#if there is something I posted before then sorry

[hangmanwrites]

your personal kryptonite ━ clark kent

dedicated to ━ @frivolousimagination because she’s the one who convinced me to post this ridiculous filthy mess even though i was being a coward about it, love u bestie, this one’s for you!! word count ━ 3.4k words pairing ━ clark kent x fem!reader content warnings ━ smut, mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it irl unless you’re also dating superman), soft dom clark, praise, overstimulation, crying during sex (in a hot way), emotional support himbo vibes, aftercare, romantic filth, gentle but devastating author's note ━ this is only my second time writing smut so please be kind to my fragile little writer brain, i’m still figuring it out one emotionally unhinged paragraph at a time, but i really hope you enjoy it anyway and fall a bit in love with soft filthy clark, too. masterlist read here ━ we have a little discord server if you want to talk about david corenswet, clark kent, or anything in between. it’s a cosy community where we spiral together, share ideas, and help each other out with fic writing too. everyone’s welcome to join as long as you’re over 18. minors are not allowed, sorry loves!! 🩵

Today was a shitty day.

Work treated you like you were some sort of animal, not even a real person, just this empty thing people could toss problems at and expect answers from, like your brain was some kind of machine that didn’t glitch or ache or hit its limit after hours of passive aggression and sugarcoated threats and stupid bloody spreadsheets that kept crashing for no reason. 

You’d barely managed to get through lunch without biting someone’s head off, and you did snap at a printer, which definitely made at least one intern scared of you forever, but honestly, at this point, let them be scared. 

Let them think you’re heartless, because you can’t keep doing this, you can’t keep pretending it’s fine, that you’re fine, not when the train made you late and the rain soaked your socks and some stranger told you to “smile more” like that was going to fix your entire nervous system spiralling into self-destruct mode.

You almost didn’t come, almost got off at your usual stop and went home to cry into the same pillow that’s soaked up too much already this month, but the thought of being alone felt unbearable, like your body might shut down if you didn’t see him.

So now you’re outside his flat, fingers aching from gripping your keys too tight, throat thick with everything you can’t name, and the second he opens the door—

It’s over.

Your whole posture collapses like your spine forgot what holding you up looks like, like his face was the final straw, and suddenly he’s right there, stepping forward like you’re made of something delicate, like he knew before you said a single word that something was wrong, and he doesn’t hesitate and just pulls you into his chest with both arms, firm and warm and steady, and it ruins you completely.

You don’t even get a chance to apologise, because he’s already holding you like you’re not a burden at all, just tired, just human, and your fists are already curling into the front of his jumper like it’s the only thing keeping you standing upright.

And you can feel your breathing hitch against him, feel that awful stutter in your chest like a sob is waiting to break free and you hate it, you hate it so much, but he just keeps whispering, quiet and careful and close to your ear, It’s alright, I’ve got you, love, I’ve got you.

And he does, one arm wrapped firm around your back as though he’s trying to hold you together by force, the other hand steady at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair in slow, soothing motions as though he knows exactly where the panic lives and how to quiet it without being told. 

He sways with you gently, barely a movement but enough to keep you present, enough to remind your body that time is still passing, that you’re still here, still held, still safe in his arms even if the rest of the world spent the entire day trying to convince you otherwise.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or question or try to coax anything out of you, he just stays there with you. He’d done this before, he’d memorised the shape of your silence and knows how to sit inside it without making it about him. 

When you finally manage a full breath, not the shallow, uneven things you’d been taking all day but an actual proper inhale that lifts your chest and makes your shoulders fall, his hand presses gently against your back as if to say I felt that, I see it, you’re doing so well.

“Come here,” he says, soft and certain, and you follow him instantly, still clutching his sleeve, still a little folded into yourself, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just guides you through the flat with both hands at your waist as though you might vanish if he lets go.

He sits you on the edge of the bed and crouches in front of you without hesitation, his hands on your knees, thumbs brushing slowly over your tights in a way that doesn’t ask for anything, and when he looks up, his eyes are so impossibly kind it nearly undoes you again, not because he pities you, but because he doesn’t, because he’s really looking at you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, gently, carefully, as if the question is something he’s laying at your feet rather than pressing into your hands, “Or do you just want quiet?”

You shake your head, not sure which one you’re saying no to, not sure it even matters, because he nods anyway, as though a quiet understanding in the way he leans forward and presses a kiss to your knee, soft and lingering.

Then he kisses you again, a little higher, just above the edge of your skirt, and his hands slide to your hips, not in a greedy way, not in a way that demands anything, just a presence, just a reassurance, just him reminding you that he’s here.

“Alright,” he murmurs, voice lower now, gentler, as though you might fall apart if he speaks too loud, “Then we’ll just sit. You and me.”

You nod, barely, just once, and maybe he thinks that’s it, that you’ll stay still and let the quiet carry you, but your hands are already reaching for him, moving like they’ve been waiting all day for permission, and the second your fingers thread through his hair, your whole chest twists, as though something in you finally dares to ache now that he’s here to hold it.

He doesn’t pull away, just lets you tug him into the space between your legs where you’re still curled on the bed, and your mouth finds his before you’ve even had time to think, messy and eager and a little too much, as though your body’s just trying to survive through contact.

He kisses you back like he’s been waiting for it, like this is exactly what he hoped would happen the second you walked through the door, and it’s slow at first, careful, as though he doesn’t want to take anything from you that you’re not ready to give, but the way you’re pulling at him makes it impossible to keep it gentle.

You know he feels it too, the way the air thickens around you the second you tilt your head and open your mouth for him, the way his hands tighten on your hips as though he needs something to hold or else he might break apart entirely.

It’s not perfect, not neat or delicate or slow-burn cinematic, it’s messy and damp and hungry, and the exhaustion still clings to your limbs, the rawness of the day still presses at your skin, but none of it matters, not with his mouth on yours like it’s the only place he wants to be, not with that heat building low in your belly every time his thumb finds your waist or his tongue brushes yours just right.

You’re not trying to start anything, but the way he groans when your nails scrape the back of his neck pulls something up from deep in your chest that has nothing to do with sadness and everything to do with want.

You press in closer, tighter, chest flush to his, legs drawing him in, and you don’t stop kissing him because you don’t know how else to ask for more.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice rough now, ragged around the edges like he’s barely holding onto restraint, forehead pressed to yours, “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage, I—”

“Please,” you whisper, too fast, too breathless, too much, but you don’t care, you’re already chasing his mouth again before he can finish the sentence, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in, and he lets you, because it’s Clark and he always does, and his lips are back on yours before either of you can think.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or take more than you’re ready to give, just kisses you with that quiet, steady focus that makes your whole chest tighten, his mouth slow against yours, his hands firm and careful even when they slide under your thighs to lift you into his lap, holding you close like it’s second nature.

You shift slightly, just enough to feel the heat of him pressed between your legs, and the sound he makes is low and helpless, his hands gripping at your hips like he’s trying to keep control, and for a second he pulls back, just enough to look at you again, and there’s no rush in it only that same quiet awe in his expression.

When he leans in again, he doesn’t go for your mouth, not yet, just presses a kiss to your jaw, then your throat, then just under your ear, each one slow and unbearably tender, and when he whispers, “You’ve had such a hard day.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he kisses you again, quiet and steady, as if he knows you’ll try to brush it off and doesn’t want to let you.

His hands move lower, sure and careful, fingers sliding beneath your underwear like he’s done it a hundred times, not from habit but because he knows you now, knows how to move without asking for more than you’re ready to give, and when he pulls the fabric down your legs, you lift your hips for him without needing to be told.

And when he sees you, really sees you, he exhales like it knocks the breath out of him, low and quiet and almost reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him in.

“God,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath, hands sliding up your thighs to part them, not rough, not rushed, just steady, grounding, and when he sees how wet you already are, he doesn’t say anything else just leans in and licks into you like it’s all he’s needed all day.

It’s filthy, right from the first slow pass of his tongue, so deliberate it pulls a whimper straight from your throat before you can even think, and you can’t hold it in, not when it’s not just his mouth.

Your thighs twitch, your hips shift, and you’re gripping the duvet in tight fists just to stay grounded, but he just keeps licking into you, slow and deep and steady, as though this is the only thing that matters.

And when you moan his name, helpless and breathless and wrecked, he groans back into you, fingers digging in just a little harder, and it’s not for show, it’s him, it’s real, it’s yes, that’s it, let me have it without saying a word.

Then his hand slides back down, his fingers warm and slick when he pushes two of them inside you, slow but sure, like he’s done this in his head a hundred times, and the stretch is so good it knocks the breath from your lungs, makes your hips jolt into his mouth, and he groans low and keeps going, his fingers working you open as his mouth stays right there.

And you can feel your climax building already, hot and unbearable and close, because it’s him, Clark, on his knees, giving everything, and you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

You say his name again and it’s not a choice, it just happens, your mouth moving before your brain can catch up, because everything’s gone fuzzy, because your body is too full to hold anything else, and he hums in response, pleased and steady and so full of love it makes your chest ache all over again.

His palm presses firm to your lower stomach, and his voice comes soft and ruined against your cunt as he says, “Let go for me, baby, I’ve got you, it’s okay, just let me have it, come on.”

And you do, God, you do, it hits you hard and fast and so deep you don’t even realise you’ve stopped breathing until it all rushes back at once, and your body’s jolting up into him without warning, a helpless thing. Every muscle snapping tight and letting go all at once, and your thighs are shaking around his shoulders and your fingers are pulling hard in his hair and he just groans, low and hoarse and wrecked.

He slows down, keeps his tongue soft and steady and lets you fall apart in his mouth, lets you ride it out with his hands holding you still, one on your thigh and the other pressing down gently on your stomach.

You’re shaking, breathless, too far gone to speak, not a single thought in your head beyond the crashing release still flooding your chest and hips and thighs, and your hands are still in his hair, and when he finally lifts his head it’s slow.

His mouth is red, his eyes unbearably soft, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. He’s flushed and wrecked and breathing hard, but he still smiles when he sees you staring at the ceiling like your mind hasn’t caught up yet, and he reaches up with a trembling hand to brush your hair back, voice low and hoarse when he asks, “Are you alright?”

You nod, or something close to it, and he seems to understand. Then he leans down, kisses your hip, your stomach, the centre of your chest, soft and slow and steady, like he’s still trying to take care of you even now. 

Your throat tightens all over again, because it’s him, and he’s still looking at you like you’re a miracle.

His mouth moves higher, kissing along your collarbone and neck, and his hands slide back up your thighs, hot and unshaking, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. 

You can feel it in the way he breathes, in the way his body holds still like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You feel him now, still hard, still clothed, the shape of him pressed to your thigh, and you can’t help it. Your hips roll, slow and greedy, your body answering before your head can catch up. 

He groans into your skin, low and deep, and you feel him falter, feel him fight not to lose it.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, quiet and hoarse and almost dazed, and it’s not a complaint, it’s reverent, it’s full of disbelief that he gets to have you like this, that he gets to stay here, and then he’s sitting up just enough to tug off his shirt and undo his belt, one handed.

And you watch him, still flushed and sensitive, still sore in the best way, but your legs spread for him automatically because your body wants this, wants him, wants to feel him everywhere, and when his trousers hit the floor and you finally get to see the full, desperate shape of him, flushed and thick and twitching with how hard he is. 

You swear under your breath because it’s obscene, it’s not fair, he’s so beautiful, and he just kneels between your legs like he belongs there.

He leans down to kiss you again, mouth still messy from everything he did to you, and you moan into it, half from the taste of yourself on his tongue and half from the way his cock presses right up against you, not pushing in yet, but it’s hot and heavy against your overstimulated cunt.

Your body jolts with it, and you hear yourself whimper, and he shushes you softly, forehead pressed to yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, not because he doesn’t know, but because he needs to hear it, needs to be sure, always so careful even when he’s wrecked and seconds from losing it completely.

You nod again, this time more definite, more desperate, and you whisper, “Please,” and that’s all it takes.

He pushes in so slowly you can feel every inch of it, feel every thick, aching stretch of him as he fills you, deeper than you thought anyone ever could, thick and hot and perfect, and you’re already gasping before he’s fully seated, already clutching at his back with both hands as your body adjusts, 

“You feel—” he starts, and then cuts himself off with a soft, broken noise, and presses a kiss to your throat as his hips roll forward, just enough to make you whimper, and he whispers, “So warm, sweetheart, so soft, you feel incredible.”

And then he moves for real, pulls back just enough to drag the whole length of himself out of you before sliding in again slow and deep, and your mouth falls open because it’s filthy, the sound of it, the slick, obscene drag of his cock inside you, your body taking him like it’s what it was made for, and Clark’s still breathing like he’s trying to survive it.

Clark sets a rhythm, gentle but full, grinding deep into you with every stroke, his hips tilting just right to press against that spot inside you that makes your thighs twitch and your stomach clench.

And every time he finds it again, again, he murmurs something soft into your skin, “There you go, That’s it, I’ve got you,” as though he’s guiding you somewhere, as if your body is answering him and he’s proud of it.

And it is so much, the stretch of him, the wet slide of your bodies moving together, the way your slick is dripping down your thighs now, messy and shameless, and Clark can feel it, can hear it, and instead of shying away from it he groans softly into your neck, presses his hand flat against your lower back to keep you right where he wants you, and says, breathless and stunned, “You’re so beautiful like this, I don’t think I’m ever going to forget how this feels.”

His voice is wrecked, soft and rough as he shudders above you, fingers finding your clit with slow, careful circles that make your whole body jerk beneath him. He doesn’t speed up, just keeps fucking you deep and steady, every thrust dragging right through you, and your legs are shaking, your hands clutching at him just to stay grounded.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth, kissing you slow, “I’ve got you, I promise, just let go for me, sweetheart, please—”

And you do. It hits hard and hot, your body locking tight around him as everything breaks open, and you cry out without words, just Clark, just need, and he holds you through all of it, kissing your face, whispering soft things you can’t even process through the pleasure.

And he’s still inside you when it fades, still thick and hard and throbbing, just watching your face with the kind of awe that makes you ache all over again, and when you finally open your eyes, blinking up at him with wet lashes and parted lips, he leans down and kisses you one more time, deep and slow and full of everything he hasn’t said yet.

“You’re alright?” he asks, and he’s flushed and wrecked and still holding back, and you nod, still breathless, still clenching around him, and his whole body shudders again.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he admits, so softly it makes your heart twist, “You feel too good, I can’t— I don’t want to hurt you—”

But you’re already pulling him closer, because he needs it, because he’s holding himself so carefully, still buried in you and barely moving, arms shaking and jaw tight like it’s taking everything not to fall apart.

You press your hands to his face, tilting his head until he looks at you, and the second his eyes meet yours, something in you snaps again, because he’s beautiful and he’s yours and he’s waiting.

You don’t have to speak. He sees it in the way you nod, in the way your hands cradle him, in the way your thighs pull him in.

And he exhales, shaky and wrecked, and leans into your touch like he’s been waiting for it, and he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, barely audible, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say, and it’s not breathless anymore, not messy or chaotic, it’s just soft, steady, honest, because you mean it, because you know him, and you know he never could.

He starts to move again, slow and deep and careful, as if he’s trying to memorise how you feel now that he’s allowed to. It’s not rushed anymore, just warm, just full of that unbearable closeness that only he ever gives you, and when your body clenches around him he groans, low and reverent.

Clark kisses you again and again, mouth soft on yours, whispering between breaths, “So good, I’ve got you, I’m right here,” and it’s never really about him, not even now, not even with his hips starting to stutter and his hands gripping tighter like he needs to hold on to something real.

And when it happens, when he finally lets go, you feel all of it; the shake in his thighs, the rough sound in his throat, the way his mouth drops open against your cheek and you hold him through it, hands in his hair, whispering his name just to let him know you’re here.

He groans your name like it’s the only word he knows, and he spills into you with his face tucked into your neck, his entire body trembling as though he’s never felt anything like this before, as though this moment, this warmth, this love, is undoing something in him he never thought could be undone.

When it’s over, his hips still and his breath evens out, and he doesn’t move. He stays close, chest to chest, mouth pressed to your skin like he’s not ready to let go, and you lie there with him in the quiet, holding each other, breathing slow and steady, hearts still racing in sync, and you know you’ve never been loved like this before.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, tangled and quiet, your legs still around his hips, his arms still tight around you like he’s afraid to let go. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you would fall apart if he stopped holding you like this, so gently, so steady, like he’s keeping you from breaking again.

When you finally shift, just enough to breathe deeper, he follows without question, tucks his face into your neck and sighs. Quiet and warm and full of peace, as if something inside him has finally gone still.

It’s a mess, all of it, your bodies sticky, your thighs still shaking, your heart beating too fast to keep up with your thoughts, but you don’t care. Not when his hand keeps stroking slow across your back like he’s soothing something deeper than skin, not when his mouth keeps finding your shoulder in soft kisses that feel more like promises than habit.

You should say something, maybe thank him or laugh or breathe properly, but all you can do is hold him tighter and hope he gets it. Hope he hears it in the way your fingers stay in his hair, in the way your forehead presses into his cheek, in the way your breathing finally begins to settle, not calm, but easier. 

And the thought hits you, not all at once but slowly, creeping in through the quiet like a truth you’d been ignoring until now;

Kryptonite could kill him, sure, it’s the one thing strong enough to bring him down, the one weakness he can’t hide, but Clark Kent on his knees, hands steady and tongue slow and eyes so full of love it breaks you, that might just kill you first.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Your dog’s been missing for nearly a full day now, what feels like the longest 24 hours of your life

It had been a typical walk in the park with him, literally, as you’d side-stepped gaggles of children running by to beg their parents for more pocket change, a local summer fair in the park having the area much more crowded than usual, playful music resonating through speakers and ice cream vendors doubling their prices accordingly, an idyllic day by all accounts

You’d been distracted, glancing along the paths to decide which one would be best to take, not wanting your pup to get overwhelmed by the crowd and god forbid get a whiff of the hot dog vendor a few yards away, when he suddenly did something he’d never done in all the years you’d had him

He took off

You had hardly registered his leash slipping out of your grasp before you caught one last glimpse of his tail sprinting through people’s legs, dodging strollers and bikes as he disappeared out of your eyesight

You’d tried your best to chase after him, completely blindsided as he’d never done anything like this before, beside yourself with worry when you couldn’t find him anywhere, likely appearing hysterical as you begged and pleaded with those around you, asking if they’d seen a dog, if anyone had seen him

But no luck

You’d had to call a friend to pick you up and take you home, after what felt like hours of searching for him, your eyes too wet with tears to find your own way back to a flat with one less soul than when you’d left

Missing posters had been posted on social media immediately, your friends and acquaintances sharing the posts often, sending you messages with well wishes, expressing their own feelings of sadness on your behalf

The woman behind the desk at the library kept sending you pitiful looks as you printed as many missing posters as your arms could carry, a picture of your dog enclosed along with promises of a cash reward for her safe return, intent of hanging the flyers up everywhere and anywhere people might see

Ghost watches you from a safe distance, spots your figure moving from lamppost to tree to wheely bin as you tape and staple your sweet little flyers everywhere the eye can see

Part of him almost feels sorry, for a moment, when he sees the expression on your face, all puffy, red eyes and dark under eyes to match the epitome of a distressed dog owner

But then he reminds himself that there’s no real harm done, after all, your mutt’s safe back at this flat, enjoying all the spare bits from his butcher job that a dog could ever dream of, the very same cuts of meat that had the dog sprinting away from you and towards him in the park yesterday

Besides, he’ll only wait a little longer before he calls the number at the bottom of those cute little flyers you’ve made, before he’ll return your dog to you safe and sound, before you’ll be thanking him for finding your best friend, before he’ll be insisting that a cash reward isn’t necessary, not when he’s got another reward in mind

After all, he’s had his eye on you for long enough now, has been waiting oh so patiently to act, he can handle a few hours or so

But what did you expect, love? A man can only hear your sweet voice saying “Oh Riley, you’d such a good boy! I love you, Riley” so often before he snaps

[vercengetorixadvisor]

Dudes calling the lack of a medical miracle "neglect". Makes it seem like he's never met anyone with a chronic condition where the cure is only a few years out for their entire, 70 year, life.

Hoping for a miracle to happen is one thing, expecting it is slightly less reasonable, and calling the lack of one neglect is nothing but pure ignorance.

Medicines are invented regularly, yes, but more than half of those are slight tweaks to existing meds to get around laws and copyrights. Of the half remaining, there are conditions with much more immediate threats to human survival that take precedence over becoming immobile. Shitty as it is, there's a certain time where most folks don't need to be especially mobile. So it lowers the need.

