#*blinks a few times to try to process everything*

[robinvomit]

[ excuse me? ] + not rated, but uses the term tits.

it had been a day. one of those soul sucking, head throbbing, everything has gone wrong, need a voluntary coma kind of days. the kind of day where even breathing felt like too much effort, like you may just give out with every inhale. somewhere in the middle of trying to survive it, through the missed bus, the passive aggressive emails, shitty customers, spilled coffee, that one unavoidable puddle, the weird guy on the street who definitely called you something that classified as a slur - you made a very important, life changing decision:

you were going to bury your face in kon's absurdly perfect chest and simply cease to exist for a while. pretend the day never happened. pretend the world around didn't even matter.

by the time you reach the compound, still half vibrating with rage and not an ounce of willpower left in your body, you don't even register the ability to hesitate.

you find him in the rec room, slouched back on the couch, watching some ridiculous sitcom rerun. he doesn't register you being in the room until you're in front of him, glaring like his comfortable existence has offended you as a whole, just by breathing.

"hey-" kon starts, brows drawing together in that effortlessly confused, pretty boy way of his. it makes the rage boil hotter in your veins and you can't even name why. maybe it's because he looked so.. laid back. like the world didn't even register to him. you knew that wasn't true, but he'd always been good at hiding things.

you cut him off with a sigh that sounds like it came from the depths of your fucking soul before shaking your head. "no. don't talk. i don't want to hear your voice. please."

"…okay..?"

you could hear the breathed out "hurtful" that followed but you didn't acknowledge it.

"i need to," you say, voice heavy, dramatic, annoyed beyond belief, as you nudge his knees apart to step between them and jab a finger a bit hard into his pec like it personally owes you the comfort, "drown in your tits."

he blinks a few times like he's processing each word separately while also still taking in the fact you just pushed yourself between his legs like you belonged there. his lips parted for a second before any words came out; "..excuse me?"

your hand just flattens against his chest before curling a bit. you lean closer to him, fingers pressing into all that ridiculous, infuriating, shirt straining muscle that has you almost at a complete loss. "kon. i'm not kidding. i need to go full face first into your chest. like. suffocate. just for a little while. it'll heal me. restore the part of my fucking soul that's somewhere out in the city."

kon stares at you, and you stare back.

he opens his mouth again, probably to make a joke because it's kon and he can't help himself, but you glare, and the joke dies in his throat. he clears his throat, shifting a bit. "are you.. okay?" he asks instead, voice a bit softer.

you shake your head again, lip beginning to wobble. "i'm exhausted. i'm gross. i am a burnt out, emotionally flammable gremlin that hasn't eaten. i slept like shit, started my day with tim in my ear and you are warm, and soft, and strong, and *superboy*- look, are you gonna let me smother myself in your man tits or not?"

"…i mean," kon says after a second, the tips of his ears turning pink. "i'm not gonna say no, but like… there are couches.. and blankets.. pretty sure there's some plushies.. and words we could use to-"

you're already crawling into his lap, ignoring the other suggestions. "oh, okay, no then-" he muses, letting you make yourself comfortable.

"shhh," you mumble, cheek pressing directly against his left pec. your arms circle around his waist with the kind of desperation people have when their boyfriend is the only good person seemingly left on the planet. "you talk too much. just flex. for my spirit. because you love me and any other time you'd be showing off anyway."

he lets out a stunned breath that may or may not be a laugh, you aren't sure, his arms instinctively settling around you as you settle against him like a weighted blanket with trauma and tears threatening to form. "you're so weird." he sighs, patting your lower back.

"mmhmm," you hum into his chest. "but your chest is doing god's work right now, so whose fault is that, really?"

kon just squeezes you a little tighter as you shift, nosing against the center of his chest. "you're lucky i like you."

"i'm lucky you're built like a superhero and mine and always so stupidly warm and soft."

"i mean, i.. kinda am but that's not the point." he mumbles, more to himself, just sinking further into the couch.

you stay like that; for how long, you don't know, just melting into him, drowning in the safe, steady rise and fall of his chest, letting yourself disappear for a minute into someone who holds you like you're worth something.

"better?" he asks after a little while, nudging his cheek against the top of your head. he doesn't say what he's thinking. how small you are like this, not weak, just vulnerable and human. how you've never let yourself be seen like this in front of the others.

you just nod, attempting to squeeze closer to him, like you're trying to fuse with him for the sake of comfort.

[thypickles]

Going to throw up I was not meant to experience so much in so little time (I love this show, do not get me wrong but WHAT THE FUCK)

[prettyngeto]

historical hoe || ryomen sukuna x f! reader

summary: 10/10 cuddle sesh ruined when you remember your man was basically for the streets in his past life. ugh, what a whore.

content: fluff, established relationship, my boy sukuna is just confused, crackfic?? idk i might make this my brand atp 😭 word count: 1k

main masterlist || jjk masterlist

It started off as a nice lil cosy night. You were nestled in between Sukuna’s legs, the low hum of a movie playing in the background - neither of you were really paying attention. His fingers lazily traced circles into your hip, his chest rising and falling against your back. Realistically, you should’ve taken advantage of this rare occasion, you should’ve been basking in this softness. Because everything was fine. Perfect, even.

Until it wasn’t. 

The sudden thought hits you like a truck. How dare he? 

You stiffen instantly, expression souring as your brows knit together, lips pushing into a pout. A loud, frustrated sigh escapes you, making your displeasure very clear. Sukuna notices the dramatic shift in your mood - because, although he won’t admit it, he pays very close attention to you. His fingers still, eyes flicking down to you. “The hell’s wrong with you?”

Silence.

“Oi.”

More silence.

His crimson eyes narrow, patience slowly wearing thin. “You were fine not even 5 seconds ago. The fuck is your problem, brat?” The question is punctuated with a squeeze on your waist.

Eyes still fixed onto the TV screen, you mutter something under your breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“Hah? Stop mumbling, use your words.”

You finally look up, glaring at him with all the fury you can muster, and repeat yourself, this time loud and clear. “Whore.”

Sukuna blinks. “Excuse me.” 

“Whore.” You scoff, arms crossing.

Sukuna stares at you, clearly trying to process what the hell just came out of your mouth, brows twitching. “The fuck did you just call me?”

“You heard me, whore,” you repeat, voice dripping with betrayal as you scoot away from him like his whorish tendencies were contagious. His expression shifts from confusion to one of mild amusement. “And what exactly did I do to earn that title?”

You whipped around, eyes blazing, “OH I DON’T KNOW?? Maybe the fact that you had like 300 concubines in your past life??” 

He does nothing for a few seconds, brain still buffering before he bursts out laughing. 

Yeah, you just made Sukuna, King of Curses laugh. Truly, you would have been admiring your exceptional feat if you weren’t currently so disgusted by him. 

“Woman, there’s no way you’re mad about some shit that happened centuries ago.”

You gasp loudly, hand flying to your chest like he had just admitted to killing a room full of puppies (which, knowing him, isn’t entirely impossible - but still.) “So you’re not denying it??” 

This man(whore) just stares at you, still baffled at your outburst. “...huh?”

You, on the other hand, were on the brink of losing it. “So, you cheated on me.”

His eye twitched, “You weren’t even fucking alive at the time.” 

You just scoff, shaking your head in utter regret and disappointment, “For the streets before my birth is crazyyy.”

A deep, exhausted sigh makes your head snap up to him, your eyes narrowing as if daring him to try and speak. He would later wish he hadn’t, but alas - he did. 

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? ME? I’M the one being ridiculous?? Sorry, remind me which one of us was out there entertaining an entire fucking harem?” You rolled your eyes, the scorn in your voice evident now. He pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly tired of your antics - which, in your mind, were completely valid. 

“Babe, it was a thousand years ago.” This man really needs to learn how to shut his mouth. 

“Oh, so that makes it okay then?” You counter, eyebrows raising accusingly. 

“That’s not what I-”

“You really expect me to be out here cuddling you, knowing you were practically a historical hoe?”

His mouth drops open, at a complete loss for words - look at that, your second feat of the night that you could have been celebrating but noooo your boyfriend just had to be a bop before society even invented the word. 

“What the fuck…” 

And then it hits you. The real tragedy. Yet another scandalised gasp leaves you, your face one of pure horror.

“Oh my god,” you immediately scrambled to the opposite side of the bed, practically pressing yourself against the wall, voice dropping to a whisper. “I was laying on whore thighs.” 

He could only groan, dragging a hand down his face in absolute despair. “I swear to every god out there, I will throw you out of this fucking room.” 

“You probably used that exact line on all your concubines. You didn’t even have one. No, you had MULTIPLE. I can’t believe this. How greedy can one get.”

“Oh my fucking god.” 

You decide you've officially had enough of staring at his stupidly handsome face, so you turn your back to him, facing the wall like a petulant child. Your eyes immediately land on the pictures of you both scattered around, and you barely manage to muffle a scream. “Don’t talk to me.”

This time, his groan was accompanied by both hands dragging down his face. “You cannot be serious right now.” 

You didn’t move. You didn’t even acknowledge him. 

You were determined to see this silent treatment through. 

Sukuna exhales through his nose, closing his eyes for a brief moment to try and fathom exactly what the fuck had just happened. Before you know it, a strong arm snakes around your waist, effortlessly yanking you back into his chest. “Enough.” He murmurs. 

“No,” you grumble, still pouting. “Go back to your little harem.”

“They’re dead.”

“Oh, so now I’m just a replacement.”

He rolls his eyes, tucking your head under his chin as his thumb draws small comforting circles on your hip. “Woman, I swear-” He mumbled. “You know damn well you’re the only one I give a shit about now. Behave.” 

You mumbled something incoherent into his chest, still sulking (although the way you immediately melted in his embrace said otherwise). But when you felt his lips press against the top of your head, soft and lingering, you supposed you maybe could let this slide… for now.

“...still a whore.”

“For fuck’s sake, I should have just stayed single.”

ᯓ★ notes from star: this idea came to me during a lecture. i was fighting demons to not start writing then but i didnt want anyone seeing 😭 as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!!

also happy mauritius independence day!! 🇲🇺 prettyngeto © 2025. all rights reserved - please do not plagiarise, translate, steal and repost any of my works on any social platforms for whatever reason.

[shujichii]

he hadn't been the same ever since you made him try a period cramp simulator a month ago.

it all unfolded during one ordinary morning— until it ended up being anything but ordinary— when you presented the device to him like an ancient relic uncovered from the deepest depths of the earth, all while saying something along the lines of, “it's a social experiment. a precious opportunity to strengthen our bond and explore the art of empathy."

him, being the ever-dutiful husband, naturally found himself agreeing to try it.

long story short, it humbled him deeply.

you thought he was already attentive during your cycle. which, to be truthful, he was. but now? you realised that you were wrong. very, very wrong.

and now, you were being greeted by your husband's face in the wee hours of the morning through one cracked eye, the mattress dipping with his weight as he stared at you with concern etched into his features.

then came the first inquiry.

“good morning, sweetheart. are you in pain?”

you blinked, groggily sitting up, an ache beginning to form in the deep depths of your system. “oh… i guess so?”

affirming that you were indeed going through that time of the month—courtesy of him having tracked your period— he gave you a solemn nod before standing up, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing with a trey in hand.

you squinted. a fully prepared breakfast that looked too beautiful to consume. a heating pad. tea. water. chocolates. painkillers. and… a checklist.

you took a peek.

heating pad prepared. favorite blanket and pillows fluffed up. comfort snacks placed in her favorite bowl within reach. romance dramas queued. sanitary products restocked. chores cleared.

your gaze darted between him and the trey, your mouth closing and opening as your brain scrambled to process the situation.

“here, use this,” he moved forward, fluffing up the pillow you were sleeping on from behind before gently nudging you back, securing the heating pad against your stomach. “there.”

you didn't know which one to do first. shed a few sparkly tears of gratitude or laugh and lung forward and drown him in kisses.

“y-you didn't have to do all that—”

“i wanted to. i must. you can't be saying outrageous things like that.”

he didn't allow you to lift a single finger throughout the day. checked in from time to time to make sure you were okay, brought you whatever you asked for, gave you a message even though you didn't ask for it, dropped everything to cook for you, and came in with tissues, perfectly brewed tea with your exact preferences, vitamins and an even fluffier blanket when you sneezed once. at some point, he asked if you would like him to carry you around the house—even the bathroom, by the way— because “why waste your energy when I'm here?”

by evening, you were lounging like the queen you are, surrounded by all the things needed to make your period session bearable and one prepared-and ready-to pamper-to-the-max husband.

you paused the drama you were watching, yanking him down towards you from where you were curled up on the couch, his warmth immediately wrapping around you.

his hand instinctively found your waist, the other braced beside your hip. “hey— what's up?”

you grinned, lifting yourself just a little to place a featherlight kiss against his jaw. “baby, thank you. i'm fine now. why don't you relax with me?”

he hesitated for a moment, although his hands betrayed him by tightening around your waist just a fraction.

“are you sure? what if—”

“no buts. i demand cuddles. right now.”

he chuckled, the sound coming out breathier than intended as he settled down beside you before pulling you on top of him, securing you against his chest, his fingers already gently combing through your hair. you sighed contently, nuzzling deeper, all while his heart nearly gave out at the gesture.

after a moment, he spoke.

“if you ever need anything, just tell me,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple.

“then stay here. with me.”

you didn't have to repeat that. and you never had to doubt the royalty treatment coming up every month. although he'd still make sure to treat you like a queen outside of that month, too.

♡ nanami kento, geto suguru, fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, kamo choso, itadori yuuji, zayne, caleb, sylus, ishida uryuu, kuchiki byakuya, ishida ryuken, brant, xiangli yao, jiyan, rengoku kyojuro, tomioka giyuu, himejima gyomei, sung jinwoo, wriothesley, armin arlert, reiner braun, barbatos, simeon, satan, your favorite.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Teach Me | LN4

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N have been together for a few months now, but for her, he’s the first in everything. He’s been endlessly patient—always focused on her pleasure, never rushing or expecting anything in return. But now, Y/N wants to make him feel good too.

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.7k

˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ᡣ𐭩 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), cum swallow, choking on cock

Based on this request.

“You want to… what?” Lando’s voice cracked slightly, his eyes wide as he stared at her. His fingers, which had been lazily tracing circles on her thigh, froze mid-motion.

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second, her cheeks burning, but the determination in her eyes didn’t waver. “I want to… you know… make you feel good. Like you’ve done for me.” Her voice was softer now, almost a whisper, but the intensity in her gaze held his.

Lando blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he was trying to process what she’d just said. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker, and the sound of their breathing seemed to echo louder than it should. “You mean… that?” he asked, his voice low and laced with a mix of disbelief and something else—something hotter, darker.

She nodded, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tried to suppress the nervous flutter in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. I… I want to. But I’m scared. I don’t know how to… do it. Will you… teach me?”

Lando’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he’d been struck by lightning. His hand moved from her thigh to her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture so tender it made her heart ache. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You’re going to kill me.”

She laughed nervously, the sound shaky but genuine. “I don’t want to kill you. I just… I want to make you feel good. You’ve been so patient with me, and I…” She trailed off, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she searched for the right words.

Lando leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, you know that, right?” he said softly, his tone earnest. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hands moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her palms. “But I want to. I just… need you to guide me.”

Lando let out a low groan, his forehead still pressed against hers. “Christ, you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but there was no mistaking the excitement in his voice. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with hers, and she could see the hunger there, the raw desire that he usually kept carefully in check.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with restraint.

She nodded again, more confidently this time. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Lando exhaled sharply, his hands moving to frame her face. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we’re going to take it slow. And if you want to stop at any point, you say the word. Deal?”

“Deal,” she breathed, her heart racing as she felt the tension between them shift, becoming something heavier, something more electric.

Without another word, she slid off the couch and knelt on the floor in front of him, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. Lando’s breath caught, his eyes darkening as he watched her, but he didn’t stop her. Instead, he leaned back slightly, giving her space to work.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft as she tugged his pants down, followed by his boxers. His cock was already semi-hard, the tip flushed and twitching slightly as the cool air hit him. She couldn’t help but stare, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of him. The conversation they’d just had had made him this way, had made him horny, had made him semi-hard. And now, here she was, kneeling in front of him, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

Lando’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gesture so tender it made her stomach flip. “You’re doing so good, love,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “But before we go any further, I need to make sure you know what you’re doing. Can’t have you getting overwhelmed, yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “Tell me,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. “Tell me what to do.”

Lando’s lips curved into a soft smile, but his eyes were intense, filled with a hunger that made her shiver. “First, you’re going to make me fully hard,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Use your hand. Just… take me in your palm and stroke me. Gently, at first. Like this.” His hand covered hers, guiding her as she wrapped her fingers around him. The warmth of him, the way he felt in her hand, sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening slightly as she followed his guidance. His cock twitched in her hand, growing harder with every slow stroke. “Fuck,” he hissed, his head falling back against the couch. “That’s it, love. Just like that.”

Lando’s hand moved to her chin, gently tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, almost predatory, but there was a softness there too, a reassurance that made her pulse quicken. “Spit in your palm,” he instructed, his voice low and steady. “As much as you can.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she didn’t hesitate. She pulled her hand away from him, brought it to her mouth, and let her saliva pool in her palm. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the look on Lando’s face—pure, unadulterated desire—made her feel bold. She spat into her hand, the sound loud in the quiet room, and then returned her damp palm to his cock.

The moment her slick hand wrapped around him again, Lando let out a groan that sent shivers down her spine. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his hips jerking slightly. “That’s it. Now keep stroking me. Just like that.”

She obeyed, her movements slow and deliberate as she used the wetness to glide her hand up and down his length. His cock was getting harder, throbbing in her grasp, and the way he reacted to her touch—the way his breath quickened, the way his fingers dug into the couch—only fueled her confidence.

Y/N could feel the tension building between them, the air thick with unspoken desire. Her hand moved on its own now, her strokes becoming more confident as she watched him react to her touch. His breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to keep control.

“You’re a natural,” he groaned, his voice strained.

Lando’s hand gripped the back of the couch, his knuckles whitening as he fought to keep himself steady. His breathing was already ragged, his cock twitching in her palm, but he wasn’t losing control—not yet. He was savoring every second of this, every touch, every hesitant stroke of her hand. His eyes never left her face, watching her with a mix of awe and hunger that made her stomach clench with need.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he murmured, his voice dripping with praise. “So, so well.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, the encouragement fueling her confidence. But she wasn’t done yet. She wanted to do more—wanted to explore him, to taste him. The thought made her cheeks burn, but the ache between her legs was impossible to ignore. She wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made her feel, wanted to see him completely undone because of her.

“Can I—” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “Can I taste you?”

Lando’s eyes burned with hunger, a low groan escaping his lips before he could stop it. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice strained. 

“You’re going to kill me.” But he didn’t say no. He couldn’t. The idea of her mouth on him, her tongue exploring him, was enough to drive him to the brink of madness.

She didn’t wait for him to say more. Leaning forward, she let her lips brush against the tip of his cock, testing the feel of him against her mouth. He twitched under her touch, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth. She could feel the heat of him, the way his skin was velvety soft but hard underneath, and it made her pulse quicken.

Her tongue dipped out, tentatively flicking against the tip. The taste of him was salty, musky, and it sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. Lando’s reaction was immediate—his hips jerked slightly, and a low, guttural moan spilled from his lips. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his hand gripping the couch so tightly she thought the fabric might tear. “You’re already driving me insane.”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she didn’t stop. She wanted more. Her tongue flicked out again, this time more confidently, licking up the length of his cock in a slow, deliberate stroke. She could feel the way he shuddered under her touch, the way his breath hitched when her tongue swirled around the sensitive head. It was intoxicating, the way he reacted to her, the way he was completely at her mercy.

She kissed the tip of his cock next, her lips pressing against him in a soft, lingering kiss. The sound that escaped Lando’s throat was primal, almost feral, and it sent a thrill through her. She kissed the length of him next, her lips trailing down his shaft in a series of tender, exploratory kisses. It was almost reverent, the way she was touching him, exploring him, and it made his chest ache with something he couldn’t quite name.

“You’re so gentle,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “It’s driving me absolutely fucking crazy.”

Y/N smiled against his skin, her confidence growing with every touch, every kiss. She was mostly exploring, learning the feel of him, the way he responded to her. But Lando was watching her with intense, unwavering focus, his eyes full of need. And he couldn’t stop the flow of praise that spilled from his lips.

“Just like that, yeah—just like that,” he groaned, his hips bucking slightly as her tongue swirled around him again. “You’re perfect.”

His words sent a rush of warmth through her, and she found herself wanting to please him even more. Her hand still stroked him slowly, her palm slick with his precum and her saliva, while her tongue continued to explore him. She licked up the length of his cock, her tongue flat against his skin, before darting back to focus on the sensitive tip. Every little movement made him twitch, made him groan, and she loved it. She loved the way he was unraveling because of her.

“You’re learning so fast,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Feels like a dream, honestly.”

Y/N glanced up at him then, her eyes meeting his, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart skip a beat. His pupils were blown wide, the blue of his irises almost completely swallowed by the black, and the heat in his eyes was undeniable. He looked like he was hanging on by a thread, like he was one touch away from completely losing control.

“Wrap your lips around me,” he instructed gently, his hand moving to the back of her head in a soft, guiding touch. “Just the tip. ‘’

She obeyed, her lips parting as she took the head of his cock into her mouth. 

‘’That’s it… good girl.”

The first taste of him was overwhelming—salty, musky, and so incredibly him. She could feel the way his body tensed, the way his fingers tightened in her hair, and it made her shiver with anticipation. Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she sucked on him tentatively, her tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft.

“Fuck,” Lando choked out, his head tipping back against the couch. “Slow, baby. You don’t have to take it all. Just what feels good to you.”

She nodded slightly, her lips still wrapped tight around him, and she began to move. Slowly, hesitantly, she bobbed her head, taking just a little more of him into her mouth with each pass. The way he filled her mouth, the way his cock throbbed against her tongue, was intoxicating. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he was fighting to keep himself still, and it only made her want to push him further.

Her hand continued to stroke him in tandem with her mouth, her fingers tight around the base of his cock as she worked him. Every now and then, she’d pull back, her tongue swirling around the tip before diving back down. The sounds he was making—low, guttural moans that seemed to come from deep within his chest—were driving her wild. She wanted to hear more, wanted to see just how far she could take him.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando muttered, his hand tightening in her hair. “You’re going to make me fucking come, Y/N.”

The words sent a rush of heat through her, and she pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock as she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips slick with his precum. She looked utterly sinful, and it made Lando’s chest ache with how much he wanted her.

