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hatethysinner · 1 month ago

Note

kinda messed up toxic!remmick x pregnant reader

ᴛᴏxɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

ᴀ/ɴ: NOTHING IS TOO MESSED UP FOR ME ANON!! please heed the warnings, they are there for your benefit <33! went more serious than my normal headcanon writing bc even though i love writing dark themes i never want to come off as too silly when approaching these topics. i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!!!!), shamelessly gratuitous smut, unapologetically dark (!!!), malicious fluff (i'm coining this), obsession, manipulation, isolation, lovebombing, dubcon (!!!), noncon (!!!), mental/emotional abuse (!!!), heavily abused power dynamic (!!!), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, lactation kink, praise/degradation kink, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, free use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, unreliable narrator-ish, read at your own discretion

remmick loves you so much it’s suffocating. tells you so every single day, in a voice dripping honey, in words soft enough to be a lullaby. “ain’t nobody in this world loves ya like i do, darlin’. not your friends, not your family. nobody.”

and he’s so good at making you believe it. at making you think he’s the only one who ever could.

he’s doting in ways that would be sweet if it wasn’t all followed by iron chains. he insists on cooking every meal for you, pressing kisses to your temple as he sets a plate in front of you, murmuring, “gotta keep my best girl strong. my baby needs ya strong.” he does the chores, every single one, moving around the house like a gentle shadow, humming while he sweeps, while he folds your clothes, while he rubs oil into your growing belly at night.

he draws your baths, tests the water with his fingers, carries you to the tub if your feet are sore. he brushes and combs through your hair with long, careful strokes, cooing, “such a pretty girl. my pretty little wife.” and sometimes it almost makes you forget the other side of him.

almost makes you forget the hours he’ll lock you in your room when he’s angry, pacing on the other side of the door, telling you it’s for your own good. makes you forget how you never get a private moment anymore, not even to bathe or change clothes, because he’s always there, eyes tracking every breath you take, every twitch of your fingers.

he buys you gifts constantly, filling the house with flowers and silks and gold, draping you in it like he’s gilding a shrine. but you’re not allowed to go out and show it off. “don’t want all them eyes on ya, baby. you’re mine to look at. mine to keep.”

he isolates you, sweetly. softly. makes sure you know the world outside the house is cruel, full of people who’d never understand you the way he does. “ain’t safe out there for a pretty thing like ya. folks’d try to hurt ya. i’d kill ‘em if they did.”

sometimes you believe him. sometimes you want to run. but even the thought of running makes your stomach flip, because you can’t imagine where you’d go without him. you can’t imagine being alone.

and he loves you so thoroughly that you start thinking maybe you’re the one who’s being cruel. for doubting him. for crying when he touches you. for saying no. for not wanting him every time he wants you.

because he always wants you.

he’s obsessed with the way you look carrying his baby. the round swell of your belly, the fullness of your breasts. runs his palms over you like he’s petting something precious, voice low and reverent. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby. didn’t think it was possible for ya to get prettier, but look at ya now. full of me. just like y’should be.”

he talks about putting more babies in you before you’ve even had this one. about keeping you pregnant for the rest of your life. about how your body was made for this. “gonna keep ya so full, folks won’t even remember what you looked like before i bred ya.”

he adores your milk. even before it’s fully come in, he’s latched to your tits whenever he can get them, licking and suckling and praising you for how sweet you taste, even if you’re crying. especially if you’re crying. “shh, darlin’. let me have it. s’just me. always gonna be just me.”

he’s always touching you. even when he’s pretending to be gentle. fingers stroking your belly, your thighs, slipping between your legs while he murmurs, “need to make sure you’re still stretchin’ nice f’me. can’t have ya closin’ up on me now.”

he’ll tell you how good you are in one breath and tear you down in the next, lips soft against your ear. “such a good girl lettin’ me use ya like this. my sweet little broodmare. nothin’ but a hole to keep my kids warm.” and when you sob, he groans, hips snapping harder. “cry all y’want, sugar. ain’t gonna stop me.”

he lives for the taste of those tears too. for the way your voice goes high and broken when you’re crying and coming at the same time. loves licking the salt off your cheeks and telling you how pretty you are when you cry. “ain’t no sight sweeter than my girl in tears. means i’m doin’ my job right.”

eating you out isn’t even something he asks permission for. you’re his. he’ll spread your thighs, mouth hot and relentless, licking you until your legs shake and your tears spill, ignoring your babbled pleas to stop. loves how your blood sings under your skin when you’re aroused, how your pulse hammers, how your body betrays you even when you’re trying to crawl away.

and fucking you while you’re pregnant is nonnegotiable. he’ll go slow sometimes, murmuring about how delicate you are, but most nights it’s ruthless. bent over the bed, your swollen belly bouncing with every thrust, your breath catching on sobs as he snarls, “takin’ me so good, even with my baby inside ya. gonna stretch ya wider. gonna make room for all the rest.”

he uses your body whenever the urge strikes him. nothing and nowhere is off limits. slides his cock between your thighs while you’re folding baby clothes, or pushes you up against the pantry shelves while dinner’s bubbling on the stove. he’ll slip his fingers between your legs while you’re half-asleep on the couch, or drop to his knees to eat you out right there on the countertop. sometimes he bends you over the bathroom sink, fucking you slow and deep while steam curls around you both, and other times it’s fast, frantic rutting on the front porch as moonlight spills over your bare skin. sometimes he comes just from grinding against you, his fangs scraping your neck, red eyes rolling back as he groans, “can’t help it, baby. can’t fuckin’ help it.”

but remmick never seems satisfied, no matter how many times he takes you. he’ll fuck into you for hours, fingers or tongue or cock never stopping, dragging you over the edge again and again until you’re shaking so hard you can’t hold onto him anymore. even when you’re sobbing, whispering you can’t take any more, he only kisses your temple and murmurs, “just a little longer, darlin’. just one more.” and that’s when he finally bares his fangs and sinks them into your throat, drinking you down as your body convulses around him, making sure the last thing you feel is the bright, dizzy pleasure of giving him everything he wants.

and you want to hate him for it. you know you should. but sometimes, curled against his chest, feeling the weight of his palm over your growing belly, hearing him whisper how you’re his whole world, you wonder if maybe this is love after all.

because you can’t remember what it felt like to breathe without him.

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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Seventeen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, selective mutism, strong language, sexual content

Notes — This might be one of my favourite chapters so far. I really feel in the swing of things, so (maybe) expect a 2nd update later today!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Azerbaijan — Austria)

Amelia liked Greece.

She fit in here — in white flowing dresses and messy dark curls, always salt-tangled. She liked Lando in loose button-downs and shorts, golden and relaxed in the sun. She liked Pietra, Max’s new girlfriend — Brazilian, warm, and probably the most beautiful woman Amelia had met in a long time.

She liked the way Lando looked at her when she slipped into Portuguese with Pietra, years of quiet practice finally paying off — and if the darkened rings in his eyes meant what she thought they did, he liked it too.

She liked that she’d made a friend — a real one. A female friend who laughed at her terrible jokes and never minded when Amelia took a moment too long to process something. The language barrier helped in that way — sometimes Pietra didn’t get it either, and they’d laugh their way through it together.

Max and Lando seemed pleased to see them getting along, but Lando especially — because he knew. He knew what it meant for Amelia to have someone. A girl to do her makeup with in the evenings, giggling and tipsy on shared wine, leaving mismatched lipstick stains on either side of the same glass.

Greece felt easy. It felt right.

It felt, for once, perfect.

—

They avoided seafood restaurants, Lando’s irrational fear of fish too entertaining yet deeply rooted to ignore, and settled on a small bistro by the water instead.

Amelia, in a powder blue dress and white strappy sandals, curled into Lando’s side, her sparkly blue eyeshadow catching the fading light. The evening breeze was cooler than expected, and she’d left her shrug in the hotel room. Lando didn’t say a word, just slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in closer, steady and warm.

He was deep in conversation with Max about the upcoming Quadrant merch launch — all bright and serious and businessy. Across the table, Amelia caught Pietra’s eye. The two women shared a quiet smile, and Pietra flagged down the waiter for another round of wine. White, of course — they were both wearing pastels, after all.

Max ordered garlic bread for the table.

Amelia flinched, her lip caught between her teeth, a tiny, familiar tell. Before she could say anything, Lando added easily, “And a basket of plain bread, too.”

Because garlic made Amelia’s stomach turn.

And of course Lando knew that.

—

Their hotel suite was quiet, the sounds of the Aegean sea whispering through the open balcony doors. The linen curtains fluttered in the breeze.

Amelia perched on the edge of the bed, brushing salt from her curls, moisturiser sinking into her sun-kissed skin. Lando was barefoot on the carpet, fiddling with the bluetooth speaker, trying to find the right playlist; something soft, without lyrics, something she liked. Jazz, maybe. Something Spanish.

“You’re stalling,” she told him, voice quiet and teasing.

“I’m setting the vibe,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Gotta be romantic. It’s our last night here. Want it to be proper special for you, baby.”

She laughed, quiet and fond, and he finally gave up and crossed to her. His big hands settled on her hips before sliding around her waist, guiding her back into him. She rolled her head back to rest on his collarbone, eyes all wide and wanting as she gazed up at him.

They moved together without words. No rush. No performance. Just touch… slow, steady, familiar. His fingertips glided down her arms like he was memorising every new freckle that the sun had brought to the surface. Her arms slipped beneath his shirt to trace the heat of his back, anchoring herself there. His nose brushed hers before he kissed her. Once, soft and searching, and again, deeper, more certain, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, fingers grazing her collarbone like he could warm her just through touch.

“I’m naked,” she said, feigning innocence, but her smile gave her away.

He laughed quietly against her mouth. “How convenient for me, hm?”

They melted into the white cotton sheets. Every part of her was familiar to him now — the heavy pressure she needed him to put behind his touches in order to stay grounded, the way she stilled under his hands, breath evening out when he pressed his chest to hers, his weight a quiet reassurance. She didn’t need to ask. He just knew.

No rush. No performance. It was connection in its purest form, deliberate, tender, like they were made of the same skin and light. Like the world shrank down to the rhythm of their heartbeats.

She whispered something in Portuguese, just to make him smile.

He did. Wide, dimpled, wrecked with love, his eyes full of her.

Later, wrapped in one of his shirts, she pressed her face into his neck and mumbled, “You’re warm.”

He kissed the crown of her head, voice low against her curls. “Sunburned.”

—

In Azerbaijan, the problem wasn’t Max.

It wasn’t the car.

It wasn’t the strategy.

It was the fucking tyre.

Amelia winced as the feed cut to Max, out of the car, still on track, kicking the shredded rubber that had ended his race.

“Fucking hell,” Christian muttered from two seats down.

She leaned toward GP, jaw tight. “What’s he saying?”

GP sighed, reaching up to mute his comms. “Nothing appropriate.”

“Red flag,” someone murmured behind them.

Amelia closed her eyes.

She could already see it — the headlines, the photos. “Max Verstappen — championship battle over already?”

It would fuel the fire already smouldering inside him. The one he’d inherited from his father, who was now audibly swearing in the garage. She could hear him from the pit wall.

Her eyes flicked to Christian. He was already looking at her.

In that moment, as the tyre fragments scattered across the Baku circuit and the title race teetered in their grasp, they were both thinking the same thing.

Fuck.

—

Amelia lay curled in her childhood bed, eyes tracing the glow-in-the-dark stars still scattered across the ceiling — the same ones she’d begged her dad to superglue up there the night they moved from Florida to England. She’d been eight. Shell-shocked by the change. Silent for three days straight before breaking it only to whisper: “Can we put the stars up, daddy?”

They were still there. Nearly twelve years later.

Lando was sitting against the headboard beside her, thumbing through an old photo album, chuckling quietly at baby pictures and awkward school portraits. She peeked up at him through her lashes — here, in her room, in her space. Taking up oxygen and memories and all the soft, sharp things in between.

Her eyes flicked to the window seat. Winced.

She thought about the weeks she’d spent there. Curled into herself, silent. Thinking, thinking, hurting. Wondering why he’d stopped talking to her. Wondering what she’d done wrong.

“Don’t ever…” she started, voice barely a whisper, then paused to breathe. “Please don’t ever hurt me again, Lan.”

He froze. Gently set the album aside, then pulled her up and onto his lap without a word. Held her tight. Looked across the room and saw it too — that small corner where she’d waited for him to come back to her.

“Never again, baby,” he said, voice thick, arms secure around her. “Never.”

She curled her fingers into his shirt and didn’t let go. Not until her mom called them down for dinner.

—

They approached France with a renewed, razor-sharp focus.

Sim sessions doubled in frequency. Max had her holed up in his Milton Keynes flat for four straight days, dissecting every inch of the car; every flaw, every advantage, every hypothetical curveball. She barely saw daylight, only telemetry and takeaway containers and so much coffee.

At the factory, she gave the upgrades a final inspection, glaring down the engineers who kept pushing to tweak the ride height, despite her repeated insistence they’d already found Max’s sweet spot for Paul Ricard.

She spent a few hours with Adrian, though they barely touched any kind of real work. Instead, they spiralled into a familiar rabbit hole; V10 engines, their physics, their poetry, and the chaos they’d wreak under modern regs. It was indulgent. Comforting.

She spotted Christian a few times in the hallways. Passing glances in the cafeteria. An awkward silence that settled between them like fog.

It would’ve been easier, for both of them, if he could just swallow his pride and apologise for trying to control the narrative of her life.

But he didn’t.

So nothing changed.

—

Max won in France.

And he didn’t just win — he dominated.

A perfect undercut. A flawless strategy.

An overtake two laps from the end.

“Simply lovely, mate.”

A 1–3 finish for the team.

Amelia clapped her hands, grinning as she leaned across to watch the pit crew spill over the wall, fists pumping under the chequered flag.

After Max’s disaster in Baku, it wasn’t just a win.

It was redemption.

—

She found Fernando after the race, walking with him through the paddock. They spoke about the state of Alpine's setup, her questions casual, his answers blunt.

“It is a mess,” he said, waving his hand as though the topic was beneath him. “But they can give me a car, so I will stay until a better offer comes along.”

