the stove,” you said.

Because you’d never let him go hungry.

“Help yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

You snorted as you separated the pasta from the sauce.

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Yes ma’am.”

His shit eating grin never left until you slammed foot into his shin again.

“Fuck!”

“Love you too.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

okay so I lied, I won’t technically be forgetting about my writing for the next couple of days bc I’ll have a couple of pieces queued to be posted but I definitely will no be active — requests are still closed during my assignment periods (they’re kicking my ass send help pls) but here’s my masterlist for more stuff <3

[word-woven]

After the Mold

18 Plus+ 🔞

Ethan Winters x Male!Reader

After surviving the worst days of his life, Ethan Winters finds quiet solace in the arms of someone who sees him for more than what he’s lost—someone who holds him like he still belongs to the world.

I just think Ethan deserves to be kissed stupid, held like a lifeline, and railed lovingly by a very patient man, okay? I don’t make the rules—I just write the smut

You met Ethan in the kind of silence that followed horror. Not the peaceful kind. The ringing kind—the kind that lives in your bones long after the screaming stops.

He was already back from Louisiana when you found him, if “back” was even the right word. He looked like he’d crawled out of hell on his hands and knees and didn’t trust the light anymore.

And who could blame him?

He didn’t talk about what happened at first. You knew the headlines. You knew what wasn’t in the reports too—the rumors, the whispers about a girl and a swamp and something that shouldn’t have existed. The mold. The Baker family. His wife. All dead, except her.

You never asked.

At first, you just fixed his injuries. Cleaned up the places no one else would. The scar across his hand that never quite healed, even with REACT tech. The jagged shrapnel wound near his ribs. The nightmares he tried to pretend didn’t happen.

“I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hoarse.

“You’re not,” you’d reply.

But you never pushed harder than that.

You learned to recognise the signs—when he needed space, when he needed silence, when he needed you to sit on the floor beside him and just be there. Sometimes he’d press the heel of his palm to his eye like he was trying to wipe something out from behind it. Sometimes he’d flinch at the creak of a floorboard, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there anymore.

He moved in with you after two months. Said it was temporary. Said he couldn’t be in that empty apartment. Too clean. Too sterile.

He slept on the couch. Then on your bed. Then beside you.

Neither of you talked about that either.

Until the night you found him on the bathroom floor, his back against the tub, sweat-soaked and shaking. Eyes blown wide. Breathing like the air was drowning him.

He didn’t say your name. Just, “She was there.”

You crouched beside him. Pressed a hand to his chest, over his racing heart. “Who?”

“Eveline. The girl.” His voice cracked. “But not really. I know she’s dead. I know she’s—I know—” His hands curled into his hair. “But it’s like I feel her sometimes. Like she’s still in my goddamn head.”

You didn’t say it would be okay. You knew better. Instead, you leaned forward, resting your forehead to his. “You’re not alone.”

He started crying.

He didn’t sob. Just went so quiet that you almost missed it—the way his breath hitched, the tears falling soundlessly onto your collarbone as you pulled him into your arms. He clung like a man broken open, like your touch was the only thing keeping him from dissolving back into the mold.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, and it gutted you. “I don’t know how to be human anymore.”

“You don’t have to be,” you told him, voice low and fierce. “You just have to be. And I’ll be here.”

That was the first time he kissed you.

It was clumsy. Desperate. Teeth clacking and fingers trembling. But it was real. You kissed him back with everything you had—because he needed it, and because you wanted it. Wanted him. Not as a broken man or a haunted survivor, but as Ethan. The man who still carried groceries with both hands even if one of them ached. The man who told awful jokes at 3am and cooked breakfast like it was the only sacred act left in the world.

The man who finally let himself live.

That night, you didn’t fuck. You just held each other. You undressed slowly, reverently—like every scar he’d earned was holy, like every piece of him was something to worship. You kissed his wrists. His stomach. His throat. You laid him out across the sheets and laid your hands across his heart like a benediction.

“Do you want this?” you asked him, breath shaking.

He nodded. “More than anything.”

And so you gave him everything.

He moaned under your touch—soft, needy, unguarded. Every sound he made was real. No performance. No walls. Just Ethan, raw and open, letting himself feel. You took your time. You didn’t rush. You ran your tongue along the curve of his hip and watched him fall apart, whispering your name like it was the only thing grounding him.