The point I'm trying to make is, this isn't neglect, it's a lack of the exact recipe for a medicine to do something that would be considered a medical miracle. And may eventually be considered a medical miracle. Don't lose faith in humanity just because we haven't advanced far enough as a species to fix ourselves forever.

Because eventually we will have the tech and advanced far enough to legitimately be able to fix ourselves forever. Not just another 20 years, long LONG term. It's just a matter of time.

I mean, hell, if we fully legalize body modification, that could theoretically come about sooner. The prosthetics market is already advancing quickly, how long before we have artificial lungs and hearts and spines and whatnot? If we make a legal market for it, then there's more profit motive to join that market. The more people and companies that join that market, the more they can collaborate and advance that tech even faster.

Anyway, sorry for the rant, please enjoy my post seizure rant about medicine and prosthetics.

[sweetshuga]

「 𝑷𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒄𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒔 ۶ৎ 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒕 」

❝𝑾𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒄𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒍�� 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔.❞

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ +𝟏𝟖 ⋆ pure filth ⋆ best friends ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ sleepover gone wrong (or right) ⋆ birthday sex ⋆ threesome (no incest, don’t be weird) ⋆ soft dom!chris ⋆ rough dom!matt ⋆ pet names ⋆ handcuffs ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ use of a vibrator ⋆ big dick!chris ⋆ big dick!matt ⋆ raw raw ah ah ah or whatever lady gaga said ⋆ making out ⋆ missionary ⋆ chain dangle ⋆ manhandling ⋆ backshots ⋆ multiple orgasms ⋆ spanking ⋆ size kink ⋆ bulge kink ⋆ (slight) pain kink ⋆ choking kink ⋆ degradation kink ⋆ praise kink ⋆ face fucking ⋆ facial ⋆ possessive undertones ⋆ cum dumpster type shit (their pull out game is legendary) + more.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟒.𝟑 𝒌

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: I’m so sorry for how long it took me to post this but I couldn’t get in the headspace to write smut no matter how much I tried. Also, I was just gonna write a short fic but it kinda spiralled outta control... And the fact that they (matt, chris and you lol) were so loud even tho there were people home is really unrealistic so pls don’t think too much of it '~'

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝟐: I hope you enjoy it! I had so much fun writing this. This made me remember why I love writing chratt fics ^-^

𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝑰𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅: English is not my first language!

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: It was just supposed to be an innocent night of sleeping over at your best friends’ house the night before their 22nd birthday—but watching their new video and hearing Matt mention the purple fuzzy handcuffs he has in his room made the night turn 360° around. Two men, aching tension and unspoken feelings... Can you handle it?

"So I think, out of context, the most embarrassing and hardest thing to explain would be like purple fuzzy handcuffs. Probably."

Your eyes widened as you paused the video, laughter bubbling in your chest. You turned your head to look at the pair of brothers sitting beside you on Matt’s bed, staring at you with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

You and Nick were supposed to hang out and watch movies but he was dozing off mid-movie so you made him go to bed early, insisting he’d get some rest since tomorrow was his and his brothers’ birthday. And that’s how you ended up in Matt’s room with him and Chris.

"You still have the handcuffs?" You teased, barely holding back your giggles, making Matt groan in embarrassment.

"Yeah... it’s somewhere in the drawer- Wait, what are you doing?" Matt’s brows furrowed in confusion when you stood up and walked towards his dresser, your mind reeling with ideas to tease him.

You rummaged through his drawers, finding clothes and whatnot—until you reached the bottom drawer. You froze upon seeing the contents of it and your head snapped to the side where Matt sat frozen on the bed while Chris looked confused at your reaction.

"What’s up?" Chris asked, blinking.

"Nothing... It’s, uh, nothing." You said, awkwardly, as you quickly took the handcuffs—that sat among quite interesting objects—and closed the drawer before turning around to face the bed with the fluffy purple handcuffs in hand.

You couldn’t believe Matt had all those... props.

Are those really for a YouTube video...? Or is he into-

You cleared your throat, your eyes darting around his room as if that’d help get rid of the inappropriate thoughts you were beginning to have about one of your best friends. It didn’t help that the fluffy handcuffs in your hands were making your palms feel oddly hot, and that heat seemed to spread through your body—going south.

In a futile attempt to hide how flustered you were, you said something you instantly regretted the moment the first word slipped past your lips, but you—stupidly—completed the sentence.

"Why don’t we try it out? I mean, like, handcuff me or something..."

You didn’t really mean anything by what you said. Even though you were more than into the idea of being handcuffed, you didn’t mean to tell them you liked being bound and helpless. It was just something impulsive. Something you should’ve thought twice before saying.

You hoped they would laugh, even if it was awkward laughter. But all they did was look at you, lips parted, like they couldn’t believe you just said that. Their reactions were like oil to fire, making your face feel hotter, your embarrassment reaching new heights. And unable to look at their shocked expressions anymore, your gaze dropped down to the ground.

"Do you wanna be handcuffed?" One of them suddenly asked.

Your head snapped up at the question, blinking. "What?"

"Do you wanna be handcuffed?" Chris repeated himself, grinning, obviously teasing you. "I didn’t know you were freaky like that."

You scowled at him, trying to seem annoyed despite how turned on you were getting. And seeing your death glare, Chris held his hands up in mock surrender, his shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.

"I’m just messing with ya." Chris chuckled, leaning back on his hands as he watched you with amusement sparkling in his eyes. "But if you keep holding those handcuffs like that... I might think otherwise~"

You quickly tossed the handcuffs onto Matt’s bed as if burned and crossed your arms, lips twitching with a reluctant smile when the brothers laughed at how flustered you became. The friday video was completely forgotten, your mind flooded with sexual thoughts instead.

God. If only they knew what they did to you.

Well. They knew. They’ve known for a while now. They just didn’t know how to approach it, or how to tell you they knew about the feelings you oh-so desperately tried to hide, so they let it be. If you weren’t going to say anything, they weren’t going to do anything. All they could do was wait.

An hour passed by slowly, agonizingly so. You were contemplating whether to stay or leave since the atmosphere had gotten heavier than you anticipated after the stupid things you said without a second thought.

If only you hesitated...

With a quiet sigh, you stood up from the bed, making Matt and Chris look up from their phones. "I think I’ll go home now." Your words made the two brunettes look at each other, confused, before looking at you again.

"Why?" They said in unison, confusion evident in their tones.

"It’s still early you know?" Matt said, trying to keep you from going. He knew something was wrong judging by the tone of your voice and he didn’t want you to go home upset.

"Yeah." Chris chimed in, glancing at Matt, exchanging a silent conversation. He looked back at you, searching your face, his own brows settling into a frown when he saw the frown on your face.

"You said you’d stay over and celebrate our birthday with us tomorrow morning..." Chris trailed off, then continued in a more hesitant tone. "Is it about the handcuffs? If so, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’d never judge you if you do have a kink like that-"

"Kid, you are not making it any better." Matt hissed quietly, elbowing his brother, before looking back at you, gauging your reaction.

Chris grimaced when he saw the frown deepen on your face. "Fuck- Hey... I wasn’t making fun of you, I promise." Chris’ voice became significantly softer, genuinely apologetic as he looked at you.

You weren’t really upset, but you weren’t laughing either. You knew his words weren’t said to ridicule you—it just wasn’t appropriate for the mood. If he said it during one of your banter it wouldn’t have grated on your nerves as much as it did now.

"God. Just... It’s not what you said." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You were being truthful. It wasn’t his fault that your mood had soured; it was the build up of worry and anxiety that came with having feelings for your two best friends. And Chris was just unlucky to choose that time to tease you.

Chris exchanged a confused look with Matt, and Matt spoke next, carrying the same tone of confusion in his voice. "So, what’s wrong then? Is it because you like us-" Chris clamped a hand over Matt’s mouth, giving him a stern look that screamed "you weren’t supposed to tell her that".

Your eyes widened, but you quickly mumbled quietly. "I do like you two. As friends." You emphasized the "friends", hoping they’d fall for your half-assed lie. But they just stared at you deadpanned, making your heart stutter.

"What?" You said, a little too quickly and a little too defensively.

They kept looking at you, as if they knew the truth, as if they knew you were spouting bullshit. And under the pressure of their intense gazes, your composure—or what was left of it— cracked.

You looked away, unable to meet their gaze as you confessed the feelings you were so sure you’d never lay bare and vulnerable for them to decide what to do with.

"Fine. I like you. Both. Like, romantically. I love you. Or something..."

You said it all quickly, as if you’d explode if you said it any slower. And you probably would’ve—mentally that is. Your anxiety was sky high as you waited for them to speak. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms. Their silence didn’t help your agitated state at all.

You finally looked back towards the bed when you heard the mattress creak softly, and you came face to face with the two brothers, their expressions overwhelmingly soft. Almost too tender for you to handle.

"Do you wanna try it out?" Matt asked, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist, tugging you slightly towards himself. "Genuinely. Do you wanna use it?"

"We can, uh, help you use it... If you want." Chris offered with a small shrug as he stepped closer. He said it so casually, as if it was something completely normal and something you can offer your friend without the sexual innuendo behind it.

Both of the brothers were now crowding your personal space, making you more and more aware of how good they looked tonight. God, you’d do anything to have them for one night.

You blinked, confused. "Help me... use it?"

"Yeah." One said. "We’ll help you use it." The other added.

"What?" You asked dumbly. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions—even if you somewhat had an idea of what they could mean by that.

What if you were wrong-

"We’ll handcuff you and help you fulfill your fantasies." Chris promised.

The identical brunette boys—now looking more alike due to Chris’ new hairstyle—stepped even closer. Their bodies were almost flush against yours, sandwiching you between themselves.

Oh...?

"Oh... ffu--uuuckk--" You moaned, your head falling back against Matt’s pillow as the gentle buzzing of the small vibrator—against your slick swollen clit—filled his room. You weren’t even sure when he’d taken it out of his drawer but his bed had adult toys scattered all over it.

Those are definitely not for a YouTube video.

Seeing that you were getting inside your head again, Matt clicked his tongue and pressed the vibrator a little more firmly against your poor little nub, causing your hips to jerk upwards.

"You’re thinking about other things, aren’t you, sweetheart?" He tutted, his free hand caressing your inner thigh as if he wasn’t making you tremble with a vibe. "Can’t have your pretty little mind elsewhere when we’re here."

Chris tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your cheekbone. "God... You’re so pretty." He murmured, letting the back of his fingers caress your cheek, before cupping your chin with his hand, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip.

Chris’ other hand was already palming his dick through his pants, a large bulge straining against it. Fuck, he was big- no, huge. They both were. Identical sized bulges tenting the front of their pants, giving you quite the preview of what you were getting yourself into.

Matt was the first to catch you looking south, and his lips twitched with a smirk. "Haaahh, look at you..." He chuckled, the sound mocking and raspy, his fingers flexing on the end of the vibe. "Already so fucking horny and looking at our dick’s like you wanna devour them... So fucking desperate."

You let out a choked sound—between a gasp and a broken moan—when the vibrator pressed harder against your clit, pulsing relentlessly against the sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch. Your hands clenched into fists above your head, wrists bound together with the fuzzy purple handcuffs.

"All bound and helpless... Fuuck..." Chris groaned softly. His dick throbbed urgently in his sweatpants, demanding release. The veins along it were probably angry and pulsing with how turned on he was. A small spot on the crotch of his pants was beginning to grow damp with precum.

You rolled your hips, trying to get more friction. You were so close. So close. And Matt could tell. He began moving the vibrator in slow circles on your clit, causing your wrists to strain against the handcuffs.

"Matt-- cummin’—ahnn—m’gonna--" Your words caught in your throat as the pressure in your tummy grew more and more taut. Your thighs trembled as you felt the first wave of your release wash over you, strong and relentless, followed by more waves. White-hot pleasure ran through your body like electricity, eliciting soft whimpers from you.

The brothers looked at each other, their eyes holding the same question: "Who’s going first?"

Before they could decide who would fuck you first, Chris was already climbing off the bed, his hand already going to his pants as he smirked smugly at Matt—who just rolled his eyes but didn’t put much of a fight. It was obvious who was going to take you first.

Chris unbuckled his belt slowly, watching as your body shuddered, your back still arched subtly, eyes closed in bliss. He was so hard and so fucking turned on that he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself back from pouncing on you, but he knew better than to rush it; he wanted to savor the first taste of you, after all.

Matt stripped as well, and sat on the bed beside your pleasure-wracked body, in just his boxers, his clothes discarded somewhere on the floor beside his bed. His hand was already on his bulge, fingers twitching with the urge to do something about his aching cock. But he wanted to wait and watch. He wanted to see you unravel before he did, too.

Chris climbed back onto the bed, crawling over your body, having taken off his long-sleeve shirt, now in just his white tank top and boxers. His biceps flexed ever so slightly as he held himself up above you, his hands on either side of your head. He watched with desire as you looked up at him with the prettiest fucking eyes, looking so vulnerable and trusting.

His breath hitched as you parted your legs for him, letting him settle between them. Your hand trailed down his stomach, feeling the muscles contract as you went further down, teasing the waistband of his boxers.

Fuck, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Chris leaned down and kissed you, deep and filthy. His tongue tangled with yours, sucking on it, nipping on your lips, pulling the swollen flesh between his teeth—and repeating. And by the time he pulled back, you were a mess—a beautiful mess. The sight made his cock throb noticeably against his boxers.

He pulled down the waistband of his boxers enough for his hard cock to spring out and slap against his stomach, aching to be inside your warmth. His hand wrapped his base, teasing your slit with his thick head a few times before positioning it at your entrance.

He leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your soft moan as he slowly pushed his cock inside, filling you up inch by thick inch. He wanted to go slow, but your legs wrapped around him so suddenly and so tightly that Chris bottomed out, his whole shaft fitting snugly inside your warm, wet pussy.

"Ohhh—ffuuck...." Chris groaned, breaking the kiss to instead drop his head on your shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him, trying to adjust to his size.

After composing himself, Chris slowly began moving, pulling back and dragging his length across your velvety walls before plunging deep again—and repeating. Hearing your moans of pleasure, and the way your legs tightened around him, made his pace quicken, spurred on by your responsiveness.

"God... You feel fucking amazing," he whispered against your skin. Your walls fluttered around him at his words, eliciting a soft moan from him. The words were said in such an unraveled way that they sounded dirty, filthy, and it would be an understatement to say it turned you on.

The room felt hot—and neither of you were sure if it was because of the summer heat or the heat that came with sex. Either way—Chris was sweating. And the way his tank top clung to his body was making him increasingly irritated.

With an annoyed groan, Chris pulled off his tank, revealing his bare torso. The charm on his chain—his own brand—glinted in the dim light of the bedside lamp, the cool metal contrasting starkly from his heated, flushed skin, making him hiss softly.

He leaned down to kiss along your jaw and further down to your collarbone as he fucked you, his pace quickening even further, hands gripping your waist and hip. His hips slapped against yours with loud wet smacks, your sticky juices clinging to his pelvis in small milky strands each time he pulled back.

Your attention was shifted briefly when you felt the bed dip beside your head, making you look to the side, coming face to face with Matt’s heavy cock, all flushed and swollen, veins bulging and throbbing along it. His dick twitched subtly under your heated gaze, a bead of precum slowly forming at the tip and betraying how desperate he was.

"Open up, sweetheart." Matt murmured, gently cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You complied almost immediately, opening your mouth for him to use, making him bite back a groan. The warm head of his cock slipped past your lips, pulsing on your tongue, the musky yet sweet smell of his dick filling your nose.

Chris leaned back on his heels, legs spread for more stability as he pulled your hips towards his, not wanting to pull out. One of his hands left your hip to throw one of your legs over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around your thigh and opening you up more to give himself an easier and deeper access to your pussy.

He began moving again, biting his lips to not moan out loud at how good you felt. His other hand left your hip, instead reaching out to grip the chain in the middle of the fluffy handcuffs binding your wrists together and using it as a handle to pull you onto his dick in rhythm with his thrusts.

Your eyes rolled back involuntarily, feeling his cock hit your g-spot. The overwhelming pleasure of his tip hitting just the right spots inside you made sparks shoot up your spine. It didn’t help when Matt began moving his hips, fucking your mouth in slow, deliberate thrusts.

You choked and moaned desperately around Matt’s cock, your hands gripping Chris’ hand, fingers digging into his skin as you tried to ground yourself from the pleasure threatening to consume you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, too quick and relentless, your pussy fluttering around Chris’ pistoning cock, making the brunette boy above you moan in response.

A few more quick slams—that targeted your sweet spot—was enough for you to fall over the edge. Your body tensed before shuddering, back arching as moans of pleasure vibrated around Matt’s thick shaft, making him fuck your mouth faster, his balls tightening.

The feeling of you coming undone around him made Chris shudder, his hips stuttering.

Fuck, he was so close.

Chris was so close to coming inside you but he used the last ounce of his self-control to pull out and fisted his cock over your body, his hips chasing his hand, as he moaned desperately, his balls tightening painfully. His cum shot out in thick, milky ropes, landing on your stomach and pelvis.

Matt groaned softly, feeling his own orgasm washing over him thanks to the exquisite feeling of your tight throat combined with your sweet moans vibrating around his thick cockhead. He pulled out before coming all over your tits, painting them in his release—marking you with his semen.

You only had a few moments to catch your breath before Matt switched places with Chris, flipping you over with surprising strength, making you lay on your stomach with a gasp. He chuckled softly at the sound of your surprise, running his hand down your back to your ass and giving it a little pat.

"C’mon, all fours baby."

It was his turn now and he made sure to show you he wouldn’t be as gentle as Chris with a sharp slap on your ass the moment you were on your hands and knees, making you yelp and squirm. He palmed your ass cheeks, soothing the sting of his slap, as he let out a breathy laugh.

"Look at this pretty fucking ass..." He murmured appreciatively, voice low with barely contained desire.

He held his hefty length by the base, slapping it against your flushed ass, letting you feel how heavy it was, before teasing your slit with his tip, collecting your wetness, feeling how warm and puffy you were from being fucked so thoroughly by Chris.

Your hips moved on its own, a small whine leaving you as you rubbed your pussy against his hot, throbbing cock like a bitch in heat. Matt’s hand came down on your ass again, this time on the other cheek, hard and quick, the sharp slap making you jump.

"So fucking needy," he tutted. "Fucked my brother and still haven’t had enough hm? Need the other brother to keep you in check don’t you?"

You didn’t say anything, too embarrassed to admit how right he was. Your silence made Matt chuckle behind you. One hand gripped your hip while the other gripped his cock, positioning himself against your entrance, his tip pressing against it but not pushing in yet.

"Hope you’re ready for me sweetheart." He grunted as he finally pushed forward, filling you up in one smooth motion since you were already stretched out by Chris prior to this. The fullness was familiar and so fucking delicious.

Matt didn’t waste a second and began fucking you, deep and punishing—as if to prove a point. He was hitting the deepest parts of you, unlike Chris who had focused on your g-spot. The sensation was no less pleasurable.

He was fucking you like he wanted your cervix bruised.

Chris sat in front of you on the bed, his dick twitching back to life at the sight of your lips parting to let out a broken whimper at how slow but deep each thrust was. Matt’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he pulled back slowly before slamming into you, ripping a choked sound from your throat. The depth made your eyes roll back briefly, cuffed hands clutching desperately at the sheets under you.

"Chris." Matt grunted. "Pass me the vibrator."

Chris complied, handing him the vibe, watching intently as Matt paused his movement to turn the vibe on before pressing it against your clit, eliciting a loud, desperate moan from you. Chris’ dick jumped at the sound of your needy moan, his hand wrapping around his shaft, his eyes never leaving your face, watching it contort in pleasure.

Matt reached out with his free hand, wrapping his long fingers around your throat, choking you lightly. The feeling of his thick head slamming against your cervix, along with the feeling of his hand around your throat, made it hard to breathe. You couldn’t even moan anymore—you could only gasp for air and let out choked cries whenever he went too deep.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, as he growled softly in your ear. "You feel s’fucking good—ffuuuck--" His rhythm faltered as you clenched around him, your third orgasm crashing over you without warning.

"Fuckk yes baby... Keep squeezin’ me like that... Like you can’t get enough of this dick." Matt moaned lowly, the slapping sounds growing louder as he lost himself in the feeling of your warm greedy pussy sucking him in.

The vibrator was long forgotten under you as Matt held your hips with both of his hands—no longer choking you—holding you in place for his brutal thrusts and making it impossible for you to squirm away from the pleasure.

Chris’ hand worked faster, twisting his wrist and squeezing more tightly. His hips bucked up, fucking his own fist, lips parted, his chest heaving and breath hitching. Your eyes locked onto his—and he nearly came then, but he held himself back, wanting to feel your mouth around him before he came.