“Keep going,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Please, baby. Keep going.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her lips wrapped around him again, her tongue swirling around his tip before she took him deeper into her mouth. She could feel the way his body tensed, the way his hips bucked slightly, and she loved it. She loved the way he was completely at her mercy, the way he was unraveling because of her.

And she knew, without a doubt, that she was going to make him come.

Y/N’s confidence was growing with every bob of her head, her lips sliding down a little further each time. But then, pushing just a fraction deeper than before, the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat. She gagged, a choked sound escaping her as she instinctively pulled back, her eyes watering as she looked up at him.

“Shit, you okay?” Lando asked, his voice thick with concern as he sat up slightly, his hand hovering near her face. She nodded quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice a little shaky.

“I want to keep trying.” Lando’s chest swelled with pride, his gaze softening as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Lando’s hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped her watering eyes. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and tender, though it was laced with an unmistakable strain. “We can stop right now if it’s too much. I don’t want to push you, love.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide but determined, her lips still damp from where they’d been wrapped around him. 

“I’m sure,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the faint tremor in it. “I don’t want to stop. I want to keep going. I want to make you feel good.”

Lando’s breath hitched, his chest swelling with something that felt dangerously close to awe. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice rough with emotion. His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, his touch so soft it made her heart ache. “You’re fucking perfect.”

The way he said it—like she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen—sent a shiver down her spine. She could see it in his eyes, the way he was completely undone by her, the way he was hanging on every move she made. It was intoxicating, the way she had this power over him, the way he was so utterly hers.

She dove back in, her lips wrapping around him again, determined to push past the discomfort.

She slowed her pace, her lips gliding gently over him, savoring the feel of his cock against her tongue. Her movements were soft, almost teasing, as she focused on the tip, swirling her tongue around the sensitive ridge. Her hand stayed at the base, stroking him in slow, steady motions, her touch light but firm. Lando’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching against the couch as he let out a low, shuddering groan. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “You’re so—god—so fucking good at this.” Y/N smiled against him, her confidence growing again.

This time, when she gagged, she didn’t pull back. Her throat clenched around him, her eyes watering, but she didn’t stop. She kept going, her hand stroking him in tandem with her mouth. Lando’s reaction was instant, his hips jerking slightly as a string of curses spilled from his lips. 

“Shit—shit, baby, that was—fuck,” he groaned, his hand twitching where it rested on the couch, fighting the urge to grip her hair. 

“That little gag? And you kept going? Christ, baby,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You’re driving me out of my fucking mind.”

She moaned softly around him, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through his body, as if she was agreeing with his words in the most intimate way possible. The sound was muffled by his cock, but it was enough to make Lando’s breath hitch, his hips jerking slightly as he fought to keep still. 

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough with need, his fingers tangling in her hair as he guided her. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Her lips tightened around him, her tongue swirling around his tip as she took him deeper, her moans growing louder with every bob of her head. The vibrations of her voice against his sensitive skin drove him wild, his cock throbbing in her mouth as precum leaked from the tip. 

The deep, guttural moan that escaped him next made her thighs press together, her core aching with need. It was raw, uncontrollable, and it did something to her that she couldn’t explain. Lando noticed, his lips curling into a smirk even as his breath came in short, uneven gasps.

“You like hearing me fall apart?” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N pulled back with a soft pop, her lips glistening and slightly swollen. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with desire but still holding that hint of shyness that drove him wild. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but laced with so much intention it sent a shiver down his spine. Her fingers tightened around the base of his cock, her touch firm but still so gentle that it made him ache.

“Then keep going,” Lando said, his voice low and commanding, though there was a softness in it that was meant just for her. His thumb brushed her cheek, a silent affirmation. 

“I’m yours.” Her breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her heart racing at the weight of what he’d just said. “I’m yours.” It wasn’t just permission—it was a surrender.

She obeyed without hesitation, her lips and tongue working him with a renewed sense of purpose. The way he was reacting—the way he was completely at her mercy—was intoxicating. Her movements were slow but deliberate, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip of his cock before taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. She could feel the tension building in him, the way his body tensed with every stroke, every flick of her tongue. His breathing was ragged, his hips jerking slightly as he fought to keep still.

Lando’s moans were growing louder, more desperate, and Y/N could feel it—the tension in his body, the way his thighs trembled, the way his hand tightened in her hair. It was as if he was hanging on by a thread, and she was the one unraveling him, inch by inch. Her confidence had skyrocketed, her movements growing faster, sloppier, her lips and tongue working him with a hunger she didn’t realize she had. She wanted to push him to the edge, wanted to see him completely undone because of her.

“Y/N—baby—” he gasped, his voice trembling with need. “Slow down. I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come.” But she didn’t stop. If anything, she pressed on, her lips tightening around him, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip of his cock in a way that made his hips jerk uncontrollably. “Fuck,” he groaned, his hand gripping the couch cushion so hard that the fabric creaked under his fingers. “You’re going to kill me.”

His warning only fueled her determination. She looked up at him, her lips still wrapped around him, her eyes locking with his. Her gaze was intense, filled with a mix of innocence and boldness that made his chest ache. She pulled back just enough to speak, her voice soft but laced with determination. “I want to try swallowing,” she whispered, her words sending a jolt of heat straight to his core.

Lando’s jaw dropped, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at her, utterly stunned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, the words barely audible. His hand tightened in her hair, his fingers trembling slightly as he fought to keep himself steady. He was so close—so fucking close—and the way she was looking at him, the way she was so eager to please him, was enough to send him over the edge.

She didn’t wait for him to respond. Her lips wrapped around him again, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of his cock as she took him deeper. The way she was working him—the way she was so determined to make him come—was driving him out of his mind. His hips jerked again, his thighs trembling as he fought to keep still. “Y/N,” he groaned, her name spilling from his lips like a prayer. “Fuck, baby, I’m—I’m gonna—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. His climax hit him like a tidal wave, his entire body shaking as he came, his hand gripping the back of her head as he spilled into her mouth. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden rush of warmth, but she didn’t pull back. She stayed there, her lips still wrapped around him, her tongue working to swallow every drop. The taste was salty and it sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. She could feel the way he was trembling, the way his breath came in short, uneven gasps, and it made her heart race.

Lando’s hand fell from her hair, his fingers twitching slightly as he tried to catch his breath. His head was tipped back against the couch, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to come down from the high she’d just given him. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and rough. “Y/N… baby… that was—” He didn’t finish the sentence, his words trailing off as he let out a shaky breath.

She pulled back slowly, her lips still glistening as she looked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of innocence and something else—something that made his chest ache. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking down to the tip of his cock, where a single drop of cum still lingered. She leaned forward, her tongue darting out to lick it off, her lips closing around the tip in a soft, lingering kiss. Lando’s entire body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as he watched her. “You didn’t have to—fuck, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered, his voice rough with disbelief. He stared down at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to process what she’d just done. “I didn’t even think you’d… Jesus, you’re full of surprises.”

She smiled shyly, her cheeks burning as she glanced up at him. “I just… wanted to,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s heart swelled at her words, his chest aching with something he couldn’t quite name. He leaned forward, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her jaw in a gesture so tender it made her stomach flip. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with need. “I need to kiss you. Right now.”

She didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, her lips meeting his in a slow, lingering kiss that made her heart race. It was soft, almost reverent, but there was a hunger there that made her chest ache. His hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against hers in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm against her skin, he let out a shaky laugh. “I’ll never forget this,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Ever. You’ve ruined every other memory I have.”

She laughed softly, her hand moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, her voice laced with a playfulness that made him smile.

Lando groaned, his hand moving to the back of his neck as he let out a shaky breath. “You’re going to be the death of me, Y/N,” he muttered, but there was no mistaking the affection in his voice.

Lando didn’t waste a second. As soon as she leaned back, he pulled her up and into his lap, his arms wrapping around her like she was the most precious thing in the world. His hands were gentle but firm, cradling her against him as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “That was… holy shit,” he breathed, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. He shook his head slightly, his hand smoothing over her back in slow, comforting circles. “You didn’t just make me feel good, love. You made me feel worshipped.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed at his words, her heart swelling with a warmth she couldn’t quite describe. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers nervously playing with the fabric of his shirt. “Did I… did I do okay?” she whispered, her voice tentative, almost shy.

Lando’s eyes widened, and he let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Okay?” he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. He took her hand and placed it firmly over his chest, letting her feel the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart. “You destroyed me,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “Feel that? That’s what you do to me. Every single time.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her fingers curling slightly against his chest. She could feel the way his heart raced beneath her palm, the way his body still trembled from the intensity of what had just happened. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before—this power, this connection. And it was because of him, because of the way he looked at her, the way he held her, the way he made her feel like she was everything.

Lando’s hand moved to her chin, gently tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft, filled with so much tenderness it made her chest ache. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You know that, right? You’re fucking incredible.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away quickly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just… trying to keep up with you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Lando shook his head, his thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture so tender it made her heart ache. “You’re not just keeping up, Y/N,” he murmured. “You’re leading. And I’m fucking obsessed with it.” He leaned in then, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was so soft, so gentle, it made her chest swell with something she couldn’t quite name.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re it for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You know that, right?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing at his words. She nodded slightly, her hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “I do,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And you’re it for me too.”

[seumyo]

husband!kageyama taking care of your nails for you.

“You know, when you told me you were going to clip my nails, I didn’t think you meant it seriously.”

Kageyama gave a small grunt, not looking up. “I always mean it seriously.”

“That’s what worries me a little.”

He blinked, pausing to glance at you. “Why?”

“Because you have your ‘actual game face’ on. Like you’re about to hit the ball through someone’s soul—my poor finger’s soul.”

His brow furrowed. “This is delicate work,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I have to focus. And I’m careful.”

You laughed, watching him lift your hand like it was a precious object. He took a long moment to examine your fingers—turning them slightly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles in slow circles. It’s gentle and careful, and it warms your heart to see your husband so loving like this.

“You have a hangnail here,” he muttered, frowning. “Were you picking at it again?”

“I got nervous during that meeting yesterday.”

He clicked his tongue quietly. “Stop doing that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t know I’d be getting a full checkup afterward!”

“You don’t need to be nervous. You’re… good at what you do.” His voice dropped a little as he said it, like it embarrassed him to offer praise so directly. “I’ve heard you on the phone. You’re smart. And brave.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Your smile softened. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said all week.”

“I said you looked pretty yesterday.”

“You said I ‘looked rested.’”

“…Oh. Well, you look even prettier today.”

You laughed, and it made his ears turn pink.

He clipped your nails gently, his hands steady, fingers long and precise. He held each of yours securely, guiding you through the process like a practiced routine. It wasn’t rushed; Kageyama took his time, carefully aligning the clipper, checking the angle twice before making a cut. After each nail, he paused to brush the trimmed bits into a little ceramic bowl they kept nearby.

“Do you do this often?” You asked after a long pause. “For yourself, I mean?”

He nodded once. “Every few days. I have to. My fingers are everything. If I don’t keep my nails short and clean, they can catch on the ball or split. It’s stupid how much one little crack can mess with your whole game.”

You gave him a look, eyes wide with something like quiet awe. “You take this so seriously.”

“It’s part of taking care of myself,” he said, and his gaze lifted to yours. “And now it’s part of taking care of you too.”

Your breath caught for just a moment. How did you ever get so lucky to snag this man?

Kageyama picked up the small file next and began to smooth the edges with slow, even strokes. The motion was rhythmic and tender. You watched the way he focused so intently on the task—the slight pinch in his brow, the way his lower lip pressed into a thin line when he was trying to be especially careful.

“You always do this when you’re nervous,” you said softly, brushing your free hand against his hair.

“Do what?”

“Zone in. Like the world disappears except the thing you’re trying to control.”

Kageyama was quiet for a moment, then exhaled. “That’s… true.”

“Are you nervous right now?”

He hesitated. “Not nervous. Just… I want to get it right.”

“Because it’s me?”

He gave the tiniest nod, eyes still trained on your thumbnail. “You’re important. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his for a beat. “You won’t.”

The silence between you grew comfortable. The kind of quiet that speaks in glances and gentle touches. After he filed the last nail, he gently ran his thumb across each fingertip, checking for snags, tiny splinters, anything he might have missed. Then he reached for the cuticle oil and unscrewed the little bottle with a slow, almost reverent motion.

“I’m going to massage this in,” he said, almost shyly—yet still determined.

You nodded, watching him carefully as he dabbed a small dot of oil on each nail, then rubbed it in with soft, circular motions. His touch was warm, so warm, like the atmosphere during mornings in a bakery. The way he held your hand wasn’t just careful—it was reverent. As if your hands were something sacred. Something worth protecting.

“I like your hands,” he said suddenly.

You scrunched your nose, barely. “Really?”

“They’re soft. And warm. And… I know them.” His voice dropped lower, murmuring. “I know the way you hold my wrist when I’m anxious. The way you press your palm to my back when I come home late. How you run your fingers through my hair when I can’t sleep.”

You swallowed. Your chest ached in that lovely, terrible way when someone says exactly what you needed to hear without knowing it.

“I want to take care of them,” he added, brushing his thumb along the side of your pinky. “Because they take care of me.”

“Tobio…”

He looked up then, eyes a little wide like he was afraid he’d gone too far. But you leaned forward before he could pull back and kissed him softly. When you pulled away, your voice was barely a whisper. “You are the gentlest man I’ve ever known.”

He shook his head, a breath of laughter escaping. “I’m not.”

“You are. Maybe not with words. Or… you know, strangers. But with me? You’re gentle in all the ways that matter.”

You sat like that for a long moment—hands still entwined, foreheads nearly touching, the world outside fading into white noise. Then Kageyama cleared his throat. “I could… maybe paint them next time? If you want?”

Your eyes lit up. “You’d paint my nails?”

He gave an awkward little shrug. “If you like it. I’d have to practice.”

You hummed, pulling him forward into another kiss, lingering and full of affection. “You’re already perfect.”

Kageyama flushed from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears once again. He’s so easily flustered—it’s almost illegal to be this cute, you think.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[dollgxtz]

Five More Minutes?

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, morning sex, biting, injury, a bit of blood, teasing, fingering, nicknames like good girl, kitten, my love, grinding, humping, overstim, breeding

Summary: You have to get up soon for a team meeting at your job but Sylus shows you all the reasons you should stay in bed with him instead :3

His warm breath danced across your ear as he left gentle kisses, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Just let me make you cum again." His words were a gentle persuasion, a soft coaxing that seemed to seep into your very being. "You don't really want me to stop, do you?"

AN: Man, it feels SO good to be back writing again. I hope you guys enjoy this little fic I wrote up over the weekend! Another fic idea crossed of the list! Enjoy!

The room is still, wrapped in the muted hush of early morning in Linkon City. The faint glow of dawn filters through the blinds, casting soft, golden lines across the walls. Outside, the city stirs, but in here, time moves slower. The only sounds are the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the steady, even breaths of the man beside you.

Warmth cocoons you—thick blankets tangled around your legs, the lingering scent of laundry detergent on the sheets, and the solid, unmistakable presence of Sylus pressed against you. He’s a furnace, radiating heat even in sleep, his arm heavy across your waist, fingers curled loosely around the skin of your arm as if, even unconsciously, he refuses to let you go. His face is buried somewhere near your shoulder, breath warm and slow against your skin.

Right. He stayed over last night.

The memory unfolds in fragments, soft and hazy around the edges. He’d brought a bottle of wine, a gift for you, though you’d insisted—pleaded—that he share it with you. It had taken a bit of coaxing, some playful pouting on your part, but eventually, with a quiet sigh and a small, indulgent smile, he had obliged.

And then…

Your face heats up.

The night plays back in your mind, moments flickering like warm candlelight—his quiet laughter, the way his eyes softened as he listened to you talk about any and everything, the casual brush of fingers against skin that grew less accidental as the night went on. The pinkness of his face as he poured you both another glass. The slow unraveling of space between you. Then suddenly you both weren't wearing clothes.

Though he hadn't even bothered to remove your underwear, electing instead to just move the fabric aside for quicker access. The moans, the sweat, the pleasurable ache of him pushing inside you, filling you completely until you felt like you couldn't breathe...

You shift slightly in his grasp, your pulse quickening for reasons that have nothing to do with the morning chill.

But something tugs at the edge of your awareness, a vague, creeping sense that you’re forgetting something. A loose thread in your mind, pulling tighter with each second you lie there.

Your hand fumbles across the nightstand, fingers clumsy with sleep as they search for your phone. The cool surface meets your palm, and you bring it close, squinting against the harsh glare of the screen. The sudden brightness stings your tired eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to focus. The numbers staring back at you make your stomach drop.

Shit.

A team meeting. In an hour.

For a few seconds, you just stare at the screen, mind sluggish, like a machine still booting up. Right. You need to move. Shower, throw on something presentable, maybe down an entire pot of coffee before suffering through whatever motivational spiel Captain Jenna has planned this morning.

You exhale through your nose, slowly, carefully, and begin the delicate process of slipping out of your bed.

The sheets rustle as you peel them away, inch by inch. You shift just enough to lift Sylus’s arm, careful not to wake him, careful not to disturb the heavy warmth of sleep still clinging to him. The air beyond the blankets is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the body beside you. You manage to slide his arm just far enough—his fingers loosen their hold, giving you the sliver of space you need.

And then, just as you begin to rise—

His grip tightens.

A soft, barely-audible noise escapes him—a quiet sigh, laced with something almost petulant, as his fingers curl tighter against your stomach. Before you can react, he shifts, using that lazy, effortless strength of his to pull you flush against him, caging you in with an arm that’s now locked like steel around your waist again. His face buries deeper against the crook of your neck, breath warm, slow, and completely undisturbed.

You freeze.

For a moment, you don’t move, barely daring to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, if you wait, he’ll shift again, loosen his hold, let you slip away without incident.

But no. His grip remains firm, steady, an unspoken claim that keeps you anchored in place.

You sigh, staring at the phone still clutched in your hand.

Well. So much for an easy escape.

You squirm against him, frustration creeping in as you attempt to loosen his grip. His arm is a dead weight around your waist, unmoving, solid, like he’s anchored you to the bed on purpose. The warmth of his body radiates into yours, making it all the more difficult to convince yourself to leave the comfort of the blankets. Still, you have a meeting. You have to get up.

“Sylus,” you whisper, testing the waters, voice hushed in the stillness of the room.

No response.

You shift again, pressing your back against his chest, hoping that if you disturb his sleep enough, he’ll finally wake up. But he remains perfectly still, save for the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. You know he’s usually a light sleeper so something about the way he’s too still makes you suspicious.

You try again, this time a little louder. “Sylus.”

Nothing.

The stubborn warmth of him seeps into your skin, lulling, dangerous, tempting you to sink back into sleep. But you refuse to fall for it.

Fine. If he’s going to be difficult, you’ll make him wake up.

You shift your elbow into position, drawing in a breath before—

Thud.

Your elbow connects with his chest, firm but not enough to actually hurt him. The effect is immediate.

A low grunt leaves him, but it’s short-lived—quickly swallowed by a laugh that shakes through him, low and unreasonably warm. The sound vibrates against your back, spreading through your chest before you can stop it. It’s deep, rich, full of amusement, and completely unbothered by your attack.

You glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already grinning—lazy, smug, red eyes half-lidded with sleep but entirely too awake for someone who was just pretending to be unconscious.

“I figured,” he drawls, voice thick with lingering sleep, “if I just held still, you’d eventually give up and fall asleep again.” He pauses, another chuckle slipping past his lips, muffled as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses into your skin. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “My bad for underestimating your stubbornness once again, kitten.”

Your stomach twists, an annoying mixture of warmth and irritation bubbling in your chest.

“You’re an ass,” you mutter, shoving weakly at his arm, though there’s no real force behind it.

He hums, unconcerned, tightening his hold around you with zero intention of letting go. “So you say. Just five more minutes.”

The weight of him presses against you, steady and familiar, and despite yourself, you stop struggling. You could fight it. You should fight it. But the way his body fits against yours, the way his warmth seeps into every inch of you—it’s too easy to melt into it, to let your body settle even as your mind screams at you about responsibilities.

His breathing evens out again, and just for a second, you let yourself sink into the warmth, into the comfort of him.

Five minutes.

Just five.

No, wait. You have to get up.

The thought pushes through the haze of warmth and sleep, clawing its way to the forefront of your mind, insistent and unyielding. You have a meeting. You have things to do. You can’t just stay here, no matter how comfortable, no matter how tempting the weight of Sylus’s body is against yours.

Still, the bed is so warm, the heat of him wrapping around you like a cocoon, the soft rhythm of his breath lulling, dangerous. He smells like remnants of cologne, a hint of last night’s wine still lingering on his skin, and something purely him, something familiar and grounding that makes it incredibly difficult to want to leave.

But you have to.

Sighing, you shift against him again, gathering just enough resolve to push at his arm, attempting to free yourself. His grip doesn’t loosen—if anything, his fingers curl tighter against you, securing you in place like an unyielding anchor.

"I can't stay in bed all morning, Sy" you murmur, voice slightly hoarse from sleep. You push again, trying to inch away, but it’s like trying to move a stone wall. "I have a team meeting soon." You pause, bracing yourself for the inevitable resistance. "I'm sure you have things to do as well."

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a low hum rumbles from deep in his chest, the kind that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.

And before you can react, he moves.

Not to release you. Not to let you go.

No, instead, Sylus shifts forward, pressing impossibly closer, his bare chest firm against your back, his lips suddenly hovering at your ear. His voice drops into something dangerously smooth, velvety in its teasing amusement as he whispers,

"Mm…but didn’t a certain kitten beg me last night never to leave her side?"

Your entire body locks up.

Heat floods your face so quickly it’s almost dizzying, embarrassment crashing through you in waves as your mind scrambles to process his words. His breath, warm and deliberate, ghosts over your ear, and every single nerve in your body reacts all at once. A shiver works its way down your spine, traitorous and impossible to suppress.

He remembers.

Of course, he does.

The memory of last night unfurls in your mind like a film reel, every single moment flashing in humiliatingly vivid detail.

You’d been tired out by multiple orgasms, softened by wine and warmth, curled against him in the very same bed, murmuring words you hadn’t really been thinking through.

"Stay, don’t go, just a little longer. Never leave me, please?"

Of course he had assured you that he hadn't been planning on leaving in the first place. How silly of you to think you had to beg him for something like that.

The pleas had slipped from your lips too easily, too naturally, and at the time, it had felt like nothing. But now? Now he was using it against you, and from the smugness dripping from his voice, he was enjoying it far too much.

Him and his constant teasing.

Your face burns hotter, the warmth of him unbearably close, suffocating, intoxicating. In a fit of sheer embarrassment, you thrash against him, twisting, wriggling, desperate to escape. "Oh, don't act like you didn't eat up every word I said! Let me go!"

But Sylus?

Sylus doesn’t listen.

