#you could say you are... gnawing on it even | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heliosunny · 1 day ago

Note

PLEASE IM BEGGING LIKE THE BIGGEST BEGGAR IN THE WORLD DO A DAN HENG LUCKY EGG FIC( Unless you don’t want to!)

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Dan Heng x Reader

You didn’t expect much when you got the egg. Sure, it looked a little different compared to normal eggs people got, but that was normal, right?

For the next three days, you never let it out of your sight. And then, the feeling of being watched started. At first, you thought it was your imagination. By the third day, your unease had turned into a quiet, gnawing dread.

That night, as you walked home with the egg cradled against your chest, a shadow moved.

Before you could react, a figure lunged from the darkness. A hand snatched at the egg.

"Hand it over!"

Instinctively, you held it tighter. "No."

"Then I'll just have to take it myself."

A flash of silver—a weapon.

You barely had time to flinch before-

Crack

A burst of blinding teal light exploded from the egg, knocking the intruder back. The warmth in your arms vanished as something took its place.

A young man now stood before you. Dark, messy hair, his expression calm but unreadable. He stepped in front of you, placing himself between you and the attacker.

"Step away from them."

The assailant cursed under their breath before lunging again.

With startling speed, the man deflected the strike, the enemy barely had time to react before he countered, sending them stumbling back. Realizing the fight was unwinnable, they vanished into the night.

You clutched the empty eggshell, heart hammering, struggling to process what just happened.

The young man turned, his gaze scanning you carefully.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head slowly.

“…Good.”

But before you could even think of a response, a sudden force yanked at your chest.

A sharp, invisible pull tightened between you and Dan Heng-his name suddenly came to you, an unnatural bond snapping into place. You weren’t the only one who felt it, Dan Heng’s hand clenched into a fist, his brows furrowing as if testing something unseen.

“…It seems we are bound together.”

“What?”

Dan Heng’s words settled heavily between you.

You stared at him. “What do you mean… bound?”

Dan Heng’s expression was unreadable as he lifted his hand, fingers flexing slightly—as if testing the invisible force between you.

“I can feel it” he murmured. “A connection.” His sharp eyes flickered to you. “And so can you.”

Now that he mentioned it…

There was something tugging at your chest. A strange, lingering warmth linking you to him, like a thin, invisible thread pulling taut whenever you moved too far away.

“What the hell is this?” You instinctively took a step back.

Dan Heng didn’t stop you—he didn’t need to. The moment you moved too far, a dull ache formed at your core, forcing you to halt.

Dan Heng’s eyes narrowed. “It won’t let us separate.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the unease creeping up your spine. “Is this… because of the egg?”

“Most likely.” Dan Heng let out a slow exhale, his voice calm despite the situation. “Something unnatural happened when I hatched.”

No kidding.

You clenched the broken remnants of the egg in your hands, staring at the glowing fragments. This wasn’t normal. None of this was normal.

Dan Heng studied you carefully. “Does it hurt?”

You shook your head. “Not really… Just weird.”

He nodded. “Then we should find out how to undo it.”

Right. That made sense.

You didn’t know Dan Heng, and he didn’t know you. Staying attached like this wasn’t ideal for either of you.

But before you could say anything else, that feeling of being watched returned.

Your body tensed. “They’re still here.”

Dan Heng was already looking past you. He was silent for a moment before speaking again, voice lower this time.

“Come with me.”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you along. The two of you disappeared into the night.

The inn was quiet, tucked away in an alley far from prying eyes. It wasn’t the most luxurious place, but it would do for the night.

Dan Heng took a seat on the small wooden chair in the corner, silent as he assessed the room. You, on the other hand, dropped onto the bed, exhausted from the night’s chaos.

“…I’ll bathe first” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

Dan Heng nodded, offering no objections. He was still tense, likely on alert in case your pursuer returned.

Steam curled from the bathroom as you let the hot water wash away the tension in your body. By the time you emerged, towel-drying your hair, you noticed something was different.

That strange, invisible pull? Gone.

You tested it cautiously, taking a few steps away from Dan Heng. No resistance. No ache. Nothing.

Dan Heng must have felt it too. He lifted a brow. “It’s gone.”

You nodded, unsure whether to feel relieved or concerned. Why had it disappeared so suddenly?

Dan Heng stood, “I’ll bathe next.”

You collapsed onto the bed. The momentary separation felt… odd. But you brushed it aside.

When Dan Heng returned, hair damp and sleeves rolled up as he towel-dried it, you caught sight of a faint scratch on his forearm.

“Did you get that earlier?” you asked.

He followed your gaze, barely sparing it a glance. “It’s nothing.”

“Still.” You grabbed a small first-aid kit from the bedside drawer. “Let me see.”

Dan Heng didn’t move, but he didn’t stop you either.

You carefully cleaned the scratch, applying a light bandage. “There. Should be fine now.”

Dan Heng watched your hands for a second before meeting your eyes. “…Thank you.”

You blinked. He was so stoic most of the time that the simple gratitude caught you off guard.

“Yeah, well.” You leaned back. “It’d be a pain if you got sick over something so small.”

Dan Heng huffed lightly, almost amused.

The atmosphere felt… more comfortable now.

For the first time since this night started, you didn’t feel like strangers.

The inn had only one bed. You figured Dan Heng wouldn’t mind sharing—after all, he had just saved your life.

But as expected, the moment you suggested it, he refused.

“I’ll sleep on the floor” he said simply, already grabbing a spare pillow.

You rolled your eyes. “You just fought someone, ran through half a forest, and got scratched up in the process. You need the bed.”

With an exasperated sigh, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him in.

Dan Heng stiffened at the sudden touch, but you didn’t let go. “Just sleep. I don’t mind.”

Ultimately, he relented, slipping under the blanket beside you—though he kept a noticeable distance.

You didn’t push it. Exhaustion weighed on you like a stone, and before you knew it, sleep took over.

A faint creak of the floor. The softest rustle of fabric.

Dan Heng’s eyes snapped open.

Intruders.

Before he could react, a hand clamped over his mouth, and a sharp pressure point strike numbed his limbs.

His vision blurred for a split second, but his focus remained sharp. They had waited until you were deep in sleep, ensuring you wouldn’t wake no matter what.

Dan Heng struggled, but his body refused to cooperate. He was lifted and carried away, the door closing behind them without a sound.

And you?

Still asleep, blissfully unaware.

You woke up to emptiness. The bed beside you was cold. The blanket was untouched, and Dan Heng was gone.

You knew something was wrong. You could feel it—not just instinctively, but physically. A sharp pull, like an invisible string tugging at your very core. It yanked you forward, as if guiding you somewhere.

Without hesitation, you threw on your shoes and bolted out of the inn.

Your feet led you through winding streets, across empty alleyways, and towards an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The closer you got, the more intense the feeling became.

When you reached the entrance, muffled voices reached your ears.

“…We know you came from the egg.”

Then, a sharp sound—a syringe being pressed into skin.

Dan Heng let out a strained breath. His usual composed presence was cracking. You peered through a small opening. He was tied to a chair, his head lowered, his breath uneven. His body trembled, muscles twitching unnaturally. Whatever they had injected him with, it was forcing a reaction out of him.

One of the men stepped closer. "If you won't talk, we'll just—"

With the element of surprise on your side, you grabbed the nearest metal rod and slammed it into the first guy’s head. He crumpled instantly. The second turned, but you had already kicked him square in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. You twisted the third man's arm back and sent him crashing into the interrogation table.

Three down.

Your chest heaved, adrenaline still buzzing in your veins. Then, you turned to Dan Heng.

His head was still lowered, his fingers curled tightly into fists. His breathing had grown heavier—not from exhaustion, but from something else.

You approached carefully. “Dan Heng…?”

A tremor ran through his body. Slowly, he lifted his head.

And his eyes— Not the calm, reserved gaze you knew.

The moment your eyes met, you knew this wasn’t Dan Heng.

His usually composed expression was gone, replaced by something feral. His chest heaved, his muscles tensed, and the eerie glow of his newly-formed horns cast an unnatural light against the dim room.

Then, he lunged. You barely managed to dodge in time. His fingers grazed your shoulder, sharp nails cutting through fabric. He wasn’t holding back.

"Dan Heng, snap out of it!" you shouted, ducking under his next strike.

But there was no response.

His attacks were relentless, each blow precise, deadly.

Your back hit the wall.

His hand shot out, aiming straight for your throat.

And in that moment, his body gave out.

Dan Heng collapsed right in front of you.

The tension in the air vanished. His breath came in sharp gasps, his body still trembling from whatever those men had done to him.

You didn’t waste time.

You dragged him home.

A day passed.

You sat beside his unconscious form, watching for any sign of change. The bond between you had flickered—then disappeared entirely.

And his body…

His features were different now.

His ears— sharper, more elongated. His horns— translucent green, curling back in the shape of a dragon’s. Whoever those men were, they must have known. They were after Dan Heng’s power.

When he finally woke up, his body tensed immediately. His gaze landed on you, and for a moment, you feared he’d attack again.

Then, slowly, his breathing steadied.

“…You are alive.” His voice was hoarse.

“Of course I did.” You frowned. “Though you almost killed me, you know that?”

“…I know.” His fingers curled into the sheets. “And yet, you didn’t leave.”

“You can explain later.”

You reached out carefully, brushing his bangs back to check for a fever. His new horns brushed against your wrist.

For now, you’d both deal with the consequences together.

Dan Heng sat on the edge of the bed, fingers lightly brushing against one of his newly-formed horns. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders was clear.

You crossed your arms, staring at him. "Why did you turn into...that?"

He glanced up at you, his sharp blue-green eyes filled with uncertainty. "I don’t know."

Most of his human form had returned, but some of the dragon-like features remained. His elongated ears, his translucent green horns… they were all still there.

He looked down at his own hands. "I shouldn’t have changed in the first place. I was… altered."

"Well, you came from the egg I got, so that makes you my responsibility."

"You say that so easily."

"Because it’s the truth," you shot back. "You’re new to life here, right? You don’t even know how things work. If I leave you alone, you might get kidnapped again."

He couldn’t argue with that.

"Come on. You need to learn how to live like a normal person."

“…You’re seriously taking this upon yourself?"

"Obviously. If I don’t, who will?" You raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd rather run around in the open and get captured again?"

“…Very well. I’ll leave myself in your care.”

For now, you’d carry on.

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

Dan Heng adjusted quickly to life here, following your instructions without complaint. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he listened, observed, and adapted well.

And then… you started noticing something strange.

One morning, as he sat at the small dining table, sipping the tea you made, you caught something in your peripheral vision—his horns were fading.

You blinked. Was it a trick of the light?

But then later that day, after you dragged him to the market (much to his dismay), his horns reappeared. His sharp ears elongated again, and—most alarming of all—he briefly grew a tail.

You nearly choked on air when you saw it.

Luckily, it vanished quickly, but you had seen it.

"Dan Heng" you called, suspicious.

He looked at you, unfazed. "What?"

You squinted. "…Are you aware that you’re…changing?"

He froze for a fraction of a second, but that was enough confirmation.

You crossed your arms. "Your horns. Your ears. A tail, Dan Heng. What’s causing it?"

His eyes flickered downward. A thoughtful silence stretched between you before he finally admitted, "I don't know. But…" his gaze met yours again, "It only seems to happen when I feel… displeased."

You stared at him. "So you're telling me… the more annoyed you get, the more dragon-like you become?"

He nodded.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Great. So I just have to keep you happy or else you’ll start sprouting more parts?"

Dan Heng didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his expression shifted—just slightly. His usual calm mask gave way to something more… pleased.

And in that moment, his horns… faded.

Wait a damn minute.

Your eyes narrowed. "…You like hearing that, don’t you?"

Dan Heng tilted his head, feigning innocence

You had a feeling this was going to be a huge problem.

You weren’t one to leave things unexplored—especially not something this bizarre.

So naturally, you had to test it out.

Test #1: Jealousy

Dan Heng rarely reacted strongly to anything. He was composed, observant, and rarely raised his voice. But you needed to see if strong emotions—specifically negative ones—would bring his features back.

So, you made him jealous.

It was subtle at first. A passing remark about someone at the market being “pretty nice.” An offhand comment about how they “seemed dependable.”

Dan Heng didn’t react outwardly.

But when you jokingly mentioned that someone offered to “show you around sometime,” his sharp ears reappeared.

You almost dropped what you were holding.

Dan Heng noticed too. He frowned, touching his ear. “That’s—”

Gotcha.

“Relax," you waved a hand, feigning innocence. "I was just talking."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. But after a long, assessing look, his ears faded again.

Test #2: Comfort

Later that evening, after he bathed, you casually offered, "Want me to dry your hair?"

"That’s unnecessary—"

"Sit!" you ordered, grabbing a towel.

Dan Heng hesitated but complied.

You gently ruffled the towel through his damp hair, fingers lightly brushing his scalp. You expected him to tense—but to your surprise, he relaxed almost instantly.

And then, in real time, his horns disappeared.

"Something wrong?" he murmured, his voice oddly softer than usual.

You exhaled. "…No."

But internally, you were screaming.

Test #3: Annoyance

The next day, he accidentally broke your favorite dish.

It wasn’t his fault—it slipped from the counter. But you sighed dramatically and gave him a look of disappointment.

Dan Heng immediately grew a tail.

The absolute panic on his face made you bite back laughter. He glared at you, realizing what was happening.

"You’re doing this on purpose" he accused.

"Me?" You blinked innocently. "Never."

He narrowed his eyes. But his tail disappeared soon after.

Final Test: Sleeping Together

One night, as you prepared for bed, you hesitated before asking, “Is it okay if I hug you to sleep?”

Dan Heng didn’t answer right away. But after a long moment, he nodded.

You took it as permission and settled beside him, arms loosely wrapping around his waist. His body was warm—steady. For once, he wasn’t tense.

And then—

His dragon features faded entirely.

Dan Heng noticed immediately. “What?”

You pulled back slightly, staring at him. "You're… normal again."

His breath hitched slightly. He glanced down at himself—his hands, his reflection in the dim window. His horns, ears, tail—all gone.

Silence filled the room.

Then, in a low voice, he muttered, “…So I need you close to stay like this?”

That might be a problem. But you are still testing it out.

----

You’d caught Dan Heng using his water manipulation abilities more than once.

At first, it was small things—drying dishes without a towel, cooling his tea without ice, sneaking a splash into his bath without touching the faucet.

But then, he started abusing it.

One evening, you walked into the living room only to see the floor miraculously cleaning itself. A thin layer of water swept across the wooden panels, neatly gathering dust into a single puddle before disappearing entirely.

Dan Heng stood nearby, looking completely indifferent—as if he hadn’t just commanded the water like a personal cleaning tool.

You folded your arms. “Really?”

He didn’t even flinch. “It’s efficient.”

You squinted. “It’s lazy.”

He turned his head slightly, not denying it.

After that, he got sneakier. Whenever you weren’t looking, something would conveniently be cleaned, cooled, or wiped away.

You caught him again a few days later. This time, he vanished the evidence before you could properly scold him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he said flatly, even as the faintest ripple of water shimmered at his fingertips.

----

One day, you brought two friends home.

Caiyu—a friendly, outgoing woman with a sharp tongue, and Ren—a male friend who was, in your opinion, just a little too clingy.

Dan Heng immediately did not like him.

At first, he was quiet. Watching from the side. But every time Ren leaned in—too close, too casual—Dan Heng’s brows furrowed just a little deeper.

Then, one moment, Ren reached out, casually touching your shoulder. Not anything inappropriate—just a familiar gesture.

A chill ran through the air. Your tea, which had been warm seconds ago, suddenly turned ice cold.

You paused, frowning at the cup. “Huh…?”

Caiyu looked between you and Dan Heng, her eyes narrowing.

Ren, completely oblivious, continued talking.

Dan Heng didn’t say a word. But the next time Ren got too close, the humidity in the room mysteriously spiked.

Ren tugged at his collar. “Why is it so stuffy in here all of a sudden…?”

Caiyu, still watching, slowly smirked. “Oh, I think I know why.”

You, still oblivious, just nodded. “Yeah, weird weather today.”

Dan Heng, standing nearby, simply took a sip of his still-hot tea.

After Caiyu and Ren left, you finally turned your attention back to Dan Heng—only to pause.

The horns were back.

Sharp, translucent green, curling from his head like some majestic beast of legend. His ears had sharpened too, and there was something… tense about his posture.

“…You good?”

Dan Heng didn’t answer immediately.

“Do you always let others cling to you like that?”

“…Huh?”

“Ren.”

“What about him?”

Dan Heng exhaled slowly, as if holding something back.

You, still completely clueless, smirked. “What, are you jealous?”

That was meant to be a joke. But the way Dan Heng didn’t immediately deny it made your smirk waver.

…Wait.

Before you could press the topic further, a sudden movement caught your eye.

A cockroach.

Right there. On the floor. Near your foot.

“—GAH?!”

Panic shot through you instantly. Without thinking, you jumped onto Dan Heng, clinging to him with zero shame.

“GET RID OF IT!!!!!!” you yelped, burying your face into his shoulder.

You didn’t notice his reaction, too busy clutching onto him like your life depended on it. “Dan Heng, I swear to everything, if you let that thing crawl near me—”

He finally spoke. “…I will. On one condition.”

Your head snapped up. “What? What condition?”

Dan Heng’s gaze was unreadable, but his horns shimmered slightly under the light. His fingers ghosted over your back before settling at your waist.

“Stay like this a little longer.”

“…Excuse me?”

Dan Heng’s hold on you was firm but not forceful, his fingers pressing lightly at your waist like he was testing something. Meanwhile, the cockroach was still there.

“You heard me.” His voice was impossibly calm, but there was something else in it—something almost amused. “I’ll get rid of it. But you stay like this a little longer.”

You were about to argue, to call him out for using a life-threatening situation to his advantage—

Then the cockroach moved.

“…Fine.” You clung onto him harder, burying your face into his shoulder with zero dignity. “Just get rid of it already.”

Dan Heng exhaled, the sound low and satisfied. Then, with a simple flick of his fingers, a small stream of water shot toward the cockroach—blasting it out of sight.

You peeked out. “Did you drown it?”

“Something like that.”

“…Good enough.”

Now that the danger was gone, you relaxed—but for some reason, you didn’t pull away.