When you were finally inside him—slow, deep, tender—he clung to you like you were salvation. His legs wrapped around your waist. His arms wound around your shoulders. His mouth on yours, again and again, as if kissing you could save him.

And maybe it did. A little.

After, he cried again. Quieter this time. You kissed the tears from his cheeks and held him until he fell asleep, his head over your heart.

In the morning, he reached for your hand under the covers and laced your fingers together.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay,” he said.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “That’s fine. You don’t have to be okay. You just have to be here.”

He turned to face you. Eyes red. Voice steady. “Then I’ll stay.”

[flvvffy]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . ❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋...𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 ❞

wc: 869. not proofread. anon.

your older bf!toji absolutely adored you. he loved every aspect of you. and he made sure you knew that. spending as much time as he can with you, buying you whatever you need and overall being and attentive boyfriend for you.

you loved that. very much. especially whenever he complimented you. he always called you pretty, beautiful, angel and the likes. his comments always gave you some confidence booster, but once the feeling was over, you felt like complete shit.

you disliked the face staring back at you in the mirror. the body that was attached to said face. some days you would spend hours endlessly checking yourself in the mirror, silently wishing you could change so many things. or avoiding mirrors all together.

you started wearing makeup around him and loosely fitted clothing. he had asked you about it. "why the sudden changes?", he raised at brow at you but you shrugged.

"just trying something new. i kinda hated my old style"

"i liked it. but if it's what you want you look great as always". it didn't work. you wanted him to at least say you looked better, but at the same time kinda glad you didn't really have to change yourself for him.

it got ridiculous to him when you denied getting on facetime with him. "switch to the video, baby. i wanna see ya. i missed you so much", he cooed on the other end and your chest tightened.

"i don't think that's a good idea toji..."

"hmm...how come?"

"my service is kinda shitty right now and the quality will be the same", he went silent for a while and you were praying that he believed you.

"alright. i guess your voice will do for now. but i really do miss you"

"i miss you too, toji"

but older bf!toji knew something was up. something was going on. something that you didn't feel comfortable telling him. and he was determined to find out exactly what that was.

on one random afternoon, when he knew you would be lounging at home doing whatever, he decided to show up unannounced. he got to your front door and knocked on the door.

you looked at it curiously and paused whatever you were watching on tv and opened the door, to find toji looking at you. you slammed the door in his face. that was the only response you had. you were not wearing any makeup, your hair was messy and your clothes were definetly not cute.

"what the fuck is he doing here?!?!", you held your head in frustration as he banged on the door.

"OPEN THE DOOR!", he banged his fist multiple times. "I DON'T PLAY GAMES, ANGEL. AND YOU KNOW THAT. OPEN THIS DOOR. RIGHT. NOW!", he banged again and again but you were not gonna let him enter.

"LEAVE ME ALONE", and the it stopped. it went completely silent. you let out a breathe of relief but to your utter shock he was climbing in through your window. you tall and muscular boyfriend was getting into your apartment through the window.

"WHAT THE HELL!!", you rushed to go and close the window but he was already inside and he looked pissed. he straightened his back and was walking towards you.

your back ended up against the wall as he towered over you with his imposing height. "now why would you go on and slam the door in my face. what is going on with you these days. refusing to get on video call, the excess make-up, the change in clothing style. why won't you talk to me?", his brows were creased.

you turned away, tears in your eyes and his eyes softened. he pulled you in for a hug and you cried into his chest. "let it all out, angel...let it out", he whispered as your face was buried in his chest while he's soothing your back.

he held on to you until your sobs died down and were reduced to sniffles. he lifted your face with his chin and wiped away your tears.

"am i ugly?", frozen. shocked. he almost thought he didn't hear you. was this a joke?

"absolutely not! your so gorgeous sometimes i'm jealous"

"but you're only saying that just because your my boyfriend-"

"who gave you such ridiculous ideas? you really think you're not gorgeous. you're the only face i think about when i wake up and before i go to sleep. the only body i want to press kisses all over and carry around and hear your adorable laugh. your the only person who was able to plague my mind and i think your beautiful angel...always have been and always will be", he cups your face in his hands looking deep into your eyes. "everything i'm telling you isn't because i'm just your boyfriend, but it's the way i see you. you're perfect and don't you ever forget that", you nod in his hands and he presses his lips to yours, sharing a long and passionate kiss.

older bf!toji lifts you up and you wrap your arms around his hips with a gasp and he kisses your neck. "now let mw show you just how gorgeous i think you are..."