He never listens.

Instead of loosening his hold, instead of giving in even an inch, he does the exact opposite.

He moves again, his hand gliding down the length of your body—slow, deliberate, maddening. His fingertips ghost over your side first, tracing a path too gentle to be ignored, before slipping lower, skimming along your waist, then back up in a slow, torturous caress. His touch isn’t demanding, isn’t forceful—it’s light, teasing, patient. The kind of touch that coaxes a reaction before you can stop it.

You shiver—visibly, undeniably.

And he feels it.

You don’t even have to look at him to know the smirk that’s surely curling at his lips. His fingers continue their featherlight path, unhurried, infuriating, utterly controlled. It’s like he’s memorized every spot that makes you react, testing, playing, pushing just enough to remind you that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Then, in that same, low, velvety tone, he murmurs,

"Shh…don’t strain yourself."

The words are a command, soft but firm, and before you can even process them, he adds, "Just call out."

Your breath catches.

You know what he’s doing.

He’s making you choose.

Stay or fight. Surrender or resist.

And worse?

He already knows which one you want.

"I can't just call out," you groan, frustration thick in your voice as you shift again, squirming against the warmth wrapped around you. "I've already called out four times in two weeks! Unless I have a good excuse this time, I'll get punished with desk duty..."

The thought alone is miserable. Trapped in the office, drowning in stacks of paperwork, stuck behind a desk instead of being out in the field actually doing something meaningful? No, thank you. You’d rather suffer through whatever mind-numbing speech Captain Jenna had planned this morning than subject yourself to that.

But the unshakable weight of Sylus’s arm draped across your bare skin tells you he has other plans.

For a moment, there's silence. A pause long enough that you think maybe—just maybe—he's drifting off again, and if you time it right, you can slip free. But before you even begin to try, he lets out a low chuckle, the kind that vibrates against your back, a lazy sound of acknowledgment that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.

His voice is slow, unhurried, still thick with sleep. "Punished with desk duty, huh? Yeah…that does sound rough…"

For a brief, foolish second, you almost think he's sympathizing with you. That he’ll finally loosen his grip, let you go, maybe even roll over and let you salvage what little time you have left before your meeting.

But then—he leans in again.

His lips hover just beside your ear, his breath warm as it fans over your skin. A barely-there whisper of heat, enough to send a shiver curling down your spine before you can stop it. His grip around you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens—just slightly, just enough to remind you that he’s still in control here.

"I mean…" his voice dips lower, conspiratorial, teasing, smirking without even having to show it. "I could forge a doctor’s note if you really need it."

You blink, caught completely off guard.

"What?"

Sylus shifts, settling himself more comfortably against you, like this is just another lazy morning where neither of you have anywhere to be. His fingers begin to move again—absentmindedly tracing slow, meandering patterns across your stomach. Light, feather-soft strokes that aren't urgent, but they are distracting.

"Yeah," he murmurs, dragging his fingers idly up your ribs before dipping back down, his touch effortless, as if he's not even thinking about it. "I’m pretty good at it, you know. Could make it look real official—some tragic, unavoidable emergency."

You snort. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

He hums again, like he’s actually considering it. "Food poisoning? Appendicitis? Oh, I know." He presses in closer, lips brushing so lightly against your ear that you almost don’t register the words before he says them. "You were in a car crash."

A genuine laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. It startles even you, bright and amused, shaking your body just slightly against his. "A car crash? Really?"

"Of course," he replies smoothly, as if this is the most logical solution in the world. "A controlled one. Just enough damage to make it convincing. Maybe even get you some sympathy points—hell, you might even score a few extra days off to lay in bed with me."

You shake your head, still giggling, pressing your face briefly into the pillow before turning slightly to glare at him over your shoulder. "You are ridiculous."

But your amusement vanishes in an instant the moment his fingers graze lower.

The movement is so subtle—a mere shift of his hand, like he's still idly tracing those lazy shapes against your skin—but it lands over a sensitive spot just below your exposed breasts. The reaction is instant.

Your breath hitches.

Your body betrays you, tensing instinctively, muscles twitching beneath his touch. Your fingers reflexively shoot up to grip his hand, holding on like that might somehow stop him from noticing.

But he notices.

Of course he does.

His fingers pause for just a second, like he’s taking mental notes, cataloging the reaction, committing it to memory. Then, in a way that feels entirely too intentional, he moves again—this time even slower, more deliberate.

A soft, barely-there stroke, skimming over the tip of your nipple.

Your stomach twitches.

A sharp exhale catches in your throat.

You hate how easily your body reacts to him, how he barely has to do anything, yet your skin is already burning. You can feel the smirk on his lips even though you’re not even looking at him.

His voice is quiet, teasing. "Seems you haven't had enough of last night, kitten."

Your entire body goes rigid. Oh, no. No, no, no.

This isn’t good.

You stay still, hoping, praying, that maybe—just maybe—he’ll leave it alone. That he’ll stop before this becomes something you’ll never live down.

But of course, he doesn’t.

His fingers continued their deliberate dance across your skin, each stroke igniting a fire that spread from the bare expanse of your stomach to the very core of your being. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the heat of his body pressing closer, the unmistakable hardness of his cock brushing against your panties, sending electric shocks through your body.

Your breath hitched, an involuntary reaction that betrayed your desire to remain composed. Sylus, ever attentive, noticed your body's response, the way you tensed and shivered under his touch, your nipples hardening further, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Are you sure…” he murmured, drawing out the words like honey, “you don’t want to stay in bed?” His breath was warm against your skin, a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers racing down your spine.

As he spoke, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly, deliberately pulling them down, exposing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. The cool air on your exposed skin sent shivers down your spine, a contrast to the heat of his touch.

Your body betrayed you, the wetness pooling between your legs a clear testament to your desire. Each brush of his fingers sent waves of heat coursing through you, an insatiable yearning clawing at your insides. You wanted him—needed him—yet the game he was playing was as intoxicating as it was maddening.

His fingers danced lower, their path a tantalizing tease, tracing the edges of your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You shifted, your back arching, your hips moving involuntarily, your body instinctively craving more of his touch, drawn to the heat and pleasure he offered.

Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat that echoed in your ears as you felt the heat of his gaze on you, his fingers poised tantalizingly close to the edge of your desire. You swallowed hard, the words stuck in your throat, a delicious mix of defiance and longing swirling within you.

“I…” you began, but the breathy whisper faltered, caught between shyness and the primal urge coursing through your veins. The way he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, made it impossible to think straight.

"Sylus stop...I need to..."

"Hm?" he pressed, his voice a sultry murmur that coaxed the truth from your lips as his fingers moved lower. With a deliberate slowness, he dipped the tip of his finger inside you, the sensation igniting a spark that shot straight to your core. You gasped, your body instinctively tightening around him, the warmth of your walls welcoming his intrusion.

"Mghn!"

The way he toyed with you was maddening; it was as if he could sense the storm brewing within, each twitch of his fingers a spark igniting the kindling of your desire. You could feel his cock twitching behind you, hard and insistent against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of need straight to your core.

His warm breath danced across your ear as he left gentle kisses, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Just let me make you cum again." His words were a gentle persuasion, a soft coaxing that seemed to seep into your very being. The warmth of his lips against your ear sent a flutter through your chest, making your heart skip a beat.

He knew exactly what to say to unravel your defenses, to make you surrender to the sensations coursing through your body. His voice was a low, husky whisper, a sensual temptation that seemed to wrap itself around your resolve, weakening your resistance. "You don't really want me to stop, do you?" he murmured, his words a provocative challenge, a dare to admit the truth - that you were helpless against the pleasure he was unleashing upon you.

The way he spoke, the words he chose, it was all so deliberately crafted to break down your barriers, to make you succumb to the desire that threatened to consume you. And yet, despite the warning bells ringing in your mind about your meeting, you couldn't help but feel yourself being drawn back in, helpless against the tide of pleasure that he was so expertly manipulating.

Dammit, he knew exactly how to play you, and you were powerless to resist.

“M-make it quick...” you finally breathed, the words spilling forth with a desperate honesty that hung heavy in the air between you.

His eyes darkened, a glimmer of satisfaction sparking within them as he shifted, pressing his hardness against you more firmly, the friction sending waves of heat cascading through your body. “Good girl,” he crooned, his finger finally dipping deeper into your slick folds with a teasing gentleness that made your breath hitch once more.

You gasped, your body arching instinctively into his touch, craving more, needing him to explore you fully. “Fuck…” you begged, the desperation in your voice a heady cocktail of need and surrender that only fueled the fire between you.

The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, the morning lighting casting long sun rays that seemed to merge with the heat of the encounter. The scent of anticipation lingered in the air, intertwined with the musky aroma of arousal. Every sense was heightened, every touch magnified, as if the world had narrowed to this single, electrifying moment.

You were drowning in a sea of sensations, the rhythm of his movements synced with the pounding of your heart. The emotional undercurrents were as intense as the physical ones, a primal dance of dominance and submission that left you breathless and yearning for more.

As his finger moved with deliberate precision, you became more acutely aware of the symphony of sensations enveloping you. The aching pressure already building in your lower stomach, the heat, the teasing gentleness, it was too much and yet not enough all at the same time. The dialogue between you was minimal, yet every word, every moan, seemed to speak volumes.

You tried to keep your focus on the upcoming meeting, the fear of being late and the prospect of desk duty looming in your mind. But as Sylus continued to orchestrate pleasure within your soft walls, the rising heat between your legs became all-consuming, your thoughts dissolving into a haze of pleasure.

But when he added the second finger, you didn't have the strength to make him stop any longer.

Your grip on his arm tightening, your nails digging into his skin as you arched into his touch, your body moving in rhythm with his fingers, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The sound of your own moans filled the air, a testament to the pleasure he was delivering, your mind unable to focus on anything but the sensations he was evoking.

"That's it, my love," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Nice and loud, you sound beautiful". He sounded close to unraveling himself, cock now straining impossibly hard against the roundness of your ass.

As Sylus's words washed over you, your body responded instinctively, your muscles clenching around his fingers, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, each exhale a warning to the building pleasure. Your climax approached like a rising tide, your body trembling, your voice reduced to a series of gasps and moans, your nails digging into his arm as you surrendered to the sensations he evoked.

"S-sylus! Im-!".

"I know, I know" he whispered, panting and grinding into your backside. He deftly curved his fingers, hitting that spongy part inside. Your body responded to his movements, your muscles clenching and releasing around his fingers, your breath coming in shorter, sharper gasps, your climax building to a crescendo, until you cried out, your voice hoarse, your body trembling, your release a powerful wave that left you breathless and sated, the fear of work and its consequences now a distant memory, replaced by the all-consuming pleasure Sylus had delivered.

As you lay there, still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, Sylus took advantage of your heightened sensitivity, pushing his cock fully inside you in one smooth motion. Your body, still slick with arousal, offered little resistance, and he filled you with a solid thrust, his girth stretching you, his length filling you completely.

You cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations—the overstimulation of your orgasm blending into the pleasure of his intrusion, which quickly morphed into a slight pain as he began to thrust inside your tightening hole. "So fucking tight," he growled, his voice a low, primal sound.

His grip on your body tightened, almost possessive, as if trying to keep you from moving, from escaping the pleasure he was delivering. You struggled to breathe, your body shaking, your senses overloaded. "Sylus...too much!" you cried out, your voice hoarse, your body practically shaking with the intensity of the sensations.

"You're okay, kitten," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Bite down on my hand."

He offered his hand, his fingers curling around yours, urging you to bite down, to ground yourself as he continued to thrust, his pace relentless, his body a cage of pleasure and pain, his grip on you a reminder that you had no choice but to surrender and take every thrust he was giving you.

You bit down on his hand, your teeth sinking into his skin, grounding yourself in the physical sensation as his thrusts continued, relentless and powerful. The pain and pleasure mingled, creating a heady mix of sensations that overwhelmed your senses. Your body shook, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his arm as you clung to him, your body moving in rhythm with his.

Despite the pain, he didn't flinch, didn't try to pull his hand away. Instead, he seemed to lean into it, his movements becoming more insistent, his body moving in perfect sync with yours. The friction between you was almost palpable, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with every thrust.

Sylus's movements suddenly became slow and sensual, his thrusts a a new gentle rhythm that built pleasure anew. Your bodies, slick with sweat, moved in sync, your moans filling the air, a symphony of pleasure and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.

As he moved, his cock rubbed against your G-spot, sending shivers through your body, making your toes curl and your fingers dig harder into his skin. His pubic bone pressed against your clit, adding an extra layer of sensation, making your body tremble with anticipation. Your moans grew louder, more insistent, as he continued to thrust into you sensually, lovingly

"Y'know..." he whispered, his voice hoarse and strained, his words barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "I could give you a really good excuse to miss work for nine months" His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, making your body arch into his touch.

Your entire body locks up.

The weight of his words crashes down on you like a lightning strike, your mind screeching to a halt as it fully processes what he just said. Nine months. Nine. Months?

Oh. Oh.

Your breath stutters, your heart hammering so loudly you can hear it in your ears. A fresh, unbearable wave of heat floods through you, burning up from the inside out. You can’t even think properly, your thoughts spiraling into what ifs and impossible images that make your stomach flip so violently you almost feel lightheaded.

Your lips part—you want to say something, anything, but your brain is completely fried, every coherent thought erased by the sheer weight of what he’s implying. Instead, a strangled, breathless noise escapes you, somewhere between a choked gasp and a disbelieving scoff.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your body trembling on the edge of release. His thrusts became more insistent again, his pace quickening, his body moving in rhythm with yours, his voice a low, primal growl that seemed to vibrate through every cell in your body. You felt yourself getting closer and closer, your body coiling tighter and tighter, until you were a spring ready to snap.

You find yourself biting even harder on his hand, moaning and choking curse words into his skin.

Sylus still didn't flinch, thrusts didn't even falter, even as your teeth dug deeper into his skin. "That's it, kitten, let go," he urged, his breath hot against your ear, his words spoken with raw desire. "Cum for me". His voice was like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a fire that had been building for what felt like hours.

You surrendered to the building pleasure, your body convulsing around his length, your release a powerful wave that left you trembling and breathless. As you came, your body milked his cock, squeezing and releasing in a rhythmic pattern that seemed to draw him in, pulling him closer and closer to his own release. Sylus followed, his own climax a hot flood within you, his body shuddering as he filled you with his cum, his breath ragged against your neck. You felt his cock pulsing inside you, releasing wave after wave of heat, making your body tremble with aftershocks.

Even as you came down from the peak of your orgasm, you still bit down on his hand, the pain a reminder that you were still alive, still present in your body. Tears streamed down your face, your eyes closed as you struggled to process the intensity of the feelings that had just torn through you. Sylus didn't seem to mind, didn't try to pull his hand away, instead wrapping his other arm around you, holding you close as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax.

The air between you is thick, heavy with the aftermath of what just happened. Your body still hums with sensitivity, the lingering warmth of his touch ghosting over your skin even in the places where he’s no longer touching you. Your breath comes fast and uneven, mingling with his in the limited space between you. It takes a few sluggish seconds for your mind to catch up, for reality to seep through the haze of warmth, exhaustion, and the overwhelming presence of him.

You shift slightly, the movement sluggish and lazy, tangled in sheets that are now an absolute mess beneath you. But something catches your eye, a faint streak of red between his index and thumb—small, but unmistakable. Your gaze sharpens, the fog in your mind clearing just enough to process what it is. His hand. The mark you left there.

Your stomach twists.

Turning fully toward him, you reach for his hand without thinking, grasping it between your own as you bring it closer to examine. The skin is broken, a faint indent of your teeth still visible, a thin smear of blood welling up along the fresh bite wound. You swallow hard, something warm—guilt, embarrassment, maybe a little bit of both—curling low in your chest.

"Sylus," you murmur, tracing the edge of the wound with gentle, careful fingers, your touch barely a ghost against his skin. "You're bleeding. I'm so so sorry."

The reaction you expect—a wince, a sigh of annoyance, maybe even a scolding remark about being too rough—doesn’t come.

Instead, he chuckles.

A deep, amused sound that rumbles through his chest, utterly unbothered. His free hand moves almost lazily, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you in just slightly. Before you can protest, he presses a warm, lingering kiss to your lips. Then another. And another. Each one deliberate, soft, like he’s trying to reassure you that he’s perfectly fine. That, despite the evidence on his skin, he doesn’t mind.

"You're so cute when you get all worked up and worried about me," he muses, voice drenched in amusement, his lips never straying far from you. "You've seen me bleed before. I healed just fine, this is no different."

You let out a breath, one you hadn’t realized you were holding, but you don’t let go of his hand. Your fingers tighten around his slightly, still feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your own. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen him injured before—this is different. The mark is from you. You did this. The thought makes something in your chest twist, a tangled mix of emotions you don’t have the energy to sort through right now.

Sylus, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit concerned.

He tilts his head slightly, brushing another lazy kiss against your temple before murmuring, "Since you’re so worried, and since you’re already late for your meeting…you can help me bandage up."

You blink.

The words take a full second to register in your mind.

Then, suddenly—panic slams into you like a freight train.

You jerk upright so fast that the blankets tangle around your legs, the soreness in your muscles protesting immediately. But you ignore it, lunging for your phone as a pit of dread sinks deep into your stomach.

No.

No way.

This can’t be happening.

Your fingers fumble against the screen, tapping it awake, and the moment your eyes land on the time, your heart stops.

You stare.

The numbers blink mockingly back at you, taunting you with undeniable proof that your absolute worst-case scenario is now reality.

You were supposed to be in that meeting fifteen minutes ago.

Fifteen. Minutes. Ago.

For a moment, your brain completely short-circuits.

Your breathing is still uneven, your body still warm and exhausted, and yet—somehow, all of that disappears beneath the sheer force of realization slamming into you. Your stomach drops into oblivion, a rising sense of dread climbing up your spine as your pulse kicks into overdrive.

Slowly—mechanically, like you’re in some kind of fever dream—you turn your head, your wide eyes locking onto Sylus.

He’s watching you, still completely relaxed, utterly unbothered. One arm is lazily draped behind his head, the other still in your grasp, and there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips that tells you he knows exactly what’s happening in your brain right now.

You open your mouth, ready to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, breathless, "No way."

His smirk grows. "Oh?"

You snap your gaze back to your phone, as if staring at the numbers harder might somehow make them change. But they don’t. The reality is unavoidable.

You lunge back toward him, shoving his shoulder as the weight of the realization crashes over you. "No way. No way! There’s absolutely no way our—" You flail your arms wildly in emphasis, words momentarily failing you. "Activities lasted an hour!"

Sylus lets out a low, knowing chuckle, one that does absolutely nothing to ease your growing panic.

"You sure about that?" he muses, arching a brow.

You open your mouth to argue, to deny, to insist that there’s no way you just completely lost track of time like that—but then you stop.

Because, unfortunately, the evidence is right there.

The sluggish ache in your limbs, the dull soreness still lingering in your muscles, the aftershocks still thrumming beneath your skin—all of it is proof.

Your jaw clenches shut.

Your entire body slumps forward, collapsing back onto the bed, an absolutely defeated groan ripping from your throat. You drag a hand over your face, squeezing your eyes shut, as if that might somehow undo reality. "I'm so screwed."

Sylus’s laughter vibrates through the mattress, deep and thoroughly entertained. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s loving this.

A moment later, his good hand finds your waist again, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded patterns against your still-sensitive skin. His touch is warm, soothing, completely unrepentant.

"Relax, kitten," he murmurs, his voice a slow, indulgent drawl.

You hear the smirk in his tone before he even says it.

"The offer for that car crash is still on the table y'know..."

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐌

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The steady hum of the car engine ceases as he parks in front of the diner. It’s well-known that Xavier uses public transportation rather than personal vehicles, so you’ve been teaching him to drive, and today was his first time navigating city streets after practicing in the borrowed car. His driving was okay, and he’s following traffic laws—it doesn’t look like he’s a beginner.

“I hope that was acceptable,” he says, turning to look at you for approval.

“Yeah, you did great,” you smile at him. “I’m going to check their specials,” you exit the car, slamming the door.

Through the window, you notice Xavier’s eyes widen slightly. He remains frozen, hands still gripping the wheel at exactly ten and two, blinking slowly, processing.

You return to the driver’s side, tapping the window. When he rolls it down, you ask, “Did you want the chicken sandwich or burger?”

“Chicken sandwich, ple—” before he can finish his answer, you turn and slam the passenger door shut again. Returning to see his reaction, his expression has cracked. His brows are furrowed, and he’s staring at the door like it just offended him.

“Did I... drive the car incorrectly?” he finally asks when you return. “Were you mad at me because I drove too slow? If I endangered your safety—”

You can’t hold back your laughter anymore. His confusion only deepens until you explain the prank, watching as relief floods his features.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Rain patters against the sleek black Audi as Zayne pulls up to the curb. His shift at the hospital ran late, as usual, but he still came to pick you up precisely when promised, not a minute late.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says, checking his watch. “There was an emergency that I needed to handle earlier.”

You slide into the passenger seat and slam the door with enough force to make the car shake. He stares at you for a few seconds—searching for signs of distress.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Just tired,” you respond casually, launching into a story about your day.

His shoulders relax marginally as he drives, one hand occasionally brushing yours. The rain intensifies as you reach your destination.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” you say, exiting and slamming the door even harder than before.

Within seconds, Zayne is out of the car, heedless of the downpour soaking his shirt.

“What’s going on?” he asks, standing close. “The car door isn’t engineered for that level of force.” His voice softens slightly. “If something’s bothering you, I’d prefer you tell me directly rather than taking it out on my car.”

When you confess it’s just a prank, his expression shifts from concern to exasperation. He pulls you under the shelter in front of your apartment building, shaking his head. “Never mind. I’ll stop by your place for a while. Wait for me inside.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel’s sports car gleams under the afternoon sun as he pulls into the gas station, humming along to the radio. The salt air whips through his hair as he occasionally points out interesting cloud formations or particularly vibrant patches of wildflowers. His latest exhibition has left him in high spirits for some reason.

“Need to stretch my legs,” you announce as the car stops.

You exit, slamming the door. Rafayel visibly flinches, his languid posture suddenly rigid. His eyes widen in genuine shock as he physically jumps, mouth dropping open.

“Are you trying to dismantle my car?” he calls after you, offense in his voice.

You return to his side of the door just a few seconds after you left the car. “Want anything from inside?” you ask sweetly.

“Want some of those little crunchy—” he begins, but before he can finish, you slam his door shut, the wind from the motion ruffling his carefully styled hair. His mouth drops open, utterly scandalized.

“Are you attempting to decapitate me now?” he exclaims. “This is a limited edition!”

When you return with snacks and slam the door a third time, he drapes himself dramatically over the steering wheel.