Before you knew it, Chris was in front of you, feeding you his length, groaning low in his throat, talking about how good your mouth feels around his dick. But you couldn’t focus on words anymore, too fucked out. It felt so good. Too good. Their fat cocks filled you up to the brim, one in your spasming pussy and the other deep down your throat.

It didn’t take them long to climax. Their hands were all over you, tugging and gripping, the pleasure making everything blur together. You felt them pulse in you, throb in you, their hefty lengths nestled in your holes, dragging across the sensitive walls.

"Fuuck... I’m gonna cum--" Chris groaned, gripping his base with one hand as he pulled his dick out of your mouth while the other stayed on your head, pulling it back by your hair as he fisted his thick, veiny cock in front of your face, wanting to see you covered in his seed again.

You gasped softly when the first rope of his warm cum landed on your cheek, followed by multiple quick ropes, painting your face in streaks of white. Chris groaned at the sight of your face covered in his cum, something primal in him satisfied that he just marked you up.

Matt followed soon after, pulling out and pumping his shaft quickly over your ass, painting it and your lower back with his pearly release. His hips twitched as he milked the last bit of his cum, letting it drop on your back.

You slumped forward onto the bed—boneless—chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Your body was still trembling with aftershocks, face and body covered in their semen. You turned your head to the side, brushing your hair out of your face, and licked your lips, tasting Chris’ cum that had landed on it.

"Don’t do sexy shit like that." Chris grumbled playfully.

It was obvious that you affected him and Matt in ways no one could. Their semi-hard lengths began swelling again, curling towards their stomach.

You were so sure that cumming twice would make their dicks go soft, but—to your absolute surprise—they were hard again. Their hands were all over your body in seconds, as if they were starving for you. And they kinda were.

Well, it’s safe to say that they weren’t done with you. God. They were not done. It would take until dawn to satisfy the hunger they’ve held back for months. And there were still more toys to be used. They still haven’t broken you in yet.

Oh well. It’s their birthday, after all. And birthday boys should get their wishes—their deepest desires and fantasies—fulfilled, shouldn’t they?

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[meowkarii]

The autism post: TANGLED THE SERIES X WARRIOR CATS AU (SUNCLAN AU)

Yes, I drew most of the characters as cats because I'm obsessed with warrior cats AUs : 3

SUNCLAN AU 

(I didn’t name everyone so you can all choose the names, I just enjoy making warriors AU so if you wanna hear my yapping be welcomed :333) 

> Basically the plot is similar, but cats. I kinda scratched the magic aspect of the movie and made Goldenpetal (Rapunzel) a prophecy cat chosen by Starclan that was stolen by Gothel (Sunclan’s former med cat that was exiled). Goldenpetal grew up as a kittypet and was kept inside her house by Gothel who told her stories of bloodthirsty clan cats or rogues. Golden had dreams about starry cats telling her to leave the twoleg place and with help of a loner named Flint (later Flintheart) she found Sunclan. 

> I like to think that Sunclan is kinda different from canon clans. Most tom-cats are guards protecting the clan (the guards have matching golden leaves in their fur ;3). She-cats can’t fight, and are more of a gatherers, making the clan look pretty or caring for injured cats (they all have med-cats training). Kestrelwing hates that wholeheartedly. 

> The trash thugs live in a nearby dumpster. They’re mostly harmless > w < 

> Monarchy. Sunclan loves monarchy. 

> Vervainpaw wants to become a medicine cat (which is kinda frowned upon). He’s interested in herbs and finding the new properties of them, which ends pretty badly most of the time. (IT’S MEDICINE, NOT MAGIC!!!!) 

> Sharppaw and Redpaw were abandoned by their parents and welcomed in Sunclan :’’3 Dad Strongclaw <3 (I think their warrior names would be Redsnap and Sharpclaw) 

> The Brotherhood come from the forgotten Moonclan that guarded the moonstone before breaking up. Everyone has a raven’s wing in their fur.  

> The Baron’s group is kinda like Bloodclan - they all have the iconic tooth-collars >;3. EVIL KITTIES. 

> Zhan Tiri is a dark forest cat (sorry i forgot to draw her) mentoring Kestrelwing. 

> Kestrelmoon covers herself in mud and thinks she’s cool (she’s not). She stole Goldenpetal’s nine lives ceremony at the moonstone or something.

> I don’t know much about vat7k, I just really wanted to draw those characters as cats :’’3 

That’s all that I came up with!!!! If you have other ideas I WOULD LOOVEEE TO HEAR THEM.

I’m autistic and my fixation on tts is thriving.

[musingsofheaven]

Please god please more parts to reader sleeping in her car!! Need her to fucking humble Patrick and fuck the shit out of him this time, choking him and degrading him while she rides him till his eyes are rolling to the back of his head and she’s calling him pathetic and getting him to beg

LOW ON GAS

summary: It supposed to be a one time thing. One match. One night stand. One dick to forget about. But the guy didn’t pull out so you raided the stuff from his hotel and pick few bills from his wallet. Unfortunately, karma works fast for you.

pairings: patrick zweig x hobosexual!reader

warnings: 9.8k words. mature themes. theft. hobosexual behavior. unprotected p in v. internal ejaculation. brief handjob. dry humping. feminization kink themes. cowgirl position. breath play. (mild) choking kink. degradation humiliation / praise kink. d/s dynamic. power dynamics. read & consume responsibly.

note: hey! so i know this request stayed for almost 3 months in my asks because i’m the slowest writer in the world. /j this one is one of the fics i write the longest considering i have little free time the past few days so i’m sorry for not posting. <3 anyway it’s nasty. if you’re here, i assume you’ve read the tags and chose to read anyway. hope u like it. reblog to support me! hehe.

The room smells like both of your bodies, which has your sweat and mixed cum along with the whiskey he opened before he fucked you. Curtains are still shut close and drawn tight while the air conditioner blows out cold air with a quiet hum. You can feel the cold hitting your body, especially your sticky thighs, where the fluids dried, which also trailed down to the sheets. Patrick’s still out cold with his arm across the pillow where you were as his chest rises under the thin sheets. His hair is messy, and his mouth is open just enough to snore. You watch him, making sure he’s really out before you move. His wallet’s on the dresser, tossed there with his pants, next to half-finished water bottles and a minibar snack bag that hasn’t been touched in days. You take what fits: water bottles, protein bars, untouched take-out, shampoo, soap, and a towel before stuffing them in a laundry bag you found in his hotel until it looks like dirty clothes, not your next meal.

You pause before flipping his wallet open. Holding your breath as you check the bills. He’s careless, leaving too much loose, and you take enough for Plan B, gas, and maybe coffee. Not everything since you are not that much of an asshole. You tear a sheet from the notepad, scrawling quickly: “Got the plan B covered, don’t worry about it.” You don’t say how much because he can figure it out. Sliding your jeans up, ignoring the sting between your thighs before you slip your shoes on at the door, and not looking back. The door clicks shut behind you and the hallway is cold and bright as you balance the bag on your hip, ignoring the cleaning lady’s look.

Outside, the sunrise turns the pavement pink. Your car sits dusty from being parked too long, the handle sticking until you shove your shoulder to get it open. Inside smells like fries and sweat. You drop the bag, pushing dirty clothes off the dash, shifting while your body feels sticky. You should have taken a shower but it will just slow you down. Head falls back, eyes closing while the sky goes from pink to white, stomach empty, lips dry, the world just waking while you try to get as much sleep as you can in your car.

You manage not to go on dates for two days, windows cracked for air, backseat your nest of clothes and the towel you stole, water bottle already drained. When it’s hot, you park by the grocery store lot so you can slip inside to piss or grab cheap coffee, counting crumpled bills left, hair unwashed, eyes down as you pass the glass doors. Late afternoon turns the sky gold with your stomach growling as you pull your knees up, head on the window, thumb brushing your shirt just to feel something while the world stays warm and muffled.

A thump shakes the car like the glass smushing your face before you wake up, but there’s no glass around you. Only Patrick. He’s here with his hand braced on the roof, and sunglasses pushed up. His white shirt stretched across his chest. Neither of you moves. Then he knocks, two slow raps on the glass like he owns your window. Your stomach drops. “Fuck,” you mutter, cracking the window. “Are you seriously-” Voice got cut off by him interrupting you like his words are judgmental enough to hear for this day. “Is this… you?” His brows lift, eyes dropping to your bare legs and the shorts you’ve worn for three days. “Did you just walk into my car?” Pulling the hoodie tighter, you scowl. “Didn’t see it,” he says, glancing at your bumper. “Or maybe I did. You’re parked like an asshole.” Heat crawls up your neck before you grin. “Karma works fast, huh?”

Patrick clicks his tongue, leaning closer, hands on the roof, eyes on yours. “You left a note,” he says. “Didn’t leave your number.” His words translate to say he’s entitled to know it. Right? Because that is how it sounds right now. “Do I have to? It’s just a one-night stand.” Voice catches in your throat despite your trying to sound casual. His jaw flexes. “Are you really sleeping in here?” The seat squeaks as you shift, chin lifting. “What’s it to you, huh?” His eyes scan your face, dropping lower, like he can see how sore your cunt still is from him. His mouth twitches, a breath leaving him, lips tugging up. “Get out.” That made your eyes widen a little. “What?” You ask like you didn’t hear him correctly. “Get. Out.” His voice drops, sharp enough that your cunt pulses. “I’m not talking to you through a fucking window.”

Drumming your fingers on the wheel, you crack the door, stepping out barefoot onto warm asphalt, air making you shiver. The hoodie swallows you, brushing your thighs. Patrick’s eyes drag down, taking in your bare legs and chipped toenail polish with the hotel bag in the seat. He lets out a short laugh. “You stole the towel, too?” Crossing your arms as you ignore the way your heart clenches when he looks at you like that. “And the water,” you say, chin tipping up. “You got enough left for that pill?” He steps closer, smells like clean sweat and cologne making your mouth water. “Yeah.” You shrug. “Covered it.” His stare digs in, like he doesn’t believe you. “You always do this shit?” Patrick starts like he’s finding the right words to say. “Do what?” Your voice tightens. Patrick leans in, voice low. “Use your pussy to get a bed, then run before they wake up?”

Heat flares under your skin, shame and anger twisting with the memory of his cock in your cunt. “Fuck you.” His smirk cuts sharply. “Already did.” Your mouth opens, ready to tell him off, ready to crawl back in and drive, but he grabs your wrist to pull you close. Your chest brushing his, breath catching. “Let’s go,” he says. “Go where?” His thumb brushes your pulse, firm. “You think I’m leaving you out here?” Your eyes flick to your beat-up car, garbage on the dash, and a dent in your bumper. “You don’t even know me.” His thumb presses harder. “I know enough.” It’s unbelievable to think how he pushes things, but you are also desperate and… well, maybe you know him enough, he’s not a bad person. “Patrick- ” His name sticks, cold air wrapping your bare legs while heat rolls off him. The sunlight catches the hair on his jaw because it’s shining so bright today. There’s also the stare he has on you that makes your chest clench. He’s a wreck, that’s for sure. He’s a mess too but you can’t even figure out, especially what he wants from you. “I’ll give five seconds to get your shit, or I’m throwing you over my shoulder. ”

Breath catching while cars pass, headlights sweeping the cracked pavement. His hand stays on your wrist, warm and grounding, dragging you out of your mess without asking if you want it. Swallowing, your eyes flick to his, and heat pulls low in your stomach. “You’re insane,” you whisper. He grins. “Probably.” You turn to grab your purse and he’s close behind, heat at your back. His breath hits your neck before you crawl inside. Hands shaking as you grab the purse with your last bills while knowing he’s watching the stretch of your thighs, and the hoodie riding up.

“You done?” His voice is rough and deep. It’s edged with something that makes your legs clench. You don’t answer, stepping back as the car door slams, looking up at him. His hand brushes your hair back, knuckles dragging your cheek but his eyes dropping to your mouth before his tongue flicking over his lips. “Let’s go,” he repeats, softer. You let him take the purse. Fingers brushing his, warm and rough, before looking away, letting him lead you away from the car, away from the only bed you’ve had in weeks. As you walk beside him, bare feet on hot pavement, cunt still sore and wet, a breathless laugh slips out. “Fuck,” you mumble, “karma really does hit fast.”

He pulls you close while he’s chuckling, and his hand is heavy on your back as he leads you toward somewhere you don’t know. But you already guessed it right before you entered the hotel. It still looks the same but feels different. Maybe it’s because you didn’t plan this, maybe you don’t know what he wants, and maybe you like the thrill of the moment. You can feel the cold air raising goosebumps in your legs when the door clicks shut. He drops your purse and the key on the table as you can feel the shift when you glance at the unmade bed. There are empty beer bottles on the nightstand, and the faint scent of his cologne mixes with soap. “Sit,” he says before nodding at the bed.

Your mouth opens at his audacity to order you what to do, but the look he gives is steady like it’s final. So you drop onto the edge and you pull your knees to your chest after. Arms wrapping around them as you watch him rummage in the fridge. He pulls out a takeout box and you can tell it’s for you. The smell makes your stomach tighten. There’s the sharp hunger you’ve ignored. Patrick glances back and catches your eyes on him. You can’t tell if he’s teasing you by the way his smirk tugs at his mouth. But you didn’t call him out, you just watched him grab a plastic fork and sit in front of you. It’s close enough that your knees brush his thigh.

“You’re gonna eat,” he says. “I’m not-” your word cut off because your stomach twists in knots despite you being ready to lie. You pull your sleeves more over your hands while you look away when the smell of the food already thickens on your tongue. Of course, there’s a part of you that wants to keep denying it because you don’t want to feel you owe someone something. You want to keep the pride wrapped around your body like how this hoodie wraps around your body. But there is also the other part of you that is tired. The bone-deep kind of tired that empties your chest when you try to breathe.

“Don’t start.” His voice cuts through the quiet, calm but sharp enough to drop your shoulders. He doesn’t sound angry, just steady, done with your bullshit before you speak. Turning the fork once, he lifts it toward you, steam curling into the air. Gaze stays on your face like it’s a patient in a way that makes your stomach sick for different reasons. Heat is crawling under all layers of your body while you press your lips together. It’s jaw tight but you don’t pull back.

You swallow hard your pride before you lean forward. Lips close around the spoon, and the flavor of the food floods your mouth. Salt and pepper with something sweet. Eyes flutter shut while you chew and you catch his eyes to your mouth before you fully close it. “Good girl,” he mutters, too low to fight. Patrick keeps feeding you and watching you chew and swallow. He even wipes the sauce from your chin with his thumb. After a few bites, you can already feel your stomach stop aching. It is replaced with warmth spreading through your chest as your shoulders drop. The tension is melting enough for you to breathe.

He set it aside when it emptied and leaned back to study you while the air conditioner was the only noise that filled the room. “Shower,” he says, tilting his head toward the bathroom. You wipe your mouth on your sleeve but don’t move. “Why?” Patrick raises an eyebrow at you. “You‘re really asking that?” That makes you glare at him and you twist your sleeves as your eyes drop to the carpet. The shame crawls back under your skin. It reminds you not to shower properly for long now.

“Go,” he said, and his voice was softer now. He holds his hand out to you when he pushes him up. Eyes dart to his hand and hesitate before letting their fingers slip and intertwine together. His palm is warm and steady as he pulls you up. He doesn’t let go until you’re in front of the bathroom mirror. Picture of you reflecting in the mirror in front of you. Hoodie too big, eyes tired, hair a mess, and legs marked with faint bruises. His warmth presses behind you. The scent mixes with the soap in the air. His hand brushes hair from your cheek and tucks it back before dragging down your neck. The light is enough to leave your skin buzzing.

“Go on,” he says. It’s low and steady. Stepping inside the shower, you leave the glass door half open. Thank god he respects you enough to leave even though you know most men won’t. You pulled your hoodie off the moment the door clicked. Hoodie thrown onto the floor along with your other clothes. The water hisses as you turn the knob to the right. Steam fogging the mirror and water hits your shoulders. It’s warm and feels so good. The water rinses away grit and sweat, and washes off days of car air. Head falling forward, feeling water runs through your hair as your fingers comb out knots, and pulling away the last of the gas station bathrooms.

Through the closed door you can even hear him moving around. The bed creaks, and a drawer slides open. Eyes closed as you let the water hold you. Your chest rises with deep clean breaths. Stepping out with a towel waiting on the sink, and warmth from the air. Towel wrapped around your body while the water drips down from your hair to your shoulders and trails down to your collarbone. When you open the door, you can see how his eyes turn around quickly. You can’t explain what you feel with the way he looks at you from the bed. You don’t even know how to feel about that. His one arm draped over his knee, jaw tight, and eyes dark. “Feel better?” he asks.

Head nods before you adjust the towel around your chest. Skin shining from the droplets, cleanliness, and the heat of the shower. “Good,” he says. There’s a small smile pulling at his lips before he speaks again, “Come here.” You do but after you only let out a deep breath. You step forward, and you can feel the carpet soft under your feet with your towel brushing your thighs. The warm air wraps around you like the towel you have right now. His hand reaches out, catching yours and tugging you closer until your knees press to the bed’s edge. Heat rises to your cheeks as his eyes trace drops of water rolling down your thighs.

“Up,” he says with his voice low and hands slipping to your hips. So you do. You let your knees settle on either side of him as the towel shifts when you are climbing into his lap. Cunt brushing all over the soft fabric of his shorts, the warmth soaking through. It looks like he doesn’t really mind it with the way his hands settle on your thighs and how his thumbs brush on your damp skin. Your chest rises tight as his eyes meet with that look you can’t read. For a moment, you lean into him, and your head drops to his shoulder. You breathe in the clean scent of him, and his hand is smoothing over your damp hair. It goes down to your back, and pauses between your shoulder blades.

Both of you are quiet, and it's kind of quiet heavy but not quite uncomfortable. You could hear how his heart beat when you move your head against his chest. It feels like a reminder that for now, you’re somewhere warm and not inside your car, and when you look up, his eyes are already on you. “Karma works fast, huh?” you mumble the your favorite statement you said today with a tiny laugh slipping out. You might repeat it for many times just to remind yourself. Patrick’s mouth twitches before a chuckle leaves him. His hand goes back to brushing your hair for a few moments. Fingers trailing your jaw before resting on your neck. “Yeah,” he says, eyes not leaving yours. “Lucky me.”

Your hips roll slowly and you drag the heat of your cunt across the thick line of his cock under the fabric to let him feel every second. The towel bunches around your waist, wet warmth soaking through, It’s darkening his shorts under your weight. His breath hitches, chest rising under your palms, eyes glassy and wide. “You like this?” Calm words slip out as your hips move again. You down hard enough to make him grunt, head tipping back before he catches himself. His jaw tightens, hands fisting in the sheets, knuckles white as he keeps them there like you told him. A muscle in his neck jumps when you grind down again just to let him feel how wet you’re getting. To remind what he can’t touch.

“Feels good, huh?” Your palm presses to his throat. You feel his Adam's apple bobbing when you tighten your palm around his neck, “Bringing me back here. Feeding me. Letting me shower.” His eyes flick up, and his mouth parts like he wants to speak, but your hips press harder. The friction catches your clit, and you can feel the pleasure sparking up your spine. Then a rough sound breaks out of him before he can bite it back. “Oh, you like that?” you mock him through your sweet tone. Lips curling as you watch his eyes flutter. “That's why you brought me here? So you could feel big, feel like the hero, picking up the girl sleeping in her car, washing her, fucking her so you can feel better about yourself?” His breath turns ragged. Hands flexing on the sheets. Hips lifting to chase the drag of your cunt over him.

“You got a savior complex, maybe?” You lean in to let your nose brush his, and your lips hover. “That's it? You like having something to fix?” His breath stutters, and his eyes dart to your mouth. You can see the clear desperation flickering in them. It’s something raw that makes your cunt pulse. “Answer me.” There’s a shaky breath he lets out that can be close to a moan. “Fuck-” Your hand catches his jaw before your thumb goes inside his mouth just to smear his spit across his cheek. “Tell me.” His hips press up again with cock straining under the fabric, and there’s the low groan rumbling in his chest.