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[postredevainilla]

Dilf!satoru getting more and more controlling of the reader and getting extremely possessive

summary: after a rare day off spent with a college friend, reader returns home to face satoru’s quiet, simmering jealousy. tension boils over when she lets it slip the friend was a guy, prompting satoru to guilt her about “abandoning” yuuji and reminding her who she really belongs to.

cw: dubcon undertones, age/power imbalance, coercion, lots of emotional manipulation, oral (m receiving), degradation, objectification, possessiveness, jealousy, parental substitution, implied loss of autonomy, reader is 20 and is called "kid", satoru is a gross dirtbag in his mid-thirties PLS read at your own discretion

summer break is supposed to feel free. weightless. but in the gojo house, with yuuji curled into your side every morning and satoru always somewhere nearby, that freedom starts to feel… conditional.

you hadn’t even planned anything big—just a quiet afternoon out with an old college friend you hadn’t seen since finals. you texted them first, made plans for coffee and maybe thrifting, then mentioned it to satoru during breakfast, careful, casual.

he said yes.

but it’s the way he said it that hangs in your chest like something heavy.

“sure,” he’d muttered, eyes fixed on his coffee, his usual teasing smile nowhere in sight. “you deserve a little break.”

he didn’t look at you. didn’t crack a joke. didn’t ask questions. and that silence said more than any sarcastic remark could.

the rest of the day, he didn’t hover like usual. he barely spoke, barely looked up from his phone. but you could feel the tension crawling along your skin—thick, possessive, quiet.

when you mentioned needing to get ready before heading out, he just nodded, slow, like he was calculating something behind those bright, unreadable eyes.

“you look nice,” he said as you slipped on your shoes by the door.

but it didn’t sound like a compliment. it sounded like a warning.

the ride to the train station was silent. you offered small talk—he gave short answers. when you reached your stop and reached for the door, his hand shot out to catch your wrist. gentle, but firm.

“be safe,” he said, finally looking at you. “text me when you get there. and when you’re coming home.”

home. that word again.

you nodded, forcing a smile. but as you stepped onto the platform and felt the breeze hit your skin, you realized something had shifted. not in the moment itself—but in the fact that, deep down, you felt guilty for leaving.

and worse?

you knew he wanted you to.

…

you come back buzzing a little after dinner time.

sunlight still barely clings to your skin, the last bits of golden hour trailing behind you as you let yourself in. the house smells like the same warm, cozy blur it always does—fabric softener, cinnamon, and a faint trace of satoru’s cologne.

you call out a soft greeting and head to the kitchen, where you find him already leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a glass of whiskey at his side.

“i’m back,” you say lightly, tossing your bag on the chair.

“how was it?”

you smile, stretching your arms above your head. “so good. it felt nice to just talk and hang out for a bit, y’know? i haven’t seen ren since we pulled that all-nighter before finals.”

the name slips before you even realize what you’ve said.

there’s a pause. heavy. cold. like the air itself holds its breath.

satoru straightens. “ren?” he repeats, too calmly.

you blink. “yeah, my friend from campus. we were in stats together. he—”

“oh. he.” that’s all it takes. the shift in his tone is instant—no sarcasm this time, no teasing. just a quiet, simmering fury that crackles behind his words.

you barely manage a breath before he’s closing the distance, his voice low and sharp.

“so, while i stayed here and took care of our son, you went out and caught up with some college guy?”

you reel back a step. “your son. and i was just gone for a few hours.”

“yeah? and what if he needed you?” he snaps. “what if he asked for his mommy and she wasn’t there?”

you freeze. “don’t—don’t call me that. i’m not—”

“you’re not- you’re not what?” he interrupts, his voice turning mocking now. “you’re not the one who brushes his hair, tucks him in, kisses his scraped knees? feeds him when he refuses to eat unless it’s you? tell me again how you’re not his mother.”

you fold your arms, suddenly defensive. “i’m his babysitter. that’s what i agreed to. that’s the job.”