Dan Heng seemed to notice. “You’re still holding onto me.”

“…Shut up. I’m recovering.”

His chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle.

And that was when you finally realized the horns were gone. His dragon features had completely disappeared.

“…Wait.” You leaned back slightly, inspecting his now normal face. “Did they—disappear because of this?”

“Maybe.”

Something told you… he wouldn’t mind testing it out again.

---

The search for answers had been fruitless.

You had dragged Dan Heng to healers, scholars, and even underground doctors—yet not one of them could determine what that liquid was or why his dragon features kept appearing whenever he was displeased.

And so, when you heard whispers of a secret bidding event known to deal in rare, illicit goods, you knew it was your best shot.

Disguised in ordinary robes and masks, you and Dan Heng snuck into the venue—a dimly lit hall, buzzing with the low murmur of eager bidders. Items were displayed one by one on a grand stage, and men in luxurious garments raised their hands with absurdly high offers.

It was a strange, unsettling place.

And then—

You saw it. On the display, contained within a reinforced glass case, was a small vial. The liquid inside gleamed with an eerily familiar glow.

“That’s it!” you muttered. “That has to be what they injected into you.”

Dan Heng's gaze was locked onto the vial, his jaw tightening. You knew he recognized it too.

The auctioneer’s voice boomed through the hall.

"A special concoction from an unknown source. Its properties? A mystery! But I assure you, its effects are... fascinating. Let’s start the bidding!"

The first bid came instantly.

“300,000 credits!”

Your stomach dropped.

That was way too much.

Dan Heng turned to you, voice low. “How do you want to handle this?”

You already knew the answer.

You weren’t leaving without that vial.

There was no way you could win a bidding war against the wealthy elites here. The price was already skyrocketing, and you didn’t have that kind of money.

You turned to Dan Heng. “We’re stealing it.”

He nodded without hesitation. “I figured.”

The auction continued, the price climbing higher and higher, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. Instead, you were scanning the room, noting the positions of guards, escape routes, and blind spots.

One of you would create a distraction. The other would take the vial.

“Let me handle the distraction” Dan Heng murmured. “I can draw them away without getting caught.”

You weren’t sure about that.

He was strong, yes. But the whole reason you were here was to fix his condition—not make it worse.

“No” you decided. “I’ll do it. You grab the vial.”

Dan Heng’s brows furrowed, but before he could argue, the auctioneer slammed his gavel down.

“Sold for 850,000 credits!”

You inhaled sharply. It was time.

The moment the winner stepped forward to claim the vial, you moved. With a quick motion, you reached into your sleeve and tossed a smoke bomb onto the stage—

People shouted, some scrambling away while others drew their weapons. The guards rushed in, pushing through the panicked crowd

And in the cover of the smoke, Dan Heng struck.

By the time the haze began to clear, he was already at your side, the vial secured in his grip.

“We need to go.” He grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the nearest exit.

Guards were closing in.

But you weren’t worried.

You had what you came for.

Now, you just had to get out alive.

---

Pain.

That was the first thing you felt when consciousness returned.

Your entire body ached, and every breath felt like it scraped against raw wounds. You groaned, trying to move—

Only to feel a strong grip on your wrist.

Dan Heng was at your bedside, his expression eerily blank. But his eyes—his eyes told another story.

Shock. Relief. Unfiltered rage.

For the first time, you saw green scales creeping across his face. They shimmered under the dim light, spreading like cracks in a fragile mask. His normally sharp features were even sharper, his dragon-like horns fully visible.

“I thought you were dead.”

You blinked, still disoriented. “How long was I out?”

“Five days.”

Something had happened while you were unconscious.

Your surroundings were unfamiliar, but the faint smell of blood and burnt metal lingered in the air. Your wounds were bandaged, but you could tell the medical supplies used were not from a standard clinic.

“…Dan Heng. What did you do?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His fingers tightened around your wrist, as if reassuring himself that you were still there.

“I lost control.”

You knew what that meant.

The people from the auction house—the guards, the bidders—none of them stood a chance.

You had seen glimpses of his power before. But this?

This was different.

You reached up, your fingers grazing the scales on his cheek. He stiffened under your touch, but didn’t pull away.

“…I’m still here” you said softly.

“I thought I lost you. You don’t understand—I would’ve destroyed everything. I would’ve—”

You pressed a hand over his, grounding him.

“You didn’t.”

Dan Heng’s grip loosened slightly. His features, still twisted with emotions, slowly softened.

For a long moment, he simply stared at you. Then, as if needing further confirmation that you were alive, he pulled you into his arms.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling ever so slightly.

“…Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t.”

You shifted slightly in his embrace, trying to adjust to the strange sensation against your skin. His scales pressed against your cheek as he held you even tighter.

"Dan Heng" you muttered, half-jokingly, "your scales are poking me."

To your surprise, he tightened his grip. His arms caged you in, his warm breath fanning against your neck.

“…Then endure it.”

His voice was quiet, almost sulky.

You sighed, but didn't protest. And soon enough—the sensation disappeared.

You pulled back slightly, noticing his features softening. His scales had faded away, his horns receding as if they’d never been there.

You blinked. So it really was connected to his emotions.

Still, you needed answers.

Later that day, you took a small sample of his scales—without him noticing—and sent it to a trusted friend in the field of alchemy and medicine.

The response came quickly: an antidote was possible.

But when you brought it up to Dan Heng—

"I don’t want it."

"You don’t even know what it does."

His gaze was steady. "It doesn’t matter. Everything as it is… is fine."

You felt the weight in his words. He wasn’t just talking about the scales—he was talking about you, about this, about the bond you both shared.

And as if the universe had heard him, the bond reappeared.

A faint glow flickered between you both—unseen by your eyes, but deeply felt.

Dan Heng dragged you into the kitchen, his grip firm yet careful.

“You need a proper meal” he said, his voice carrying no room for argument.

You sighed but let him. Things were tricky now—you couldn't stray too far from each other. If you did, the bond would start pulling you back, an invisible force tethering you together.

---

A group of strangers approached you outside, eyes filled with intentions you didn’t like. Dan Heng acted before you could, sending them flying with a single strike.

And just like that—the bond disappeared again.

You didn’t know what to make of it, but Dan Heng did.

That night, when you were fast asleep, he moved silently.

In his hand was a small vial—one he had secretly extracted from himself. With quiet precision, he used it on you.

Would you become like him? Would you be changed as he was?

He needed to know.

Nothing happened.

At least, not immediately.

Dan Heng watched you carefully the next day, but you looked fine. No horns, no scales, no tail. You were just... you.

Maybe it was different because of his origin. Maybe his bloodline couldn’t fully transfer to you. Or maybe it needed more time.

But one thing did change. You recovered unnaturally fast. The injuries that should’ve taken weeks to heal were already fading. And there was a downside—your temper.

You found yourself easily irritated, snapping at things you wouldn’t normally care about. The effect wore off soon, but Dan Heng took note of it.

Then, you felt it.

The slightest change.

Your ears—it was faint, but they weren’t the same. They twitched, sharper than before, more sensitive to sound.

No horns, no scales, but... you were just like him now.

And, of course—you would never know it was his doing.

Dan Heng watched as you slept, your breathing steady, your body finally adjusting.

It had taken time. More than he expected. The first dose had only changed your ears, but that wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

So he spent weeks—studying, gathering, experimenting.

And finally, he succeeded.

The last vial, carefully prepared, had worked exactly as he intended.

Your body had accepted it. Your features had shifted—not just the ears this time.

Under the moonlight, faint scales shimmered on your skin. Not as prominent as his, but there. A part of you now.

And with that change, the bond solidified.

No longer a fragile link. No longer something that could fade.

It was permanent.

Dan Heng exhaled, letting the weight of it settle in his chest. This was what he wanted. For you to be the same.

For you to never be able to leave.

And when your eyes fluttered open, you felt it too.

The connection. Stronger than ever. Binding you to him in ways you couldn’t yet understand.

Dan Heng offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his sharp, knowing gaze.

“Good morning.” he murmured.

You are his now.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #dan heng #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #dan heng x y/n

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snoozify · 3 days ago

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Me and My Husband PT3

Milf Abby x Suburban Wife Reader

Warning: Abuse, Sexism, Smut (in later part), cussing, homophobia, Men being Men, child abuse, happy ending, substance abuse, cheating.

A/N: This fic is based off the song Me and My Husband by the Queen Mitski. 16k words. Happy Valentines Day my gift from me to you (I posted it early)

tags: @glass-apothecary. @asothinking. @half-of-a-gay. @0h-basic. @antobooh. @soniiyi. @h0n3yf0rlif3. @vienwood. @icedsimpsayo. @0h-basic. @marsstupenditious. @femme-tobe. @thatgrlnany

P1 P2 PT3

Since that kiss in the pantry, everything between you and Abby had shifted in a way you couldn’t quite explain. It was subtle at first, a few extra glances, a lingering touch here and there, but it was enough to send your heart racing every time you saw her. You told yourself it was just a moment, a one-time thing—something driven by heat, by everything you’d been suppressing. But with each passing day, it became harder to deny that it was more than that.

Abby never pushed, never rushed you. She gave you the space you needed, always respecting your boundaries, even as your connection deepened. She’d always been thoughtful like that—tuned into you in a way that felt... different from what you were used to. You were used to being invisible to your husband, your needs always secondary, but Abby—Abby saw you. She didn’t just see the woman on the surface; she saw everything. And for the first time in so long, it felt like you mattered.

During the days when your husband was at work, Abby would show up at your door with Ezekiel in tow. At first, you hesitated, unsure if letting them in so often was a good idea, but the way she looked at you, with her quiet, steady understanding, made it hard to say no. And in truth, you were grateful. She would step in without you needing to ask, a quiet comfort in the chaos that was your life. While you scrambled to manage everything—dishes, laundry, endless piles of work—Abby would step in with that quiet strength of hers, taking care of the kids, ensuring they were fed and entertained, so you could catch your breath.

Abby’s presence became a small, bright light in your overwhelming days. You found solace in the way she would help you with Madison, Kimberly, Jayden and Nico, her steady hands helping with everything from changing diapers to feeding bottles to brushing little heads of hair. Ezekiel, with his quiet intelligence, would play quietly with the younger ones, offering Madison a hand when she needed it or sharing toys with Kimberly, always with that kind smile of his. They didn’t just become a presence in your home—they became a part of your rhythm, something you never thought you could have, especially with everything that had happened in your own family.

Abby didn’t just help with the kids, though. She took care of you, too, in a way you hadn’t realized you were craving. She would linger by your side when you felt the weight of everything on your shoulders, offering gentle reassurance, or simply holding your hand when you needed the comfort of another person. When you were exhausted from doing everything alone, she would make you tea, or simply sit beside you in the quiet, not asking for anything, just giving you the peace you hadn’t known you needed.

There were moments—small, fleeting moments—when you would catch yourself staring at Abby, heart full of gratitude and longing, wishing that everything could just fall into place. Wishing you could be the person she deserved without the constraints of your current life holding you back.

But every time you caught yourself, you’d pull away, guilt gnawing at the back of your mind. You were married. You had kids. You had responsibilities, and you couldn’t let your mind wander too far from the reality of it all. Abby never made you feel that pressure, though. She never forced you to make a decision, never demanded anything in return for her kindness. But you felt it—the quiet tension between the lines, the electricity building each time she came to your door, the way your heart would race when she smiled at you, when her fingers brushed against yours.

She wasn’t your escape, you reminded yourself. She was your ally, your friend, a support system in the chaos. But sometimes, when your kids were in bed and the house was quiet, you’d find yourself longing for more. Longing for the care and tenderness Abby offered without question, without hesitation. It made you wonder what it would be like to let go of all the walls you had built, to let yourself feel the freedom you hadn’t known since before you were married.

As the days turned into weeks, the boundary between what was right and what was beginning to feel so right blurred. You were falling for Abby, slowly but surely, in a way that felt both terrifying and liberating all at once. The way she made you feel cared for, seen, loved—without expecting anything in return—was something you hadn’t realized you’d been starved for, something that began to gnaw at your heart when you weren’t with her.

She was at your door every morning now, without fail. You had stopped asking for her help and had started welcoming it. It wasn’t just the kids she helped with, though that in itself was a godsend, but it was the way she made everything feel less lonely. The way her presence filled a space in your heart that you didn’t even realize was empty.

She steps inside, the door clicking shut behind her with a quiet finality. You had stopped locking it once your husband left for the day—an unspoken invitation for Abby to slip in seamlessly, filling the gaps where you were left to carry everything alone. She never questioned it, never made you feel like a burden for needing the help. She just showed up.

Trailing in behind her, Ezekiel clutches his dinosaur toy in one small hand, his other rubbing his tired eyes. The moment he spots Madison and the others, his posture shifts, his little feet already poised to run off and join them. But before he can, Abby places a gentle hand on his shoulder, her voice steady yet soft. “Say hello to Y/N first before you go play, Ezekiel.”

The boy halts mid-step, turning to face you with a sleepy grin. “Hi, Mrs. Y/N!” he says, his little wave filled with a warmth that tugs at something deep in your chest.

You manage a soft smile, waving back. “Hey, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he’s off, disappearing into the small chaos of childhood laughter filling the house. Abby watches him go for a moment before turning her attention back to you. Her expression shifts, that familiar warmth still present, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something searching. She leans back against the kitchen counter, arms crossing loosely over her chest as her gaze settles on you.

She smiles at you warm, effortless, like it costs her nothing at all. And you wish, God, you wish you could return it with the same ease. But the exhaustion, the weight of everything you carry, clings to you too tightly, wrapping around your ribs like a vice. The effort of trying to push it all aside, even for a second, feels impossible. So instead, you do what you always do—you move.

You step past her, reaching for the nearest task, something to keep your hands busy, something to focus on besides the way your chest feels too tight, besides the way she sees you.

But Abby doesn’t let you.

Her fingers curl gently around your wrist, her grip firm but careful, a tether pulling you back before you can disappear into routine again. You freeze, caught off guard, blinking up at her as she tilts her head slightly. Her brows knit together, concern etched into the softness of her expression.

"Y/N." Her voice is quiet, steady. "Smile."

The request is simple. Too simple. And yet, it knocks something loose in your chest.

You swallow, searching for some kind of defense, something that will make her let you go. "I smile," you argue weakly, but even you don’t believe it. Abby does. She always does. And she sees right through you. A quiet chuckle escapes her, something small and knowing. She shakes her head before stepping in closer, her presence grounding. "Not enough." The words settle in your chest, heavier than they should be. You open your mouth to protest, to tell her that you’re fine, that she doesn’t need to worry—but the words never come. Because before your mind can convince you to pull away, before you can second-guess it, you just… let go.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself a moment of relief. Just one.

You lean into her, resting your head against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath you. It’s brief because it has to be, because the guilt is already creeping in but it’s enough. Enough to remind you that you are here. That you are not alone. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you finally speak. "Thank you for helping." You hesitate, gripping onto the fabric of her shirt for just a second before exhaling shakily. "I’ve never had this kind of help before."

Abby exhales softly, and without hesitation, her arms come around you, solid and sure, holding you like it’s second nature. She doesn’t tell you that you don’t need to thank her. She doesn’t try to convince you that you deserve more than this. She just holds you.

Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head, she rubs slow, soothing circles into your back, her voice a quiet murmur against your hair.

"No need to thank me." A pause. A promise. "I got you."

You pull away from her warmth, but not before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. It’s quick, almost shy, but the way she doesn’t immediately pull back makes your heart skip. The feeling lingers on your lips as you turn back to the sink, letting the familiar sound of water running and dishes clinking settle your nerves. But Abby doesn’t leave. She stays there, still leaning against the counter, her eyes fixed on you.

"How about a little picnic?" she asks, her voice quiet and gentle, but there's a warmth in it that makes you stop what you're doing for a moment.

You don't answer right away, continuing to scrub a plate with more force than necessary. The weight of her gaze stays on you, waiting.

"Just me, you, and the kids," she continues, her voice a little closer now, nudging herself into your space. "A day outside, some fresh air. No chores, no responsibilities."

You let out a sigh, turning the faucet off and gripping the edge of the sink, trying to find some balance between the pull of her suggestion and the heaviness in your chest. "I don’t know, Abby. I have so much s—"

She cuts you off before you can finish, stepping in front of you. Her hands come to rest gently on your waist, firm yet soothing, grounding you as her touch sends a wave of warmth through your body. "Just one day," she says softly, her tone unwavering. "If you don’t like it, we never have to do it again."

You stare at her, lips parting as if to argue, but the words don’t come. Your eyes flicker to the floor, fighting the rush of conflicting emotions that pull at you. The weight of everything you’ve been carrying, the endless cycle of cleaning, cooking, meeting expectations that were never yours to meet. All of it feels suffocating at times, and the thought of just one day free of it, just one day to breathe, begins to soften the edge of your resistance.

Would it really hurt?

You glance up toward the stairs, hearing the faint sounds of your kids’ laughter echoing down. The joy in their voices is so simple, so pure, it tugs at your heart. You can almost see them outside, running across the yard with the sun warming their faces, their laughter filling the air. You imagine sitting beside Abby, no pressure, no responsibilities. Just a moment of peace.

Your throat tightens, the words almost caught in your chest, but you swallow them down and take a deep breath.

"Fine," you whisper, barely audible. Then, a little stronger, with more conviction, "Let’s do it."

Abby’s expression shifts, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face. She doesn’t say anything else. she brushes a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering at your cheek.

"You get the kids ready and grab a blanket," she murmurs. "I’ll handle everything else."

You nod, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, something lighter blooming in your chest. For the first time in so long, you feel something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in what seems like forever—hope. A tiny spark of it, something you thought might have been lost.

As you walk past her toward the stairs, you can’t help but let that smile grow a little wider, allowing yourself to believe, just for today, that maybe you deserve a break. Maybe you deserve this.

Walking into the kids' room, you pause for a moment to take in the familiar chaos. Madison and Ezekiel are sitting cross-legged on the floor, engaged in some intense game that involves making up silly stories with their toys. Their laughter fills the air, a sound that always brings warmth to your heart. Kimberly, sitting nearby, watches them with wide, fascinated eyes, her attention completely captured by whatever game they’re playing. Jayden is sitting alone, chewing on one of his toys, his little face scrunched up in concentration. Nico, meanwhile, is sleeping soundly in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern, so peaceful in his slumber that it almost seems like he’s untouched by the noise around him.

