#did this in 1 day. finally can set it free

[loudn-mcyt]

SBK Season 2 Superhero Builds (Pt. 2)

Time for the second post on the new superhero builds for Skyblock Kingdoms 2, this time with Legundo and Nukeri! Part 1 with Piepie and Nature can be found here, and part 3 with Skyelre, Devon, and Quillbee can be found here. The masterpost with all season 1 and season 2 builds can be found here.

Let's get into it!

First up, we have Legundo, the survivalist. The colors here were taken from the colors of his coat and his eyes.

If there's one thing Legundo is known for, it's adapting to and surviving in any situation he finds himself thrown in. Hardcore, 100 days survival worlds, scenarios, strange modpacks - Legundo is adaptable, and given time to prepare, can handle most things the world throws at him. Additionally, I thought it was fitting to have Legundo in the position of someone who could be just another human, but is always just a little ways outside of what you thought was possible.

To represent that, I've designed him with two complementary powers to form the core of what he does - Adaptable, which gives him a limited number of skill points he can shift on the fly to make sure he's always up for what he needs to do; and Prepared, which allows him to set up gear for most things he might need so long as he has a little time to access his supplies (as represented by the 'slow' modifier). Neither of these are particularly powerful, but they do offer him a phenomenal amount of versatility in the kinds of problems he can address.

The other two powers he has are designed to give him options even in those situations where he is caught off guard - his crossbow is his main offensive option, helping him hit quite accurately (and being a little nod to Dominion's piglin!legundo), and his body armor is a subtle addition to his defenses, which are overall balanced to make sure he is ready for anything.

His advantages and skills are also chosen to complement this versatile, adaptive approach. Evasion and Uncanny Dodge make sure he never gets caught flat-footed, while Assessment and Skill Mastery (Insight) let him get a solid read on a new situation. Leadership and Teamwork complement his skills as a team player, and the last few advantages round out his combat flexibility. His skills focus on the things he's likely to need most often: combat skills, insight and perception to see threats coming, and persuasion and stealth to avoid fighting in the first place, with the Adaptable power covering whatever else might be needed.

Finally, there is his complication. Legundo, like all other former members of Dominion SMP in this AU, was a subject of Project Dominion, an organization using human experimentation to combine the dna of extraplanar creatures with that of humans to manufacture super-soldiers. Legundo is their proudest achievement, and until he was set free a short time ago, he was their most effective agent...and the things he did may catch up to him sooner or later.

Next up, we have Nukeri. For him, I chose the color of his eyes and of his halo. I also gave him the superhero name of Nephilim - Nephilim being in some interpretations the children of humans and fallen angels, mixing in both the Project Dominion narrative and Nuke's habit of falling far more often than someone with wings might be expected to.

His abilities and powers are all pretty straightforward, build around creating Nukeri as a divine (or semi-divine) being: high strength and stamina, immunity to a variety of poisons and environmental effects, healing powers, and of course, some big beautiful angel wings. Notably, part of this is that I did not give him the safe fall power. If his wings are restrained, he'll hit the ground hard - after all, it wouldn't be Nuke if he couldn't fall.

Nuke is pretty balanced both offensively and defensively; his high strength lets him hit quite hard, while his balanced defenses coupled with his impervious toughness let him shrug off lighter blows and avoid heavier ones.

His advantages focus on giving him options to work together with others (and represent his general charm), as well as just a little bit of extra luck and drive. His skills are mostly focused on interaction, with some extra little bits to make sure he was ready for a fight.

Finally, there's his complication. As mentioned above, Nukeri, like many others, was experimented on by Project Dominion. Though he has now thrown off their control, he still has to deal with the effects of their meddling, most notably that he has now been plunged into the deep end of divine politics with no preparation or information.

[patopq]

gazing at the stars :)

shadowgast week day 4 - telescope

[adelina-shifts]

I Might Have Found the Real Reason We Struggle to Shift After Years of Research — and How to Finally Do It

(credits to Kvoyox on reddit for writing and researching and @alliecat2099 for bringing this to my attention)

First of all, I’m not going to talk about methods, programming your mind, and all of that stuff. What I want to explain is something that I’ve been asking myself since the day I discovered shifting—and probably you did too. What is the reason for why most of us cannot “willingly” shift even though we try so hard? And what is the key that can set us free? And I might have found the answer. Of course you don’t have to believe me; you can decide for yourself if you want to trust my research or not. But I personally believe that this is the answer that can set anyone free.

This is a long text, but I promise it'll be worth your time.

Chapter 1: The Hidden Enemy.

Many people believe that our subconscious is the enemy. And while we argue with it, trying to make sense of our “incapability” to shift, there is something else lurking in the shadows. It deprives us of our powers. It makes us wear a mask, seeing only the illusions of life while reality is much different than we perceive it. And that’s the problem: perception.

And on top of everything, this hidden enemy seems to have such immense power that it can actively block us from shifting. And everyone trying to argue that there is nothing that can stop us from shifting, then I have to ask you… why doesn’t everyone shift on command then?

Yes, we shift all the time. Literally billions of times per second, and I’m not exaggerating. But why doesn’t it work when we WANT to shift? Shifting is completely natural, and we already do it. But when we want to do it, it doesn’t work?

The answer is simple. The enemy I’m talking about is our ego. The ego naturally resists change. It wants control. It clings to identity and safety. It fears losing “this” reality. It wants to protect the self. And shifting threatens everything it thinks you are.

It cannot stop us from shifting, but it can block us from experiencing shifting. Because the ego’s job is to make sense of reality. It directly correlates with our perception, all our senses. But what we have to realize is that our perception is a lie. It’s all just an illusion; there is no cause in anything. Reality is fluid; it changes all the time, but our ego gives us the illusion of a strict, solid reality. It imprisons us in a world we don’t want to be in, but what we don’t understand is… that we ourselves, therefore, don’t want to shift. I’ll explain this later on.

Chapter 2: Reasons.

Let me give you some more examples of why I think that our ego is the sole reason why we don’t shift when we want to.

1. In the so-called “Void State,” we are just pure consciousness. This implies that we don’t have a vessel (body) and therefore no ego controlling our perception. Therefore, we can simply shift without any boundaries.

2. In a deep meditative state, the chances of shifting seem to increase a lot. This is because we are more disconnected from our perception (ego) of our current reality.

3. Based on people’s experiences, many people shifted when they were younger. Some of you might not even remember it happening, but it probably did. The reason for that is that children are controlled by their subconscious mind (theta state). As they grow older, the ego begins to develop and take control of the body, making it “harder” to willingly shift.

4. The law of assumption (programming yourself to be a shifter) works 100% because when you do it, your ego begins to accept the idea of you being in completely different realities. You begin to identify yourself as such a person. And when that is the case, the ego cannot stop you anymore because it “believes” in it.

5. It becomes easier to shift in lucid dreams and the astral realm because your ego is not as strong and present as it is when you are awake. Still, it exists there, and that’s why it is not guaranteed to shift through these (you still have ego goals). In the astral realm, however, you can achieve states of higher consciousness where you can free yourself from the ego, allowing you to effortlessly shift.

6. People who shift for the first time often see great results first, but then, as they try again and again, progress seems to come to a halt. Your ego identity begins to change from “Hey, maybe I can do that” to “It doesn’t work; I can’t do it.”

7. Some people manage to shift, return to this reality, and realize that they can’t do it anymore and struggle again. They returned to their ego-self, stopping them from shifting again.

8. Some people grow up in a spiritual, open environment. The ego, therefore, is more used to such ideas and experiences, allowing them to shift easier.

Chapter 3: Understanding Ego

I’m going to give you the reason now that explains why you don’t shift.

Because you are not conscious. You are ego. Let me explain.

Currently, your ENTIRE identity is your ego. You have a name, a personality, a job, thoughts, emotions, etc., etc., etc. You go through your day believing that you ARE your egoic mind. It became your identity, your everything. Every thought it thinks, every emotion it creates, you believe that it is all you. You are so connected to this illusion that you aren’t even conscious. In fact, for almost the entire day, you are unconscious. Because you think all the time. And that is the reason why you don’t shift. Because you are not conscious, you are not aware.

Isn’t it true that you think all day long? You’re always in your mind, thinking about the past and the future, thinking about random scenarios that don’t even make sense. Even when you’re trying to shift, you are still in your mind, mindlessly repeating affirmations, asking yourself over and over again if it is working or not. Every time you judge or label something, you are in your mind. In those situations, you ARE your mind, but this is not how it is supposed to be. You are supposed to be consciousness, not your egoic mind.

I tell you right now: if you manage to disconnect from your egoic mind, stop identifying with it, and identify with the true source (consciousness) again, you’ll be able to instantly shift wherever you want to go. This is not a theory but a fact.

When your ego doesn’t want to leave this reality because it doesn’t like change, this automatically translates then into YOU not wanting to shift. Because you are still identified with your egoic mind. It doesn’t matter how badly you want it deep down; your ego, and therefore yourself, is stopping you from achieving it. If you manage to become identified with consciousness again, it will work.

I want you to truly grasp how much you identify with your ego. Every thought you think, every emotion you allow to be created, every time you judge or label something, every single time you do something like this, you are in your egoic mind. The voice, and the images in your mind… You have to realize that all these things are not you; they are products of the egoic mind. But they seem as if you created them, which is not true. Even when you consciously create a thought, you are not the thinker! You are still the awareness behind it.

This is not how it is supposed to be. You have to understand that your mind is a TOOL. But right now, it is nothing like that. It enslaves you; you have no control over it. Excessive thinking is not normal! You are supposed to be able to think when you want to think. Normal is a silent mind, not a constantly chattering mind. You cannot stop thinking, you cannot control your mind, because it took control over you. It uses you. And then you begin to identify with it; slowly, as you grow older, it becomes your entire identity, and you begin to lose touch with who you really are: consciousness, the silent watcher. As long as you cannot control your mind and just stop thinking when you want to, then the mind is using you. You are not the thinker; you are the awareness behind it.

Chapter 4: The Now—How to Escape Your Egoic Mind.

The only way to escape your ego is to become present in the Now. Now implies no thoughts, no mind activity in general. In the Now, you are fully present of what is happening around you; you are not stuck in your mind; you are actually experiencing with your full awareness what is going on. In that moment, there are no limitations, no blockages, no fears, nothing. All there is, is peace. Nothing matters; all you do is be, that’s it. And when this happens, there is no ego, no gatekeeper stopping you from shifting. The ego cannot exist in a state of presence; it cannot sustain itself when you’re truly present. I see so many people talking about fears, blockages, etc. but all of them wouldn't matter if you weren't identified with your ego and be present.

The problem is that your identification with your egoic mind is so strong that it stops you entirely from shifting. But every single day, there are certain situations where the portal to your DR is wide open, and that is when you are fully immersed in the Now.

I want to give you some exercises that you can do from now on. I’ve learned them from Eckhart Tolle. The goal is to take energy away from your egoic mind and into your consciousness. This way, you'll begin to realize that you aren't your mind and you'll gain more and more power.

Make sure not to be in your mind all day long. For example, when you’re doing certain tasks like cleaning or brushing your teeth, etc., try to fully immerse yourself in the situation. Don’t think; be aware of what is happening and how it feels. Be the awareness being aware. Don’t think about the past or future; draw full attention to what you’re doing, even if it is something as simple as going downstairs and feeling the steps and the weight of your body. In addition, focus on inner body sensations to keep yourself in the present moment. Those sensations are subtle vibrations you can feel for example in your hands and feet (and your entire body).

When you have excessive thought streams, detach from them by watching from afar. Don’t identify with them, don’t judge them, and don’t suppress them. That's because when you do judge, you're just giving energy to your egoic mind. Be the silent watcher, simply observing those thoughts. You will realize that you are not those thoughts; they just come in. What you really are is the consciousness being aware of them. Don’t even identify yourself with the thoughts you consciously think. What you’re doing is using your mind as a tool, creating a thought. But you are not the mind, not the thoughts. You as consciousness decided to use your mind as a tool to create a thought. In addition, try not to think as much as you can. Once you become aware of your thoughts, they’ll eventually subside anyway. Become silent in your mind, and within that silence a portal to your desired reality will open. Because silence is the key. The noise the mind creates blocks you from shifting. When you manage to become completely silent, no judgement, no overthinking, and a clear intention to shift or go to the void, it'll happen.

3. When trying to shift, set an intention beforehand. You can lie down or sit; it doesn’t really matter. Become relaxed by taking a few deep breaths. Now, there are a few things you can do. First, if you are really good at visualization, make sure to fully immerse yourself in the picture you see and make it feel as real as possible. Make it happen right now. Don’t perceive it as a picture; BE in that picture in the Now. Secondly, you don’t need to visualize. You can also immerse yourself in the FEELING of being in your DR right now. Just the feeling, not using any of your 5 senses. It's like you're lying in your bed with earplugs and closed eyes, you just know you're there. Thirdly, you can go to the void state, which is by far the best way to shift. I want to do another post about how to enter the void state in the near future, which is, in my opinion, the best and easiest way to shift. And, in fact, entering it isn’t even that hard once you understand how to actually go there.

I highly, highly, highly recommend reading the book “The Power of Now” by Eckhart Tolle. You can find it for free on the internet in case you don’t want to pay. It’ll change the way you see the world and shifting entirely.

Now, there are two paths you can take; both of them will eventually lead you to your desired reality.

Take away enough energy from your egoic mind, disconnect from your ego, and become identified with consciousness. You can achieve this by doing the first two exercises above. In addition to those, I recommend accepting the Now as it is. It doesn’t matter what situation you’re in; it doesn’t matter how hard life feels. Life is always perfect and beautiful, but your ego stops you from experiencing that. Every time you get mad about your life situations, you’re automatically feeding your egoic mind energy it can use to get even stronger. Either accept the situation or do something about it now. When trying to shift, don’t overthink it. Clear your mind completely; don’t ask yourself if it works. All you’re doing is giving energy to your egoic mind. And then, it won’t work. I highly advise you to just set an intention and become silent. Don’t let your ego take control by thinking, wanting to be there, etc. Take control by being silent and simply observing. Let it happen, let the universe change your reality. Moreover, I recommend meditation, as it is a super useful tool to train your attention, making it easier to detach from your ego. Later on, it’ll help you a lot in reaching the void state.

2. Manifest changes within your egoic mind. Once the mind is on board with the idea that you can simply shift wherever you want to go, it won’t stop you anymore. I made another post about this if you want to check it out. In this reality, the ego controls your perception. It shows you whatever it believes in. If you truly believe deep down that you can shift, your ego will too. Then, even if you’re still identified with your egoic mind, it won’t stop you anymore because it also believes in it.

Again, this is just my perspective on this topic. You don’t have to believe me, but if you go deeper and really ask yourself, “Why do I not shift?” eventually you might just get to the same conclusion as me. It is very simple. You are consciousness but the problem is that you identify yourself with the egoic mind. If you want to shift, either convince your ego or dissolve it by taking energy away from it. Again, if you want a more in-depth explanation, I recommend reading Eckhart Tolles book. Thank you for reading this far, and I wish you the best. 

[aeyumicore]

i would like to propose an idea: pervert xavier and pervert zayne🫡

pervert!zayne & pervert!xavier (seperate)

━ .ᐟ✧ A/N: u stop that right now.....well anyways thx for inspiring me. took a break from sylus beyond cloudfall smut to write this. ENJOY (also i did nothing at work bc i was writing this if i get fired its ur fault sksksksk). also this is not proofread at all

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, male masturbation, perv!zayne, using panties without consent, using photos for masturbation without consent, stealing panties, masturbating in a public setting, pervy zayne

Zayne slumps into his office chair, massaging his temples, exhausted after a 15 hour surgery. He smiles when he pulls out his cellphone, seeing several text messages from you.

[7:15 PM] Y/N: Miss you Zayne! Good luck in surgery!

[10:28 PM] Y/N: I'm getting sleepy, I hope you aren't. That would be horribly negligent ( •̀ - •́ )

[12:32 AM] Y/N: Going to sleep now, good night. I love you Zayne!

[12:32 AM] Y/N: (1 image attachment)

Zayne sighs when he opens the image you'd sent. It's an adorable photo of you under the covers, your sleepy smile illuminating the screen. You're wearing the matching PJ set he'd bought you recently, your eyes squinting from the camera flash as you make a ridiculous duckface. A kiss goodnight.

It's nothing but beautiful, pure, and innocent.

But then why was his cock so fucking painfully hard against the elastic drawstring of his scrubs?

"Sh-shit."

The raven haired surgeon glances at the time. 3:15 AM. There's no way you'd be awake.

His jaw tenses as he battles with what he knows is right and what he knows is wrong. It would be wrong to pleasure himself to the panties he'd stolen from your hamper, that he kept hidden away in the locked drawer of his office desk, that you had no idea he'd taken, right?

Surely, it would be okay. You were his girlfriend, after all. And he spent every waking minute of his life cherishing and protecting you. He'd never hurt you.

Screw it.

He lightly kicks off the ground, his office chair rolling over to the locked drawer of his office desk. With one hand, he's desperately undoing the ties of his scrub bottoms, the other hand fervently unlocking the locked drawer.