“I- fuck, I don’t-” Your hips roll again, slow and hard. Pressing down until you feel him twitch, breath catching, and eyes fluttering shut before snapping open. “Don’t lie.” His mouth falls open, breath warm, eyes wide. “I just-” His voice cracks, throat working. “Fuck, I just wanted to help.” But that’s what makes you laugh loudly. So he’s one of those guys who like to treat girls who look helpless in their eyes like damsels in distress? That’s shocking considering how his Tinder profile makes him sound like a pussy hopper. Just like a person who can’t stay in one town. You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Help, huh? You think fucking me helps?” Hips rolling slowly, you drag your cunt over him until slick soaks through the towel, pressing into the thick line of his cock. A broken gasp slips from him, head falling back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Pathetic,” you whisper, tongue flicking against his ear, and teeth catching the lobe before letting it go. His hips buck desperately, he’s chasing the friction while another rough sound breaking out of him. “Fucking pathetic.” Your hand slides from his jaw to his throat before pressing lightly. His pulse hammer under your palm and you can feel the pressure. His eyes open, wide and glassy, lips parting around a shaky breath. “Fuck- please-” Hips rolling again, you drag your cunt over him, letting him feel how wet you are.

“Please what?” Fingers tighten around his throat, making his eyes flutter, his hips jerking, cock twitching under the fabric. His breath stutters, eyes rolling before snapping back to yours. “Please- let me touch you,” he manages, voice rough and broken. Your smile comes slow, cruel, hips grinding down as the towel slips higher. “No.” You keep rolling your hips, letting him feel every inch. Heavy breath hitches in him when you move closer, put your hand on his chest, and mouth inches away from him. You just keep holding him in place as you continue to grind down and your cunt drags to his cock.

“Careful,” he mutters before his lips brush yours, and his eyes are half-lidded. “You’re acting like you’re in charge.” Smile creeps to your face before your hand slides up to his throat to squeeze it until his jaw clenches and he’s resisting involuntarily. “Aren’t I?” His eyes immediately turn sour and there’s a spark tightening his thighs. You almost didn’t notice how his cock twitched again under the fabric until he thrust up. His mouth frowns for seconds before he tries to grin. “You think you’re scary, huh?” Fingers press harder into his throat, a low grunt breaking from him as his hips jerk. “Say it again,” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw. “Fuck,” he breathes, trying to keep the grin, but it falters when your other hand slips under his waistband, finding the thick heat of him, hard and leaking. Fingers curl around him, stroking slowly, pulling a stuttering breath from his lips.

His head tips back, eyes fluttering before meeting yours. “That's all you got, princess?” Your hand tightens around the base, squeezing until his eyes widen, a strained sound breaking out. “You’re talking a lot for someone about to beg.” Your thumb drags over his leaking tip through the fabric, slick sliding down the length. His hips jerk, hands shifting, but your left hand pins him down, palm firm on his chest. “Stay.” The word lands calmly, heavy. “Bossy,” he mutters, but his voice cracks. A smirk tugs at your lips as your right hand tugs his shorts down, his cock springing free, flushed and heavy.

His hips lift to help, eyes glued to your hand, tongue swiping his lip. “You like this,” you say. Fingers stroking slowly while watching his chest rise and fall and mouth dropping open as you squeeze around him. You keep dragging your hand up to the tip, thumb smearing pre-cum. “Yeah,” he breathes, trying to sound cocky, voice shaking. “So what?” Your hand pauses, squeezing tighter until he hisses. “You think bringing me here will make you feel good, huh?” Your eyes narrow, watching him fight to keep eye contact as you stroke him, slow and steady. His throat bobs, a strained laugh slipping out. “You think too much.” Leaning forward, you let your breath hit his ear while your hand moves faster. The palm slick sound obscene.

“No, baby. I just see through you.” A grunt breaks out of him, hips jerking, hands gripping the sheets, eyes rolling before forcing them open, bratty and desperate. “Fuck,” he bites out, voice rough, cracking as your thumb circles his sensitive tip until he flinches, thighs trembling under you. “You gonna beg for it?” The question lands calmly, your hand steady, dragging him to the edge on your terms. His chest heaves, sweat beading, lips red, and eyes dropping before he rasps out, “Please.”

Grip tightening while you watch him squirm as his cock pulsing in your hand. “Good boy,” you whispered as your thumb brushing over his slit again only to pull a deep broken groan from him. His eyes fluttered with hips stuttering up as you smiled. It makes you slow your hand just to tease him with light strokes and your left hand pressed to his chest. You slide it up to his collarbone before pushing him back against the pillows. His spine thuds softly against the headboard as you climb higher over his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress for balance.

“Don’t,” Patrick warns, but there’s no bite, only the tick of his jaw and the parting of his lips as he drags in a shaky breath when your right hand dips between your bodies, hooking under the waistband of his shorts. “Don’t what?” Your voice stays low, steady, your palm pressing harder against his chest to keep him down. “Don’t touch you? Don’t make you feel good?” The towel slips higher on your thighs while your hand slides under the cotton, knuckles brushing against the thick line of his cock which is obviously already hard. It’s twitching when your fingers curl around him.

His hips jerk and involuntarily buck, which makes him mutter, “Fuck.” Eyes closing for a breath before snapping open. “You think you’re in charge just ‘cause you’re on top?” His words crumble when you stroke him slowly, your thumb brushing under the head before dragging slick down the length. “Don’t need to think it,” you say with your eyes sweeping over his flushed face. Lashes fluttering as your grip tightens, and thighs tensing beneath you. “I am.” He lets out a breathless huff that tries to be a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tries to buck up into your fist.

“You’re not as tough as you act,” he throws back, testing, pushing, wanting to see how far he can go before you snap. Your hand pauses, squeezing until a hiss breaks from his teeth, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. “Keep talking,” you murmur, dragging your fingers down his shaft, shifting your grip to roll over the head, warm and slick, pulling another jerk from his hips. “You like pretending, huh?” His jaw flexes, teeth gritting, eyes burning into yours. “Like acting tough when you’re soaking just from grinding on me-” His voice cracks, thighs trembling when you stroke him again, slow, thumb teasing precum along the head.

“Oh, poor baby,” you cut in. It’s sweet but there’s cut into it. Your hand pumping him faster now, thumb rolling under the head until his breath stutters. “You’re trying so hard to sound cocky while your cock’s leaking all over my hand,” you coo him with your sweet voice but your words are the opposite of sweet. “Fuck,” he breathes, hips twitching up, but you push him down, your palm pressing him into the mattress as you drag it out, stroking him slowly until he shivers under you. “You're gonna tell me you’re in control now?” Your head tilts, eyes dragging over his flushed cheeks, lips parting on a shaky breath as he glances down to where your hand works him under the band of his shorts.

“Look at you,” you whisper, leaning closer until your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Fucking pathetic.” A groan tears from him, low and rough, hips fighting to fuck up into your fist, but your weight keeps him pinned. “Shut up,” he tries, but the words break when you squeeze tighter, twisting your wrist the way you know he likes. “Oh, you want me to shut up now?” You pull your hand back just enough to watch frustration flash across his face, the flush creeping down his neck before you slip your fingers back down to push his shorts lower on his hips.

Hand pulls his shorts down to his thighs and frees himself from the fabric. Cock quickly springs up and it’s flushed, leaking, and twitching. You could feel and see the three happen as your hand gave him a slow stroke from the end of the base up to his tip. Thumb brushing and circling around the slit to smear his precum from there down to his whole cock. His breath hitches, a broken noise catching in his throat as his head tips back against the pillow. “Say it,” you murmur, pumping him slow, eyes locked on his face. “Say you like this.” He shakes his head, but his hips lift into your hand, chasing friction that gives him away. “Fuck you,” he grits, desperate, cracked, the words falling apart when you twist your wrist and drag your thumb under the swollen head again.

Your lips curl, voice dropping lower as you lean in, nose brushing his jaw, breath warm on his skin. “You already did.” Even if he tries his best to keep that smug look on his face, it won’t work because it falters fast when you continue to stroke him again. Your hand is slick and warm while it drags from the base to the tip until his hips continue to jerk and release grunts from his throat. His hands move and tug at the hem of his shirt. He tries to pull it over his head while pinned under your weight. The motion pulled another low, helpless noise from his chest.

The fabric bunches, catching at his shoulders, when you help him push it off his body before he yanks it off to toss it aside. His chest rises and falls, flushed, sweat starting to gather along his collarbone as he shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, kicking them off until they hang at one ankle before pulling them free, leaving him bare beneath you, cock standing hard against his stomach. “Needy,” you murmur, eyes dragging over the lines of his body, seeing the way his muscles tighten under your gaze, the faint tremble in his thigh that betrays him. “Shut up.” Your hand wraps around him again, stroking slowly, thumb brushing over the leaking tip. “Fucking- god, just-” he tries, but it spills out on a groan, head tipping back against the pillow as his hips roll up, chasing your hand.

“You want something?” Your voice stays calm, soft but heated, your gaze dropping to where your hand works him, watching how the head glistens each time you pull back, precum smearing across your palm. His jaw tightens, eyes snapping open, dark and restless, meeting yours with a glare that’s too shaky to land. “Get on with it,” he spits out, trying to sound annoyed, but the breathlessness ruins it. His thighs shaking under you giving him away. You let your hand fall away so you watch his cock twitch. There’s a frustrated sound catching in his throat as you reach for the edge of your towel before you fully dragging it out slowly, since it’s already bunched down and just pooling in your thighs and stomach. You throw the on the floor.

The warm air brushing over your skin and your nipples harden. His eyes drop down too low at your breasts and mouth parting before his eyes look further down at your stomach. Stop at the curve of your hips and the soft skin of your thighs to stare too long. “Fuck,” he breathes out as his hands flex against the sheets like he wants to touch but doesn’t dare. You crawl forward, and your knees bracket his hips. The tip of his cock brushes your inner thigh as you settle over him. One hand wraps around him again to guide him and let the head slide along your slit. It catches against your folds before smearing your wetness down his length. His hips jerk, a broken groan leaves him as the head drags over your clit, forcing your breath to catch, a soft, shaky “Nnh” slipping past your lips.

You rock your hips, slow, letting him glide along your slit again, coating him, your clit throbbing each time the head catches where you’re sensitive. “Please,” he breathes, hands lifting like he’s going to grab your hips but stopping, fingers curling into the sheets instead. “Please, fuck, just-” You tilt your head, rolling your hips again, letting the head of his cock catch at your entrance before pulling back, denying him. “What’s that?” you murmur, low and teasing, eyes locked on his. “You begging now?”

Color rises in his cheeks as his teeth clench, trying to swallow it down, but his hips jerk up, trying to push inside, the head pressing at your slit, forcing a gasp from you before you lift just enough to keep him out. “You’re a fucking tease,” he spits out, voice cracking, the desperation in his eyes giving him away. Your lips curve, leaning down so your breasts brush his chest, your mouth at his ear. “And you love it.” A half-groan, half-laugh rattles from his chest as he shakes under you, your hand guiding him back, the tip sliding along your folds again before catching at your entrance.

You press down just enough for the head to pop in, stretching you. The heat flooding your cunt before you stop. You hold him there, letting him feel how wet and warm you are. His eyes squeeze shut, mouth dropping on a rough, “Fuck-” as his hips try to thrust up, but your hands catch his shoulders, pressing him back into the mattress. “Don’t move,” you warn, voice calm even as your thighs tremble, the stretch making your cunt clench around the tip, your clit throbbing under the pressure. “Baby, please,” he groans, raw and needy. His eyes opening to look at you, it’s glassy, but dark. “Just let me-” You didn’t. You tighten and clench around him. Purposely squeezing him down until his hips can’t help to buck and until there’s a choked noise breaks from his head. Also don’t forget how his head tips back.

“You want it?” you ask while your lips brush his to tease him. Breath mixing with his. Heat is building between you until it feels like it might swallow you both. “Please,” he gasps and hands gripping the sheets until his knuckles go white. Hips trembling under your weight. “Please, please-” The halfway of his cock stretches you as you sink lower- taking him inch by inch. Warmth flooding your cunt with your thighs quivering as you adjust. His breath punches out a broken sound in his throat as his hips try to thrust. He’s desperate to bury himself, but your hands brace on his chest, holding him down. “Don’t,” you say with your voice breathy, even as your pussy flutters around him. Let him wait you as you take your time to sink onto him.

His hands scramble at your waist, fingers digging into your skin, eyes wild and pleading, and sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. “Fuck, come on, just- shit-” You roll your hips, taking another inch before pulling back, making him feel every second of it. His cock throbbing inside you, and leaking against your walls. The wet sound loud in the quiet room as you watch his face. You like the way his mouth falls open, brows pinching, chest rising and falling too fast like he can’t catch his breath. “You’re leaking all over me,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down his chest while your cunt squeezes around him. Dropping a little lower, you take him deeper and pause when his eyes roll back for a second. “Acting like a desperate little bitch.” His hips buck, and a choked moan slips out before he bites it back, shaking his head like he’s trying to fight it, but you see the flush on his face, the twitch of his cock inside you, thick and hard, precum dripping into your pussy.

“Fuck you,” he grits out, but the crack in his voice betrays him. His eyes flick up to yours before dropping to where your pussy is swallowing him, lips parting as his tongue wets them like he’s starving. “You wish,” you sarcastically say as his words are more sound shit right now because he’s really inside of you. He might be a fool to continue to act like a big boy when he’s begging like that. You lift your hips just enough for the tip to drag along your slit before sinking back down slowly. Just the same motion and cycle. You just keep letting your pussy flutter around the thick head to take him deep enough to make your clit throb. His hands grab at your hips to try to force you down, but you catch his wrists and pin them above his head. Leaning forward until your chest brushes his as you let your breath mix with his breathing. “Pathetic,” you whisper, and the way your cunt squeezes around him makes his hips jerk up without permission..

It forces a soft, broken “Ngh- fuck-” from his throat as his eyes squeeze shut, trying to swallow the sound. Keeping him trapped under you while you let your pussy take him slowly. You grind down on the head so he feels how you clench around him, and wetness dripping down his shaft that soaking his skin. His chest heaves, stomach muscles flexing as he tries not to beg, but it shows in the glassy look in his eyes, the parted lips catching every shaky breath. “You like that, huh?” you murmur. Hips rolling in slow, lazy circles so your clit brushes his pelvis, and sparks running up your spine. “Getting used like this.” A weak shake of his head does nothing, lips wet and parted as he chokes out, “S-shut the fuck up-”

“Can’t even take it without whining,” you say calmly, letting your cunt squeeze down again until a groan breaks from his chest. His eyes roll back before he drags them open, looking at you like he can’t decide if he wants to curse you or beg you to keep going. Rolling your hips slowly and deeply as you let him slide in a little further each time. Pussy dragging along every vein, every twitch, and every pulse of precum leaking from his cock. It makes you wetter and lets you take him easier while keeping the pace slow enough to drive him insane.

Your hips sink until you take him fully. Your pussy swallows his cock, squeezing around him and pulling a rough gasp from his throat. His head falls back on the pillows with his jaw tight, eyes shut, and veins in his neck standing out as he tries not to buck up. Heat blooms low in your belly when you grind down, letting your clit rub against the base, making sure he feels how wet you are, how your pussy clenches around him. Watching him, you see the rise and fall of his chest, the flex of his hands against the sheets, the parted lips letting out a soft, broken, “Nngh- fuck-”

“You gonna take it?” Your voice stays low, steady, while you lift your hips to let the head of his cock drag against your walls before dropping back down, filling yourself again, and letting your pussy clamp around him. “Gonna take it like the messy little bitch you are?” His eyes snap open, dark and glazed, mouth falling open as a choked moan escapes, pink flushing down his chest. “Shit- fuck- stop- saying that-” But you see the twitch of his cock, the jerk of his hips despite the words, and the deeper flush when you call him out. You roll your hips slowly as you let him feel every drag and clench while your cunt milks him. His palms are bracing on his chest when he tries to thrust up too fast.

“Leaking like a girl all over my cunt,” you murmur, your thumb swiping across his lips before pressing into his cheek to turn his face up toward you, eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth parted with heavy, gasping breaths. “You like that, huh? Can’t even keep it together.” His teeth catch on his lip, but a muffled “Hnn- ah-��� breaks free, hips lifting in a small, desperate thrust that barely moves him inside you. You feel the throb, the slick leaking around his cock, dripping down onto his thighs. “Say it,” you tell him, dropping your hips hard enough to make him cry out. Cunt squeezing down while you roll your hips slow and deep. You let your clit drag against him while you take what you need, keeping him where you want him. “Say you like it.”

His hands grab your waist. His nails digging in, trying to ground himself, but his head shakes as his eyes tear up and he chokes out, “Fuck- ah- no-” before his voice breaks on a high soft moan. It sounds too pretty, too sweet, and you know he feels it, knows you hear it. “Pathetic,” you whisper before leaning down so your mouth brushes his ear while your pussy clenches around him. You drop your weight, and grinding slow circles. “You’re fucking pathetic.”

A strangled noise punches out of his chest as his cock pulses inside you. A soft, broken, “Ah- nngh-” following as his hips jerk, thighs shaking under you. His fsce flushed and wet while he blinks up with mouth hanging open. You lift your hips to let the tip catch against your slit. Cunt flutters around him so he can feel it, so he can watch you suck him, so he can watch you sink back down to his ball, so he can just milk him, so you can let your clit rub against him until your breath catches and so you can let your thighs tremble.

“See?” Voice drops low and lips tug upwards to a smirk as you watch him. “Can’t even take it without making a mess.” His eyes roll back and a breathless “Mhff- ah- fuck-” spills out as he clings to your hips. He’s trying to pull you down harder, but you keep it slow. You grind into him, letting him drown in it, letting him feel how tight you are, how wet your pussy is, and how you’re using him. You can see how he fell apart. How his lips got more red with the way he bites them, how his chest heaves, and how the sweat made his skin shiny and glassy. It’s actually satisfying to see him like this when most of the guys you meet from dating apps just want to be in control. Well, he was like that from the start, maybe you just have to push the right button for him to flip.

The room fills with the slick sounds of your pussy taking him over and over, and the air thickens with your shared breaths. You know he’ll break soon, know he’ll beg if you keep going, but you aren’t done with him yet. Thighs are already burning but you keep moving. Keep bouncing on his cock so it drags against your walls deep and slow before slamming back down to make him gasp out sounds. His hands clutch your hips, trying to ground himself, but each time you sink down he loses it more. His head falling back, eyes rolling up, and lips parting for those soft broken noises.

“Keep your eyes open.” Your hand catches his jaw, holding him steady as you ride him. Cunt clenching around his cock while you take him so deep you feel him in your stomach. Each thrust sending sparks up your spine. His eyes flutter open, glassy and wet, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, and sweat dripping down his face. His mouth falls open on a ragged, “Hah- hah- fuck-” and you see how close he is. Can see how he’s trying to hold it back, and trying not to cum too fast.

“God, look at you,” you breathe as you roll your hips slowly so your clit rubs against the base of him. You want him to feel how wet you are, and how tight your pussy is just to milk him. “You’re leaking all over yourself… Dripping down your fucking balls, and shaking like this.” A small choked sound falls from his lips while his hips jerk up as he to fuck into you, but your hand slams against his chest. You pin him down to force him to take it your way. Leaning forward, you bring your other hand up, and two fingers pressing against his lips.

“Open.” The moment you said that his mouth parts without question. It’s warm and slick around your fingers as you push them in before pressing down on his tongue just letting him taste your sweat and your skin. His eyes flutter shut while he sucks. He's hollowing as his drool spills out of the corners of his mouth and drips down his chin. You ride him harder to grind your pussy down more against him. But you ride him like a toy. You’re fucking yourself on his cock while your cunt milks him again and again. Every wet slap of your hips fills the room, mixing with his muffled moans around your fingers.

“Fucking look at you,” you murmur with voice low while your breath comes heavy, and sweat dripping down your neck. “Sucking on my fingers like a cock, drooling all over yourself. You want me to think you’re a man acting like this?” A whimper rips out of him. It’s high and desperate. Hips lifting to meet your grind and cock twitching inside your pussy as more slick leaks down to the sheets. His eyes crack open, there are tears beading in the corners. Pupils blown so wide you can barely see the color. Mouth stretched around your fingers while he sucks, messy, and drool mixing with sweat on his lips.

There’s a string of saliva when you pull out your fingers and it connects from his mouth to your palm. You just smear it on his cheek as your hips slam down to take him deep as you can. Grinding your clit against his pelvis while his cock stays buried deep. Your breath catching and heat spilling into your stomach. “Feels good?” Your voice cuts through his messy and needy sounds while your pussy clenches around him. It makes him stutter under you. “Hngh- f-fuck- hah- yeah-” His voice breaks in weak and desperate sounds. Hands clutch the sheets as his hips buck up to try to fuck into you faster. Rolling your hips as you let him feel your cunt dragging over his cock. You’re squeezing him, and milking every drop of precum from his tip. Your clit throbs from the friction. Pleasure building tight enough to make your legs shake.