As soon as Madison catches sight of you walking in, she springs to her feet with an excited squeal. "Hi, Momma!" she chirps, her face lighting up like a little sunbeam. She waves her arms wildly as if she’s just spotted you after years apart, even though it’s only been a few hours since breakfast. You smile back at her, your chest swelling with affection as you make your way over to the closet to grab a blanket for the picnic.

But before you can even reach the shelf, Madison’s face suddenly shifts, her expression turning curious as she watches you. “What’s wrong, Momma? Where are we going?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. There’s an innocent concern in her voice, a sweetness that makes your heart ache. You stop in your tracks, kneeling down in front of her. Gently, you tuck a loose curl behind her ear and cradle her small face in your palm.

“Abby is taking us on a picnic,” you say softly, letting the words settle between you.

The second the words leave your mouth, Madison's face lights up like a Christmas tree. She shrieks with glee, her little hands flailing as she jumps up and down in excitement. The sound is almost too high-pitched, but it's full of joy, and it makes your heart flutter. Kimberly, always ready to follow her older sister's lead, claps her tiny hands together and bounces in place, giggling with the same unrestrained excitement.

Jayden, who’s been quietly playing on the floor, doesn’t join in the chorus of celebration, but his face breaks into a huge grin, and a soft giggle escapes him as he watches his sisters. The room is filled with the sound of their joy, and it makes you feel lighter just being surrounded by it.

Madison, still buzzing with energy, whirls around to grab Ezekiel’s hands. “Ezekiel! Your momma is taking us on a picnic!” she practically sings, her voice bubbling with pure happiness. Her enthusiasm is so contagious that you can’t help but smile, watching as Ezekiel giggles along with her. The sudden excitement, though, is enough to rouse Nico from his nap. The peaceful silence of his sleep is shattered by a sharp, startled cry. His little face scrunches up, and the high-pitched wail echoes through the room.

Madison freezes immediately, her bright smile fading into a look of guilt as she glances at you. Her eyes widen, and she takes a cautious step back, almost as if preparing for a scolding. “I’m sorry, Momma. I woke up Nico,” she whispers, her voice small and full of regret.

Your heart tugs at the sight of her concern, her big eyes filled with worry. You quickly shake your head and smile at her, reassuring her with a soft, gentle tone. “It’s okay, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” You walk over to Nico’s crib, your arms outstretched as you lean down to lift him. His tiny body is warm and soft against your chest, and as soon as he’s settled in your arms, his cries slowly start to fade, replaced by the quiet sniffs of a baby who just needed to feel the safety of your touch.

You sway gently, rocking him in your arms as his tiny hands grip onto your shirt, and the crying gradually gives way to a contented sigh. He’s calm now, his little body melting into yours as you continue to rock him back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on his back. You whisper quietly to him, “Shh, it’s okay, Nico. You’re alright.” Before you can say anything more, Abby’s voice breaks through the soft lull of the room, her familiar tone filling the space with its calm warmth.

“Everything okay?”

You hear Abby’s voice before you see her, soft but laced with concern. You turn, finding her standing in the doorway, her brows slightly furrowed as she looks between you and the now-settling Nico in your arms. The sight of her, the reassurance in her presence, does something to you—calms you in a way you didn’t even realize you needed.

Letting out a quiet breath, you give a small nod, still swaying gently with Nico in your arms. “Nico woke up,” you explain, your voice carrying the weight of your exhaustion, but there's also a tenderness in the way you speak about him.

Abby exhales, her shoulders relaxing as she steps fully into the room. “I got Jayden,” she says softly, her voice steady, as if this is just another part of her day. She moves toward Jayden, who’s sitting on the floor, his small hands reaching up toward her with innocent eagerness. Abby crouches beside him, her grin wide as she ruffles his curls with affection. She makes quick work of slipping his tiny sneakers on, the sound of the soft Velcro and the shuffle of his small feet filling the air.

Jayden kicks his legs, giggling uncontrollably as Abby’s fingers tickle his sides. "You ready for the best picnic ever, little man?" she asks, her voice low but playful, her eyes dancing with warmth. Jayden’s response is an enthusiastic nod, his little arms flailing as he lets out a delighted squeal, clearly thrilled by the idea of a picnic. Abby finishes tying his shoes, her hands nimble and sure as she adjusts the laces.

Watching the scene unfold, you feel something shift in your chest. The way Abby so naturally interacts with your children, like she’s been doing this for years, is a kind of magic you never thought you’d experience. She doesn’t just care for them—she connects with them. She’s part of the rhythm of your home, part of your family in a way that feels effortless, yet profound. For the first time in a long while, something inside you whispers that this—that this feeling—is what family is supposed to feel like.

Abby looks up at you then, her eyes meeting yours with an unreadable softness. She lifts Jayden effortlessly, settling him in her arms as he wraps his little hands around her neck. With a smile, she murmurs, “I got everything packed up in my truck.” Her words are casual, but there’s a depth to them, like she’s offering more than just a picnic—it’s an invitation to let go, to trust, to be.

As you walk down the stairs and out the door, a wave of anxiety crashes over you. What if your husband found out? What would happen if he came home early and saw an empty, uncleaned house? What if he walked in and found you, playing house with another woman? The fear bubbles up inside of you like a knot, and your feet freeze on the last step.

This wasn’t normal. You didn’t leave the house by yourself—not unless it was for church, the grocery store, or to drop the kids off at school. Every other moment, you were expected to be there, within these walls. You weren’t allowed to do anything else, to go anywhere else. And now... now, you were stepping outside, into something that felt like freedom, but freedom that came with its own set of consequences. This house had become a prison, and the world outside felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Abby, oblivious to the storm of worry inside you, opens the door. The kids burst through, their laughter and giggles filling the air like a bright, blinding light. They’re carefree, already caught up in the magic of the moment. But you stand frozen, caught between wanting to join them and the weight of all the “what ifs” that suffocate you.

Abby notices your hesitation, and for the first time, she softens. She turns to you, her hand outstretched. "Come on, Y/N. It’s gonna be fun, trust me."

You hesitate, your breath shaky as you look at her, then at Nico in your arms, and then back at Abby. You want to say no, but something inside you just needs a break from the constant weight on your shoulders. After a long breath, you finally give in, your fingers brushing against hers as you take her hand. It’s simple, but it feels like a step toward something you didn’t realize you were craving.

Abby gently takes Nico from your arms, placing him in the car seat, then opens the door for you. “Don’t stress yourself,” she says softly, her voice a quiet anchor against the storm inside your mind. You let out a shaky breath as she closes the car door, and her calmness is a balm to your nerves. She moves quickly, buckling in Jayden and Kimberly before getting in herself.

With a rev of the engine, Abby turns to look in the rearview mirror at the kids. “Who’s ready for our picnic?” she asks, her voice light, almost teasing.

The kids burst into a roar of excitement, their collective joy ringing in the car like a symphony. You catch a glimpse of their faces in the mirror, their wide eyes filled with happiness, and you feel a small spark of warmth deep inside.

And then Abby drives off. The world outside the window blurs into motion, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, today could be different.

The drive there was worlds apart from the usual tension-filled trips with your husband. Instead of the stifled silence or sharp words that often accompanied car rides, there was an easy comfort in the air. The kids were talking over each other, their excited voices filling the truck without any fear of being scolded for being too loud. Madison and Kimberly were laughing, whispering back and forth in their own little world, while Jayden, always the chatterbox, babbled about whatever his little mind had come up with that day. Nico, strapped in his car seat, cooed contentedly in the back, his small hands waving in the air as if he was just as excited as the rest of them.

But it wasn’t just your kids who were enjoying the freedom of this moment. Ezekiel, Abby’s son, was in the mix, happily playing with a small toy in his lap, making little noises of his own as he watched the world whiz by outside the window. His occasional giggle blended seamlessly with the rest of the chatter, as if he were always meant to be part of this lively atmosphere. Abby glanced back at him through the rearview mirror with a soft smile, checking on him in between moments of glancing at the road, a picture of calm assurance.

What really struck you was the absence of tension. Normally, your husband’s presence on these drives would make everything feel tight and stifled, his constant reminders to keep the kids quiet, to behave properly, hovering over every conversation. But here, with Abby behind the wheel, there was no need for that. She let the kids talk, laugh, and express themselves freely, her eyes occasionally flicking to them with a smile or a gentle word to encourage their joy.

As you glanced around, you realized something you hadn’t even thought about until now. This wasn’t just a break for you, escaping the weight of everything you carried at home. No, this was a break for your children too. They were allowed to be themselves in a way they rarely got to be allowed to talk loudly, laugh without restraint, and just be without worrying about causing any disruptions. Even Ezekiel seemed to thrive in this environment, his bright eyes alight with excitement, free from the pressure of expectations that often loomed over him at home.

And Abby, in her quiet way, had helped create this space. She hadn’t just made it about giving you a break—she had also made it about giving your children something they deserved: the ability to simply exist without the constant pressure of living up to someone else’s rules. With every gentle word she spoke to them, every kind glance she shared with Ezekiel, you realized how much of a gift this day was not just for you, but for all of you.

It was rare that you got to experience this kind of freedom, and even rarer for your children. But here, in this moment, there was nothing holding them back. They were happy, carefree, and so was Ezekiel. He was part of the group, fully included in the joy of the day, just as he should be. The weight of everything else—of your husband, of the expectations, of the pressure—faded away as you let yourself sink into this rare peace. It felt like a small victory, a chance to breathe that you’d almost forgotten you needed. And it wasn’t just yours—it was something you and Abby were offering to your children, to Ezekiel, and even to yourselves.

As Abby pulls up to the park, the engine hums to a stop, and she switches off the ignition. She turns to face the kids, her voice bright with excitement. "We’re here!" she announces. The moment the words leave her mouth, the kids erupt in a chorus of cheers, their voices blending together in a symphony of joy. They scramble to unbuckle their seatbelts, barely waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before they’re ready to burst out of the vehicle.

Abby chuckles, shaking her head at the flurry of energy, before she gets out and starts helping the kids with their seatbelts. You sit there for a moment, still in the car, the realization slowly settling in. You actually did it. You actually left the house. You didn't just think about it, didn't just imagine the freedom—you did it. A mix of relief and disbelief washes over you as you take in the moment. For so long, leaving the house had seemed like an impossible feat, something you weren’t allowed to do without consequences. But now, here you were, in the middle of it, feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long time: choice.

You take a deep breath, willing the unease to dissipate, before you finally open the door and step out of the car. Abby's already setting up the picnic blanket near a large maple tree, the basket she packed full of food resting beside it. You help her lay Nico down on the blanket, giving him a moment to squirm and explore in his own little way, his tiny hands reaching up at the sky, his eyes wide with wonder at the world around him.

Madison and Ezekiel immediately take off running, their laughter carrying through the air, the sounds of their joy so pure and unrestrained. Kimberly and Jayden, not to be left behind, follow as best they can, their little legs moving as fast as they can manage, the younger ones struggling to keep up with the older kids’ energy.

Abby sits down on the blanket next to you, her arms gently wrapping around you, pulling you closer. You lean into her, your head finding its place on her chest as the peaceful sounds of the park fill the space around you. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the sun shining down through the leaves above, and the gentle rustling of the trees.

“You’re doing great,” Abby whispers softly, her voice steady and soothing. You let out a long breath, the weight of everything you've been carrying lightening just a little. You smile faintly, feeling her warmth, her solid presence beside you. You interlace your fingers with hers, the simple touch offering more comfort than you thought it would.

You turn your gaze to the kids, watching them chase each other through the grass, their faces alight with joy. Abby follows your gaze, her voice tender as she speaks. “Look at them, having fun.” She pauses for a moment, as if reflecting on the significance of it all. “Ezekiel told me he’s not so lonely anymore, not since he started playing with Madison and the others.” There’s a softness in her tone, a quiet pride, as she looks at you, her eyes warm and open.

You look up at her, your eyes meeting hers. Her gaze is gentle, filled with understanding, and for a brief moment, the world outside of this peaceful bubble you’ve created fades away. It’s just you and Abby, here with the kids, and something deep inside you shifts. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight dances on her hair, or how her hand feels in yours, but in this moment, you feel something that’s been missing for a long time a connection, a sense of belonging, not just for you but for your children as well.

You stay in the quiet of the moment, feeling the peaceful rhythm of your breath match Abby’s. The air feels different here—lighter, freer, almost like the weight of the world hasn’t quite found its way into the space you’ve carved out beneath this tree. You look at Abby again, her gaze still soft but purposeful as she watches the kids play.

Her hand gently squeezes yours, grounding you. “I’m glad we did this,” she says quietly, as though reading the quiet thoughts you hadn’t voiced. The kids are running in circles now, a blur of limbs and laughter. It’s the kind of joy that feels contagious, so unburdened and alive. You watch them for a moment, feeling a smile tug at your lips, a warmth spreading across your chest.

“I didn’t think I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, your words directed more to yourself than to Abby. “I didn’t think I could get out. I never... I never really realized how much I needed to.”

Abby doesn’t answer right away, her attention still on the kids, but her grip on your hand tightens just slightly. It’s not forceful, just a reminder, as if telling you, I’m here. It’s all she needs to say, and you feel the truth of it settle into you. In that moment, you realize that this wasn’t just a picnic, or a break from the house, it was something far more important.

The fact that you could leave, that you could make a choice, felt like a small rebellion, a reclaiming of something you thought was lost. Abby’s right here beside you, a steady presence, and suddenly the heaviness you’ve carried for so long doesn’t seem so impossible to face.

You take in a slow, deliberate breath, the weight in your chest lifting just a little more. For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not suffocating under the pressure of expectations—yours, your husband's, society’s.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” you say, voice cracking slightly, but the gratitude in your tone is undeniable. It’s a simple thing, really—just a day in the park, just a moment outside the walls of your house. But it’s more than that. It’s a chance to breathe again, to remember that there’s more to life than everything that’s been piled onto you. And Abby made it happen, without any fanfare or demand for recognition. She just... did it.

She smiles at you, that same calm smile that feels like a lifeline. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. Just... keep trusting me, okay?” There’s no rush in her voice, no pressure. Just an invitation, a quiet promise that she’s here for the long haul, ready to help you untangle whatever’s been holding you back.

You nod slowly, feeling the gravity of her words sink in. Trusting Abby feels easy in a way it never has with anyone else. The way she makes you feel like you matter, like your needs—your fears are valid, and worth addressing.

“I’ll try,” you say softly, squeezing her hand in return. Your gaze drifts back to the kids, who are now tumbling across the grass, laughing with abandon, their carefree spirits filling the space.

The day stretches before you, a soft, hopeful kind of promise, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to truly hope for more days like this—days when the weight feels lighter, when you can simply exist without the constant pressure of being everything for everyone.

Kimberly toddles over to Abby, her little feet kicking up bits of grass as she makes her way across the picnic blanket. She taps Abby’s shoulder with her tiny fingers, her face set with determination. Abby, who had been resting back on her hands, looks down at her with a curious smile.

“What is it, kiddo?” Abby asks, shifting so she’s sitting up straight.

Kimberly doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she raises a small hand and points toward the picnic basket, her dark eyes expectant. Without a word, she clambers into Abby’s lap, settling against her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Abby lets out a small chuckle, wrapping an arm around her instinctively to keep her steady.

“What are you after, huh?” Abby teases, her fingers brushing gently over Kimberly’s back. “You got something in mind?”

Kimberly’s little finger continues to point, unwavering. “Juice, Mom.”

Everything around you stills.

The laughter of the older kids playing in the distance dulls, the rustling of leaves in the gentle afternoon breeze fades, and all you can hear is the rapid pounding of your own heart.

You freeze, the motion of reaching for a napkin completely forgotten. Your gaze snaps to Kimberly, then to Abby, who has gone completely still beneath the weight of that single word.

Mom.

She called Abby Mom.

Abby’s lips part slightly, her blue eyes widening as she processes what just happened. Her grip on Kimberly tightens instinctively, protectively, but she doesn’t correct her. She doesn’t question it. Instead, she looks at you.

And you don’t know what to say.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind a mess of emotions you can’t even begin to untangle. Kimberly doesn’t seem to realize the significance of what she’s done—she just keeps looking at Abby expectantly, waiting for her juice like it was the most normal thing in the world to call her Mom.

Abby blinks, then clears her throat, her voice a little softer when she finally speaks. “Juice, huh?” She reaches over, pulling a small bottle from the basket before twisting off the cap and handing it to Kimberly.

The little girl beams, taking the juice with both hands and sipping happily. She wiggles a little deeper into Abby’s hold, completely oblivious to the way your entire world has just shifted.

Abby looks at you again, searching your face for a reaction, for permission, for something.

You don’t know how to respond.

Kimberly remains curled up in Abby’s lap, sipping her juice, blissfully unaware of the weight of her words. She called Abby Mom. And Abby… she didn’t correct her.

Abby shifts slightly, adjusting Kimberly so she’s more comfortable, but her eyes stay locked on you. There’s something careful, something almost hesitant in her expression when she finally speaks.

“I didn’t want to correct her,” she says quietly, watching you for any sign of discomfort.

You hold Nico close, his small, steady breaths against your neck grounding you. You should say something. Maybe correct Kimberly yourself. Maybe tell Abby that it was just a slip of the tongue, that it didn’t mean anything.

But that would be a lie.

You glance down at Kimberly, completely at ease in Abby’s arms, and then back up at Abby, who’s still waiting for your response. A part of you wants to dwell on it, overthink it, let the fear creep back in. But another part of you—the part that’s been longing for something safe, something real—pushes all that doubt aside.

You swallow, offering Abby a small, soft smile.

“It’s okay.”

Abby’s lips twitch into something like relief, and before either of you can say anything else, Madison’s voice cuts through the moment.

“Momma!”

She comes running over, her curls bouncing as she skids to a stop in front of you, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you play in the water with me?” she asks, clasping her hands together, her wide, pleading eyes making it impossible to say no. Abby chuckles, giving Kimberly’s back a small rub before glancing at you. “Go,” she encourages. “I’ll keep an eye on Nico and Ms. Kimberly.” You hesitate for only a second before sighing, carefully setting Nico down on the blanket. The second you’re up, Madison grabs your hand, dragging you toward the lake.