Amelia nodded, her mind already drifting to the young driver being promised the world at Otmar Szafnauer’s behest. She couldn’t trust them though. Not when the team was so clearly disjointed.

She made her way to Max next, pulling him into a tight hug. “If we can beat them here, we can beat them anywhere,” she whispered into his ear, feeling the heat of his pride radiate back at her.

Then, she found Lando. No words were necessary as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. His ear was open, waiting for her praises. She whispered them to him as they moved to his driver’s room, him collapsing onto her in a mixture of exhaustion and contentment.

Her hand clutched the fabric of his shirt as she whispered, “Do you know anyone who could get me Mark Webber’s number?”

Lando's laughter echoed softly against her ear.

—

Amelia walks into the room, takes a seat across from Mark, and locks eyes with him, staring until he’s the first to blink.

Breaking the silence, she says, “I don’t trust Alpine, but I understand why Oscar does — they’ve invested a lot of time and money into his junior career.”

Mark nods in agreement and follows up with, “I don’t trust them either.”

A tense pause. Stalemate.

She leans forward slightly. “I’ve got an idea. Nothing's set in stone. If he gets the Alpine seat, I’ll back off. But if he doesn’t…”

“A back-up plan,” Mark guesses.

Amelia smiles, a glint in her eye. “Yes.”

—

They plane-shared with Charles, Max, and George on the way to Austria. Amelia sat quietly, her iPad resting on her lap as she scrolled through Pinterest, putting together an outfit board. Every so often, she’d tilt it toward George, giving him a silent ‘hm?’ as if to say, what do you think? without needing the words. George always knew, offering a quick response or nodding along with her choices.

Going non-verbal wasn’t something that happened often, but when it did, Amelia could never pinpoint the reason. Sometimes, it was just the weight of everything around her, the noise, the constant motion, and she’d retreat into silence. A soft hum, a cough, a tongue click; they were her ways of communicating in those moments.

Lando and Max, sitting across from them, exchanged a glance, both watching the interaction from afar.

"You think she’s okay?" Lando asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

Max nodded, eyes still on Amelia. "She's overwhelmed," he said quietly. "Trying to act like she’s not. It’s too much, I think."

Lando’s worry deepened, but Max’s words were a small comfort, as he thumped Lando on the shoulder. “Another holiday as soon as there’s a break. Yeah?”

Lando smiled, pulling out his phone and checking the calendar. It was a habit now, syncing their schedules. He sent a quick message to his travel agent.

—

After dropping off their luggage at the hotel, they met her dad for dinner at a local Italian place. Amelia snapped a few pictures of the pretty table settings, and Lando insisted on taking some of her in front of the wall of vintage wine bottles. “You look so pretty, baby,” he murmured, making her smile.

Her dad and Lando talked business and golf for most of the meal, their conversation a distant hum as Amelia scrolled through her Twitter feed, still not feeling up for much interaction.

At the end of the night, she gave her dad a tight hug before they parted ways, silently hoping that her love would come across through touch rather than words.

Their suite had a balcony, and Lando set up a little scene with blankets and chairs, ordering two bottles of Sprite to their room. Amelia ignored the chair he'd set up for her, instead collapsing onto his lap with a soft laugh and a surprised huff from him. “Jesus, warn me next time, baby,” he teased.

She buried her face in his neck, mouthing at the skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled and her breath shaky, fingers clenched against him.

He rubbed a steady hand up and down her back, voice soft. “What for?”

She shrugged, kissed his neck again, and closed her eyes, just letting the quiet settle around them.

—

The next morning, Amelia called Pietra, high-pitched giggles echoing from the bathroom as they gossiped in Portuguese over FaceTime. She sat in the sink to get closer to the mirror, balancing her phone on the taps while applying her eye makeup.

Lando lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He listened to the two girls talk in a language he didn’t understand, probably about him. A smile tugged at his lips.

—

Two weeks. Two consecutive Austrian races. Same track, different name.

Amelia sat with Jos in the debrief room, going over Max’s notes from last year’s race. Adrian walked in, having just checked the car setup. GP and Max followed a few moments later, Max with a paper coffee cup in hand and dark circles under his eyes.

Amelia frowned at him. "What’s the matter? Did you not sleep well?"

His gaze flickered to Jos, then back to Amelia. "No, just… nothing. Don’t worry about it."

She studied him, trying to decode his expression; his head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed. Her attention then shifted to his neck, where the collar of his Red Bull polo had slipped. A dark bruise marred the skin, with four tiny indents around it.

With a huff, she reached across the table to adjust his collar, covering it up.

Sitting back, she noticed both Jos and Adrian were staring at her.

She frowned. "What? I hate hickeys."

Jos blinked at her, then shifted his gaze to Max.

Adrien winced.

Max? He just sighed.

—

She found Lando in his garage before the Styrian race.

He was starting on the second row, practically sandwiched between her two Red Bulls.

Pulling him close, she kissed him softly and whispered, “Do well, be safe.”

She smiled at her dad, nodded at Will, and waved at Daniel, who winked back at her.

—

Max wins by a huge margin. The car had been flawless all weekend, and that didn't change during the race.

He jumps out of the car and into his engineers' arms, who scream and cheer in pure joy. Red Bull’s first home race of the season, and he’s won it by a mile.

He runs straight to her next, finding her in Parc Fermé instead of the pit wall like usual. She squeals as he picks her up by the waist and spins her around, his helmet still on.

“Zusje,” he crooned, full of energy and excitement.

She grins, pats the side of his helmet, then shoves him off toward the scales. “Go get weighed before they fine you.”

—

The championship swings in Max's favor after the second Austrian race.

And suddenly, the question isn’t Can Max win the championship? It becomes When will he win it? Amelia pores over the data, analysing their history with each upcoming track, measuring the numbers.

She runs into Lewis in the paddock after Max’s second win. She opens her mouth to greet him, to ask how Roscoe’s doing, to check on him after so long without talking. But he keeps his head down and brushes past her, leaving her staring after him, eyes burning.

She finds Fernando first. Falls into his arms, a heap of sniffles and unjust sadness. She understands why Lewis is angry, knows how competitive this sport is, and how much she has to do with potentially denying him an eighth championship.

“Mi niña,” Fernando murmurs, holding her tightly, his eyes hard. “Who upset you?”

She doesn’t tell him. Doesn’t want him to make any rash decisions during the next race. She just lets herself be comforted, and when Fernando eventually hands her off to Lando, she lets herself really begin to cry.

NEXT CHAPTER

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burrito-fight · 4 months ago

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admiring from afar - RAVEN!NEIL SOCMED AU

prev part || part nine (you are here!) || next part (coming soon)

part ten (coming soon!)

admiring from afar socmed au masterpost || part one || prev part

short stories you may have missed: kevaaron / kevsethriko being riko (smau vers.)

okayyy we're getting much closer to kevaaron kinda realizing and sucking it up... but i kinda wanna stir the pot with andriel now mwuahaha. i'm soo sorry for taking so long lmaoo- but finals szn is absolutely killing me rn :( next couple weeks might be like this 😬 but i promise i'll try to keep y'all updated with side story things (even if you want absolutely non-canon situation cracktweets, hmu. like i'm down to write anything ab my gremlin ocs. even short little blurbs with actual words.) i have a kevaaron first meeting blurb that i'm working on but i'm debating when to release it... though most likely it'll be after kevaaron are official / have their shit sorted at least. but i think we're getting very close to it. which means i gotta suck it up and finish it, damn. edit: if y'all saw a version where aaron signed off a tweet at 03... no you didn't (shoutout @bluehairmisfit for catching that!) next up is the foxes game + the weekend they all spend together :3

taglist: @bluehairmisfit , @snowcoming , @little2nerdy @minyard-05 , @heartstringgs , @andrew-03-minyard @neilsleftpinky , @vannyinthestars , @andabuttonnose , @motherfunkies , @iheartblondes , @03junkie , @leestars13 , @jjjosten , @hidinginmyhands , @tedious-malcontent , @ohfallingdisco , @twin-yards , @graveyardviolence , @youdontknowhowtodiequietly , @evenfallreads , @luxxbean , @jean-yvesning , @marauders-bs , @post-historical-posts , @afidiofobia , @saphritalks , @fly-in-amber , @williamluvr , @lesbiansforkevinday , @min-getoutofmy-yard, @umm0lly , @somehopelessidiot , @beatrix33 , @mustangsally913 , @luluhtk , @nyxhemerass , @carbon-dated-gal , @rottenroyal , @jeanmoreausautismstickers , @justaboredcryptid , @strawberrysmi , @sammyahuja , @luluhtk , @heiligso ,@tireddreamergirl , @queen-of-seventeen , @hrtregulus , @orgelmedusa , @jeanmoreau29-3 , @tessasilverswan , @screechin-outloud , @shelteringyourdna , @inafieldofstarflowers , @chaotictrashmuncher , @bbluesorrow , @emilibs , @yes-i-exist-shutup , @s-u-n-s-e-e-k-e-r <3 sorry if i missed anyone! <3 comment here or on the main post to be added to the taglist or send an ask or rb with tags that say some version of 'i wanna be on the taglist' :) rbs are best :3

don't forget to like + reblog <3

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raytoebiter · 4 months ago

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xiv. heart shaped box

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - everybody here wants you by jeff buckley

• heh.. gotta.. yk toss in a little.. jeff buckley over here cuz heh...

authors' notes - yk how fucking annoying it is to be called a damn womanizer just because i hang out in a group that's mostly women? well, welcome to the fucking philippines where people are brainwashed by the media to seek out entertainment in the form of love to the point it makes them go incredibly fucking stupid🤗

mind you, we're FIFTEEN fucking years old and we're barely just getting out of the damn fetus stage and now im seeing people in real life gush about stinky teenage boys and their damn armpits (also mind you IM GAY and majority of my friend group are queer as fuck. either aromantic or lesbian so what the fuck)

p.s - managed to squeeze in a little update this time. might not update next week but who knows??

(ask to be added or removed)

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archangeldyke-all · 6 months ago

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Can we get an update on paramedic sev?? I thought it was such a cute story

ehhehe sure!!

men and minors dni

when your coworker bumps into and spills an entire pot of piping hot coffee on you, the pain is so sudden and shocking that you don't really register what happens next.

your coworkers swarm you with concerned expressions. you blink. your boss worriedly guides you to sit down, gasping at the blisters already bubbling up in your skin. you sniff. somebody starts helping you out of your hot, soaked clothes. your stomach lurches.

"we should call an ambulance."

well... that'll clear you of your pain fog

"no!" you shout. your coworkers blink at you. "no ambulance!"

under absolutely no circumstances can an ambulance be called. sevika is working right now, and if she gets a call from this address she'll panic. and you don't want her to worry. plus, you probably look gross right now. actually, now that your mind's working again, you're feeling pretty gross.

your boss gives you a horrified look. "no, no, honey, you really need an ambu--"

it's the last thing you hear before you pass out.

----

"baby? you okay?" you groan and blink awake. sevika's wincing down at you. "you got burned real bad on your arms. luckily your clothes kept the rest of ya from too much damage. we're on our way to the hospital."

"oh no." you huff. sevika blinks.

"don't worry, love. they're gonna fix you up real nice. i'm gonna stick by your side the whole time, we'll get you home in no time--"

"no not that." you huff. sevika must've hooked you up to something, because you can barely feel the stinging in your arm. and you feel just a little tipsy. "i didn't-- ugh i told them not to call you guys." you whine.

"what!? why the fuck not?" sevika asks. you shrug, giggling at her glare.

"didn't wanna worry you. knew you'd shit yourself if you got the call."

ran cackles from the driver's seat. "she hit a hundred miles an hour on the way over." they shout. you snort, then glare up at sevika.

"that's not safe, sev." you huff.

she rolls her eyes. "and what's safe about taking a bath in fresh brewed coffee pot?"

you giggle. "okay. we both messed up today. but tomorrow, we'll both be safe, right?" you ask.

sevika snorts and kisses your forehead. "you're cute on morphine."

"ran, promise me you won't let her drive the rig again!" you call, glaring at sevika for the way she dodges your question.

"yes ma'am!" ran shouts from the front seat.

sevika rolls her eyes, rubs a thumb against your cheekbone. you sigh and nuzzle her hand. "we've gotta stop meeting like this." you whisper. sevika grins.

"last time i got a girlfriend outta your accident, what do i get this time?"

"mmm... i'll let you try to knock me up?" you offer. sevika sputters, the ambulance hits a curb, and ran starts to spew curses in what you're pretty sure is a dead language. you cackle.

"how much morphine did you give her?!" ran squeaks. sevika reaches out to start fiddling with one of the bags hanging over your head. you just reach up to fondle her biceps as she works.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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iamsebastiansstan · 6 months ago

Text

like one of your girls - NAC x fem!reader

summary - “Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in.

wc - 6k - MINORS DNI !

warnings - lots of dirty talk as always, crying during sex, unprotected p in v, oral (m and f), creampie, aftercare 🥹

A/N - I dedicate this chapter to @hoffmansgirl because he's literally doing it rn girl like literally !!! anyways, this update was fast but I probably won't be writing much for the next few weeks, I GOTTA STUDY lmao come tell me what you thought of this, any and all feedback is appreciated <3 enjoy!

taglist - @blackynsupremacy / @lalavenderangel / @nicholaschavezbby /

PART 2 - SERIES MASTERLIST !

Waking up next to him is like a dream she never wants to wake up from. She’s watching him as his eyelids flutter open, his nose scrunches up, as he stretches his strong arms above his head and groans adorably while looking at her through squinted eyes.

“You been awake long?” he asks her, and she shakes her head no.

He’d spooned her last night, she remembers, they both needed that closeness without crossing too many lines, and already she’s feeling withdrawals, missing having his body heat along her back. It isn’t awkward now, but the tension can definitely be felt in the air.

“Good. When do you need to get back to New York?”

She thinks about it for a minute, heart beating fast. Is he asking to be polite or is he asking so they can make plans to see each other? She hopes to God it’s the latter.

“On Wednesday. I made plans with some friends to hang out while I’m still here.”

He hums, scratches the back of his shoulder.