“the job,” satoru repeats with a bitter laugh, like the word physically disgusts him. “right. and what, you think you can just clock out? leave for a day, come back with some guy’s scent still clinging to your shirt and act like everything’s normal?”

“i didn’t do anything wrong.”

“you left. that’s all it takes,” he says, stepping in closer. “and maybe you forgot, but i don’t like being forgotten. especially not by the girl who sleeps under my roof and takes care of my kid like she was meant to.”

there’s silence. thick. tense.

his next words cut straight through you.

“you live here. you take care of our son. you eat my food and sleep in my bed. you don’t get to run off and play pretend. this is your life now.”

you swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

and deep down, as much as it terrifies you—part of you knows he’s right.

but you should say something. push back. reassert the line between you—babysitter, employer. but the words won’t come.

because he’s looking at you like you already belong to him. like you’ve never belonged anywhere else.

he steps closer, and your back hits the edge of the counter. his hands plant themselves on either side of you, caging you in—not rough, but not gentle either. his breath ghosts across your cheek, and the air shifts, thick and electric.

“you gonna run off again?” he asks, voice low, taunting. “or did you get that out of your system?”

you swallow hard, eyes flicking to the floor. “i didn’t run.”

he tips your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to look at him. “no? you sure about that, sweetheart? ‘cause you’re standing here in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, smelling like outside.”

that teasing glint is back in his eyes, but it’s sharper now. possessive. dangerous.

your breath hitches as he leans in, his lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—not quite kissing, just claiming. his hand slips under the hem of your tee, fingertips skimming your bare stomach, igniting sparks beneath your skin.

“this is mine,” he murmurs, voice dark and reverent. “all of you. doesn’t matter how you try to play pretend.”

the tension between you and satoru crackles in the air like electricity, the silence heavy with unspoken words. he leans back against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze burning into you with a intensity that makes your skin prickle.

"i'm sorry," you start, the apology feeling foreign on your tongue. "i shouldn't have gone out without...without considering how it might make you feel."

satoru's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching.

he leans in to your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. "tell me, kid...did you miss me while you were gone? did you think about me at all?"

you try to move away, but his grip is too firm. his eyes bore into yours, searching, demanding.

"of course i did," you whisper, your voice trembling. "i...i missed you."

a slow, satisfied smirk spreads across satoru's face. "good," he purrs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "you're sorry for making me feel neglected," he continues, his voice taking on a darker edge. "so now you're going to make it up to me. get on your knees."

you hesitate for a moment, your eyes widening. but the look in satoru's eyes leaves no room for argument. with shaking hands, you lower yourself to the floor, kneeling before him.

he smirks down at you, his hand moving to the waistband of his pants. "beg for it," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "beg me to forgive you, to let you worship my cock like the good little slut you are."

you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the shame and arousal clashing within you. but the need to please him, to appease him, overrides everything else.

"please, ‘toru," you whimper, eyes wet, your hands gripping his thighs. "i'm sorry for leaving you, for giving you any reason to doubt my loyalty. please let me make it up to you. please let me show you how much i need you, how much i crave your touch."

satoru's smirk widens, his eyes darkening with lust. "that's more like it," he growls, undoing his belt with one hand. "now open wide and take what's yours."

you part your lips, your tongue darting out to wet them in anticipation. the first glimpse of his cock makes your mouth water, your pussy clenching with need.

he takes himself in hand, rubbing the swollen head against your lips, coating them with his precum. "this is what you needed all day, isn't it?" he taunts, his voice low and mocking. "this thick cock splitting you open, filling you up until you're drowning in me."

you moan in agreement, your eyes fluttering shut as he pushes past your lips, into the warm cavern of your mouth. he groans at the sensation, his hand fisting in your hair.

"that's it, kid," he praises, starting a slow, steady rhythm. "take every inch like a good girl. show me how sorry you really are."

you do your best to obey, your lips stretching around his girth as he thrusts deeper, hitting the back of your throat. tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don't pull away, determined to please him.

he sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon. the sounds of his pleasure fill the kitchen, mingling with your muffled moans and the obscene slurping noises.