As soon as he frees his aching cock, already leaking and ready, he pulls the bottom of his scrub top up, placing the hem between his teeth. His patience wears thin, fingers already beginning to stroke himself before he even has your panties in his other hand.

With one hand, he holds his cellphone out so he can stare at the selfie you'd sent him, your beautiful and innocent face staring back at him.

Fuck, just the sight of your face was enough to get him off.

Zayne's other hand fumbles desperately until they finally meet the delicate lace material of the panties he'd kept hidden away in his office for several weeks now, but never had the audacity to use. He pulls them out with a shaky arm, draping them over his leaking cock.

The sight of the beautiful black lace against his pale aching skin sets him off, his fingers tightening around his shaft and jerking up and down.

"Y/N," he moans unabashedly, nearly forgetting he's still at the hospital. Your beautiful face fills his mind. Your eyes, your blush, your lips.

How beautiful would your lips look wrapped around his cock right now? How good would it feel if it was your lips enveloping around him right now and not his fingers?

"Y-Y/N," Zayne rasps, "I love you." He fists himself viciously, the wet sounds of his fist meeting his shaved pelvis ringing around his tidy and empty office. He wraps your panties around himself, letting the silky material heighten his pleasure, remembering how those panties looked when he pulled them off of you with his teeth.

He moans at the perverted thoughts, muffled from his teeth still gripping onto his scrubs to give him better access to pleasure himself.

It'd been a while since he'd been able to see you, your hectic schedules having conflicted for the past few days. Zayne missed you so terribly. Of course, he longed for the physical intimacy. The way you knew just how to touch him, to kiss him, to shake him to his core without even knowing it.

But more than anything, he missed how you you would look at him, smile at him and remind him why he was breathing.

"Fuck," he curses through his gritted teeth, "I love you so fucking much." Unable to hold himself back, his hips begin to buck up into his fist, and at this point he's basically fucking his palm that's clad with your used panties.

He tosses his phone onto his desk, needing to grip onto the arm of the chair to keep it in place with how vigorously his pelvis is rolling into his fist.

"J-Just like that, my love," he moans, fully losing his mind, imagining you on his lap, riding him in this very office.

At his breaking point, he throws all remaining sensibility to the wind, letting all lust take over. He grabs your panties and brings them to his nose, taking a lung full of your scent. Zayne's eyes roll back as your pheromones evade his senses, and he comes undone explosively all over his desk.

His motions slow to a halt as his brain finally clears. He slowly releases his aching cock, his scarred hands absolutely dripping in his cum and he lets out a broken sigh.

Guiltily, he sets your panties back down and cleans up his mess. It's not until moments later, as he's carefully placing it back into the locked drawer, that he realizes his orgasm was so powerful that some of it had shot onto the delicate black lace.

Zayne grimaces as he wipes his cum off of your panties, thoroughly upset with himself having ruined something so precious to him.

Surely, you wouldn't miss another pair. Right?

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, male masturabation, perv!xavier, using pillow/bed without consent, pillow humping, phone sex without consent?, implied pre-relationship xavier, pervy xavier

I shouldn't.

That's what Xavier told himself.

But she said I could.

That was all the convincing it took for Xavier to push the door of your room open, excitement taking over as he took in the surroundings of your empty bedroom.

It'd only been one week since you'd been sent away on a Hunter's expedition and he was going insane. As your partner, he'd normally be sent with you, but the Association had asked him to stay behind as they needed to split up the manpower this time around.

And of course, you'd asked him to come over and house sit. Water your plants, bring in the mail, open up some windows.

He sat on the edge of your bed, letting his fingers glide off the smooth fabric of your comforter.

God, he missed you.

He can't stop himself from flopping over, letting his hair hit your pillow. You had said it'd be okay for him to stay over if he ever needed to. But that was months ago. And you probably didn't mean in your bed.

He can't find it in himself to sit back up as your scent fills his nostrils, with his face so close to your pillow. Xavier looks up at the ceiling.

So this is where you sleep. This was what you saw when you fell asleep every night. When you dreamt. Did you dream of him? Did you think of him like he thought of you?

God it smells just like you.

No, he shouldn't.

Xavier shifts to his side, fully intending on getting up. But your pheromones are so overpowering that he finds his face fully buried in your pillow.

"Y/N..." he groans, "I miss you." Xavier moans as he feels the familiar ache growing in his crotch. The situation he's put himself in doesn't help at all, your smell only making him more sensitive, the precariousness of his position in your bed making him more excitable.

Xavier shifts, the angle of his erection becoming painful as it continues to harden into the plush of your mattress. But that only makes things worse, the friction of his subtle movements making his eyes roll.

"Fuck, baby," he whimpers into your pillow, his cheeks burning with shame. He grabs two fistfuls of your comforter to try and steady his irregular breathing and calm himself down.

But he's much too far gone.

Xavier rolls his hips into your bed, chasing more friction, more pleasure.

"Hah—hah," he pants, practically drooling into your pillow, "Y/N..." But it's not enough. With one hand, he reaches down, undoing his pants and reaching in to free his cock. It springs free, pressing nakedly into the soft fabric of your bed.

He humps into your bed, his precum smearing messily into your comforter, but he can't find it in himself to care.

But it's still not enough. He wanted you.

With one hand, he grabs your pillow, throwing it under his hips and between his thighs. The perverted thought of your beautiful face resting on that same pillow that he’s so desperately fucking into, without a single clue, drives him utterly insane. 

Xavier’s hips rock erratically into your pillow, his cock jerking against the soft fabric of your pillow case. With every stroke, he continues to leak messily, as if purposely marking his territory, wanting to leave pieces of himself behind. 

“Feels–ngh–so good angel,” he moans into your blanket, his hips bucking wildly now, pretending they were thrusting into you, pounding into your perfect ass. 

“All mine,” he slurs, delirious, nearly about to cum into your pillow, “You’re mine, Y/N.”

But then his phone rings, the vibrations violently interrupting his impending orgasm. 

Xavier freezes, seeing your face light up his screen. He fumbles with his phone, struggling to press the red button. 

Decline. Decline.

“Xavier?”

Shit.

“H-Hey Y/N.”

Xavier groans inwardly, cursing himself, his heart pounding. But the sound of your voice only makes him harder, needier.

“How’s it going? I’m coming home tomorrow! You miss me?”

“It’s going good,” he says breathlessly, his hips continue to move, no matter how much he knows he should stop. Somehow, being on the phone with you only excites him more, the pleasure growing immeasurably unbearable. 

“You okay?” 

Your voice sounds concerned, and Xavier’s heart hammers at the idea that you can tell something is up. Is his voice too shaky?

“No, I’m good. Why?” Xavier bites his lip to hold back a moan, your voice driving him to the point of madness. With your voice in his ear, it’s impossible not to imagine your face in his mind. Your face, taking his cock repeatedly. Your face, cumming on his cock. Your face, taking him down your throat. Your face, calling out his name.

“Xavier.”

Xavier’s eyes widen as you call out his name, biting the inside of cheek until he can taste the metallic rust of blood in his mouth. 

“I miss you!”

His hips falter as he comes undone, exploding all over your bed. His hips continue to roll, his body naturally riding out his orgasm, his fingers gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles turn white. 

“I-I miss you–too,” Xavier rasps, doing his damn best to keep his voice steady, praying to the stars that you don’t suspect anything. His body continues to fuck into your bed instinctually, his mind still filled with images of you under him, begging for mercy as you leak his cum. 

“Okay, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

The call disconnects with a beep and Xaveir finally releases the breath he’d been holding, his entire body shaking with violent gasps. He props himself on his elbows, his entire body quivering, to glance down at the mess he’d created.

Xavier can’t even find it in himself to feel guilty, as he thinks about the fact that he can finally see you tomorrow. 

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites

.ᐟ✦ please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[eelliotss]

— Borrowed time, part 4

‼️Caleb x reader x Sylus. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely does not stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Use me.”

word count = 8.5k

i appreciate all likes, comments, reblogs, and asks. i may not reply to all of them, but i want you to know that i reread them over and over <3

also, i finally got to write the scene i wanted to 😭—took me over 10k words to get here but ugh finallyyyy

part 1 | masterlist | part 5

Peace has never felt more profound. Wrapped in the quiet hush of evening, the cool hum of the air conditioner, and the soft duvet cocooning your body, the weight of the world loosens its grip. The storm of thoughts, the heaviness pressing against your ribs—it all quiets, dissolving into the stillness.

Only when left alone, surrendered to the depths of sleep, do you finally feel light. Free. At ease.

But of course, peace was never meant to last. Not when you agreed to this trip.

Three knocks at the door. A soft beep of the lock.

“Yn? Are you still sleeping?”

MC’s voice pulls you from the haze of slumber, gentle but insistent. The mattress dips slightly as she steps closer.

You groan, turning away from the sound, but she only huffs.

“It’s already seven. You haven’t eaten anything all day.” Concern laces her words as she reaches out, pressing the back of her hand against your forehead. A soft smile tugs at her lips. “You’re not burning up anymore.”

Blinking against the lingering blur of sleep, you rub your eyes, squinting up at her.

“Mhmm,” you mumble, barely coherent.

The tension in her shoulders eases at your response, the worry fading as a familiar brightness returns to her face.

“Here—eat.” She sets a bowl in your hands, warmth seeping through the ceramic. Steam rises, carrying the scent of something unmistakably familiar.

Dark green seaweed sways in golden broth, delicate strands floating between pieces of soft tofu.

Your brows furrow. “Where did you get this?”

“Caleb made it.” She grins. “He was adamant about you finishing every last drop, so you better eat up.”

The words settle heavily in your chest.

You know this dish.

It’s the same soup you once made for him when he was too sick to get out of bed, voice hoarse, fever clouding his mind. The same one he had groggily murmured was the best thing he had ever tasted.

The warmth of the memory seeps in before you can stop it.

Back then, his voice had been hoarse, barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion.

“Caleb, you should eat.”

“Mmnh… not hungry…” He mumbled, shifting away from the dish in your hands, cheek pressed against the pillow.

You huffed, exasperated but unwilling to let him get away with it. “I promise it’ll make you feel better. Seaweed soups are the best for colds. Trust me.”

It took a few more tries to convince him. A few more weak protests before you had enough.

“Bzz, the airplane’s coming!” You guided the spoon toward his lips, making an exaggerated motion.

A smile flickered across his face, slow and lazy, before it stretched into something wider. “Pfft—Stop acting like I’m five!”

His laughter was bright, warm. It tugged at your heart in ways you didn’t want to admit.

“You’re acting like one, so I must treat you as one,” you countered, puffing your cheeks. “Now open up!”

His shoulders shook from suppressed giggles, but he relented, raising a mock defensive hand. “Okay, okay! Pfft—”

His laughter was cut off by a fit of coughs, his body curling in on itself slightly. Your expression immediately shifted, a deeper frown settling between your brows.

“Stop playing around. This is my secret recipe. It’ll stop you from starting another pandemic,” you scolded, pushing the spoon toward him again.

He groaned, but finally obeyed, letting the warmth of the soup settle in his mouth.

His eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.

“You weren’t joking,” he muttered, almost in awe. “This is really good.”

Fatigue seemed to lift slightly from his face, a softness settling in its place.

“See?” You huffed, victorious.

But then—his gaze softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, shortcake,” he murmured, reaching up with sluggish movements to ruffle your hair. His touch was light, absentminded. Familiar.

Your heart had tugged—just slightly.

Now, staring at the same soup, the warmth of the past curling in your chest like a ghost of something you no longer recognize, you swallow down whatever unspoken feeling rises in your throat.

“Well?” MC grins, nudging you. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

You hesitate, just for a moment, then lift the spoon to your lips.

It tastes the same.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t.

You take another spoonful, swallowing the warmth down along with the lump in your throat.

MC, oblivious to the thoughts stirring in your head, plops down beside you, stretching her limbs dramatically.

“God, today was exhausting,” she groans, tilting her head back. “I swear, if I have to redo that crying scene one more time, I might actually start sobbing for real.”

You hum absentmindedly, stirring the soup with your spoon.

“And Caleb—ugh, don’t get me started on him. He seemed really out of it today.” she continues, rolling onto her side to face you. “Like, he kept missing his queues, kept dazing in the middle of the shoot. Kept asking me if you ate, made me go shop for the soup’s ingredients with him, double-check the soup, even told me it was your favorite like I didn’t already know that.”

Your hand stills over the bowl.

MC doesn’t notice.

She sighs dramatically, propping her head up with one hand. “He even snapped at me earlier. Like, Caleb snapped at me. Can you believe that?”

You glance at her, arching a brow. “What did he say?”

She huffs. “I was teasing him, you know? Asking if he’s finally realizing he’s in love with you or whatever. And he just looked at me—like, seriously looked at me—and said, ‘She’s sick, Michaela.’ Like, what?”

Something sharp presses against your chest, but you don’t acknowledge it.

MC groans again, stretching her arms before flopping back onto the bed. “I get it, though,” she sighs, rolling onto her side to face you. Then, without warning, she grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I was worried sick about you too, Yn.” Her voice softens, the teasing gone. “Don’t go fainting like that again, okay? You gotta tell me if you’re too tired. I need you to be okay.”

You stare at her, her fingers warm against yours, grounding you in a way nothing else has. The weight in your chest—the anger, the ache that’s been gnawing at you since this trip began—fades, just a little.

Because this is MC.

Bright, infuriating, golden MC, who always means it when she says she cares.

And you love her for it.

You love her.

You always have.

So despite everything—despite the storm in your chest, despite the way the world has been tilting under your feet—you smile.

“Yeah,” you murmur, squeezing her hand back. “I know.”

Her lips curl into a grin, her eyes gleaming like the sun itself. And just like that, just for a second, the world feels a little lighter.

“Anyways, enough about that. You need to catch up on all the drama you missed today. And—”

She launches into a rant, animated as ever, filling the room with stories of the ‘earth-shattering’ events you somehow survived without.

Somewhere between her exaggerated retellings and her scandalized gasps, you find yourself laughing.

And just like that, the fatigue melts away.

You only realize you’ve finished the soup when MC casually plucks the empty bowl from your hands, setting it on the table without missing a beat.

She keeps talking, her words tumbling out in a steady, animated stream—until they don’t.

You notice it immediately.

The slight stutter. The way her voice falters mid-sentence. The way her fingers suddenly fidget with the loose threads of the blanket. The way a soft, barely-there pink dusts her cheeks.

Your brows furrow slightly. “MC?”

She clears her throat, forcing a casual laugh. “Sorry, I just—uh—” she waves a hand, trying to dismiss whatever just flustered her, but you catch it. You always catch it.

The way her lips press together. The way her eyes flicker away, focusing anywhere but you.

Suspicion creeps in. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“MC.”

She groans dramatically, covering her face with her hands before peeking through her fingers, her voice dropping ever so slightly.

“It’s just—I was practicing lines with Sylus today, and—”

She hesitates, the words caught somewhere between reluctance and amusement.

Your brows lift.

Sylus?

Of course, you know he’s popular. You’ve seen the way girls linger around him, how they find excuses to talk to him. But MC?

Your lips part slightly, but before you can say anything, something else creeps in—unbidden.

The warmth of his body on the tip of your fingers.

The sharp scent of rain clinging to his skin.

The steady grip of his hand, pulling you away from the storm.

The way he leaned against the wall, damp silver strands falling over his eyes, a towel draped over his shoulders, sharp and unbothered.

The quiet turn of a page, his presence steady, grounding, when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You swallow.

The memories pass in a flash, leaving behind something you don’t quite understand.

MC doesn’t notice your silence. She groans again, shaking her head.

“Ugh, never mind. It’s not a big deal,” she mutters, but there’s a warmth on her face she can’t quite hide.

Your lips twitch.

“Oh my god,” you gasp dramatically, eyes widening as you lean in closer. “Are you blushing?”

MC swats at you with a pillow, groaning into her hands. “I said never mind!”

That only makes your grin widen.

“No, no, this is important information,” you tease, nudging her shoulder. “MC, do you have a crush on Sylus?”

She groans even louder, flopping onto the bed in defeat.

“Shut up, Yn. My character has a crush on his character. I’m just way too immersed in the acting!”

You laugh, the sound light, genuine.

•

The next few days go by like a blur.

You wake up to MC’s blaring alarm.

You get ready.

You practice your part.

You film.

You watch MC film.

You watch her cheeks flush a little more in scenes she shares with Sylus.

You watch their characters develop.

You eat.

You listen to her rants.

You enjoy the sunset, alone.

You sleep.

Like clockwork, everything plays out like it did yesterday.

And just like everything else, he is on replay, too.

His voice weaves itself into your routine, persistent and unrelenting. A teasing remark over breakfast. A lazy greeting when he passes by. A nudge here, a comment there. Always casual. Always acting as if nothing happened.

“Still mad, shortcake?”

“Damn, I didn’t know you had this much endurance. Impressive.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

You don’t respond.

“Was today tiring?”

You don’t acknowledge him.

“Are you hungry?”

You don’t even look at him.

“Someone’s making a full-time career out of dodging me.”