“Wanna give me your number? I’d quite like to see you again.”

Trying hard to keep her screaming internal, she reaches over to the bedside table and hands him her phone, watching as his nimble fingers type in his digits before pressing the call button.

“Think my phone’s dead but the call should’ve gone through. Now we can text each other.”

She smiles warmly. “I’d like that.”

They don’t keep their eyes off each other as they get dressed, him slipping into last night’s clothes and her into some fresh ones, and she can feel the want for him pool deep in her stomach, bitter at everything they didn’t get to experience yesterday, glad about what they did get to do.

“Hey, just one second, (Y/N),” he stops her as she’s about to leave the room and she turns, looks up at him when he steps close. “I’m gonna take the advice you gave me yesterday, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re a second option, a rebound, anything like that. I enjoyed yesterday immensely.”

Her heart flutters at his consideration, but she only smiles and puts a hand on his cheek, stroking his skin softly.

“I’m not here to make your life more complicated than it needs to be, Nicholas,” she assures and means it. “I enjoyed it too, and I’d love to see you again if possible. If not, then no hard feelings. We can be honest with each other. Friends get to do that, no?”

His nod is slow, the relief basically radiating off of him as he grabs her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles before opening the door for her, following her out.

Nicholas doesn’t stay for breakfast, but he kisses Cooper’s cheek and thanks him, hugs her with a quiet promise to text her, and soon enough she’s perched on a bar stool at Cooper’s kitchen island, spooning cereal into her mouth and doing her best to dodge his suspicious looks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says through a mouthful.

“Not looking at you like anything.”

She levels him with a look, unimpressed.

“Ask what you want to ask or shut up entirely, Coop.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, seemingly shy but his blazing eyes betray him as he asks, “Did you fuck him?”

She expected this, so she answers calmly.

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

The question makes her stop for a moment, unsure how much she’s allowed to say.

“I think you know why. Are you mad?”

He rolls his eyes, takes her hand in his.

“No, of course not. I’d be happy for both of you. But I know that you’re both,” he shoots her a meaningful look that she expertly ignores, “in a rough place in life right now, and I’d hate to see you take it out on each other.”

She nods, understanding where he’s coming from.

“Is Nick going to get the same speech?” she asks, only half joking.

“A much stricter one, I can tell ya that!”

She laughs as she gets up along with him to clean the mess from their breakfast up before she goes to meet with her aforementioned friends, heart fluttering the entire time at the prospect of Nick messaging her.

***

She’s sitting in the park and sipping on her smoothie when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. Tuning out her friends’ laughter for a minute, she takes it out to see that it’s from Nick, making excitement bubble up in her chest. She opens it immediately, not expecting anything, when suddenly the words make her want to choke on her own spit.

not to be too forward but I just made myself come to the thought of how tight your throat would be around me. I’ll be thinking about that for a long while.

Two seconds later:

hope you’re having a wonderful day.

Trying not to seem like the mess he’s turned her into within seconds, she does her best to fight off the mental image his message is creating in her mind and reply somewhat coherently.

You’re a fucking dickhead, do you know that? I’m out and about and now I’m dripping. Thanks for nothing.

His reply doesn’t take long, has her taste blood from where she’s gnawing her bottom lip open.

that’s how I want you baby, all the time. see you soon.

She’s distracted for the rest of the day but when her friends ask her about it, she chalks it up to her stressful college courses and tight deadlines. Despite the butterflies dancing in her belly, she’s had a nice time, and when she walks into Cooper’s house later, she’s got a beaming smile on her face.

“Honey, I’m home!” she shouts, taking off her shoes and hanging up her handbag by the door.

“Honeys, please!” comes Stuart’s voice from the living room and she grins as she walks in, presses a kiss to the tops of their heads.

“Missed ya at the party yesterday,” she says and plops down on the loveseat across from where they’re cuddled up on the couch.

Friends is on. She hates that show.

“Yeah, I was sad I couldn’t make it, but Cooper is throwing a pool party tomorrow, so I’ll still get some fun in.”

She’s surprised at hearing about yet another event, but she’s not complaining.

“And drinks,” Cooper reminds him helpfully. “Lots of drinks as well.”

They chat a little, watch a small part of some movie that’s on when Stuart switches the channel, stay up until it’s hard for her to suppress the yawning. Bidding them goodnight, she stands up to go into the guest room when Cooper calls out her name.

“He’ll be there tomorrow,” he lets her know, a kind little smile on his face, and she nods gratefully before ascending the stairs, ready for sleep.

The next morning, she doesn’t overthink it, mainly because she refuses to give up so much power so soon.

It’s just her usual routine; the shaving, the skincare, the comfy bikini, a midi dress over it. No make-up, just her necklace, she refuses to get dolled up for a pool party. From what she knows, it’ll be a much smaller affair than Friday’s party was, and she’s looking forward to it.

“I’ll handle the BBQ, could you just make the salad dressing and carry these out to the patio, (Y/N)?” Cooper asks her, and she obliges gladly.

They set everything up rather quickly, the guests start arriving soon, and she tries her hardest not to stop in her tracks when she sees Nicholas walk out through the glass doors of the living room, hugging everyone he knows before he spots her. The way he rakes his eyes over her body before settling on her face makes heat creep up her neck, and she knows that it’s got nothing to do with today’s temperature.

“Hey, stranger,” he greets her, wraps his arms around her to give her a good squeeze.

“Hey, you,” she smiles, inhales his fresh scent, enjoys having him in her arms again. “How have you been?”

The breath he exhales as he pulls away is deep, it lets her know that things have gone down, but the private smile he gives her makes the oncoming worry in her mind disappear.

“I’ve been alright so far, I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

She nods, cheeks warming. “Okay. Come find me.”

She allows herself to be open, truthful in her wants, and he chuckles at that, squeezes her shoulder.

“Always.”

They don’t sit next to each other during lunch, but they keep glancing over the table and finding each other’s eyes, and every single time it happens, it makes the heat coil tighter in her stomach. He looks fucking good today, ruffled hair and a loose button-down that he keeps open, muscular chest flashing at every turn. At some point he puts his sunglasses on and turns his head straight in her direction, but she can’t tell if she’s being stared at or not, faltering during the conversation she’s trying to have with one of the girls at the party.

When they’re all full and satiated, they go and find their own things to do: some go to swim a few laps or just cool off in the pool, some go to lounge by the grass and read, some stay at the table and keep drinking and chatting. She decides to walk over to the big tree at the back of the garden, finding a comfortable spot on the outdoor sofa under it and laying down, head comfortably resting on a small pillow. It’s not like she’s hoping he’ll find her there; she knows he is going to come and join her eventually. She just needs a little breather yet again, getting easily overwhelmed in big groups of people.

“And here you are, sneaking off again,” she hears his voice after Lord knows how much time has passed, and she can’t help the slow smile that spreads across her face.

“My social battery empties quickly,” she starts to explain as she watches him sit down at the end of the outdoor couch, but what she doesn’t expect is for him to grab her legs and drape them over his lap, rubbing up and down one foot lightly.

“D’you mind?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“No, ‘s comfortable.”

They sit in silence like that for a little, just looking at each other, and she can feel a lump grow in her throat. Never has she wanted somebody as badly as him, and the restraint she has to show is otherworldly at this point.

“What happened, Nicholas?” she dives straight in, direct as always, watches him exhale deeply.

“Well,” he laughs, no humor behind it. “I had that conversation with her yesterday.”

“Yeah? How’d it go?” she asks, heart in her throat.

She thinks back on what he told her, that he’s scared to give in to his ex, that he might let her convince him to try one more time, one more moment, one more fuck, and she feels pathetic for how scared she is that he’ll tell her that this is it, it’s over between them before it even started.

“She took it well. I hate hurting her, I really struggled, but she… she didn’t put up a fight,” he explains, and a wave of relief mixed with guilt washes over her, has her breathe easier. “She knows, I think. We both do.”

“You still love her, though, don’t you?” she presses, winces when he grabs her foot and digs in, massages at a sore spot.

His smirk tells her he isn’t sorry.

“Yeah, I do. But she isn’t mine to have anymore, and I am so okay with that.”

“Do you feel bad about Friday night?”

He scoffs, pulls her foot up to his mouth and presses a kiss against it, has her gut clenching from the motion, so intimate, so familiar.

“There’s nothing I’ve felt better about in a while, I’ll be honest.”

She nods, at a loss for words. Wanting to jump him right here, but cautious considering their surroundings. Wanting to have him but wanting to keep building the tension to see what happens when he snaps.

It’s hard having a filter in his presence, so she blurts out, “How many more times have you thought about me having you down my throat since you texted me yesterday?”

“Jesus Christ,” Nicholas chokes and throws his head back, eyes shut as if it’s hurting him to think about it.

“I need to know, Nick.”

“Last night again… then this morning, as I was getting ready to come here.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Last night before or after you went to see her?”

His brown eyes are wide when she looks into them, they’re honest and sincere, which is why it hits so much harder when he tells her, “Both.”

“Fuck,” she breathes, sits up and pulls her legs to her chest, needing to collect herself. “You’re a bastard, Nicholas.”

“I can’t help it,” he smirks, reaches out to lay a hand on her knee but not moving closer. “What about you? Did you have to help yourself out at all?”

She nods dumbly, unable to look away from his face.

“Last night, as well. Three times. I couldn’t sleep without it.”

A bite to his lips tells her he’s imagining it, thinking about it.

“Did you give yourself any fingers? Or did you only play with your clit?”

“M-my clit, didn’t put anything inside of me.”

She feels the increase of her pulse, feels the tingle in her core at the way he looks at her, devours her with his gaze.

“Why not, little girl?”

“I want the next thing to fill me to be you, Nicholas,” she confesses, lays herself bare and relishes in the devastation her words cause him, the way his jaw drops, his brows raise.

It’s safe, she reminds herself, he’s safe. She can be vulnerable with him, can let him throw her against the wall and trust that he’ll pick up the shattered pieces to put her back together.

“You’re killing me, do you know that? The things I wanna do to you…” he trails off, stares into the distance for a moment. “I’ve never wanted to do them to another person. I don’t even fucking know you.”

“No, but you see me. And I don’t need to know what those things are, Nicholas. I feel them. And I want them, too.”

A harsh puff of air leaves his nose before he’s leaning back, gazing at her, face resolute.

“Go to the room upstairs and wait for me there, will you?”

She nods, mind and heart racing, does as she’s told as she gets up on shaky legs, knees nearly buckling. Making sure her walk isn’t too fast as not to rouse suspicion but fast enough to show him that she wants this, so he can see- and he certainly is watching her ass as she’s leaving- that she’s on board with what he’s trying to do.

She meant what she said: she doesn’t need to know, she feels it.

Arriving in the guest room, she doesn’t know what to do with herself, nerves getting the best of her and leaving her nearly dizzy. She splashes some cold water on her face before cupping her hands and letting the water from the tap fill them, bringing them to her mouth and swallowing mouthfuls before she turns it off. The image that greets her in the mirror is one she hasn’t seen often: a woman delirious with lust, eyes glazed over and cheeks blotchy.

A sound from the outside makes her dry her face off quickly before stepping out, seeing Nicholas shut and lock the door, eyes dark.

They say nothing as he stands across from her and puts a hand on her cheek, runs his thumb across her lips, smiles when she takes the very tip of it between her teeth and bites down gently.

“You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?” he asks, and she nods as he pushes his finger deeper into her mouth, presses down on her tongue and leaves it there. Her hands find his torso, his chiseled muscles to hold on to lest she loses balance, and she sucks his digit into her mouth deeply, hollows her cheeks as they keep staring at each other. “You’re a good cocksucker as well, though, hm?”

She shrugs cheekily, smiles around his finger when he chuckles. She pulls away, then, kisses the tip of his thumb.

“You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

The way he rolls his eyes playfully is so sexy, takes away some of the suffocating seriousness that has crept into their dynamic without breaking the tension, without diminishing the spark they have.

Large palms frame her face as he looks at her deeply, anticipation forcing her mouth to open in a gasp, and that’s when he takes his chance, claims her mouth in a kiss so sensual that it has her moaning into his lips. It doesn’t take long for his tongue to find hers and he licks at her muscle, lets her in and deepens the kiss, makes it dirty but so full of lust and devotion that she can’t help but stand on her tippy toes to chase after that sensation.

His hand finds her throat, grips it lightly yet makes her feel breathless, a dirty chuckle against her lips breaking their moment.

“You’ll let me in there, won’t you, baby?” he rasps, drives his finger down the front of her throat. “All the way inside?”

She nods, stupid with want. “Yes, please let me. I need to taste you, Nicholas, fuck.”

He kisses her again, then, toying with her mouth as his hands unzip her dress, pull it off her body, leaving her in only her bikini.

“Kneel in front of the bed, with your back facing it,” he instructs, burying his head in her neck and nibbling lightly, grinning at her gasp.

She does as she’s told, has little control over it, kneels obediently and looks up at him with a wet pout on her lips. Remembering what he told her last time, that no woman could ever take his cock down here throat, believing him. Despite its length, what probably causes trouble is the veiny thickness of it, the very thing that makes cunts drip for him being the reason for locked jaws and hurting lips.

The walk over to her is deliberately slow, he’s letting her stew in her desire for him, but she can’t even complain, not when she gets to observe even his most miniscule movements uninterrupted. The first thing she does when he’s right there is fall forward and bury her face in his crotch, over the material of his linen shorts, inhaling deeply. His clothes smell clean but there’s a musky undertone, something so distinctly man that it has her mouth watering.

“Shhh, there you go, get your fill,” he whispers, drives his hands through her hair and she’s so grateful he’s letting her express her desperation how she needs to.

The balance of her body barely allows her to get up on her knees, but she manages, presses open mouthed kisses along his torso, as far up as she can reach. She licks into his navel, kisses down his happy trail, moans as she traces her tongue along the waistband of his briefs.

“Fuck, I’m so hungry for it,” she breathes, “please give it to me, I need it so bad.”

Nicholas chuckles, a sound that hits her right in the chest, and untangles the strings of his pants. She’s glad he’s decided to take his shorts off completely, wrapping her hands around his thighs as soon as he’s stepped out of them and mouthing at his hard cock through his briefs, tongue tasting a salty wet spot and groaning into it.