"fuck, i'm close," he grunts, his grip tightening in your hair. "gonna fill this little mouth with my cum. gonna mark you as mine in every way possible."

you whimper around his cock, the thought of tasting him, of being owned so thoroughly, sending a rush of heat between your legs. you double your efforts, sucking harder, taking him deeper.

with a final, brutal thrust, satoru buries himself down your throat and comes with a howwl. his hot seed floods your mouth, spilling down your chin as you struggle to swallow it all.

he holds you in place, his cock twitching and pulsing as he rides out his orgasm. when he finally pulls out, you gasp for air, your chest heaving.

satoru grins down at you, a satisfied glint in his eyes. "good girl," he praises, wiping a smear of cum from your cheek. "you've proven yourself worthy of my forgiveness."

he helps you to your feet, pulling you into a fierce kiss. his tongue plunders your mouth, tasting himself on your lips.

"now," he murmurs against your lips, his hand sliding down to grope your ass. "let's go say goodnight to yuuji and go to bed. i'm not done with you yet."and as he leads you towards the stairs, you can't help but shiver in anticipation, knowing that the night is far from over.

but your independence? yeah, that's definitely over.

a/n: i feel like he would absolutely keep u from seeing ur parents.. u wanna visit ur family who live maybe a few towns over or even across the country and satorus just like. "nah. we're not doing that." he doesn't need them poking into your guys' business :/

[lieran03]

Raising Their Voice

Love and Deepspace Fanfic

The usual calm and soft men who never raise their voice suddenly did so in front of you, and that's only to protect you

Genre: fluff/slice of life Pairing: Zayne x fem!reader Words: 2.017 Warning: none!

Writing commission || Ko-fi || AO3 acc

Xavier's || Rafayel's || Sylus' || Caleb's

Based on THIS request

Everyone knows how calm and collected Zayne is, especially when he is at the hospital, working and going through the operation he needed to. He never raised his voice, not to the doctors who did something wrong, not to the nurses, and especially to his favorite patient slash person, the Hunter, who has been his childhood friend. Although there might be times he raised his voice in operation when a mess occurred, he never really got angry.

Even when his dearest always tries to bring that kind of emotion to him, wanting to know how he will react and how he will act around, he always knows it first, and that ended up with him being the one to tease her. In the end, the one who got angry was her instead of him. He likes to see the way she raised her voice, getting worked up by her own pranks, and getting irritated at him which makes her look cute.

“Your check-up is done, nothing is concerning enough, except that you must have been losing sleep lately.”

“Yeah, I guess because a certain someone wasn’t there to lull me to sleep.” Zayne knew she was talking about him. With countless surgeries and patients he needed to tend, going back home was hard.

“I admit that I’m at fault for that, but aside from that, you push yourself again.”

“Okay, Doctor Zayne is in working full mode now.”

It was another teasing remark given to him that made him shut his lips. More words are coming from him, and she will probably tease him to death. A sigh to show his defeat can be heard before he rubs his temple, feeling dizzy just by thinking and imagining how the conversation will go if he continues. The smiles on her face made him feel better, and he started to act serious again.

“Wait for me downstairs, I will end my shift in a while and we can have dinner together.”

“Is this how you pay me for missing all the nights?” Noticing that the teasing had started back, Zayne also decided to do the same.

“I just thought that the dessert shop I haven’t been able to go to now has a new menu. Sharing is always caring, right? I wanted to share the dessert with you.”

The conversation ended fast when Zayne got a call from Greyson. Knowing that there wasn’t anything else he needed to check, he bid his goodbye, adding that she told him he needed to check the patient fast. Once Zayne was nowhere to be seen, she went out of his check-up room. Although it was night, the hospital was still as busy as it could get, filling the hospital spaces.

Before she could get to the place where she usually waited for Zayne, another doctor whom she knew very well called out to her. A small smile appeared on her lips, greeting the doctor quite excitedly. After all, before knowing Zayne, the doctor in front of her was the one to take care of her and always check her up, giving her the opportunity to push her limits so she could enter the Hunter Association exam.

“Are you here for a general check-up with your current physician, or did you have an injury while doing a Hunter job?”

“I think it’s kind of like the two,” she answered with a light tone. Knowing her previous doctor, she also knows that joking with them is a normal thing. Responding to her words, a chuckle can be heard before a pat was given to her shoulder.