It’s almost comical, how hard he’s trying to act like things are fine. Like you didn’t stand there, glaring at him with every ounce of anger you could muster just a few nights ago. Like you weren’t left in the rain, stranded in a memory of him choosing her, again.

But that’s Caleb. Always brushing things off, playing it cool, making it seem like nothing ever really matters.

And maybe if you weren’t still seething, it would’ve worked.

And to an extent, maybe it has.

Because the desperation in his eyes seems to seep out a little more with every interaction.

And when he leans a little too close one afternoon, when his fingers brush against your wrist as he tries to catch your attention, your heart still skips. But the scene of that night haunts you. The line cutting, her laughter, his tender eyes looking at her. So you snatch your hand away, sharp and final.

The laughter in his eyes dims, if only for a second.

“Damn. Harsh.” His playful tone faltering a little.

You don’t answer.

And after each of these interactions, your eyes always somehow find its way to the man lingering on the side. And more often than not, you meet his gaze. His ruby eyes pierces through you with a smug smirk plastered on his face.

Oh how much you hate that smug face of his.

It’s a look that says he’s watching. That he’s amused.

Like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. Like he already knows how this game ends.

You tear your gaze away, but it’s too late. That smirk is already burned into your mind, curling at the edges of your thoughts, creeping under your skin.

Sylus never says much. He lingers—always just far enough to be uninvolved, yet close enough to witness everything.

Though every single time, he holds your gaze just long enough to let you know that he sees you.

And maybe that should feel comforting.

Maybe it should make you feel like you’re finally being seen.

But with him—with the way his eyes glint like he’s one step ahead, like he’s entertained by something you don’t even understand yet—

it doesn’t feel like comfort.

It feels like a warning.

•

“Hey! Can someone grab more drinks?”

“On it!” you shout.

Being done with all of your scenes, you try to help out around the set where you can. You walk away from the beach and to the parking lot where the tents and coolers are set under the trees’ shades. The bickers and chatters fade into the heat as you approach the swaying canopy. The air is heavier here—thicker, still carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen but now mixed with the plasticky cool of stored ice.

You crouch by one of the coolers, popping the lid open, letting a gust of chilled air wash over your arms.

The silence here is different.

Less alive, less buzzing.

You should be relieved.

But instead, all you can hear is the echo of their voices.

“She’s pretty good at acting,” someone says.

“She does her job well,” another agrees.

“We should’ve given her another role. She could’ve pulled off a character with more significance.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. She acts well, but she doesn’t shine. Not like her.”

You exhale, pressing your lips together.

Something inside you tenses.

The other laughs in response. “Of course, I wasn’t comparing her to Machela. Their auras are very different. One’s the main character, the other’s a decent supporting. You can’t compare them.”

Your brows knit together.

You keep your hands still, your breath steady. You don’t react, don’t turn, don’t acknowledge the way the words settle against your skin like grains of sand—light and fleeting, but impossible to shake off

It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

They’re just opinions, just talk.

You don’t care. You’ve never cared.

You know your role. You know your place.

And yet—your gaze betrays you.

Before you can stop yourself, your eyes flicker to the beach, to her.

MC stands effortlessly at the center of it all, bathed in the golden afternoon light, surrounded by the main characters, the ones who make the scene come alive.

Even among them, she stands out.

She doesn’t try to shine, she doesn’t try to call for attention—she just does.

And then there’s you, just there.

Blending so well into the background that no one even notices you listening.

You swallow, pushing away the uncomfortable weight creeping up your throat.

A breeze stirs the trees, making the tents flutter. You reach into the ice, grabbing a handful of cans, the cold biting against your fingertips.

You exhale, force your shoulders to relax, and do what you always do.

You shake it off. You move.

You quickly grab as many drinks as you can hold and hurry back to the set.

“Who wants water?” Your voice bright, easy.

You step back onto the sand, the heat pressing down on your skin, the voices of the crew and cast swelling around you once more. The coolness of the shade lingers faintly on your fingertips, already fading as you carry the drinks back.

But the words silently follow your trails.

“Oh my god, you’re a life saver!”

MC’s voice snaps you out of it as she practically lunges for one of the cans in your hands, tearing it open like she’s been stranded on this beach for days. She presses it to her cheek, sighing dramatically.

“I’m dying,” she groans, tipping her head back for a long gulp. “Why did I agree to film on a beach? Who thought this was a good idea?”

Before you can answer, another shadow falls over you.

A shift in the air. A presence that arrives so smoothly, so effortlessly, that you don’t even notice until he’s already there.

Sylus.

He reaches out and plucks a drink from your hand, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing the condensation-slick surface.

Then—he opens it.

The sound is sharp against the hazy heat, a crisp hiss that barely lingers before he tips the can back.

And you watch.

The way his throat moves as he drinks, slow and deep, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The way a bead of sweat drips from his temple, trailing down the sharp line of his jaw, catching in the dip of his collarbone before disappearing beneath his shirt.

For a second, the world feels too slow.

When he lowers the can, he’s already looking at you.

“What?” he says, voice smooth, amused, a smirk tugging lazily at his lips. “Not for me?”

Your face immediately scrunches up.

Not a word leaves your mouth, but the reaction is enough.

Sylus chuckles, taking another sip like he’s entertained by something only he understands.

Then, just as effortlessly as he arrived, he turns and walks off, the warm breeze ruffling through his hair, leaving behind nothing but the faintest trace of cool metal and salt air.

Silence settles between you and MC.

It takes you a second to notice it—the fact that she hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word.

You glance at her. The red dusting her face. The way she presses her lips together, eyes darting everywhere but where Sylus just stood.

Something tugs at your chest.

A feeling—small, unclear, curling at the edges of your ribs like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

You don’t exactly understand it, nor do you want to.

So you push it down, bury it deep, shove it away before it can take shape.

“Oh,” you hum, forcing a smirk on your lips.

MC immediately stiffens. “No.”

“Ohhh.”

“No, no, no!” She flails her hands in front of her face like she can physically push the accusation away.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not!”

“You totally are.”

She lets out a strangled noise, shaking her head so fast her hair whips around her shoulders. “I—I’m not crushing!” she wails, throwing her hands up. “I’m just—ugh, it’s the next scene, okay?!”

You pause.

The next scene.

The kiss scene.

With Sylus.

You blink, then grin. “That’s what you’re nervous about?”

MC groans, dragging a hand down her face. “He’s so annoying,” she grumbles. “How am I supposed to do this with someone who just—oozes arrogance?” She gulps down the drink in her hands, turning away.

“Try not to melt, yeah? Would be real awkward if the crew had to scrape you off the floor after this.” A playful voice interrupts your conversation.

Caleb.

He strides toward the two of you, effortless as always, plucking a can from your hands and popping it open with a crisp hiss. His smirk is there—light, teasing, the same one he always wears when he’s messing around.

But it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

His gaze flicks to the spot where Sylus had just been.

Something in his jaw tightens.

Others might have missed it, but you know him too well. You’re well too accustomed to watching him, seeing all his micro movements when he interacts with MC.

His fingers curl just a little too tightly around the can, knuckles faintly stiff.

Still, he plays it off.

“So,” he drawls, turning back to MC, forcing that smirk back into place. “How long are you gonna make us suffer through this? You practicing, or are we just skipping to the part where you swoon?”

MC snaps to attention, the red still fresh on her face. “I don’t—shut up.”

Caleb clicks his tongue, mockingly thoughtful. “Huh. So defensive. Makes you wonder.”

“You wonder too much,” she fires back, narrowing her eyes.

“Nah,” he grins, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I just have an eye for lost causes.”

And then, before she can dodge, he presses the cold can against her cheek.

MC yelps, jerking away. “Caleb—what the hell!”

“Thought you were overheating,” he muses, completely unbothered. “Wouldn’t want you fainting before the big scene.”

MC glares, rubbing at her cheek like he’s personally offended her. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Still a better option than him.”

MC groans. “Are you seriously insulting Sylus right now?”

“I’m just saying,” Caleb shrugs, casual. “The guy looks like he bites.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re gonna let him lick your face in front of all of us.”

“It’s a kiss, you idiot—”

“Same difference.”

Before MC can strangle him, the director’s voice cuts through the chatter.

“Alright, places, everyone! Let’s run the scene.”

MC freezes.

The teasing dies.

Caleb hums. “Uh-oh. That’s your cue.”

She exhales sharply, smoothing down her clothes like that’ll somehow fix her nerves.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says lightly, taking another sip. “It’s just a scene, right?”

MC glares at him, muttering something under her breath before stomping toward the set.

His eyes follow her form, watching her go.

Caleb’s smirk lingers, but it’s hollow now—more muscle memory than anything else.

Then, without a word, he crushes the empty can in his fist.

You don’t say anything.

You just stand there, staring at the crumpled metal in his hand, feeling the weight of everything he isn’t saying.

The sharp crunch of aluminum still lingers in the air when you finally take a step back, about to turn away—

But before you can, his hand grabs your wrist.

Firm. Unrelenting.

Your breath catches.

“Come here,” he mutters, low, rough, before pulling you with him.

You barely have time to react before you’re being led away from the crowd, past the chatter, past the cameras and the blinding sun.

He doesn’t stop until you’re tucked into the shadows of a secluded corner, hidden behind a wall where no one can see.

Only then does he let go.

Only then does he turn to you, dark eyes burning with something too raw, too intense.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” he asks.

The words hit the air, heavier than they should be.

You blink. “What—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” His voice is frustrated, breath uneven. “I know I messed up. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve—”

He stops himself, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s barely holding something together.

Then, before you can move—

His hands press against the wall, caging you in.

Not touching you. But close.

Too close.

His scent fills your senses—something warm, sharp, unmistakably him.

“You can’t convince yourself to hate me with every fiber of your being, wouldn’t you agree?” he murmurs, voice quieter now, but no less desperate. “I’ll eventually find a way to make things right. As long as…” he pauses. His breaths are shuddering.

Your heart stutters.

“You’re by my side,” he whispers.

His eyes flicker over your face, searching, waiting—

And then, softer, rougher—

“Please.”

A breath.

“I need you now more than ever.”

The words sink into your skin, settle into your chest, and God—

It hurts.

Because you know.

You know this isn’t about you.

Not really.

Not in the way you want it to be.

He’s frustrated. He’s angry. Not at you—but at something else, at someone else, at the way things are slipping through his fingers.

And here you are.

Pulled into the scene like always.

Here to fill in the gaps.

Here to be the character he needs in this moment.

Your throat tightens.

Your fingers curl into fists.

You don’t shove him away.

You don’t give in, either.

You just look at him.

At the tension in his jaw. At the way his chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

“Action!”

The director’s voice rings out.

Like a snapped thread, Caleb pulls away.

Your attention shifts

And you see it.

The perfect scene unfolding before you.

The setting sun drenches the world in gold, soft and warm, casting a glow over the sand, the ocean, the two figures at the center of it all.

MC and Sylus.

MC in the center, like always.

Sylus’s hands rest on her waist, firm but careful. His fingers trace along the curve of her back, pulling her closer, into him, into his world. His head tilts, his smirk faint, unreadable—like he’s in control of every beat of this moment.

MC leans in.

Slow, hesitant, shy.

Like a girl falling into the gravity of a man she can’t escape.

The light catches the soft parting of her lips, the uncertainty, the delicate trust in her expression.

Sylus’s fingers tighten, and he closes the distance.

Their lips brush—light at first—before she melts into him, hands lifting to his chest.

It’s effortless.

Beautiful.

The kind of moment people will remember.

The picture-perfect romance.

A story falling into place.

Your stomach twists.

It’s not the kiss itself that gets to you. It’s the way the scene feels like fate, the way it’s framed, the way the world seems to bend itself around her like she was always meant to be at the center.

Like everything happens for her.

And, as if to prove your point—you gaze shifts.

And you see Caleb.

He’s watching the scene.

Watching her.

His breaths are coming even more uneven than before.

Not obvious, not noticeable to most.

But, caged between his arms, you see it.

The way his chest rises just a little too fast, the way his fingers flex and release at his sides, the way his jaw locks so tightly you swear he might break something.

And your chest burns more than ever.

You hate it. You hate everything about this.

You hate how, no matter what happens—this world, this story, this entire thing, bends itself around her.

That all of you—you, Caleb, and even Sylus— are just pieces in the grand design of her narrative.

That no matter where you stand, no matter what you do—

MC is the one the light falls on.

She is the one everything happens for.

She is the one whose all her wishes come true.

You hate it. You hate how you’re just here.

Always here.

Always playing a role in someone else’s story.

And you hate it most that your eyes are turning green looking at her.

That the jealousy creeping up your throat, curling tight in your chest, isn’t just about the scene or the way Sylus or Caleb seem to orbit around her.

It’s about the way the world chooses her, time and time again.

And the fact that you’re bitter about it—

That you feel this way at all—

God, you hate it.

“You don’t need me, Caleb.” your voice much weaker than you want it to be.

You push him out, and quickly turn away, walking off, leaving the beach, the golden sunset, the picture-perfect scene.

And if Caleb calls after you—you don’t hear it.

You don’t want to.

•

The night air presses against your skin, cool but not enough. Not enough to wash away the tension in your chest, not enough to erase the way your own voice had echoed back at you—

The long walk you took should’ve made you feel lighter.

You should feel relieved.

But you don’t.

Instead, the weight follows you, pressing against your ribs with every step, every breath, every slow drag of the tide pulling at the shore. The muffled sounds of the set fade behind you, swallowed by the darkness of the beach.

Only when you get closer to the resort do you start hearing the music.

It starts as a distant thrum, pulsing faintly through the heavy night air. A low bassline reverberating from somewhere ahead, blending with the sound of crashing waves. It takes a second to register, for your feet to slow, for the familiar heat of it to sink in.

The afterparty.

It’s inside the main house, a sprawling beachfront villa that serves as the cast and crew’s retreat after long filming days. The windows glow golden and inviting, the silhouette of moving bodies visible through the sheer curtains.

You hover near the doorway.

Inside, the world is warmer, hazier, looser.

The weight of the evening still sits heavy on your shoulders, but no one else seems to notice. No one else cares.

People are sprawled across couches, tucked into booths, pressed against walls, drinks in hand, faces flushed from alcohol and laughter. The lighting is low, a mixture of dim lamps and fairy lights strung along the ceiling, flickering against the glass like trapped fireflies. The scent of spilled liquor, cheap cologne, and the lingering trace of bonfire smoke fills the air.

MC is somewhere in the center of it all.

You see her immediately.

Perched on the arm of a couch, grinning, draped in warmth and attention, her head tilting back in laughter as someone hands her another drink. She looks effortless, as if the day never happened, as if the weight of the scene she filmed with Sylus didn’t still cling to her like it does to you.

She glows.

Like she always does.

And for the first time, you don’t want to be anywhere near her.

Not tonight.

You turn away, slipping past the clusters of people, past the thrumming energy, and find a quiet corner.

A small table sits against the wall, lined with bottles, a stack of plastic cups haphazardly placed beside them.

You grab one.

Then a bottle.

The first drink goes down too fast. The second burns, but you barely react. The third is easier, a slow warmth spreading through your limbs, seeping into your fingers, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts.

You lean back against the wall, fingers wrapped loosely around the cup, and watch as the night moves on without you.

MC is spinning, giggling, spilling half her drink as she sways to the music. Someone reaches for her waist, catching her just before she loses her balance. Caleb.

He’s there, as always.

Steadying her, teasing her, watching her.

You tip your cup back, draining the rest of your drink.

The music swells, the bass thrumming against your skin. The alcohol curls deeper into your system, warm and heady, numbing the part of you that still feels too present, too aware.

You don’t want to be aware.

You just want to sit here in this corner, where no one is watching, where no one is expecting anything from you.

And for a while, you do.

Drink after drink, until the night feels softer at the edges, until the sound of laughter no longer feels like it belongs to a world you can’t touch.

But then, a loud clap pierces through the room and the music lowers.

The music lowers.

“Alright, listen up! It’s time to bring some romance to life!”

The energy shifts.

People perk up, some groaning, some cheering, all of them gravitating toward the center of the room.

You barely react, swirling the last bit of alcohol in your cup.

But then, you hear it.

“Seven minutes in heaven, baby! Who’s in?”

Your fingers tighten around your drink.

MC perks up immediately, eyes gleaming with the kind of reckless excitement that only comes with being several drinks in.

Caleb groans, rolling his eyes, but he’s grinning.

Meanwhile, you simply sigh as your gaze falls back to the cup in your hand.

Because of course it’s this.

Of course this night, like everything else, will find a way to make her the center of it.

“We’re going to spice things up a little bit,” someone announces over the music, their voice dripping with amusement. A cup filled with rolled-up pieces of paper rattles in their hands as they shake it for emphasis.

“Instead of randomly drawing two names, only one name will be called.”

A pause. Anticipation thickens the air, curious murmurs rippling through the crowd.

The person smirks. “Once that name is called, you’ll be given ten seconds to either volunteer yourself or—” they tilt the cup teasingly, “your friend to be their partner.”

A wave of excitement rolls through the room. Some people cheer, some groan, some exchange knowing glances. A few shove their friends forward, already laughing at the thought of throwing them into the game.