“Come on, Momma!” she urges, her excitement contagious.

Jayden and Ezekiel are already in the water, splashing at each other, their laughter ringing through the air. As you step closer, you slip off your shoes, dipping your toes in first—only for a sharp chill to shoot up your legs.

“Oh-” You suck in a breath, shivering slightly before laughing. “It’s cold!”

Madison giggles at your reaction before spinning back toward Jayden and Ezekiel, kicking at the water and sending droplets flying in every direction. Jayden yelps, shrieking with laughter as he splashes back, while Ezekiel joins in with a mischievous grin.

You watch them, smiling as you move your feet in slow circles beneath the water, enjoying the rare feeling of peace. And then Madison suddenly stops. She turns toward you, her excitement dimming just a little, her voice softer now.

“Momma, I like Miss Anderson.”

You blink down at her, caught off guard. “You do?”

Madison nods, her curls bobbing with the motion. “She makes you smile,” she says simply. “And she makes us laugh.” Your heart clenches at her words, at the sincerity in her voice. Before you can respond, she hesitates, her little hands playing with the hem of her shirt. “I wish she could replace Daddy,” she murmurs, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

Your breath catches.

Madison looks down, her fingers twisting together as her face falls. “I wish she could be our second mom,” she says, her voice just a whisper now. Then, as if she’s afraid she’s said something wrong, she finally looks back up at you, eyes glassy. “I don’t like Daddy, Momma. He makes you cry… and he’s rude.”

Your throat tightens.

She shouldn’t have to notice these things. She shouldn’t have to carry these thoughts in her little heart. You sink down to her level, your hands gently cupping her face as you take in the sadness in her eyes, the way her tiny body is tense, like she’s bracing herself.

Tears prick at your own eyes as you press a kiss to her forehead.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And then you pull her into your arms, holding her tight as she clings to you.

Madison buries her face into your shoulder, her small body trembling slightly as she clings to you. You stroke her curls gently, pressing another kiss to the top of her head as you blink away your own tears.

No child should have to feel this way. No child should have to wish for a different father, for a different life. You hold her tighter.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you whisper again, voice thick with emotion.

Madison sniffles, her grip on you tightening before she finally pulls back, her big, brown eyes searching yours. “Are you mad at me?” she asks hesitantly, her voice so small.

Your heart shatters.

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” You shake your head quickly, cupping her face in your hands. “Never. You can always tell me how you feel, okay?” She nods, but you can see the uncertainty still lingering in her expression. You hate that she’s even questioning whether her feelings are allowed. You brush away a stray tear from her cheek before offering her a small smile. “You know what? I really like Miss Anderson too.”

Madison’s face lights up, her sadness momentarily forgotten. “You do?”

You nod, glancing over your shoulder toward Abby. She’s still sitting on the picnic blanket, holding Nico against her chest, his tiny body completely relaxed in her arms. Kimberly is beside her, contently sipping from her juice box while Abby absentmindedly runs her fingers through her curls.

It’s such a natural sight.

Like they belong there.

Like this is how things are supposed to be.

You turn back to Madison, brushing another curl behind her ear. “Yeah, baby. I really do.”

Madison beams before suddenly gasping, her eyes widening with excitement. “Can we tell her? Can we tell Miss Anderson we like her?”

You hesitate.

Not because you don’t want to tell Abby—God, you do—but because this is still so fragile. You’re still so scared.

But then you look at your daughter’s hopeful expression, and something inside you steels.

“Yeah,” you say softly, nodding. “We can tell her.”

Madison lets out a delighted squeal before grabbing your hand. “Come on, Momma! Let’s tell her now!” She tugs you toward the picnic blanket, her excitement contagious. You laugh softly, wiping away the last traces of your tears as you let her pull you forward.

As you approach, Abby looks up, a soft smile already on her lips. “You guys have fun?”

Madison nods enthusiastically, her curls bouncing as she shifts from foot to foot, barely able to contain her excitement. “Momma says she likes you!” she blurts out before you even have the chance to sit down.

Your entire body goes still.

Your breath catches in your throat as your wide eyes dart to your daughter, who is now grinning up at Abby like she just handed her the best news of her life. You swear you can hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, the weight of those words settling deep in your chest.

You glance at Abby hesitantly, afraid to see her reaction. Afraid that maybe she won’t feel the same. That maybe this moment—this thing between you��has all been in your head.

Abby raises an eyebrow, clearly amused as she leans back slightly, arms crossed over her chest. There’s a teasing glint in her eye, but beneath it, something else lingers. Something softer. Something hopeful.

“Oh yeah?” she muses, turning her attention to you.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling warm under the afternoon sun, though you know it has nothing to do with the weather. You can’t bring yourself to look at Madison anymore—her innocent excitement is too much—so you keep your focus on Abby instead.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice quieter than you intended. “I do.”

The words come out almost like a confession, one you weren’t sure you were ready to say out loud. But now that they’re out there, hanging in the space between you, you realize how right they feel.

Something in Abby’s expression shifts. The teasing fades just enough to reveal the sincerity beneath it. And then she smiles.

Not just any smile—but that smile. The kind that reaches her eyes, the kind that makes her dimples appear, the kind that makes your heart stumble over itself in your chest.

“I like you too,” she says, her voice just as soft, just as certain.

And just like that, something settles in your chest. Something you didn’t even realize had been restless all this time.

Madison giggles, clapping her hands together like she’s just witnessed the best love story unfold right before her eyes. “I knew it!” she exclaims before skipping off toward Ezekiel, already eager to share the news. But you barely notice. Because Abby is still looking at you, that smile still lingering on her lips.

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

The drive home was quiet—not because of the words left lingering between you and Abby, but because the kids had all drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep, their tiny bodies worn out from the excitement of the day. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence, and for a moment, it almost felt like you were driving toward something good rather than away from it.

But then Abby’s truck slowed, the familiar sight of your house creeping into view, and your stomach twisted painfully.

The streetlight outside flickered, casting eerie shadows over the driveway, and as soon as the truck came to a stop, the weight of reality crashed down on you.

You didn’t want to go back.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, your breath shaky as you stared at the house—the place that had felt less like a home and more like a cage for as long as you could remember. Today had been the first day in years that you’d felt truly free, the first day where laughter hadn’t been followed by fear, where your children could just be kids without walking on eggshells. And now, after just a few hours of warmth, of safety, of happiness, you had to step back inside and pretend none of it ever happened.

Pretend you weren’t suffocating.

Pretend you weren’t miserable.

Pretend you were someone you weren’t.

Abby must have sensed the shift in you because she didn’t move to turn off the truck just yet. Instead, she rested a hand on the gear shift, glancing at you carefully, her voice gentle when she finally spoke.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to look at her. The soft glow of the dashboard lights traced over her face, highlighting the quiet concern in her eyes, the silent promise in them.

For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like if you didn’t have to go back. If you could just drive past this house and keep going—if you could give yourself and your kids a new life, one without fear.

But life wasn’t that simple.

You swallowed hard, pushing the fantasy aside before it could take root. With a deep breath, you reached for the door handle, steadying yourself. “I have to,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her.

Abby didn’t argue. She just exhaled slowly, nodding, but before you could step out, her fingers brushed over the back of your hand—a fleeting touch, but enough to ground you. “I’ll be here,” she murmured. “Whenever you need me.”

You didn’t trust yourself to respond. Instead, you gave her a small, wavering nod before finally opening the door, stepping back into the life you wished you could leave behind.

The house was eerily silent as you moved through the dimly lit hall, gently pulling the blankets up over each of your sleeping children. Their faces were peaceful, untouched by the fear and weight you carried, and for a moment, you just stood there, watching them.

Madison’s words echoed in your mind. I don’t like Daddy, Momma. He makes you cry.

You had tried so hard to shield them from this. You had done everything in your power to keep them safe, to keep him away from them when his temper flared. But was it enough? Had it ever been enough?

A deep sigh left your lips as you turned to leave the room, carefully easing the door shut behind you. But as soon as you stepped into the hallway, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps, the creak of the floorboards beneath his weight.

Your stomach dropped.

He was home.

The scent of alcohol hit you before you even saw him. And when you did—when he stepped out of the shadows, swaying slightly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto you—you knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“Where the hell have you been?” he slurred, his voice thick with drunken anger.

Your throat tightened. Did he know? Of course he did. He always knew.

“I was he—”

He lifted a hand suddenly, and before you could stop yourself, you flinched. A bitter smile twisted across his face at the reaction. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “Don’t lie to me.” Your mind raced for an answer, a way out, something to de-escalate before things turned worse. “I was here,” you said quickly. “Cleaning.”

It was a lie. A pathetic, obvious lie. But he was drunk—maybe he wouldn’t press it.

For a second, it seemed to work. His head tilted slightly as if considering your words, and then, just when you thought he might let it go, his expression twisted into something ugly. “Oh, okay,” he mocked, stepping back. But the momentary relief vanished as he suddenly whipped the glass bottle in his hand toward you. You barely had time to react before it shattered against the wall beside you, shards flying, the sharp scent of liquor filling the air.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stalked forward, his voice rising. “You think I’m stupid, Y/N? You think I don’t notice things?” His hands grabbed your arms, shaking you hard enough to make your head spin. “You don’t think I know you’ve been playing house with that—” He sneered, his grip tightening. “With that fucking dyke?”

Your heart pounded. He knew.

Tears pricked your eyes as he shoved you back, your spine hitting the wall with enough force to make you gasp. “You think I don’t see what’s going on?” he spat. “I saw her coming into my house. Rubbing all over my wife. Talking to my kids like she has any damn right—”

His voice blurred, rage twisting his words into something unintelligible. Your body was frozen, trapped between the wall and the fury in his eyes, as panic clawed its way up your throat.

His grip tightened on your arms, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. His breath was hot and reeked of alcohol, his words slurred but no less venomous. “You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” he sneered, shaking you again, your head snapping back against the wall. “Thought you could just run around behind my back like some cheap whore?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you forced yourself to stay still, to not give him a reaction that would make things worse. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Don’t provoke him.

“I wasn’t—”

His hand moved too fast for you to react, slamming against the wall beside your head with enough force to rattle the picture frames. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Y/N!” he roared.

You flinched, your body instinctively shrinking against the wall. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. The kids were asleep—God, please let them stay asleep.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, the scent of whiskey clinging to him like a second skin. His voice dropped into a low, venomous whisper, each word laced with cruel amusement.

“You really think she’s gonna save you?” His lips curled, twisting into something sharp, something cruel. “You think she’s gonna take you away from me?”

His fingers twitched at his sides before he reached up, tracing a knuckle along your jaw in a mockery of affection. The touch was deceptively light, a sick contrast to the storm brewing in his eyes. Then, his expression darkened.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, his voice barely above a growl. “You. And those kids.”

He stepped closer, caging you in, making the walls feel smaller, the air thinner. His eyes bored into yours, daring you to contradict him, daring you to fight.

“You think that bitch is gonna take care of them? Think she’s gonna want you once she realizes you ain’t worth shit?”

Disgust curled in his tone, but there was something else beneath it—possession. A sick, twisted need to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

Then, before you could react, before you could so much as breathe, his hand lashed out. The impact was immediate, the sharp crack of skin against skin echoing through the room. The rings on his fingers bit into your cheek, amplifying the pain, sending a sharp, stinging heat spreading across your face.

He watched you, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling like a man who had convinced himself he had every right to do this.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, eyes dark and unforgiving. “Not you. Not them kids.”

Your head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, the taste of metal blooming in your mouth. The pain throbbed, sharp and searing, as the imprint of his rings dug into your skin. For a moment, the room blurred—your vision swimming, your breath caught somewhere between shock and something dangerously close to fury.

But you didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

His hand lingered at his side, fingers flexing, like he was considering doing it again. Like he wanted to.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, shaking his head as if you were the problem. As if you were the one who drove him to this. His lips curled into a sneer, his voice dipping into something almost mocking.

“See what you make me do?” He reached out, gripping your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. His touch was rough, bruising, like he wanted to make sure you felt every bit of his control. “You belong to me. Ain’t no one coming to save you. No one’s gonna love you like I do.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a noose tightening around your throat.

Then, his gaze flickered, shifting toward the hallway—toward the room where the kids were. A slow, knowing smile crept onto his face, something dark gleaming behind his eyes.

“You wanna leave? You wanna take them?” His fingers dug into your jaw, enough to make your teeth clench. “Go ahead. Try it. See what happens.”

His grip loosened just enough for you to pull away, but you didn’t dare move, not yet.

He let out a low chuckle, stepping back with an air of arrogant ease, like he had all the time in the world. Like he had already won. The smirk on his face lingered as he turned, making his way up the stairs, his heavy footsteps disappearing into the bedroom.

The moment he was out of sight, your legs gave out beneath you, and you slid to the floor, your body curling inward as your hands instinctively cradled your swollen cheek. The sting was sharp, the metallic tang of blood coating your tongue. The pain was nothing new, but tonight—tonight, something cracked inside you.

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over in hot, silent streams as you whispered to yourself, "I need to get out of here."

The thought turned into action before you could second-guess yourself. You pushed yourself up, wiping at your face, and stumbled toward your children's bedroom. The moment you stepped inside, your hands shook as you yanked an old suitcase from the closet, unzipping it with frantic urgency. You didn’t think—you just grabbed, stuffing clothes, shoes, anything your hands landed on.

Your mind reeled, flashes of the last five years playing in a relentless loop. The bruises. The gaslighting. The cheating. The nights spent crying yourself to sleep while he acted like nothing was wrong. The threats—God, the threats. Every time you tried to leave, he reminded you just how powerless you were. And for so long, you believed him.

Until Abby.

Abby, who looked at you like you were someone. Who made you feel like you were more than just a punching bag, more than just some broken woman too afraid to walk away.

Your breathing hitched, chest tightening until you were gasping for air. You pressed a trembling hand to your lips, trying to keep quiet, but the sound was enough to stir Madison. She blinked sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed.

"Momma?" Her small voice was thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

You swallowed the sob clawing at your throat and crossed the room, kneeling beside her. Gently, you stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Shh, baby," you whispered. "We need to go. Get your things, okay?"

She stared at you, her little face scrunching in confusion, but she nodded. No questions, no complaints—just trust.

One by one, you woke Kimberly and Jayden, telling them the same thing. Sleepy and confused, they obeyed, moving quickly but quietly, stuffing their backpacks with whatever they could grab. You moved to the crib, lifting Nico carefully into your arms. He whimpered, stirring slightly, but you rocked him, whispering soft reassurances until he settled back into sleep.

You listened, straining to hear any movement upstairs. The bathroom door was still shut. Good. Keep wasting time in there.

Turning back, you looked at your children—Madison, Kimberly, Jayden, and little Nico in your arms. They didn’t understand, not fully, but they trusted you. And they were ready. You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself. Then, carefully, you peeked into the hallway before stepping out into the living room. The front door loomed ahead, freedom just on the other side.

Your gaze dropped to your hand. The wedding ring glinted under the dim light, a symbol of promises long broken. A life you never wanted.

Your fingers trembled as you slid it off. It felt lighter than you expected, as if it had never truly belonged there in the first place. Without hesitation, you placed it on the table. A final goodbye.

With one last breath, you turned the knob and slipped out into the night.

Every step across the yard felt agonizingly slow, your pulse thundering in your ears. You kept looking back, expecting to see the door swing open, to hear his voice, to feel his hands dragging you back. But the house remained still.

Abby’s porch light flickered ahead, a beacon in the dark. You all but ran up the steps, your heart pounding as you knocked—once, twice, then harder. Your desperation bled into each bang against the wood.

"Come on, Abby," you whispered, voice shaking. "Please—please answer."

The porch light flickered on, and moments later, the door swung open. Abby stood there, her face groggy with sleep, confusion evident—until she saw the bags. The kids. You. Her smile faded. Her eyes darted to the bruise forming on your cheek, the raw redness where his rings had cut your skin. "I—I had nowhere else to go," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. "He hit me. Please—please let me in."

Abby didn’t hesitate.

"Come inside," Abby said, her voice firm, steady—like an anchor in a storm you had been drowning in for years.

You stepped over the threshold, each footfall heavy with exhaustion, with fear, with the unbearable weight of everything you had just done. The kids trailed behind you, their little hands clutching their bags, their tired eyes flickering with confusion and trust all at once.

Then the door shut.

The lock clicked into place, sealing you away from that house, from him.

Something inside you cracked.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent but relentless. Your body trembled, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, refusing to let you rest. You didn’t even realize you were swaying until Abby gently pried Nico from your arms.

"I got him," she murmured, her touch steady, reassuring. "Come on, let’s get them settled."

You nodded, but it felt mechanical—like you weren’t really there, just watching yourself move. Abby led the kids down the hall, her voice soft as she whispered to them, soothing their worries, making them feel safe.

Safe.

You stood there, frozen, as the reality of it all loomed over you. You had done it. You had left. But instead of relief, there was only a crushing hollowness, a weight pressing down on your chest so hard you thought it might break you. You moved on autopilot, sinking onto the couch. The second you sat down, the silence wrapped around you, deafening. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingernails digging into your palms as you stared ahead, unblinking.

You needed to cry, to let it all out, to sob until there was nothing left inside you—but the tears wouldn't come the way they should. You swallowed them down, forcing yourself to sit up straight. Stay strong.

But strong for who, exactly?

You weren’t in that house anymore. You weren’t standing in front of him, pretending you weren’t scared. So why did you still feel like you had to hold yourself together? Footsteps padded back into the room, and then Abby was there, sinking down beside you. "I put the kids in the room with Ezekiel," she said softly, her voice warm, grounding. Before you could say anything, she pulled you into her arms. The warmth of her, the solidness of her presence, undid something in you. Your body sagged against hers, your face pressing into her shoulder as your breath hitched in uneven gasps.

"He—" your voice broke, and you swallowed hard before forcing it out. "He hit me, Abby. He found out—he knows about us."

Abby tensed for half a second, but then her arms tightened around you, her hand moving up to cradle the back of your head.

"Shh," she whispered, her voice steady. "You don’t have to think about that right now."

You wanted to fight it—to tell her that fear wasn’t something you could just shut off like a light. That the terror sitting in your chest, coiled tight like a spring, wouldn’t simply disappear because she said so.