“My car, my hair, my peace—all victims of your violence today,” he laments. He snatches his chips from your hand. But a smile tugs at his lips as he watches you unwrap a chocolate bar. “You’re lucky I adore you, or I’d leave you at this gas station for such crimes.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The sleek black vehicle purrs to a stop at the upscale service station. Sylus checks his watch—still ahead of schedule for your weekend getaway.

“I need fuel,” he states, unbuckling his seatbelt. “For both the car and myself. We’ll reach the border by nightfall.”

“I’ll grab some snacks,” you slammed the door, the sound echoes across the quiet station.

Sylus pauses, one eyebrow raised at the unexpected disturbance. His gaze follows you as you walk toward the store.

You return moments later, opening his side of the car door. “Preferences?”

“Anything you’re getting,” he replies, but before he can say more, you slam the door again, practically in his face. This time, a small smile plays on his lips as he watches you walk away. The second slam was deliberate—he’s certain of it now.

When you return and slam the door a third time after settling in, he turns to you with amused eyes.

“Are we finished assaulting my car, or should I expect further acts of aggression?” he asks, voice laced with dry humor. “Though I do admire your commitment to the bit. Almost as much as I admire how you think you can get away with it.”

His hand slides over yours, thumb tracing circles. “I’ll remember this when we reach our destination.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb whistles as he pulls into the driveway, his silver Lamborghini reflecting the sunset. He’d been animatedly recounting a flight maneuver demonstration all the way home, his hands occasionally leaving the wheel to illustrate his points. The day’s meetings at the Fleet headquarters have left him exhausted, but seeing you always brightens his mood as he tells you about his day.

He parks precisely in his designated spot. “Finally home,” he sighs contentedly, killing the engine.

Before he can say another word, you’re out of your seat, slamming the car door with tremendous force. Through the window, you see him freeze mid-sentence, staring at the door.

He exits slowly, keys dangling from his fingers, watching as you walk toward the front door. “That was quite an exit,” he remarks, voice deceptively light.

When you don’t respond, he follows, only to find himself suddenly lifting you off the ground. Caleb has scooped you up in one fluid motion, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“So, you’re feeling destructive today?” he asks, a dangerous playfulness in his tone. “That’s some way to treat my baby.”

His grip tightens slightly as he navigates through the doorway. “I think someone needs to learn how to treat valuable things with care,” he murmurs against your ear. “I think I know exactly how to make sure you remember to be gentle with my things. Starting with a lesson about handling my possessions.”

This was funnier in my head 😭

[quickestgold]

Dr. Abbot / The Pitt

Resident!reader has a crush on Dr. Abbot, but never acts on it because they work so well together and he's never given her any firm indication that he likes more than as his favourite resident. But every so often the praise he'll give is just on the edge of being unprofessional without crossing that line...so she decides to go for it and he rejects her. Before they can speak again she's in a car accident and is brought into the pitt and he goes *feral*. Bonus points if he breaks down and admits his feelings when he thinks she can't hear him because she's so out of it, but she remembers everything. Extra bonus points if he thinks she's going to die at any point. ALL the bonus points if there's a spicy ending....or spicy anything.

Say It First: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. But when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren’t fought on the field or in the chaos of the ER, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, rejection, mentions of drunk driving, death, car accidents, reader is injured

Word count: 3.6k

A/n: Thanks for sending this in!! I got so many requests and I’ll try to work through them, but a) this was the first and b) this may or may not be inspired by real events (minus the accident) lmfaooo yikes good times…. Also, no spicy ending, because of, well, where I've ended it, but a bit of flavor sprinkled in... this is soo long / slow burn sorry, pls lmk what you think <3

Thirty-six years old. A mother of two. Only trying to get home. Gone. In the blink of an eye. All because one man chose to get behind the wheel after a night out.

You spent the last hour coding the woman, the air thick and heavy with grief. After taking a minute to honor her life, your feet carry you instinctively towards the roof.

The first rays of the morning sun gently kiss your face and the weight on your chest begins to lift, if only slightly. Your shoulders drop slowly with each cleansing breath, as you release the night’s tragedy into the vastness of the world below.

Your eyes meet a familiar silhouette standing behind the railing. As always, a little too close to the edge.

"What are you doing here?" Jack turns around, his features softening at the sight of you.

"Can a girl not enjoy a beautiful sunrise in peace?" you counter playfully.

That's a lie. You were looking for him. You always find him here.

"Heard you had a rough one", his tone full of sympathy, or just understanding.

A flicker of pain flashes across your face and without missing a beat, Jack steps back, moving to stand beside you, just behind the railing. His hand rests on your shoulder, warm and reassuring, the lightest of squeezes grounding you.

Your jaw tightens. "She had groceries and toys in the back of her car." With a deep sigh, "Her kids... are still waiting for her to come home."

He lets your words hang there, giving you time to process the loss. "You want me to talk to them with you?"

You wonder when Jack started being so soft with you. You think back to your early days in residency. Your first impression of him was that of a broken, stone-cold man. A soldier, hardened by years of seeing too much, too many lives lost. He used to move through the halls like a ghost, never letting anyone get too close.

But somehow, at some point, he let you in. At least you think so.

You shake your head, desperate to change the subject. "What are you doing up here?

A hint of a smile creeps in. It's faint, but it's there. "Just thinking..."

"...About?"

"Nosy as ever..." Jack's smile grows a little. "Life. Death. Everything in between..."

You press on, "Well, if you're ready to rejoin the living, a few of us are heading to the new pub down the road. The owner was a patient of mine. So, free drinks for me and my friends!"

"I don't have friends here."

You roll your eyes. Hard.

"What am I then?"

"One of my best residents?"

You lean in, whispering, “I'm your favorite though, right?”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh, a small shake of his head. He’s aware of the irony, of course.

He hasn't really been playing favorites, not consciously anyway. But lately, you've been getting extra attention from Dr. Abbot. More lessons. More opportunities. More praise.

But between the nepo babies and the kid geniuses in this hospital, you figure you deserve a little favoritism.

And you are grateful. Jack is a great teacher. He knows when to step back and he takes the time to teach when you're out of your depth. Believes in you, even when you don't.

The bar is buzzing with noise. You stand there, waiting for the free drinks, watching the crowd. Jack is sat on a stool in the corner, like he's part of the furniture, his eyes scanning the exits. Always on guard, even here.

Most of the team is clustered together, laughter and chatter in the air like a cocktail of relief and friendship. Glasses clink with a sound of shared thanks.

Robby and Heather slip to the other side of the room, their conversation low and intense, the tension between them palpable.

You wonder if people notice a similar air between you and Jack. Your shifts have somehow magically aligned lately.

Princess and Perlah, no doubt, have been talking. The boys, likely betting on who’s going to admit it first.

Dana steps closer, voice barely above a whisper, "Can't believe you've managed to get our sad boy to come."

Your eyes widen, but she doesn't let you object "He never does. Believe me, we've all tried. Nothing. Not even for Robby. And they're... friends."

You can’t help but laugh, "He doesn't have friends."

Dana shoots you a look. "So I've heard."

The bartender hands you two beers, a welcome interruption. You flash Dana a warm smile, before slipping away towards your table, feeling the weight of her gaze still on you.

You hand Jack one of the bottles, without looking, it's almost automatic. Natural. If people saw you on the street, they'd probably assume you were more than just colleagues.

You slide onto your stool, leaning in closer to Jack. "Dana's a little hurt that you've never gone out with them before. Not even for Robby!" You laugh, taking a big gulp of your beer.

Jack smirks, "I told you, I don't do favorites." He's satisfied by the loud laugh he gets from you.

The hours pass by, the noise of the bar blending into the background as you and Jack stay in your own quiet bubble.

Your stools have shifted closer, your knees just barely brushing. You glance down, surprised to find Jack’s hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of your jeans. It’s almost too gentle, too careful, like he’s testing a line neither of you wants to cross but can’t help but feel drawn to.

Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes glazed, laughter still filling the air. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way Jack’s presence calms you, but it’s been a long time since you’ve felt this alive.

Have the rest of the team even noticed? Are they still here?

You’ve had a bit to drink, maybe more than a bit and as you push yourself up from the stool to head towards the restroom, a dizzy spell hits you.

For a split second, you’re sure you’re about to face-plant into the cold wall next to you, but then Jack’s there. His hand steadies you, pulling you against him with a surprising gentleness.

You remain in his grip, your body melting at the contact. His breath is uneven, but it’s probably from the shock of almost seeing you fall. Unless...?

You look up into his eyes and for a fleeting second, there’s something there.

A spark.

Something electric that makes your heart skip. And before you can stop yourself, you want to close the distance between you, feel his lips against yours.

But Jack pulls away, his movements soft and almost apologetic as he helps you stand with a shy smile.

You return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you step away, heading towards the restroom.

Once you're out of sight, he turns to see Dana glancing at him across the room. Before he can protest, you’re back, gathering both your jackets, moving with the same confidence you always have. "Wanna walk me home?"

Jack's eyes widen at the bluntness. He freezes for just a moment, hesitation flickering in his eyes before he nods.

"Yeah. I’ll walk you home."

You both head for the door, only to find that the team are, in fact, all still there. And now they're staring.

Watching you leave with Dr. Jack Abbot.

The ER buzzes with its usual chaos, patients rolling in, monitors beeping and the staff moving in sync. But today, there's something else in the air that you can't quite put your finger on.

You’ve just finished treating a patient, now sitting at a computer at the nurses' station, neatly typing up your notes.

You feel everyone's eyes on you.

Today, they are definitely talking.

You glance up and spot Jack across the room. He’s looking at you already, his expression unreadable. Something about his gaze feels different. A little too focused. A little too intense.

He walks over, reaching across you to grab a chart. His hand briefly brushes against yours as he leans in slightly, too close for a colleague, but not quite crossing the line.

You blink, trying to focus on the patient notes in front of you, but the words suddenly feel distant.

It’s impossible not to notice the way the team is starting to gather in their little huddles, whispering, eyes darting in your direction.

He stands close enough now that you feel his warmth. The line between professional and personal blurs and for a brief, dangerous moment, you’re not sure where the boundaries lie.

"You’re a natural," he says, his eyes meet yours and the intensity is enough to make your heart stutter. "Well done."

Jack continues, his voice lower now, just loud enough for you to hear, but not to be overheard by anyone else "You should be proud."

Before you can reply, a sudden voice cuts through the moment. It’s Robby, walking past with a glance over his shoulder, a knowing look in his eyes. “Hey, Jack,” he calls out casually. “Save some of the praise for the rest of us, yeah?”

Jack’s gaze flicks toward Robby, "You know, I don’t do favorites."

But something has changed and it’s too late to pretend otherwise.

You suddenly stand, confidently grabbing Jack's arm and pulling him to one side. He is surprised, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he follows you without a word.

You look up at him, “Listen, I know we’re not exactly friends.” You pause, your eyes meeting his, willing him to understand what you’re trying to say. “But you’ve been working a hell of a lot of shifts lately. And… I thought maybe we could grab dinner sometime?”

You watch Jack's lips twitch ever so slightly, but he composes himself quickly.

He doesn't say anything for a long beat.

Did you cross a line?

“I mean”, you add, “You know, to talk about cases or whatever. You don’t always have to eat in the break room. And I’m sure you’re tired of hospital food.” You give him a smile, warm and genuine.

For a second, you think he might decline. You feel your pulse race just a little faster.

But then he returns your smile, "Sure. Dinner sounds good."

You sit across from Jack in a dimly lit restaurant, the glow of the candlelight casting soft shadows on his face. The flicker of the flame reflects warmth onto his dimples.

It feels intimate, like you’re seeing a side of him that’s been hidden for too long, even from himself.

"Fuck me", you mutter, sinking into your chair, hiding from someone across the room.

"Excuse me?" Jack's voice is surprised, with a hint of something else.

If you weren't so uncomfortable, the shocked look on Jack's face would have made you laugh.

“Don’t look,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “But the guy over there… he broke my heart in med school.”

Jack’s gaze flicks to the man in question, but it's so obvious that it makes you flush.

He turns back to you, leaning in, "Want me to rough him up? Just a bit?"

You giggle, "Please don't, we weren't that serious anyway. But he did cheat on me. And at the time, it hurt."

Something dark flickers in his eyes.

"He's a prick", he spews, voice low and sharp.

"Why do I always get the assholes? I think I'll just give up", you laugh.

He hesitates for a moment, but the words leave his lips before he can stop himself.

"Why are you single?" His voice holds genuine surprise.

"Since when are you interested in my love life, Dr. Abbot?"

Or lack thereof.

He doesn't respond. You contemplate for a moment. Is he really this clueless?

"Why do you think?" You question, like a challenge.

"I don't know", his brows furrow. "I think - you like being independent. You're not looking for a man to complete you." He ponders, "And I also think you find dating distracting."

The way he reads you, so honestly, so accurately, hits you in ways you weren’t prepared for. You drop your mouth slightly.

How can he be so spot on and so wrong at the same time?

"What do I know. Maybe you just haven't met the right guy", he adds, trying to ease the awkward tension that’s settled between you.

Or maybe the right guy just doesn't know how to connect the dots!

"What about you then?" You try to shift the conversation.

"What about me?" He laughs.

You shoot him a look.

"Why am I single?", he asks most innocently. "What if I'm not?" You roll your eyes.

"We'll then what are you doing here with me and not making love to your gorgeous girlfriend... or boyfriend?" You add the last part with a smirk that feels more daring than you expected. He can't place it, but this new energy awakens something inside him.

His eyes flicker to your lips, but there’s a hesitation. The air is electric, you can almost feel the wall between you crumbling.

But his face grows serious. "It's just easier like this."

"Since when are you one to take the easy road?" You counter, your voice sharp.

It's now or never.

You search his eyes, willing him to say it first.

Anything.

But he doesn't. You break eye contact and he feels like he just lost something he didn't know he could have. Didn't know he deserved.

You exhale deeply, the words finally escaping you, "You know I have feelings for you, right?".

The confession slips out, barely louder than a whisper, as if you’re terrified of hearing it yourself.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face, but it disappears just as quickly. His stoic exterior is intact, but something has cracked. His gaze remains unreadable, like his brain can't comprehend what you just said.

You wonder if you should take it back, pretend it never happened. Maybe you're lucky and he really didn't hear you.

You're not.

Before you can retreat, Jack beats you to it. "Y/N..."

Oh no.

"I'm so flattered...I- Thank you." His words are slow, measured, as if he's trying to find the right ones. "I- I didn't know you felt this way."

What, the excessive flirting and the obsessive need to be near him didn't give it away?

"Ouch. I suppose you don't feel the same", you laugh nervously.

There's that look again. Like he sees right through you. Like he's already seen every part of you. Touched every inch of your body, without ever having seen you naked.

"What do you want with an old man like me anyway?" His voice thick with uncertainty.

Hello? Is that a no?

It stings, but you fight to keep your composure. “You’re not that old", you tease, but the effort feels hollow in the face of his hesitance.

"It wouldn't end well...", his voice quieter now. "I don't want to hurt you."

"God, if you don't have feelings for me just say so. We're adults. This will they/won't they game is really messing with my head!"

"I'm sorry" he says, the words soft but final. "I can't."

You have your answer.

You've been through too much uncertainty. Always hoping for more. Always confused. It's too much hurt. Too much heartbreak. So you accept his decision.

And know you'll move on.

Your evening has come to an unexpected end. He slips your jacket over your shoulders with that same careful attention, the way he’s always done, because, of course, he’s the perfect gentleman, even after this brutal rejection.

You know it'll take some time to heal, which feels silly, because nothing really happened!

But in your mind, you're already preparing to switch shifts, changing your routine, so your schedules will no longer align.

Jack insists on walking you to your bus stop, his steps matching yours in a slow, rhythmic silence. And in that moment, a wave of sadness overcomes you. You feel like you're not just losing a friend, but also your mentor. Your eyes well up, praying he doesn't see. But he does, of course.

He always does.

You're ready to say goodbye, to the night, but also to what could have been.

When you reach the stop, he unexpectedly pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. One of his hands presses gently against your back, while the other holds your head against his heart, each beat a reminder of what it feels like to be alive, to be loved.

For a brief moment, as you breathe in his familiar scent, you only exist in the present.

In his arms.

The weight of your future and present not threatening to pull you under.

But then reality hits you.

You step back, slowly, as if leaving a piece of yourself behind in the safety of his embrace.

You turn around and walk away. You know he's watching, but you don't look back.

Jack has barely seen you this week, your shifts conveniently ending when his start and vice versa.

He can't help but feel like he's lost something good, not even giving it a chance to become something great.

He's on his way to the hospital for yet another shift without you, his mind wandering back to the moment he watched you walk away.

When he let you go.

When all he really wanted was to let you in. To have his lips touch yours. To interlock your fingers with his. To take you on a real date. To take you bake to his place...

To watch the bus drive off without you.

But you said it first. And he said nothing at all.

The air is different today, charged, the nurses a little quieter, the doctors a little more tense.

Jack looks around, he realises something isn’t right. The staff are huddled in groups, whispering.

Is the hospital finally closing down?

He has a bad feeling about this.

He notices Dana first. She's standing by the nurses' station. When she catches his gaze, her eyes flicker with something Jack can’t quite place. Concern? Worry? He’s about to walk over to her when Robby appears out of nowhere, stepping right into his path.

“Jack”, Robby says, his voice low. There’s a weight in his tone, a hesitation that only deepens Jack’s unease.

“What's going on?” Jack asks, his brow furrowing, but Robby doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, Robby pulls him aside, out of earshot of the others.

The words “drunk driver” and “Y/N” are enough to send a cold shiver down Jack's spine.

Jack's hands tremble as he heads straight for your room, but everything feels distant, muffled.

He’s flooded with guilt for not being there, for not having checked on you, for all the unsaid words between you.

Christ, he's a doctor and he wasn't there to help you.

More importantly, he was your friend and he let you believe that he wasn't.

Maybe, deep down, he knew he wanted to be more than that.

Now, there you are, lying still, tubes and wires everywhere.

He takes a shaky step forward, his hand hovering near yours. The thought of touching you, of being this close and you not being aware, makes his chest tighten. But he can’t help it. His fingers brush against your skin, a fragile connection.

“I didn’t- God, I was an idiot. I should’ve… said it. Should’ve been… with you. But I didn’t. I’m sorry. I-” His voice breaks and he curses under his breath.

He doesn’t know if you can hear him.

If you’ll ever hear him again.

Jack takes a seat next to your bed, drowning in fear for you. Broken. Guilty. Devastated. Alone.

“I’m so sorry", a quiet sob escapes his lips. "I've grown so used to the emptiness in my heart, I didn't know how to let you in..." It's in this moment, he realizes he’s terrified of losing you without ever having truly had you.

For the next couple of days Jack watches your chest rise and fall in a steady, artificial rhythm, but you don't move.

He loses a fraction of hope with every day that passes, waiting for you to wake up, for you to roll your eyes and tell him to stop being an idiot.

Your friends and colleagues check in on you as much as they do on him.

But the silence stretches on.

Robby often lingers in the doorway, exchanging quiet, knowing glances with Jack before he leaves, like there’s nothing else to say or do.

On the seventh day, Jack finds himself sitting beside your bed long after his shift has ended. His hand rests on the edge of your mattress, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, but still too far away.

"I’m sorry”, he mutters, knowing you can’t hear him. His eyes flicker to the machines keeping you tethered to this world, his heart feeling too heavy to bear.

His body stiffens when he suddenly sees your fingers twitching ever so slightly. Then, a shallow inhale, before your eyes flutter open.

Jack watches you look up at the ceiling, disoriented. Then, slowly, your gaze moves to him.

"Jack?" Your voice is hoarse.

He leans forward, the weight of the last few days catching up with him. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m here Y/N."

You blink a few times, before the corners of your mouth turn into a smile. Though it’s small and fragile. “I thought you didn’t have favorites?”

For a second, he isn’t sure he heard you right.

His heart aches, raw and exposed and he knows he can't hide his feelings anymore.

You know. And he knows you know.

You lift a hand, weak but determined and place it over his.

Omg, this turned out way longer than expected!! Hope you liked it anyway. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[schilders]

note: more sleepy implied nerd!gojo

When you enter your apartment, it’s quiet—which isn’t surprising—and all the lights are dimmed. Which, if you were the last one to leave, it wouldn’t be all that shocking, but you weren’t the last one here. Satoru was, and you’re sure he is still here, but where he was you didn’t know.

“Satoru?” You call out as you toe off your shoes before stepping further into the apartment. The t.v. in the living room is on, but the sound is muted. “Toru?”

You enter the kitchen next, flicking the light on and placing the few bags of groceries you had purchased down on the counters.

“Jeez, Satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head. There was a plate of unfinished food left by the sink, and it gave you an idea of just where he was and what he was doing.

He had a habit of not eating properly when studying or working on a project, so if you had to guess. . .

Taking your time, you put away all the groceries and clean up the mess Satoru left behind before fixing him a quick sandwich and a glass of ice water. It would probably have been earlier today that he last ate, so he’s hungry even if he tries to deny it.

“‘Toru?” Your voice is soft when you call for him, not wanting to disturb him. The light to your bedroom is on, peeking out from under the doorway. You gently push it open with your shoulder, not wanting to drop his food. “Hey, I made you something—”

Oh.

Well that’s not what you were expecting to see.

He’s curled up on your bed, schoolwork abandoned on your desk. He’s got his arms folded, cheek squished against them, and if you look a little closer, you’d notice the small bit of drool on the corner of his mouth.

“My precious ‘Toru,” you murmur quietly, quickly placing down the plate and glass of water. The bed dips beneath you when you make your way beside him, a hand reaching out to brush back the soft white strands of his hair.

You don’t understand how he’s comfortable sleeping the way that he is. You want to wake him up to help him change into something more comfortable and help him settle in properly, but at the same time, he looks way too peaceful.

For right now, you continue to run your fingers through his hair, watching the gentle look on his face as he sleeps. His brows furrow a bit, and then there’s a soft murmur of your name.

“‘Toru?” You swipe a finger over his bottom lip, and he twitches under your touch. A quiet giggle escapes you at the sight, and then he’s murmuring your name again.

Again, you consider waking him up, and this time you give in. He’d easily fall back asleep anyways.

“Satoru,” you say, firmer this time, hand going to his shoulder to shake him gently. “I need you to wake up, baby.”

Stirring slightly, his lashes flutter gently, and you have to stop yourself from tracing along them. You think he’s about to wake up, but he just buries his face deeper against his arms, incoherent words leaving him.

Sighing softly, you shake him a little harder, watching the way his lips form a thin line before his eyes open.

“Hey.”

And at the sound of your voice, his eyes are opening a little wider, pretty blues coming into view as he blinks slowly, like he’s trying to process everything.