The first name is drawn.

Someone calls it out, and there’s a brief, charged pause before someone steps forward, dramatically throwing their hands up. The crowd erupts as they disappear behind the door, laughter and wolf whistles chasing after them.

Then another name.

And another.

Each round follows the same pattern—a pause, then cheering, then the shuffle of two people slipping into the closet.

Some stumble back out minutes later, flushed and breathless, met with hollers and teasing. Others laugh it off, shaking their heads, grinning like they’ve just escaped something ridiculous.

The alcohol, the music, the flickering lights—everything feels looser, bolder, dipping further into recklessness with each passing round.

People egg each other on, nudging shoulders, calling out names before they’re even drawn, spurring the night forward like a challenge.

And then—

Another name is pulled.

The voice rings loud over the noise.

And your heart stops.

“Yn!”

Heads turn. Conversations pause. A slow wave of curiosity and anticipation ripples through the crowd as people glance around, searching for you.

“There she is!”

A pair of hands grab your wrist before you can even think about running.

Laughter spills around you as you’re dragged through the throng of people, the heat of bodies pressing in from all sides. Your pulse spikes, the alcohol in your system making everything feel sluggish yet sharp all at once—like you’re wading through a dream you can’t control.

They stop right in front of the closet.

Someone swings an arm over your shoulders, grinning.

“Sooo,” they drawl, their voice dripping with mischief, “who’d like to partner up with her?”

A beat of silence follows.

A moment—thick, expectant.

And then—

The crowd parts.

The shift is subtle at first, a presence cutting through the sea of bodies, slow, unhurried, inevitable.

Then you see him.

He steps forward with the kind of effortless confidence that demands attention—shoulders relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his fitted black slacks, the faintest smirk curling at his lips.

The room reacts before you do.

A low hum of interest, a few knowing whistles, someone muttering “Oh, shit.”

And God, does he know what he’s doing.

His stride is measured, each step slow and deliberate, the kind that makes you feel like he’s taking his time just to make a statement. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows along his jawline, highlighting the sculpted edges of his face—the messily tousled silver hair, the piercing crimson eyes that lock onto yours like a brand.

He doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t waver.

Just watches you as he approaches, like he’s already decided—like this was never even up for discussion.

Then, finally—

He stops right in front of you.

Too close.

The warmth of him seeps into the space between you, a contrast to the cool scent of his cologne—something crisp, dark, dangerous in a way that makes your stomach twist.

He tilts his head, the movement slow, teasing.

“What?” his voice is smooth, low enough that only you can hear. “Not for me?”

The words slam into you like a punch to the gut—because he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

The room erupts around you, people whooping, clapping, some downright losing their minds over the fact that Sylus fucking Qin just stepped forward for this game.

You swallow.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. Your pulse spikes, heat curling at the edges of your skin—not just from the alcohol, not just from the intensity of his gaze, but from the sheer presence of him.

Your eyes flicker around the room, anxious of all the cheering going on. Though, it lands on her. On MC.

Your breath catches.

She is staring. Not laughing. Not cheering like the others.

And for the first time tonight, she looks shocked.

Like this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Like this wasn’t part of the story she had in her head.

Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your spine.

However, you were quickly pulled out of your daze when someone claps you on the back, pushing you forward.

The crowd cheers louder and the closet door swings open.

Darkness yawns before you.

Sylus steps forward first, his hand brushing against your lower back as he guides you inside. Casual. Effortless. Like he’s done this before. Like he’s leading you somewhere only he understands.

The door clicks shut.

And the world is swallowed whole.

The music, the voices, the party—it all fades, muffled by the thick wooden walls, leaving only this.

Only him.

Your breath comes uneven, your pulse a heavy drumbeat in your ears, because suddenly, the space around you feels too small. The darkness presses in from all sides, thick and stifling, and the only thing clouding your senses—

Is him.

Sylus leans back against the door, his presence unshakable, his scent thick in the air.

Woody. Dark. A hint of spice laced with something richer, smokier.

Cigar musk and worn leather. Something dangerously smooth, something that lingers.

You can’t see him, but you feel him.

Feel the warmth of his body just inches away. Feel the gravity of him, the way he takes up space without even trying.

The realization of your positions slams into you, sharp and sudden, sending heat curling through your stomach.

You take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go—the closet is too small, too tight, too suffocatingly intimate.

A chuckle. Low, amused, sinful.

“Already nervous?” His voice is pure velvet, thick with the kind of arrogance that makes your stomach tighten.

You swallow, your fingers twitching at your sides.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Mm.” He hums, unconvinced.

The air between you is loaded, heavy, charged with something you don’t know how to name.

And then—

A shift.

A quiet creak of leather. A faint rustle of fabric.

He moves.

Closer.

You don’t even hear him step forward, don’t see him in the thick darkness—but you feel it. The way the space tightens. The way his heat licks at your skin, close enough to touch.

Close enough that if you just reached out—

A warm breath skims along your jaw.

You freeze.

Not touching. Not yet. But so close it doesn’t even matter.

Your own breath hitches, and that’s when you feel it—

His smirk.

You can’t see it. But you can feel it.

The way the air shifts between you, the way the silence stretches, the way his head tilts just slightly, like he’s waiting.

Like he’s playing with his food.

The muscles in your stomach tighten.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, voice dipping even lower, more intimate, like a secret meant only for you. “Not used to being this close to me?”

Your fingers curl into fists, nails biting into your palms.

And God, you hate him for this.

For the way he gets under your skin without even trying.

For the way he makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous, something uncontrollable, something that might swallow you whole if you let it.

The air between you is charged, electric, the kind of tension that makes your skin feel too hot, too tight.

A low chuckle erupts from his chest, its vibrations reaching yours. He leans down towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“Use me.”

The words hit the air like a match against gasoline.

Your breath catches.

A smirk curves against the dark. He knows.

Of course he knows.

“Use me to make him jealous.”

Your stomach tightens, heat spreading through your limbs like liquid fire.

You swallow. “That’s—”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His voice dips lower, a soft, taunting hum, stepping closer, just enough that you catch the faintest trace of clean linen and something sharp beneath it.

You hate that your pulse spikes.

You hate that he’s right.

You hate how easily he gets under your skin, how effortlessly he peels you open without even touching you.

You part your lips to deny it, but—

“Or,” he muses, tilting his head slightly, voice edged with something wicked, something dangerous, something that makes your knees feel weak—

“If you’d rather make it more interesting…”

A pause. A shift. A fraction of movement, barely there—

But you feel it.

The brush of his breath against your skin, the slow, unbearable closeness.

“…Use me to make her jealous.”

Your breath stutters.

He sees it.

He feels it.

And the slow, lazy smirk that tugs at his lips—it’s lethal.

Like he’s already won.

Like he knows exactly what buttons he’s pushing.

Like he’s daring you to say yes.

Your fingers curl into fists. Heat rolls beneath your skin, something dangerous, something reckless.

You should tell him to fuck off.

You should shove him away.

You should—

But you don’t.

Because in this moment, in this dark, stifling space—

You don’t know what you want more.

To prove him wrong.

Or to let him be right.

Perhaps it’s the pain you’ve been swallowing for months, the way it’s settled deep in your ribs, pressing against your lungs like a bruise that refuses to fade.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol, heavy in your bloodstream, loosening your grip on restraint, making you weak to the things you never let yourself touch.

Or maybe—maybe—it’s the way your stomach twists at the memory of her face.

MC’s wide, stunned eyes. The sharp sting of betrayal flashing across her features.

And as much as you hate it, as much as that look should send you crumbling—

Some twisted part of you puffs.

Some part of you, buried beneath layers of resentment, self-doubt, and the endless role of being cast in the background, thrives on it.

Because for once—for once—she is not the one standing in the center of the world.

For once, you have something she doesn’t.

And maybe it’s wrong. Maybe you’ll hate yourself for this later.

But right now—right now—

The weight of Sylus’s heat against you, the scent of smoke and clean linen and something sharp curling into your senses, pressing into the empty spaces inside you—

It’s stopping you from thinking straight.

And when his lips part, when his breath brushes over your skin, when the last thread of tension pulls taut between you—

You stop thinking altogether.

Because before you can second-guess yourself—

You grab him.

Fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, yanking him down, crashing into him like you’ve lost control of gravity itself.

Heat.

Pressure.

It is all you can feel.

His lips crash against yours, and everything ignites.

Your lips slowly move, and his follow suit. You can feel the smirk on his lips.

That damned smirk.

But your mind is wiped clean as soon as he tilts his head, the kiss turning hungrier. The tension builds, unraveling into something desperate, something heavy, something neither of you have the willpower to stop anymore.

Sylus lets out a low, dark chuckle against your mouth, but you swallow it whole.

He recovers quickly—of course he does—because the moment you give in, he’s already taking.

His hands slam against the wall behind you, pinning you between him and nothing else, his body pressing in, heat bleeding through his clothes and onto your skin.

The kiss is rough, deliberate, his lips moving against yours with slow precision, dragging, teasing, tasting.

Like he’s memorizing you.

Like he’s proving a point.

Your breath shudders when he bites, just enough to sting, just enough to make your knees buckle.

You hate that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Hate that he’s making you melt so easily.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, gripping him tight, using it as leverage when you press your body flush against his.

A sharp inhale from him.

A brief pause.

His fingers dive into your hair, twisting, tugging, tilting your head back as his mouth slants over yours, harder this time.

Deeper.

His other hand slides down, skimming over your ribs, tracing heat into your skin through your clothes before settling at your waist.

Firm. Possessive.

You don’t even realize you’ve been backing up until your back hits the closet wall and he presses in, caging you there, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

Your head spins.

The alcohol, the heat, the weight of him—it’s too much. But not enough.

A low groan rumbles deep in his chest when you tug at his hair, nails raking lightly against his scalp.

And then, his lips break away from yours—just barely, just enough to breathe against your mouth, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his swollen lips.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he murmurs, voice thick, husky, laced with something dangerous.

You exhale, your own lips tingling, your chest rising and falling too fast.

“Shut up.”

His teeth flash in the dimness, his breath hot against your lips.

Your grip tightens on his shirt, but it does nothing to steady you.

Sylus moves slowly—deliberate, like he’s savoring this moment, like he has all the time in the world to watch you unravel.

His hands dip beneath your shirt, fingers curling against your waist, his touch cool against the heat of your skin.

You shudder, a sharp inhale betraying you as his fingers start to move—slow, teasing strokes, tracing along the sensitive dip of your spine, mapping you out like he’s memorizing you by touch alone.

His mouth hovers just over yours, his breath fanning against your lips, his smirk felt more than seen in the heavy darkness.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice a low hum of amusement, his fingers pressing just slightly harder into your waist.

You bite your lip, hating the way your body responds to him, the way his touch burns through the fabric of your self-control.

“I’m not shaking.”

Sylus laughs, a deep, satisfied sound, his grip flexing slightly—his thumbs skimming just beneath the curve of your ribs, fingertips lingering dangerously close to places they shouldn’t be.

“Sure,” he muses, tilting his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then—he shifts.

A slow, taunting drag of his mouth, skimming along the curve of your jaw, down to the edge of your throat.

You swallow hard, your pulse thundering beneath his lips.

“You still thinking about them?” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark, coaxing, his fingers spreading wider, pressing into the dip of your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

The sharp heat of his body bleeds through your clothes, overwhelming, intoxicating, making it impossible to focus on anything other than him.

His mouth brushes against your neck—just barely, just enough—and a low, approving hum vibrates from his chest when he feels your breath catch.

“Good,” he whispers, voice dark with satisfaction.

His hands trail higher, warmer, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, his touch searing against your bare skin.

His fingers splay over the curve of your spine, pressing in just enough to make you arch, just enough to remind you that he has full control of this moment.

“You know,” he murmurs, lips grazing against your throat, voice thick with amusement, “when I said to use me…”

His hands continue their slow ascent, fingertips tracing along the delicate line of your ribs, slipping under the thin strap of your bra, his knuckles brushing dangerously close to places that would mean no turning back.

“I was talking about simply making it seem like we did something.”

He pauses.

A teasing smirk curls against your skin.

“Didn’t think you’d take it so literally.”

Your breath stutters.

A sharp mix of heat and indignation surges through you, twisting deep in your stomach, because he’s playing with you.

Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and he loves every second of it.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tighter, a silent warning, a desperate attempt to keep yourself together.

He just chuckles—low, dark, sinful.

“Getting shy now?” His voice is all arrogance, his hands still skimming, still testing, still pushing you to the edge of losing control completely.

You hate him.

God, you hate him.

But you hate yourself more for the way your body leans into him, for the way your breath hitches when his teeth graze your pulse, for the way his heat drowns you whole.

And the worst part?

He knows.

He always knows.

His lips ghost over your skin, the smirk never leaving.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice velvet-smooth, “if I slipped my hands a little lower, would you stop me?”

Your stomach flips.

Your grip tightens.

But you don’t answer.

And that silence is exactly what he needs.

Sylus hums, a low, knowing sound, his fingers tightening against your spine, dragging heat along your skin as they trail downward again—slow, teasing, excruciating.

And then, his lips move, lower—tracing just barely along the column of your throat, hovering, not quite touching, not quite giving in.

“No protest?” His voice is mocking, rich with amusement and something darker, something heavier.

His fingers skim along the waistband of your jeans, just a whisper of pressure, enough to send a jolt through your system, enough to make your nails bite into his shirt, into his skin beneath it.

Your pulse hammers, every muscle in your body coiled so tightly you swear you might snap.

His breath brushes against your ear, soft, deliberate, taunting.

“Still not stopping me?”

You should.

You should.

But your body betrays you, tilting into his touch, into his heat, into the danger of him.

Sylus hums, a deep, satisfied sound, his fingers hooking onto the waistband of your jeans—

A knock shatters the daze you were in.

Loud. Sharp.

The closet door rattles slightly.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” someone calls, muffled through the wood.

Everything freezes.

Your breath catches.

Sylus doesn’t move, not immediately.

For a long, tense second, his fingers linger—just barely pressing into your skin, his body still flush against yours, his lips hovering just over your jaw.

Though slowly, deliberately, devastatingly—he pulls back.

Just enough for you to breathe again.

Just enough to make you ache from the loss.

Sylus stretches, rolling his shoulders lazily before throwing you a look that’s pure, wicked satisfaction. He runs his thumb across his lower lip, like he’s still tasting you there.

The door finally swings open, and light floods in.

His voice is low, smooth as silk, but dripping with mocking amusement, he whispers before he steps out of the closet—

“Shame. I was just getting started.”

part 5

[asxgard]

AHHHHH maybe Jack having his wife and son come into the ER after a little incident at baseball practice 😭 just something a little angsty and fluffy but I love soft Jack Abbot! Your writing is so amazing, keep it up and if this doesn’t interest you please feel free to ignore.

Cast | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader

Requested

Summary: After an incident at baseball practice, you and your son end up in the ER.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you, anon!! I’m giving Jack a child stat! Omg, the world needs more dad!Abbot. I hope this was equally angsty and fluffy enough for you!

Word Count: 1.6k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: vague age gap, foul language, mild angst, injured child (non-life threatening), fluff, dad!Jack, mom!reader, reader has Jack’s surname, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, blood mentions

not beta read

You only looked away for a second, reaching into your bag to put your book away, and the next your son was screaming. Your head snapped to look at the field and you spotted him in the outfield, clutching his arm. You were out of your seat the next second and charging onto the baseball field. You beat the coaches there.

Steven was wailing, though you could hardly blame the six-year-old, and you felt like your heart had stopped, listening to him in so much pain. Clearly he had been hurt, but he had no obvious signs of injury other than the fact that he was clutching his arm tightly to his chest.

You tried your best to soothe him, calm him down, but your own fears had begun to cloud your mind. If it was not broken, it had to be a sprain. There was a lingering sense of dread, of fear kicked into overdrive, but if it was a break, then at least that was not life-threatening.

Your first instinct other than to comfort your child was to call your husband. You first wanted to get Steven into the car so you could get him to the hospital, so you tucked your phone into your pants pocket and helped him to his feet.

“I know it’s really painful, baby, but mommy is going to make it better, okay?” You attempted, “Do you want me to carry you? Can you walk?”

Steven finally took a long intake of air, cheeks damp. He huffed in a few more unsteady breaths in, his lips in a large pout. The hazel in his eyes was exactly like his father’s.

“I can—I can walk.” He said, face scrunched up.

You admired how strong he was being, but you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go. You helped him to the car, trying to position his arm against his chest with the elbow bent without causing any more pain.

“We’re gonna go to the hospital now, and I promise it’ll make you all better.”

You were overly thankful that Steven had been in the hospital enough to not be afraid of it — from picking up his father, to the odd days you needed to drop him off before the end of your husband’s shift so you could get to an early meeting, leaving him in the caring hands of one of the nurses.

Steven was still softly crying when you called your husband, and you found yourself unbelievably annoyed when he didn’t pick up. He nearly always did, always panicked that something might have happened. You hated that was how he reacted when you called him at work, but to be fair, you usually only texted him about things. The one time you actually needed him to pick up? Voicemail.