“Jesus, (Y/N), you’re like a woman possessed,” he growls, all pride and no disgust, and it spurs her on to reach up and pull his cock out, get his underwear out of the way so she can really revel in everything his manhood has to give.

He discards his shirt as well, then, and there he is: her personal Greek God in all his glory, naked flesh for her to devour.

A tear makes its way down her cheek and she’s done with waiting, needs for him to own her.

“Please,” she breathes and smiles wickedly as he grabs his cock, pumps it once, twice before holding it by the base and-

And slapping it across her face, the hit harder than she anticipated, making her cry out with nasty hunger.

“Again,” she begs, and he obeys with a wide-eyed stare, slaps her one more time, two more times before hooking his thumb in her mouth and pulling it open, praising her when she automatically sticks her tongue out.

Nick traces the leaking head of his cock over her tongue, and she could cry when the salt hits her tastebuds, the warmth of his flesh mixing with the wetness on her muscle.

“This is what you were made for, baby,” he says, praises her, talks as if he’s far away. “You’re so fucking beautiful, just waiting for me to ruin you, huh?” She nods her head before shaking it, making sure his precome coats all of her tongue, moans when he orders, “Suck this cock, sweetheart.”

Not needing to be told twice, she engulfs the thick tip in her mouth, sucks on it as she moves her tongue down to coat his length in spit, to ease the way, to make it easier for him to claim the depths of her throat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses above her, hands not ceasing their movement in her hair, and she sees it as motivation to keep going. The louder he is, the louder she wants him.

Some men like a mix between a willing mouth and two skilled hands, she knows, but today she wants to show him just how hungry she’s been for his cock since she met him, so she works her lips around him, determined to not need her hands for this. She sinks deeper and deeper, lets the accumulated spit from her mouth coat him, doesn’t mind the strings of it escaping and dripping down her chin, makes sure she keeps her eyes wide and on him as he’s struggling not to squeeze his shut.

“Halfway there, baby, you’re so fucking good f’me,” he moans, “Messy little girl, just like that.”

She lays her tongue out and takes a deep breath before pushing down stubbornly, eyes screwing up as he goes deeper and deeper, watching his slack jaw and wide eyes marveling at something he’s always wished to experience but never could, not with the women he’d been with before. Relaxing her throat and feeling him push through that last bit of resistance as she fights against her gag reflex, fights to keep it deep within her chest, fights through the pain it brings her not to openly cough at the intrusion in her body. She can’t stand it, not for long, and she has to pull away with a chest-wracking cough, trying to collect herself but delirious with the need to prove her devotion to him.

“Baby, that was amazing, just-“

“Fuck my throat, Nicholas,” she rasps through the tears, gets in position again and takes his cock in hand this time, jerks him a little until she gets herself under control again.

“(Y/N), are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be stopping until you give me a signal, no matter how much you cry, okay?”

Jesus Christ. She nods, determined.

“I’ll tap your thigh twice if I need you to really stop, okay?”

He bends down and kisses her deeply, wipes at the tears on her cheeks.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers before straightening back up, gripping her by the hair and growling, “now open that fuckin’ throat for me.”

It’s animalistic, the way he takes her mouth, pushes his cock deep and keeps snapping his hips up, moaning loudly as she chokes, as she holds onto her own thighs just to have something to grip while he uses her. Inch by inch he fucks himself deep, groans her name, “My good girl, that’s right, show ‘em how it’s done,” knowing exactly how to spur her on, how to give her the strength to fight through her body’s struggles.

She’s gargling out spit, face wet and messy, when he finally, fucking finally manages to bottom out, bury her nose in his trimmed pubic hair, almost doubling over when she then sticks her tongue out until the back of her throat starts burning to lap at his balls with the tip of it, just to show him that there’s nothing stopping her from satisfying the hunger she has for him.

“Ho- oh my fucking- ugh,” he moans, the tightness of her sending him into overdrive, the way her choking and swallowing around his cock stimulates his sensitive head making tears spring to his eyes.

He grabs her by the hair and rips her back roughly, letting her breathe heavy for a minute before diving down to claim her lips in a bruising kiss, in awe at this woman kneeling in front of him.

“Fuck, that felt good,” she laughs manically against his mouth, tears and snot dripping from her face, but they don’t care, they’re reveling in the way they can mess each other up.

“You okay, baby? Your voice is fucked,” he smiles as she nods eagerly, clearing her throat.

“More, please, fuck my face just a little more,” she begs, watching his eyes widen at her request, but she doesn’t care. Now that she’s gotten a taste, she wants more.

One hand in her hair and the other one on her jaw, he pushes between her lips again, keeps pushing until he’s in all the way and pulls her off again, watching her splutter and cough for a second before reeling her in again. Nicholas seems to enjoy that, watching her struggle with her throat full, struggle to catch her breath after, but whenever her eyes meet his in a silent plea, she sees the fire in his gaze burn that much brighter before he goes in to fuck her face again.

“No more,” he pants, grabs her by the arms and pulls her into a standing position, steadying her as her legs give out from having knelt for so long. “Fuck, I almost came down your throat.”

“Why didn’t you?” she pouts, face a total mess but causing him to smile at her warmly regardless.

“Don’ wanna, wanna shoot my load inside of you,” he mutters, makes her cheeks heat up.

“Next time, though?”

He laughs, kisses her swollen mouth.

“Promise, baby.”

Nick makes quick work of her bikini and gets her naked and sprawled across the bed in record time, writhing under his heated gaze as he just stands here, cock hard and dripping with her spit, watching her.

“Spread your legs for me,” he instructs, eyes raking over her form, and with a shy bite to her lip she obliges, parts her legs and lets him look at where she’s sloppy wet for him.

“Need you so bad, I’m all swollen,” she whines, watches as he positions himself between her legs, kisses along her stomach up to her tits.

The first nipple he takes into his hot mouth gets a quick bite shortly after, making her hiss, before he moves over to the second, giving it attention while she rakes her hands through his hair, lost in sensation.

It’s all she’s ever wanted and more, the fucked-out state of arousal that has her mind feeling honey sticky and slow, completely out of her own body. She focuses on his weight on top of her, the way his spit on her nipples paired with the cool air in the room gives her gooseflesh, and soon enough she’s whimpering as he trails his kisses in the direction of her center.

“Finally getting a taste of this gorgeous cunt, been thinking about it,” he murmurs against her mound, looks right at her as he says, “Gonna kiss you where I’m gonna fuck you, my sweet,” before he dives right in, licks her in broad stripes and has her throwing her head back in ecstasy.

All the blood rushes to her center and despite not even having been touched properly, the tension burns, makes her clit tingle where it’s being loved on by his clever tongue, and she can’t help but bury her hands in his hair and push her hips up into his awaiting mouth. Nicholas eats pussy like it’s the most decadent thing he’s ever had, like it melts on his tongue, the way he pushes between her inner lips and slurps at the very source of her arousal. By now he knows how much she loves the attention on her little nub, so he sucks it into his mouth, taps his tongue against it until she’s arching off the bed, only being held down by his bulging arms.

“N-Nick, fuck, fuck no-,“ she’s trying to push him off, the buildup of her climax making every limb tingle, but he holds on, holds her steady until she’s crying, begging, “please, let me come for you, please, please, pl- fuck-“

A hum of confirmation, the vibration of it hitting her core, is all it takes before she’s coming hard, pulling his head closer and trying to bat him away at the same time, and the minute her high decreases and her muscles relax he’s on her, kissing her lax mouth, pushing his tongue deep and letting her taste her pussy on his sinful lips.

“Y’taste sweeter than I could’ve imagined,” he’s breathing hard against her mouth, “sweetest pussy just for me to take, ain’t it? Fuck, I need to be inside of you.”

The “Please,” punches out of her, already wrapping her legs around his torso so he’d slip in easier, giving him all the access and shouting into his shoulder as he slides his cock into her in one go, fills her up until she can feel him in her lungs. She pushes at his chest so he’d pull away, look at her, grabs him by the face and hisses “What the fuck are you, who the fuck- what are you doing t- to me?”

Nicholas’ laugh is amazed, top lip curled over his perfect teeth as he focuses on drilling into her hard, watching her lose her mind under him, watching her give herself over to him without a care in the world. He angles his hips just so, pelvic bone brushing against her clit with every thrust, making her see stars.

“You’ll come for me like this,” he promises, voice shot, “you’re so gorgeous, fuck. Look at you, can’t believe you’ll come for me again, I’ve got you-“

“Nick, please,” she cries, terrified of what her mind is making her body do, “I can’t-“

“You can and you will,” he snaps, grabs her by the face and pulls her close, kisses her pouting mouth. “Come for me, (Y/N), I wanna see you lose it.”

She doesn’t pass out this time but she kind of wishes she did, because the groans and moans and pathetic whimpers that rip out of deep within her are sounds she’s never going to unhear now. If it were with anyone else, she’d be mortified, but he just talks her through it with pride in his voice as if she were his girl, his to coach and use and fuck and lo-

But isn’t she? She sure feels like it.

“Atta fuckin’ girl, that’s right, oh I’m gonna come, baby-“

“Fill me up,” she whispers, lax now, letting herself be used and moved like a rag doll, “I wanna feel you dripping out of my pussy for days.”

“Oh shit, (Y/N)-“ and that does it for him, apparently, as he pushes in impossibly deep and spills inside of her, moaning into her neck and holding her close, filling her body and mind and heart, and dear God, she’s a fucking goner.

The room smells like their sex, like musk, heady and dazed, makes her head spin where she’s laying under him and wondering what the actual fuck just happened. Nicholas’ breathing is labored but he’s still pressing lazy kisses against her temple, arms still around her spent body.

After a moment, he peers down at her.

“You okay, baby?” he whispers, like the atmosphere is something fragile.

She doesn’t trust her voice, so she just nods.

“Was it too much? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head no.

He chuckles deeply, leans down to kiss her mouth and she can’t do much more than to let herself be kissed, can’t reciprocate.

“Talk to me, love, c’mon,” he requests gently, and when she hears that little nickname, hears the care in his voice, her lip starts wobbling and her tears start running freely down her cheeks. “Oh, baby,” he soothes, lets her cry in his arms, holds her through it.

She’s heard of people crying after sex, especially after intense sex, but it has never happened to her. Laying here, though, on these ruined sheets, face and body and her fucking insides sticky with him, after having been used so mercilessly and still having him hold her like she’s something precious, talk to her like she’s something to be cherished? She can’t take it, the turmoil of the last few days, the last few weeks, paired with the experience of his mere existence sending her into overdrive.

“Let it out, I’m here f’you,” he whispers, shushes her, kisses her head, and soon enough she runs out of tears, only sniffles where she’s hiding in his neck.

Nicholas pulls away, props himself up on one elbow as his other hand keeps stroking her hair, her face, anything he can reach. He’s got a small smile playing on his full lips as he looks at her, and she smiles back, exhausted but satiated.

“’m sorry for this,” she croaks, voice barely there.

Before she can say anything else, he interrupts her, shushes her with his thumb on her lips. “Please don’t,” he says, eyes kind, “I’m so honored that you trust me enough to fall apart like this. Seriously, (Y/N), this is not a small deal.”

She clicks her tongue, eyes welling up with tears again.

“I know,” she whimpers, takes his hand in hers and kisses it. “I know it isn’t, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with this. I- Nicholas… What the fuck?”

He brings her to his chest, holds her close, kisses the crown of her head.

“None of that now, baby,” he whispers, “Now I gotta give you some good aftercare and then we’ll clean up, okay? We can talk later, when we’re both in our right minds. That sound good?”

She nods, says, “I don’t wanna go back to the party,” but it’s muffled against his full chest.

He hears her anyways.

“We don’t have to; we’ll just stay here."

Cleaning up is a quiet affair, they keep each other close at all times, standing under the shower together and just washing each other, hands trailing across the other with no intent to take it further. It’s intimate, it’s connecting, and it’s exactly what she needs to come down from the rollercoaster he’s put her through. Nicholas rummages through the closets on that floor until he finds clean sheets and changes them while she stands next to the bed, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, watching with a small smile as he wrestles with the fitted sheet.

“Too many workouts today,” he grumbles as he pulls it over the corners of the bed, “I haven’t consumed enough calories today for this level of exercise.”

She giggles at his silliness before she lets herself fall onto the bed, holding her arms open for him to crawl in, settling his head on her boobs.

“Naked cuddling is my favorite,” she whispers to him conspiratorially and he nods eagerly, agreeing.

“Same, don’t nearly do it often enough.”

She’s ready for a nap, she realizes as she lets her eyes fall shut, and soon enough she’s slipping away softly, clutching him tightly.

Unsure if she's dreaming or not, she hears a soft, "I've got you, my sweet. Always got you."

#mine #my writing #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander Chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas chavez smut #charlie mayhew #father charlie mayhew #father Charlie x reader #grotesquerie #father charlie grotesquerie #father charlie smut #nicholas chavez fanfiction #nicholas chavez imagine #monsters netflix #spencer cassadine

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 11 months ago

Text

breaking news!

pairing: milf! reader x pre-re2 leon

cws/tags: protected p in v, virginity loss, leon cumming immediately, coming untouched, talking about past somno (implied to be consensual), presumably established relationship, no description of reader beyond cis female who has had a child and is older than leon, reader POV, no use of y/n

summary: leon doesn't wanna die a virgin! shit goes down in july '98 (bizarre murders occur in raccoon city etc. you know the monologue), and leon sees it on the news, decides he's gotta fuck before he becomes a cop fr.

a/n: this is part 3 to cool mom's countdown. i wasn't sure how to tag some stuff bc it's like they're having sex rn but reader is thinking about stuff they've done in the past too, so it's kinda a little time-skipping sometimes. (past things are italicized for your reading pleasure)

wc: 1.7k

taglist: @onlyasimp4-2dbitches @puppedup @nilpill @sya-skies @shiawaseorii

@rigorwhoring @porcelainseashore

@tieabowaroundme @frankieeeeesblog @kerredgraveblog

join my taglist! purchase a commission!