“Hey,” his voice is raspy, and he clears his throat before trying again. “Hey.”

“What happened here, sweetheart?”

It takes him a few moments to register your words, his brows coming together. “W-what?” Then he’s trying to sit up, and you reach to help him, hands cupping his face once he’s fully upright.

Without saying anything, you nod towards the desk, where he’s got his laptop open and forgotten, he’s got a notebook and a book or two as well.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Licking his lips, he nods, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. “I got tired and figured I could take a quick thirty-minute nap.”

That surprises you because Satoru is not the type to abandon his work in favor of resting, you’re very familiar with this fact.

He can see the look of surprise on your face, a blush settling on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. “I knew you wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t rest, so. . .”

The thought has your heart fluttering softly and without saying anything, you pull him in for a quick kiss, your lip gloss rubbing off on his mouth as you do so, and he smacks his lips at the fruity taste. It takes everything in you not to squish his face.

“How about this,” you begin, brushing your fingers through his hair again, attempting to fix the mess it has become but only succeeding in further ruining it. And he’s looking at you with heavy lids, hands bunching up the comforter beneath him. “Eat something first, and then we can lie back down and get some more sleep.”

“But. . .” He’s licking his lips again, eyeing your desk where his stuff sits. You can tell there’s a battle going on in his head, one that’s telling him to pick back up where he left off and the other saying to get in bed with you. For a second there you think he’s going to further protest, but then his eyes are back on you, his gaze softening, and he’s nodding. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, a small smile on your face, but then another thought crosses your mind. “Or after you eat, we could take a bath together?” You suggest.

He’s nodding almost immediately, hands joining yours where they rest on his face, giving them a soft squeeze. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

You can’t help but giggle, your inner thoughts taking over this time, squishing his cheeks til his lips pout, “You’re so cute, ‘Toru!”

end note: prolly gonna write the soft bath scene

[importantpuppystarfish]

Repopulating the whole world with Wonyoung

Male reader x Jang Wonyoung

Plot : You are from a random country "X". World War 3 is ongoing. Genre : Survival, Romantic, Emotional. Includes: 69, rimjob, facesitting, wony pissing, breeding, lots of kissing.

I drag myself onto the rocky shore, my body aching from the endless swimming. My clothes are soaked, my breaths ragged, and my arms feel like they could fall off any second. But I made it.

The world is in ruins. World War III tore everything apart. Cities burned, people scattered, and survival became a desperate gamble. I don’t know how long I was in the water, moving from boat to boat, trying to stay afloat. But somehow, I reached this island near the Korean Peninsula.

I push myself up, coughing out of the salt water, and scan out my surroundings. The island is covered in dense trees, the sand untouched, the wind eerily silent. No signs of life.

Except for one.

A girl stands near the water’s edge, her long, damp hair flowing in the wind. She’s wearing a torn white dress, clinging to her body from the seawater. Even in this chaos, she looks unreallike -- gorgeous.

I blink. My brain struggles to process what I’m seeing.

It’s Jang Wonyoung!

The Wonyoung. The famous K-pop idol. The girl that once stood on dazzling stages, worshipped by millions. And now, she’s here, stranded just like me. Wonyoung also came to the same island through swimming to save herself from the war.

She notices me. Her eyes widen, and she steps back slightly, uncertain. I must look like a wreck, an exhausted or an average looking guy.

I raise my hands slightly, trying to show I’m not a threat. “Hey… I’m not here to hurt you.” My voice is hoarse.

She hesitates, then speaks, her voice soft yet sharp. “Are you alone?”

I nod. “Yeah… just me.”

A pause. The wind howls between us. Then she exhales and sits down on the sand. “Same.”

I look around again. No ships, no planes, no humans. Just us.

Two strangers. A famous lost idol and me.

Alone in the middle of nowhere. Wonyoung asks for my name~ "I'm Y/N!" Nice to meet u! We have a handshake.. Her hands feel soft.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt1:

I take a cautious step closer. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. A few hours, maybe. I was on a boat, trying to escape… then everything went wrong.” Wonyoung replies.

I nod. I get it. The war didn’t care who we were, celebrity or nobody, we all ended up fighting for survival.

I sat onto the sand beside her, keeping a respectful distance. My body still aches from the swim, but at least I’m alive. “We should find shelter,” I say, more to myself than her.

Wonyoung doesn’t answer right away. She’s staring at the ocean, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nods. “Yeah.”

We explore the island together. It’s small, covered in thick trees, with no sign of civilization. No food, no supplies. If we want to live, we’ll have to find a way ourselves.

We build a shelter from fallen branches near a rocky cliffside, something to protect us from the wind. It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.

I know Wonyoung is feeling hungry, I can hear the sounds from her stomach. She's embarrassed. I hunt for fruits around in the forest and give some off to her. Wonyoung smiles and thanks me for the first time.

As night arrives, we sleep inside the shelter with a distinct position from each other. I can't believe I'm sleeping nearby a famous K-pop idol!

Wonyoung must be a very clean and neat girl. As morning arrives, with no proper shelter, no soap, and no change of clothes, Wonyoung specifically start to feel disgusting. We both only got one outfit for ourselves and its also getting torn apart.

Wonyoung tugs at her damp, dirt-streaked dress, grimacing. “I can’t take this anymore. I feel gross.”

I look down at myself. My clothes are stiff with dried saltwater and sweat. “Yeah, me too.”

She crosses her arms, thinking. “We need to wash them.”

I nod, then realize the problem. “But… if we wash them, we’ll have nothing to wear.”

She sighs. “I know.”

We stand there in awkward silence, both aware of what that means.

“…Maybe we take turns?” I suggest hesitantly.

She gives me a sharp look. “You mean one of us stays naked while the other waits?”

I scratch my head. “I mean… yeah?”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

I shrug. “We don’t have a choice. It’s just us here.”

She peeks at me through her fingers. “Still!”

After a long pause, she exhales sharply. “Fine!" “This is so worse!” she mutters.

I chuckle. “At least we’ll be clean.”

She grumbles but doesn’t argue.

And so, in our strange little world, even washing clothes becomes a ridiculous challenge. But somehow, we manage—awkward, embarrassed, but surviving together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But suddenly, it seems Wonyoung has realized survival takes priority over everything else. Embarrassment, modesty—those things start to feel pointless.

To my surprise, Wonyoung just… pulls her dress over her head.

I freeze. My brain short-circuits as the gorgeous Wonyoung directly takes off her clothes near me, her medium sized breasts with pretty pink nipples, a luscious curvy figure that takes my breath away. Her natural scent is divine yet there's a hint of dirt clinging to her perfect skin. Now as soon as she also takes off her smelly and dirty underwear the same time, I see her pussy is hairy, maybe she doesn't shave it often. I keep looking in at her hungrily, finding every aspect of Wonyoung naked incredibly sexy.

She throws her dress and underwear onto a sea, standing now in nothing but her bare skin, completely unbothered. “You should do the same,” she says casually. “It’s just us, anyway.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swallow hard, staring at the ground now. “Uh… are you sure about this?”

She shrugs. “Why not? Clothes are useless if they’re this filthy. We might as well just stay like this.”

I feel my face burning. “I mean… isn’t that a little—”

She raises an eyebrow. “What? Weird? Embarrassing?” She sighs. “At first, yeah. But think about it—we’re stuck here, just the two of us. Why should we care?”

I can’t argue with that logic. She’s right. There’s no one else. No society. No rules.

Still, I hesitate.

She smirks slightly. “You’re overthinking it.”

I exhale, then slowly pull off my shirt. Then my pants. The air feels strange against my skin, but at the same time… freeing.

Wonyoung smiles. “See? Not so bad.”

And just like that, we accept our fate. No more shame, no more awkwardness—just two survivors, stripped of everything, living in the most natural way possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As now I'm naked as well, Wonyoung starts to look at my rod standing at attention. I caught her biting her lips and smiling, which I found adorable. She playfully teases, 'I can't help it, it's so…funny!' I blush furiously and retort, 'Hey, don't laugh!'". I'm confused why the heck Wonyoung is laughing at my dick? Maybe she has never seen one before?

"You look funny naked, especially with that thing down standing out of nowhere so hard" Wonyoung teases.

I'm sure Wonyoung knows herself why my dick is hard at the moment. It only get this way when there's a pretty hot girl around. Also the fact, Wonyoung is naked herself too. Wonyoung's stomach makes a noise again, its time for food and we realize we should start hunting for survival.

Yesterday we survived on wild fruits & coconuts, and anything remotely edible that we can scavenge. But soon, we realize that if we want to stay strong, we need real food ~ fish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung figures out that if we trap fish in small tidal pools near the shore, we can just grab them with our hands. It’s tricky, but with patience, we manage to catch a few.

Since we don’t have pots or pans, we cook the fish directly over a fire. We create a simple fire pit using dry wood and stones. We skewer the fish on sticks and roast them over the flames until they’re cooked through.

The first bite of was Incredible. We eat in silence, both of us savoring the moment. Wonyoung licks her lips, grinning. “I never thought I’d be this happy just eating a burnt fish.”

I laugh, nodding at her words.

As night falls, the temperature on the island drops, and the once-refreshing breeze turns into a chilling wind. Its getting cold. Yesterday we had our clothes but this morning, upon Wonyoung's idea, I also threw my clothes and we're both naked still.

With no clothes, no blankets, and only a small fire to keep us warm, the cold becomes a real problem.

At first, we try to endure it, huddling close to the fire, wrapping ourselves in large leaves, anything to stay warm. But nothing works.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung shivers beside me, hugging herself tightly. “This isn’t working,” she mutters, her teeth slightly chattering.

I sigh. I’m freezing too. Then, reluctantly, Wonyoung says, “There’s only one thing we can do.”

I looks at her, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

She hesitates. “Body heat. If we stay close, we’ll be warmer.”

I stare her for a second, then exhale, shaking my head. “I can’t believe this…” But then, after another shiver, I mutter, “Fine. But don’t get any ideas. I try to be positive, trying my best to be a gentleman ”

But Wonyoung seems to have something in her mind, she has been trying a little to seduce me even in this kind of survival condition ever since we both got naked.

We move closer, our bare skin pressing together. The warmth is immediate, awkward at first, but undeniable.

She rests her head against my shoulder, her body still tense. “I love this,” she whispers.

Slowly, her body relaxes against mine, and I feel my own muscles easing. The cold doesn’t bite as much anymore.

After a few moments of silence, she sighs. “You’re warm…”

I smirk. “So are you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung hugs me tigher, her chest pressing over mine. I can feel the size of her breasts, I have never grabbed them yet with my hands. I feel so good as well as her skin presses over mine more tightly..

Wonyoung and I can see the full moon together, it looks beautiful.

And just like that, we fall asleep, two survivors, pressed together against the cold, finding warmth in the only way we can.

The next morning, fever hits me suddenly. One moment, I’m fine, tired but fine. My body feels like it’s burning from the inside. My limbs are weak, my vision blurry, and every breath feels heavy.

I collapse near our shelter, barely able to keep my eyes open. Wonyoung rushes over, panic written all over her face.

“Hey! What’s wrong?” She kneels beside me, pressing a hand to my forehead. The moment she touches me, she gasps. “You’re burning up…”

I try to respond, but my throat is dry, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m… just tired…”

She bites her lip, looking around as if searching for a solution. “You’re Sick OH God!!"

Wonyoung has gotten emotional. She swallows hard, taking a shaky breath.

For the first time, I see her cry.

Even in this desperate situation, I hate seeing her like this. I slowly reach out, grabbing her trembling hand. “Hey… I’m not dead yet.” I try to smile, but even that takes too much effort.

She sniffles and squeezes my hand tightly. “You better not die,” she whispers. “I can’t be alone here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Wonyoung stays by my side, cooling my forehead with wet leaves, giving me water, whispering words of reassurance even when she thinks I’m asleep.

And in my fevered haze, I realize something—she’s not just the famous girl I once admired from afar. She’s not just my survival partner. She might be someone special in my life.

The fever doesn’t break overnight, that day Wonyoung does all the job, cooking the fishes and finding survival resources. My body feels weak, my head heavy, and every movement sends waves of exhaustion through me. But Wonyoung never leaves my side.

She brings me water from the stream, carefully tilting a coconut shell to my lips. “Drink,” she murmurs. Her voice is soft but firm, her eyes filled with worry.

I manage a few sips before resting my head back down. “Thanks…” I whisper.

She sighs, brushing my damp hair back. “You’re burning up.”

That night, as the cold wind howls through our shelter, Wonyoung presses herself against me, wrapping her arms around my body. “This should help,” she whispers. “You need warmth.”

I’m too weak to argue, and honestly, her body heat is comforting. She rests her head against my chest, holding me close. She takes care of my body.

At some point, I groan, my muscles aching all over.

She notices immediately. “Does it hurt?”

I nod weakly.

Without hesitation, she shifts, her delicate hands moving to my shoulders. Slowly, gently, she starts massaging me, her fingers pressing into my tense muscles. She also gave me a handjob at the middle. I don’t even know if I should count it as lewd since we have been naked together and staying like this for 2 days already, but this is the first time she grabbed my dick with her hands.

“Relax,” she whispers. “You always do everything for us. Just let me take care of you.”

Her hands move down my arms, across my back, easing the knots of pain. Her touch is soft but firm, careful yet reassuring.

For the first time in days, I feel a little better.

I close my eyes, letting her warmth, her touch, her presence lull me into much-needed rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung asks, “Do you think the war is over?”

I exhale, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”

She stares at the horizon. “What if… no one is left?”

I glance at her. “What do you mean?”

She hugs herself tighter. “Last time we saw the world… there were nukes being launched. Countries were falling apart. If the war is over, does that mean someone won? Or does it mean no one is left to fight anymore?”

A heavy silence falls between us. The thought is terrifying, but not impossible.

I swallow. “Even if there are survivors, do you think anyone would look for us? We’re on some random, uncharted island. We don’t even know if this place is on any map.”

Wonyoung’s expression darkens. “We could be doomed.”

I don’t want to believe that. But deep down, I know she might be right.

She rests her head on my shoulder. “It’s just us now,” she whispers.

I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. “Then we survive. No matter what.”

“But if we are the only ones left…” Wonyoung hesitates. “Should we… you know… repopulate?”

The word hangs in the air, heavier than anything we’ve ever spoken before.

I swallow hard. “You’re asking if we should have kids?”

She nods slowly. “It’s what humans do, right? Continue the species.”

The idea makes sense, logically. But something about it feels too real.

I exhale. “That’s a big decision.”

She glances at me, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I know. But if the world is gone… doesn’t that mean we’re responsible for rebuilding it?”

I run a hand through my hair, trying to process. “It’s not just about responsibility. We’d be bringing a child into a world with no hospitals, no medicine, no help. It’d be dangerous.”

She bites her lip, thinking. “Yeah… but if we don’t, then when we die, that’s it. The end of humanity.”

Silence. The fire crackles between us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt2:

Wonyoung finally sighs, shaking her head. “Maybe I’m overthinking.”

After some while, Wonyoung asks, "Do you want some special comfort?"

Without understanding what special comfort she meant, I nodded yes.

Wonyoung winks and positioned her face between my legs. Her hands reach up to gently caress my thighs, sending shivers through my body. Leaning in slowly, I suddenly feel her pink tongue extends and swirls around the tip of my dick. A soft gasp escapes her as she tastes me, her eyes never leaving mine. She takes the head into her warm, inviting mouth.

I feel my full length inside her mouth. I finally realized Wonyoung is giving me a blowjob already. Wonyoung pulls back a bit. She grins, still stroking me gently. "Mmm…you like that y/n?" She teases before taking me deep again, bobbing her head with purpose now.

"Wonyoung, are you serious right now? You're a famous idol… I can't believe ur doing this!?!" I say.

Wonyoung replies, "Well, I don't think there's anyone left in the world. We should start reproducing already!." She continues taking my length more inside her mouth.

I realize Wonyoung must be feeling emotional, and that I'm the only person in her life now. It doesn't matter if I'm attractive or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung is absolutely magnificent as she works to please me with her lips and tongue. Her tongue dances against the sensitive under side of my dick each time I hit the back of her mouth. She gazes up at me with desire, her cheeks hollowing as she takes me deeper still. Every flick, suck and lick from Wonyoung feels heavenly, it's clear she was made for this. I can't hold back my cries of pleasure - "Oh wow, Wonyoung please stop, you are amazing at this!"

Wiping a strand of saliva from her chin after she finishes sucking my rod, Wonyoung sits up and spreads her legs wide. Her thick bush of dark hair beckons me forward. "Alright, enough pleasing you. I want the same feeling as well. Mind eating my hairy pussy now?" she commands.

"Are you serious? But I'm sick!" I reply to her command.

"Oh right", Wonyoung pauses, a look of determination crossing her face. "Can't stand or return the favor hmm?" She grins slyly. "No problem, I can adapt." She positions herself above me, her beautiful eyes twinkling. "Here, I'll just…sit right down."

And with that, Wonyoung lowers herself, her vertical lips parting as she envelops my face in her warmth. I feel her weight settle on my face as she slowly sits on my face, her pussy hair tickling my nose.

I get flashbacks of watching Wonyoung's performance through my screen at home last year before the war started. It's exactly that same ass! Now that ass is about to be buried all over my face.

As Wonyoung lowers herself onto me fully, I am enveloped by her feminine heat and scent from her ass… She is totally face sitting on me.. Wonyoung is now riding my face!

Eager to please, I decide to really explore Wonyoung's shithole. Gently I spread her ass cheeks further apart, gazing at her tight little bud. I push my tongue forward deep, pushing more deep into Wonyoung's most intimate place. Inside her anus, my tongue meets warm, velvety smooth walls that grip me gently. A faint musky scent fills my senses as I wiggle and stroke within her sensitive rim.

My tongue inside her asshole is absorbing up every sticky morsel. The taste is intense, earthy and undeniably naughty. I delve deeper, driven by an urge to clean every inch of her filthy depths.

Her inner walls clench and grip my probing tongue as I feel the wet, dirty texture inside her tight little shithole. It's a decadent mess inside here. Oh fuck, Am I really eating her wet messy holes as she commands?

Shee gasps but then urges me, "Deeper...stick your tongue in!".

I oblige, slowly working my tongue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her ass shakes over my head with a playful excitement from taking in charge, she still asks teasingly, "Is OK?"

I nod, surrendering to pleasure her. My tongue extends, lapping up her slick nectar. She tastes divine. I feel her move, grinding against my mouth harder. She shifts a bit and my tongue finds her hairy wet pussy, making her bite her lip and smile wider.

I eagerly lap up every drop of her juices, my tongue tracing her folds and circling her engorged clit. I suck the bud into my mouth, flicking it while my hands press against her thighs for balance. Wonyoung gasps, riding my face harder. I insert my tongue as deep as it will go inside her within her wetness.

Wonyoung grinds down harder, inviting me to continue. I oblige, gently probing at her holes with more intention now. The salty-sweet taste of mixing her essence on my tongue drives me wild. Wonyoung cries out, clearly enjoying using me completely.

"Mmm…you're so good with that tongue, I just can't resist returning the favor!" Wonyoung cries. She leans down, taking my throbbing length back into her mouth. Now our bodies form a delightfully lewd 69 position - me eating her treasure while she continues to suck me off.

Her hips move in a sensual rhythm, grinding her wetness all over my face as I feel the base of my shaft hit her throat each time she takes me deep.

Our 69 is smooth and rhythmic now, both of us falling into it as the ecstasy builds. My tongue works her clit in firm circles while I thrust my tongue as deep as possible into her tight back doorway. Wonyoung's mouth moves expertly along my shaft, her lips sealed tight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just when I think it can't get more intense, I feel a warm fluid against my chin and mouth. "Oh my god, I'm sorry!" Wonyoung cries out. But I don't pull back - I simply extend my tongue, catching her pee with every skillful lick. She trembles above me as she finishes, spent. A mixture of her fluids coats my face but I don't mind one bit, still savoring her completely.

Against my will, I'm forced to drink down her warm, tangy urine. It's strong and acrid on my tongue but I obediently swallow, NOT wanting to displease Wonyoung. She seems shy now, her cheeks flushed crimson.

"Here, let me make it better." She whispers. Wonyoung begins gently licking my face with her soft, pink tongue. She methodically cleans every inch, the bitter taste slowly fading. When she reaches my lips she takes me into her mouth again, our tongues meeting. She swallows some of her own urine back from my mouth as we have a mouthful french kiss. Her eyes closed, slipping her tongue into my mouth. There it mixes with my saliva too, a lewd, taboo French kiss. When she finally breaks the kiss, her eyes search mine - a mix of apology and invitation.

She again engages me in a deep and soulful kiss. Wonyoung breaks the kiss, her eyes glinting with newfound desire. She stands up now. "I hope you can forgive me," she purrs before sitting over my shaft. Wonyoung positions herself now ready to ride my dicm. "Now fuck me…fuck me hard, its time for reproduction already! Forget the humanity outside! Theres no one left!" she screams.

She cries out as I claim her. I watch my rod disappearing between her thighs, feeling her walls tighten around me. "Yes, that's it!, Oh my god I can't believe I'm having my first time!" Wonyoung moans as she rides my dick hard. Our bodies connect with a primal rhythm as I punish her core. I know I won't last long after that intense buildup. "Don't stop!" she gasps, pulling me deeper. I'm determined to satisfy us both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tears spring to her eyes but she keeps crying out "Yes yes yes!".. Wonyoung is literally screaming and riding me at the middle of the island. We don’t know what's happening outside in the real world. But here, it seems we both are actually enjoying. Birds and insects are watching us fuck in the silent island. The island is full of her screams and cries in pleasure.

Wonyoung starts bouncing on my rod harder. Each deep thrust draws out prolonged, wailing cries from Wonyoung's lips: "AHH! AHHH PLEASE!". Wonyoung leans down upon my mouth for a kiss now.

She breathes, "You're taking me so well", "but I'm not nearly done with you yet until u cum inside me."

Wonyoung's forcefully kisses me deep and moans. "Ahh, please, I can't.. Cum already.!" she cries desperately, a mix of fear and excitement in her voice.

Wonyoung screams again, her voice rising in pitch as I cum inside her "OOOOHHH!"

Wonyoung feels the sticky white cum fill inside her. Its a big load. She still continues riding, but now Wonyoung feels something tear inside her… "You…you tore me," she whispers, eyes wide.

I push her away from my dick, I see a mess down in her pussy. Its full of my sperm and cum, her insides must have broken and torn apart since its her first time. "It hurts but we succeeded. I'm probably finally pregnant!." Wonyoung cries.

I get emotional too. I hug Wonyoung, and as she hugs me back, we hold each other with love, and I can feel her warmth and heartbeat. Inside Wonyoung is a complex mix of emotions and physical sensations.