You watch the way his mouth drops open, the way his eyes roll back, and the way he moans like he can’t stop. It’s clear as a day how far gone he is, also how the control he clings to slips away. You don’t stop or slow down. Just riding him hard, letting him hear how wet you are, how good it feels using him until you get what you want, until he’s whining, and until the only thing he can do is take it. Your cunt squeezes him tight, swallowing every inch as you grind down, the drag of his cockhead hitting just right but not fast enough to get you off. His head tips back, eyes glazed, mouth open, soft whines spilling out whenever your hips drop hard to stuff him deep, pressing your clit down on him. “Look at that,” you hum, voice syrup-sweet and mocking as your hand trails down his stomach, feeling the flex of his abs under your palm. “Your cock’s so hard for me, pretty thing. You like being used, don’t you?”

His answer comes in a stuttering gasp a choked-off, “Ah- fuck-” that gets swallowed by the wet sounds of your pussy sucking him in. It’s obscene, each grind forcing out more slick that drips down his balls. “Mm, you like that,” you coo, rocking down harder to make your cunt clamp around him. Dragging a shiver through his body that leaves his thighs trembling. “Being nothing but a cock for me to ride. That’s all you are, huh? My little toy.” He tries to brace himself, tries to hold your hips, but his hands slip on your skin. Already shaky and weak, his hips stuttering up as he chases your heat. His eyes are wet, lashes sticking together with tears he doesn’t notice. Your nails drag down his chest as you bounce, letting his cock hit deeper, letting him feel how tight and warm you are, how you’re using him to rub your clit just right. The sounds you pull from him are pathetic, sharp gasps and high whines that crack as he loses control.

“Aw, you’re so messy,” you mock, leaning down so your lips brush his ear, letting your breath ghost over his flushed skin. “You gonna cum for me already? Gonna cream like a needy little cunt, huh?” His head shakes with a broken, “N-no- ah- hah-” but his hips jerk, cock twitching inside your pussy. He’s leaking more as you ride him relentless. “Aw, princess, you’re leaking so much,” you laugh. It’s soft and cruel. Your hand slips between your bodies to rub your clit, letting him feel how wet he’s making you. “Can’t even hold it in, can you? Gonna cum for me like a good little pussy, aren’t you?” His mouth falls open on a wrecked, “Nnnh- ahhn- fuck-” before his hips jerk up, cock throbbing deep as he cums, hot and thick, flooding your cunt while he chokes on a sob, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Aw, there it is,” you mutters. Hips grinding as he cums inside. Wrong idea ever since you literally just took a plan B and he just cum inside you again. His cock twitch and his cum spilling out around your folds. It’s dripping down his balls and soaking the sheets. “Good girl. Can’t even control yourself, cumming just from being inside me. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it, honey?” It made him whimper more and his eyes rolled back. You watch as his chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath, but you don’t stop. You keep riding him to let his oversensitive cock stay buried inside, and to let him feel every squeeze and every grind as you chase your own high.

Legs shake under you as his hands clutch the sheets. Tears are streaking his flushed face. Mouth opens for his soft desperate cries whenever your hips slam down to make his cock twitch and spasm. “Mm, so pretty when you cry,” you murmur, voice light and teasing. Nails scratch down his chest while you ride. Making him feel how deep you take him, and how your cunt keeps him in place. “My pretty little toy, so fucking easy, just here to keep me warm, yeah?” The room fills with the sounds of your pussy squelching around him. The slap of your thighs against his, and the soft choked cries spilling from his lips as you keep moving and fucking him through the mess and using every inch of his cock. Your pussy tightens and he bucks up like he can’t help it. Breath stuck in his throat while you stay stuffed full. His cum still drips out around your folds. It’s slick and warm as it slides down his balls every time you roll your hips to use him exactly how you want.

Your hand wanders up his chest to find a nipple to pinch between your fingers before twisting until he gasps. His eyes are squeezing shut, his lips parting around a soft, needy moan that sounds too pretty. “Aw, look at you, sweetheart,” you coo with a soft voice as you lean down to kiss the corner of his mouth and taste the salt of his tears. “All sensitive and messy for me. You like it, huh? My pretty princess, taking my pussy so well.” His eyes flutter open. They’re glassy and dazed. Your mouth dropping when you grind again and your cunt swallowing him down just to empty every inch while he twitches inside you. He’s pressing against your walls in all the right places. Your other hand tangles in his hair to pull his head back so you can see his flushed face, the tears, and the trembling lips when you keep him deep while grinding your clit against his base.

“Keep your hands busy, baby,” you tell him before guiding one shaking hand to your clit and pressing his fingers there to force him to rub slow circles as you ride him. “You’re gonna help me cum, aren’t you, pretty thing?” A breathy whimper leaves him. Hips twitching when your cunt squeezes tighter, the wet sounds loud, and your slick and his cum dripping messily. His brows furrow as he tries to focus. Lips parting around soft, choked noises as he rubs you, his fingers slipping in your wetness, and pressing just right to make your hips stutter.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” you murmur with voice dropping lower as you ride him harder. Just using the drag of his cock to push yourself closer while your clit grinds against his hand. “Such a good little pussy, letting me use you like this.” Your grip on his hair tightens, pulling his head back further so your fingers can press against his throat. It’s enough to make his breath catch and to make his eyes widen. Pupils blown while his mouth falls open on a soft as a desperate moan let out. “Aw, you’re drooling, princess,” you coo, leaning down to kiss him. Tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting him, and swallowing down the broken whimpers spilling out as your cunt clenches again. Milking him while you chase your high.

“So fucking cute, taking it like this.” His cock twitches inside, still hard, and still leaking. The mess of his cum getting pushed deeper with every drop down. The stretch and drag make your cunt flutter. Your clit aching as you grind against his hand. Using him the way you need. Your thighs start to shake when it builds. The heat curling low in your belly while breath catching as you move faster and using the drag of his cock to push you closer. Cunt squeezing him tight as your orgasm crests. “Hah- keep rubbing, baby, just like that-” you gasp. Head throwing back. Your cunt tight around him as slow grind drawing out the wet sound as you roll your hips again. His cock twitches deep as you continue.

Your hips roll harder as it hits you but stay on him. Keep him deep and keep him right where he belongs while your cunt clenches around him. He’s so full inside you it hurts but you don’t stop. You stay there, ride it through, let him feel all of it. The way your pussy throbs. The way it pulls him deeper. The way you keep using him just to make it last longer. A shaky breath leaves you. Thighs trembling as you slow and your hand slide from his throat to his chest. Brushing his nipple to make him flinch, soft whimpers falling from him as he looks up at you. His hair messy from your grip. You don’t get off, don’t let him go and your pussy still holding him deep. Keeping him there while you catch your breath, and your body warm and loose as your cunt flutters around him in soft aftershocks.

“Mm, you did so well for me, pretty baby,” you murmur. Voice soft as you brush hair from his sweaty forehead. Thumb drag over his bottom lip, watching the way his tongue darts out to taste it, and lashes fluttering. You stay on him, letting the mess drip between your thighs while you decide what you want next. Thighs ache in that heavy, good way while you keep yourself settled, his cock still tucked deep, warmth spreading where your bodies stay joined. He’s not fully hard, not soft either, stuck in that sensitive pulsing that makes him twitch when you shift, when your cunt squeezes around him without warning, pulling soft whimpers from him.

His chest is warm under your palms. Light dusting of hair catching on your fingertips as you drag them down over the rise of his pecs to the softer plane of his belly. It goes down to where you’re taking him, and where you’re keeping him. You lean down and let your lips press against his chest, kissing flushed skin and your tongue swipe across his nipple before sucking it into your mouth. Patrick shudders and a choked “hah” catches in his throat. Hips jerking up under you so he can push deeper, even though you’re already so full. His nipple hardens under your tongue as you bite down softly.

It’s enough to make him gasp, to make his eyes flutter. Wet lashes stick when a tear slips down his cheek “Easy, princess,” you whisper against his skin. Letting your breath fan over the wet spot your mouth leaves. Your lips find his other nipple, giving it the same slow attention, and teeth tugging before letting go. “So pretty when you let me have you like this.” Lifting your head. You catch his face- look wrecked and pink, lips parted, spit and tears making him look soft and sweet. His eyes find yours while his tongue flicking out to wet his lips again. A shaky breath leaving him when your pussy clenches around him, and keeping him exactly where you want him.

“Please,” he tries, the word breaking in the middle, a small, high sound. His hands come up shaky, pressing against your waist, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing under your tits. You swipe your thumb at the tear sliding down his cheek before bringing it to your lips. Sucking it off slowly while keeping your eyes on him. His breath hitches, tongue flicking out, and eyes dropping to your mouth like he wants to kiss you. “Want something, sweet girl?” you ask teasingly as your thumb presses against his bottom lip. You drag it down until his mouth opens for you. You lean forward and spit into it, watching his eyes flutter as he swallows it down with a needy whine.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Voice cracking as his hips shift, his cock pressing into that sweet spot inside, and making your cunt flutter around him. “Don’t-” He swallows while blinking as more tears slip out. “Don’t leave, please.” Your hand cradles his cheek before brushing his hair back where it sticks to his forehead damply. You kiss him slowly. Tongue slipping into his mouth as you make him taste your spit while he sighs into it. He holds you tight like he’s a kid who is scared that he’ll get lost in the amusement park and like he needs you glued with him. You whisper an assurance to him, saying, “I’m not going anywhere, princess,” before kissing him. The kiss is much softer this time like you want him to feel how warm it is when you’re here. “Don’t want me to go?”

He nods desperately, tears slipping down as his chest heaves under you. Hair catching your spit where you kissed him. His cock twitches inside, the mess wet between your thighs, and leaking down his balls. It’s sticky and hot. Your hips shift again just to torture him with the feeling of your pussy each drag of it. Letting him stay inside and letting him stay yours. You kiss along his jaw down to his throat so you can suck a bruise there. It tastes salty while his breath catches a small broken moan slipping out. “Such a pretty baby,” you whisper as your teeth scrape lightly on his skin. “My pretty little princess.” His hands tighten on your waist before pulling you closer to keep you pressed against him. Cunt swallowing him down and keeping him warm. You rest your forehead against his as your breath mixes with his while your lips brush softly. “Stay,” he whispers, shaking. You kiss him again, hips stilling, letting him stay buried inside. “I’m here.” And you stay.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

[rikiszn]

i find a stranger in you. — nsh.r

ꪆৎ ⟢ 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍．

feat. nishimura riki x reader

──── ✦ HURTTTT/comfort , best friends to strangers to lovers , unrequited love , a bit of angst , happy ending

ivy’s note ꒰ঌ ໒꒱: yeah this hurt to write i cried a lil 😓 i love riki sm yall don’t understand

You and Nishimura Riki met before either of you knew how to spell the word forever. But somehow, even as kids, you knew it when you saw it—in the scraped knees he helped patch with bandaids, the pinky promises whispered across living room forts, the way your families blended like they were always meant to.

You were inseparable. Where one went, the other followed.

At sixteen, it was sleepovers and slushies and late-night marathons of the dumbest movies you could find. Riki liked to make you laugh until your stomach hurt. He’d fall backward on your bed in mock agony when you threw popcorn at him, scream dramatically if you even looked like you were about to tickle him.

“Stop—stop! You’re evil!” he’d whine, writhing as you tackled him.

“You deserve it,” you’d grin, pinning him down. “Say you love me.”

“I love you!” he’d cry, still laughing. “You win, you win!”

You always played like that. Like kids. Like nothing could ever change.

And maybe… maybe that’s where it all started to shift.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened—when your heart started catching in your throat just looking at him, or how your chest squeezed whenever he smiled at someone else. But you remember the night clearly.

It was one of those hazy, too-warm summer nights. The air smelled like sunscreen and fading fireworks. He was lying on your floor, scrolling through his phone while you lay on the bed above him, upside down, legs swinging.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, holding his phone up. “You remember Rei?”

Your stomach turned at the name. Of course you remembered her. Pretty. Smart. Soft-spoken. She used to sit behind Riki in chemistry and borrow his pens. You remembered every time he talked about her—because each time, it chipped something off inside you.

“She posted a selfie,” he said, cheeks faintly pink. “I dunno… she’s really cute, isn’t she?”

You didn’t answer right away.

He looked up at you. “Don’t you think?”

And with all the strength you had, you smiled and teased, “God, Riki, just DM her already.”

He laughed, eyes shining. “No way. That���d be weird.”

You swallowed the bitter taste rising in your throat. “Right. Super weird.”

He didn’t notice. He was still looking at her post.

You rolled over, pressing your face into the pillow. And in the silence that followed, the realization hit you like a quiet, cruel wave:

You were in love with your best friend.

With every glance, every word, every breath he took beside you.

And he didn’t know.

The first time you cried after moving into your college dorm, it wasn’t because of the unfamiliar sheets or the sterile air or the fact that everything smelled like other people’s detergent. It was because Riki didn’t pick up your call.

It had only been a few weeks. You were in different cities, different schedules, different lives—but you still tried. You texted him after class. Called him when your roommate went out. Sent blurry pictures of vending machine disasters and a really fat squirrel you named Gary.

He always responded. Maybe not right away, but he did. Usually with “LOL” or “ur stupid” or a voice note of him laughing while walking to class.

But slowly—so slowly it made your heart ache—those moments started shrinking.

Instead of late-night calls, you got short texts.

Instead of “you up?” at 2AM, you got “sorry I fell asleep” at 9 the next morning.

Instead of messy selfies and terrible memes, you got silence.

You told yourself it was normal. College was busy. He had a new major, new friends, new everything. You had your own chaos to juggle too. Exams, labs, clubs, trying to figure out if your roommate was secretly feral.

But the thing about best friends—the kind that grow up tangled in each other’s hearts—is that even silence feels loud.

And yours was deafening.

You sat in your dorm alone the night of your birthday.

Your friends had taken you out, bought you cupcakes, yelled an off-key “Happy Birthday” in the common room while someone filmed it. But the whole time, you were waiting for his name to pop up.

It didn’t.

Not at midnight. Not an hour later. Not even a simple “HBD.”

You stared at your lockscreen like it might magically shift. Like maybe his message was caught in the cloud, waiting to break through the sky.

Three days later, your phone lit up.

riki: sorry i missed your birthday, got caught up with exams. hope it was fun tho :)

Your throat tightened.

That was it.

That was all.

You started replying slower.

You told yourself it was to “match his energy,” but the truth was—it hurt.

You didn’t know how to keep pretending you were okay being just a fading bookmark in his life.

So you stopped texting first.

And he didn’t chase you.

The last photo he sent you was from five months ago. A mirror selfie in a gas station bathroom, grinning with two slushies in hand.

You never deleted it.

Some nights, you still opened it, just to remember what it felt like to be loved in the little ways.

At 19, you woke up one morning from a dream that felt so real you could still feel the weight of his head on your shoulder.

It was nothing special. You and him, just lying under a blanket on the couch, watching a dumb movie. His eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in sleep.

When you reached for him in the dream, he was warm. Familiar.

When you woke up, your chest hurt.

You checked your phone. Nothing from him.

Not in weeks.

You almost typed something—“hey, remember that summer we spent every weekend at each other’s house?”

But you deleted it.

What was the point?

Maybe he didn’t remember it the way you did.

Maybe you were just a chapter he’d already closed.

There were so many almosts.

Almost sent messages.

Almost confessions.

Almost moments when you could’ve said, I think I love you. I think I always have.

But you didn’t.

And now… you don’t even know if you’re allowed to miss him.

You still think about him when you pass the ramen aisle at the grocery store.

When you hear that one song he used to scream-sing in your kitchen.

When you see a stupid TikTok and your first instinct is to send it to him—but your thumb freezes halfway through the motion.

The last time you texted him was months ago.

The conversation before that was even older.

You still scroll up sometimes.

you: i miss when we were like this

riki: like what?

you: idk. us.

He never answered that one.

You pretended it didn’t matter. But it did. It does.

It always will.

Your mom asks about him one evening as she washes dishes, casual and soft.

“Have you talked to Riki lately? Tell him to visit sometime. It’s been forever.”

You dry your hands slowly. “He’s just been… really busy.”

The lie tastes sour.

But what else are you supposed to say?

“He doesn’t talk to me anymore. I don’t think he wants to.”

“I loved him and never told him. Now someone else probably has his heart.”

“I don’t think I know him anymore.”

That night, you write him a letter.

You don’t plan it. You just… start.

It’s 1:12 a.m. Your room is quiet. Too quiet.

And suddenly, the ache inside your chest is too loud.

You open your Notes app, fingers shaking, and type:

I think I loved you even before I knew what love was. Not the way you loved Rei. Not soft and fleeting and sweet. I loved you in the way I remembered the sound of your laugh when I was falling asleep. In the way your name felt like a safe place. In the way losing you didn’t happen all at once—but slowly, like light fading from a room. I don’t know if you ever noticed. But I did. I noticed everything. And I miss you more than I ever let on.

You stare at it for a long time.

Then you close your phone.

You don’t send it.

Just let it sit there—quiet, invisible. Like your love for him.

The next day, you post an old photo on your story.

It’s from when you were both seventeen. Summer. He’s holding a popsicle, mouth open in a laugh, your shoulder against his. Your eyes are squinting. His hand is brushing yours.

The caption is simple.

some people never leave you. even when they’re already gone.

You don’t expect him to see it.

But he does.

And he’s about to shatter everything you thought you’d buried.

It’s a normal day.

That’s what makes it worse.

You’re at the mall with your cousin. Just picking up a dress she pre-ordered. You’re not thinking about Riki. You’re thinking about whether you want to stop for coffee or bubble tea, and if your sneakers are squeaking too loudly on the polished floors.

You’re not supposed to see him.

You haven’t in years.

But fate is a bastard.

You round the corner near the escalator, still laughing at something your cousin said, when your eyes flicker up—

And time stops.

It’s him.

Nishimura Riki.

Older.

Taller.

His hair is longer, a little curlier at the ends. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the hood down, rings on his fingers like he always wanted to wear but never did in high school. There’s a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he leans in to say something to the girl beside him.

And that girl—

Your breath catches.

It’s Rei.

Sweet, beautiful Rei.

She’s tucked into his side like she belongs there. His arm is casually looped around her shoulders. Her head tilts slightly toward him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And it probably is.

Because he’s liked her since you were both sixteen.

Because you remember him whispering her name into the dark like a secret wish.

Because you teased him back then, even as your heart broke in two.

Because she was never you.

You’re frozen for one second too long.

He turns his head slightly.

And his eyes find you.

The smile drops.

His lips part—like he might say something, like he’s about to say something—

But you move.

You walk faster.

Faster.

Like maybe if you just get around the corner, this whole moment will disappear. Like if you don’t let him call your name, you don’t have to hear it laced with someone else’s warmth.

Your cousin calls your name once—confused, trailing behind you—but you keep moving.

Your vision blurs.

You don’t look back.

You don’t want to see if he let her go or if he kept his arm right where it was.

You make it to the parking lot before the tears start.

Not loud.

Just quiet.

Hot, bitter drops rolling down your face as you sit in the back seat and say nothing. Your cousin watches you carefully but doesn’t press. She just hands you tissues and starts the car.

You cry all the way home.

Later, you check your story out of instinct.

You posted it last night. That photo. That caption.

And now?

You see a name under “Viewed by.”

nishimura_riki.

He saw it.

And he saw you.

And for the first time in what feels like forever—his name lights up your phone again.

riki: is that us?

riki: can we talk?

You were seventeen.

And the world was just the right size. Not too big to get lost in, not too small to outgrow. Just a sleepy stretch of late summer air and rooftops you could climb onto with Riki beside you.

It was a Tuesday, but it felt like forever.

You were in his room, your legs across his lap as you both scrolled on your phones in silence. Music played softly in the background—his playlist, the one he always named something stupid like “Certified Bangers Vol. 37.”

He wasn’t saying anything. You weren’t either.

But somehow, it felt like everything you needed.

“You think we’ll still talk like this in college?” you asked eventually, not looking up from your screen.

“Obviously,” Riki replied, like it was the dumbest question in the world. “Why wouldn’t we?”

You shrugged, biting your cheek. “I dunno. People get busy. Make new friends. Grow up.”

He looked at you. And there was a moment—just one—where his face softened in that way it only did when it was just you and him.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said.

You blinked. “Get what?”

He smiled then. Small. Honest.

“You’re my favorite person.”

Your throat closed around a laugh. “That’s lame.”

“Still true.”

You didn’t say anything after that.

You couldn’t.

Not when your heart was thudding so hard it felt like it might echo off the walls.

Later that night, you both snuck onto your rooftop. Just like you always did.

You lay side by side, staring at the stars, close enough that your pinkies were brushing. And even that tiny touch made you dizzy.

Riki turned his head toward you.