You tried to calm your own frustration, knowing he was likely in a trauma or something equally serious. Despite all his faults, he never ignored you on purpose.

In the waiting room, you found yourself relieved to see Lupe running registration. She recognized you instantly. Her eyes flickered from you to Steven’s tears.

“I think he broke his arm,” you told her, frowning, “can you get Jack? I couldn’t reach him.”

“I think he’s still in Trauma-1, but I’ll get someone to bring you back right away, Mrs. Abbot.” She nodded, disappearing into the back.

That explained it. Whatever he was doing, it was life threatening, but you still felt antsy to tell him.

It was Collins who came through the door within the next minute, eyes scanning for you. Looking at the time, she was likely rounding out her shift, but it was good to see her. She smiled when she saw you, before looking down at Steven and frowning.

“Let’s get you two into a room,” she said, ushering you into the back with her. “I’ll put him down for an x-ray, but I’ll go see about getting him bumped to the top.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at her. Oh the perks of being married to Jack Abbot.

Collins parked you both in an open room, mentioning someone would be in shortly to start some pain meds while she worked on getting Steven to x-ray. A figure passing by stopped short and stepped into the room.

You greeted Robby with a smile. You two were no strangers, Robby occasionally coming by your house to hang out with Jack. He took one look at you and another at Steven, and panic invaded his calm demeanor.

“Broken arm, I think,” you told him quickly, so his mind didn’t run to the worst case scenario. He was much like Jack in that way.

“Hey, buddy,” Robby said, stealing Steven’s attention. “Can I see your arm?”

Robby assessed your son gently, before ordering intravenous pain meds and administering them.

“Heather is trying to get him into x-ray.”

He nodded, “Jack know yet?”

You shrugged, “I heard he was in the middle of a trauma.”

“I’ll go switch out with him,”

“Thank you, Robby.”

He waved you off and disappeared out into the hall.

—

Due to a mild hiccup, Jack had come into work earlier than usual — missing his son’s baseball practice that evening. He went when he could, but he tried to never miss a game. The Pitt seemed to swallow most of his time, but he never let it steal those moments with his son.

After clocking in, he was thrown right into a major car vs pedestrian trauma, but he fell into it with practiced ease. The buzzing phone in his pocket made him a bit on edge, but with gloved hands soaked in blood, he did not even think to answer it.

It took forever to stabilize the pedestrian who had been hit, but they finally were wheeled up to pre-op and he discarded the bloodied gown. He reached into his pocket to check his phone, finding two missed calls from his wife and a voicemail. His stomach churned uneasily.

He stepped toward the charge desk to put a chart away, glancing up at the board out of habit, before turning toward the staff lounge so he could call you back.

Wait…

His eyes snapped back up to the board, scanning the names and stopping on his son’s.

Steven Abbot.

His heart lurched into his throat. Fuck. He saw the room number and turned, only to find Robby next to him.

“Hey, brother,”

Jack barreled past him toward Central-8, heart beating wildly against his ribcage. He hadn’t even checked what prognosis sat besides his son’s name, or the level of severity, there was just pure instinct to be with him.

Robby jogged to catch up with him, “He’s fine, he’s fine. Broken arm. Was just coming to get you.”

That settled some of his fears, but worry bled through every pore. The one time he did not answer his phone…

His wife’s face did wonders to soothe him, as did the fact that his son was sat back and playing on his wife’s phone, arm in a sling. He released a long breath.

“Dad!”

Jack wrapped his son up in a hug, careful not to put any pressure on his arm.

“Hey, buddy, how do you feel?”

Steven gave a toothy smile, “Better after Uncle Robby gave me medicine.”

A relief washed over Jack’s features, eyeing the IV in his uninjured arm. He kissed the top of his son’s head, turning back to Robby just as Collins stepped into the doorway.

“They’ll be taking him next,” she said.

“Thank you, Heather.” You said.

“Don’t mention it.” She told you with a smile. “Just glad the little man is okay.”

Robby and Collins departed, leaving just you and Jack with your son. You typically were rigid around screen time, but felt being in the hospital was a perfect time to be lenient.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer—”

“It’s fine, Jack,” you told him, grabbing his hand from the gurney. “I know you were busy. Besides, you couldn’t have done anything on the phone anyways.”

He frowned, “But you called and I didn’t answer. I could’ve—”

You sighed, “Had it been more serious, I would’ve called an ambulance, or tried to reach out to Robby or Dana or whomever to let you know. Our son is okay. Let’s not focus on the what ifs.”

Jack sat on that for a moment, before rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re still a good father, Jack.” You said, as if you could hear the thoughts racing through his head.

His hazel eyes snapped to yours, taking you in.

“I mean it,” you said in the silence. “Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise.”

“I love you.” Jack said, not fully knowing how else to put his feelings into words. His gratitude, his care, his love.

You smiled easily, already understanding what he meant, all he meant, “As I love you.”

He leaned over to kiss you softly and you smiled against his mouth.

Steven made a sound of disgust, shielding his eyes with a soft giggle. You laughed, moving to kiss your son’s forehead. Jack’s heart swelled.

The x-ray revealed that his arm had been broken, likely by falling on it wrong, but it was not serious enough for surgery. That fact relieved both you and Jack tremendously. Just a quick pull to put the bone back right and a cast for five weeks.

“So what color would you like, Stevie?” Jack asked, sitting down beside your son. “They’ve got blue, yellow, pink, green—”

“Green!” Steven yelled happily.

You chuckled at his excitement over his cast.

“Do you think everyone will sign it?” He asked, toothy grin wide.

That ‘look on the bright side of things’ definitely came from you, Jack thought with a smile.

“I’m sure they will, bud.”

All Dr. Abbot content taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @sharkluver @yournerdmodziata

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver

Dad!Abbot?? Give it to meee

Also?? 500+ followers?? You guys are great!🥹

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[reiyaus]

fem reader intended | part two of this

fratboy! gojo who meets up with you after getting your contact info the other night, laptop prepared to explain the important of card trading.

fratboy! gojo who, for once, finds it fun to converse with someone other than his small circle of friends. he can't deny the fact he finds you cute when you get confused- not like he'll tell anyone. (more under cut!)

fratboy! gojo whose friends are starting to notice that he isn't partying as much as he did before, but instead, actually attending his classes. to say that they were surprised is an understatement.

fratboy! gojo who walks with you during breaks only to hear you talk, whether it be about pokémon or whatever. with you, he can escape the frat-party life and settle down into a mellow, drunk-free personality. sure he can do that with his friends, but it comes naturally when with you.

fratboy! gojo who sets up chill hangouts when he realizes you aren't as interested in loud environments as him. from walks in the parks, a 1-hour pottery session, or cafe hopping around town- you find yourself enjoying every second of it.

fratboy! gojo who introduces you to his friends, embarrassed when they mention how he'd turn off dnd just to check if you replied. you laugh, comparing him to a clingy dog (which he is) and he feels himself dying even more.

fratboy! gojo who decides that he wants to properly confess his feelings for you during the night of valentines. take you out like normal and bring out the gift he prepared in his trunk. simple, right?

fratboy! gojo who couldn't stop cheesing anytime you looked away, yet acting flustered whenever you noticed. in his mind, he was the greatest at hiding his emotions- but you knew right away that something was up. considering how he asked to match with you, on valentines day.

fratboy! gojo who brings you to a secluded part of the beach where you could see the stars clearly, and has to calm himself down before making a fool out of himself (like he hasn't already).

fratboy! gojo who starts off by bringing up the first day you met, chuckling at how he found quietude in the midst of a party.

fratboy! gojo who takes your hands in his so gently, smiling at how well yours molded together. with one hand holding yours, he reaches into the back of his car and brings out the small basket he made.

fratboy! gojo who filled the basket up with your favorite snacks, a box of high-quality trading cards, a bracelet, and most importantly, a multipage, hand-crafted letter. stuck onto the back, was a candid polaroid he took of you the first time you hung out. aka, the day he realized he loved you.

fratboy! gojo who stumbles across his words, unable to properly convey the script he had in mind. his worry took over him when you didn't respond to anything he said.

fratboy! gojo who pauses after hearing your laugh, and looks up to see the same eyes he fell in love with staring right at him with such adoration. you're smiling. and soon, he finds himself smiling even harder.

fratboy! gojo who has to stop himself from cheering when you formally accept his confession. going as far as to exit out the car to give you the warmest embrace. melting in your arms, he finally has all the reason to kiss you on the cheek.

boyfriend! gojo who slowly retires from the party-life (and possibly playboy), and while still remaining in his frat- he'd very much rather spend his nights with you in his arms.

restful and content, satoru couldn't have asked for a better way to meet you.

a/n: for that one person who wanted it to be platonic... im sorry [sweat]... NEXT TIME! i really want to write "intimacy with platonic!gojo" or any other jjk character. also ignore how i portrayed gojo as a playboy (kind of) in the first part, i lowk forgot abt that when writing pt 2

taglist (only tagged those that asked) @ourfinalisation @cheriiepies @megumisthirdog @leabyjulia @blessingdancing @seternic @gojoscumslut @backinmyphase @cutieminaaa @wandabillywrites @shycreatorreview @bypanana @ilovemyhusbandnanami @l1v1ngzomb1e @raendarkfaerie @hellogojofan @exclusiverinaa @just-lilita @satorushousewife @jaeminaur @mjsjshhd @kaybug88 @minascasket @sapphireillusions @ravenbc @psoycy @juicus

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Look What You Made Me Do – Genshin edition part 1

Pairings: Kinich, Ororon, Ajaw, Thrain/Capitano, & Ifa (separately)

Warnings: Male!reader, sub/bottom!Characters, human!Ajaw, phone sex, sexting, masturbation, sex toys, modern day AU

This artist's human Ajaw has lived in my head rent free for months now. Please show them some love 💚

Kinich

Your partner is not usually one to touch himself much. He barely sends you nudes either, so it comes as a big surprise when your phone dings and the message you receive is a 10 minute video from him with the addition of “Watch this alone.”

Finding a secluded space where no one can see nor hear you, you press play

Breathy moans greet you first, followed by Kinich adjusting the camera so that you get a full view of his hand pumping his cock

“Texting with you did this… I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't focus on anything else.”

His pretty voice carries on, intermixed with the occasional hiss and shudder

You feel yourself grow more excited as the video goes on. Eventually, Kinich sets his phone down, gripping the bathroom counter with his newly freed hand, and relentlessly jerking himself off with the other

It's also uncharacteristic for Kinich to be so vocal, but the desire must be hitting him hard right now, since his grunts are louder than ever

“D-don't… don't keep me waiting. I want you to be here when I cum.”

“YEAH! IF YOU'RE TOO SLOW, KINICH WILL MAKE A MESS ALL OVER THE BATHROOM! HAHAHAHA– OW!”

The thunk of Ajaw hitting the wall cuts the sexual atmosphere, making you laugh briefly while shaking your head at their antics

And you laugh even harder once Ajaw realizes that the hand Kinich smacked him with was wet with precum…

“EEEWWWW!! HOW DARE YOU TOUCH THE ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD, K'UHUL AJAW WITH YOUR FILTHY HUMAN FL–”

The video abruptly ends as your partner grabs his phone and gives the camera one last apologetic look

Well, maybe that extra frustration will make Kinich's orgasm that much stronger!

Ororon

You can't leave this sweet boy alone for even a second

What was supposed to be a sleepover at a friend's house turned into a sexually frustrating night (for you AND Ororon)

Not too long after you hop into bed, you receive a video call from your lovely boyfriend

Not wanting to disturb your friend, you decide to take the call in the bathroom

“Are you asleep yet?” your boyfriend asks, panting and holding the camera over his face while he's laying back on your shared bed

After a little bit of back and forth, you finally get Ororon to show you the reason for this midnight call…

He fixes his phone on the dresser across from the bed, showing off the wet mess he's made of his hole

You end up spending hours locked in your friend's bathroom, fucking your fist that you imagine is Ororon's warm walls squeezing your length

And on the other end of the call, Ororon hooks one arm under his knees, propping his legs up. His other hand vigorously fingers his ass — pushing in deep, per your instructions

“It's…not the same…” your sweetheart whines. “It doesn't feel as good…not like when you do it…”

The pitiful expression on his face sends a pang of guilt straight to your heart

As soon as you return home tomorrow, you'll give your dear boyfriend the love he deserves 💜

K'uhul Ajaw

7 missed calls and a barrage of texts make up the wall of notifications covering your phone's lock screen

All of which are from your dear, darling boyfriend, Ajaw

He knew you were in a business meeting, so your first assumption is that this is an emergency

“Where's the fire?” you half joke when he picks up your video call

But before Ajaw's voice comes through the line, the prominent squelching noises burst through your phone speakers

And when he adjusts his camera so that it's pointing at him, you get a full view of Ajaw's dick abusing a fleshlight

“Are you done already? How much longer are those imbeciles going to keep you there?!”

Once you deliver the good news, a wide grin spreads across his face, and Ajaw's hips snap into the toy a few times, all followed by a low rumbly growl

“Good. Then get your ass back here so I can use it to replace this thing with~” he commands

Unfazed, you retort “Oohhh someone's in a bratty mood, isn't he?”

“We'll see who's the brat when I'm pounding your little ass later! I bet you can't wait to get underneath the glorious K'uhul Ajaw!”

After a bit of back and forth between you two — that results in a very riled up, and pent up, boyfriend — Ajaw resorts to calling you his "bottom bitch", all while that fleshlight becomes wetter and louder with every thrust

And it's not until your voice begins to echo, from Ajaw's phone and the entrance to your apartment, that your boyfriend realizes how fucked he is

No time to scramble away, Ajaw smirks at you once you enter the bedroom, not at all hiding the nervousness behind his eyes

Even as you hold his hips and use him just as he had used the fleshlight, your bottom bitch of a boyfriend will cling on to that false sense of superiority

Thrain (Capitano)

Your sweetheart of a husband… your loving husband who can never have enough of you… of course he'd miss you while you were on a business trip

Not too long after the sun sets, you request a video call with him. Time flies so quickly as you chat about your days, how bougie the hotel is, how much you miss each other, and plenty more

Gradually, the conversation transitions into how much you miss each other's touch. Thrain has this somber look on his face as he laments about not having your arms around him, and not being able to cuddle with you later when he falls asleep

“I know this won't be the same, but… you can use that special toy while I guide you?”

That special toy you mentioned is none other than a custom made dildo, essentially a silicone cast of your cock. It was a gift for your 5th anniversary

It's not as good as the real thing, but you figured it would be the next best thing. Seeing as you're both employees of the esteemed Fatui Agency, and you end up on more business trips than the average business man. It would be nice for your husband to have something to keep his lust satiated while you're apart

“That's it, darling, just a little more. You can take a little more. Gooood~”

Thrain sucks in a breath, hoping to conceal the moan just on the tip of his tongue. The flesh of his ass meets the chair he's positioned in his room, with that special toy suctioned right in the center

Your sensual instructions play through the phone speakers; “Bounce on it, baby. Show me how you'd ride me if I was there with you~”

Precum covers your hand as you touch yourself to the sounds and sight of your husband riding 'you'

His own cock bobs wildly, untouched, even though you never said he couldn't pleasure himself that way too

God, you wish you could reach through the screen and tug on his pretty hair. The whimpers that would follow make your cock twitch

Out of habit, Thrain places a hand over his stomach, eager to feel the bulge that 'you' create every time he sinks down fully

“My love… m-may I…?” he asks so sweetly. His voice almost a whisper

If you feel generous enough to give him permission, you'll be treated to the sight of your husband's cum dripping down his chest

If you're feeling more sadistic, perhaps you'll make your darling wait until you can be together again. Earning the most adorable whines throughout the remainder of your call 💙

Ifa

One simple, innocent phone call was all it took to tip your boyfriend over the edge

He already missed you so much. Waiting for you to return from your 3 day vacation was torture, even if you did text him every day

You called him as you were sitting in bed, wanting to hear your boyfriend's voice lull you to sleep

Ifa quickly becomes fidgety the longer he listens to you ramble about your day and how you wished you could have spent it with him

Before he even realizes it, his hand is groping at his own cock. A shudder crawls through his body, and you clock the shakiness in his breath

“Ifa? Is everything alright?” the concern lacing your tone almost makes him feel guilty for making you worry, but he quickly dispels your worry…

“Keep talking, babe…please?”