But the way she held you—the quiet strength in her arms, the way her fingers traced soothing circles against your back—it was enough to make you want to believe her. Enough to make you sink just a little deeper into her warmth, even as your mind screamed at you to stay alert.

Then, gently, she pulled away.

She stood, her movements slow, deliberate, giving you time. Then she held out her hands. “Come with me.”

You hesitated.

She noticed.

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t waver. “Follow me.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you reached out and took hers. Her palms were warm, steady—nothing like the hands you were used to. The ones that hurt. The ones that tore you down piece by piece.

Abby gave your hands a light squeeze before leading you forward, turning off the living room lights as she went, plunging the space into darkness. You followed her down the hall, past the soft murmurs of your sleeping children, until she stopped at a door and pushed it open. The room inside was small but warm. A bed, neatly made. The kind of place meant for peace, for safety. “You’re tired,” she murmured, guiding you inside. “You need rest.”

That word—rest—felt like a foreign thing, something you weren’t allowed to have.

Rest. Rest. Rest.

Your mind repeated it like a warning. Like something dangerous. Because rest meant letting your guard down. It meant leaving yourself open. And the last time you did that, it nearly destroyed you.

But Abby—Abby—wasn’t him.

She had been patient, even when you pushed her away. Even when you swore you could handle this alone. And yet, here she was, standing beside you, still willing to hold you up when you weren’t sure you could stand on your own. She led you to the bed, sitting you down gently before settling beside you. Close, but not too close. Giving you space, but letting you know she was here.

“We’ll figure everything out tomorrow, okay?” she said softly.

Tomorrow.

A future. A choice. Something you never thought you’d have again.

Her fingers reached for your face, cradling your jaw as her thumb brushed lightly over the fresh bruise. You tensed at the touch, but she was careful—so careful—like she knew just how much you had already endured.

She did know.

And she wished she could have saved you sooner.

For so long, you had pushed her away, convinced yourself that she couldn’t be your way out. But now, sitting here, feeling the way her touch only soothed, never hurt, you realized something—she was never going to let you go again.

Not unless you wanted her to.

Abby leaned in slowly, hesitating, waiting—her breath ghosting over your lips, her body still, waiting for you to decide. She wasn’t talking. She wasn’t demanding.

She was giving you a choice.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered.

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, the fear clawed its way up your throat, choking you. But when you looked at her—the quiet patience in her eyes, the way she was holding herself back just for you—you felt something else, too.

Something softer.

Your hands found her face, fingers tracing the edges of her jaw, her cheekbones. Solid. Real. Safe.

“I always have,” you whispered.

The moment the words left your lips, she leaned in.

Her lips met yours in a way that felt nothing like the past.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. There was no pressure, no demand. Just warmth, just patience. Just her.

Her hands remained steady—one cupping your face, the other resting lightly on your waist, like she was afraid you’d break if she held on too tight. You melted into her, exhausted, overwhelmed, but for the first time in years, safe.

She pulled back first, her forehead pressing against yours as she exhaled, slow and steady. “We can stop,” she murmured, her voice gentle, careful. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, shaking your head.

Because if you stopped now, the fear might creep back in. The past might claw its way up your throat and pull you under again. But right now, in this moment, there was only her. Only this warmth, this safety, this impossible chance at something new.

She searched your face for hesitation, for regret, but when she found none, she nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. She didn’t kiss you again—not yet. Instead, she shifted, guiding you gently onto the bed. You tensed for half a second, old instincts screaming, but she just pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with a tenderness that made your chest ache. She didn’t try to pull you close. Didn’t try to hold you down. She just sat beside you, watching, waiting.

And that was when it hit you—she wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not unless you told her to.

Your fingers curled around the sleeve of her shirt, gripping it lightly. “Stay?”

Her expression softened, and she nodded. “Of course.”

flinched, instinctively bracing for the criticism that never came.

But Abby—Abby wasn’t him.

Her hands were steady, warm as they traced over your skin, her touch reverent, careful. She didn’t rush, didn’t demand, didn’t make you feel less than. Instead, she looked at you like you were something to be worshipped, something sacred.

Her fingers brushed over your stomach, the soft lines of your body, the places you had learned to hate because he had made you hate them. But when Abby touched you, it wasn’t with judgment—it was with admiration. With something so tender it almost hurt.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” she murmured, her lips pressing against your shoulder, trailing warmth in their wake. “Not from me, baby.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you swallowed them down, focusing on the way she felt. The way she kissed down your body, taking her time, like she had all the patience in the world. Like she wanted you to unlearn every cruel word, every harsh touch, every moment of self-doubt he had left behind.

Her hands spread over your hips, holding you like you were something fragile, something precious. Her mouth followed, trailing heat and devotion over every inch of you. And when you finally looked down, meeting her gaze, there was nothing but love staring back at you.

Real, undeniable, unconditional love.

And for the first time in forever, you let yourself believe it.

She leaned down again, her lips meeting yours with more passion this time. The hesitation was gone—she had your permission now, and she intended to show you just how much she wanted this. Wanted you.

Her hands trailed down your body, slow, deliberate, never rushing. She never looked away, her gaze locked onto yours as if afraid that if she did, you might disappear. As if you were something fragile, something fleeting, and she wasn’t willing to risk losing you.

With agonizing patience, she slipped your shirt up, her fingers grazing your skin as she peeled the fabric away. Not once did she break eye contact, watching you as though she was memorizing you, as though she was trying to make sure you stayed here with her, in this moment, and not in the past.

Then, her lips followed where her hands had been. Soft, reverent kisses trailing down your body as she rid you of each layer, until there was nothing left between you and her.

You felt exposed. Vulnerable. And when her eyes roamed your bare form, drinking you in with something close to awe, you turned away, shame creeping in, clawing at your chest.

But then she smiled.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she whispered, her voice so full of sincerity it made your throat tighten.

You tried to smile back, but it didn’t come—not when the past still loomed over you like a shadow. Memories of your husband’s sharp words, the way he’d sneer whenever your body changed, how he made sure you knew every extra pound was a failure. And after Nico—after the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the way your body no longer felt like your own—you never got the chance to change it.

But Abby didn’t care.

She had never cared.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?” she murmured, her lips brushing against your cheek.

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, barely able to meet her gaze.

Her smile returned, warm and reassuring, before she kissed you again. This time, her hands followed—caressing, exploring, showing you with every touch that she wasn’t just here to take; she was here to worship.

Then, she shifted, adjusting you with ease until you were on her lap, your back pressed to her chest, her strong arms wrapped securely around your waist. You gasped at the sudden change, your body tensing instinctively, but she only held you steady, her grip firm yet patient.

“Just breathe,” she soothed, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Her hands guided your face, tilting it towards the mirror in front of you.

And there you were.

Bare. Exposed. Ugly.

You turned away, your stomach twisting at the sight.

But Abby wouldn’t let you.

“Look at yourself,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm, grounding.

And then—she parted your legs.

Her hands, strong yet impossibly gentle, kept you steady as her fingers trailed lower, teasing, barely there, yet enough to send a shiver up your spine. The first brush of her fingertips against your clit was featherlight, a slow, deliberate stroke that had your breath catching in your throat.

Your fingers dug into her thighs, trying to ground yourself as pleasure coiled in your stomach, warm and insistent. But still, you turned away, unable to face your reflection, unable to see yourself the way she did.

Abby wasn’t having it.

“Watch,” she murmured, her voice low, coaxing, but firm.

She wasn’t asking.

She wanted you to see. To see the way you melted beneath her touch. To see how beautiful you were when you let go.

To see what she had always seen.

Her eyes never left your face as she kept working you, slow, careful, reverent. “You’re beautiful, Y/N,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, the words sinking deep, wrapping around the parts of you that had forgotten how to believe them.

Her fingers moved with agonizing precision, rubbing slow, purposeful circles over your clit, soft but insistent. In the mirror, she watched you—the way your body tensed, the way your thighs trembled, the way you fought the urge to pull away even as you craved more.

You groaned, torn between shying away and sinking into her completely. The contradiction warred inside you, but the need won.

“Abby,” you whimpered, your voice breaking on her name. “More—please.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her chest as she pressed a kiss to your shoulder, her lips warm and reassuring.

And then—she gave you what you asked for.

She pushed a finger inside, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch, every stretch. Your mouth parted in a shaky moan, your hands gripping her tighter as she filled you, her other hand never ceasing its soft, deliberate movements against your clit.

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice rough with something deeper, something primal. “Just like that.”

And this time—you didn’t look away.

Abby worked you open slowly, never rushing, never pushing more than you could take. She watched you in the mirror, her gaze locked onto your face, catching every twitch, every shudder, every unspoken plea for more.

Her finger curled inside you, searching, learning, until she found the spot that had you gasping, your head falling back against her shoulder. A smirk ghosted across her lips as she did it again, dragging her fingertip against that spot with precision, like she wanted to draw every sound from you, like she wanted to pull you apart piece by piece.

“Fuck, Abby—” You moaned, your hips rocking into her hand, needing more, needing everything.

“I know, baby,” she murmured against your neck, her breath hot, teasing, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

Her free hand slid up your stomach, fingers splaying over the softness there, holding you in place as she added another finger, stretching you, filling you, coaxing another desperate sound from your lips.

“Look at yourself,” she whispered again, her voice a mixture of command and praise. “Look how good you take me.”

You forced your eyes open, your gaze meeting hers in the mirror. The sight made your breath hitch—her strong arms wrapped around you, her hands working you apart, her expression so full of hunger and something deeper, something you weren’t sure you could name.

She looked at you like you were something to be worshipped.

Like you were something precious.

Your lips parted, a whimper slipping free as she fucked you with slow, deliberate strokes, her palm grinding against your clit just right. Your body tensed, the pressure building, every touch sending you higher, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“That’s it,” Abby praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re so good for me.”

You were close—so fucking close.

Your fingers clutched at her wrist, your thighs trembling as the pleasure threatened to consume you. Abby felt it, knew it, and instead of letting up, she pressed a kiss to the side of your jaw, whispering the words that finally unraveled you.

“Come for me, baby.”

And just like that—you did.

The pleasure crashed over you in waves, white-hot and overwhelming, leaving you gasping as your body locked up against hers. Abby held you through it, her hands steady, her lips whispering soft, reverent praises against your skin as you rode it out.

Only when the aftershocks left you boneless in her arms did she finally slow, her fingers slipping from you, her touch shifting from teasing to soothing.

She kissed your temple, her hands rubbing gentle circles over your stomach as she whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded weakly, still catching your breath, your body still thrumming from the intensity of it all.

Abby chuckled, low and warm, her breath brushing against your ear as she held you close. She pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, then another, her lips trailing downward as she carefully eased you onto the bed. She moved with purpose—not just to take, but to give, to replace every memory of him with something new, something that belonged to only you and her.

Her hands, rough yet tender, mapped your body with slow, deliberate caresses, fingertips ghosting over your skin like she was memorizing every inch of you. She wasn’t rushing, wasn’t impatient—she was savoring you, worshipping you, as if she had all the time in the world.

Then, her lips followed.

She started at your collarbone, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin before sucking lightly, just enough to leave a mark. A quiet, pleased hum vibrated against your skin when you gasped, your body arching into her.

She liked that.

Liked seeing the way you reacted, how your breathing changed, how your body responded to her.

She moved lower, pressing her mouth to the swell of your breast, her tongue flicking over your nipple before she sucked, slow and purposeful. The sensation sent heat curling in your stomach, a quiet moan slipping from your lips as your fingers found her short hair, tangling into the strands.

“Abby,” you breathed, barely more than a whisper.

She smirked against your skin, her mouth trailing downward, leaving a path of love bites along your ribs, your stomach, the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Each one was placed with intention, a silent claim, a way to erase every touch before her.

By the time she settled between your legs, you were already trembling.

You felt seen. Worshipped.

Her hands slid up your thighs, strong fingers spreading you open, her thumbs tracing soothing circles against your skin. She took a moment to just look at you—all of you—and when her eyes met yours again, they were dark, needy, full of something deeper than lust.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” she whispered, voice thick with reverence.

You turned your face away, heat creeping up your neck.

But she wasn’t having that.

“Hey,” she murmured, shifting up just enough to capture your lips again, slow and deep, her fingers tipping your chin so you’d look at her.

Her forehead pressed against yours, her breath mingling with yours. “I mean it,” she whispered. “I want you to believe it.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening. You wanted to—God, you wanted to. But the years of being picked apart, of feeling like your body wasn’t yours to love, still lingered in the back of your mind.

Abby knew that.

That’s why she took her time.

When she finally positioned herself between your legs, her slick heat pressing into yours, she didn’t take—she let you feel it first, the warm, slow friction of her against you, her body melting into yours. Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping her arms. She groaned at the contact, her grip tightening on your hips as she rolled her hips forward, grinding against you in the slowest, most agonizing rhythm imaginable. “Abby,” you whimpered, nails digging into her skin.

She shuddered at the sound of her name on your lips. “Feels good?” she rasped. You could only nod, your head falling back against the pillow as she rocked into you again, the delicious friction sending pleasure curling low in your stomach. She wasn’t rough—not this time. She was taking her time, watching every expression that flickered across your face, feeling every shudder, every twitch, like she wanted to engrave it into her memory.

Her hand slid up your body, fingers brushing over your stomach before reaching your chest, palming the soft flesh, teasing.

“Look at us,” she whispered.

You hesitated, knowing what she meant. Knowing that the mirror beside the bed reflected everything. You swallowed hard.

“I—”

She thrust forward, her slick clit grinding against yours, and you gasped, eyes fluttering open at the sensation.

“Look,” she urged again, her voice softer now, full of something almost pleading.

So, you did.

And what you saw nearly broke you.

The two of you, bodies intertwined, her broad form wrapped around you, her muscles flexing as she moved, her face twisted in pleasure—it was intimate, raw, something deeper than just sex.

You saw her.

You saw yourself.

And for the first time, you didn’t hate what you saw.

Abby caught your gaze in the reflection, her lips curling into a soft smile. “That’s my girl,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as she rolled her hips again, coaxing another broken moan from your lips.

The pressure was building, tighter, hotter, deeper.

Her hand slid between your bodies, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

You whimpered, your body tensing, the pleasure too much, too good.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

Your body shattered.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your breath stuttering, your body arching, your fingers digging into her back as you came, pleasure rolling through you in waves.

Abby followed soon after, her hips stuttering, a strangled moan slipping from her lips as she buried herself against you, her body shaking with her own release.

She held you through it. Kept moving, slow and gentle, until the pleasure faded into soft aftershocks. Until you were just breathing together, bodies tangled, lips barely brushing.

Then, silence.

Warm, safe, full.

Abby pressed one last kiss to your lips before tucking you against her chest, pulling the blanket over you both.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Because when she whispered, “I love you,” into your hair, you already knew.

Abby’s arms stayed wrapped around you, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling against your back. Her lips brushed against your hair, a soft, absentminded press—like she just needed to feel you there, grounded in her arms.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

The room was quiet, save for the slowing rhythm of your breaths, the occasional sound of the sheets shifting as Abby traced slow, lazy circles on your stomach with her fingertips.

It was grounding. She was grounding.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything settling in—what you had just shared, what it meant. How different it was from what you had known before.

How easy it would be to fall into the fear, to let the echoes of the past creep in, to tell yourself you didn’t deserve this.

But Abby wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice still thick from the pleasure, but softer now. She pressed another kiss to your shoulder, her lips lingering there. “You still with me?”

You nodded against her, blinking slowly. Yes. You were here. With her.

She hummed in response, pleased, her arms tightening slightly around you. “Good.”

You shifted slightly, turning onto your side to face her, your hands sliding up to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat beneath your palm. Her eyes softened when she met your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

You just looked at each other.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t afraid of being seen.

Abby’s thumb brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” she asked gently, her voice careful, like she was ready to hold you together if you suddenly fell apart.

You could only nod, because yes, you were.

More than okay.

For the first time in years, you felt safe.

Abby exhaled softly, her forehead pressing against yours. “Good,” she whispered again. “Because I meant what I said, y’know.”

You swallowed. “About what?”

Her fingers traced absentminded patterns on your hip, her voice low but firm. “That you’re beautiful.”

A lump formed in your throat. You started to turn away, but Abby caught your chin, tilting your face back toward hers.

“Hey,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over yours. “I need you to hear me.”

You blinked up at her, your fingers tightening slightly against her skin.

She kissed you again, slow and reassuring, like she was trying to press the words into you. Like she wouldn’t stop until you believed them.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—bodies pressed together, exchanging soft kisses, whispering against each other’s lips, holding each other in the dark.

But at some point, exhaustion settled in, your body melting further into hers. Abby pulled the blanket up around you both, her hand running soothingly along your back as you buried your face into the crook of her neck.

She pressed one last kiss to your temple, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time, you actually believed it.

Abby let you rest, truly rest—something she knew you hadn’t done in years. She handled everything, making sure you didn’t have to lift a finger.

When your husband came banging on her door the next morning, demanding to see his wife, Abby didn’t hesitate. She squared her shoulders, met his drunken rage with an unshaken stare, and sent him away without a second thought. She didn’t give him an inch, didn’t let him weasel his way back in with apologies or empty threats. And while he wasted himself away in whatever bar or gutter he crawled into, she went back to your house, collecting the last of your things—the clothes, the kids’ toys, the small pieces of your life you were finally taking back.

And the kids? She cared for them like they were her own. She made them breakfast, kept them entertained, ensured they never felt the weight of the storm you were escaping. Every now and then, she’d peek into the room where you slept, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your brow would furrow even in sleep. She wanted to smooth away every crease, every shadow of pain he left behind. She would sit at the edge of the bed, just watching, wondering how someone as strong as you had been forced to endure so much. But now… now you were here. And she wasn’t going to let you slip away.

“Is Momma ever gonna wake up?”

Madison’s small voice pulled Abby from her thoughts. She looked down to see the little girl standing in the living room, watching her with wide, worried eyes.

Abby softened, offering a gentle smile. “Of course she will,” she reassured her, ruffling her curls. “And when she does, we’ll all go to the park. How does that sound?”

Madison nodded, but instead of running off to play, she hesitated. Her tiny fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt as she stared up at Abby, something uncertain in her expression.

“I don’t wanna see Daddy anymore,” she whispered, her voice small but firm. Her lower lip trembled as tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “I want you to be my new dad. You make Momma happy. Please don’t leave us.”