I can't believe it, did I actually breed Wonyoung, the most popular K-pop girl? This feels so real, it’s definitely not a dream! Yes, thats right! If I and Wonyoung are really the only humans left, the next world generation will be descendants of us!

[sweetshuga]

𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔 ✧ 𝑴.𝑺

«𝒅𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒏»

𝒃𝒔𝒇.ᐟ𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕! Trying to act like he didn’t just fantasize about you and got rock hard in the process.

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. «𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅» «𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏» «𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕» «𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕»

𝒘𝒄. 𝟏 𝒌

𝒂𝒏. Alr chat, the long awaited Matt version of Fantasies is finally here!! It took me this long to write it because I didn’t have any motivation to finish it but here it is finally!!

𝒑𝒔𝒂. English is not my first language!

You sat in the passenger seat, fingers idly playing with the hem of your t-shirt as you talked to Nick and Chris—who both sat in the backseat.

The reason you were sitting in the passenger seat instead of Chris was simple; Matt had enough of Chris interrupting him every few seconds and burping in his face like a damned toddler. And so, you had no choice but to switch seats before Matt got seriously pissed off.

Matt was quietly scrolling through his phone beside you, not paying much attention to the conversation between you and the other two. It was clear that he was sulking, his earlier irritation still very much there.

You decided to leave him be, not wanting to make it worse.

As you got more invested in the conversation, you didn’t notice Matt slowly looking up from his phone, his gaze lingering on your lips as they moved.

He felt his stomach flip when your eyes suddenly locked onto his, your head tilting slightly as you looked at him with a confused smile, a small chuckle escaping you—which went straight to his dick.

He wondered how you sound like when you cu—

"You’re staring at me," you observed, your voice cutting through his daydream. "Is there something on my face?"

Matt quickly shook his head, mumbling out a quiet "nothing" before he looked back at his brothers, suddenly so interested in whatever Chris was rambling about.

Thankfully, you didn’t question further and simply shrugged it off, going back to talking to Nick and Chris.

𝟓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

The minutes passed by agonizingly slowly, almost like it was taunting Matt, testing his self-control—or so it felt like to him.

It had only been 5 minutes or so since he had started to imagine things he definitely shouldn’t be imagining about his best friend.

Matt could feel his pants tightening around the crotch and he desperately tried to think of something- anything to get rid of his erection.

But nothing worked.

𝟏𝟎 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

Nick and Chris went to the store to get some snacks, but you decided to stay in the car with Matt.

You were talking about everything and nothing at the same time, your hands flailing slightly as you tried to emphasize your words with it. Matt simply listened, nodding along and humming mhm’s.

You didn’t notice the way his gaze kept drifting down to your lips before snapping up to your eyes—and repeating. Before he could stop himself, he had already let his gaze travel further down your body.

God, he would do anything to just bury his face in those tits—

"Matt? You listening?" You cocked an eyebrow when you saw the way he flinched, blinking rapidly as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

"Y-yeah, I am." He mumbled, his words a little too breathless and a little too nervous, but you didn’t seem to catch onto anything yet.

"Mhmm," you hummed, a bit puzzled, but didn’t press on further as you picked up from where you left, rambling on about some crazy experience you had while eating out with Nick.

Matt’s breathing grew heavier with each passing minute, his chest heaving slowly as he took in deep breaths to calm himself down. He could feel his dick throbbing at the sight of your tits pressing together when you crossed your arms.

His attempt to calm his racing heart – and boner – was futile, but thankfully he was wearing a hoodie and quickly took it off and bunched it on his lap, keeping eye contact with you to make sure you didn’t see anything you shouldn’t have.

It would’ve been alright if he was at home, he could just excuse himself and go handle his "problem", but he was in a random parking lot with just you in the car.

One minute felt like a fucking hour. He could almost feel his cock pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, so hard that it was hurting just from pressing against his boxers and jeans.

You didn’t really pay attention to how much Matt shifted in his seat; how many times he discreetly pulled uncomfortably at the waistband of his jeans; or how he tried to adjust himself without you seeing it.

And you definitely did not pay attention to how shaky and deep his breaths had become. You didn’t know how much he wished he could just fulfill his fantasies right here in the car.

It was pure torture to have the reason for his hard-on sitting right in front of him. He would probably be considered down bad but everything you did only made him harder and he could feel his precum slightly dampening up his boxers.

Lucky for him, Nick and Chris arrived before he lost his mind, handing you the snacks and drinks you and Matt wanted from the store—already eating the things they bought for themselves.

Matt was ecstatic. And not because he was happy that he got snacks—well, he was, but mostly because he can finally take care of his throbbing boner.

He could finally go home before he got blue balls.

𝟓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

A shaky sigh of relief left Matt as he put the car in drive, wanting nothing more than to just go home and jerk off.

But his relief was short lived when he glanced at you subconsciously, only to see your eyes locked onto the hard-on straining against the crotch of his jeans. Which was now very much visible thanks to his hoodie having slipped down slightly due to his legs moving to hit the accelerator and brake.

You quickly averted your gaze when you saw that Matt caught you looking, and you turned your head to the side, pretending to look out the window but the flush creeping up your neck and enveloping the tips of your ears gave way to everything you wanted to hide.

Matt’s face slowly flushed into a soft pink hue as he kept his gaze on the road ahead. He was in disbelief that his best friend just saw his raging hard-on.

He wished he could get home faster but he was still stuck driving the car, nowhere to hide from the overwhelming embarrassment.

Just his damn luck.

𓆩♡𓆪

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[bitters-n-sweets]

take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1

warnings: cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️

"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a complete stranger??"

You sigh. Of course she’s going to lose her mind.

"Jenna—"

"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.

You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."

She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.

"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."

Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."

"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.

She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.

"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."

You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.

"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.

After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.

She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.

"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.

You hesitate.

"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."

You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."

Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."

You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.

She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"

You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.

"Wait—Jenna, no!"

She's already typing.

"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.

You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"

"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."

"Jenna, I’m serious—"

"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"

Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."

Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.

"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."

Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."

And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"

"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"

"Can we not do this here?"

"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.

Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."

Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.

"What's her full name?"

Robby pauses. "What?"

Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."

Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.

Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.

But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.

"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"

"Jack." Robby warns.

"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."

"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."

Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.

[flashback]

You're both soaked.

It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.

"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"

He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."

"You’re impossible."

"You're slow."

You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.

"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.

"I think you'd miss me too much."

You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."

His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"

Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're the worst."

"Then you've got terrible taste."

[present day]

You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.

You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.

Fuck it.

Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?

You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.

You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.

You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.

Your heart stops.

Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.

Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.

He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.

You freeze.

All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.

You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.

You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.

It seems like Robby has moved on.

You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.

"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."

He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.

A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."

Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."

People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.

[flashback]

"So what happens after you leave?"

Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He sighs. "I know."

You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."

"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"

His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."

You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.

"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."

You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."

You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"

Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.

[present day]

You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.

Your hands still tremble a little.

You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.

This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.

You approach her quietly.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"

She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"

"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.

She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."

She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."

You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.

"And this is…?"

"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."

His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.

You were here.

He bolts.

"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"

But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.

He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.

He missed you.

"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"

"Robby!"

He turns at Dana’s voice.

She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."

Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you… Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove

Robby reads the letter once. Then again.

He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.

You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.

His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.

Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.

I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.

His brow furrows. Found someone?

He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.

His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.

You thought he was happy.

He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.

"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.

He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.

Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.

His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.

Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.

"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."

The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.

He should have been faster.

He should have found you.

But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.

A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.

You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.

"Jenna!" You scramble.

Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.

"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."

You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."

She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.

"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."

"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"

You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.

"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."

She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."

It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.

"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.

You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.

Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."

You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.

Your sister nods.

The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.

"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name. 

That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.

Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Robby!"

Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.

"Jack, I really just—"

"She's here."

Robby stops mid-step.

"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"

"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."

Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"

"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"

"Jack—"

"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."

Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.

He nods nervously. "Okay."

You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah." You frown.

You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"

It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.

As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.

"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.

Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"

Jenna tilts her head. "I might."

He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."

The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.

You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.

"Just wait in here," she says gently.

"Wait for—"

"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.

Robby.

He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You freeze. He sees you.

For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.

Robby braves himself to step closer to you.

"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"

You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.

He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"

You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."

He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.

"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."

You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."

"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."

Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.

Why is he crying?

He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.

You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.

Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.

"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."

"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"

"I—"

"I'm not with Collins."

You look at him. "What?"

"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."

You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."

You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.

He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."

"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."

You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."

Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."

"You left before I woke up."

"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."

"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."

Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.

"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."

You chuckle at that, still sniffing.

He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.

"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."

You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."

He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."

"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"The worst." He smiles a little.

"Then you've got horrible taste."

He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."

You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.

"Robby…" you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I do."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.

You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.

"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"

"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."

You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.

"We did that."

"Hell yeah we did."

--

hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @biggestsimponhere @thesnugglingduck @qardasngan @lol-im-done @daisydark @onlyrealjoy @sabrinaselina55 @borbalalikesdocs @livingavilaloca @evans-dejong @thinemineours @marvelousmissmaggie @maiamore @hagarsays @evermoresivy @capj-1437 @beebeechaos @obfuscateyummy @omgbrianab @honestlystop @jazzimac1967 @msdariaknight @cozyfanficnook @wowitsafemale @princessjayll @heyysolsister @mcuwhore7 @1mverstappen @aryacoulson @the-one-with-the-grey-color @ravenouswild @littlezee80 @gardeniarose13 @bitchy-bi-trash @breemary05-blog @arrowswithwifi

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 1 ┃ The Wrong Door

Male reader x Giselle

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing

I didn’t even want to be here.

Concerts aren’t my thing. Screaming fans? Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder, sweating, pulsing to the bass of some pop anthem? No thanks. I like silence. I like my own space. And I sure as hell don’t like being herded like livestock through a stadium entrance just to watch people I’ve never even heard of pretend to sing over backing tracks.

But Jackson insisted. And Dev had already bought the tickets. “It’s not about the music,” they said. “It’s about the experience.”

The experience. Right.

Now here I was, drowning in noise and neon and perfume and sweat, trying to keep my breathing steady while Korean girls I didn't care about danced like their lives depended on it. The crowd—mostly teenage girls and a few dangerously enthusiastic fanboys—screamed every time one of them so much as flipped their hair. Phones were everywhere. Lights blinked like strobes. It was a full-on sensory assault.

And I? I wasn't interested. I was one wrong beat away from walking out.

I got lucky. The screen overhead blinked INTERMISSION — 15:00 and the music stopped. The crowd didn’t exactly calm down, but they started shifting, standing, stretching, running for merch and bathrooms and selfies. I used the opportunity to slip out the side aisle and into the nearest hallway marked RESTROOMS + VIP SUITES.

It was quiet almost immediately. Blessedly so.

The noise of the stadium dropped behind me like a curtain, replaced by sterile lighting and the low thrum of vents overhead. I passed the bathrooms but kept walking. I needed a breather more than anything, a second to think, to feel like myself again. I checked my phone—no signal—and kept walking down the hall.

That’s when I saw it: a door left ajar. Soft light spilled out.

I should’ve turned around. I should’ve thought, Maybe this is someone’s private space. But something about the glow—the hush, the mystery of it—pulled at me. I was curious. And when I get curious, I don’t stop.

So I pushed it open.

It took me a second to realize I wasn’t alone. The room was dim, expensive, quiet. Everything in soft gold tones and warm leather. A mirrored vanity glowed along one wall, surrounded by bulbs. The scent hit me next—perfume, heady and rich, wrapped around the chill of champagne. I was halfway through processing the velvet couch and the untouched strawberries on crystal glassware when I saw HER.

She was standing barefoot in front of the mirror, half-turned, her back to me. Her outfit was more lingerie than clothing—black mesh, sequins, leather straps. Her pink hair was up but imperfectly, pieces falling like silk down her neck. She was in the middle of unclasping something at the back of her neck, unaware of—or ignoring—me.

And then she spoke.

“You’re early.”

Her voice was smooth, low. American accent. A little amused.

I froze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, instinctively. “I think I’m—uh, lost.”

She didn’t turn right away. Just paused with her fingers on the clasp. Then she looked at me over her shoulder—one eye catching the light, sharp as a blade.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think you are.”

I blinked. “I really am. I was looking for the bathroom and I guess I just—”

“You opened a marked door.”

“I didn’t see any signs—”

“There were signs,” she said, finally facing me.

She was beautiful. I’m not saying that in the way people do when they meet a celebrity. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t recognize her. I wasn’t starstruck. I was just... caught.

She had presence. Poise. Her body was slim but curved in all the places that made it impossible not to look. Her eyes didn’t smile, but they weren’t cold. They were calculating. Like she was building a character around me, testing how I’d react.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mylo.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Is that real?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You don’t look like a Mylo.”

I smirked despite myself. “What do I look like?”

She thought for a bit. “Like someone who doesn’t belong here.”

“Believe me, I don’t. I was just leaving—”

“No,” she said again, softly. “Stay.”

That word—that tone—should’ve sent me walking. But it didn’t. I stayed.

She moved toward me slowly, a kind of predatory grace in her bare feet and parted lips. Her body language was relaxed, but deliberate. Every step said she was in charge. Not of the room. Of me.

And I let her.

I couldn’t explain why, not then. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not like I was a stranger, but like I was hers. Like she already knew what she wanted to do with me and was just deciding whether I’d be worth the effort.

“You’re not one of the staff,” she said, mostly to herself.

“No.”

“You’re not with the crew. And you didn’t come with security.”

“No.”

She smiled. “Then what are you doing here, Mylo?”

“Wrong door,” I said again, but it sounded less convincing this time.

She took one more step, close enough now for me to feel the heat of her skin. Her eyes traveled down my body, not shy, not rushed. She lingered on my chest, my hips, the tension in my fingers.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

“No.” I hesitated. “Should I?”

That amused her. I could see the moment her mask cracked and something real flickered beneath it—surprise, maybe. Or interest. Or something darker.

“No,” she said finally as if she didn't believe me. “That makes this easier.”

She didn’t move for a long time.

Just stood there in front of me, arms loose at her sides, one foot slightly forward like she was deciding whether to get closer or make me come to her. She didn’t blink much. She watched me like she was reading, not listening. And somehow, I was the one who felt exposed, even though I still had all my clothes on and she… didn’t, really.

There was a quiet sort of violence in the air. Not danger exactly. More like potential. She hadn’t said what she wanted. But I knew she wanted something.

She turned back to the mirror without another word and picked up a square of folded tissue, wiping under one eye with careful precision. Glitter dusted onto her collarbone like something expensive and accidental. The strap of her outfit was still hanging loose, but she made no move to fix it.

I wasn’t sure if I should speak. So I didn’t.

“You said your name’s Mylo,” she said, her voice low again, casual. “Where are you from?”

“Long Beach.”

“Not local, then.”

“Close enough.”

She nodded, then looked at me in the mirror.

“What are you doing now?”

“Wrong turn.”

“No.” She tilted her head. “Now. In life.”

I let out a breath, almost a laugh. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“I’m serious.”

“Right now I’m… working freelance. Web development. Bit of UX. It’s not exciting.”

She turned. “Then why did you say it like it’s a secret?”

I didn’t have an answer.

She stepped closer, slowly, like she was making sure I didn’t spook. And I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was.

Her perfume hit me again—soft, floral, expensive. I still didn’t recognize her, but that was starting to feel irrelevant. She could’ve been an actress, a singer, a rich girl playing pretend. None of it would have changed the way she looked at me.

Like she was curious about how far she could push me before I’d say no.

“You’re nervous,” she said.

“I’m not.”

She smiled. “That’s cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

Her hand brushed the front of her thigh, fingers trailing slowly along her skin, just shy of deliberate. My brain scrambled for something to say, something to anchor me to reality. I was in a stadium. There was a concert happening. There were fifteen thousand people and a very real possibility that someone would walk in and see this.

I didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“You’ll find out when you’ve earned it.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“No.” She tilted her head. “But you’re fun to play with.”

Her foot arched slightly against the rug as she took another step forward. Close now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, could see the light sheen of sweat at the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch her. Just one fingertip. Just to know she was real.

“Don’t,” she said softly, like she’d read my mind.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Liar.”

A pause.

She looked down at the front of my shirt, then up again. “You don’t look like the type who follows orders.”

“I’m not.”

Her smile was slow and private. “Good.”

She reached for the strap still hanging loose on her shoulder. Slid it back into place. Not to hide. Just to reset the board.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the velvet loveseat.

I hesitated.

“I said sit.”

So I did.

She crossed the room without looking at me again, poured a fresh glass of champagne, dropped a single strawberry in like a garnish. Then she sat on the couch—opposite to me, one leg tucked under the other, facing me directly. Like we were equals. Like this wasn’t her room and I wasn’t the one trespassing.

“You ever break into places, Mylo?”

“No.”

“Shame. You’re good at it.”

I watched her run a finger down the side of her glass. Slow. Rhythmic.

“You think this is a mistake?” I asked.

She looked up. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

Neither of us moved.

She didn’t touch me.

Not at first.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

“You’re being... a lot.”

Her smile curled slightly. “Too much?”

“No.” I shifted. “Not enough.”

She tilted her head, pleased. Her eyes dropped to my hands. I didn’t realize I’d been clenching them. She noticed everything.

“You like following orders,” she said.

I shook my head. “No. Not usually.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “But you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I guess I want to see what happens next,” I said.

That seemed to satisfy her. She leaned back into the couch, legs crossed, and looked me over like I was both trespasser and specimen.

“Take off your jacket,” she said.

I didn’t move.

She gave me a look—subtle, expectant.

I took off my jacket.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was intentional. Like she was seeing how comfortable I could get under pressure.

“You ever think about what it would be like,” she said, “to be told what to do?”

“I’ve had bosses before.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

A pause.

She stood. Walked over to me—slow, barefoot, measured—and knelt in front of the chair I was sitting in. Her knees brushed mine. She didn’t reach for me. Just looked up, eyes steady, close enough that I could see the darker ring around her irises.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I am going to take you apart.”

My breath caught.

“And when I do,” she added, brushing her fingers just barely against the inside of my thigh, “I’ll expect you to say thank you.”

Still, I didn’t move.

Her eyes stayed on me.

She watched the way I exhaled. The way I shifted in my seat. She could feel the tension building, and she didn’t need to do a damn thing to feed it.

“You like restraint,” she said, almost to herself.

“You’ve seen me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t need more.”

I smirked. “And what do you like?”

“Control.”

“That’s obvious.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Not power. Not winning. Just control.”

“Is there a difference?”

“One makes you loud. The other makes you patient.”

She stood again and walked past me toward the mirrored vanity to admire herself. This time, she didn’t check to see if I was watching.

She knew I was.

“I don’t usually let people in here,” she said.

“I don’t usually wander into strangers’ rooms.”

“Yet here we are.”

She turned, walking back—slow, sure, calculated. There was nothing casual about it. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug, but she moved with the intention of heels. Stopping just in front of me, she leaned in and placed both palms on the arms of the chair. She didn’t touch me. Not quite.

But her body was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. Her breath was just below my mouth. Her perfume wrapped around me like a second atmosphere.

“You want to kiss me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

I hesitated.

And she smiled—knowing, satisfied.

“Thought so,” she whispered, and pulled back before I could say anything at all.

She sat on the edge of the couch again, back straight, watching me like a tiger lounging just out of reach.

“What do you do,” I asked, voice a little hoarse, “when you get bored?”

Her smile was a slow burn. “Get un-bored.”

She tapped the empty cushion beside her.

“Come here.”

I did.

She turned to face me fully, legs folding under her again, this time closer. Her thigh touched mine. Her hand landed on my knee.

“You’ve been good so far,” she said. “I think I’ll keep going.”

The air in the room tightened.

She moved slowly—her hand trailing up my thigh, featherlight. Her nails grazed the fabric of my pants. Her fingers reached the crease at my hip and paused.

“You can stop me at any time,” she said.

I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t want to.

She leaned in. Her lips were glossy and full and tasted like strawberries and something darker. The kiss was slow. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Commanding.

She kissed me like she was showing me how. Like I’d do it wrong if she didn’t teach me.

Her hand kept moving—along the inside of my thigh, up, then over. She didn’t grip me yet. Just touched. Just explored. The anticipation was maddening.

And then she whispered it, low against my mouth:

“Undo your pants.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be. It threaded into me like static. I looked at her—half disbelieving, half burning.

She arched one eyebrow, still calm. Still collected. Like we were discussing dinner options, not sex.

My fingers moved before I could overthink it.

Button. Zipper. The sound was deafening in the quiet. Her eyes never left my hands. She watched the reveal like it was a gift she already knew she’d earned.

“Good,” she murmured.

Her hand slid under my waistband, nails grazing skin, and that was the first real contact that made my breath catch. Her fingers were warm, deliberate. She wasn’t shy. She wrapped them around me like she’d done it a thousand times—but wanted to relearn this exact shape.

She exhaled softly, pleased. “You’re hard.”

“Of course I am.”

“Because I told you to be?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Liar.”

Her thumb dragged slowly over the head of my cock. I flinched—too much, too sensitive, too not-in-control—and that just made her smile widen. She leaned in again, kissed me with that same slow, claiming heat, and her hand stroked lazily, like she had all the time in the world and knew exactly how fast not to go.

I kissed her harder.

Tried to take some ground back. Hands moving to her hips, her waist, her lower back. But she broke the kiss and pulled back an inch.

“No hands.”

I froze.

She held my gaze, waiting.

And I let go.

Her smile told me exactly what that gave her.

She leaned in again and bit my bottom lip—just enough to leave a sting.

“You’ll touch me when I say you can.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

My breath left me all at once. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Her hands slid my pants down further, then my boxers, freeing me completely. Her eyes stayed locked on mine as she lowered her head and pressed the flat of her tongue against the base of my shaft.

Slow.

Upward.

Warm, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt through my whole body.

She didn’t rush. She licked. She tasted. She dragged her mouth along me like she was memorizing the shape of my shaft. Then, with the faintest hum of satisfaction, she took me into her mouth—just the head, just enough to make me want to shove my hips forward, just enough to make me hold still.

She knew.

She was watching for the twitch of my thigh. The clench of my jaw. Her hand stroked in time with her mouth, lazy, devastating, a rhythm designed to drive a man out of his body without ever letting him finish.

And she wasn't letting me finish.

Every time my breath caught, she stopped. Pulled back. Let her tongue flick once, twice, too lightly to give me relief. She kissed the tip like she was thanking me for the privilege. Then started again.

And again.

And again.

Until I was panting, fists clenched at my sides, every part of me straining not to move. Not to grab her. Not to fuck her mouth the way I wanted to.

She pulled back completely.

Wiped her mouth with her thumb.

Then looked up at me with those sharp, unfazed eyes and said, “Good boy.”