Oh, ok. Oh! It finally clicks. You shake your head in disbelief — your loving boyfriend is getting off to the sound of your voice~

You indulge him, guiding him through how lonely the hotel bed feels, and how much you crave his body next to you

The familiar sound of Ifa pumping his slick cock has you growing excited as well, and it's not long before you join in on the fun

Both of you put your phones on speaker and continue moaning while you jerk yourselves off

Ifa whines, calling your name until he hears you growl. That's what finally tips him over the edge, and once you hear your lover in such ecstasy, you find yourself joining him soon after

“Whew…that was…intense, huh?” Ifa laughs, breathing deeply

Tired, but not quite tired enough to fall asleep yet, you spend another hour or so conversing with Ifa

Not all of which is innocent… 😳

[vettelsvee]

ARGUMENTS AND UNWANTED SHARED SECRETS | Charles Leclerc

⋆ PAIRING: Dad!Charles Leclerc x Mum wife!Reader ⋆ SUMMARY: Charles is back home for summer break, and a message he receives from Lando to hang out in a club makes the two of you argue in front of your daughter because all you want is her to enjoy her dad... or maybe, is just your nervousness and hormones making you overthink a lot ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1462 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: First ever fic i’m posting as a university graduate and officially a teacher, so I can say that apart from some exams my nightmare after 4 years is finally done! 🫡 I'd love to read your thoughts about this one, so feel free to comment and reblog, I'd appreciate it a lot! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME/MAKE YOUR REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

The long-awaited summer break had arrived, and finally, Charles Leclerc could return to his beloved Monaco to spend three weeks with you, his wife, and your four-year-old daughter, Julia.

There was no doubt that traveling so much, and especially being separated from his little family for long periods of time, was exhausting emotionally and mentally for the Monegasque. Still, he knew he had to continue with his career if he wanted to achieve the goals his younger self had set for him: becoming a world champion. That's why videocalls with the women of his life, and the support of some of his mates, especially the newly dad on the grid, Max Verstappen, made the season more bearable.

That's why, even while having dinner in pajamas, talking about any topic that came up while enjoying a simple homemade dinner they had cooked together, Charles felt grateful.

"How's the season going so far, daddy?" your daughter asked, looking at your husband curiously as she held her glass of water.

Charles sighed, feeling a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to tellyou anything related to his disastrous season at Ferrari, especially not in front of your daughter.

"It's been tough so far," he replied as calmly as he could, "but we still have the second half ahead to fight. It’s not like we’re winning the championship, but we could still fight for some points."

The 6-year-old girl, sitting to Charles' left, looked saddened to hear her father's words.

"Why can't we go see daddy at a race?" she asked, looking at you, who tried to smile the best you could.

At that moment, the Monegasque was overwhelmed with love even your face said otherwise. It seemed like your daughter had read his mind as he was going to suggest it to you in the following days.

"Would you like us to come see you race, honey?"

"I wouldn't like it, I would honestly love it," Leclerc nodded enthusiastically. "Having you in the paddock, just like when you were pregnant with Julia, would be a dream."

The little girl was over the moon about the idea, kicking her little legs with enthusiasm.

"Does that mean we can go see daddy, mommy? I want to go see him race! And maybe I can see Lewis too!"

You savored your daughter's excitement.

"Of course, honey. We'll try to go to a few races if possible, of course."

Charles took another bite of his meal before speaking again.

"Oh, come on," your husband replied, taking another bite of dinner. "You just have to make sure that Juls wears sunscreen and drinks enough water."

Suddenly, Charles heard the ringing tone of his cellphone in the distance. With a soft apologise, he immediately got up to answer the call, thinking it might be some work-related issue requiring his attention. As he returned, you and little Julia were discussing which races you could attend to see her father.

"It was Lando," the driver commented. "He told me he’s going out tonight."

"And are you going?" you frowned, not getting any response from your husband. All he did was staying silence, as if he was hiding something from you, as if he was scared. You knew him all too well, and that’s exactly what he was doing. "Charles, I'm talking to you," you insisted. "I don’t mind you’re going, but… I don’t know, I thought having you here, with us, for the summer break, meant you were spending time with us."

Leclerc sighed.

“I just wanted to hang out with Lando and with you as well. You know, having some private time and trying to relax as much as possible without laying on the couch the whole day when I’m not at the gym.”

Julia sat quietly in her seat, sensing the tension between her parents filling the room even at her young age.

You stood up, abruptly dropping the fork she was eating with.

"It's not just about you relaxing or us having a good time," you shouted, a bit desperate, and immediately regretted it. "You’re… I don’t know, Charles, I feel like you’re always kinda prioritizing your career over our family. Plus, what are you going to do with your daughter tonight? Are you going to leave her alone? Or should we call your mother at nine thirty at night on a whim?"

"It's not fair for you to make me feel this way, you know?" Charles retorted, getting defensive. "I work hard to provide everything you need. Besides, you can stay here with Juls if you can't, or don’t, want to come."

"I work too, and I handle other chores as well," you said simply, trying not to stick to his words, which were definitely hurting you. "Oh, and I also take care of your daughter and try to make her see that her father still loves her despite not being there for her when she needs him the most."

The tension building up between you in the dining room could be cut with a knife, and your daughter’s cries were what snapped you out of your anger.

"Daddy, I don't want you to fight! I want us to be together and happy!"

"Juls," Charles approached his daughter slowly, "it's okay, mommy and I are just exchanging opinions..."

"What's going on, mommy?" the girl interrupted her father, still with tears in her eyes. "Why are you and daddy fighting? Are you going to divorce like Lily’s parents?"

Charles and you realized what you were doing. You weren't used to fighting this hard, especially not in front of your daughter. Immediately, they both sat on the couch, putting Julia between you both.

"We're sorry for yelling, sweetheart," you apologized to the little girl. "Dad and I are just having a disagreement because, sometimes, adults have different points of view on a particular issue."

Charles nodded, agreeing with you and, at the same time, trying to calm the situation:

"That's right, Julia. Sometimes people don't agree, but that doesn't mean mom and I don't love each other anymore!"

Julia nodded slowly, still confused and saddened by the argument she had witnessed.

"Are you going to be okay then? Are you not going to separate? Can we go see daddy at a race, mommy?"

You and Charles exchanged a quick glance, increasingly realizing that the argument had really hurt their daughter.

"Of course, princess," the driver replied, planting a kiss on her forehead while getting up from his seat. "Hey, why don't you go to our room and pick a movie?"

Julia smiled shyly and left the living room without saying anything, a sign that she had calmed down a bit.

"Hey. Come here, please."

Charles took your hand, seeing in your eyes a feeling he promised never to cause again every time you had an argument. 

Pain. Disappointment. The feeling of not being good enough. 

Overthinking it all.

"You're right, love," he said, wiping away the tears starting to fall from your face. "I'm so sorry for acting like a jerk, I just wanted us to have a good time and for you to be able to socialize with the guys like before Juls came into our lives."

"Don't worry, Charles," you tried to give him a niec smile, but it wasn’t really worth the try. "I got a bit intense too. I guess it's the hormones, they're changing every now and then and..."

You realized you messed up at that moment. Quickly, like a reflex movement, you put you right hand on your mouth, but it was already too late. 

Once again, you fucked up even it was supposed to be a surprise...

"What do you mean, hormones?"

"I'm pregnant," you whispered. "I know we weren't planning it, but..."

The Monegasque was speechless, and a broad smile began to spread across his face.

"That's incredible!" he exclaimed, hugging you affectionately. "We're going to be parents again. I mean, it’s not like I was expecting this news but honestly, I can't believe it..."

"Mommy! Daddy! When are you coming?"

Julia appeared again. Now, she was wearing her father's Ferrari cap which, despite being too big for her little head, she loved. Her face immediately covered with a smile as soon as she saw her parents hugging, quickly forgetting you two were talking more loudly than you should moments before.

"Great! We're all together and happy now!" she shouted down the hallway until she reached the bedroom Charles and you shared.

Once the growing family lay down on the bed and started watching Cars for the umpteenth time —because to Julia, Lightning McQueen reminded her of her father—, Charles couldn't help but think how lucky he was to have his family by his side, even he was far from stupid sometimes.

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Four.

Clark stood up and positioned himself between the door and his injured teammate before it even opened, though not much before. His own delayed reaction made sense when it opened to show one of Batman’s teammates. While for the longest the League had thought Batman ‘worked alone’, they were now aware of there being a variety of heroes in Gotham, even if they were far from sure how many there might be or who those heroes were.

Nightingale was a notable exception what with his influence on the newest generation of heroes.

The young man flashed Clark a cheery smile and a little two finger wave. The motion almost distracting with the bright blue that marked the fingers.

“Hey Supes, I got notified that B was laid up.”

Clark paused. “You did?”

“Yep, I’m down as B’s emergency contact for Justice League matters. Feel free to confirm it if you want,” Nightingale said and leaned against the door frame with an easy shrug. “That’s exactly the sort of paranoia that B would approve of.”

It really was was, Clark thought. He grabbed the tablet that he had been using and pulled up Batman’s personnel file. It was a sparse file, of course, but clear as day Nightingale listed was next to ‘emergency contact’. Under his name as an alternative was ‘Condor’.

“Who’s Condor?”

“Me,” rumbled the man who stepped up behind Nightingale. He wasn’t as tall as the other hero, but he was broad. His lower face was covered in some sort of sleek gas mask, though Clark’s focus was pulled to the red lenses of the domino mask.

He certainly made for an intimidating figure.

Nightingale rolled his eyes. “Dramatic.”

Condor just shrugged. “I’m here to be the muscle.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “For… what?”

“Oh, we’re taking B home!” Nightingale, well, chirped and pushed himself off the doorway.

Clark stepped in the way. “Batman needs to stay under medical supervision.”

“We know. We’re taking him to the Batcave. There’s a full medical set up there and we already have Batman’s personal doctor on hand to look him over,” Nightingale said as he smoothly edged his way around Clark. “Not that we don’t think you all have done your best! Just that way we’ll have his status for our files and he can recover at home.”

“Besides, you don’t want you-know-who to get wind that B is laid up like this and come storming the castle,” Condor said and came to take the other end of the medical bed.

Nightingale gave an over-the-top shudder. “Yeah, best to avoid that, he’s not having a good week already.”

“I, no, I don’t know who,” Clark said with a frown, though he did finally step out of their way. He couldn’t really tell them no, they did have control over Batman’s care. Still, he carefully watched them undo the clasps that would let them take off the top of the bed like a stretcher.

Condor lifted his end of the bed. “B’s husband, of course. Guy’s a little protective.”

“A little?” Nightingale asked as he pivoted with his end of the bed so they could start walking. “Calling him ‘a little’ protective is like calling what happened on Monday a ‘little’ multidimensional incident.”

Condor shrugged, the bed shifting a little with the motion, though it barely rocked Batman. “Okay, so maybe he’d rewrite the world for B if it came to it. That’s exactly why we’re getting B back to the Cave where he can be safe and settled before his paramour gets back from dealing with that ‘little’ multidimensional incident.”

“Right,” agreed Nightingale. “Thanks for looking after him, Supes!”

“You’re welcome?” Clark replied as the two heroes left the room, Batman carried between them.

[randofics]

Pain and Warmth pt.1

🎶 The Midnight- Vampires

🎶 Deftones- Beauty School (slowed + reverb)

Dante Sparda x F reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, details of menstrual cycle, medication usage, L-word

Link to Dante x F reader Headcannons

16+

18+ if you squint

I finished the entire first season in 2 days, yall! I also get that it's not lore accurate in some aspects, but it's not really supposed to be. It's the director and wrighters interpretation. While I personally have never played the games, I did watch someone play a few years ago, along with watching the other anime adaptation (which I love dearly). Hopefully, I did this adaptation justice in this fic.

----------

As you walked to Dantes, place your cramps were getting serious. You'd have to take some ibuprofen when you got there. You huffed and puffed, trying to breathe through the pain as you finally made it to his doorstep.

You knock without much effort before just opening the door to let yourself in. You force out his name and hear his snoring stop with a snort.

As you pass the threshold into the room, he greets you. "Hey y/n! How's it going..." He trails off when he sees you. You're a bit unsteady on your feet, still panting with droopy eyes and your glasses slipping down your nose.

You cross the room to his side before he gets up, and you set your bag on the desk, pulling out your medicine bag. Taking an ibuprofen from the bottle, you pop it in your mouth and steal his soda from the desk to swallow it down. "Hey, that's my soda!"

"You give him a glare he's never seen on you before that shuts him up." He puts his hands up as he props his feet on the desk behind you again. You look at him analyzing something which he tilts his head at. "What is it?"

Suddenly, you're sitting in his lap, and he freezes as you lay against his chest. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"Ibuprofen won't work right away. Need warmth to stem the pain." Your shortened phrasing gives tell of the level of pain you're in. Suddenly, you grab his hand and slip it into the top of your pants, laying it over your abdomen. You sigh when the heat soakes into your skin.

He blushes, looking anywhere but at you. This is all so sudden! Are you in so much pain that you don't even care that it's HIM you're sitting on with HIS hand pressed against your bare skin!? He's freaking out internally. But suddenly, there's a scent in his nose. It's unmistakable yet tinged with something unfamiliar.

"You're bleeding... why are you bleeding!?"

You hiss and growl at him when he jostles you. Giving him an even more intense glare. "Stay still, Dante... or I swear I'll tear you to shreds."

"But why are you bleeding!?"

You sigh, not wanting to keep wasting energy on speaking. "I'm on my menstrual cycle."

"Ok, yeah, I forgot about that. But why do I smell so much?"

"I'm a heavy bleeder. It's normal for me."

"Shouldn't you get checked out for that, though? That doesn't seem normal to me."

"I'll schedule an appointment soon. Quit talking, I need sleep."

-------

By the time you've fallen asleep, Dante is bored out of his mind. He's already counted the cracks in the walls when there's a nock on the door. Enzo comes waltzing in.

"Hey Dante, I've got a..." Dante puts his finger to his lips with wide eyes frantically shushing him. Enzo spots you in his lap and gives Dante a knowing grin.

Dante mouths to him. "It's not like that, dude! She just jumped me!" He tries to free his other hand, but you grab hold of it, keeping it against your skin. A wave of pain hits you and you hiss. Opening your eyes, you look over at Enzo.

"Enzo my bag, please." He rounds the desk, handing you your bag, which you rummage through for another pill. "Soda." He holds it out for you, and you swallow the pill with another sip.

"Thank you, Enzo. Can you do me another favor, please?"

"Oh sure! What do ya need?"

"Call in a Subnautica Subs order for me. Italian bread with lettuce, spinach, provolone, ham, and mayo. You want anything, Dante?"

"Uh yeah, just get me the meat lover's sub."

"Dante can call you later about the job."

"How did you...?"

"Figured that's why you're here. That's usually why."

"Fair enough. See you two lovebirds later!"

You growl, but don't bother wasting your energy in retort. Dante yells after him. "I told you it's not like that!" The door clicks shut behind him.

You let out a groan, bringing his attention back to you. "I need to get up to use the restroom, but I don't wanna." He can hear the pout in your voice, and he lets a chuckle slip.

"You want me to carry you there?

"Please do." The slight bags under your eyes tell him just how drained you are as he frees his hand to scoop you up. You grab your bag on the way by.

He lets you down at the door, and you let out another uncomfortable sound, screwing your face up in a grimace.

"What is it?"

"The floodgates opened, so to speak."

He grimaced, too. "I'll wait out here for you."

"Ok, thanks, Dante."

-------

He pushes off the wall when you finally open the door. "Took a while. You ok?"

"Yeah, I had a lot of blood to clean up." As you walk past, the strong scent hits his nose along with your attempt to cover it with air freshener.

A nock on the door catches your attention. You're about to go answer it when Dante joggs past you. "Go sit down. I'll get it." You huff but a small smile cracks through your pained/irritated expression. The delivery guy hands him a bag from the restaurant. Dante hands him a few dollars and closes the door.

When he walks back into the room, he cracks a grin at you sitting in his chair. "Stealing my spot now, huh?"

"Hey, you just said to sit. You didn't specify where."

"Fair enoug.h. Here's yours." He sits against the desk beside you as he unwraps his sub, taking a bite. "Dat ibuwpofin wokin?"

You snort. "Yeah, I'm feeling a bit better now. And don't take such big bites you'll choke on it."

By the time he's finished with his, you're only halfway through yours. "Ya'know you're a real slow eater."

"Yes, I know. I prefer to savor the flavor than scarf it all down at once." You give him a pointed look. "You made a mess of yourself too." You stand boxing him in between you and the desk. "Hold still." You grip his jaw and, with your other hand, wipe the sauce from his mouth licking your thumb clean, and he glanced away.

Dante watches you put your wrapped up sub in the mini fridge. Totally not eyeing your rear before you turn back to him. He sits back in his chair, watching your fingers work circles into the skin of your lower back as your shirt rides up.

You move back over to him, and he thinks you're gonna sit across his lap like before. Instead, you straddle him. "Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing!?"

"Sittin' in your lap again."

"You-you shouldn't be straddling me!"

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you nuzzle into him. His muscles tense under you as he bites his lip, your body pressing into his. The heat from his lower stomach seeps into your abdomen.

-------

For a while, he just sits there holding his hands up awkwardly, not wanting to touch you without permission. Your voice muffled in his neck, startles him. "You can touch me, ya'know."

"Heh... I didn't want to assume." He gently lays his hands on your back.

As the time ticks by slowly, his hands start to rub circles into your back. When he adds more pressure, you practically melt into him. "A bit lower, please." He does as asked, remembering where you had massaged yourself earlier.

You let out a quiet gasp, gripping the back of his coat collar.

His hands freeze. "You ok?"

"I'm fine, keep going."

Pressing his fingers into your skin again, gently moving in circles. He sets his chin on your shoulder, letting his eyes close as he listens to your breathing.