Abby’s breath caught in her throat.

She had faced down men twice her size without blinking, fought through storms that had tried to break her—but nothing had ever shaken her quite like this.

Madison wasn’t just asking for comfort. She was asking for permanence. For security. For a love that didn’t come with pain.

Abby crouched down, gently wiping the tears from Madison’s cheeks. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I promise.”

Madison sniffled, her little body trembling as she threw her arms around Abby’s neck, holding on like she never wanted to let go. Abby instinctively wrapped her arms around her, steadying the tiny girl against her chest. Madison clung to her, pressing her face into Abby’s shoulder, and in that moment, Abby could feel just how much this meant to her—how much she needed this.

Then, Madison pulled back just enough to meet Abby’s gaze, her eyes wide, uncertain, yet filled with so much hope. She hesitated for only a second before asking in the softest voice, “Can I call you Mom too?”

Abby’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that—not so soon, not so openly. But the way Madison looked at her, like she was waiting for permission to love her, like she needed Abby to say it was okay, broke something inside her.

A slow, warm smile spread across Abby’s face as she gently cupped Madison’s cheek. “You and your siblings can call me whatever you want,” she murmured, her voice steady, filled with nothing but certainty.

Madison’s face lit up with pure joy, the weight she had been carrying lifting in an instant. Without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to Abby’s cheek before giggling and darting off to play, her little curls bouncing with each step.

Before Abby could fully process the moment, a small tug at her pant leg made her glance down. Jayden stood there, his round eyes filled with curiosity, his tiny arms raised expectantly. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to.

Abby let out a soft chuckle, bending down to scoop him up with ease. He nestled against her without hesitation, resting his head on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Abby held him close, her heart swelling as she realized—this wasn’t just a moment. This was the beginning of something bigger, something real.

Your eyes flutter open, disoriented for a moment as you take in your surroundings. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the walls. Panic sets in almost immediately. You overslept. Your heart lurches, and you scramble out of bed, fumbling for your robe as you rush to the door.

You forgot to clean. You forgot to take care of the kids. You forgot—

But as you step into the living room, reality doesn’t meet you with the usual weight of dread. There is no angry man waiting to bark orders, no overwhelming list of tasks you must complete to avoid his wrath. Instead, the space is filled with something else entirely—something you barely recognize.

Laughter. Warmth. Family.

Madison is the first to notice you, her eyes lighting up as she dashes toward you. “Momma’s up!” she exclaims, throwing her little arms around your waist. Before you can even react, Kimberly follows suit, wrapping herself around your leg, and even Ezekiel, usually more reserved, runs to you with a beaming smile.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, running your fingers through their hair as you hold them close. They’re safe. They’re happy. And then, your gaze drifts toward the kitchen.

Abby stands at the stove, effortlessly balancing a sleepy Jayden on her hip while stirring a pot with her free hand. In the corner, Nico babbles happily in a playpen, giggling at nothing in particular. The scene is so… normal. Domestic, even. It takes you a second to process that this is your life now—that you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” Abby teases, flashing you a small smile as she starts plating food.

You don’t say anything at first, just watching her—watching this. The way she moves with such ease, cooking for your kids, holding Jayden like he’s always been hers, making sure everyone is taken care of. It’s overwhelming in a way you can’t quite put into words.

You glance around, suddenly aware of the mess—scattered toys, little shoes abandoned by the door, a crayon rolling off the coffee table. Instinct kicks in before you can stop yourself, and you bend down to start picking them up.

But before you can get far, Abby is there, her hand gently stopping yours.

“No, no. I got it, okay? Just sit at the table,” she says firmly, her touch lingering on your wrist as she meets your gaze.

“But—”

She shakes her head, not letting you finish. “I’ll do all the heavy labor around here. You just rest, alright?” Her voice is so full of certainty, of care, that you don’t argue. Instead, you let her lead you to the table, where she carefully settles Nico and Jayden into their highchairs before bringing over the food.

“Mom, can I help?” Ezekiel pipes up, eager to be involved.

Abby grins and nods, handing him some utensils to place on the table. Madison, never one to be left out, rushes up next. “I wanna help too, Mom!” she announces proudly.

You smile

Dinner is a quiet kind of chaos—the good kind. The kind where there’s giggling between bites, where Kimberly insists on feeding Nico even though half of it ends up on his bib, Jayden eating the food in front of him, where Madison keeps trying to sneak extra pieces of food onto your plate, saying, “You need to eat more, Momma.”

Ezekiel talks about his favorite game, going into a detailed explanation that only a kid his age would find fascinating, and Abby listens—really listens—nodding along like his words are the most important thing in the world. It’s such a stark contrast from what you’re used to that your chest tightens.

For so long, dinner had been a silent affair, tense and suffocating. One wrong move, one misplaced word, and everything could go south in an instant. But here? Here, the air is light. The table is full of life.

Abby catches your gaze from across the table, and it’s like she sees every thought running through your head. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and places a hand on yours, her grip steady and grounding. You swallow past the lump in your throat and squeeze back.

After dinner, the kids insist on a movie night, and you don’t have the heart to say no. They pile onto the couch, dragging blankets and stuffed animals with them, making a mess of the living room that Abby just cleaned. But she doesn’t scold them—doesn’t care at all, really. She just chuckles and lets them bury her under the weight of small bodies and soft laughter.

You sit on the edge at first, hesitant, unsure of where you fit in this picture. But then Abby reaches for you, pulling you in, slotting you right against her side like you belong there.

And maybe you do.

Madison curls up in your lap, her tiny fingers gripping your shirt. Kimberly tucks herself against your arm. Ezekiel lays in Abby’s arm and Jayden is already half-asleep on Abby’s chest, and Nico, bundled up in a blanket, rests peacefully in his playpen.

The movie plays in the background, but you barely register it. Instead, you focus on the warmth surrounding you, on the way Abby’s fingers trace absentminded circles against your arm, on the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing.

You don’t realize how exhausted you still are until your eyelids grow heavy. The last thing you hear before drifting off is Madison’s sleepy whisper:

“Momma, can we stay here forever?”

And for the first time, you don’t have to lie.

"Yeah, baby," you murmur, your fingers gently threading through Madison's soft hair as you finally, finally let yourself rest. The weight that’s been hanging over you for so long, the constant worry, the need to always be on edge, melts away. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You turn to Abby, a smile creeping onto your face. It’s different now—real, unguarded, unbroken. She’s the woman who saved you, the woman who stayed, who didn’t give up on you even when you doubted yourself. The one who was patient when you couldn’t even recognize your own worth. The one who helped you find your courage.

"I love you, Abby," you say, your voice soft but full of everything you couldn't say before, leaning in to kiss her cheek. It’s not a desperate kiss, not a goodbye, but a promise, a pledge. A pledge that you’re here, with her, and you’re finally letting yourself believe it.

The truth hits you like a wave. You had dreams once. A childhood dream of being a ballerina—spinning, twirling, the spotlight shining down, your heart light and free. It was your escape, your sanity while living in a cage you built yourself, with him in the center of it. You clung to that dream because it was all you had, the only thing that kept you going when nothing else made sense.

But now... now you realize something you never truly understood before. You don’t need to be a ballerina to feel like you’re dancing anymore. You’ve already found something even better, something you never thought you’d deserve.

You’ve found a family. A family with laughter, with love, with chaos that doesn’t feel suffocating but freeing. A family that isn’t bound by broken promises or fake smiles. A family that isn’t based on fear, but on the kind of unconditional love you always thought was out of reach.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t need to pretend. You don’t need to hide the cracks or the bruises or the old scars. You can just be. You can just love. You can just exist.

And as you look at Abby, holding your kids close, the world outside seems so far away. It doesn’t matter anymore. This is your home. This is your family. This is the dream you never knew you needed.

You take a deep breath, your heart full to the brim, and you finally let yourself believe in the future.

"Thank you," you whisper under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, but Abby hears it. Her eyes soften, and she squeezes your hand in reassurance.

"We’ve got this," she says, her smile lighting up the room.

And for the first time in so long, you believe her. You believe in the life ahead of you. You believe in the family that you never thought you could have.

You’ve found your peace. You’ve found your place. And nothing could ever take that away.

And so, you rest—because for the first time in your life, you finally can.

You made it to the end (I hope)! It's finally over. Thank you all so much for all the love and support throughout these last two parts. It really means the world to me, like truly. 🥹 This fic has been sitting in my drafts since 2023, and I was so scared to post it, but seeing how much people have enjoyed it makes me want to cry (just like I did while writing the ending). If anyone has any requests, don't hesitate to ask. Thank you all again for everything! © seulszn.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x you #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby angst #tlou part 2 #tlou2 #tlou #abby x fem!reader #angst #tlou abby

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captain-hawks · 9 hours ago

Note

omg the bodyguard trope is one of my favorites i’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure PLS MORE

iwaizumi’s leaning up against the passenger side door of his car when you approach, the phone clutched in his hand long forgotten as his eyes carefully begin to rake over your form.

realistically, you know he’s just doing his job—making sure you’re leaving your date in one piece. but warmth flares in your gut all the same under the weight of his assessing gaze.

(you’d be lying if you said you didn’t pick out this specific red dress for tonight for him, after all.)

he doesn’t bother asking how your date went, because he’s been nearby the entire evening.

“can we stop at that bakery before we head back?” you point a little ways down the street.

for once, iwaizumi doesn’t sigh at your request, but his face remains pinched in annoyance all the same as he pushes off of the black sedan and approaches you.

“shithead could have at least offered you his jacket earlier,” he grumbles, shrugging off his own and draping it over your shoulders before gently placing a hand at the center of your back and nudging you forward.

“it’s not that cold out,” you protest, though the way you shiver at a sudden gust of wind says otherwise.

iwaizumi does sigh at that, arm automatically wrapping around you when you wobble slightly in your heels on the uneven pavement. he keeps you close as you continue to walk.

tucking your face into the warmth of his jacket, you hide the curve of your lips as you inhale the scent of his cologne.

#💌 inbox #💋 anon #iwaizumi hajime #bodyguard!iwaizumi #dee writes #rambling: h. iwaizumi

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jzprncess · 1 day ago

Text

to love and to let go 𓇢𓆸

pairing : george russell x reader

oneshot

word count : 2,143

main summary : Years after their breakup, Y/N attends George's wedding, hoping to find closure and say a silent goodbye to the man she once loved. But as old feelings resurface amidst the celebrations, Y/N and George are forced to confront the bittersweet reality of what they had—and what they’ve lost. A story of love, heartbreak, and the unspoken words that linger long after goodbye.

note : the coincidence that im posting this on george’s birthday (or around) is mind blowing fr. i dont keep track on their birthdays and i found out when the f1 insta account posted about it. but here’s a short oneshot unfortunately.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Y/N had always known this day would come. From the moment she’d walked out of George Russell’s life, she’d understood that one day he would move on. He was too kind, too handsome, too remarkable not to. But knowing it and living it were two entirely different things.

The plane ride to Spain had felt endless, every hour stretching into what felt like days. As the plane began its descent, Y/N’s stomach twisted in knots, her nerves gnawing at the edges of her composure. She stepped off the plane, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the polished airport floor. The air here was warmer, softer, carrying the scent of orange blossoms and saltwater. It felt alive, vibrant in a way that London rarely was—a reminder of how far she was from the life she had built and the man she had once loved.

The invitation had been in her bag for weeks, folded and unfolded so many times that the once-crisp edges were now soft and worn. She’d stared at it late at night when sleep eluded her, her mind drifting to memories she tried so hard to bury. The elegant gold script still felt like a dagger: You are cordially invited to the wedding of George Russell and Carmen Mundt.

What had compelled her to come? Curiosity? Guilt? Some masochistic need to see him one last time, even if it broke her heart in the process? She didn’t know. All she knew was that staying away felt impossible.

The taxi ride to the venue was agonizingly quiet. Y/N stared out the window, her mind racing as the city melted into sprawling vineyards and sun-dappled hills. She tried to focus on the beauty of the landscape, but her thoughts kept returning to George. She could still hear his laugh in her memories, feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, and see the way his eyes would light up when he talked about racing. He had been her everything once, and now he belonged to someone else.

When the taxi pulled up to the venue, she almost told the driver to keep going. The sight before her stole the air from her lungs. The courtyard was a dream, with flowers blooming in shades of pink and white, their delicate petals swaying in the breeze. Fairy lights were strung between the trees, casting a soft glow that made the entire space feel like a fairytale. It was perfect. It was painfully perfect.

Y/N stepped out of the car, smoothing the fabric of her dress with trembling hands. She had agonized over her outfit for weeks, finally settling on a deep navy gown that felt understated but elegant. She didn’t want to draw attention, but she also didn’t want to disappear entirely. As much as she tried to steel herself, she felt like an imposter in a place she didn’t belong.

The ceremony hadn’t started yet, and the courtyard buzzed with the chatter and laughter of the guests. Waiters moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Y/N slipped into a quiet corner near the back, her heart pounding as she scanned the sea of faces. She wasn’t ready to face him—not yet.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass as her gaze drifted toward the altar. And then she saw him.

George was standing with his groomsmen, his head tipped back in laughter. He looked radiant, his smile brighter than the Spanish sun. His suit was impeccably tailored, and his hair was styled just so, but it wasn’t his appearance that made her heart ache. It was the happiness radiating from him, so pure and unguarded. She had always loved his smile, but seeing it now, knowing it wasn’t for her, felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Y/N turned away, her chest tightening as she fought back the tears threatening to spill. She had thought she was prepared for this moment, but nothing could have prepared her for the sharp sting of seeing him again.

When the music started, signaling the beginning of the ceremony, she slipped into a seat near the back, keeping her head low. The bride appeared moments later, a vision in white. Carmen was beautiful in a way that felt almost effortless, her dress simple yet stunning, her every step radiating grace.

Y/N’s breath caught as she watched George’s face light up. His eyes were fixed on Carmen as though she were the only person in the world. That look—it was the kind of love people wrote songs about, the kind of love Y/N had once dared to dream about. She pressed her nails into her palms, willing herself to stay composed.

The vows were everything she had feared they would be. George’s voice was steady, filled with so much love and reverence that it was almost unbearable. He spoke of Carmen as though she had saved him, as though she had filled a void he didn’t know existed. Y/N blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as his words cut through her.

When the officiant declared them husband and wife, the crowd erupted in applause. Y/N clapped along, her movements mechanical as her world crumbled around her. And then, as if fate had one last cruel twist to deliver, George’s eyes found hers.

The noise of the crowd faded into nothing as their gazes locked. His smile faltered, just for a moment, and Y/N felt the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. She lifted her hand to her chest, her fingers trembling as she pressed them lightly over her heart.

George mirrored the gesture, his hand resting over his heart as his eyes softened. There was something in his expression—a mix of regret, gratitude, and a love that had once burned so brightly but now flickered like a dying ember.

Y/N forced herself to smile, though it wavered under the weight of her emotions. She nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment of everything they had shared and everything they had lost.

As the crowd rose to their feet, cheering and celebrating, Y/N stayed seated for a moment longer. She watched as George turned back to his new wife, his hand slipping into hers as they walked down the aisle together. They looked happy, and that should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

Y/N stood slowly, her legs unsteady as she made her way toward the exit. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

But as she walked away, she felt the weight of George’s gaze on her, heavy and lingering.

And he was watching her, his heart aching in a way he couldn’t explain.

For a moment, Y/N thought about stopping, about turning around and saying something—anything. But she knew it wouldn’t change anything. George had moved on. It was time for her to do the same.

As she stepped into the quiet evening, the sun dipping low on the horizon, she let out a shaky breath. The ache in her chest was sharp and unrelenting, but she knew it would fade with time. It had to.

And yet, as the sound of the celebration echoed behind her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of her heart would always belong to him.

Y/N kept walking, her heels clicking softly against the stone path leading away from the ceremony. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of the past was trying to pull her back. She didn’t let herself stop—not when her chest felt like it was caving in, not when the distant laughter and music threatened to drown her.

The car that had brought her here was still waiting by the curb, the driver leaning casually against the door as he scrolled through his phone. He straightened up when he saw her approach, but Y/N shook her head. “Not yet,” she murmured, her voice barely audible even to herself.

She turned instead toward a quiet garden off to the side of the venue. It was empty, secluded, far enough away from the celebration to muffle the sound of joy that felt like it didn’t belong to her. She sat down on a bench, the cool metal pressing against her back, and let out a shaky breath.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone. She didn’t even know why she bothered—there was no one she could call, no words that could fix the way her heart felt like it had been shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Her fingers hovered over George’s name in her contacts. She hadn’t deleted it. She thought about it once, right after they’d broken up, but some part of her couldn’t do it. It felt too final. Like deleting him from her phone would mean erasing every memory they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every whispered promise.

Her thumb moved to the call button, but she stopped herself. What would she even say? Congratulations, I’m so happy for you? A lie. Or worse, I miss you. I still love you. The truth, but one that had no place in the world he lived in now.

Instead, she opened their old text thread, scrolling back through the messages she hadn’t looked at in years.

George : “Drive safe. Let me know when you’re home. Xx.”

Y/N : “Stop worrying, I’m fine. :)”

George : “I’m allowed to worry. It’s in my boyfriend contract.”

She laughed softly, bitterly, at the memory. She’d forgotten how easy it had been with him, how natural. And maybe that was what hurt the most—not just losing him, but losing the version of herself that existed when she was with him.

The sound of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up, startled, and froze.

George was standing there, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d been in a hurry to leave. He looked at her the way he always had, with that quiet intensity that made it feel like she was the only person in the world.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to him? That she hadn’t expected him to follow her? That she wished he hadn’t? That part of her was glad he had?

“I saw you leave,” he continued, stepping closer. “I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His voice was gentle, familiar, and it made her chest ache even more.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. She glanced down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “You should go back. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“I don’t care about everyone,” he said quietly. “Not right now.”

Her head snapped up at that, her brows furrowing. “George, you just got married. You can’t be here.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know I shouldn’t. But when I saw you…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if he was trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “Y/N, why did you come?”

The question hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She wanted to tell him the truth—that she had come because she needed closure, because she needed to see for herself that he was happy so she could finally let go. But now that he was standing in front of her, every reason she had seemed insignificant.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He nodded, as if he understood, even though she wasn’t sure she did herself. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he admitted, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret.