“What if nothing changes?” he whispered. “What if we stay like this forever?”

You turned too.

Your noses were almost touching.

You could see the freckles under his eyes. The shape of his lips. The way his hair curled against his forehead from the summer heat.

And in that moment, you wanted so badly to tell him.

That you’d stay like this forever if he asked.

That you’d wait. That you’d follow him anywhere.

That you loved him. Quietly. Constantly. In ways he might never understand.

But instead—

You said, “Then I hope it never ends.”

He smiled.

And you looked away before your heart gave you away.

You fell asleep that night in his bed, his arm slung lazily over your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

And when you woke up the next morning, you pretended it didn’t mean everything.

Because it was simple back then.

Sweet.

Safe.

And you didn’t know that sometimes, the people who feel like home don’t always stay.

Your phone buzzes twice.

riki: is that us?

riki: can we talk?

You read the words again and again like they’ll rearrange into something that hurts less.

They don’t.

You don’t respond. What are you supposed to say?

Where were you when I needed you?

Why now, when I finally stopped crying every time I heard your name?

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting silence speak for you.

He doesn’t message again.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because an hour later, your doorbell rings.

You open the door in a haze, heart hammering and hands shaking.

And there he is.

Riki.

Hair soaked from the rain, face pale, eyes red like he’s been crying in the car. And still infuriatingly beautiful.

You stare at each other.

Time does its cruel little trick again—slowing down, stretching thin.

And he finally breaks the silence.

“I saw the post,” he says. His voice is lower. Rougher. “And the letter.”

You say nothing.

He swallows hard. “You kept that? All this time?”

You look away. “Does it matter?”

“I—I didn’t know, okay?” His voice cracks. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“No,” you say, sharp, bitter, chest burning. “You just never asked.”

That shuts him up.

“I waited,” you whisper. “I waited for months. I texted. I called. I begged the universe to just give me one more day where we were still us. And you didn’t even say happy birthday.”

“I was stupid.”

“You were gone.”

You hate how shaky your voice is. How you still want to reach for him even now.

“You never even fought for me, Riki.”

He takes a step closer. “Because I thought you were fine without me.”

Your laugh is broken. “God, you really don’t get it.”

He runs a hand through his hair, soaked strands clinging to his forehead. “I tried to move on. With Rei. With everything. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when I saw you at the mall—”

You flinch.

“I wanted to run after you,” he says. “I did. But you were already walking away so fast.”

You meet his eyes.

“Because it hurt,” you whisper. “It hurt to see you happy without me.”

Silence.

Then—

“I’m not happy,” he says, so quietly it breaks you. “Not without you. I’m not with her anymore.”

You don’t move.

You don’t know how.

“I still love you,” he says. “I think I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t see it until I almost lost you completely.”

You close your eyes.

“Don’t say that,” you murmur. “Not if you’re going to leave again.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

When you finally look at him again, there’s so much regret in his eyes it nearly destroys you.

“I should’ve chosen you,” he says. “Every single time.”

And that’s what finally breaks you.

You step forward.

He catches you like he was waiting. Like he never stopped.

The kiss isn’t sweet—it’s messy. Wet. Full of teeth and tears and months of aching silence. His hands shake against your back. Yours curl into his hoodie like you’re scared he’ll disappear again.

You pull away, breathless. “You’re late.”

“I know,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

And you want to believe him.

God, you do.

So you say nothing.

You just hold him tighter.

And this time, when he holds you back—

It feels like home again.

The morning sun is pale against your curtains. Barely there. A whisper of light, not quite brave enough to flood the room.

You’re still in bed.

And he’s here.

Riki is lying beside you, on his side, watching you with tired eyes. His hair’s a mess, his hoodie’s still damp at the sleeves, and his face is puffy from all the crying you both pretended not to do.

Neither of you says anything.

Not at first.

Because it’s so quiet.

The kind of quiet where you remember every second of what you said last night. Every broken word. Every trembling kiss. Every “I should’ve picked you.”

You’re not sure what to do with it all.

His voice is low when he finally speaks.

“You still have that candle I got you.”

You blink slowly, turning toward your desk. The half-burned lavender one from two birthdays ago.

“You noticed?”

He smiles faintly. “You always light it when you’re sad.”

You look at him.

And he’s still beautiful.

Still him.

But something’s different now. Something in the way his eyes linger on your face, like he’s scared this might be another dream.

“I thought you stopped paying attention,” you whisper.

“I tried not to,” he says. “It hurt too much.”

You both fall quiet again.

And then he reaches for you.

It’s not dramatic. Just a hand resting over yours. A thumb brushing your knuckles like it’s memorizing you all over again.

“Can I stay for a while?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

A beat.

Then you murmur, a bit shaky. “I don’t trust you yet.”

He nods too. “I don’t expect you to.”

Another silence. Then—

“But I’ll earn it,” he says. “Even if it takes everything I have.”

You stare at him.

And it’s still there.

The wound.

The ache.

The years that cracked you open and left you bleeding in silence.

But so is the love.

Still trembling. Still tired.

But alive.

You roll over slowly, into his arms.

He pulls you close like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

And when you bury your face in his chest, his fingers gently trace your spine like they’re relearning you. Like maybe they never forgot.

“You know what sucks?” you whisper, breath shaky.

“What?”

“I still love you.”

He exhales against your hair. “I know.”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

“And you broke my heart.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life fixing it.”

And maybe that’s what love is, in the end.

Not perfect. Not painless. Not easy.

But two people who came back.

Even after everything.

Even after the silence, the space, the strangers you almost became.

You found your way back.

And this time, you’ll hold on.

[coppersaladstories]

ruin me

rating: X (not for minors) \ 12k words / joel miller x female reader

tags: if you don't like smut and morally ambiguous characters this is not the fic for you. shout out to my tumblr bff who encouraged me to post.

summary: The week before university graduation, your boyfriend and true love Jack Miller breaks things off and you go to a local pub to drown your sorrows. When you see a handsome stranger you decide to shoot your shot, neither of you foreseeing the repercussions. tldr; you accidentally fuck your boyfriend's dad.

PART I: The Ordinary Instant

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant - Joan Didion

Its raining outside, tapping onto the dark street outside the window I'm next to. It feels appropriate for how I'm feeling. Everyone who walks in shakes off the damp, smiling at the servers and following them to booths that litter the cramped space. It's popular with the University crowd like myself.  Cheap eats and beers, dart boards and pool tables on the far side. 

I'm two beers deep when my best friend Emily sails into the pub, her large eyes scanning the space for me and I must look a sight with my body slumped over my drink because her eyes flutter wide as she approaches. 

She wraps me in a floral scented hug and slides into the booth next to me. She pushes back my hair from my face, cupping my cheeks. 

"What the fuck happened?"

"Jack told me he wanted to take a break."

"Oh honey."

Emily orders a wine from the waitress before glaring angrily. Its not directed at me of course, but her vitriol is still enough to make me flinch. 

"That fucker. I'll kill him. When did this happen?'

"Saturday."

For the next ten minutes I verbally vomit all over her. Between sniffles I tell her the following information: 

My boyfriend Jack Miller and I have been together happily for almost a year and last Saturday over cereal and through tears he told me he needed us to take a break. It came out of left field, leaving me stunned and heartbroken.

I tried to understand, sobbed asking what I did wrong. But there was only his arms around me, tears in his eyes and the soft murmur of, "it's not you. It's something I have to figure out. I love you, I'm sorry." 

I was devastated when on Sunday he moved his stuff out of our tiny shared apartment by the university and went to stay at a hotel. It was barely anything anyway since all our stuff was packed up for graduation. 

Oh shit. Graduation.  Our college graduation is tomorrow and I'll have to see him being all handsome and perfect.

Emily listens, getting angrier by the minute. "You're only telling me this now?"

"You always hated him," I say petulantly, "and I thought we'd be back together by now. It's been a week." 

I really did think this would blow over. Jack is the kindest man I've ever met. We bonded over midterms in our junior year and it took him almost a month before he got the nerve to ask me on a date. 

And the thing is, we've been so happy during our relationship. I don't remember even one fight we've had. I've never had a partner this attentive and patient and loving in my life. He's my best friend, the one I can tell everything to. He never gets jealous, never acts possessive and supports me in my desire to be an architect.

Emily is sitting there, sipping her wine looking worried. I hate it when she looks at me like that. 

I look at my sad reflection in the bottom of my drink. Drink me looks warped and drained. 

"I mean, it wasn't that serious, right?" Emily insists. "Only a year."

She's never made it a secret that she doesn't think Jack is good enough for me. Even after a year she says there's something about him that just doesn't feel right. 

But that's because she doesn't know him like I do. Or, like I did. 

"I mean you haven't even met each other's families yet,' she continues. "The most you've done is a few weekend getaways." 

"And they were fun," I say into my drink. 

"You said the sex was boring. Nothing but doggy."

"I like doggy."

Emily rolls her eyes, waving off the waitress coming to give her a fresh water. After an hour of listening to me complain, getting me sober and hugging me until the after work crowd showed up Emily decides to change her approach. 

"Babe, you had that gap right after high school. Three years of travelling and new experiences. Jack is younger, he's not as worldly. Maybe he wants that time."

It's possible that she's right. Jack is three years younger than me. Maybe that's what he meant when he said he wanted to go take a break. Or maybe he just wanted a break from me. 

"Listen. You're hot and smart and if Jack is too dumb to see it, then that's on him."

I shrug my shoulders. The thing is, Jack is a really good guy. He's polite to professors, respectful of my friends, makes sure I'm comfortable with anything we do. He's a gentleman. 

I miss him. 

"You're single for the first time in over a year,' Emily adds with a cheeky wink.  “And you know what they say; The best way to get over one guy is to get underneath a new one."

Emily doesn't really get relationships. Her actual goal is to fuck someone from every county in the world. She keeps a notebook and plans on turning it into a book one day. So this advice doesn't really shock me. 

Thanks to her my tears have dried and I can finally laugh. "Great idea, Em. I'll just fuck the next guy who walks i-"

My voice gets caught in my throat because a tall man like I've never seen before has just walked into the pub with an air of authority that makes me go still. 

A suburban cowboy.

It's the only way I can describe him. Tall and broad with big hands. His arms are muscled by labour not the gym. He wears flannel over a graphite T-shirt with dark jeans that hug his perfect ass. He has that aimless look most men wear when they're out by themselves. The awkward tension of a man who relies on others to take the lead in social situations. 

I see it when he sits at an empty booth across the pub. A waitress comes to take his order and he rubs the back of his neck when she asks him to repeat himself because - "I can barely hear you, handsome." 

Shy. He is handsome though. Plump lips, neat beard, thick waves of brown curls kissed with grey pushed back enough to see his sharp eyes as he glances around the room. 

When they slip to mine in his casual surveillance of the space he noticeably stiffens. He blinks once ... Twice... Then his eyes keep moving. But my heart is fluttering in my chest.

Emily notices my distraction because she glances over her shoulder covertly before she looks back at me with a rakish smile on her pretty face. "You certainly have a type." 

I take another look and have to admit that she's right. This guy and Jack definitely have the broad body in common, though Jack is svelte from his time on the rowing team. Their hair is similar in texture and even the nose is the same sharp shape. 

But their eyes differ greatly. Both are brown, but Jack's are narrow, like he's always squinting. This man across the room has large, soulful eyes that make me flush when they slip past me again. 

"He's so... Broad," Emily says trying to spy on him, pretending to look for the waitress. 

"Mhmm."

"Kinda guy that could fold you like a lawn chair no problem."

I'm trying not to moan out loud at the thought of this man caging me underneath him, my legs over his shoulders as he pumps into me hard and deep.

I need a good fucking. Because yes, it's true, Jack's sex game could use work. He never goes down on me, only really enjoys doggy and his foreplay skills are...lacking. Were. Was. I need to start thinking of him in past tense.

The thought of this older, strong looking man using me to get off is making me flush all over, thighs pressing together. 

 "He's hot but he's kind of old," Emily adds in a murmur over her wine glass. “At least over forty.”

"He's perfect." 

Emily gives me her classic Cheshire cat grin. "Then go get your man."  

I laugh. "Are you insane?"

Emily's face goes grave and she reaches across the table to smooth her hand over my knuckles.

"I know you don't want to hear this babe, but Jack is a hot, newly single guy..." 

She trails off, not looking away from me. I know exactly what she's implying and it makes my stomach sink. But it's also what I need right now.  A reality check that I’m worth more than a man who would toss me aside.

"You're right." 

In any other situation I would never be the one to approach a man, simply out of intimidation. But tonight I rise on shaky legs, throwing my purse over my shoulder and walking to his table. 

I want to push Jack from my mind. I want a man to look at me like I'm desirable. Jack and I had sex so infrequently in the last three months that I cannot for the life of me remember the last time we did it. 

I want a man to touch me with purpose, to fuck me hard enough to forget my pain. I want husky groans and the smack of bare flesh colliding. And I want it from the man across the room. The one nursing his beer and scrolling his phone, unaware that he's radiating energy; a power, a siren song just for me. 

The closer I get, the more I can make out his features. I can see the soft creases at the corner of his eyes, the eleven lines between his thick brows. I wonder how much older he is than me and decide no more than twenty years. 

Fine by me. 

He's attractive in a way that makes men confused and women giggly. It has a bit to do with his good looks but most to do with his energy. I can't really explain it, but it's magnetic. It draws me to him, a moth caught in his deadly glow. 

He's still on his phone scrolling when I finally reach his booth. This close I see the fine dusting of hair along his forearm, the length of his calloused fingers. Working hands. 

He glances up, expecting me to be the waitress and squinting, confused, when it's not.  I lick my lips, trying to tamp down the buzzy sensation in my body, to swallow my own wanton desire. I'm worried my voice will come out as a high pitched giggle or a whimper if I don't. 

"Hello," he greets me politely. His smile is expectant, like he's trying to place if he knows me, waiting for the connection in his mind. 

"Hi," I say breathing slowly, trying to keep my heart rate even. I keep looking at his mouth with the insane urge to take his plump lower lip between my front teeth. 

He's still looking up at me expectantly and I realize I'm just standing there staring at him. I shift closer to his table, hip braced against the wood. His eyes go there, taking in my body, the softness of my voice.

"I saw you across the room," I purr, "and I was wondering if I could buy you a drink?"

It's not a clever line by any stretch of the imagination but I'm not trying to be inventive, I'm trying to direct. A neon flashing sign that points to my pussy. 

Realization hits him now, because he belatedly understands my motivation. I hide an oily smirk when I see the pink crawl up the back of his beautiful neck. He gives a small, disbelieving scoff, eyes moving over to Emily who is enjoying the show from behind her drink. He smirks up at me, a dimple making his smile all the more charming. 

"Think your friend's waitin' on you, darlin'." 

His voice is a honeyed drawl that makes my skin flush. Darlin'. 

I glance over to Emily, giving her a subtle look, a raised eyebrow and squint. The kind we shoot together that speaks volumes, before looking back at him. 

"She was just leaving." 

On cue Emily rises, crossing the pub to pay our tab. I make a mental note to venmo her later. She waves, mouthing- I'll see you tomorrow. I slide into the booth opposite him as she exits. 

"See? Now I'm all yours." 

He gives a throaty chuckle, quiet and warm. Like this whole thing is a joke. He doesn't look away from me though. 

The pub is getting crowded and the space feels warm, verging on suffocating. His phone buzzes and he turns it over, face illuminated by the screen. He frowns. For a moment I feel a flicker of hesitation. 

"You waiting for someone?"

"Not anymore," he sighs, turning off his phone and leaning back to put it in his pocket. "Just cancelled on me."

"Her loss." 

A brow rises. "Who said it was a she?" 

His voice is dark syrup that runs between my legs. I squirm, my eyes not leaving his face. 

"Lucky guess." 

He watches me as I lean forward, cleavage exposed in my shirt. Just a glimpse, a little taste. His eyes flick to my collar and then back. He sucks at his teeth a moment as the silence stretches taut before he relents, the cord snapped. 

"Can I get you somethin' to drink?"

"I asked you first."

He gives me a long look, a disarming one that says don't push it. One that makes tingles dance down my spine. I give a slow smile, lifting one shoulder. 

"I'll have what you're having."

"You sure? S'just Bud."  

I lean back in the booth, eyes dancing as I feign nonchalance. "Fine by me, cowboy." 

Another smile, the dimple deeper this time. Maybe the hint of fresh pink over his cheekbones.

"Cowboy?"

I shrug, smiling toothily. He turns his head to flag down his waitress and I take the opportunity to stare at his neck, admiring the tendons that jut as he moves the sharp of his jaw under a beard kissed with grey. 

She approaches with a breathless smile, breasts bouncing under her thin shirt. She's here for tips and I can't fault her for that. But I'm watching the man, noting with a relieved pleasure that his eyes remain on her face. 

"Could I bother you for another Bud, darlin'?"

Darlin'. I love how he says that. 

"Sure thing," she says with a flutter of thick lash extensions. 

She thinks he's handsome, snagged by that same inner confidence that makes my nipples strain underneath my shirt. She leaves with a gaze over her shoulder and I look back at him, trying not to fixate on his lips. 

"I like your accent," I tell him when it's just us again. "Texas?"

"Born 'n raised."

I make a humming noise as the woman returns to bring him the beer. She gives me a pointed look, curious if we're together. Maybe she's calculating her tip. 

"Can I get you two anything else?" She asks. 

"Naw, we're fine, thank you," he says with a warm smile. That's part of his charm, I think. The way he can look and sound so genuine. He waits until she walks away before speaking again. "How about you? Where're you from?"

"It doesn't matter." 

The man blinks slowly, a cat in a sunbeam. "No?"

"No."

He shifts in his seat, fingers wrapped tightly around the bottle neck of his own beer, dwarfing it. It sweats under his thick digits. 

"M'name's Joel," he says raising the beer bottle to his damp lips. 

I let the name drip onto my tongue, sugar turning to honey. Joel. His smile broadens, tempered with a touch of confusion when I don't reply. 

 "You gonna give me your name, sweetheart?"

"Does it really matter what my name is?"

"Doesn't it?"

I shake my head slowly from side to side before raising the lip of the bottle to my lips. The tip of my tongue comes to swipe the tip. His eyes track my tongue, watching the pink muscle dart to lick the shiny rim. His lips have parted and I see before I hear the hitch in his breath. 

"I'm married," he says in a rush, like he's hoping it'll make up for not bringing it up before. 

I don't miss how his eyes trace the curve of my mouth before peeling away. I should pack up and leave right now. The last thing I need is to get caught up with a married man. But something compels me to stay. 

"Where's she tonight?"

He leans back in the booth, wide arms crooked, elbow balancing on the cracked faux leather. 

"Back at the hotel." 

“Hotel?”

“We’re just in town the weekend.”

“Why brings you so far from home?"

"Does it matter?" he teases gently. He grins when I snicker softly, like he's proud of himself. 

"Touché."

Another soft chuckle, a subtle smirk. His lips part again, dark pink and plush. I long to kiss them, to nibble them

“And why is she at the hotel instead of having dinner with you?”

“Migraine. She get em sometimes.”

"That's too bad," I tsk while not caring in the least. I begin licking the cheap beer from my lower lip, glancing down at his broad hand around the bottle.  "You don't wear a ring."

"I work in construction. S'a safety thing."

My thighs clench when he says that and I don't know exactly why. Perhaps it's the masculinity of the job, or the knowledge that he works with his hands. 

A group of college boys laugh loudly in one of the booths, braying over something on their phones. Joel's attention darts there, watchful before crawling back to me. 

I survey his handsome face, watching his face turn from amused to curious

"Ain't you a little young to be flirting with a man my age, darlin'?"

What is his age? I realize I don't give a shit how old he is. My body is pulsing with want at this point and I feel like his aftershave is seeping into my pores at this point. 

I fold my hands flat on the table, breasts leaning over them as I tilt forward, dropping my voice. This next part is just for Joel. 

"I don't really care how old you are, Joel."

He swallows thickly and blinks when I say his name. Like he likes the sound of it rolling around in my mouth and feels bad about it. 

"You're the sexiest man here all I can think about is how much I want you to fuck me." 

His eyes blink faster this time, his entire body stiff. He watches me like he's waiting for the punch line and when none comes his brows draw together. 

"You serious?"

I nod, not even the tiniest bit ashamed. I feel like I've just plunged into an ice bath. Rejuvenated, alive, awake for the first time in a week, maybe even longer. But Joel is still wearing that mask of wary apprehension. 

"I told you I'm married."

"If that mattered to me I'd have left."

He shifts in his seat again and I watch the bob of his pebbled neck. "It matters to me."

"If it did you never would have bought me a drink." 