She stayed on her knees.

Not because she had to. Because she liked the angle. She liked the view. She liked that I was still sitting there, pants around my thighs, chest rising like I’d just finished a workout—and she wasn't letting me cum.

She dragged the back of her fingers up the length of my thigh, the touch so light it barely existed, like she was testing whether I was ticklish. I wasn’t. But I was sensitive. Every nerve tuned to her. Every inch of me vibrating from her touch.

She looked pleased with herself. No—she looked composed. Like she could’ve done that to anyone and stayed perfectly unaffected.

That bothered me.

Not enough to stop. Not yet.

“Still with me?” she asked, smiling like we were just chatting over coffee.

“Barely.”

“Good.” She stood. Slow again. Unbothered. She stepped out of the loose arc of my pants on the floor, hands smoothing down her sides as she crossed the room.

She didn’t go far. Just to the mirror again. Touched up her lips. Adjusted a strap. Like this was an intermission in her show.

She glanced at me through the mirror. “You’ve got a nice mouth when you’re quiet.”

“Thought you liked control.”

“I do.”

“Don't get used to it.” I said with a slight smile

That earned me a sharper look. But no protest. She let the tension sit.

Then she walked back to me, bent over, and kissed me again—harder this time. Her tongue pushed into my mouth with zero hesitation, and she moaned softly when I kissed her back like I meant it.

She tasted like strawberries.

Her body moved against mine—shoulders, chest, hips—grinding down slow as she pushed me back into the cushions. She swung a leg over and straddled me, her outfit brushing bare skin in all the right ways and none of the convenient ones.

She reached behind her, grabbed both my wrists, and pulled them up over my head.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

Her hips rolled against me once, then again. Her breath caught—just slightly—and I caught it, too. Her control wasn’t an act. But it had cracks. Beautiful ones. And I liked finding them.

She leaned down, mouth at my ear.

“You’re going to fuck me.”

I swallowed. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll wait.”

Her hips shifted again—slow, deep grind, no friction where I needed it, just enough heat to scramble every thought in my skull.

“I’m going to ride you,” she said, like it was a lecture. “Until I’m done with you.”

I met her eyes.

“And what happens after that?”

She smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She reached between us, tugging the crotch of her bodysuit to the side with practiced ease. I heard the slick stretch of fabric, the shift in her breath as her fingers slid down—coating her inner thighs, spreading herself open right above me.

She was wet.

Not fake-moaning wet. Not porn-scene wet.

Dripping.

She held me in place, pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, and then—

She sank down, inch by inch.

No rush. No pause. Just steady descent, her heat swallowing me whole, her breath catching, then stuttering out in a quiet, barely-there gasp. My hands gripped the sides of the chair so hard I thought the frame might crack. Her walls clenched around me like velvet and vice, her thighs tightening at my hips, her nails raking lightly over my chest as she adjusted to the full stretch.

She didn’t move right away. She stayed seated on me, full and still, like the moment itself was enough.

And then she whispered:

“There.”

Her hips began to move—smooth, controlled rolls, grinding down into me like she wanted to leave a bruise. Every time she shifted, I could feel how deep I was inside her. I could see the concentration on her face. This wasn’t for me. Not yet. This was her rhythm, her pressure, her high.

And god, watching her take it was better than any porn I’d ever seen.

Her hair came loose as she moved. Her head tilted back. She bit her bottom lip hard, and I wanted to suck it out from between her teeth. Her body flexed, sweat starting to bead at her chest, and I couldn’t decide where to look—her tits, bouncing just under the thin mesh of her bodysuit, or her face as she came closer and closer to the edge.

I held still. Let her use me.

And then she started talking.

“Harder,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Faster—fuck—just like that.”

Her hands slid up my chest, to my shoulders, and she grabbed tight. Used me for leverage. Started bouncing, not gently now—driven, messy, beautiful. She moaned, cursed, clenched tighter with every bounce, until—

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, over and over. “Don’t fucking stop—”

She was riding me like she owned me.

And in that moment, I let her. I fucking loved it.

Her pussy was unreal—tight, soaked, gripping me like she wanted to wring every drop out of my body. Her thighs slapped down against me with each stroke, and the sound of it—wet, hot, shameless—made it impossible to think. I was deep inside her, over and over, my cock pulsing every time she ground down and stayed there just long enough to clench.

I looked up at her—body arching, lips parted, eyes half-shut—and I swear I could’ve come just watching her move.

She was into it.

Head thrown back. Moaning with every bounce. Fingernails dragging across my chest. Riding like she needed it, like she was getting off on the fact that I wasn’t allowed to move.

And I wasn’t. I didn’t grab her hips. I didn’t flip her. I held still and let her take it.

Because watching her unravel like this?

Fucking addicting.

Her hands found the back of the chair, bracing. She leaned forward and the change in angle made me groan—deeper now, tighter. Her tits bounced right in front of me, barely covered by her bodysuit. I leaned up, took a nipple in my mouth through the mesh, sucked hard.

She gasped. Bucked.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop,” she begged, riding harder, fucking me like her orgasm was right on the edge and I was the last thing holding it in.

I bit her. Just a little.

She lost it.

“Ahh! O.. Oh!... Aghh! AAAH!”

Her body locked down around me—tight, hot, pulsing as she came. Her moan was sharp, sudden, desperate. She grinded through it, wringing herself out on my cock until she was panting against my neck, shaking.

And then, breathless—still straddling me—she laughed.

Low. Lazy. Satisfied.

“God,” she murmured, “you fuck like you’re broke.”

That word hit different.

I blinked.

“What?”

She looked at me, smiling. Still high off it. “I mean it as a compliment,” she said. “You fuck like you need it.”

The air shifted.

She leaned in, playful, mouth against my ear. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

No answer.

“I could,” she purred. “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You could just do this—stay hard, stay pretty—let me keep you. I have a lot of mon-” 

My hand shot up, wrapping around her throat—not hard, not dangerous, just enough to shock her system.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.

“Ah—!”

I shoved her back, flat on the couch, my grip still snug around her throat, and she gasped again, this time sharper. Her legs twitched around me. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something clever—but no words came.

“You think you can buy me?” I said, voice low, rough.

She shook her head slightly, lips parted.

“I was just teasing—”

“Bullshit.”

“Mylo…” Her voice cracked, breathy and high. “Wait—”

“No,” I growled. “You don’t get to lead anymore.”

Her pupils blew wide. Her chest rose faster.

But she didn’t push me off. Didn’t tell me to stop.

She wanted to know what it felt like when I wasn’t pretending.

I grabbed her wrists, pressed them hard above her head, and crashed my mouth down onto hers—biting, taking, tasting the gloss off her lips like punishment.

She moaned against me.

“Mmnh—fuck—!”

My hips slammed forward. She gasped again, eyes flying wide as I pushed back into her in one deep, hard stroke.

“Oh! Ohhh—f-fuck—!”

Her body jerked. Her legs reflexively wrapped around my waist, but I wasn’t gentle. I slammed into her again, holding her down, making her feel it.

“AHH—ah—Mylo!”

“You wanted this,” I snarled. “So take it.”

She whimpered.

“Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—!”

I gripped her hips and rolled them up, shifting the angle, and slammed in again, deeper this time. Her back arched and she screamed.

“OHHH! GOD—AAAH!”

Her whole body was starting to fall apart. Her voice was shaky, her hands scrambling for anything to hold. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. Her tits bounced wildly beneath me with every thrust.

She bit her lip. Hard.

“Don’t hold back,” I growled. “I want to hear it.”

Her eyes fluttered.

And then she let go.

“…more…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, like it had to claw its way up from deep inside her.

But I heard it.

And I fucking delivered.

I grabbed her by the thighs, yanked her body to the edge of the couch, and stood up just enough to drive into her with my full weight.

“AHHH—!”

Her scream echoed.

She clawed at the cushions, gasping, moaning, totally undone.

Her pussy was soaked—wrecked—from her orgasm, still fluttering around my cock, begging for mercy it wasn’t going to get. I pounded into her, fast and deep, hips snapping against her ass, and the sound of it was obscene—wet and hot and perfect.

“FUCK—! Mylo—ohmygod—ohmygod!”

“You’re still talking?” I growled. “I thought you gave that up.”

“Ah—ahh—! I—I can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You’re taking every inch,” I said. “Don’t pretend you can’t.”

I pinned her thighs wide with one arm and leaned down, dragging my teeth across her chest before I sucked one of her nipples deep into my mouth. Her body arched.

“OHHH—oh fuck! Fuck—Mylo—yes!”

Her hands flew to my hair, pulling, scratching, grounding herself while I sucked hard, my hips never stopping. I bit down—just enough to make her cry out again—and switched sides, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, wet and relentless.

She was panting. Moaning. Whimpering.

Completely gone.

“Ahh! Oh—ohh fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—”

“Good,” I grunted. “Give it to me.”

I reached down, thumb circling her clit, tight and fast, no mercy.

“No—no no no—fuuuck!”

Her thighs clenched around me, hips bucking wildly, and then her whole body snapped. She screamed—

“AHHH—AAAHHH—OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”

Her pussy clamped down on me like a vice, her second orgasm crashing through her like it caught her off guard. She sobbed my name, twisting underneath me, heels pounding the couch, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body convulsed.

I didn’t stop.

I grinned.

“You’re not done.”

She whimpered—shaky, broken, breathless. “M-Mylo—please—!”

I pulled out.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness.

But I didn’t give her time to think. I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, and shoved her onto her knees.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders. Her back arched. Her ass was round, high, perfect—and dripping.

I lined up behind her.

“You’re gonna remember this,” I said.

And I slammed back inside her.

“AAAHHH! OH FUCK!”

Her hands clawed at the couch, knuckles white.

I gripped her hips and drove into her like I wanted to split her in half. Her pussy was tighter like this, deeper, hotter—perfect. She was shaking already, moaning like she couldn’t stop.

“F-fuck—yes—yes! HARDER—!”

“Like this?” I growled, slamming in faster.

“AHHH! FUCK YES—!”

Her ass slapped against my hips with every thrust, her breath coming in broken gasps, her cries bouncing off the walls.

“You love being used,” I said.

“YES—!”

“You love when I fuck you like this.”

“YES! YES—fuck—I’m yours—!”

My hand tangled in her hair, yanked her head back. I leaned over, chest against her back, lips at her ear.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Fuck—Mylo—I’m yours!”

And then she broke.

Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking, pussy clenching so tight I nearly lost it.

“Ohhh—oh fuck—I’m gonna—gonna—AAAHHHH!”

She came again, louder than before, her voice hoarse from screaming, tears in her eyes, body jerking against mine like she couldn’t control it anymore.

I wrapped my arms around her and kept thrusting.

Long.

Deep.

Cruel.

She sobbed my name like a prayer. Like she meant it.

“Ahh… Mylo… ohhh—fuck—fuck—”

And I was still inside her.

Still pounding her. Still filling her. Still using her.

But slower now.

Crueler.

Each thrust was long, deep, deliberate. Dragging along every inch of her, making her whimper and gasp as her whole body melted forward against the cushions.

Her thighs were twitching. Her hands limp. She was trying to stay upright, trying to catch her breath—but I didn’t stop.

I wanted her at the edge. I wanted to fuck her into something wordless.

So I grabbed her hips and slammed into her again, harder than before.

“AHHH! Aghh—ohmygod—Mylo!”

She nearly collapsed. Her forehead hit the cushion. Her ass quivered with the shock of it. Her pussy clenched like she was trying to hold me in.

“You hear that?” I growled, pulling almost all the way out—then driving back in, fast, loud, wet.

Slap.

“F-fuck! Ahhh—yes—yes—!”

I kept going. Hard. Brutal.

My balls slapped against her with every thrust, heavy and obscene. Her moans pitched higher and higher—raw now, broken, no rhythm or performance left.

“AHH! AH! I-I can’t—! Mylo—I—”

“You can,” I snapped.

She tried to shake her head but her body betrayed her.

And then she started crying out.

Short, fast, choked cries between gasps.

“Ahh! Oh! O.. Oh! M-Mylo—I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking—AAAHHH!”

I leaned forward, wrapped my arm around her waist, and hauled her up to her knees.

“Not yet.”

She sobbed. Literally sobbed.

“Mylo—I c-can’t—please—I’m gonna—”

I reached down and rubbed her clit. Just once.

That’s all it took.

She exploded.

Her whole body locked. Her mouth dropped open and a noise came out that wasn’t even human.

“AHHH! OHH! AAAHH—MYLO—FUCK—FUCK—FUUUCK!”

Her pussy milked my cock, hard. Over and over. Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, twisting her body into mine, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. She was panting, trembling, completely wrecked.

I didn’t stop.

I pulled out—slowly, watching her body shake.

Then I flipped her over and dragged her down onto the rug in front of me.

On her knees.

Her face was red, glowing, dazed. Her lips were parted, shining with spit. Her chest rose and fell fast, tits marked from where I’d sucked them raw. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably.

I grabbed my cock—wet, slick, twitching—and jerked it in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“I want you to see it,” I said.

She nodded. Barely.

I stroked. Hard. Fast.

She stuck her tongue out. Just a little. Just enough.

I groaned—fuck—I was close.

“Touch yourself,” I ordered.

Her hand slid between her legs instantly.

She moaned.

“Ahh… ah—fuck…”

Her fingers rubbed frantically against her clit, still sensitive, still soaked. She didn’t even try to play it cool anymore. She moaned like a whore—desperate, breathy, begging for it.

“Cum with me,” I said.

And we did.

I growled, jerked hard—and exploded.

Hot ropes splattered her lips, her chin, her tongue. She gasped, eyes closing, moaning as her own orgasm took her again—so raw she didn’t even scream this time, just shook, body twitching as I painted her skin.

She came without a word. Just noise.

“Mmhh… ahh… ahhh…”

She swallowed. Licked her lips. Eyes glazed, face ruined.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

She leaned into my chest, breath hitching, heartbeat stuttering.

And for the first time that night—

She was quiet.

Curled up against me, silent, skin hot and flushed, her breath still uneven. I could feel her heartbeat through her chest, fast and light, ticking against my ribs like a metronome that hadn’t slowed down yet.

Neither of us spoke.

She didn’t need to.

Her body was saying everything.

The way she clung to me—legs tangled with mine, face tucked into the curve of my shoulder, one arm draped across my stomach like she couldn’t let go even if she wanted to. She felt small like that. Breakable. Even though five minutes ago, she was grinding on top of me like she was trying to kill me.

Now she was soft. Quiet. Bare.

My hand ran lazily up and down her back. Just skin and slow movement. Every few seconds she twitched, her hips jolting just a little—oversensitive, still riding out the shockwaves.

She made a little sound into my chest.

“Mmh…”

“You good?”

She nodded against my skin. “Mhm.”

“You sure?”

She laughed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think my legs work.”

I smiled.

“I can’t feel my face, either,” she added.

I reached up and ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead.

“Cute,” I said.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, nudging me with her nose.

But she smiled. I felt it.

We stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Cooling off. The tension between us had gone slack, melted down into something warmer. Calmer. Her body fit against mine like it was supposed to be there.

I looked down and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted, nuzzling against my chest like a sleepy cat.

“Seriously though,” she said after a while, voice scratchy and small. “That was…”

She didn’t finish.

“That was,” I agreed.

She laughed again, then yawned, and her leg slid between mine.

“God,” she said. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah. You fucked someone you don't even know the name of.”

“I asked. It also didn't seem that important at the time.”

“Still doesn’t?”

I glanced down. “I suppose it does. Your name?”

She looked up at me, half-lidded.

“Giselle.”

We just stared at each other for a second. Neither of us smiling now. Just… seeing each other.

“I liked when you didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I liked it too.”

She rested her cheek on my chest again. Slower now. Breathing deeper.

“Just… don’t get weird about it.”

I blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Like…” Her voice softened. “Don’t start acting different now that you know.”

I hesitated. “Know what?”

She lifted her head, squinting slightly. “You know… that I’m… in Aespa?”

I blinked. “What’s Aespa?”

She stared at me. Silent. Waiting for the punchline.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

She blinked. Twice.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, half-laughing. “You really don't know!”

“Nope.”

“You came to our concert.”

“My friends dragged me.”

“Jesus.” She flopped back down on my chest, stunned. “I think I just came harder.”

We stayed like that for another few minutes. Her body pressed against mine, skin warm, lips still curled in that breathless little smirk. Every so often, she’d hum, or shift slightly, or let out this content, melted sigh like she still hadn’t landed yet.

“You’re insane, you know,” she murmured, tracing a lazy circle on my chest.

“Because I don't know who you were?”

“Because you don't care.”

I smiled, eyes closed. “Still don’t.”

Her fingers stopped moving. For a second I thought I’d said the wrong thing.

But then she whispered, “That’s probably the hottest thing you’ve said all night.”

I cracked one eye open. “That’s saying something.”

“Oh, I know. I was there.”

She leaned up and kissed me, slow and unhurried. I kissed her back, brushing my thumb along her jaw, letting her taste linger. She pulled back just an inch.

“So what happens now?” she asked, voice small.

I paused.

“Whatever you want.”

Her lips pressed together. Not uncertain. Just… thoughtful.

But then—

Knock knock knock.

Her entire body froze.

I lifted my head.

There it was again—three clean knocks, firm and casual.

“Giselle?” a voice called through the door. Female. Confident. “They’re waiting on us for the group shot.”

She swore under her breath and rolled off me, grabbing at the nearest sheet.

“Shit, shit—fuck, that’s Karina.”

“Karina?”

She gave me a wild look. “One of the girls. From the group.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

She scrambled for her phone and grabbed a tissue box off the vanity. I watched her wipe her inner thighs, dab under her eyes, fix her lips in the mirror. She still looked flushed. Hair tangled. But some of the damage was masked.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “I can’t walk out there looking like I just got wrecked.”

“You did,” I said.

“Don’t be proud of that.”

She shoved me toward the closet. “Hide. Please.”

I hesitated. She pushed again.

“Unless you want to get recognized and tossed off the balcony.”

That was enough.

I ducked into the small walk-in just as she called out, “Be right there!”

From inside, I heard the door unlock. Hinges creaking. Light footsteps.

“Everything okay?” Karina asked. Closer now. Her voice smooth. A little suspicious.

“Yeah,” Giselle replied, now perfectly calm. “Just needed a minute.”

A pause.

“You look like a mess.”

Giselle laughed, and it was almost too good. “Tried a new lash glue. Bad idea.”

Karina snorted. “It looks like you cried in a club bathroom.”

“I kind of did.”

“You want me to stall them?”

“No. I’m good now.”

Silence.

And then, just as the door started to close—

“You sure you were alone in here?”

My heart stopped.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “Of course I was,” she said, smooth as ever. “Why?”

Karina didn’t answer right away.

Then: “No reason.”

The door shut.

A lock clicked.

A few seconds later, the closet opened.

Giselle stood there—still glowing, still breathless, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she whispered.

I pulled her in for a kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 2

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Meant To Be (3)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky helps you adjust to the modern world.

Disclaimer: This is part three to Meant To Be (2). Fluff, flashbacks/descriptions of life in the 40s with Bucky and the others, platonic!Sam, mention of character deaths, reader is on a little bit of an emotional roller-coaster when trying to adjust but Bucky helps, dancing in the kitchen to music, all the feels. Not Proof Read.

“Thought I might find you here.”

You turned your head to see Sam approaching you as you sat, alone, in the Smithsonian.

“Hey.”

Sam smiled. “Hey. Mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead.”

As Sam sat beside you, he looked up to the projector screen. Clips of your old life had been playing for the last two hours or more. It has taken all of an hour on the phone with Tony for the Smithsonian to consider sending the film reels over, and all of five minutes talking to Pepper for them to agree. 

You’d seen a lot of the popular clips MJ had told you about; Steve and Bucky laughing, Peggy’s picture in Steve’s compass, the marching soldiers. You’d even seen some clips of you and Bucky. Moments you didn’t realise that had been recorded. 

It made your heart ache. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s everything to talk about. Food. Music. The fact Bucky still prefers 40s music over Marvin Gaye.”

You chuckled and Sam smiled, relieved to see at least a hint of a smile on your face. 

You’d been in the future for almost three months. And, while he’d seen you smile around the boys and a few others. He still saw that longing look in your eyes. He still saw the hitch in your breathing every time you looked up and someone walked inside. 

The others saw it, too. Especially Bucky. But parts of them were too afraid to ask. They’d lived in the future a lot longer than you. For Steve, he’d been asleep for most of it. And for Bucky, he’d been tortured. Made into someone else for seventy years. 

You? In the blink of an eye, you’d gone from living in 1944 to suddenly appearing in the home of, who would have probably been, your godson.

“Come on. Talk to me. I promise, I’m a really good secret keeper.”

You smiled and shook your head, letting some old clips run through. “I…” The tears came to your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do here. I-I know I don’t go back. And I know I’m probably here for the rest of my life but…I don’t know what I’m meant to do.”

Sam just sat and listened to you. 

“One day I’m writing things down; military secrets, my own secrets, notes to share with the boys. One day I’m yelling at Howard to get up, threatening to throw a cold bucket of water over his head.” You laughed, but all it did was try to mask the pain. “The next…the next I’m being told one of my best friends didn’t get to live his life out with the love of his life, another went through seventy years of torture and the rest are dead.”

You took a breath and looked at the clip playing on the screen. Peggy and you directing where things would be taking place on the map table. Bucky was standing behind you before he carried a larger map over and Steve circled different spots where he knew camps had been set up. 

For you, that clip took place six months ago. 

“And now I’m watching clips of my life that to me…only just happened. And…I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“You’re grieving.” Sam told you. “You’re having to say goodbye to a lot of people very quickly. Which is insane. But it’s gonna be a process. Even if you think you’re ready to mentally accept it, sometimes your body isn’t. You need to give it time.”

You scoffed a little. “That seems to be all I have. Time. Time to think. Time to remember. Time to catch up on Time. Sam, if none of this happened, I’d probably be dead by now, if not, on my way out.”

“But you’re not. Instead, you’re here. You’re alive, and so is Steve and Bucky. Believe me, I get it. You’ve come from a war and, just because you’ve come home doesn’t mean that it’s stopped. But all you need to do right now is rest.”

You talked to Sam for an hour or more before eventually the conversation died away and you were both left to sit and watch the different film reels. But as the dates got slightly sporadic, the clips became more…intimate. 

One started playing out from when you’d all been stationed in London. You’d all ended up at a dance hall somewhere outside the city. It was only a small space but people seemed to create enough room for couples to dance. 

Peggy was in the corner, introducing Steve to some of her old friends. You were standing by one of the posts, watching everyone on the floor sway to the music and Bucky, like usual, had a crowd of girls around him. 