At first, your relationship with Leon made you feel old -- all of the pop culture references you’d make flew over his head, and you realized how out of the loop you were when it came to modern slang when you had to ask Leon for the definition of approximately one word per sentence he spoke. While miscommunications arose through conversations, you were in sync when it came to sex.

In the proverbial bedroom, Leon made you feel young again. After work one Friday night, you made out on the couch until you insisted that you needed to freshen up before your movie date, and ended up sitting on the bathroom counter with Leon’s head between your thighs, and, to pay him back, you jerked him off in the theater.

You’d been together for a good six months before you finally went all the way. You told Leon from the beginning that you wouldn’t have sex with him until he was 100% sure he was ready. A sweet boy like him deserved to have a good first time.

After a gourmet meal of macaroni and cheese plus whatever else you could find in the cabinet, the two of you shared a six pack on the back porch while watching the sun set over the suburbs. It was romantic, minus the topic of conversation -- everyone was talking about the bizarre murders in the Arklay Mountains which weren’t far from where you lived. Leon was glued to the TV, watching updates as they appeared on the news over the course of the past week.

It was disturbing enough to hear the outlandish reports of families being attacked by a group of about 10 people, but the victims were apparently eaten. And, you couldn’t bear the thought of Leon being a member of that STARS team that went missing.

Leon had always been insistent on joining the force, but being forced to actively accept your own mortality can be a scary experience for even the bravest. However, Leon’s biggest fear wasn’t death itself.

“I keep seeing those cops on the news -- the ones from the RPD who died and I don’t wanna die a virgin.”

“What?” His train of thought blew past about 10 stops before arriving at its destination, it seemed. You struggled to put the pieces together.

“That’ll be me pretty soon -- well, not necessarily dead, hopefully not, just part of the RPD, I mean. But, since there’s a real chance I could die, I would like to lose my virginity.”

Talking about death put a bit of a damper on the mood, but Leon could get you riled up in the most inappropriate of situations.

“I told you we can do it whenever you’re ready,” you said nonchalantly.

“What I meant was, I’m ready now.”

Your first instinct was to look down towards the front of his jeans.

“Mentally,” he clarified when he saw you checking for a bulge in his pants.

You swiftly led him up to your bedroom and by the time your lips were on his neck, he was physically ready for you too. Leon’s a sucker for hickies. Pun intended.

“It makes me feel like I’m yours,” he mentioned one night, wearing a stupid grin and smudged lipstick - both courtesy of you.

“You are mine,” you said, cupping his cheek, “and I’m yours.”

“Then, can I give you one too?”

He shouldn’t. You already felt out of place at the neighborhood book club, and you didn’t want Karen and Cheryl (or whatever their names are) to think you’re a complete whore.

Fuck it. They could stare all they wanted. Bring on their jealousy-fueled disgust.

You exposed your neck to Leon and let him suck lightly at the skin. As it turned out you liked them quite a bit too.

When you told Leon he was yours and vice versa, you meant it, but tonight you were really going to seal the deal.

It was a dance of tipsy fumbling around as one’s first time should be. Giggling while barely holding yourselves back from ripping each other’s clothes off.

“You’re so needy,” you whispered into his ear, though you were the one palming him through his underwear.

“No... you’re just hot... I can’t help being like this around you.”

“Yeah? Then how do you think I feel around a handsome young man like you?” You took his hand and gently guided him to feel your arousal through your panties.

He inhaled sharply, and you felt his needy cock twitch against your hand which had yet to slip inside his boxers. Poor thing, he was always so desperate.

Not that you minded – not even when you’d wake up in the middle of the night to him rutting his hips into you from behind. He did this often in his sleep – he thought it was embarrassing, but you thought it was endearing. He’d mumble your name and coax your hand back to his hard-on if you ever dared to retract it.

Leon hooked his fingers in the fabric of your panties and slid it to the side, teasing your folds with his touch.

In retaliation and reward, you took his length in your hand, planning to give him the same languid, tantalizing strokes he was giving you. But he grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

“Wait-” he said, breath shaky with what you assumed to be nerves.

You backed off completely. “Leon, I’m so sorry. If you’re not ready tonight, we can do this some other-”

“-I’m ready, too ready. Just thinking about getting to be inside you is making me feel... really good already, so, um, if you touch me like that, I might not be able- I might cum before I can actually... you know...”

“Fuck me?” God, it was so cute how flustered he’d get over the simplest things.

“Yeah, fuck you.” He couldn’t curse in front of you without blushing. It took him a while to adjust to calling you by your first name instead of ‘ma’am’, so you couldn’t blame him for feeling awkward cursing around you. The redness in his cheeks only rose when he realized how his statement - fuck you - could’ve been interpreted.

“No, wait, not fuck you, I mean, I wanna fuck you... in a good way. I wanna make you feel good,” he clarified.

“Then come here,” you lied back on the bed and beckoned him closer.

“Yes, ma’am.” Typical. You had to resist the urge to call him a ‘good boy’, knowing those words alone might make him cum in his pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Once, while he was going down on you -- on his knees at the edge of your bed, his favorite position -- you told him how he was such a good boy for making you feel so good, and though his hands remained gripping your thighs, holding them open so he could bury his face in your cunt, your orgasm triggered his, and he came completely untouched.

You grabbed a condom from your bedside table -- you were on the pill, and neither of you were seeing anyone else, but you were pretty sure that his cock wouldn’t make it inside you if you told him he could fuck you raw -- and you handed him the packet.

“Do you know how to do it?”

“Yeah, they made us try putting them on bananas in health class.”

“Thank your health teacher for me, then, will you?”

“Um, I don’t know if Mr-”

“I’m kidding, baby.”

“This is no time for joking around. You’re breaking my concentration,” he said, but his smile betrayed any facade of seriousness.

When he successfully put it on, you said, only half-joking, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” he said -- no, whined.

“Why not?”

“Gonna make me cum too quick.”

If only he knew that his bashfulness, his pretty, whiny voice, and his desperation were going to make you cum quicker than you usually would.

“Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“At least tell me if I’m doing it right, like, if I’m putting it in the right hole.”

“You’re doing fine so far.”

He nodded and took a breath before positioning himself at your entrance. When he pressed the tip inside you, you moaned simultaneously. You wanted to beg him to keep going, you wanted to feel all of him, but you knew you needed to let him set the pace.

“You feel so good, you’re so tight...” His thoughts were mostly tame, things you’d heard men say before but he was so genuine, couldn’t even help running his mouth -- until his words were reduced to nothing but moans. Pornographic, pathetic, sexy.

When he’d finally buried himself to the hilt, he stilled his hips, keeping both of your orgasms at bay. Your hands never left his body because you couldn’t get enough of him, not even when he was entirely inside you. You thought you were being gentle but the marks left on his skin said otherwise.

Eventually, he began to thrust in and out of you slowly, and you could see that he was holding himself back.

“Leon, baby, you know you can go as slow or as fast as you want, yeah?”

“I wanna go faster but if I do, I’m gonna cum,” he said as if that wouldn’t be the hottest thing he could do.

“Yeah? I wanna see you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, really? Already?”

He didn’t wait for a response before he increased the pace of his thrusts rapidly, his hips leading and his mind following.

You tried to answer, but he was brushing against that sensitive spot inside you over and over again, so all you could manage was an ‘uh-huh’.

Frantically, he said, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” with a mixture of pleas and apologies. Neither of which you needed.

When he came, he threw his head back and let out an unbridled moan followed by labored breaths.

The sight of him sent you over the edge, scrambling for something to hold onto, your nails dug into his back. You nearly screamed his name as you shuddered through your high.

When you returned to reality, you saw complete bewilderment on Leon’s face. “Did you just cum?”

“Uh, yeah?” you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as you said it.

“I made you cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

Flopping down next to you, satisfied with himself, he asked, “Can we do that again?”

“Like right now?”

“Yeah, that was amazing.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you

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bbina · 5 months ago

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꩜ taglist .ᐟ @delinalovesenha @selleprotection @secretiny @rikizm @dudekiss3r @do-you-remember-summer-127 @nctrawberries @va1entinaa

alone together ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . . since when

── taking comfort in the thought that you are together in aloneness through late night talks, heartfelt confessions, and a genuine connection. with your shared experience of recent heartbreaks, you wonder if getting together would be all worth it. in which you find solace in each other's company, that you are alone together.

⋆｡˚ prev | next ˚｡

꩜ notes .ᐟ OH SION OFFICIAL DEBUT ON BBINAVERSE WHO CHEERED

꩜ taglist .ᐟ @onlywonb @rosesfortaro @starwonb1n @wonychu @totheseok @dolloie @hyunjinsnumberonefun @binluvsu @onlyhyunjin @annswwa @wonbinsvlle @hakkkuu @ilovejungwonandhaechan @artstaeh @lecheugo @odxrilove @bunni @saranghoeforanton @nujeskz @nakam00t @kyusqult @nctsshoes2 @s9nwoo @daegale @palchokitty @dutifullyannoyingfox @oshakyao @koryutte @b-riize @wbyeolz @peterm4rker @winuvs @i03jae @rsatoru @enhacolor @dalliesque @sweetiejaeyun @dearestjake @cupidslovearrows @kkumistars @sngj08 @taroddori @ennycutie @sa3ha @koeuh @astro-doll-the-star @amouriu @mujeans @ijustreallylike2read @endtostartbreathin

#taglist 2 #i wanna end this alreadyyyyyy #but idk its kinda be lackluster for me if i end it abruptly so sigh guess i gotta follow my notes to make myselg satisfied lol #MFJDINDF MY FAULT FOR MAKING THIS SO INTRICATE LIKE?? FOR WHAT REASON #anyway enjoy the update i might update again later who knows

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sierrale8ne · 9 months ago

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40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER SIX

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @xxloveralways14 @patscorner @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @makethemhoesmad @authentic-girl03

warnings infidelity, some sexual content

kalena speakss 🪽! this is easily my favorite chapter so far (for reasons that will become obvious towards the end) don’t expect another back to back update bc it’s not happening 😭 maybe thursday or friday at the earliest, i still have priorities!

June 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California

“Paige, your shot wasn’t falling tonight like we are used to seeing from you. What was different tonight for you than either nights?”

It’s this that I’m not quite yet used to. The post lost pressers. It was different in college, where the team had way more wins for every one loss, but right now we’re at .500 and each time a loss follows a win and they ask me the same variation of the same question I get irritated.

But I’m media trained, which means I just answer the question no matter how dumb I feel it is. The real answer is that I played like shit tonight, forcing shots and getting into my head. Instead, I’m forced to say:

“We’re playing a team that has the reigning defensive player of the year and was just in the finals. It was gonna be a dog fight, for us to get settled against a defense like that, and they simply out performed us.” I look down at the stat sheet in front of me, I had 5 turnovers to my 4 assists, and I fucking hate turning the ball over.

“Kayla McBride is a dog, she guarded me well tonight, forced me into some bad shots and got a few turnovers from me. But I gotta take all that and learn from it, it’s still too early in the season to stress out over things that are fixable.”

I'm the only one sitting at the podium tonight, Rickea and Dearica doing theirs together and Zia who had just gone before me. I knew what the gist of the questions would be, turnovers, defense, and the most gruesome: injuries.

“We saw you roll your ankle pretty bad tonight. Even though you finished the game, can you tell us a bit about the seriousness of it?” It’s a different reporter now, one that I recognize from our win the other night.

I shake my head. My ankle was fine up until he just mentioned it. Now, it stung bad. I had some extra tape around it, it was only sore, while I was sitting but walking and running full speed on the court made that shit hurt like no other.

“It’s not serious.” I reply honestly. “We got two days off before the next game at home so I’m not worried. I’m gonna treat it like any other tweak and just follow what the trainers got for me, and hopefully we have a better night against Minnesota on Friday.”

It seems like that is a sufficient answer for the rest of the reporters in the room when I hear that wonderful “no more questions.” I stand up gingerly from my seat. They don’t miss my slight limp, but after a few steps the pain shakes off and it just feels uncomfortable.

When I get back to the locker room it’s damn near empty except for Cameron and Rae. I give them both curt nods before heading over to my locker.

They don’t speak to me, which I’m silently grateful for because I might snap at them unintentionally. Losing is one thing, playing like dog shit is another, but my ankle really put the nail in the coffin.

I attempt to clean up my locker a bit, making life a little bit easier for the ladies who’re gonna come in and clean up when we leave. I throw my jersey and shorts in the growing pile of towels and warm ups and all other gear before reaching for my phone in the bag.

just saw the injury on tv, pray it’s not too bad ❤️‍🩹

That’s the second most recent text in my phone, from about an hour ago from Maraye. It just briefly brings a smile to my face that I can’t even fight. It’s crazy to me that even when I’m at my grumpiest she finds a way to make me forget about it all.

I scroll through the rest of my notifications before tapping on her contact. I see that she texted me multiple times tonight throughout different parts of the game.

don’t fuck up my parlay tonight. jk good luck fav! 7:09pm

OKAY BLOCKKK GET UP THEN 7:20pm

omg the cross over??? don’t do her like that p 😮‍💨 8:03pm

I laugh fights through my lips, she told me in Atlanta she would start live texting me during games, I didn’t think she was serious. Nevertheless, I find it adorable. Maraye, throughout the busyness that is her schedule, turned on my game and watched the whole thing, keeping me posted on all her thoughts throughout the night.

I’m so beyond saving.

My thumb scrolls back down to the bottom of the thread. I can’t deny the way my heartbeat quickens in my chest at the choice of heart emoji. It’s not quite a red heart, but it’s enough to let me know she cares. I can’t believe that I’m sitting here like I’m in high school again, psycho analyzing her texts and gushing over them until my face is red.

“You headin’ out?” I look up and Cam is getting ready to leave. She’s going to be fully cleared to play this week, probably not playing with us until right before All-star. I’m excited for her, and I can tell that she is too because it’s practically beaming off of her.

I nod. “Yeah, inna minute. I’ll catch you in the morning.” Cameron takes that answer and walks out alongside Rae. I grab my back shortly after them, getting up and leaving the locker room. The arena is quiet, so is the parking garage as I make my way out there. The chirp of my car alerts me to it. I drop my bag in the trunk before sitting down in my seat.