“Me neither,” she said. And then, after a pause, “You look happy, George.”

His expression softened, but there was something behind his eyes—something that looked almost like pain. “I am,” he said, but it sounded like a question more than an answer.

Y/N smiled, even though it hurt. “Good. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

She stood up, brushing off her dress. “I should go. I don’t want to ruin your day.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” he said quickly, taking a step toward her. “Y/N, wait—”

She turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Goodbye, George.”

And with that, she walked away, her heart breaking with every step.

George watched her go, his chest tight with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. He knew he should go back to the celebration, to the life he had chosen, but in that moment, he couldn’t move.

Because a part of him—the part he thought he had buried—was still walking away with her.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @rawr-123s-stuff @meadhbhcavanagh @coral7161

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 angst #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #george russell x reader #george russell x you #gr63 x reader #gr63 x you #gr63 fic #jzprncess

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v4mpire45 · 2 days ago

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You promised you'd be mine — K. Bakugo

♫︎ Slightly inspired by "The other woman" by Lana Del Rey.

Bakugo x female reader

Synopsis: No matter how hard he tries, he can't erase the memories of the future he once dreamed of with you.

⚠ Trigger warning: Emotional cheating.

Author's note: Please, don't get with, let alone marry anyone when you're still not over your ex.

Is it Valentines Day? Yes. Am I writing something sad? Also yes.

"I’ll be yours forever."

"You promise?"

"Pinkie promise."

But life has a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t it?

Your relationship with Bakugo was everything while it lasted, intense, passionate, unbreakable. Or so you both thought. He never imagined a world where you weren’t his. He had it all mapped out: the two of you going pro together, getting married a year or two later, honeymooning in the Bahamas, and eventually settling down with kids.

But the universe had other plans.

The first cracks were small, disagreements, unspoken frustrations, words left unsaid. Then came the storms, relentless and unforgiving. You both needed things neither of you knew how to ask for. And slowly, inevitably, you drifted apart.

Then the war happened.

Katsuki died. You nearly lost your quirk. And when the dust settled, you both stood on opposite ends of a battlefield, changed beyond recognition. Whatever tether held you together had snapped. Being together wasn’t an option anymore, not when the people you once were had been lost to the war.

But dying had given Katsuki clarity.

In those final moments, when his heart had stopped and everything faded to black, the only regret he had was leaving you behind. The thought of never seeing you again, never living out the future he had dreamed of with you, shattered him more than death itself.

So when he came back, he was determined to fix things. To say everything he hadn’t before. To fight for you.

But he was too late.

You were leaving for America, offered a position too good to refuse. And you took it. There was nothing left for you in Japan. Everyone supported your decision.

Even him.

You left… for eleven damn years.

And Bakugo waited. He really did. But he wasn’t the type to sit around and drown in what-ifs. Life moved forward, and so did he.

He found someone. Someone who loved him deeply, who saw him for who he was, who made him feel whole, at least, that’s what he told himself. She was kind, humble, brilliant. A good woman. A good wife.

But she wasn’t you.

And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he told himself this could work, it didn’t. Not when he caught himself picturing your face instead of hers. Not when he almost called her by your name.

She wanted to honeymoon in the Bahamas, but he refused, saying it wasn’t a good idea. The truth was, he knew he’d spend the entire trip pretending it was you beside him instead. Maybe she suspected it. Maybe she knew.

Bakugo sat up in bed, the early morning sun casting a soft glow over his wife’s sleeping face. He ran a hand through her hair, guilt gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

She didn’t deserve this.

That’s why, when she woke up, he’d be serving her papers. He’d give her everything, every penny, every asset, anything she wanted. Though, knowing her, she wouldn’t take a damn thing.

A pair of warm arms wrapped around his neck from behind. She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, her body curling into his back.

"Morning, Katsuki."

"Morning." His voice came out quieter than he intended.

He pulled away.

"I need to get ready for work."

He left her in bed, cold and alone.

As he stepped into the shower, he heard it, soft, muffled sniffles coming from the other room.

And he felt like the worst kind of bastard.

But he knew she knew.

This was never going to work.

#boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bnha x reader #angst #mha timeskip #other woman #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugo angst #katsuki angst #the one that got away #divider by cafekitsune

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kooffeecup · 9 hours ago

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POCKETS OF STARLIGHT - valentine special!

Your soft boyfriend bakes amazing fortune cookies with love notes inside.

genre : fluff fluffff

Pairing : soft baby boy jk! x reader.

Very short and cute

banner by me @kooffeecup

The scent of rosemary and burnt crust greeted You as you stepped into the apartment, your keys jingling softly in the quiet. The lights were dimmed, replaced by the flicker of tea candles scattered across the kitchen counter—and there, in the center of it all, stood Jungkook.

He was wearing the apron you’d bought him as a joke last Christmas—bright pink with “Kiss the Chef” embroidered in looping cursive his sleeves rolled up to reveal faint flour smudges along his forearms. A lasagna sat half-sliced on the stove, its edges charred but the center oozing cheese.

“You… cooked?” You breathed, unable to hide your grin.

Jungkook’s ears reddened. “Tried to,” he mumbled, twisting a dishcloth between his hands. “The recipe said it was ‘foolproof,’ but I think I—oh.”

You crossed the room before he could finish, cupping his face and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. He stilled, then leaned into your touch, his shoulders relaxing.

“It’s perfect,” you said, thumbing away a smudge of tomato sauce on his cheek.

“Liar,” he whispered, but his eyes crinkled, pleased.

Dinner was eaten cross-legged on the living room floor, where Jungkook had built a makeshift fortress of blankets and fairy lights. The lasagna was, objectively, a disaster—undercooked in some layers, volcanic in others—but You devoured every bite, laughing as Jungkook sheepishly picked blackened noodles off his plate.

“I have dessert,” he announced suddenly, scrambling to his feet. He returned with a lumpy mason jar clutched in his hands, filled with what looked like…

“Fortunes?” You tilted her head.

“Fortunate cookies,” he corrected, cheeks puffing. “I wrote notes inside. For you.” His voice softened. “Just… things I’ve wanted to say but… couldn’t figure out how.”

Your chest tightened. Carefully, you cracked open a cookie. The slip inside read: “Your laugh on rainy days > all my playlists.”

Another, “I stole your shampoo last week. Smells like home.”

Another, “Wish I could paint the way you look when you sleep. But I’d need more colors.”

By the fifth note, your vision blurred. Jungkook watched you, knees drawn to his chest, gnawing his thumbnail until you reached for his hand.

“Baby,” youbwhispered, “this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever—”

“There’s more,” he interjected, suddenly urgent. From beneath the couch, he pulled a small wooden box, its surface sanded smooth and stained the deep blue of twilight. Inside lay a cluster of folded paper stars.

“Open one,” he urged, voice shaky.

You unfolded a star to find a date scribbled inside: 10/22. First time we danced in the kitchen. You were barefoot. I stepped on your toes twice. You said it didn’t hurt. It did. I saw you limp.

Another, 3/14. You cried during that dog documentary. I wanted to hug you but didn’t. Regret it every day.

The last star, Today. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When you looked up, Jungkook’s eyes were glistening, his lips pressed into a wobbly line. Without a word, you tugged him into your lap, his back against your chest, and wrapped your arms around him. He shuddered, melting into your embrace, his fingers interlacing with yours.

“Why the stars?” you asked, nose buried in his hair.

“So you’d always have constellations,” he murmured. “Even on nights the sky’s too dark to see them.”

You stayed like that for hours, trading stories mapped by paper and ink, until the candles burned low. When You finally fetched your gift—a hand-bound book of poems she’d written, each one a vignette of their quietest moments—Jungkook traced the words with reverent fingers, pausing at the entry titled “Him, in the Half-Light.”

“You see me,” he said quietly.

“Always,” you replied.

Later, as they lay tangled in blankets, Jungkook’s head resting over your heartbeat, You realized he’d slipped something into your palm—a final fortune, unfurled to reveal a single request:

“Let me be yours forever?”

Your answer was a kiss, slow and syrup-sweet, and the way his shy hands finally, finally learned the shape of your without trembling.

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nishikio · 13 hours ago

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Unspoken Desires

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

࿐ ࿔:･ﾟPairing: riki x female!reader

࿐ ࿔:･ﾟGenre: suggestive, angst?

࿐ ࿔:･ﾟWarnings: none

──── ୨୧ ────

riki didn’t know why he was still standing at the edge of her apartment complex, hands shoved deep into his pockets, heart hammering like a drum in his chest.

He had walked away, hadn’t he?

He had left.

He had told himself that was it.

But now, with every step he took away from her, he realized just how wrong he was.

He couldn’t forget her.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she felt against him, how she tasted, how the world had melted away the second their lips collided.

He was hungry for her.

His body craved her, ached for her. And he couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling that corrupted him

y/n had just finished dealing with errands, her body tired and sore, when she heard the knock at her door. It was a familiar sound, but this time it made her heart skip a beat.

She stood still for a moment, unsure, her mind racing. She hadn’t expected him. Not now. Not after everything.

But the knock came again, more urgent this time.

Slowly, she moved toward the door, her hand resting on the doorknob. She hesitated for a moment, her breath catching. Was she ready for this? Was she ready to face him after everything they’d been through?

She exhaled shakily, steeling herself.

With a deep breath, she opened the door.

riki stood there, his eyes searching hers. There was no anger in them, no bitterness—just something raw, something he couldn’t hide. His face softened when their eyes met, but neither of them said anything at first.

y/n could see the conflict in his gaze. The same ache she had felt. And in that moment, something inside her broke, the walls she had carefully built around her heart cracking just enough to let him in.

She stepped back, silently inviting him in. She didn’t need to say anything. The door was open, and so was she.

riki took a hesitant step forward, the weight of his own emotions making each movement feel like a thousand pound burden. He crossed the threshold, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

It was as if the simple act of being in the same space again had already begun to fill the gaps that had been left in their lives.

Without a word, y/n closed the door behind him. They stood there for a beat, the air between them thick with unspoken thoughts but y/n could feel the familiar pull toward him, the one that had never really disappeared.

The moment stretched, thick with tension, as riki’s lips brushed against y/n’s skin. Every kiss, every touch, every move made his body ache for more

Her hands slid up his chest, fingers trembling as she gripped his shirt, tugging it off with desperate urgency. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he followed suit, pulling her shirt over her head, revealing the bare skin he’d missed more than he could admit.

He could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingertips, just like his own. They were moving in sync, a rhythm they had never lost, even after the distance, even after the time apart.

y/n’s eyes locked with his—dark, heated, full of need—and in that instant, riki knew there was no turning back. They were both too far gone to stop.

“Tell me you still want me,” y/n whispered, her voice a breathless plea.

riki didn’t think twice. He crashed his lips against hers, his hands roaming down her body as if he were memorizing the feel of her.

“More than anything,” he muttered between kisses. His voice was thick, heavy with desire. “I never stopped wanting you.”

y/n’s hands slid down his back, pulling him even closer, if that was possible. Her body pressed against his, and riki could feel every curve of her, every inch of her.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

All he could do was feel.

Her lips parted for him, and he took the invitation, deepening the kiss, pushing her against the bed. He could hear the sound of her breath hitching, feel the way she arched against him, desperate for more.

“Riki…” Her voice trembled, fingers now working at the waistband of his pants.

He groaned, pulling away just long enough to look at her. The hunger in her eyes mirrored his own, and for a split second, he almost lost himself in it.

“y/n…” His voice was strained, barely a whisper. “Are you sure?”

Her answer came in the form of a fierce kiss, one that stole his breath and made his mind spin. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t hesitate. She wanted him.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

He kissed her again, his hands trailing down her sides, urging her to move with him. Every inch of her body was like fire, like something he could never extinguish, something he would never be able to walk away from again.

They didn’t slow down. Didn’t stop. It was like they were racing against time, against their own resolve, against whatever might come next.

The world outside didn’t exist.

There was only y/n.

And there was only riki.

And they were completely, utterly lost in each other.

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chansakura · 2 days ago

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Her stomach tightened at the thought. It wasn’t the same as before—the sharp, gnawing hunger that clawed at her insides when she went too long without feeding. No, this was different. Steadier. Less desperate. The last meal he made for her had settled inside her like something real, something solid, not just a fleeting satisfaction that would disappear too soon.

“Well, I do consume human food at times. So, would you say… once or twice a week, you’ll cook for me?” She hesitated, then added, “Thank you, but I don’t know—”

Her words faded as she glanced over at him, noticing the way his voice had trailed off into quiet nothingness. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, his body slack with sleep.

She didn’t wake him. Instead, she quietly finished the remaining food, savoring each bite before taking the dishes to the sink. The least she could do was clean up. With careful movements, she washed each kitchen tool he had used, setting them back in their place as if erasing any trace of her presence.

Once everything was in order, she turned back toward the sofa where he rested. Without thinking, her steps carried her closer, drawn in by the rare sight of him at ease. His face, usually sharp with numbness, had softened in sleep. Peaceful.

For a moment, she just stood there, watching him, letting the quiet settle between them. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke.

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t meant to wake him. Maybe he wouldn’t even hear it. But she said it anyway, knowing full well that she would be back.

Not afraid - @chansakura - Finn x Sakura *CLOSED RP*

The alleyway reeked of damp asphalt and old blood, a scent Finn had grown accustomed to. He leaned against the brick wall, one boot pressed casually against it, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was tired and desperately needed a shower. A job had gone sideways tonight. The mark wasn’t where they were supposed to be, and now Finn was stuck waiting, calculating his next move. But then there it was. A shift in the air. Someone was watching. His fingers twitched toward the knife hidden beneath his coat. "If you're gonna stand there like a damn ghost, you might as well step into the light," he muttered, voice low, edged with amusement. Was it a threat? A client? Or just another poor soul who didn’t know better than to get too close? It didn't matter, someone was there and he had to see if they were going to be trouble or not.

#sakurareplies #finnley;

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starry-bi-sky · 25 days ago

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what if i wrote a “shen yuan transmigrates into a wife” oneshot but the whole premise is based on the song “gone, i’m gone” from hadestown and its overall theme is wanderlust and freedom and it starts out as Shen Yuan settling into life in the palace and trying to avoid harem drama and thinking he can just live with his head down for the rest of his new life, only to be hit with a sudden intense yearning to explore his new world the likes he’s never felt before. What if he was sickly in his last life. What if he spent his entire last life indoors. Trapped between four walls. What if love is not a gilded cage. What if he begins clawing at the walls of his enclosure, desperate to escape because he wants to live, god please let him live. He can’t do this again. What if he spent months preparing for his escape and in that same breath getting the attention of some of the other wives around him because he has changed and it makes them wary. what if he got binghe’s attention as he is wont to do. What if he left. What if Shen Yuan was born with a bottomless pit in his stomach and a gaping maw in his chest. What if he was starving. What if he was starving for the world around him. What if i wrote that. What then

#svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #scum villain #scum villain au #scum villans self saving system #svsss au #luo binghe #luo bingge #its the same wife transmigration plot no.143 but its starry coded #and what if i made it a songfic what then. what if i titled it ‘love is not a gilded cage’#what if there was no system in this au. just shen yuan on his own #and what if i made it part of a oneshot series with each oneshot depicting an adventure shen yuan goes on #he will eventually find his way back to binghe but not before he finds himself first #what if starry went the fuck to bed #what if the wife he ended up as was someone childish or loud or considered naive and then suddenly she’s not bc she’s sy now #and he has no system and he’s alone with no allies and he is STARVING. he is ravenous. he wants to see the world please let him see the wor #world. let him out please please please please #all the wealth within these walls could never buy the thing called love #he cares for binghe greatly. thats his fave character! but he wants out please let him out. you wont even notice he’s gone orpheus #you’ll find another muse somewhere.#luo bingge is a good hunter but shen yuan is a good hider.#i want ning yingying to find sy in the gardens one day and suddenly see her shizun. sy wanted to try doing sqq’s signature move bc it #seemed simple and easy enough and nyy saw him. and she asks him where he learned that. and he panics and lies and says in a dream somewhere #gnaws on the bars of my cage

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vmbrq · 1 year ago

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ovulation horny is something neither ethan landry nor charlie walker is equipped to handle LMAOO

unless.

#you push them down under you and they just stare at you eyes big as hell #they’re both fine as fuck how could they not expect to be jumped #CONSENSUALLY OFC EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL #now i’m thinking of cnc with ethan landry or charlie walker but instead of them being the ones in charge it’s you #ethan could be studying or charlie could be watching a movie or or or or or really anything i’m just #*gnaws at the bars of my enclosure*#them putting up a bit of a fight (CONSENSUALLY) or trying to deter you but eventually giving in and letting their sweet gf use them #pushing or grabbing at you to deter you turning into either hands being pinned above their heads or grabbing at you to pull you closer #protests and insistences and weak complaints fractured by curses and groans until they dissolve into moans and whimpers #telling you that you two shouldn’t be doing this right now or you have to stop even though their breath is trembling and they’re on the #verge of cumming #and they choke on their words when you clench around them and dig your nails into their chest and keep using them to get yourself off #OR them just being ready to give you whatever you want #they just let you do what you want #you wanna suck their dick? say no more. you wanna sit on it? say no more.#SCREAMS #I JUST #claws at floorboards #SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME YOU SEE THE VISION

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facemeandperish · 1 day ago

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"Child, I have been a killer my entire life." Aatrox said simply. "We dress this simple truth up in many ways; calling ourselves survivors in the hostile path of Mother Sai, warrior, soldier, swordsmaster. But the ultimate truth of such a life is that one confronts Death every single day. Many have the priviledge of never knowing when the Kindred show their masked faces to the world, but I have never been so lucky." He continued.

"I have heard the whisper of the arrow as it passes over my skull to bury itself in my foe in the same instant that my blade finally breaks their defences, and I have felt the gnawing agony of the Wolf as doctors and surgeons attempted to save my life after I was badly injured, struck down by blade and infection both. The pains that the Deaths bring make us human, for we seek to rise above such pains, yet return to them every time we fight another living thing."