The little pain left slowly seeps away as his fingers work across your muscles. You hold in any sounds that try to escape as you relax in his embrace.

This is probably the safest place in the world. The halfbreed demon hunter being one of the few things on earth capable of mass destruction should he choose it. And he's got you wrapped up in those demon killing arms with hands that can break bone being used to gently ease the pain in your back.

A wave of arousal washes over you. Those dang hormones surging through your body as you expel your uterine lining. You bite your lip as your mind races. What would it feel like to kiss him? Or have him kiss up your neck, leaving marks in his wake?

What if you kissed his neck right now? Would he be ok with it, or would he hate you for it?

Maybe you could just start slow? Just nuzzle under his chin.

You do just that, taking off your glasses and placing them on the desk behind you. You hook your nose under his jaw, closing your eyes as your breath tickles his neck.

His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your breath on his skin. You pull back just enough for him to see your eyes. They're lidded and glazed over with a familiar look. He turns bright red swallowing hard.

You trail your hands down to his chest, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Getting bashful on me darlin'?" He gives you a nervous grin. Leaning back down, you place a gentle kiss on his neck.

You feel his hands slip down to your hips, and his thumbs press into the sides of your abdomen, making you wince. "Easy big boy, I'm still sore." Suddenly, he moves a hand to your face, making you look at him. In a flash, his lips are on yours. You're stunned for a moment before your eyes slip closed, and you grip the hair at the back of his head.

Your heart races in your chest. You can't believe this is actually happening! The seconds go by before he pulls away, both of you panting for breath. He gives you a calculating look before his lips press into your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other pushing beneath your shirt. You feel the fabric of his gloves scratch against you.

A small sound escapes your throat as his mouth moves across your skin. Tilting your head back for him, you pull his white locks. He sucks on your pulse, likely to leave a mark. Your back arching into him as a moan bubbles up from your throat. His hands move to your thighs, and he picks you up, making you yelp.

"Wh-what are you doing, Dante?"

"Taking you to bed so you can rest some more. Don't worry. We can have a bit more fun before we hit the hay."

This time, you blush. "But I'm still bleeding."

"We aren't gonna do that. Not that I wouldn't be down for it either way..."

You blush like a tomato. Normally, guys gag at the thought of messing around when a woman's on her period. Then again, Dante's used to blood so it wouldn't bother him as much.

-------

He closes the door behind you with his boot and lays you down gently on the bed with your head on the pillow. "Just relax and let me do all the work." You give him a nod. "Good girl." He pulls off his gloves with his teeth and slips the grey Henley over his head.

As he settles in, pushing his face into your neck, you run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. A pleasured groan rumbles in his throat. You feel his tongue slide across your throat, making you gasp.

His hand gently caresses over your stomach, leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. You feel his hand slip under your wasteband and around to your lower back. His fingertips press into your muscles, gently moving in circles to ease their tension. You let out a pleasured sigh, arching your back a bit.

He shifts his weight so his other hand can slip behind your upper back beneath your shirt. You feel your bra pop open, releasing tension in your back and shoulders. You let a content purr escape your lips.

"I bet that feels better, doesn't it?" His voice a low rumble in your ear makes a shiver run up your spine. He can feel the muscles twitch under his fingertips. "Good, that's all I want right, now baby." He presses featherlight kisses all across your neck and lips before moving to your stomach.

More light kisses press into your skin as you relax and enjoy his touch. His teal eyes lock with yours as he pulls down your waistband just to the top of your pubic hair. With his thumbs, he gently presses into your abdomen. "Tell me where it's most tender." He moves his thumbs inward towards the center of your abdomen.

When they graze over your ovaries and uterus, you feel a twinge of pain. "Right there, huh? Alright, I'll be gentle. Tell me if it hurts." He presses in and moves in circles only to stop when you tet out a hiss in pain. "Too much?" You mumble to him. "Ok, I won't do that again. You're just way too sore there, baby."

You sit up and move to the side of the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Taking these pants off. The waistband is putting pressure on my abdomen. I also gotta take off this bra."

"Thought you were leaving for a second."

"Not after that massage you gave me."

He pouts with a hand over his heart. "Is that all I am to you!?"

Shucking off your pants, you scoot closer to him. With a hand on his jaw, you place your forehead against his. When you lock eyes with him, you smile. "I love you, Dante." His eyes widen, mouth agape.

"You-you love me?"

"Yes, honey, I love you."

He lets out a breathy chuckle of disbelief as he processes the revelation. His cocky facade cracking as overwhelming emotions burst forth. Tears glint in his eyes as he gives you the happiest smile you've ever seen on him, holding your face in his hands.

"I-I love you too! You're the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Tears of your own drip down your cheeks as you pepper his face with kisses. You lock lips again in a kiss full of emotion and genuine love for each other.

When you pull away to breathe, he hugs you tight, and you slip your arms around him in turn. He lets go sliding one hand down your arm to hold yours while the other wipes away his tears. You both sniffle, and you can't help the yawn that overtakes you.

"Getting sleepy again?" You nod and turn your attention back to the bra you need to remove. Dante watches as you pull it from your shirt like a magic trick. "You gotta show me how you do that trick with your bra sometime."

You roll your eyes. Always so romantic. A chuckle tumbles from your mouth. He grins and lays down on the bed. "Here lay down on me, I'll massage you some more."

"I don't want to leak on you, though. Or the sheets."

"In my line of work, I get blood on stuff all the time. Trust me, it's not that big a deal if it does happen. Im practically an expert at cleaning bloodtains at this point." His reassurance soothes your worries, and you straddle him again, laying against him with your hands on his bare chest and your ear over his heart.

You notice right away that it's beating a bit fast, he's nervous. His hands land on your back, and he pulls up your shirt to reach your skin. The firm circle motion of his fingers, making your muscles relax against him. Sleep begins to weigh your eyelids down as the soothing and strong beating of his heart lulls you to sleep.

Within minutes, your breathing slows, and you're completely relaxed against him. He pulls the blanket over the both of you as he begins to feel sleepy himself. "I'm the luckiest man on Earth to have a woman like you."

With his arms wrapped protectively around you, his eyes slip closed, and for the first time in a while, he has a great night's sleep.

[hotyanderedaddies]

The School Bully Loves You, Pt. 2:

Yandere Bully Gives You Rules to Follow

Part 1

[Yandere! Bully x GN Nerd! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Blake, the school bully who often elicited terrified looks and sent people scurrying to safety, had for some reason claimed you as his.

"You're mine."

That phrase that Blake had growled to you kept replaying in your addled brain over and over.

You didn't exactly know what that meant. However, given your status as the school's resident nerd, you figured that you were meant to be his sole victim for relentless teasing and harassment.

Yet, there you were: Your hand trapped in a deathgrip from none other than Blake.

The rest of the student body cast disbelieving glances towards the two of you, many of them dropping their jaws in shock at the sight of the terrifying bully and the school nerd walking hand-in-hand.

"The fuck are you lookin' at?" Blake spat at some of them, momentarily letting go of your hand as he did so-- only to wrap a possessive, heavy arm around your shoulders.

The terrified glances from the fearful students flickered from Blake to you before diverting altogether.

Your face burned bright hot and the tiny voice in the back of your head told you to run as fast as you could. You totally would've too, had you not been trapped in the hold of the school bully.

You were too busy panicking on the inside to notice when Blake stopped at your locker, did your combo to unlock it, snatched your Pre-Cal textbook out of it (your first class), and led you towards class.

"Wait," you gasped when you finally put two and two together, "how did you know my--?"

"Give me your phone," Blake grunted as soon as the two of you were at your first period class. He stopped right near the door where the rest of the class could easily see you (and quite a few of the nosey ones were gawking), holding out his free hand expectantly.

Oh! This must've been it.

All Blake had really wanted was your phone.

You mentally berated him for being so weird and cryptic if all he'd wanted was a free phone; but you figured that going without a phone for a bit was leagues better than dealing with the school bully twenty-four/seven; hence, you practically thrusted it at the guy.

Blake ignored your eagerness, still keeping one arm secured around you, trapping you tightly against him. You could smell his body spray permeating your senses and the heat from his larger body was overbearing. In fact, thanks to the unwanted proximity, you could clearly see how Blake towered over you and just how muscled he was-- he could easily manhandle you all day if he wanted (and he seemed to REALLY want to lately).

Blake somehow knew your passcode (1-2-3-4) and began to mess around with your phone using his free hand. Seconds later, he handed it back to you.

Before you could ask what was up, Blake quickly leaned down and--

Out of instinct, you jerked back.

Blake frowned and pursed his lips into a thin line. "That's two," he huffed. "I'll be here when class gets out."

"Wh-why?" you couldn't help but ask.

Blake rolled his eyes at you. "So I can walk you to your next class," he grunted, again making it sound like it was obvious. "I'll see you soon, my angel."

With that, Blake gave you a gentle push towards the classroom as he disappeared among the crowd in the hallway.

Throughout class, you struggled to concentrate on the lecture. The whole time, your thoughts kept drifting back to the scary bully who wouldn't leave you alone. Plus, you were hyperaware of the all of the stares from the other students, hearing murmurings involving Blake and you.

Midway through class, your phone vibrated and you glanced at the notifications to see a rather long text from Blake:

My Angel, here's a set of rules that I expect you to follow:

You belong to me and only me

No talking to any other boys

I will drive you to and from school

I will escort you between classes

You will call me every night no later than 9 PM so I can say "Goodnight"

Every weekend you will stay over at my place

I get to hold you whenever I want

You better tell me if someone bothers you or tries to take you away from me so I can have a "chat" with them

I get at least one kiss per day

Tonight I want you to start calling me "Daddy"

Follow these rules and I promise that I will take good care of you.

But disobey these rules and I will punish you. And you're already at two out of three.

See you soon.

Love you.

The blood drained from your face as you read and re-read the text from Blake.

This had to be some sort of sick joke. The school bully had legit just said that he loved you over text. He was lying... right?

Images of his past victims flashing into your mind: black eyes, people getting the crap beat out of them, relentless tormenting, threats of violence and bodily harm-- just hearing the name "Blake" was enough to send shivers down your spine.

Yet, when you really thought about it, Blake never had bullied YOU specifically...

Your phone buzzed again with another notification, this one with an icon that you didn't recognize:

YAN-Tracker: The location tracking app that let's you keep an eye on those most precious to you...

A tracking app?!

That's what Blake had been doing on your phone, downloading some sort of tracking app?

Instinctively, you went to uninstall it, but as soon as you tried, a notification box popped up, requesting a passcode.

You tried to enter in yours, only to be dismayed that it wasn't the correct one.

Your heart raced in your chest as you mulled over all that had happened recently-- all of the signs pointing to a horrifying realization:

Blake, the school bully, wanted you. And he wanted you badly.

Without another word, you quietly got out of your desk (leaving your phone behind), and tip-toed out of class, praying that Blake wouldn't see you making your escape...

To be continued...

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

P.S. the following have requested that I tag them in this update as of the posting of this! Thank you very much for reading and I hope you all enjoy this part! @eoryn-shit @paninibit @evan-trand @psychicglitterdetective @springkuinn @vinivave

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 4

… -.-. —- .-. .—. .. —- / … - .. .-.. .-.. / .- -.-. - .. …- .

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: restraints, shots (medicine), disassociation, unresolved sexual needs

Waking comes slowly. The scent of rut and pancakes oozes from under the door. For the sourness of your own scent, you had always been able to use your nose better than most people you met. Within two minutes of all the men coming down the stairs you knew the tallest one who glared at you, Simon they called him, would be starting his rut.

Realizing you could smell it coming you tried to warn betas if they were going into rut or heat. You stopped doing that when Sarah mentioned some of the betas requesting suppressants instead of dealing with their oncoming cycle.

“Something interesting happened today, I want to run it by you.”

Bitch smiled down at you where you lay strapped to the table, bit firmly wedged between your teeth. You had taken the tip of her finger the last time she had you on the table and didn’t seem keen to repeat the experience. Sarah had not let you brush your teeth for four days, ‘to teach you a lesson about biting the hand that feeds’ or some other bullshit. All you had learned is to love the taste of blood in your mouth.

“Seems some of our guests have decided that they are going into rut and would rather not deal with that,” Sarah uncapped a needle, drawing air into it before plunging it into a vial marked only with a serial number.

Squirming did nothing to put distance between you and the evils held in the tiny clear vial. Replacing the air for liquid Sarah set the vial down gently before swiveling to you. You hated those small stools with no backs and the stupid mint green painted along the walls. When you finally died from Sarah’s ‘care’ this is what hell would look like.

“They were bunking in your room, and they aren’t the first beta to request this after spending time with you,” she grabbed your arm, pinching up the muscle between her finger and thumb. “Seems like we need a bit more information about your brain.”

A sound from beyond the locked door to your room pulls you from the memory. Covered in sweat and panting you scramble off your bed and peer underneath it to confirm you were alone. Once your room confirmed its emptiness you stripped your night clothes off. You hated buttons on your sleeping outfits but you didn’t trust these men yet and refused to tell them anything if you could help it. Using the pant leg to wipe off as much of the fear sweat from your body as you could you then dress in a matching set of loose beige sweats. They reminded you of what Scorpio provided.

Opening your door you scan what you can of the room before sliding through the smallest space you could. The door is shut tight behind you. Stepping silently from years of practice sneaking around the various buildings you were housed in you find John asleep on the couch. He is passed out with only a pair of boxers on, bite marks littering his skin. The faintest smell of slick clings to him, you would have missed it at this distance if your nose weren’t so strong. Biting your tongue you force back the cries of your beta to join them in the nest upstairs. You were not invited.

A small fire burns in the stove, lifting the temperature of the room. A stack of pancakes sits on the counter covered with plastic cling. Glancing up the stairs you can hear small noises and grunts that would send you into a spiral if you listened for too long.

Making a decision you drift into the kitchen. Eating the pancakes dry is a choice. The number of times you have to pause chewing to release the bolus from the roof of your mouth? Annoying, but these were free pancakes. When your stomach begins to groan, a ship sinking too heavy under a load, you pause. A pancake and a half are left. Covering them back up with the cling warp you look around the kitchen. A bowl, several measuring cups, a pan, and a used plate and fork are all tossed in the sink.

This you could handle. One of your main duties for a long time had been cleaning dishes after meals. Finding the soap and a clean towel you set to work. Humming a song you had learned before going to Scorpio the sink is cleared and cleaned in no time.

John is still asleep on the couch when you finish. The fire is starting to burn down. The wood stacked near the stove tells you that the flames can be fed. Studying the black surface doesn’t give you any clue how you are supposed to add it without burning yourself. Waiting had become the option. Glancing around the couch you found a blanket laid neatly over the back of the couch tucked under John’s body. The idea of getting close enough to be touched sent shivers rolling down your back. Freezing it was then.

A flutter of movement at the back door drew you to the pocket of cold air lifting off the glass. Two crows, you think they are crows as you could never remember how to tell crows and ravens apart, are playing on the back porch. Calling it play seemed best. They both would pick up a small stick before waving it about, dropping it, and hopping about.

You must shift, or move in some way because they fly away in a flurry of caws. Their departure hits you in the chest. Birds had been something you missed the most. Outside time at Scorpio had been strictly regulated and no trees were ever allowed to grow tall or full enough to be welcoming for a family of birds or squirrels. Wishing had been your one way out; you always wished you had been born with wings. Pressing your fingertips to the glass you ignore the chill of the heat being stolen.

Stolen. That word rings through your brain, a dirge of a funeral march. Something changes, like the clang of the mausoleum gates slamming shut and a jubilee begins. You can go outside. No one is here to stop you. John is dead to the world and the others are busy. Nearly dancing on light toes you retrieve your outside wear from where you had stored it in your dresser yesterday.

Boots on you are reaching for your coat when you remember the shawl from Johnny, tucked between the mattress and the bed frame. He had tried to make you laugh yesterday. Telling you stories of his sister’s antics when they were kids or lining up jokes he would knock down like bowling pins the most he got from you had been a smile you couldn’t stop. The man looked like you had gifted him his wildest dreams when he caught sight of it. Another one hadn’t slipped out after that.

He was too damn nice to you. Nice only led to pain. Gods, you wanted this to be different than Scorpio. No one there who had any power had given you a gift though. That’s what he called it, a gift.

“Noticed you admiring it in the store lass. Figured if you ended up with us your life before must have been shite and a splash of color would bring a light to your eyes.” He had explained after dropping it over your shoulders and standing in the bite of the wind to look at the stars.

Staring at him for a few breaths as he grinned at you had been a surreal experience. Any care you had received in the last decade had been stolen in passing or shared under the watchful eye of staff. The open, blatant, outright loud acknowledgment hung from your shoulders in the dark. He had turned to the stars after you clutched the gift in your hand, worried he might take the soft shawl back.

The two of you finally worked your way back inside when you couldn’t feel the fingers anymore. Johnny had parted with a soft goodnight and disappeared up the stairs in the dim light that illuminated from the stove. The click of the door shutting upstairs had broken the spell over you. The lock thrown and the gift was tucked under the bed to keep it safe from a cursory glance.