The cushion practically eats me alive, I haven’t been this physically exhausted in months.

Then I’m reminded that Maraye and I’d thread is still open on my phone. When I glance at the time I realize it’s not that late, I know that if I go home, I’ll just fall into the rabbit hole of watching film all night.

Instead I reach for the phone heavy in my sweatpants pocket. My thumbs begin typing away before sending Maraye a text back.

Nah it’s not all that bad

You busy? Or can I slide?

I make sure my phone is connected to the speakers. When He’s Not There by Kehlani plays through the car while I get settled. Following that, I place my phone on its spot on the center console. It isn’t until Maraye’s name flashes on my carplay screen that I finally pull out of the parking garage.

yes please, come see meee

—

Paige sits comfortably to my left on my couch. Her leg propped on my coffee table with a bag of ice resting on her swollen ankle.

It’s her first time at my apartment, but even then she navigates the place like she’s been here countless of times. It feels so similar to our friendship, just comfortable.

Her arm is draped over my shoulder as I nestle into her side. When she first came over, I sat on the other side of the couch, so far away from her you would think we were fighting. And then she started talking, pulling me closer with her words until I sat right next to her. My body is leaning into her warmth.

An NBA finals game plays on the TV. Knicks versus the Thunder, it’s in the last few minutes of overtime, a high intensity game that Paige swore she couldn’t miss a second of.

“He’s so fine.” I chirp jokingly, Shai Gilgeous Alexander is on the screen, about to shoot game tying free throws.

Paige pulls her arm off of me, looking down at me incredulously before reaching for my remote. She lowers the volume on the TV, reducing Mike Breen’s commentating to a whisper.

“Who, Shai?”

“Yeah. You don’t think so?” I ask, looking up at her with a grin.

“I’m like a raging homosexual, but if you like it I love it?”

I laugh at that, pushing her hair away from my view. It cascades down her shoulders in soft bright strands that tickle my face.

“You can never just laugh at my jokes.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny.” Paige says. The face she makes reacts to her own statement like it’s obvious, when we both know I could make her laugh until she cried if I wanted to. “And Shai isn’t your type.”

I move from my spot next to her, jumping up and turning my attention to her face, while hers are stuck to the game. The way she is seated briefly makes me forget my train of thought. Her legs are spread comfortably and she leans back on the couch with her arms against the back of the couch. She looks like a fuckboy, and in any other scenario I would make fun of her for it, but the TV glow shines on her face just right and her cologne in my nose nearly makes me go blind.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s my type then, Paige?”

A commercial cuts on and Paige finally draws her eyes away from the screen. “What, Julian’s lightskin ass wasn’t the giveaway?” She laughs at her own joke, it’s stupid, but I love that laugh. So uniquely her. “Or y’want me to say you like six foot blonde girls.”

I roll my eyes, and when my vision clears up again, Paige is grinning at me.

“C’mon it was funny!”

“I don’t like women, idiot.”

“You like me.”

“I do not. I don’t even know why I let you hang out around me.” My body turns and my back hits the couch with a soft thud. Just to annoy her I sit further away from her body.

“Yeah okay, ma. You keep tellin’ yourself that.” Paige’s voice is low, a deep and raspy tone that I have never heard from her before. With Julian that had always been a given— he’s a man with a deep voice, that’s obvious. But when I hear it from Paige, I don’t know. It’s different.

My body just barely reacts to the pet name, but it’s there. The glob of saliva that pushes down my dry throat. And my legs just slightly press together. Paige reaches for the pocket of my striped shorts, tugging me back to my original spot in the curve of her body.

“You’ve really never done anything with a girl before?”

“Paige—”

“No, not to be annoying. I’m just wondering.” She shrugs. Her hand reaches over to flick the bag of ice off her ankle and brings her leg down to my carpet. She looks down at me slowly, a lick of her lips and scan of my face lets me know she’s listening, waiting for my response.

I return her gaze. “Yes, I’ve really never done anything with a girl before.”

“Why? We’re much better. Better than whatever Julian is doing for you, I can tell you that much.” Paige’s voice is smug, teasing almost. I don’t know if she’s trying to rile me up between my legs or in my heart so I defend Julian. Either way it’s working, my heartbeat quickening in my chest.

“You seem sure about that.”

She nods. “I am. I think you forget how often you complain to me about that guy.” She says with a laugh.

The game in front of us is dying down, a three point lead for the Knicks with 40 seconds left in overtime, Oklahoma just now calling a timeout. I know she’s into the game, way more than me, but still she looks at me with an intensity that makes it feel like we’re the only two things in the world.

“Doesn’t mean a girl could do it better.”

Her eyes darted from my eyes to my lips, I’m expecting them to move. To look back at my eyes or even at the TV but she doesn’t. Just me.

“Y’believe that?” Paige asks me.

“Uh huh.”

I’m going to lose. Whatever is going on with Paige and I, what has been going on for the last few weeks. The banter, the tension, the constant touching, it’s all a fight. Her and I are going back and forth like a fucking tennis match and she’s about to win. She’s about to make me lose whatever is left of my composure and grab the collar of her Hopkins High School t-shirt and kiss her until there’s no more breath in my lungs.

“Yeah? Ion know, can’t knock it till you try it.” She says, leaning into me for all of 5 milliseconds before sitting back in her seat and looking at the screen. The volume raises on my TV the cheers and commentary bouncing off the walls of my home.

Paige has left me frozen. Stuck there, in the exact position that she left me in. My eyes staring into the side of her perfect skin, burning holes there if I had the capability. I need her. My thighs are damn near glued together to keep me from dripping down my couch.

I adjust my position some, sitting uncomfortably on my heels but with the way Paige is manspreading, it gives me just enough to be an inch taller than her. She looks at me, eyes trailing from my thighs past my covered stomach and chest, suddenly I’m hyper aware of how close my tits are from falling out of my Skims top.

“There some’ you wanna tell me, angel?” She asks. I hate the way that nickname makes me feel. She’s the only one that calls me that, the only one who makes me feel so small with just a single word. “Or you jus’ gonna keep lookin’ at me?”

The words just barely die in the air before I’m leaning into her, pressing my lips to hers.

It starts off soft, so soft. Her body hesitates, like she knows better than to kiss me back but she does so anyway, tilting her head further and deepening the kiss. Paige hums against me, her arms still pressed against the back of the couch as if she has to avoid touching me. As if the second her hands touch my body then it’s game over.

She bites my bottom lip, making me moan against her. I further into the kiss, cupping her cheek and then it really is game over. Paige reaches for my hips, lifting my body onto her lap and settling my thighs on the outside of hers.

Her tongue is entering my mouth, warm and tasting like candy. They’re clashing, messy and sticky and so damn hot. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of her I’m not sure I want to give it up.

Paige roams my body with fervor. Trailing just a bit further to grab at my ass, kneading it in her large and veiny hands. I pull back from her breathlessly. Her hair is messy, lips so swollen and pink. It leaves me soaked as a response.

“This is doin’ so much damage. Y’know that?” She asks. Her hand travel back up my body to the back of my neck. I know it’s wrong, but still I let her pull me back into her.

“Mmm, Ion wanna— stop.” I speak against her lips, letting her kiss me as she pleases. Grope me as she pleases. Talk to me as nasty as she wants to. I miss it, the feeling of being so vulgar with another person. Paige is on a different level and I want so much more. More of her, more than anyone has ever given me but for whatever reason I know that she can.

My phone starts ringing. I try to pull back to answer it but she pulls me right back, navigating my mouth with her tongue.

“Don’t.” She mumbles.

“I gotta.” I tell her pulling back with such force that I’m almost falling off the couch. I need to. Because if I don’t stop, I’m gonna let her see me in my most vulnerable state and even I know how wrong that would be.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, swiping to answer the call before I can even see who it is.

“Hello?” My voice is wheezy, and I’m huffing and puffing into the speaker.

“Hey, baby. You home?”

It’s Julian. Of course it is. Of course God would let this man call me in the middle of making out with Paige just to make me feel guilty. Like the asshole I so obviously am right now.

“N— yeah. Yeah, but I’m busy. Sorry.” I stutter. “Paige is over right now.” I tell him honestly. But still, my breath hitches at my mention of her name. She rubs my thighs while I speak, looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.

Her hand travels to her mouth, holding up one finger to her lips with a snide glare. I reach to slap her hand away, barely listening to what Julian says to me on the other line.

Blah blah blah I miss you blah blah blah needa start hanging out with me blah blah less Paige. It’s gibberish. And I don't care.

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight Ju.” I tell him, bothered by his continued talking and wanting to occupy myself with something else. Namely, the pink lips in front of me that look so fucking pretty and the gorgeous face just inches away from mine.

I toss my phone on the couch after Julian responds and hangs up.

“You fuckin’ like me.”

“And don’t.” Just when I’m about to hop off of her lap, the TV blares loudly.

“Bang! Bang! Shai Gilgeous-Alexander takes us into double overtime!” Mike Breen’s cheers echo into my ears. Paige looks past me, obviously upset that she missed the shot.

“Damn. He’s good and fine?”

“Dont get fucked up, Raye.”

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #la sparks #lesbian #my fic #40 days and 40 nights

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gyurilla · 2 months ago

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next mistake #5. i dont careee

synopsis: sungho a star volleyball player, who is close to being benched for bad grades. and then you! yn. the top student, who he’s resented since high school, is assigned to tutor him. he makes her life chaotic—she makes him fall in love.

wc; 573

taglist is open, comment to be added!=(^.^)=

main

—

you stood outside jaehyun’s classroom, your phone clutched in your hand.

he hadn’t told you where you two were going today. no text, no update, you knew it was going to be a short hang out before he had to dip for volleyball practice

you waited because it was jaehyun. and honestly? you didn’t really mind.

his class over, but yet he hadn’t showed you waited, didnt text him. just wait..

10 minutes passed, the door finally swung open.

and there he was.

jaehyun stepped out with a calm expression, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hand through it all class. backpack slung over one shoulder. eyes scanning—until they landed on you.

“sorry, did you wait long?” he asked, voice low and casual like he didn’t just make your heart skip

you shook your head, trying not to smile too hard.

“you never told me where we’re going.”

he smirked, walking past you like he expected you to follow.

“i know.”

you blinked. “that’s it?”

“yup.”

“…you’re so annoying.”

“and yet you’re still here.”

you hated how he was right.

but you followed him anyway.

you didn’t know where jaehyun was taking you, but once you stopped in front of the small arcade tucked between a laundromat and a chicken shop, your eyes lit up.

“no way.”

he glanced at you, a smug little smile tugging at his lips.

“thought you’d like it”

“i love it,” you grinned, already stepping inside before he could say anything else.

the place was loud and chaotic in the best way—bright neon lights, the clack of tokens dropping, high schoolers who just finished their school day

“okay,” he said, trailing behind you as you scanned the rows of games. “what do you wanna lose at first?” he nudged your shoulder

you shot him a look.

“you’re funny”

jaehyun chuckled, heading toward the basketball hoops.

“let’s settle this then.”

“myung jae, you will lose!!” you said

as the timer started, you glanced over at him—eyes narrowed in fake concentration, tongue slightly poking out as he shot the ball.

he looked so unserious. so silly. so him.

then it was 20 seconds on the timer

jaehyun laughed as you barely missed your last shot, hands on his knees like it was the funniest thing ever.

“you were so close,” he teased.

“i was distracted” you huffed, but you were smiling.

it was too easy with him. too natural. the way he leaned close, the way he handed you tokens without a word, the way he kept looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

you liked being around him. more than you should.

but you couldn’t fall for him.

you just couldn’t.

not when he was sungho’s best friend.

not when sungho already looked at you like you were some kind of problem he couldn’t get rid of.

sungho, the reason you’d kept your head down around the team since the semester started. sungho, who already hated how his friends talked about you.

—

the hour flew by and before you knew it, jaehyun was checking the time on his phone, frowning just a little.

“i gotta go, practice.” he said, his voice low

of course.

jaehyun—the captain, the reliable one, the one who always had to show up for the team.

you nodded, trying not to look disappointed.

“oh i forgot, captain!” you teased a little

he chuckled, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“i’ll see you around, yn!”

——

prev | next

ju; i will be focusing on my smau ALOT more now, i realized i’ve been neglecting it so please expect more updates! there will be another update this week ;3

——

tg: @colorfuleclipse @s0shroe @oowir @suaveee12345 @miyawwn @ilysungho @pinkiwinkiminki @hyunjinslongasslegs @8makes1atom @kazukazukiiii @nujeskz @banez @cosmiicstarkss @aangelll0 @fwaagile @haruharua @leehanette @silv3rst0ne @coriihanniee @bishuambi @jvngw0nlvr @alwaysyeppi @lovenha7 @veerooniicaa @prodkwh @sirenla @starrihan @crazykimkeverose @seraph1nna @jsyasubak

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mikaylathenerd5 · 3 months ago

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Open (Passionate) - The Code We Carry One Shot

Main Mainlist ৹ Join My Taglist

She’s used to holding it together. To staying late, moving through exhaustion, and pretending that needing rest is a weakness. Most people don’t notice. Most people don’t ask.

But he did.

Open (Passionate) is a quiet story about showing up without expectation, about care that asks for nothing in return. It’s about the softness that creeps in when you finally let someone stay—and the stillness that follows when you realize you don’t have to perform to be seen.

Pairing: AU Roman Reigns x Isla Sage Navarro (Black OC)

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: so this one’s a little different for me. not heavy on smut—just softness. quiet moments. gentle care. the kind of fic you crawl into when you’re tired of being strong.

if you’ve been craving comfort, I hope this gives you a little breath. thank you for giving something slow and emotional a chance. I really hope you like it 🖤

“Some people mistake independence for peace. But there’s a difference between being untouched and being held. Between surviving and being seen. I’ve carried myself for so long, I forgot what it felt like to exhale and not brace for the fall.”

Roman tugged off his headset, the cool night air clinging to his skin as the field lights buzzed overhead. Practice had dragged long past sunset—grueling, necessary, and exhausting. The last of his players filtered toward the locker rooms, their laughter and footsteps fading like echoes down a tunnel. His sweatshirt clung to his frame, damp from exertion, and the ache in his back settled in low and persistent.