This time, with a serious look, the doctor said, “I hope that there’s nothing wrong with your body now. Your current physician was Dr. Zayne, right? You’re in good hands. I trust you with him, and you better listen to him too.”

A short conversation that starts with just mere greetings turns into a story time. The doctor kept making sure that he didn’t have any patients he needed to tend at the moment, and he only handled emergencies after getting older. At the same time, she also knows that Zayne wouldn’t be around just an hour after their departure, giving her a moment to have a conversation with her previous attending doctor.

“I guess we have to part here. I’m taking your time, right?”

“It’s okay, I was waiting for someone too.”

The smile she gives to the doctor eases his worries before he bids his goodbye, meeting a resident along the way and going into a serious mood. Seeing that she didn’t have anything else to do and didn’t want to make Zayne wait for her, she went straight to the place where she usually waited for Zayne. Part of her was scared to find the man already there.

What kind of response would Zayne give if she appears a bit late?

However, before she could have gone too far, a resident who was running pushed her. Normally, when others bumped into her, she wouldn’t find any problem, nor would she get affected by it. Yet, with the most unexpected times, added to the amount of force given, she couldn’t help but push down to the floor, feeling a bit lost, and look around her.

The resident’s things from his hand were thrown to the floor, an indication that the collision had just now. Even though questions still filled her mind, she started to gather the things, not wanting to get the resident into trouble. A little pain can also be felt around her shoulder, but she decided to turn a blind eye to it.

What’s important is the resident didn’t get into trouble because of her.

“Here’s your things. Next time, be careful.”

It should be just a normal reminder, especially to the resident who must be tired of working endlessly. Part of her also imagines about how the resident would get scolded for being reckless and even bumping into a patient. Trying to ease the fear inside them, she offered a kind smile, hoping it would tell the latter that she was not angry at the accident. She was okay with it.

When she thought a kind response was what she would get after that, the resident was evidently looking at her up and down as if wanting to make sure that she was not hurt. Once they confirmed something, they harshly took the things from her hand, visibly glaring and giving a low, dissatisfied sound to her, a sound that succeeded in making her back down a few steps back.

“If you’re not a patient, why are you wandering around here?! It would be bad if the person who bumped into you was any other doctor!”

“I was …?” There were no words coming from her lips, trying to understand what was currently happening to her. Did she get scolded when the resident was in the wrong?

“See? You’re not even aware that you just made a mistake! Imagine if the person you just bumped into was a real doctor, they would probably get mad at you and … ah! Whatever, you’re in the way. I was in a rush, and you just appeared so suddenly that it disturbed my work.”

“I’m … sorry?” The apology came too abruptly, that she didn’t even know the reason for her apology. Is it because she didn’t look around? Or is it because she accidentally bumped into them? Shouldn’t the resident be the one to look around to make sure they didn’t mess up? “But, I think you should have watched where you’re going, too.”

Couldn’t accept the fact that she was being blamed, words to show her dissatisfaction can be heard. At first, the resident was ready to walk away, not talking or making the issue bigger. However, the words spoken just now made them stop and look back, trying to see if what they had heard just now was real. They didn’t like how suddenly it became their fault. The glare was prominent, making her feel uncomfortable once again.

“Did you just say that I was the one making a fault here?”

The tone given shows hatred, making the situation more intense than it should have been. “I’m sorry?”

This time, not trying to cover her feelings, she purposely let out the tone she has been holding back, hoping it could portray just how angry she is right now. Whoever this resident is, they must have seen anyone except a patient as someone annoying. Something common to be seen in some of the residents who could get to Akso Hospital.

“Ah … is it because you’re a Hunter that you think you’re almighty and important? I guess it’s quite dumb and ….”

The words were never finished, and in addition, she felt as if someone was standing behind her. Before she could turn back to see who the person was, a hand finally rested on her back, as if to show intimacy. At the same time, the person who came leaning down, speaking to her in a gentle voice, and showing concern.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

It was Zayne.

For a few moments, the resident could only watch as the renowned Doctor Zayne was putting his full attention to the girl standing beside him, making sure she was not injured or had any bruises uncalled for. Once he was sure, and he listened to the girl's plea that she was okay, his gaze finally fell to the resident in front of him, showing no amusement.