It's a gauntlet thrown at his feet but he sidesteps it, face impassive as he looks at his drained beer.

“I was bein" polite."

"No, you were acting on desire. It's the same reason I came over to talk to you in the first place. Because the moment I saw you I knew what you could give me."

The music drifts over our heads and the braying table of college boys fades as they get up and leave. With them gone the pub is back to its easy, relaxing atmosphere. Couples and groups eat fish and chips and cheap beer. 

"Or maybe I read this wrong and you were just flirting with me. Maybe you wanted to have a little harmless fun," I say by way of an exit route. 

But I lace my fingers in front of me and prop my chin atop the knuckles, looking coy and playful. 

"But I don't think I read this wrong, did I Joel?"

I can feel him debating, the guilt like cobwebs around his face. I watch him lick his lower lip, fiddle with the label on his beer and I know that he's interested to see where this goes. 

But still there is that lingering hesitation, tighter than the non-existent ring on his left hand. His eyes go to the window, watching the droplets of rain cry down the panes of colorful glass. 

"S'raining pretty hard," he says quietly, jaw tight. "Lemme drive you home."

I give him a broad smile before sliding out of the booth and looking at him expectantly. 

"Where are you parked?"

_______________________________________________

It's still raining when we leave the pub, a drizzle that sticks to my cheeks and eyelashes. I'm surprised when he takes my hand, large and dwarfing mine. It's warm, so warm I forget there's rain at all. 

When we both load into the cab of his truck I clock the way that it smells like pine. That artificial scent from the air freshener he has hanging from his rear view mirror. It sits alongside a small laminated photo of a young boy with a baseball bat.

"This your kid? He's young."

Joel looks at my finger tracing the laminated photo. 

"S'an old photo," he mutters before he leans over and removes it from around the mirror with a wince. 

I watch him shove it hastily in the glove box, mouth set in a line. Plump mouth tamped thin with what? Irritation? Or more likely, guilt. He doesn't want the reminder that he's a husband, a father. I can't say I blame him. 

The rain is tapping down, a plip that makes the silence feel full. I relax into the seat, eyes on him. The rain has made his waves turn into loose curls that fall into his forehead. His lips are shiny, shoulders of his flannel damp. 

He's facing the windshield, eyes downcast. He doesn't make any attempt to start the truck. He knows that's not what this is and yet he makes no movement. 

This isn't what he does, isn't the kind of man he is. I can almost hear that thought running through his mind over and over. Like he needs to convince himself he's still a good guy even though he has a young woman in his car, her nipples visible through her damp shirt, her want written all over her face. 

"I don't know what I'm doin'," he says right on cue. "This isn't... This..." 

He trails off before taking a shaky inhale.

I want to tell him this is only a few stolen moments in time, crystallized by our memories, made shiny every time they are replayed. That after tonight we’ll never see one another. That this makes me feel calm, knowing that this won't drag out. No awkward run-ins at markets, no avoiding eyes at the pub. 

I slide a little closer to him across the bench seat, watching his nostrils flare as I approach. 

 "Do you think I'm attractive?"

"Course I do. Look at you."

He flinches, embarrassed at the ready admission, like he'd been thinking about it all along. Long before I took the seat across from him. Maybe the minute our eyes first connected. 

The rain is falling heavily, momentarily distracting when we hear squeaks and voices coming from the entrance to the pub. Some soft version of stairway to heaven greets us. 

Joel's eyes dart around, concerned. 

"No one can see," I assure him, smiling serenely. I motion to the windshield which is now drowning in rain, shielding us. "You parked in good spot." 

He turns his head and his dark gaze locks onto mine. The windows are fogged from our breath, the air thick with anticipation. I want to be direct now, I’m growing weary of this reticence on his end. My voice goes smooth and my eyes smoulder.

"Do you have a condom?"

He hesitates, face dropping. "No. Shit, no, i didn't-"

"-didn't think you'd be fucking a woman in your truck?" 

I say it to lighten the mood but instead this silences him, the harsh vulgarity of what's happening between us spoken aloud. He frowns, fingers going to curl around his steering wheel. I watch him turn the key in the ignition almost violently and the radio glows to life playing some country ballad I'm not familiar with.

"I'm drivin' you home." 

He says it with conviction, like he could almost believe it himself. And yet, five quiet minutes later we remain seated there with the truck on and he makes no move to put it into drive.Instead, he's clenching his teeth, gaze fixed on the windshield as the wipers go back and forth in a strangely hypnotic dance.  

My fingers twitch in my lap and for a long while I just stare at the space between us, then at the dark denim stretching across his thigh, the fray near the seam, the way the tendons in his forearm flex every time he exhales.

There is so much of him I want to touch and so I slowly move my hand. I drag it from the hem of my skirt, over the faux leather seat, until it rests just beside his leg. Joel's eyes stay on my hand the entire time. 

He doesn’t flinch, but I see his jaw tighten. I wait one long breath before I let my pinky graze the side of his jeans, feather-light, just testing. His leg shifts slightly under the contact, like he’s trying not to lean in. 

I press my hand more firmly against him. The heat of his body seeps through the fabric, and underneath it, the slow swell of something undeniable. He’s getting hard. His thigh tenses beneath my palm, and when I curl my fingers slightly, I feel it: the guilt, the arousal, the war playing out in his body.

He turns the engine off and shifts in his seat like it’s a physical ache, his hips barely moving, but it’s enough to press him closer into my hand. When I slide my palm higher, his cock twitches through the denim, thickening with each slow second. A rough breath escapes him, half growl, half groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, like he’s scolding himself. But his hand drops from the steering wheel, grazing my wrist. Not pushing me away, just grounding himself. His fingers curl once, then let go.

He wants this. He hates that he wants this. But the more it scares him, the more turned on he gets. And I can feel every ounce of it right there under my palm hot and hard and throbbing.

"Should stop," he mutters, eyes still focused on my hand stroking him through the denim. 

The leather seat creaks under the shift of Joel's weight as I withdraw my hand, placing it back in my lap. Not finished, but waiting. 

He's debating; I can see it in his uneasy expression, the tic in his strong jaw.

 It reminds me of Jack when he was in one of his quiet moods. 

Jack was the quiet kind, someone who was more at home playing video games with all our friends instead partying. He was a deep thinker, philosophy class was one of his favourites. It's probably what led to our sudden breaking off, he'd likely been ruminating on it for weeks and I was none the wiser. 

Joel's fingers twitch around the steering wheel and I'm brought back to the now. I remember what this was all for. Or, why. To forget, to replace an internal pain with an external distraction. 

"You know why I came over to you, Joel? Why I picked you out of a roomful of men?"

He tightens, classic male ego rearing is head when he chances a look my way from the corner of his eyes. But it's softer, more sincere, like he really wants to know not to bolster him but perhaps to remind him. 

He shakes his head. No. 

"Because I could tell you were the sort of man that knows what he wants." My head tilts, serious and coquettish all at once. "So what do you want Joel?" 

His hand is still on the steering wheel as if he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

His eyes flicker between my mouth and my eyes, like he’s memorizing both, burying it deep and hidden for a later inspection.

 I hold my breath and wait for his reply when he finally, mercifully twists to look me in the eye. And it finally arrives between breaths, husky and low. 

"I wanna make you cum." 

It's simple and direct and he says it with both the quiet confidence and lingering shame of a man who knows what he wants and knows he shouldn't. 

My eyes trail down his neck, travelling down his midsection, stomach and then focusing on the bulge in his jeans, the damp spot at the tip. 

Delighted, I gently tilt back until my spine hits the passenger door, the back of my head against the cool glass. In silence my fingers come to the buttons of my jeans, popping them open with subtle flair. 

Joel breathes deeply through his nose, eyes unable to stop the journey my fingers are taking as they slip under the waistband, sliding the jeans off down my body. Joel's hands flex in his lap, throat bobbing as he watches me peel the damp jeans from my body, tossing them into his back seat. 

My shirt is lifted in slow increments, breasts heavy and nipples puckering as I peel the fabric from my body, tossing it to join the jeans. 

His gaze is searing, warming each part of my body that he takes in as I exist there in just my panties before moving to my knees, sitting primly. 

A sex goddess, a gift, a temptation. His damnation. Objective proof that love isn't real isn't lasting. I was dumped, he's married. Love is a delusion. 

He stares at me, eyes fixed on my bare tits, the pinch of my waist, the plush of my hips. He groans softly. 

I've never had sex with a stranger, never fucked a man twice my age in a truck, but with Joel it feels safe to do, with his ravenous gaze it feels exciting.  

He wets his dry lips, eyes moving between my thighs. He can see the damp spot that I myself can feel. He speaks almost to himself, husky and transfixed. 

"I just know you're sweet."  

When he says this he wets his lips again and stares at me with eyes so beautiful i feel like I'm in a trance. 

I know that he wants to go down on me, to make me cum on his tongue and for a moment I think about it, imagine myself arching my cunt against his mouth. But I also think about how cramped it’ll be, the angle awkward. I think about how he'll want reciprocity and that's not what I want right now. 

No, what I want from Joel is quick and dirty. The kind of thing I've never been given from the sweet and gentle Jack. 

I smile delicately, moving with quiet grace across the bench seat. He tracks my movements with his eyes, the rest of him held stiff.

His body is fully clothed, still in his work jeans, his shirt open at the collar, sleeves shoved up to the elbows. But I can see his cock is still hard in his jeans, stuffed to the left, strangled by the denim. I press my chest to his shoulder, lips curling as my breath huffs against his neck. 

"I wanna ride you cowboy," I murmur, lips grazing his jaw. "And I don't want you to be nice."

He takes me by surprise when his hand jerks from the steering wheel and cups my jaw, rough and demanding before his mouth crashes into mine.  Our lips collide, open, searching, messy and I taste the remnants of his beer, the salt of his skin, the low sweetness of something buried deep in him. 

His tongue finds mine slow at first and then drives deeper, more desperate, until he’s devouring me. His stubble scrapes my chin and I finally give into my earlier temptation when my teeth catch his bottom lip and tug. The low growl he lets out lights a fire in my blood.

I moan into his mouth and it’s all he needs. 

He's strong, not that it's a surprise. But his agility strikes me when his hands grip my hips and haul me into his lap. 

I straddle him, thighs open wide, my knees bracing against the door and console, my hands in his hair, tugging like I’ll lose him if I let go.

He feels intense against me with his rough denim and flannel and all hard muscle barely restrained. Every part of him is solid, tense, like he’s holding himself back, but his hands on me are shaking. 

The contrast between us makes me dizzy. My thighs are bare where they wrap around him, skin meeting the scratch of his jeans with every shift of my hips. My panties are the only thing I’m wearing, and they’re soaked through, clinging to my folds, useless. 

Every move sends sparks across my nerves; his belt buckle cold when it brushes my stomach, the edge of his shirt damp where our bodies meet. 

His hands span my hips like he owns them, thumbs pressing into skin, fingers curling under the band of my underwear like he’s tempted to tear them off but can’t bring himself to yet. 

And when I move to break our kiss as I grind down on him, slow and steady, he can only stare at me. He looks fucked-out already, mouth swollen from kissing. 

He groans low in his throat, his jaw tight, and the muscles in his arms flexing where he holds me in place. And still, he’s trembling. Not from weakness, but from restraint. His breath stirs the hair by my ear as he groans again, arms tightening around me.

We grind together like its instinct, his hips lifting into mine, my centre sliding against him again and again. The friction makes me gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound with another kiss, this one hungrier and dirtier. Our tongues tangle, lips slick and swollen. 

His hands are everywhere; one fisted in my hair and the other roaming over my ass, gripping hard as he rocks me forward.

“Shouldn't be doing this," he whispers but it's half-hearted, barely any energy behind it. 

I pretend I didn't hear him, tugging my panties to the side instead. I can feel the tension coiled in his body like a spring, every part of him radiating heat when his eyes fix there, watching me drool for him. A dark spot expands on his jeans. 

"I wanna cum for you, Joel."

My fingers slide down, landing on my perky clit. She's swollen with need, slick like a kidney bean in oil. When I rub her gently i keen, eyelids fluttering. Everything about this experience is heightened. 

Joel watches me play with myself for a moment, breathing heavily with his mouth open. I realize between groans that he's watching to see how I touch myself, learning my body like a map. 

My head is tilting back when I feel his fingers come to slide up the seam of my pussy, trembling with need as his digits meet mine. He nudges my fingers out of the way with his own, thumb tapping my clit, the other two sinking into my cunt. 

"S'okay," he whispers when I whimper a little. "I'm gonna take care a'you now." 

His fingers sink deep, curling and rubbing. I buck into his palm just in time for him to withdraw and do it again, and again, and again. 

He smells like warm after-shave and sweat, like a man who works with his hands and hasn't let himself feel anything soft in a long time. But I know I am because he tells me so through groans. 

"So fuckin' soft." 

I've never been fucked like this, thick fingers that fill me better than Jack's cock thrusting into me harshly up to the knuckle, veined forearms flexing as he repeats "uh huh just like that" while watching my face.

The illicitness, the scent of my pussy, the rain on his skin and the knowledge that we could be caught is a heady mix.  There’s a noise deep in his throat, almost a growl, and it sends a thrill down my spine. 

His free hand crawls up and wraps around my throat. Not tight, just enough to let me know he’s in charge now and I allow it. His thumb presses lightly under my jaw, tilting my face up. His eyes are dark, unwavering and hold mine in a way that makes my whole body go still.

“Open,” he says, low and rough, not a question.

I nod as best I can with his hand at my throat. I tilt my head back, eyes half closed. He watches as my lips peel back, jaw hinging open and without warning he leans in close, breath ghosting over my lips and spits in my mouth.

It’s bold and lurid and I feel my cunt tighten around his fingers as he does it. My body lights up like it’s been wired wrong, heat unfurling everywhere.

"Swallow."

I do, giving a filthy smile that he returns. I look at the blacked out look in his eyes, the way his face is dancing with the shadow of the rainfall outside. 

He watches me with that same steady, unreadable gaze, like a shark, his hand never moving from my throat, thumb still resting right over my pulse

And then he squeezes, softly, the perfect pressure to make my head go floaty without being uncomfortable. 

"Now cum." 

I grind against his fingers and he begins to finger me faster, thick digits pumping in and out in a fever, watching my face as I start to crest. 

The sound is filthy, wet snaps that distract me from the fact that I'm fucking a married man in his truck. It helps me forget that I was ever in love with Jack. 

Joel watches his hand wrapped around my throat, my breasts that bounce for him and my soaked cunt as I ride his hand and I see an inferno of emotion in his needy gaze. 

"C'mon now," he orders huskily. "Give it to me."

His lips part, breath hot and uneven as he watches me begin to cum on his fingers, my cries cracked and low as my brows saddle.  

"Uhuh, uhuh there she goes."

I cum hard, the slick noise overwhelming as he continues to thrust his digits into me, palm grinding against my clit until I shudder, pushing his fingers from me from over sensitivity. 

"Atta girl," Joel says to me with a crooked grin. His cheeks are pink and his dark curls are damp at the temples. 

We sit there panting, smiling shakily at one another, like we can't believe what we've just done. Joel's fingers, still slick with my arousal come to pinch my chin and drag my lips to his. 

"Sweet little slut," he murmurs against my mouth like its affection. Maybe to him it is. Whatever it is, it makes my pussy flood. 

Joel’s eyes stay locked on mine, even as my hands go between us, palming him through his jeans, greedy and unashamed.

I stroke him through the denim, fingers dragging up the thick line of him. His head drops back against the seat, jaw clenched, throat tight. He’s so hard it makes my mouth water.

“You’ve been like this a while,” I whisper, wrapping my fingers around the shape of him through the fabric as he hisses. 

His eyes cut to mine, sharp and full of heat. 

"Since you sat down at my table." 

I feel my cheeks heat as I look away, delighted and flattered. I know he doesn't mean physically, but still, I suddenly feel shy. 

“You knew what you were doing,” Joel says, voice low and steady, like it takes effort to keep it there. “Lickin' that beer bottle, pushing up your tits."

"You wanted me then?"

It's a tease, an opportunity for flattery, attention from a handsome man as my the love of my life begins walking a new path away from me. 

"I wanted you the minute I walked in and saw you." 

His admission is quiet and intimate. It sends a bolt of heat straight through me. We're past pretense, past shame. I've come on his fingers, swallowed his spit. My thighs clench around him as I rub harder, slower. I feel him twitch beneath my palm, and it makes me want to push him further. Make him lose that composure.. 

"I want this," I tell him simply, mouth brushing his as I squeeze his cock through the denim. "Please, Joel."

There’s something raw in his gaze, something that cuts through the heat and lands low in my belly. And maybe guilt is there too, flickering just behind his pupils. But right now, it’s buried under the weight of our combined lust. 

"I don't have a condom," he reminds me, a devastated look growing on his face as he remembers.  

"I don't care," I tell him, tongue tracing his lower lip. "I'm on the pill."

His breath stutters against my mouth, one hand gripping the back of my neck, the other sliding down, fumbling with the fly of his jeans. It's stupid and risky. We both know that, but we don't stop. If anything I'm excited to feel him bare. 

I feel the shift beneath me, the subtle jerk of his hips as he frees his cock. The air inside the truck heats when I let out a soft sigh. 

His cock is large, the head blushing pink and beading with pre-cum. I stare at it with my mouth watering. With the deftest of touches I trace the underside of the head, revelling in the shiver and muffled groan that draws from him. 

I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide, lips red from kissing me too hard. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, something feral simmering under the surface.

"Thought you said you were gonna ride it,” he says, low voice wrecked. It's a challenge, it's a dare, it's desperate hope from a man who clearly needs this. 

I smirk. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, the word breaking out of him like a confession when I position my folds atop the head of his cock. I rub back and forth slowly, letting his bulbous head graze against my clit. 

I don't break his gaze when I let the thick head of him breach my cunt. It's easy; I'm so wet, so ready that we both groan as it happens. 

His hand moves between us, low and urgent and I feel the heat leech off of him, the barely restrained tension radiating off his body as he begins to rub my throbbing nub again. 

The heat between us is molten now, too thick to breathe through, and when I brace my palms against his chest and lift myself just enough to sink down onto him fully it's like everything stops. 

My breath catches at the contact. Bare he's so warm, so silken. His eyes gaze back at mine, breath hot and steamy, fogging the windows. He stretches me slow, thick and steady. I feel myself clench around him instinctively, my body gripping him like it already knows this is borrowed time.

I let out a broken sound and he grits out something low under his breath. It might’ve been my name or just a groan that got strangled on its way out.

I don’t move at first. I just sit there; full, stunned by the way it feels. He's so thick, the biggest cock I've ever taken. 

He's breathing heavily, mouths inches from each other. In and out. In and out until our breaths sync up, until we're breathing as one. 

"So goddamn pretty sittin' on my cock," he pants, muscles tensing as he holds himself back from thrusting up. 

He's watching my body, letting his eyes travel the length of my exposed flesh. I imagine him taking mental snapshots. Moments that he'll keep, bringing them out to furtively stroke his cock to, back in his suburban life. 

His hands have moved to curve around my ass, kneading the cheeks as I begin to move. He still hasn't touched my tits and I feel like it's because he doesn't know how far to push things. He's waiting for me to take the lead in this area. 

My hands cover his, urging them to cup my tits as they jiggle for him. I smile when his head immediately darts forward and his puffy lips latch over one waiting nipple, my head tilting back as he begins to suck.

I've never been one to get off on nipple play, but the attention is nice. Jack really loved sucking on them too. I feel it, the graze of Joel's teeth. They close around my left nipple and nibble lightly. Bolts of arousal hit me everywhere, lightning in my body. I shudder, gasping.  

His dark eyes raise to mine immediately, nipple popping from his mouth in concern. It's wet from his saliva, throbbing.  

"Don't stop," I tell him through whimpers. "It's so good."

He grins, eyes still on me as he takes the other into his mouth, warming it with his hot tongue before he nips that one too. 

"Keep makin' those sounds," he groans when I whine again.  

His large hands span my shoulder blades, pulling my chest against him. And for the next ten minutes Joel tastes my nipples, he licks them and he nibbles them and gives them loving attention while I roll my hips.

We stop only when the sound of drunken laughter and the beep of an unlocking car door sounds nearby.

You said you were buying.

Next time I swear.

Asshole.

Joel's cock still throbs inside me, not softening but he pulls his head back abruptly. I whine at the loss. 

We can hear the muttered voices of friends so close I think I can see their blurry shadows through the rain. 

It was so good to see you 

We gotta do this again

Yeah but remember your wallet

Soft laughter tempered with booze rings out. I'm sure it's their shadows I make out and something about the knowledge that I'm here getting fucked by Joel in his truck and they have no idea, turns me on. 