He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the tight pull, and glanced out across the field one last time. It was empty now—just scattered cones, cleat marks, and the metallic scent of turf. The quiet after practice always felt a little eerie, like the energy of a hundred drills still hung in the air.

Just as he turned toward the locker room himself, he spotted movement near the benches.

“Coach?”

Roman turned. Tyson, a freshman wide receiver with sharp eyes and more hustle than polish, hovered awkwardly by the benches, helmet tucked under one arm.

“You good, T?”

Tyson shifted from foot to foot, clearly wrestling with whether or not to speak. “My mom called today. The housing office is trippin'. Said the paperwork’s messed up and if it doesn’t fix by Monday, I could lose my dorm key.”

Roman exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you call the office?”

“She tried, but they said it has to come from the athletics department now. Some coordination error with my scholarship file.”

He studied the kid’s face—embarrassed, frustrated, but trying not to let it show.

“You eating okay?” Roman asked.

Tyson looked down. “Vending machines mostly. Caf’s been closing early.”

Roman nodded, already pulling out his phone. “Text me what you’re missing. I’ll get something delivered to your dorm. We’ll get your file handled first thing in the morning.”

“You don’t gotta—”

“I know I don’t. But I will.”

Tyson swallowed thickly. “Thanks, Coach. My mom’s gonna feel better knowing someone’s looking out.”

Roman clapped him on the back, steady and firm. “She’s not the only one who cares.”

The kid jogged off, shoulders a little less tight.

Roman watched him disappear, then turned toward the parking lot. His feet were heavier than usual tonight. He checked his phone out of habit.

A new message.

Isla: Working late again. Don’t wait up.

He stared at the screen. Read it twice—not because it surprised him, but because it didn’t. These late-night updates had become their routine. Her pretending not to be exhausted. Him pretending not to worry.

He knew the signs too well. The little pauses before she stood up. The way her hand drifted to her lower back without her noticing. The slower, stiffer pace of her walk.

She was too proud to ask for help. Too stubborn to admit when she needed it.

But Roman had always been better at action than waiting.

He didn’t hesitate.

You shouldn’t be working this late. I’m coming to get you.

No emojis. No room for argument. He was already heading to his car.

The university’s academic wing sat in dim silence when he arrived, the bulk of the building swallowed in shadow. The occasional window glowed with blue light—stragglers and overachievers clinging to productivity. Roman’s footsteps echoed as he walked the familiar hallway. He’d been here enough lately to know exactly where her office sat—three doors down from the corner stairwell, second from the left.

He paused when he reached it.

The door was slightly ajar, light spilling into the hallway in a thin, golden sliver. Through the gap, he saw her: curled in her desk chair, cardigan pulled tight around her frame, her long curls messily pinned up. Stray strands had slipped free to frame her face, and her brows were furrowed in deep concentration.

Her hand crept to her lower back, massaging gently.

Roman’s chest ached watching her.

He knocked, twice. Not loud. Just enough.

“Hey.”

She looked up. Her face softened instantly. “Hey. Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Practice ran long,” he said, stepping into the office. “Figured I’d come steal you before you fused to that chair.”

A tired laugh left her lips. “Feels like I already did.”

He came around behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the tension he knew he’d find. She let out a quiet, breathy gasp.

“That’s not just work soreness,” he said.

“I’m okay.”

“You always say that.”

She didn’t argue this time.

He crouched beside her chair so their eyes were level.

“Come stay with me for the weekend,” he said. “No work. Just rest.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“No pressure,” he added. “I just—figured you could use someone taking care of you for once.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy. Real.

“…Okay,” she whispered.

Her voice cracked just slightly at the end.

The ride to Roman’s place was cloaked in quiet, but not the awkward kind—the kind that offered breathing room. Isla leaned her head lightly against the window, eyes half-closed, the soft hum of the road filling the space between them. Streetlights flickered past in amber streaks, illuminating her face in pulses of warmth and shadow.

Roman kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. Every so often, he glanced her way—never long enough to make her feel watched, but often enough to reassure himself she was still okay.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” she said eventually, her voice soft, a little hoarse.

“I know,” he replied. “But I wasn’t about to let you sit in that office alone, pretending like your back isn’t killing you.”

She smiled faintly, eyes still on the road. “I wasn’t pretending.”

“You literally winced getting out of the chair.”

“That was a stretch, not a wince.”

He gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The air settled again, filled with the low hum of tires on pavement. Roman’s truck was warm, his cologne lingering faintly—woodsy, like cedar and something deeper, darker.

“You’re not going to treat me like I’m made of glass now, are you?” she asked, half-joking.

“I could,” he said, eyes flicking her way, “but I’d rather figure out what you’re actually made of.”

She let out a small huff. “That sounds like a threat and a compliment.”

“Maybe it’s both,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. “We kind of skipped a few chapters, didn’t we?”

“More like skipped the whole damn book,” she muttered, not unkindly.

He was quiet for a second. “Guess that just means we write our own.”

She turned to look at him then, really look at him. And for a moment, the weight between them didn’t feel heavy—it felt possible.

Roman’s place was quiet when they arrived, nestled on the edge of town in a neighborhood that traded city buzz for nighttime calm. The condo was modern, earthy—cool greys, warm wood accents, and shelves filled with little signs of a life that had once been more private than planned. Isla stepped inside, shrugging off her cardigan as the door clicked shut behind her.

“You want water? Tea?” Roman asked as he locked up behind them.

She hesitated. “Tea, if it’s not a hassle.”

“Nothing’s a hassle,” he said, already moving toward the kitchen.

She hovered for a second, then followed. The space smelled faintly of cedar and something musky and clean—like him. It was the kind of home that had clearly been lived in, but not by many. Not loudly. Not chaotically. Isla felt like she was walking through someone’s careful routine.

Roman turned on a small speaker tucked near the window, letting a low, soulful beat pulse into the space. Something mellow and instrumental. It filled the silence like a warm blanket.

She watched him move through his kitchen, pulling down mugs and flicking on the kettle. His body language was relaxed but sure, like this—taking care of someone—was second nature even if it wasn’t practiced often. He opened a drawer without looking and pulled out a jar of herbal tea.

“You remember what kind I like?” she asked.

He gave her a look. “Raspberry chamomile. Because peppermint’s too sharp and you hate anything that tastes like licorice.”

She blinked. “That’s oddly specific.”

He smirked. “You mutter when you work. I listen.”

That quieted her more than anything.

Roman poured the hot water and set the mug in front of her before returning to the fridge. “You hungry?”

She nodded. “Honestly, yeah. I didn’t eat much today.”

“You never do when you’re in work mode.”

He pulled out a small container of pre-seasoned salmon, already thawed. His sleeves were rolled up as he reached for a cutting board and began slicing vegetables—onion, zucchini, bell pepper. The fluidity in his motions made Isla tilt her head, watching more closely than she meant to.

“You cook a lot?”

“Often enough. Cooking’s like practice—structured. Methodical.”

She arched a brow. “So you just compared sautéing to drills?”

He looked up. “And?”

She laughed under her breath. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect you to be poetic about vegetables.”

He shot her a grin as he dropped garlic into the pan. “Stick around. I have opinions about olive oil too.”

The aroma started to bloom—garlic, citrus, fresh herbs. Isla let her shoulders drop a little, her eyes slipping shut for a few seconds as she breathed it in. Her body felt less like it was bracing for something now, more like it was slowly relearning softness.

“You can sit,” Roman said gently. “Put your feet up. You’ve done enough for a whole campus today.”

She moved to the kitchen stool and curled her legs under her, cardigan bunched in her lap.

“This is a lot of effort for a tired professor,” she said eventually, resting her chin on her hand.

He glanced at her, one eyebrow lifted. “Would it be better if I put you on a meal plan and walked away?”

“Depends what’s on the plan,” she murmured.

He smirked. “Tonight? Salmon and shutting that brain of yours off for a few hours.”

“That sounds like a luxury.”

“No,” he said, slicing into a pepper. “That sounds like what you deserve. Bare minimum.”

Dinner came together quietly, the music filling in the background like a second heartbeat. Roman worked efficiently, checking the salmon with a flick of his wrist and plating everything with the kind of care that made Isla feel like this wasn’t a meal—it was a message.

He set a plate in front of her and grabbed two forks, nudging one across the island. “Try not to judge me too hard. I’m used to cooking for one.”

She took a bite, then raised an eyebrow. “If this is your version of cooking for one, I don’t want to know what cooking for two looks like.”

Roman leaned against the counter, watching her as she ate. “You always deflect with jokes when you’re tired?”

“I’m not that predictable,” she said between bites.

“You are. But not in a bad way.”

The food was good—warm, seasoned just right. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been until now. Every bite pulled her closer to a sense of normalcy she hadn’t felt in months. Not since the late nights turned into skipped meals. Not since the exhaustion started nesting deep in her spine. The way the salmon flaked apart, the crunch of perfectly cooked vegetables—it all felt like a soft, unspoken reminder: she could still be nourished.

She looked up between bites. Roman hadn’t even started eating yet. He was watching her, casually, but his fork hadn’t moved. Like feeding her was the main event.

“You gonna eat too?” she asked.

He blinked like he’d forgotten the plate in front of him. “Yeah. Just making sure you don’t fall asleep mid-chew.”

She gave him a look. “I’m not that bad.”

“You’re close.”

They both chuckled, a low warmth moving between them. Roman finally picked up his fork and started eating. They ate quietly for a few moments, the occasional scrape of metal on ceramic mixing with the low music.

“This is good,” she said genuinely. “Really good.”

He nodded, chewing. “Glad you like it.”

She caught the faintest flicker in his expression—like he’d been hoping it would land, like he needed that confirmation more than he’d let on. As she slowed down, she noticed Roman’s eyes lingering—not in a possessive way, but in that steady, observant way he always seemed to look at her. Like he was cataloging things without meaning to.

“You’re staring,” she said.

He didn’t flinch. “I do that when I’m trying to figure out what someone needs.”

“What do you think I need?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Permission to stop holding everything together.”

She didn’t respond—but she didn’t need to.

After dinner, she moved to clean up, but Roman stepped in, taking the plates from her hands.

“Sit,” he said gently. “I got it.”

“Roman—”

“I’m not asking.”

She watched as he rinsed the dishes, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing with each motion. His movements were sure, unfussy. The kind of ease that came from doing it over and over again for no one in particular.

“You know how rare this is, right?” she asked softly.

He glanced over. “What is?”

“This. A man cooking, cleaning, and not making a thing out of it.”

Roman dried his hands and leaned on the counter, arms crossed. “That’s the problem. Too many people made a thing out of what should’ve been the bare minimum.”

She looked at him for a long moment before whispering, “You always this steady?”

He shrugged. “No. But for you? I try to be.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t. She just breathed it in.

“Go relax,” he said, nodding toward the hall. “I’m gonna run you a bath.”

She blinked. “You don’t have to go that far, Roman.”

“I’m not doing it because I have to,” he said, already walking toward the bathroom. “You forget—I’ve watched you twist in that desk chair for a week straight.”

Isla paused in the hallway, watching him move. “Still, most guys would’ve just handed me a heating pad and told me to take it easy.”

Roman turned his head, his tone even. “I’m not most guys.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water following. Isla stood in the living room for a moment, letting herself exhale fully, her fingers grazing over the hem of her shirt. It was strange—how something as small as someone noticing her aches could make her feel like she was unraveling in the best way.

Inside, Roman moved with quiet focus. He adjusted the temperature until it was perfect, then reached for a small bottle of oil, tipping a few drops of lavender into the stream. The scent curled through the steam, calming and soft.

He added a towel to the counter and dimmed the lights.

When he stepped out, Isla was leaning in the doorway, arms folded across her chest.

“You didn’t have to make it look like a spa in there,” she said, voice teasing but touched.

He shrugged. “Figured you deserve at least that.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary.

“It’s ready for you,” he said.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He gave a small nod and stepped back, allowing her space to slip inside.

The door shut quietly behind her.

And for the first time in days, Isla felt the weight on her chest start to lift.

She moved slowly, her limbs aching in a way that felt bone-deep as she peeled off her clothes. Each movement was careful—like her body didn’t quite trust the idea of slowing down yet. She paused in front of the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself: tired eyes, faint circles beneath them, the subtle curve of her belly starting to show.

She stepped into the tub, gasping softly as the warmth wrapped around her. The lavender hit her first—sweet and earthy—and then the silence settled in, thick and gentle. It wasn't an empty silence, but a held one. Like the air itself was offering her permission to let go.

She leaned back, neck resting against the rim, water hugging her belly like a second skin. Her fingers trailed slow lines through the surface, watching the ripples fade.

Her mind tried to fill the quiet, but even her thoughts felt softer here. No deadlines. No judgment. Just heat and hush.

She closed her eyes, finally letting the weight slide off her shoulders.

When Roman knocked, it wasn’t loud. Just two soft taps, followed by, “Still breathing?”

She smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“You want company?”

She hesitated, not out of fear but uncertainty. Then: “Yeah. If you want to.”

He entered quietly, steam curling around him as he stepped closer.

And for a moment—just a breath—Isla let herself look.

She caught flashes through the steam and mirror: the curve of his back, the deliberate way he folded his clothes, the quiet calm he carried even now. Roman moved like a man who had made peace with stillness—a kind of ease that made the room feel safe instead of charged.

And maybe that was what got her. Not just the cut of his shoulders or the strength in his chest, though those things made her heart skip. It was the totality of him. The way he moved without trying to impress. The quiet, unspoken care threaded into every decision he made.

This was the man she was having a child with.

Not a one-night mistake. Not a regret. Roman.

The realization didn’t crash over her like panic—it settled in, slow and steady. She felt it deep in her chest, grounding and terrifying all at once.

Roman caught her eyes in the mirror. He didn’t leer, didn’t smirk. Just looked. Present. Real.

She turned away, but not out of embarrassment. Just to breathe.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

He stepped into the water behind her, easing in with a low exhale. The tub shifted with his weight. Then his arms slipped around her, chest warm against her back.