“She’s a patient here. Just because someone didn’t wear a hospital gown doesn’t mean that they’re not a patient. Is this how you would treat those who aren’t your patient?”

“N-no … that’s not ….” Zayne’s voice wasn’t shouting, yet it was firm, showing his dominance. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“You should have said sorry to her, not me.” There was nothing that came after Zayne’s words, leaving the girl to look up and see Zayne had furrowed eyebrows, not liking how the resident still denied he was at fault. “Did you hear me or not? That you should have apologized to her and not me.”

With the raised voice coming from the-collected-and-calm-Doctor-Zayne, the resident finally stammered and said his apology, running away before Zayne could say anything else, and before the girl could say it was okay. Once the resident was nowhere to be seen, she finally stared at Zayne, facing her body to him.

“You raised your voice, I guess it was the first. And it was for me, should I be happy or concerned?”

“You shouldn’t have let others push you like that … and I didn’t mean literally.” Zayne put his hand onto the girl’s shoulder, feeling around to make sure that she didn’t dislocate it by accident.

“They’re in a hurry, I can understand that.”

“Yes. But still, it was their fault. Running into a patient, blaming the patient—or not. Even after that, they still didn’t say sorry because they realized they’re at fault.” The moment Zayne assured there was nothing concerning, he finally held the girl’s hand. “I was on my way down to meet you when I saw them bump into you, I thought it was nice of you to help them pick up their things. however, from afar, I can show how irritated they are … that’s when I decided to step in. I hope I didn’t interfere with you.”

“A low chuckle can be heard from her before she swings the hands held by Zayne, finds it amusing how Zayne easily tells the story. “No, no. I was glad. If you didn’t come, I might punch them in the face, and I might get a warning for doing so.”

“I could imagine,” was Zayne’s only response, holding her hand tighter when they reached the parking lot.

“And anyway, Zayne.” Before Zayne could open the car’s door, his attention was brought to the girl who was waiting. “Your voice does sound sexy when you raise it like that. I wonder how it would sound if you got angrier than that.”

[4m0r1m]

I Didn't Want To Lose You

SUMMARY: You never understood why Ellie started hating you. One day she was teasing you with smirks and dry jokes, the next she couldn’t stand to be near you. But now, with blood soaking through your jacket and her hands trembling against your skin, you finally see the truth in her eyes.

WORD COUNT: 3,237 words

PAIRING: ellie willams x reader

You never understood why Ellie started hating you.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when she used to smile when you walked into a room. She’d make sarcastic comments that weren’t exactly mean, just sharp enough to make your cheeks burn. There was warmth in her then—something careful, buried deep, but real.

And then, one day, it disappeared.

No argument. No incident. No words exchanged. She just flipped a switch, and suddenly you were the last person she wanted to see. If she could avoid you, she would. If she couldn’t, she’d be cold, clipped, or outright cruel. The rest of Jackson had no idea what happened. Neither did you.

You asked Jesse once.

“She’s weird,” he said, with a shrug that didn’t hide the hint of worry in his voice. “You didn’t do anything. She just… shuts people out sometimes.”

But that didn’t help the way it gnawed at your chest.

Especially not today.

The air outside is bitter and sharp as you saddle up, snowflakes drifting lazily down as you tie your pack. Jesse’s voice carries across the stable.

“You and Ellie are on patrol. East route.”

You freeze. Of course. Of course it’s you and her.

You glance over your shoulder. Ellie’s already pulling herself onto her horse, barely sparing you a glance. Her jaw is tight. She doesn't say a word.

Great.

You mount up silently, trailing behind her as the two of you head out of the gates. The quiet between you is deafening. Only the soft clop of hooves and the whistle of wind fills the space.

The cold bites through your gloves. You tug your scarf higher and try not to think about how far this patrol is going to stretch. The East route isn’t short. You’ll be stuck with her for hours.

And she still won’t look at you.

The snow crunches under your boots as you dismount at the first checkpoint, a partially collapsed cabin half-buried beneath frost. Ellie hops down without a sound and begins her sweep. You follow behind, keeping your distance.

Your mind drifts—like it always does—back to the day it all changed.

You were laughing at something Dina had said. Ellie was walking past, and you turned to greet her. Just a simple “Hey.”

She looked at you like you were something stuck to her boot.