"Children fear many things, especially fire and pain and death, for they are too young to understand sacrifice. You made a mistake, but this is the way of the world, and one that you could not have possibly understood to be a mistake. Learn from these mistakes, do not wallow in them, and the shades of your family will be no whit less pleased in you, nor love you any less." Aatrox said quietly, feeling Raschems hand idly tapping out a tune on one of his horns, a song older than civilizations which described the love for the ones you left behind you. Soldiers songs were the same everywhere, and they still had the power to affect even the ageless, lifeless horror that Aatrox had become.

Aatrox rolled his eyes at the surprise in the girls eyes. Did she think that training eliminated fear responses? "All things that walk, crawl or breathe feel fear." Aatrox pointed out. "The training I subject you to is never going to stop you from feeling fear upon the onset of battle, it is merely there to condition your response to that fear, to use it to fuel your ability to fight rather than hinder it. However, no amount of training can help a man or woman when their family is in danger."

"Fate can be trifled with." Aatrox said dismissively. "When I was a child, I was a sickly infant, weakened by an illness just after my birth. It looked as though I would be left to the Sai, but I broke that fate by growing stronger and more skilled than the other children in our camp. It is Death that one cannot escape from, the Kindred themselves."

He shrugged at her next words. "Their bow and their bite are much the same, I find. But if you think a young girl, with no real training or experience in warfare and death could have understood the myriad permutations of Fate, and charted a correct course to the saving of their family, even after seeing the face of Death Themself, then you're far more a fool than even your footwork suggests." He said with the faintest quirk of a smile, attempting in his own mad way to inject some levity into this conversation.

#the-storm-chaser

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norikuna · 12 days ago

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NERDS DO IT BETTER ☓. ── ( 呪術廻戦 )

⌗ turns out they're the best you've ever had, and you think you're gonna' have to come back for more!

ᯓ starring ─. jjk ensemble cast : nerd! gojo, nerd! geto, nerd! sukuna, nerd! nanami, nerd! toji, nerd! choso

𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓲. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 x afab!reader ) ─── ❛ cw ⌓. mdni. college au. risky, public séx. handjóbs. óverstím. hate séx. fíngeríng. fiíming (consénsual). édging. vírgin!kuna. óral (m). missiónary. soft séx. brééding kínk. créampíe. backshóts. óral (f). wc ⌓. 3.5k.

﹙ 五条悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ advanced mathematics, physics

"oh, fuck!" gojo's absolutely quivering, throwing back a head of tousled, snowy hair, "that's, ouh, that's way better than i ever coulda' even dreamed of." pale-pink lips snapping sharp around another moan as he shudders, "can ya' do it again?"

you're clicking your tongue, doing your very best to bite back a flushed smile yourself. knowing that you've got the smartest, honour roll student pliant beneath you, his thighs splayed out and bare — the skin spottled with patches of rosy pink, dusted with fine white hairs. he's still got that campus sweatshirt on, rumpled over the askew collar of the dress shirt underneath. where you're eager to run your hands, to slide your fingers up past the low trail of hair on gojo's groin.

it doesn't hurt that gojo's, like, ridiculously gorgeous. thick-rimmed glasses foggy over vibrant blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes. and you can see him gnawing at the inside of his cheek as your hand keeps at a steady pace. pumping him over and over, until thick ropes of seed are coating your hand. it must be the nth climax of his by now, but it seems neither of you are that eager to call it a day.

you smile at how gojo squeezes his eyes shut, glasses skipping askew so you can fondly kiss his forehead. titling his glasses right back into place, all while he bites back a low, rumbled groan, "a-another?" it's a plea, almost hopeful for you to milk his poor, throbbing cock until there's not much else it can give.

"mhm, i don't know, satoru. it's kinda' risky, don'tcha think?" you're trying to keep your voice down, knowing that anyone could round the corner here. they could move past the stack of chairs littered behind the physics subsection of books and old papers to find gojo spread out so sluttily over this chair, his pants drifting past his ankles while you lean over behind the desk to jerk him off. workshop questions and calculations long discarded as the most intelligent man on campus chases some form of pent-up relief from you, his angel that's solely heaven sent.

gojo's the type of guy that's always moving, whether he's skimming and flipping through pages of glossy textbooks or speeding over the butterfly keys of his steel-grey mac, and right now?

he's still in motion, tapping trimmed nails in staccato beats against the plastic table. drumming his fingers over and over as he does his best to not let you see the crystalline tears of delicious overstimulation pooling at the corners of his eyes. shuddering as you pull back, letting his big cock snap back, smearing a thin line of translucent cum against his blue sweatshirt.

cursing because he knows he's gonna' have to peel that top off before his next class, before anyone can figure out exactly what that stain is, "fuck, we still got 15 minutes before that lecture, yeah? one more, please, baby, jus' one more."

﹙ 夏油傑 : geto suguru ﹚ ─ philosophy, sociology

"what did i say? eyes on the lenses, pretty girl." geto's determined and mean when he's like this, but then again, when is he not a cunt?

that bitchy nerd's always sniping at you, doing dumb shit like taking your seat in class and sucking up to the teacher — batting pretty, dark lashes at the tutor while throwing a nasty look your way when you get the answer right.

but as of this moment, there aren't any right answers in your head. not when geto's got you propped up in his broad lap. right in front of a blinking video camera, perched on a shaky tripod as he swirls his digits as deep as he can into your pretty, swollen pussy.

"s-sugu', feels so good," you moan, sinking your teeth into the plush flesh of your lower lip as geto's face softens for a split second before hardening once more. handsome features crinkling as he shakes his head of choppy, raven hair, "didn't ask if it felt good, geez. i asked for the answer to the question, or are we jus' having trouble following instructions as well?"

"hate ya' so, so much, still, i don' even remember the fuckin' question," you're sniffling, knowing that he's so deliciously knuckle deep within you right now. your clear, glossy arousal coating his fingers as he pumps the digits in and out of your heat with a satisfying squelch!

geto smiles, as though he wanted you to say that while he was rolling a fat thumb over your clitoral hood. berry lips pulling at the corners as he tuts, using the hand that was previously holding apart your thighs to slide a pristine paper over his bed, clicking his tongue before he intones, "tch', let me quiz you, again, 'cause we got that test tomorrow. though, 'm not sure it's much good. now, how would you explain structural functionalism?"

your mind's absolutely turning to incredible, pleasurable mush as you struggle to form coherent sentences. instead, staring at the blinking red light blearing out through the dark haze of geto's form room, and swallowing as he begins pulling at the sensitive ache of your clit, "it's, like, the premise of everything havin' a purpose. like, hahh, society being a well-oiled machine n' people are jus' cogs and — fuck! suguru, can't even focus like this."

your back is writhing against geto's toned chest, and you can feel the dark strands of hair that have escaped his hairtie tickling at your cheek, "i know, beautiful," he coos, almost as though he quite likes you, rather than the loathing that he claims, "now tell me, who's ideas does structural functionalism align with? answer quick, and i'll make ya' cum this time, promise!"

brain whirring on overtime to snap out a rushed breath, "emile durkheim!" your lips pouting as you heave in a candied breath of air, "that's right, isn't it? now you promised, so please! make me cum, sugu', fuck."

you can hear geto chuckle, "you didn't make me pinky promise, though?" and he's revelling in how you huff, and curse him out, "besides, i like watching you squirm all pretty for the camera. helps me remember my notes so much more. y'know that 'm gonna' go back and revise this later."

﹙ 両面宿儺 : ryomen sukuna ﹚ ─ anthropology, history

"you're a virgin?" your mouth parting into a sweet gasp as charlotte tilbury leaves sticky strands of product stringing between your pretty lips. because, there's just no way...

sukuna's rolling his crimson eyes, and shoving his tattooed hands into the ragged pockets of his thick hoodie, "why don't we focus on the project again? y'know that the entire thing is due next week, and this is our last meet-up before we gotta' present?"

the burly, quiet man's clearly flushed — with his tanned cheeks painted awash in some watercolour, blushy hue. muttering something about insolent cheerleaders and how he's refusing to get a bad grade because of you. but you're never one to lose. you just cross your arms over your chest, and a little more firmly on purpose, just to watch sukuna gulp as his gaze drops right down to that shadow of cleavage, "hey, you're the one who asked if i was sleeping with the quarterback."

sukuna's just too easy, because for all his churlish, jerkish attitude, he's not immune at all to your easiest charms. like a pretty red lollipop, or a spritz of your favourite body mist, or when you hike the hem of your skirt up just a little bit higher to doodle faint hearts on your flesh. and now he's grunting, drawing his eyes away from your torso to gulp, training his eyes solely on the project rubric, "yeah. was jus' a question. i don't give a fuck."

"mhm, sure." snapping strawberry gum between your teeth, "because i'm not with him." you grin as sukuna stiffens, almost snapping the poor, thin frame of a cheap lead pencil between his thick fingers.

"no?" he sounds almost, almost sheepish. battered headphones clattering around his marked neck as he jerks, and you almost coo. for it's honestly quiet sweet at how interested he sounds. ironic, considering ryomen sukuna is one of the most surly men on campus. always with his nose buried in some medieval book, always some exemplary paper of his pinned to the student noticeboard about the heian era.

"no," you repeat, scooting just a little bit closer to his broad frame, "because 'm interested in someone else, ya' see. like you, 'kuna."

the pencil snaps, the wood finally giving out to the quick motion of sukuna's fingers clamping down on it. pieces scattering and littering the table as broken lead clutters, the remnants of a man who's just had his world rocked but doesn't want to admit it, "hah, funny," he's muttering, "yer' really interested in me?" all you had murmured was a tempting, alluring little phrase that would remain with sukuna forever, something like, "want me to prove it?"

and that's exactly how you ended up like this. eyes blown wide, little hearts dancing around your pupils as you took in the sheer size and girth of what sukuna was hiding in his faded jeans. lips parting to close over the weeping tip of his thick shaft, and grinning at how there's already sheer, salty drops leaking out.

"fuck, w-wait," sukuna's groaning, with his spiky head of two-toned hair thrown back against your desk chair, "it's sensitive." clacking his sharp teeth around a wanton moan when you tongue at the veins bulging on the sides of his cock, "already feels like 'm gonna –"

"cum?" you offer helpfully, flattening your tongue against him so he throbs, hot and heavy, into your mouth. releasing yourself from his cock with a loud pop! and you're sure glad that your sorority roommates aren't home, for you're not sure how to explain that you're dripping wet yourself, just from sucking off the most infamous, ill-reputed nerd on campus.

"yeah, yeah," sukuna rasps, a heady and low tone that escapes from his chest, "and that would be e-embarrassing, fuck, that's — that's a good spot." sighing as you trail teasing fingers over folded skin, right at the underside of the base of his cock.

"not that embarrassing, 'kuna," you shake your head, loosening the slick strand of saliva that was stringing away from your lips. replacing your mouth with an entirely different type of gloss, and one that you're growing increasingly fond of, "and besides, we got a lotta' time before my roommates come back. plenty of other things we can do, hah."

﹙ 七海建人 : nanami kento ﹚ ─ economics

"but i jus' think numbers are kind of beautiful, wouldn't you say? like they have their own satisfying figure and precision?"

you smack nanami's chest, leaving a small, cherry hue over your boyfriend's pectorals, "your girlfriend is literally under you, and you're talking about numbers being beautiful."

he gives you an apologetic smile, thick waves of golden hair dampened with the sweat of exertion that was to be expected when he was delivering the sweetest, most loving strokes to your very core. thick, bulging tip kissing your cervix as nanami huffs, "sorry, darling. nothing's more beautiful than my girl, and, heh, yer' figure is the one i love the most."

"that's better," you gasp, feeling him rummage through your swollen pussy. girthy shaft bulging past throbbing, dripping folds as he delivers hit after surefire hit against your g-spot. but then, suddenly, you're frowning, "don't you have class, like, right now, babe?"

nanami squeezes his eyes shut, amber lashes kissing peach-flushed skin. "yeah, had some tutorial," he groans, drawing his cock out of you almost entirely before he's snapping his hips back into you with such force that there's a resounding smack reverberating through his bedroom, "but heh, they don't really need me there. i already know all my shit."

"and you won't get in, i don't know, trouble?"

your boyfriend shakes his head, pushing aside the stack of stock market magazines littered near your head, so he can slam his hand down on the soft quilt. all so nanami can steady himself as he has only one purpose in mind, to make you cum. to make you see such stars of pleasure that you squirt all over his cock. and he can already picture your fucked-out form, hazy and littered with the marks of his loving. and drenched down below.

well, anatomically, it mustn't be possible but at the mere vision, nanami can feel himself harden even more. like his cock is responding to the hypnotising grip that you've got him in. hefty balls tightening further and he's rasping in your ear, "can i —, fuck, can i cum in ya', darling?" desperate and falling apart at the mere idea, at the way your eyes flutter shut in bliss, "only if yer' also wanting me to, i swear. but please –"

"yeah. in me, kento. baby, all yours."

that's all it really takes for thick, stringy wads of hot release to spurt out from nanami's weeping tip. cock releasing strands of gooey seed into your cunt in a way that makes your boyfriend press his forehead against yours, littering a thousand kisses against your fucked-out, smiling lips, "thank you, thank you, thank you, darling. i love you so much. can't even put it into words, but i love you —"

﹙ 伏黒甚爾 : toji fushiguro ﹚ ─ physical education, kinesiology

"what the fuck did you jus' call me, ma?" toji's got a blunt nail trailing down your spine, running over the curve of your ass, "a nerd?"

you're writhing, "yeah, yeah. i mean, that's what everyone says," and it takes every cell in your body to fight back the inevitable release that toji's bestowing upon you. for you're determined to delay this just a little longer, to feel toji's thick cock slam into you from behind over and over in a way that you never really expected from the grumpy sports major.

and it seems the idea amuses him, for you don't even need to turn around to imagine how his sharp, jade-green eyes must be narrowing at the knowledge of what everyone calls toji fushiguro behind his back. how toji's sharp, shark-like grin must be widening, sharpening knives to sink into your shoulder, "why? 'cause i don't do that stupid, attention-seeking sports shit like everyone else in my degree? 'cause i don't wanna' waste my time on the field or in the locker rooms?"

"t-toji, it's 'cause you always got your damn nose in a book. and i didn't even know you could —," you shriek, feeling his burly forearm come up in front of you, past your bouncing breasts to support your weight as he presses further into you, "i honestly didn't even know you could fuckin' read."

"suchhh a nasty attitude, ma," toji chuckles, and your ass pleasurably stings at the resounding smacks echoing through the (thankfully) empty gymnasium. your lace panties pulled to the sides as you're balanced over the bleachers right in the very corner where the lonesome toji fushiguro prefers to sit, where no one else can bother him.

but damn, if he's not getting off on the idea of taking you so prettily like this. don't get him wrong, toji loves this position. loves how nasty and filthy your pretty arch is when he's swabbing his cock against your pussy. but fuck, he also wishes you were flipped around for him. just so he could press a thumb to your lower lip, and watch your eyes go all silly and crossed for him. while he tacked the thick curl of dark hair around his groin to your sticky, throbbing clit. battered your pretty cunt with his inches until that feisty lil' attitude melted away into sugar and cream.

you moan, such a wanton sound, when toji's thick fingers are climbing up your throat. past your jaw to settle at your mouth. pushing past your lip so you can drool so beautifully for him as he does his level best to at least regretfully silence the sexy sounds falling out of your lips.

"careful, ma," toji shudders, feeling the tight heat of your cunt snatch his soul away, "wanna' keep the volume down so those rocks-for-brains football players don't hear what's going on here. unless, you want them to see how the nerd's practically plowing your brains out, hah."

the resulting clench of your cunt tells toji all that he needs to know, and he has to bite back the furious blush crawling over him, underneath his faded varsity jacket, "oh? that's how it is? well, okay then. hold on."

﹙ 脹相 : choso kamo ﹚ ─ lab medicine, psychology

you know better than to sass choso when he's like this, the night before the final semester exam. see, because the man's got your thighs splayed so prettily out for him. glistening, and dripping all over his bedspread. and to the side, he's got that damn anatomy textbook flipped open.

choso's frustrated, sighing and flicking the pads of his fingers against his tongue to thumb at the sticking pages. rolling his eyes when he isn't able to find the passage that he wants, as if that's your fault. but you don't miss the hungry gleam in the raven-haired man's eyes, the spiky knots atop his head coming loose as he delves right back into his favourite meal. his favourite study snack being your glossy cunt, for he could munch on the slick strands forever.

"bear with me, my love," choso's cooing, trailing a slender, pale finger up your sticky folds until he comes to rest at your clit. tapping the throbbing bud once, "jus' gotta' memorise this, and you're helping me so much."

he's pressing a chaste, quaint kiss to your pulsing clit. that dark mark stretched across his face twitching as he murmurs, "ah, think, choso! right, the clitoral glans has, hmm, 8000 nerve endings. and it leads up to..." choso's drawing slow, teasing circles on your clit and it makes you whine, bucking your hips, "patience, my love. i'll reward you extra special for helpin' me out like this. now, it leads up to the clitoral shaft — and did i tell ya' what the crura is?"

you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you rut against choso's handsome nose for some delicious friction, and he clearly seems eager to indulge you, though he's still lost in academic thought, "right. i guess, baby, you could say the crura are kinda' like the legs for the clitoris. and they extend allll along the pelvic bones."

choso's marvelling the glossy, sheer slick coating his fingers. licking a flat stripe right against your swollen, eager cunt, "and the glans, well, my extended answer needs to mention how they, uh, damn, baby. you're soaked." he's shaking his head again, "i keep getting distracted. the glans — they're the ones with the alpha-delta, and c-fibres, and that's what makes you feel so good. transmitting sensations y'see, i get extra marks for mentioning that."

you hazard a glance to the shining pages of the new textbook that choso's kept on his shelf all semester, "and the, uh, the pudendal reflex? you got a sticky note on that one, babe?"

choso smiles, slowly flicking your clitoral hood in up and down motions, each movement sending simmering pleasure through your groin, "a spinal reflex, m'love. helps with the involuntary muscle contractions, like when i do this —," flatting the pad of his thumb against your clit to run tighter circles against the aching nub, watching as your hips jolt up further against his face. coating the lower half of his features in translucent arousal.

"now, my favourite part," choso says, grinning as he turns his attentions elsewhere, to your dripping entrance pooling such a mess over his sheets. and your boyfriend's tugging at his grey sweatpants, "the grafenberg spot. i don't think my fingers will be enough to stimulate it properly."

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