You turned your attention away from the clip of Bucky in hopes to kill the pang of jealousy inside your chest. 

“They really loved each other, didn’t they?”

You knew who Sam was talking about. And you nodded with a ghost of a smile. “They really did.”

But that was when Sam’s attention was torn from the happy couple towards Bucky who, although had been smiling and laughing with three girls who’d crowded around him, his attention was caught somewhere else. 

Rather, on someone else. 

You. 

Looking over his shoulder at you, Sam watched your reaction before looking back to Bucky as he apologised to the girls and disappeared. He was heading straight for you. Taking your drink from you, he shocked you as he placed it on the table beside you before he took your hand in his and brought you to the floor. 

Sam could faintly hear the music playing from the band. “We’ll meet again. Don’t know where. Don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day…”

Never in his life had Sam seen Bucky dance. Not with anyone. But that wasn’t what shocked him. What shocked him was the look on Bucky’s face. A smile. A genuine smile. The kind a man only ever saved for the love of his life.

Unlike some of the other couples on the floor, Bucky held you close to him. His arm practically wrapped around you completely in comparison to some of the other dancers. This was not a man who was prepared to let you go. 

With your hand in his, his fingers caressed the back of your hand and his feet led you both around in a small circle. 

“When was this?” Sam asked quietly in order to not scare you. You were engrossed with the clip. Clearly, you were reliving the scene as you watched it play out. 

You swallowed thickly. “1942…I think. We…we were stationed in London. He always saved me a dance. I’ve always had two left feet so I didn’t dance much but…”

“Doesn’t seem like you’ve got two left feet, there.”

You smiled, fondly. “He’s a good dance partner.”

Sam chuckled under his breath before watching the rest of the clip with you. 

Sam had never asked Bucky complete questions about you before you appeared. Bucky wasn’t exactly a talkative guy, so he’d just wait for him to open up. But after you returned and he saw the way Bucky tried to never leave your side, he asked him the one question he’d been dying to ask since Bucky had first said your name. 

“How long have you been in love with her?”

All Bucky could say was, “Too long.”. 

And watching this clip, Sam realised what Bucky had meant. You’d been tattooed on his heart since he first met you. Even when he was the Winter Soldier, he still got flashbacks of you. Even when he left Wakanda, part of him still wanted you to be alive somewhere. 

Whenever he went on a date, your name on his heart only burned deeper into his muscles. He’d been consumed by you since he probably first met you. And he didn’t want it any other way. 

The clip ran out before a new one started up. 

Home videos. 

These were even more precious, because there weren't very many.

The first one to play was from the day you’d all been on the beach. Howard’s home led out to it. 

“Dugan! Put that camera down and come and join us!” You heard Peggy yell. 

You smiled, thankful to hear their voices again. 

From the beach day, however, one clip stood out to you the most. 

You were lying on one of the sunbeds under the shade, reading. And from behind you, Bucky had snuck up on you before plucking the book from your hands. Turning around, he read a few sentences out loud as he walked away. 

“James! Hey, give that back!” You laughed as you stood up and followed after him. 

“Who brings a book to the beach, doll? You’ll only be taking half of this place back with you.”

“Then I’ll collect it in a jar as a keepsake. Would you-just-” You gave a huff as Bucky held your book well out of reach. 

“Join us. Just one game. Please?” He begged, his eyes softening. 

“Yeah! Come on, sweet cheeks! You’re missing out!”

You turned around to look at Howard who hit the volleyball back to Peggy. Then you turned back to Bucky, his eyes somehow even softer. 

You groaned. “Fine. But then you’ll give me my book back?”

Bucky stood to attention before placing a cross over his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart, doll…”

You eyed him up, humming. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You could remember that day. You ended up playing three rounds before the entire thing became a football game nobody kept score of. Peggy beat most of the boys, Steve stared at her in adoration. 

But for the first time, you noticed Bucky looking at you. 

You remembered turning around that day, thinking he’d been looking at Steve and Peggy. But…

From the clip, it was clear as day he was looking at you. 

And it took your breath away. 

You only spotted it more and more as the clips played through. 

You and Bucky lay together, heads touching as you held your book above you both, reading out loud. Some of the Commandos had fallen asleep on the sofas, listening to your voice read. But Bucky hadn’t. His eyes were fully on you. 

The clips from when a photographer had been hired to take a group shot of the entire team. The video was taken from behind the photographer. 

You pointed out who everyone was to Sam and what they were doing. Then you both noticed Bucky looking at you before you turned your head to look at him. 

Then something started to dawn on you. 

Most of the time whenever you’d look at Bucky…

“He was already looking at you,” Sam said, out loud. 

“Yeah…”

Sam had sat on the bench in front of you, stretching himself out as he propped himself up on his elbow. He looked up at you where you’d barely moved from your seat since he arrived. 

And from the look on your face, Sam wondered if his bet with Steve wouldn’t run as long as he thought. 

It was a few days later, when you were sitting in the living room, flipping through some fictional novels MJ had dropped off for you, that you saw Bucky again. 

“Hey.”

You looked up. “Hey.”

As he stood by the door, looking a little awkward, he held a brown box in his arms. “I just…I thought you might…”

He walked inside before placing the box down carefully on the coffee table in front of you. 

“What is it? I swear to god, Bucky, if this is some kind of makeshift animal habitat I’m gonna-”

Bucky shook his head, trying to hide his smile. There was only one reason why you thought that’s what it was and that was because you’d both been rooting through Howard’s basement one sunny afternoon before meeting the others at the beach. 

That was where you’d found out Howard was thinking about starting an animal sanctuary for all kinds of animals. 

“No. No, it’s nothing like that.” Bucky said, slight amusement in his voice. “It’s…after you disappeared, Colonel Phillips…” Bucky had never had to say the words out loud before. 

When he’d come home with a box of your things, Steve didn’t need to be told what it meant. The military saw you as dead and needed to replace you as quickly as they could. 

“He had me clean out your desk and I couldn’t think about throwing any of it away.”

“Oh.”

Bucky carefully sat beside you as you reached over and pulled the lid from the box. It smelled like the 40s. 

“I didn’t even know it still existed until I moved in here. They must have kept everything from Steve’s apartment after he went into the ice. I didn’t ask him where it went or how he got it back. I was just glad to know your things still existed.”

Reaching inside, you pulled out a few old notepads, aged with colour. To you, they’d been brand new, straight out of their packaging a few months ago. 

Then you found the pictures. With a sad smile, you wiped the dust away from the frame. A picture of yourself, Peggy, Steve, Howard and Bucky. It had been a rare night out in Brooklyn. 

Another picture of Steve and the Howling Commandos with Peggy beside him. One of yourself, Howard and Mr Jarvis. It was grainy, but you could still see the reflection of Jarvis’ wife in the gleaming windows behind you. She’d been adamant to not be in the picture since she wanted a copy of all three of you, too. 

Scrap pieces of paper were bundled together. Notes to give Peggy her pen back, find Steve a pack of fresh pencils since he’d picked up a habit of breaking them. He still wasn’t used to his strength. A note to attend the meeting with Peggy and the Colonel on Thursday, a note to run your recruit papers down to City Hall since you’d agreed to take three trainees under your wing, and one final note…

Museum with James, this Saturday.

The ink had worn with time, but the sentiment had only grown. 

He’d asked you to the new museum exhibit. He’d asked you that day. That morning. 

“There’s also this.”

You turned and looked at Bucky before looking down at his hands. Your notebook. The one you kept locked in your desk drawer. It took your breath away as you took it in your hands. 

All the conversations you’d had with him, all the dates you’d been on together. But after the day of your disappearance, the handwriting changed. 

It was no longer yours, but Bucky’s. You’d seen enough of his half finished paperwork that he’d try to sneak into your pile to know his handwriting almost immediately. 

It wasn’t listed by dates, but with a line drawn under each section, you knew they were day by day. 

“I kept it with me.” Bucky told you. “Everything I wanted to talk to you about.”

You fought your hardest to keep your tears at bay. “These dashes? What do they mean?”

“They’re when I’ve talked to you.”

You were confused. 

“The Colonel…he made sure you had a grave. Said it would help people move on if they wanted to. They’d have a place to still talk to you. It’s still there.”

You turned and looked back at the list. You’d seen your grave, once. You’d stand behind the cobble wall, looking at it under one of the blossom trees. You couldn’t bear to walk any closer. 

“I knew I wanted to talk to you. Sometimes it was to the stars, but mostly it was to…to your grave.”

You quickly wiped away a tear. Something panged tight in your chest. 

An image of Bucky kneeling at your grave, dusting the fallen blossom petals from the top of the marble stone. An image of Bucky kneeling at your grave, talking to you about; Meeting Sam, Working with Sam, his New Therapist, the WS Programme, Steve and Peggy, Steve and Natasha, his nightmare about the 40s…

The images killed you. 

“Doll?”

Bucky laid a hand on your knee, his fingers reaching up to push some hair from your eyes. Without taking another second to think, you turned and hugged Bucky. Tight. 

“I’m so sorry.” You could hear your voice shaking. 

“Sorry? What for?”

You leaned back after a few seconds and wiped your eyes and shook your head. “Everything? I…I can’t believe I missed so much.”

Bucky shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise for that.”

“Feels like I do.”

“No,” Bucky told you. “Never. First, you have nothing to apologise for. And second,” Bucky brushed the hair clear from your face so he could see you properly. “Second,” he repeated, his voice a little softer than before. “You never have to apologise to me. You didn’t then. You don’t now.”

You managed to smile, and once Bucky recognised it to be genuine, he smiled, too. 

“You eaten yet?”

You shook your head. “Book’s too riveting.” 

You both looked at the red bound book on the coffee table. Agatha Christie. A publication from the seventies. 

Bucky smiled. “Why am I not surprised? I’ll make us something.”

Bucky stood, surprising you a little when he placed a light kiss to the top of your head as he did so before walking towards the kitchen. “Do I wanna know how you found it?”

You smiled, following him with your book in hand. “MJ brought them over. Peter must have told her I was bored and she said her aunt had most of these books just laying in her attic taking up space. Told me I could have them.”

“How far are you?” Bucky was moving around the kitchen as you sat down at the kitchen island, watching him. 

“Couple of chapters. Why?”

Bucky paused for a second and smiled. “Read it to me.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, already opening the book up. 

He nodded. “I’m sure. I’ve missed hearing you read.”

You couldn’t ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at hearing him say that. So, unable to hide your smile, you read outloud. And every time you tried to sneak a glance at him, you found him already looking at you.

It was a few more weeks before you actually asked him about it. About the way he’s always looked at you. And it had been after you’d watched Annie. 

He’d been looking at you throughout the movie, and a few times you’d caught him, a light blush dusting his cheeks. But when you were both in the kitchen, cooking a meal together with the radio playing lightly in the background, you finally mentioned it. 

“You’re gonna cut your fingers if you don’t pay attention.”

“I am paying attention,” Bucky said as he continued to chop. 

“You’re staring again.”

Bucky smiled. “Can’t help it.”

You just looked at him and rolled your eyes lightly before turning around and dumping the chopped carrots into the pot. 

“Fine. But don’t come running to me when you start bleeding.”

Bucky just held up his hand. “Can’t bleed.”

You looked up. He had you there. 

“Do you wanna peel the sprouts?” You asked for the bowl on the kitchen island. 

Dumping what he’d already chopped into the pot with yours, he came to stand beside you before picking each sprout out, peeling away a few of their layers. 

But as time slowly passed by, Bucky’s presence becoming a true comfort to you, he stopped what he was doing before he silently took your hand in his. 

“Bucky.”

“Dance with me. We don’t get to do this anymore.”

You sighed, but still agreed. And it wasn’t long before your brain took you back to that dance hall in London. The scent of Bucky’s aftershave consuming your senses in such a way you’d know you’d be able to still faintly smell him when he’d long left the room. His touch burned into your skin through your clothes, and the rhythm of your heart joined his. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Always, doll.”

You smiled and leaned back a little in order to see his face. “It’s about your staring. You’re always looking at me. Why?”

“Straight to the point. I like it.”

You suppressed your laugh and hit it in the chest. “I’m being serious. Why? I didn't think I noticed it until I watched our home videos.”

“You’ve watched the home videos?”

You nodded. “Yeah. There were only a few clips that I could get fed through the film reel. But…you’re always looking at me.”

His smile softened. “That’s because you’re beautiful.”

You laughed. “Bucky, I’m being serious.”

He looked a little hurt. “So am I.”

You knew it had hit you, what he truly meant. You just hadn’t been expecting it to hit you so hard. 

“Buck…”

“I’m always looking because I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, doll.” Bucky told you, truthfully. 

The song crackled and changed over the radio but neither of you stopped dancing together. Your hand was still firmly in his, your body was still flushed against him. 

“I know you haven’t seen the last seventy years…but I have. No woman compares to you, Y/n. Not a single one…”

Bucky’s voice trailed away as he laid himself bare for you. Your heart was thumping in your ears, your lips parted and took in what air you could, which wasn’t much. And just as the walls around both of you started to fade away and the music became nothing more than soundwaves, you felt yourself lean closer to him. 

“Doll…”

“James…”

It seemed to take forever for his lips to meet with yours, but once they did, there wasn’t a chance in all of the universe that you’d let yourself forget the feeling of his kiss. 

His hand that wrapped around your lower back and held you in by your hips, tightened. With his other hand guiding your arm around his shoulders, he was quick to hold you closer to him; if that was even possible. 

As your hands came to hold his face, his lips moving to kiss you even more, he lifted you from the floor a little. 

By the time you both broke away for air, your eyes remained closed as his head rested against yours. 

“Please tell me this isn’t just a one time thing,” Bucky asked you. 

You shook your head, a little out of breath. “No. This…this isn’t just a one time thing.”

“Good.” He told you before finally opening his eyes to look at you. “I’ve waited more than seventy years to kiss you.”

Your hands linked around his neck as he stood there with you in his arms. “Was it worth the wait?”

A slight chuckle left Bucky. “Oh, most definitely, doll.”

He didn’t wait another second before capturing your lips in another kiss. He would have waited a thousand lifetimes for you, but he didn’t have to. You were alive, you were breathing, and you were kissing him back. 

It wouldn’t be long before he’d tell you how deep his feelings ran for you. But you’d surprise him that day by beating him to it. Even if the last seventy years had been nothing but a blink of the eye for you, it had been almost a hundred for Bucky. 

You loved him too much to make him wait any longer. 

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Preggers

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: fluff, smut!

a/n: sequel to Racing Simulator, enjoy!!!

"Fuck.." You sighed closing your eyes. Your palms were sweating and resting on the sink as you waited for the results of the pregnancy test you just took without Lando knowing.

Your mouth went dry and your legs wobbled when you opened your eyes to see another line appear on the test. Positive.

Your body felt as if a heat wave just hit you. You were overwhelmed by a wide range of emotions as you put your hand over you belly trying to make yourself aware that a new life will grow in you in the coming months.

You decided to take the test secretly without anyone knowing because you didn't want anyone to put any kind of pressure on you. You've been feeling weird for the past two weeks and as a woman you knew something was happening to your body something you've never felt before.

The possibility of being pregnant immediately crossed your mind especially after coming onto Lando like a horny teenager that day in his racing chair. You were well aware that there was a great chance you were gonna get pregnant because you were ovulating and that very day you just had to spice it up.

You wisely tried to hide symptoms like nausea, inexplicable feeling of fatigue and headache. You even tried to fool yourself by attributing it all to stress at work, but it was only when you missed your period you decided to stop denying the possibility that you are pregnant. And now that you are standing over the sink looking at two clear lines, you have convinced yourself that a woman's intuition is never wrong.

You didn't even realize that a few tears ran down your cheeks until you looked yourself up in the mirror and blinked a couple of times. Taking a deep breath in you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over your face to come to your senses before going to look for Lando.

When you finally managed to get yourself together, you went to the kitchen, leaving the test behind in the bathroom. You poured yourself a glass of water looking over the kitchen island at Lando who was lying on the couch in the living room.

"Baby?" He asked looking at you from the couch, but you just kept staring at him without blinking. "Is everything okay?" He asked again, but there was no answer from you which instantly made him get up and walk over to you.

"Y/n, what's wrong? Talk to me." His gaze was full of concern as he cupped your face between his hands making you look up at him.

"I-I.." You stuttered, struggling to get the sentence out. "I have to tell you something." You put your hands over his tightening your grip around them.

"What? Tell me."

"Uh..I.." Nervousness washed over you, words didn't have the courage to leave your mouth because you didn't know what his reaction would be. you didn't often touch on the topic of children even though you had been together for 4 years. You loved each other more than anything, but you wanted to enjoy your youth as long as you could.

"Y/n, please, tell me what's going on. You're all pale and I'm getting really-"

"I'm pregnant." You cut him off making his jaw drop and eyes widen. It took him a second to process what you just said before he chuckled and let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Baby..are you really?" His eyes sparkled. You didn't know at that moment, in fact, you were even confused by his reaction, but it was as if he had been dying to hear those words all this time.

"Yeah..I just took the test in the bathroom" You nodded your head smiling with teary eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours and laughed sweetly before tightly wrapping his arms around yours shoulders.

"You're freaking me out a little with how happy you are" You admit pulling back from the hug to look at him.

"Of course I'm happy. My woman is having my baby. How could I not be?" He couldn't hide his excitement and that was definitely a relief and an encouragement, but you were still kind of terrified of the new unfamiliar situation you found yourself in. "Are you not?"

"I mean..I'm a little scared. I wasn't expecting this now" He raised his eyebrows giving you a doubtful look tilting his head to the side making both of you laugh as he remembered that day he finished inside you without you complaining. "Oh stop it!" You laughed, softly punching his chest before he pulled you to himself again and you leaned your head against him.

"You have nothing to be scared of okay? I'll take care of you, of us. " His words and his hug were enough to erase every fear, every uncertainty and question mark above your head. His embrace was your safe haven, your refuge and your home where you felt the best. "We're in this together. It was going to happen sooner or later."

"You've thought about us starting a family?" You ask looking up at the blue eyes.

"For quite some time now"

"Really?" You asked visibly taken aback, but positively surprised.

"There was one particular moment when I started fantasizing about us having a kid. It was when you met Mila for the first time. When we came for a family dinner at my parents' house and then after a while you disappeared from the table and I found you two in the playroom having a tea party." Both of you smiled as he tucked your hair behind your ear reminiscing the heart warming moment.

"The way you played with her, the way you talked to her..It was so natural for you and she was delighted with you. I was just standing there at the door admiring the two of you and then my mom saw me and it was like she could read my mind right at that moment. She was like "don't wait for too long Lando". And that's when I knew, I knew you'd be the one to carry my baby one day. Nobody else but you."

"Baby, that's so sweet.." It looked like the pregnancy hormones had already kicked in because his words made you a whimpering mess beneath him. You were sobbing as you listened to the man you loved more than anything talk about everything a woman could wish for.

"Just think about us lying in bed in the morning, our baby between us. We're looking at her, kissing her, cuddling her..I can't wait to protect both of you for the rest of my life you know?"

The scene that you pictured in your head was heaven itself just like he described it and now the excitement and joy prevailed in you and the color returned to your face when you realized that everything would be fine. Everything would be just like you've always dreamed of and more.

"Now I can't wait to meet baby Norris." You said quietly giving a soft long kiss to his lips.

"Yeah, baby Norris." He proudly repeated after you loving the way it sounded. "And when are you going to let me make you mrs Norris?" He asked and you smiled shyly looking down.

If it only had been up to Lando, he would probably have married you that day when you met Mila. He knew you were the one for him. You were the one thing he was completely sure of without a single doubt in his mind. You felt the same way about him as well, but you always thought that you should wait a little longer, that you are too young, that you are not in a hurry. There was also a constant pressure from the public that you were not ready to deal with so Lando waited patiently for you to be ready.

"Now is the perfect time to take my last name." He said.

"No, people will think that you're marrying me only because you got me pregnant and I don't want that."

"I don't care what others will think. You and I both know that's not true. C'mon, baby, be my wife." He kissed you and you wrapped your arms around his neck giggling into the kiss as he seemed to propose you right then and there.

"Maybe I should accept it now that you're offering because maybe you won't want to marry me later when I'm all fat and swollen."

"Me not wanting to marry you? That is unlikely to ever happen. Besides," He says between kisses, gripping your ass he pulled you to him pressing you against his already semi hard crotch. "I can't wait to have you walking around with round belly and full breasts. Fuck, it's turning me on so much." His hands moved to your belly gently rubbing it then up to your tits underneath your cropped wide t shirt giving them a tight squeeze.

"Is that so?" You smirk deciding to go along with what he just started. "You gonna help me out with sore breasts?"

"Fuck yes baby. Gonna take such a good care of you. " The soft kisses quickly turned into more passionate and deep ones pushing tongue into each others mouth. "Turn around for me" You do as he pleases bending over the kitchen island as he grinds himself against your butt.

"I'm so hard, can you feel it?" He whispers into your ear making you shiver. Pulling your legging just below your butt, his hand slips inside your panties. His fingers quickly trace over your wet folds before attaching them to your sensitive bud. "So wet for me, fuuuck. You're my good girl, aren't you?" You nod closing your eyes and throwing your head back on his shoulder.

"Arch your back for me" He gently takes your hips in his hands pushing you onto the hard cold surface and collecting your hair into a ponytail. Teasing you with his tip at your entrance you push yourself back against him until you have him deep inside you.

"Ahh, feels so good"

"I wish you could see my point of view right now, so fucking hot." His eyes were glued on his cock disappearing into your pussy, drenching him in your wetness. "I'm not pulling out anymore, I'm gonna cum in you every time you let me fuck you"

"Oh Lando..yess, please"

"Everyone will know that I'm the one who put a baby in you. That I fucked you so good, filled you up so deep, yeah? Shit, baby.." His hands were desperately clutching at your hair while he was slamming hard into your hole. The slapping of your skin against his echoing through the kitchen.

"Yes, you fuck me so good Lando. Keep going, I'm so close." A couple more thrusts later, his hot breath against your skin and soon you were reaching your highs panting out his name.

"Fuck baby, look how much you came" His eyebrows furrowed and lips parted groaning when he saw that you left white ring around his cock taking him again and again. "Gonna play with your pussy every day. Shit, I'm gonna cum, oh shit" The sight drove him crazy, you could feel him pulsating before he spilled his cum inside you pushing his cock as deep as it went.

"You did so good, so so good." His arms pulled you to him trapping you in a tight embrace as he left small kisses on your cheek and your shoulder.

You wince as you feel him pull out of you, your juices dripping down your thighs making him curse under his breath. Unable to resist the urge, his hand slips down to your thighs collecting the dripping cum with his fingers and rubbing it all over your pussy again.

"My beautiful, most beautiful pregnant girl."