Isla let her head fall against his shoulder, her hand instinctively moving to where his rested over her belly.

Neither of them spoke.

But Isla’s thoughts wouldn’t quiet. Not completely.

Even with his arms around her, even with the steam wrapping them both in a hush, part of her mind was still spinning—still trying to catch up with the reality of it all.

She tilted her head slightly, feeling the weight of his chest against her back, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Roman wasn’t just attractive—though he was, in a way that sometimes made her forget her own name. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was the way he paid attention. The way he moved without spectacle. The way he’d seen the exhaustion in her bones and responded not with pity, but with presence.

And now, here he was—holding her like she wasn’t something temporary. Like she was already something that mattered.

Her hand shifted slightly over her belly, his still resting just beneath it.

This wasn’t just a moment of comfort. It was a moment of choice.

And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t scared of the weight of it. She just… was. Present. Wrapped in warmth, in quiet, in the arms of the man she was still getting to know—and already beginning to trust.

Eventually, the water cooled and Isla shifted forward. Roman took the cue, standing slowly and stepping out first, reaching for a towel. He wrapped it around his waist, then grabbed another and turned to her, hand outstretched.

She took it without hesitation.

He wrapped her in it gently, his hands moving with care—not rushed, not awkward. Just present. Then he grabbed one of his shirts from the dresser—a soft, oversized long-sleeve—and offered it silently.

“Figured you’d be more comfortable,” he said, his voice low.

Isla nodded and slipped into the bedroom to change while Roman busied himself pulling down the covers. When she returned, the room was softly lit by a single lamp. On the nightstand: the lotion she kept in her office bag, and a bonnet in a deep plum color.

Her steps faltered.

“Roman…” she began.

“I figured…” He shrugged, not meeting her eyes at first. “I’ve seen the lotion in your bag. The bonnet too. Thought you’d want to be comfortable.”

She swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said, meeting her gaze finally. “That’s the difference.”

She nodded, her throat thick. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, whispering, “Can you hand me the lotion?”

He did, without a word, and she applied it slowly—over her arms, her belly, her thighs. He watched, not out of lust, but quiet reverence.

When she finished, she looked at him. “You going to bed too?”

He gave a slight smile, nodding. “Unless you’re kicking me out of my own bed.”

“Not tonight.”

Roman moved to the other side, pulled off his shirt again, and slid beneath the covers.

Isla turned toward him, the pillow cradling her head.

“Roman,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes… I don’t know how to stop performing.”

He didn’t rush to answer. He reached under the blanket, found her hand, and threaded his fingers through hers.

“You don’t have to here,” he said.

That was all.

And somehow, it was enough.

But Roman didn’t fall asleep right away. He lay beside her in the quiet, her breathing softening beside him. The room had settled into a kind of hush he didn’t want to break—not with noise, not even with movement.

His eyes stayed on the ceiling, but his thoughts drifted.

He hadn’t planned on any of this. Not Isla. Not the baby. Not the feeling curling under his ribs every time he looked at her—like maybe he was finally learning how to stay put.

He’d never been the man who needed much. A clean space. His team. The job. That was enough. But this—her trusting him, letting him in inch by inch—that was a kind of gravity he hadn’t expected.

There were things he hadn’t said. Things he was still scared to name. Like how he replayed the night they met more than he cared to admit. Not the sex—not just that. But the way she’d looked at him like she didn’t believe in being seen until it happened.

He turned his head to look at her.

Isla’s face was relaxed now, unguarded. Her hand still rested in his under the covers. She looked peaceful in a way she rarely let herself be. And seeing her like that did something to him. Settled something. Lit something else.

Please let me get this right, he thought. Just this once.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something more than control. He wanted a chance to be chosen—by her. Over and over again.

Two months earlier.

The boardroom was cold—too cold. The kind of institutional chill meant to keep people alert, but all it did was make Isla more aware of how stiff her posture had to be. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, blazer smoothed, shoes crossed at the ankle, and not an inch of her natural self on display. Not the curls she kept neatly pinned back. Not the irritation tugging at her jaw. And definitely not the bite of defiance blooming behind her ribs.

Dr. Lin smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “We just want to make sure you're presenting a unified, professional image as your project moves forward.”

She nodded politely.

“You’re entering the spotlight as a lead researcher now. Appearances matter.”

Another board member, this one with sharp glasses and an even sharper tone, tapped her pen against the table. “There’s been some concern that… certain stylistic choices might make it harder for the university to position you as an authority. Especially externally.”

Isla nodded again. Smiled. Said nothing.

They didn’t use words like ‘young.’ Or ‘woman.’ Or ‘Black.’ But she heard them in every pause. In every glance at her neckline. At her hair. Her face.

They hadn’t sat through the all-nighters. Hadn’t watched the versioning logs pile up as she fine-tuned a security model that outpaced the department’s expectations by two quarters. They hadn’t seen her dry-erase boards covered with system diagrams or her trembling hands typing through adrenaline and coffee.

They didn’t even know her.

But they had already decided how to market her.

She remembered leaving the room with a polite thank you and a forced smile. Remembered gripping the bathroom sink afterward, wondering how long she could keep proving herself before she was allowed to just… exist.

What stuck with her most wasn’t the words—it was the feeling. That no matter how brilliant she was, how innovative or effective, she would still have to shape herself into someone else’s version of palatable. Professional. Digestible.

It had chipped away at something quiet inside her.

But this night—with Roman—had stitched a little of it back.

The next morning

Sunlight spilled across Roman’s bedroom in soft gold, filtering through slatted blinds and pooling across the covers. Isla stirred slowly, breath deepening as she rolled onto her side. Her limbs felt heavier than usual, but in a way that spoke of rest—not fatigue.

Roman was already gone from the bed, but the spot beside her was still faintly warm.

She sat up, the oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, and took in the room in quiet silence. A folded blanket at the foot of the bed. A glass of water on the nightstand. Her bag placed neatly on the nearby chair.

Then she heard it—the subtle clink of a pan from the kitchen.

She padded out barefoot, the floor cool under her feet. The smell hit her first: toast, something citrusy, and a hint of cinnamon. Then she saw him—Roman, shirtless, moving around the stove like it was second nature. He looked relaxed. Focused. Like this was something he did often, even if only for himself.

“Morning,” she said softly.

He glanced over, and his face brightened. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She stepped closer, rubbing at her arms. “You made breakfast?”

“There’s fruit, toast, and scrambled eggs,” he said. “I didn’t butter the toast yet—figured I’d let you do your own thing.”

She arched a brow. “Control issues, or respect?”

He smirked. “Little bit of both.”

She laughed, and it felt easy. Strange. Nice.

Isla caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. Her hair soft around her face. Her skin flushed. Her eyes—lighter somehow.

She wondered if the version of her that sat in that boardroom would recognize this one. The one padding through a warm kitchen, in an oversized shirt, face unguarded, carrying softness instead of shame.

And for the first time, she hoped not.

Because here, she looked like someone finally being seen.

And this time, it wasn’t a performance.

It was just… her.

She moved to the kitchen island, eyeing the two plates he had already arranged—simple but careful, like everything he did. Roman reached for her mug from last night, refilling it with tea from the pot he must’ve kept warm.

As he slid it in front of her, his phone buzzed on the counter. A soft vibration. Isla wouldn’t have looked if he hadn’t picked it up and paused, his thumb hovering over the screen.

Roman didn’t say anything, just turned the phone slightly and showed her the screen.

It was a photo—grainy, dimly lit, clearly from Club Eclipse. Her and Roman, caught mid-laugh, faces close, sweat-slicked from dancing. Her hand was on his chest. His lips were close to her ear.

“Didn’t even know you took this,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “One of the bartenders sent it to me after that night. I never deleted it.”

She looked up at him, something unreadable in her gaze.

“Why?”

Roman’s voice was steady. “Because even then… I think I knew you were going to mean something.”

A/N: if you made it to the end, thank you for taking the time to read something this soft and slow. it means more than you know.

if this one touched something in you—if a line lingered, if a moment hit—feel free to let me know in the tags, reblogs, or my inbox. I love hearing what parts stayed with you most.

reblogs, comments, and asks are always appreciated more than I can say. thank you, loves, for supporting my writing and for showing up for stories like this one 🖤

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triplefrontierbabe · 1 year ago

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Pato O’Ward smau

pairing: f! reader x Pato O’Ward

warnings: use of yn

disclaimer: photos from Pinterest and/or Instagram, I take no credit for photos

yourusername

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yourusername summer break = chasing around a man child & off road adventures with the girls

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patriciooward summer break randomness in Chicago I guess

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yourusername when he says he wants ice cream, you get him ice cream 🍦

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elbaoward always gotta keep the baby happy

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eyelessfaces · 10 months ago

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after hours

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: he's here again, like so many times before, standing in your living room in the middle of the night; you're not sure you can do this again, but he needs you to.

warnings: reader has trauma and ptsd, mentions of death, injuries and a disastrous mission

tags: spiderperson!reader, gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, ?? to ?? honestly but they have history, fluff, it ends well!

word count: 1.2k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

He does his best not to look at your apartment, not to check if the soft glow of your bedroom light is on like it is when you can’t sleep at night. But just the thought, the subconscious reminder that he shouldn’t check up on you is enough to make him take a glance at your building, because when it comes to you, he has no inner restraint.

The dim, warm light of your bedroom is on, making it the only lit up square frame of the dark grid of your building. He remembers this kind of night with you all too well; the way you would toss and turn beside him in the bed, the way he would pull you flush against him with a grunt because your agitation would slightly annoy him, the way you would instantly relax into his hold as he pressed sleepy kisses to your hair.

You know what it’s about when you hear a thud outside of your bedroom, in your living room. Your eyes close with a sigh that comes deep from your chest, and your hands instinctively ball into fists out of sheer frustration. You do consider not moving, just to see if he’s going to do anything, if he’s going to knock on your bedroom door or something like he’s even supposed to be there in the first place– you spare yourself of that stupid stunt and drag yourself out of bed to join your living room, where he’s leaning against the wall he just climbed to enter your apartment.

“You gotta stop this,” you sigh. “You have to stop climbing up my window” you shake your head in disbelief. He shoots you a weak apologetic smile, the same every time he does that, one that tells you he’s not really sorry.

“What the hell are you doing here this time? it’s fucking… three, Miguel. You can’t keep doing this”

“Four”

“Okay” you huff out in a soft fazed chuckle. “That doesn’t answer my question”

He stands way taller than you, and even though he should seem intimidating from this height, his sagging shoulders attest of the gloom equally painted over his face.

“I knew you were awake” he starts.

He blinks, runs a hand over his face. You stare at him intently, expecting anything to come your way. “I need you to come back to the society”

You shake your head without thinking about it twice. “No– you know I’m not doing this anymore” you scoff, like he just said the stupidest thing ever.

“I know” he holds a hand up, as if to stop the flood of resistance he expects from you. “We need you, though– really”

“No,” you half laugh. It takes a split second for you to get serious again. “This is it? I can go back to bed?”

Miguel sighs. “Look, I know it traumatized you– all of it. But,”

He knew. Of course he knew. He was the one who dug through the debris and pulled you out, after all. He was the one who found you, broken and barely breathing, and carried you to safety. He saw what it did to you—how the aftermath of the battle left you shattered, both physically and mentally.

You scoff, cutting him off. “Really? You think so? You think it traumatized me to kill dozens of innocent people and almost myself because of something I thought I could take care of alone and that ended up being one big fucking disaster?”

Miguel sighs, shaking his head.

“What did you expect Miguel? Did you expect you would come here and I’d say yes?”

“No, but maybe if you let me talk you would know what I want” he bows his head, a stern expression over his face. He steps closer to you when he sees you might finally be willing to leave him room to talk, your guard ever so slowly starting to drop. “I know everything that happened was hard on you and I know you were hard on yourself too. But I also know you were good at what you were doing, despite what you may think. The spider society seriously took a toll when you decided to leave” he nods, his gaze on you a little warmer than it is to anyone else.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes wearily. “Miguel, don’t–”

“I am not trying to convince you to come back. Not this way at least” a sense of hope courses through him when he sees the soft frown appearing over your face. “We need you for strategies. You always had great plan ideas– You’d be staying at headquarters. No field.”

You huff out a breath and walk around him to sit on your couch.

He watches you at first, waiting for anything to happen, for any response from you. He sits down next to you, huffing out a breath when you don’t say anything, your forearms resting over your knees like you're trying to digest the offer.

His hand comes to rest over your back, and his mouth opens slightly before he decides to talk.

“And I miss having lunch with you in my office” he grins, trying to lighten the mood even though it’s usually clearly not his thing.

You glance at him and you let out a quiet scoff.

“Yeah, well” you murmur, trying to rub the tiredness off your eyes. “I’m not sure– I’m not sure coming back there is such a good idea”

His hand slides lower, gently coming to rest at the small of your back, and even though you should feel uncomfortable and awkward considering how far things have drifted between you, the gesture feels strangely comforting, strangely familiar.

“I’m not just doing this for the professional part of this, you know” he mutters. “I meant it. I miss you. I miss splitting nights between my universe and yours. I miss you scolding me when I start to lose my mind working too much”

A weak smile tugs at your lips, nostalgia cutting through you as you think about it all. You lean your side against him, your head coming to rest over his shoulder just the way it used to. “I'm sorry I broke up with you.”

Miguel lets out a soft sigh, pulling you closer to him. “I get it. You needed your time alone.”

You quietly hum in response.

“Look,” you say after a moment. “I’m not against the idea of working at the society again. Just– don’t ask me to go on missions. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to have to think or talk about it ever again– Everything that happened.”

Miguel nods, his jaw clenching slightly as he looks at your face. “You don’t have to. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

A small appreciative smile creeps up your face, and his hand cups the back of your head. His touch is steady and reassuring, and for the first time in a long while, you manage to feel safe again.

“If I say yes, do you promise me you won’t climb up my window in the middle of the night again? I grew used to it but you have no idea how terrifying it can get to hear someone break in the middle of the night”

He snorts up a genuine laugh and presses his mouth against your temple.

“I promise.”

—

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