Making a decision you pull it cautiously from below the mattress curling it around your body before hiding it below your coat. Sneaking out of your room once more you find yourself in the kitchen. Taking the plate you leave the cling wrap in a ball on the counter. No alarm rings when you slide open the back door, the crunch of the snow beneath your boots the only sound that breaks the perfect silence.

Tucked in the corner under a tarp you see what looks like a stack of chairs. Glancing from the could-be chairs to the corner railing where you had seen the crows playing. Making a decision, you tear off two small-ish chunks of pancake and clear the snow from a portion of the wide railing top. Setting your offerings down you set about freeing a chair for yourself.

Waiting had been a skill you cultivated at Scorpio. You could leave your body behind and fly with wings longer than the cabin you stayed in. Sat as far from the railing as you could be time slips by as you wait for the possibility of them returning. A sound draws you from your internal world. Focusing your eyes on the sound without moving your body you find them. Swallowing down your offering the crows eye you.

Moving with exaggerated slowness you tear off two more morsels and toss them to the crows. The aim is off and they land in the snow on the floor of the porch. Beyond returning your hand to your lap you practice stillness. They take the offering. This continues, you tossing pancakes across the distance and them accepting. One of them offers a loud caw which causes you to jump. Both birds take flight at your sudden movement.

Cursing under your breath at your carelessness you stand. Taking the plate in hand you turn and scream, the plate flying out of your hands and into the deep drifts of snow next to the porch. John is watching you through the back door, blanket cocooned around his body. Two fingers wiggle from between the folds, motioning you in.

He steps back after opening the sliding door for you. He waits until you have stomped the snow off your boots on the rug set up for that purpose to ask you anything.

“Did that help?”

Pausing, a hand on the wall as you step on the back of one boot you send him a look.

He points with his chin toward the little crow prints in the snow.

“The birds. Did they help?”

Help? Help what? You feel less like you were dying? Help this place feel less like a prison and more like a hospice?

You study his face, attempting to parse out what question he asked below the one he spoke. In time you would see the him that harmed. It happened with every member of staff at Scorpio. Never trust their smiles, always trust their eyes had been the mantra, creed passed to each new beta. John’s eyes held only neutral curiosity. Nodding once, you focused on removing your boots.

“I’ll get you bird food for them the next time we are in town,” John nodded once and wandered away to the bathroom most likely from where he headed.

Setting your coat on a hook next to the door you trailed him with your eyes. You wondered once again what Kate had been thinking when she dropped you off here.

Before you could decide on her motives Johnny appeared at the top of the stairs. With a pair of sweats and a pullover hoodie, he had much more clothes on than the last man to leave that room. His hand gripped the railing tight as he gingerly worked his body down each step. Simon must be a rough lover through his ruts. Shuddering with memories veiled under the cast of drugs you didn’t notice Johnny getting closer until the smell of sex washed through your nose.

“You’re wearing it,” he sighed as if you had lifted a burden from him by doing so.

Folding your arms across it you glare at him.

“It was a gift,” you reply tersely.

A hand is lifted, finger crooked as if to brush down your arm. Johnny pulls back before touching you. Mixed feelings rise. You would have bit him if he tried to touch you but a part of you screamed to the point of vomiting when he didn’t connect.

A gentle smile breaks over his face, dawn over the desert, as his gaze finds yours.

“It is a gift. I’m glad you like it.”

Your stomach flipped over in its limited space in your body. Squeezing yourself tight you fight down the beta urge to lick him, to suck the scent of sex from his gland and into yourself.

Movement from behind him has you glancing at John who had returned settled a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and a kiss to his temple.

“Leave her be, we need to get food ready for lunch. Can you show her how to load the stove? The latch is being tricky again.”

Johnny leaned into the touch, clearly comforted by the contact. His eyes drifted lazily along the wall as he listened.

It didn’t make any sense to you. John and Johnny were both omegas, their scents confirmed it again and again, but they never acted like any of the omegas you had dealt with. Acting as equals often, even to their alpha counterparts, it confused you why they all allowed John to lead them. They broke every rule that had been beaten into you.

Nodding, Johnny turned and dropped a kiss on John’s lips before heading to the stove. John shuffled into the kitchen, opening the fridge and cupboards and pulling out various items.

“Hey Sprinkles, come on over. The stove needs fed.”

Looking around the room you try and figure out who Johnny might be talking to. When you lift a brow at him he grins, wide and mischievous.

“Yes, you. The shawl makes you look like a bowl of rainbow sprinkles. Now come on, let’s get this done and then you can tell me what you enjoy doing so we can find you something to fill your day with.”

Joining Johnny at the stove you learn how to open, feed, clean, and start a fire to warm the house up. The explanations he gave were clear and concise. You fed a few pieces in, confidence growing with each word of praise from his lips.

When the door is closed and the living spaces much warmer you follow Johnny into the kitchen. A pot with a lid not sitting fully on simmered away and a bowl with a towel sat in the corner. On the main part of the counter, a large platter of meats, cheeses, nuts, fruits, and vegetables drew in the eye.

John shoveled food into his mouth before disappearing with a nod. Kyle appeared next, smelling of sex too. He ate with the same ravenous hunger Johnny and John showed. You picked at your food, slipping pieces of cheese and cured meats into your pockets to hide for later.

After both men had gorged themselves on a meal they showed you where the TV and their collections of shows and movies lived. The newest one you recognized had been from nine years ago. Ads had been playing for it before you ended up with Scorpio. Excusing yourself to the bathroom you detour to place your extras in your pillow. After the men go to sleep tonight you would find a safer way of storing the food.

Curling into the corner of the couch to watch a show that looked interesting the men gave you a cushion as space as they twined around one another. Sometime later John replaced Johnny on the couch and you drifted in a half-awake state ignoring the throbbing need between your legs that spiked with each heady draft that reached your nose when the men took their shifts with Simon.

This routine went on for two days. They were such long days.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad @sun-daddy-yoriichi @wiciclesatmidnight @kaoyamamegami @little-mini-me-world @corvid007 @skeletonsucker @feyresqueen

[mischievousmoony]

𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ when you're not working at brewology, you spend your mornings in the arms of someone you love ⊹ 1.6k ⟢ warnings/tags: talks of drinking/parties/bars, james and reader do not like coffee, reader loves matcha, sirius is a lil annoying ⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: last part!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Flashes of morning light dance across your sleeping face as the wind picks up, blowing air through the open window, stirring the curtains into gentle motion.

You hug the maroon and gray sheets around your body, rolling over to hide your face in that one mismatched pillow with the Spider-Man pillowcase.

It’s Sunday, the one day Brewology is closed, and the one day you actually get to sleep in. The sunshine won’t take that away from you.

You feel around the other side of the bed, searching for something—someone—to take comfort in, but only meet sheets that are still warm with the ghost of his presence. You prop yourself up on one elbow, rubbing sleep from your eyes with your free hand.

The room is dark, and its walls are painted a deep gray, which only adds to your sleepiness. In the soft light filtering through the edges of the curtains, you can make out the room around you: a rugby bag tossed in one corner, a skateboard propped against a desk, a red flag with big Greek letters hanging behind you, and more plants than you’d expect in a guy’s bedroom.

Where is the boy it all belongs to?

You push yourself up all the way, crossing your legs in front of you as you read the numbers on his digital clock. 9:34 a.m. Far too early to be up and out of bed after spending half the night taking you to what felt like every single bar in the city.

Your brain is still dragging itself toward consciousness when the door creaks open slowly, and finally, your boyfriend returns to you.

He’s surprised to see you awake at first, but he’s not complaining. His lips curl into a warm smile, and something clinks as he places it on his bedside table.

“Good morning, my angel,” he greets softly, gently cupping both sides of your face and placing a lingering kiss on your lips. “Did you sleep well?”

Some sort of noise between a grunt and a whine leaves your lips in response. You suppose you had slept well, but it was ruined when you woke up much earlier than intended and without him at your side.

“No?” James asks with a tilt of his head, stroking your hair.

“Come back to sleep,” you murmur. “Why’re you up?”

James perched himself on the edge of the bed, his hands dropping from your face but not entirely leaving you—one resting on your knee while the other took your hand, his thumb now gently stroking your knuckles.

He speaks softly so as not to disturb you in your sleepy state too much. “Sirius stumbled in ‘bout an hour ago. Still hammered from last night and making all sorts of noise in the kitchen. Had to go shut him up.”

You think back to last night. Bar hopping with James’ friends (who all hate it when you call them that, always insisting they’re your friends now too).

You remember how, when you were tuckered out and ready to head home to crash in James’ arms, Sirius made a whole scene trying to convince you both to stay—to follow him to some after-party at one of the frats.

So it would seem that while you and James tucked into bed, Sirius and whoever he dragged along spent the rest of the night partying.

You drop your head onto James’ shoulder. “Why didn’t you come back to bed after?”

“I did, for a while, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I only left again to get something to drink. Look, angel, I have one for you too.”

James shifts so you can see around him, but you already know what it is.

Last week, the espresso machine at work broke (and caused the worst shift of your life). James had come in for some caffeine, heart set on whatever coffee you made him the day he met you. When he couldn’t have that, he said to make him something “easy”.

You made him a chai latte, and he hasn’t been the same ever since.

It’s been his new obsession. It may have much less caffeine than he’s accustomed to, but that hasn’t deterred him.

Most mornings, he disappears to the nearest cafe and comes back with two teas and whatever pastry he chooses to surprise you with that day. So you’re quite shocked when you peer at his bedside table and find two of his own mugs instead of the plastic to-go cups you were expecting.

“You made ‘em?” you ask, your gaze meeting his proud smile.

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. One thing about dating James: his lips are almost always on you, sneaking in kisses whenever he can. “Want yours?” he murmurs into your hair.

You hold out your hands in response, making grabby motions with your fingers, and he places the mug in your grasp.

He’s made his own cold foam, somehow, and sprinkled the top with cinnamon. Ice clinks low and heavy against the ceramic as you lift it to your lips.

A sound of satisfaction purrs from your throat, and you go in for a second sip. This is better than the chai lattes at work by a mile.

“What did you do?” you ask, looking up at him, oblivious to the dot of cold foam on the tip of your nose.

He chuckles, swiping it away with his thumb and following it up with a peck from his lips. “Saw one too many videos on my phone of people making them at home and I had to go all in. Made my own chai concentrate, bought a frother—which Sirius gave me plenty of shit for—and vanilla bean paste, not extract, for the foam. Mine’s even half vanilla protein shake instead of milk, can’t even get that at the cafe.”

“It tastes amazing,” you tell him, going in for another sip. After having a moment to process his words, you add, “Sirius gave you shit for buying a frother?”

James shrugs, unbothered. “He thinks it’s girly. Lattes. His loss.”

“What’s girly is his hair care routine,” you grumble.

James barks a laugh, squeezing your knee. “That’s what I said! And he told me it cancels out because his hair gets him laid.”

“Of course, he did,” you snort.

He laughs along with you. He squeezes your knee again to signal his hand’s departure as he reaches for his mug. When he takes his first sip, he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy it.

Your lips tug into a small smile. “So, this is your thing now, hm?” you ask, nudging his arm with your nose. “And I thought I was supposed to be the barista in the relationship.”

James chuckles from somewhere deep in his throat. The way that makes your head all fuzzy.

“Dunno, I’m obsessed with these. They’re so good. Might even be better than matcha.”

You lean away from him at once. “No, that’s blasphemous,” you say, shaking your head.

“You know what’s going on? This is to me what matcha is to you. This is my matcha.”

“Oh, come on,” you brush him off, reluctant to believe he could like this more than matcha.

“No, I’m serious. I’m sorry, baby, but this is joy in a cup for me,” he says, literally hugging his mug to his chest.

“No, I don’t like this. You sound crazy. We need to get you back on energy drinks.” For dramatic effect, you thrust your mug in his direction. “Get this away from me. This is sin, now.”

James laughs at your dramatics, taking your cup and putting both of them on the table.

You sink back into the bed, moving over to what’s usually James’ side of the bed to make room for him to join you.

He takes the hint, joining you under the covers, your heads sharing the Spider-Man pillow, his face close enough for your noses to brush.

“Sorry, angel,” he murmurs, running a hand through your hair. “Would it make you feel better if we go out and get you matcha?”

“No, I don’t wanna go anywhere. Wanna stay in bed.”

“I could go get it,” he’s quick to offer.

“No,” you protest immediately, clinging to him by his shirt and tucking your face in the crook of his neck.

He moves his hand from your hair to wrap his arm around you, his touch snaking up the back of your shirt—well, his shirt, actually, which you shamelessly stole last night even though you have plenty of your own in one of his drawers. He, of course, doesn’t mind. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked, loving to see you in his clothes.

“Don’t want you to go anywhere either.” Your voice comes out muffled against his skin. “I don’t need anything, I just want you.”

James’ heart swells at your words. “Yeah?” he murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “I’d stay like this all day if you wanted, angel,” he says softly, pressing you closer as he rubs soothing shapes against your skin.

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, nuzzling into his neck and pressing a kiss to his skin.

With your face hiding from the light in the crook of his neck and his hand gently rubbing your back, it doesn’t take long for you to doze off.

James stays awake, treasuring every peaceful breath against his neck. He could stay wrapped up in this moment forever, memorizing the gentle weight of you in his arms.

You’ll feel bad when you wake up and realize he’s been awake, stuck in your arms with nothing to do, but again, he doesn’t mind.

In this quiet morning light, with you sleeping soundly beside him, he has everything he could ever need.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[hamilton-here]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒫𝓉.1

Authors Note: Hey everyone! This is my very first post on Tumblr. I’m still figuring out how everything works on here, so apologies if the formatting’s a bit off. If you have any feedback, let me know. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! P.S I honestly hate this...Lots of love xx

Summary: Reader gets added into the f1 group-chat by mistake

Warning: none

MASTERLIST

Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6, Pt7, Pt8, Pt9

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ

You never meant to end up in that group chat.

One minute you were scrolling through your messages and the next, a swarm of notifications flooded in. GIFs, memes and inside jokes that made no sense from a group chat named GridBanterGC 🏁. Apparently, someone named MadMax had meant to add someone else. You were the wrong number. The usernames presented were even more confusing; HoneyBadger, SmoothOperator, Pastry and a lot more.

[MadMax has added unknown user to GridBanterGC🏁]

MadMax: don’t worry guys I finally added Alex

Norrified: Are you sure? Because that is not Alex’s number man

SmootherOperator: that isn’t even close to Alex’s number HAHAHA

Pastry: Who did you even add?

User: um…hello?

Hulk: what have you done Max?

Baguetteboi: Uh...hi there. What’s your name?

User: Why would I tell randoms my name? Do you guys even have brain cells?

MrSaturday: Fair. As a matter of fact we do have brain cells! Well, some of us.

But before you could press leave chat, a message caught your attention.

Hammertime: Do I even bother asking what happened? Ignore them newbie, feel free to leave or stay. I promise we don’t bite.

You smiled as you read his message, feeling a warm connection despite not knowing who Hammertime actually was.

MadMax: Sorry guys I didn’t mean to add them. Bloody fat thumbs…

HoneyBadger: How do you even stuff up that bad?

User: You’re telling me you dragged me into this stupid group-chat with idiotic names accidentally?

Pastry: Exactly.

User: You can easily just block me, problem solved. Honestly what are you guys, 14 year olds who don’t think?

Hulk: we just got roasted…by a random in like 5 seconds

Hammertime: Leave the newbie alone. Anyway, don’t mind them. You’ll get used to the chaos. If you need a break, hit me up or I can tell these wildlings to stop harassing you.

You felt a small flutter in your chest at the message, wondering what kind of person he was behind the screen.

You didn’t know much about Hammertime just his kindness and the way he made you feel welcome. But there was something about him that was starting to intrigue you more than the others.

The conversation shifted to random memes and more lighthearted jokes, but you kept finding yourself glancing at Hammetime’s name whenever he spoke, the soft mystery he exuded pulling you in.

You set your phone down with a soft sigh, wondering how long it would take to figure out who those people are behind the screen.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡

The next day, the group chat was its usual chaotic self. You sometimes commenting throughout. But this time, there was something different.

You didn’t just see the jokes and memes, you saw Hammertime’s messages first. He was calm, cool, collected and somehow in the mess of it all, you found yourself looking forward to his next message.

But what really caught you off guard was a message from Hammertime that afternoon.

Hammertime: Funny how someone can show up by accident and still end up being the best part of the day unlike the rest of you

You blinked at the message, unsure how to respond. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for once you didn’t know what to say.

You typed back and erased your reply twice before finally settling on;

User: Is that your way of saying you’re glad I’m here?

Seconds passed. Then a minute. Your phone buzzed again.

Hammertime: Maybe. Don’t let it go to your head though.

SmootherOperator: stop flirting you two, that’s my job

You laughed quietly, pulling your knees to your chest as you sat curled up on your couch. There was something different about him or whoever he was. Polite, thoughtful, with this quiet sort of charm that didn’t try too hard.

You didn’t even know his real name, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. You smiled to yourself, heart fluttering just a bit. You didn’t know who Hammertime really was…but maybe you didn’t need to. Not yet.

For now, the mystery was enough.