After that, the walls went up.

You tried once—just once—to ask what you’d done.

“Did I… piss you off or something?”

She scoffed, not even looking at you. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

That was months ago.

Back in the cabin, you both move in silence. You clear the back rooms, she checks the kitchen and front. When you return, she’s crouched over an old drawer, rummaging.

You lean against the doorway. “Nothing upstairs.”

She doesn’t respond. Just closes the drawer with a snap and brushes past you, the touch of her shoulder colder than the air outside.

You sigh.

“Y’know, this would be a lot easier if you weren’t pretending I don’t exist.”

Ellie freezes. Just for a second. Then straightens up, not turning around.

“You done?” she says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“I said, are you done?”

Her voice is low, tight with something you can’t quite name. Anger? Hurt?

Before you can respond, she pushes the door open and walks out into the snow.

You follow. Because what else can you do?

You’re halfway through the forest when it happens.

The snow makes everything feel muffled—like the world is holding its breath. The trees close in tight, branches heavy with white. You and Ellie walk on foot now, horses tied back a ways. It’s quiet. Still.

Too still.

The infected come fast. A screamer first, then two runners. You dispatch one easily, but the other—larger, faster—catches you off-guard. It barrels into you, teeth snapping, and knocks you to the ground.

Your shoulder slams into a rock.

Pain flares white-hot.

“Shit!” you gasp, kicking out wildly. Your knife slips from your hand.

The runner snarls, pressing down on your chest. You scream for Ellie—then hear the blast of her shotgun. The weight on you goes slack.

Ellie’s above you in a flash, face pale, eyes wide. “Fuck, fuck—are you okay?”

You blink up at her, dazed. Her hands are on you, checking your side, your shoulder.

You wince hard. “Think it’s dislocated.”

“Shit,” she breathes, visibly shaken. “Okay, okay. Hold on.”

You’ve never heard her sound like this before—scared.

“Ellie—”

“Shut up. Just breathe.” Her voice cracks. “Don’t talk.”

She kneels beside you, her hands trembling as she takes off her backpack and rummages for supplies. You watch her through the blur of pain—how her brow furrows, how she keeps glancing at you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear.

You can’t help it. “Why… do you care?”

Her hand stills.

She doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Just wraps your arm in a makeshift sling, movements stiff and silent.

Then she sits back, snow crunching beneath her. Her breath comes out in a shaky cloud.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” she whispers.

Your heartbeat slows. Or maybe it skips.

“What?”

She finally looks at you. Her green eyes are glassy now, the cold turning her cheeks red, but it’s not the wind making her look like this.

“I didn’t tell you sooner because—” Her voice breaks. She swallows. “Because every time I care about someone, they get ripped away from me. Joel. Riley. My fucking parents. Everyone.”

She looks away.

“I thought if I pushed you away first, I could stop it before it happened.”

You stare at her. “That’s why you’ve been—”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “A complete asshole. I know.”

Silence settles between you, thick as the falling snow.

You don’t know what to say.

Not until you see her wiping at her eyes quickly with the back of her hand.

“Ellie.”

“What?”

You shift slightly, ignoring the pain. “You didn’t lose me.”

Her gaze flicks up, hesitant. Scared.

You meet her eyes. “I’m right here.”

And something in her face crumples. She leans forward, resting her forehead against your good shoulder. It’s a fragile touch, scared and desperate all at once.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she mumbles. “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Your uninjured arm wraps around her.

“I know,” you whisper. “But… I still care about you. Even if I don’t understand you most of the time.”

That makes her huff a laugh. Wet. Shaky. Real.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

You sit like that for a while—two bodies in the snow, hearts beating fast against the cold, years of fear and loss held between you.

And somehow, something begins to thaw.

Later, when you both get back to Jackson and your shoulder’s properly set, Ellie lingers at the door of the infirmary.

You glance up. “You heading out?”

She shifts awkwardly, hands shoved in her pockets. “Only if you want me to.”

You pause.

“Ellie.”

“What?”

“Stay.”

Her eyes soften, a flicker of hope breaking through the guilt.

She sits beside you.

This time, you’re the one who reaches out.

A/N: sorry for not posting for a while but I'm here now!! finals are destroying and I need a vacation soooo I'll see if I can post anything more!