 I feel his panic when I shift my hips, thighs widening.

"Stop," he whispers anxiously, dark eyes darting to the side of the truck. "They're close." 

I rise up, fingers curling around his broad shoulders as I clench my pussy around his twitching length. 

"I told you, I'm riding you, cowboy,"' I purr before slowly sliding my pussy down his cock. 

His head drops back against the seat with a guttural sound, jaw tight, chest rising fast. "They'll ... Hear."

"Let them," I gasp when my ass hits the top of his thighs. I roll my hips, amused when he closes his eyes and inhales shakily through his nose. 

After a moment of watching Joel fight the internal war of stopping or starting, I lean in and begin kissing down the line of his throat, feeling it flex under my tongue. 

"Let them hear, Joel," I tease huskily. "Let them hear what you do to me. Let them hear how wet I am for you."

His eyes crack open and go between us watching how stretched I am, how arousal soaks the dark curls at the base of his cock. 

"Christ," he spits between thrusts. "Look at her." 

I preen as I curl my hips. Joel can't stop looking at my glossy cunt, can't stop biting his plump lower lip.

"Prettiest fucking pussy," he grunts, watching the slick of it slide up and down his thick length. 

Maybe it’s because he’s married. Maybe it’s because I know this can’t happen again. Maybe it’s the heartbreak I haven’t admitted to anyone, the raw bruise I’ve been carrying like a secret. But it all crashes together inside and turns into a kind of pleasure I’ve never tasted before as I start to bounce on his cock.

His fingers find my throbbing clit, sorely neglected the past few moments. I'm dizzy with sensation, my nails digging into his shoulders as I rock against him. I whine his name, not even sure why I'm doing it, just that I need to.  

"That's right, darlin'," Joel groans against my jaw, no longer worried about being caught. "This cock is yours tonight. You ride it how you need." 

Every inch of him drags against something sharp and sweet inside me. Every thrust is a reminder that this is real, even if it’s fleeting.

He wants me. He wants me. He's grunting that I'm so good, my pussy is so fucking good. Pleasure builds and desperate for an angle that will hit just right, my hand flies out, palm smacking against the foggy window as I bounce. 

"That's right, that's right," Joel pants, watching me start to unravel. "Fucking ride it, baby."

I cum out of nowhere, overtaken by his words, his attention, his desire. My cries are loud and sharp in the cab of the truck. He watches me with his mouth parted, breathing hard, his brows pulled tight like he’s in pain from how good it feels.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead against mine again, his voice low and desperate. But he doesn’t finish. 

He just kisses the hollow of my throat as I rut my hips. I feel him shudder beneath me, his body tight with restraint. And I know that it isn’t enough. I need to know what he sounds like, what he looks like when he cums.  I need to be the one that does it to him.

“Fuck me, Joel,” I whisper.

And despite me being the one to take the lead it's Joel who starts to bounce me furiously on his cock, grunting and gritting his teeth. 

"So fuckin' tight for me," he groans, his fingers dimpling my hips.

It's like I'm his own personal fuck doll, bouncing and whining for him. My hands move to his biceps, holding tightly as he fucks up into my pussy, bouncing me along his cock as he tells me to ride it faster.

"S'so big," I slur as his cock slams up into me, spearing me. Pleasured tears spring into my eyes. 

He gives a breathless laugh, like he can't believe this is happening, that I'm here and that his touch is doing this to me.

“This what you needed?” he rasps. “Huh? You needed to get fucked by a stranger’s big cock?”

I make a sound halfway between a moan and a yes. 

I think about asking him who's tighter, me or his wife. I want to remind him that he's married, fucking some co-ed in his truck. I want him to know it's debased and wrong and still pump me full of his cum because he just can't help it.  But I worry that might shake him loose of this passionate exchange, so I just think these sinister thoughts, swallowing them when they resurface in my mind. 

"I fuckin' knew it the second I saw you," he rasps, "knew you'd take cock like a champ."

I wasn't expecting such a filthy mouth on him but I am pleasantly surprised. I smile, tilting back and sinking lower. He stretches me, thick cock nudging deeper and deeper

The truck rocks gently with the rhythm we fall into, the windows fogging over completely, sealing us into this impossible little world of heat and friction and breathless, aching want. My smeared hand print disappearing like a ghost. 

His hands are so big on me, holding me against his chest like he never wants to let go. I revel in the slick, aching tension between us as I bounce on his lap furiously.

"Beg," he grunts, thrusting up into my sex like he can't help himself. "Beg for my cum, you little slut."

My eyes roll back into my head at the light degradation. My moans reverberate in the cab, almost like I can feel them in my bones. I feel the start of Joel coming apart, thrusts stuttering.

"I sai-said, beg."

I give a whine, arms banding around his neck, mouth wet and hot at his ear. "Please give it to me...Fuck It ... Fuck your cum deep in me, Joel. Please." 

He gives a growl into my neck and I feel his hips snap, hear the strangled moan he presses into my neck as he floods my cunt. 

"Take it, fucking take it," he groans, the wet sound of our bodies slapping against each other vulgar as he empties himself into me. 

It goes on forever, his breathless groans and my whimpers to fill me, that I want his cum. And then with a gritted groan he finally relaxes, body giving one last twitch and then .. silence.

He holds me loosely, arms around my waist, pressing his lips to my shoulder. 

"Thank you," I murmur feeling sleepy and sated.

He surprises me then in the post orgasm clarity when his mouth comes to slant over mine, kissing me tenderly.

"It's still early, do you want to go back to your place?" He asks, his voice smooth and his body warm. He tries to sound casual but I hear the desire clear as day. 

He probably thinks this is his free pass, one night in a marriage of decades that he gets to play, to forget his construction job and responsibilities. He wants to make it last. But I don’t need anything more from him.

"Not a good idea." 

He looks a bit crestfallen but he nods, understanding. I pull myself off his softening cock, sighing at the loss of him. He felt so good. Cum oozes from my spent pussy all over his jeans and boxers.

There’s so much.

"One second," he says, shrugging off the flannel he wears over his t-shirt. It's tight with me on his lap but he manages it, using the soft fabric to wipe between my legs, cleaning his cum from me the best he can. 

"I'm sorry I don't have anything softer."

His sweetness makes me smile while I watch him delicately clean me, his eyes focused, brows furrowed. It makes me want to kiss him again.

When I feel he's done enough I slowly crawl off of him. I thank him and lean over the seat to grab my belongings from the back. I can feel his eyes on me as he tucks himself back into his jeans, zipper and belt buckle jangling. 

"You pick up a lot of strangers at places like this?" He asks me gently before motioning to the pub.

 It's not judgmental, just curious. 

"Never," I say as I tug on my jeans, shaking my head. "You're the first."

His eyes go wide, just slightly, just enough for me to catch it before he schools his face back into something quieter. And then his head tilts, just a fraction, like he’s trying to read me all over again. Like maybe he got it wrong the first time.

"Why me? Why tonight?"

I could lie so easily. I could tell him it was a personal dare, that I needed to burn off energy, that I just saw him and wanted to. 

But there's something about Joel's continuous sincerity this evening that makes me want to tell him the truth. That knows after this we'll never see each other again. That I can be as honest as I want. 

I'm embarrassed when I feel my eyes stinging, an anxious flutter in my chest. I tug my shirt back on, trying to keep my breathing even. 

“My boyfriend just broke up with me,” I admit finally, and my voice cracks on the last word."I just didn't want to be alone." 

I don’t look up, I just stare at my hands, fingers tangled tight in my lap, blinking hard and fast to keep the tears from falling.

When Joel pulls me into his big arms I instinctively want to push him away because it feels much more intimate than what we've just done. 

Instead my hands fist in the fabric of his shirt and my face is buried at his throat. I begin to cry, soft, little sniffles that quickly turn into ugly sobs that rack my body. 

I expect him to be repulsed now that he's seen the true me and not the little sex kitten act I've been wearing like a second skin. 

"S'okay darlin'," he soothes, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he continues to hold me. "Let it out." 

I'm confused at how Joel can go from fucking me raw to this sudden sweet and almost paternal gesture. But I don't focus on it too much, I'm too busy crying, wetting his t-shirt with my tears. 

He murmurs soft words and presses soft kisses to my temple. Everything about him is pillow soft, gentle in the way that the sun is gentle in spring. 

He lets me cry it out, his arms never leaving me and I don't know how much time passes before I raise my head, nose red and eyes bleary to see him looking down at me with a kind expression on his handsome face. 

"Your ex is an idiot," he tells me, wiping my tears away with his thumb. "He ain't worth your time or your tears."

"He's actually wonderful," I sniffle. "Smart and handsome and..."

I know that if I keep going I'll just start crying again so I swallow down the last of my affirmations.

"I don't understand why he doesn't want me anymore."

Both of Joel's big hands have come to cup my face and he fixes me with a look that insists I listen to his words.  "He ain't that smart if he'd let a woman like you go."

It's the kind of banal comment that you give to anyone that's hurting. But I'm touched that he would attempt it anyway. 

And it strikes me as we sit tangled up together that we're not so dissimilar. Two lost souls chasing comfort, craving the touch of another who gives it freely. For some reason that makes my chest ache.

"You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate. Someone who thanks the stars above that you're theirs."

I give him a watery smile and know that I need to leave immediately or I'm going to start crying all over again. I let myself have a lingering look at his dark, open eyes and his sweet mouth.

I'll memorize this moment and tuck it away somewhere safe where I can access it on dark nights when the bed feels too empty. 

"Thank you, Joel," I tell him quietly.

Impulsively I lean up, catching his mouth in a full lipped kiss before sliding towards the passengers door. 

"Hey."

I turn back, struck that there's so much more I want to tell the broad man sitting behind the steering wheel. 

"You gonna tell me your name, now?" 

He says it teasing but I can hear the hint of something deeper in it. Something that urges me to stay and nestle into his arms. 

But that's not what this is. That was never what this was going to be. I was never supposed to cry, never supposed to debate returning to his hotel with him. 

So I hop out onto the wet concrete, the sky still drizzling and I give a short wave, a girlish look from under my lashes and I skip off towards my car, knowing he's watching me from his truck until I pull out onto the street for home. 

_______________________________________________

The apartment is dark and cold when I step inside I leave the door half-shut behind me, not ready to close myself in completely. The air smells faintly of cardboard and rain. My shoes land by the door with a soft thud, and I stand there for a second, just listening to the echo of it.

 Boxes are stacked along the wall, sealed and labelled in black marker. My books, my bedding, the funko collection I swore I wouldn’t start, all of it taped up and ready to go. 

Tomorrow, after graduation, I’m heading home for good. Not in the back of Jack’s parents’ truck heading to Austin. Not to an apartment we’d talked about renting.

I turn on the shower and let it heat while I peel off my clothes. My skin’s still damp from the rain, my hair frizzing. The water hits hot and hard when I step in but I don’t move right away, I just stand there, watching steam curl around my arms. It feels good, like a pause button I didn’t know I needed.

The scent of Joel is washed from me, pungent when the water hits me but soon faded and carried down the drain. Joel’s face flickers behind my eyes. His hands. His voice. The way he looked not only when he was inside me, but that calm, reassuring way after. 

I dry off and tug on my softest pyjamas; a worn band t-shirt and cotton shorts, fabric faded and loose. I wander barefoot into the kitchen and pull open the fridge, reaching for water.

I catch sight of the photograph still taped to the freezer door. Jack and me at the cabin during winter break. We’re half-drunk and grinning, my hand frozen around a snowball while he throws his head back laughing. I can hear it if I concentrate, can smell the citrus scent of his hair, the taste of the gum he chews.  I stare at it, heart aching. 

I’m going to see him tomorrow at the ceremony and then… Will we pretend not to know one another?  I told myself I was ready. But now, looking at this photo I feel everything all over again. That rush of nerves, the soft hope tucked under my ribs. The ache of still wanting answers I’ll probably never get.

I press my palm against the fridge door, just beside the photo, and close my eyes just as there’s a knock at the door.

The sound feels out of place in the quiet. I glance at the clock on the microwave. 10:42 p.m. I move slowly, crossing the living room in my bare feet, my heart already ticking up even before I’ve touched the doorknob. When I pull it open, my breath catches.

"Jack?"

He’s standing there, soaked from the rain. His jacket clings to his shoulders, dark hair plastered against his forehead. There’s water dripping off his nose, his jaw, the tips of his fingers. But it’s not the rain that gets me; it’s the look on his face.

His handsome features are twisted in something close to panic. Relief floods in the second our eyes meet, and then he moves, crosses the threshold and pulls me into his arms.

It’s not a polite hug. It’s not cautious or restrained. It’s full-body, desperate. His arms wrap around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. He buries his face in my neck and just holds me there, breathing hard, like he ran the whole way here.

I just sink into him without thought. His body is warm despite the rain, familiar in a way that hits straight in the chest. I clutch the back of his soaked shirt and close my eyes. He smells the same. He feels the same.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words muffled against my skin. “God, I’m so sorry.”

I pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are glassy, jaw trembling slightly

“Jack why are you here?”

“I made a mistake. A huge one. The worst one of my life," He steps back, cupping my face in his cold, wet hands.

I let him hold my face, not caring that he's freezing, not caring that he's not been in contact all week. It just feels so good to be held by him again.

"I was wrong to end things."

I say nothing, but feel my chin wobble when he presses his forehead to mine.

“I said I needed space, and I thought I needed to figure myself out, or whatever," he says, eyes closed. "But I haven’t slept properly since I left. I can't breathe without you.”

I swallow hard, thinking of Emily's ire.

“You couldn't have told me this a week ago?”

"I needed to make sure," he says, always honest. "For both of us I needed to take a moment to get my thoughts together." 

"But why, Jack?" I whisper, chin trembling. "We were so good."

“Too good. It felt too good and I was scared,” he says, voice cracking. “We were on the edge of everything with graduating, moving, all of it. I panicked and I pushed you away like a coward.”

His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, soft and trembling. “But this week apart… I don’t want to figure things out without you. I don’t want a life that doesn’t include you in it.”

My heart stutters because he drops to his knees right there in the doorway, water pooling beneath him, eyes locked on mine with a kind of fierce, broken devotion that knocks the air out of me.

“I love you,” he says. “You’re it for me. You’ve always been it. Please, just tell me it’s not too late. I’ll do anything to be with you again. Anything, babe. Just please tell me its not too late for us.”

All the hurt, all the confusion, all the nights I stared at my phone waiting for it to buzz, it rushes out of me in a single breath and I fall to my knees with him.

My arms wrap around his neck, and I whisper, “It’s not too late.”

He exhales like a man saved. His hands clutch at my waist, then my face again, kissing my cheeks, my jaw, my forehead, over and over until I'm laughing and crying all at once. He kisses me desperate and unpolished. All teeth and rain and salt. It tastes like a beginning. Like something we almost lost but didn’t. I pull him closer, and he groans into my mouth.

And for a brief moment I think of Joel, of his tongue and cock and the way his growling voice told me to cum. But I push it away and kiss Jack feverishly. 

Eventually, I get up and pull him inside, shutting the door behind us. He shrugs out of his jacket, wet fabric slapping against the floor. I grab a towel from the bathroom and hand it to him as he toes off his boots.

We settle on the couch that came with the apartment. He’s wrapped in my old hoodie, the sleeves too short for him, and I’m curled up beside him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Eleven at night in a rainstorm," I say softly. “Never took you for my dramatic type." 

“I couldn’t wait,” he says. “I couldn’t risk it. I needed you to know tonight. I want us graduating and going into a future together.”

I study his face, the way his lashes clump from the rain, the little scar on his chin I always loved, the way he’s still looking at me like he can’t believe I’m here with him. 

“I was so scared,” I whisper. “I didn’t know what I’d say to you.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, pulling me against his chest. “Just let me hold you. That’s all I want.”

And I do. I melt into the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. For the first time in what feels like weeks, I feel safe.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, the quiet, uninvited part, there’s Joel and his hands on my hips, his mouth against my throat. He fucked me better than Jack ever has. That’s the truth. Not just physically. It was the way he looked at me when I unravelled, the way he didn’t flinch from the wreckage. The way he never once asked me to be anything but exactly what I was in that moment.

But it’s over. It was never supposed to mean anything. A blip. A night.

Jack is here now. Jack, who knows my middle name and my favourite pizza order and the song I play when I can’t sleep. Jack, who’s held my hand through every exam week and late-night breakdown and still brings me chocolate when I'm on my period.

Joel was like a storm. Beautiful, sudden, and gone. But Jack? Jack is home, comfort, enduring. 

"Come back to Austin with me, tomorrow," Jack whispers, still rocking me in his arms. "Please. Like we always planned." 

The plan post graduation was to rent a little place in Jack's hometown and save up for a few years. It was cheaper than my hometown with plenty more job opportunities. 

When we mused about the future he was emphatic that I come home with him after graduation to start our life together and I'd agreed, so ready to start putting down roots with him. 

I thought that this plan was gone, discarded the second he left. But now he's back and it's like everything is good and right again. 

I reach up and thread my fingers through his damp hair, brushing it back from his face. He leans into the touch like he’s been waiting for it.

"Of course I'll come with you. I love you,” I say again, and I mean it.

He pulls me close and kisses the top of my head. “I’m going to make it up to you. Every day.”

“You already have,” I whisper. “You came back.”

We stay like that for a long time, curled into each other while the storm moves quietly across the city outside. The streetlights blur through rain-streaked windows, and the boxes sit waiting in the corner like little promises of a future we now get to choose together. 

_______________________________________________

The air smells like sunshine and damp grass, the kind of warm, sweet day that feels like a reward after months of rain. There are students everywhere;robes fluttering, heels sinking into soft ground, caps slightly askew, and I’m floating through it all, fingers laced tightly with Jack’s.

We can’t stop smiling.

Everything feels brighter today;  the sky, the future. Even Jack’s eyes when he looks at me like he still can’t believe I forgave him. He leans in to kiss my temple as we wander toward the main quad, where everyone’s starting to gather for photos and speeches and the rest of the chaos.

“Tomorrow,” he says, tugging my hand, “we’ll be waking up in Austin. Can you believe that?”

I grin. “It doesn’t feel real.”

He pulls me in for a quick kiss, and I can’t stop laughing. I feel drunk on it all; on the sun, on the noise, on the way he keeps looking at me like I’m his favorite surprise.The fact that we’re starting a new life like we planned.

"And you're still okay crashing at my parents for the first little bit? Just until we can find something of our own?" 

I can tell he’s thought about it. That he’s been picturing us unpacking boxes in some cozy apartment, grocery shopping together, sleeping in on weekends with sunlight pouring through the curtains in a place of our own. Whats a few months of saving in trade for that future?

"More than okay,” I say into his shoulder.

“I love you,” he says into my hair. 

“Hey!” a voice calls out. “There you are!”

It’s Emily. She’s walking toward us, her cap tucked under one arm, curls bouncing as she makes her way across the grass. She looks beautiful, as always, and mildly uncomfortable, as always, when she sees Jack.

I brace myself. I texted her this morning to let her know what happened because I didn’t want her blindsided.

hey, Jack and I are back together. long story. would appreciate your support. thank you for the drinks last night btw despite my best intentions I went home alone lol

It’s a pathetic lie and one she can probably see right through when she takes in my nervous expression.

“Emily,” I say, forcing my voice to stay light. “Hey! You made it through.”

“Barely,” she says, then wraps me in a quick hug. “Congrats, hon.”

I pull back and smile at her, unsure of what to say. Jack clears his throat awkwardly beside me. I feel his hand press gently at the small of my back, a quiet reminder that he’s here, that we’re okay.

Emily glances at him. Then back at me.

“I just wanted to say…” she starts, and there’s a tightness to her voice, like she’s had to rehearse this in her head. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

She looks at Jack, and for a second, I swear I see something almost like forgiveness flicker in her expression.

“Take care of her,” she says. “Seriously.”

Jack nods, earnest. “I will. I promise.”

Emily smiles, small but real. “Good.”

Then she steps back. “Well, I should go find my family. Congrats again.”

“Let me know if you’re ever in Austin.”

She gives a tight smile before she turns and disappears into the crowd before I can say anything more. I exhale, slow as my shoulders drop a bit.

“That went better than expected,” I murmur.

Jack wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me against him. “Told you. Everything’s working out.”

The campus hums with energy, full of hugs and tassels and champagne bottles popping in the distance. I keep looking over at Jack, half expecting this to all vanish. But he’s still here. Still mine. And tomorrow, we start something new.

Together.

After the ceremony, Jack and I wander toward the outskirts of the quad, the buzz of celebration still thick in the air. His robe is half unzipped, flapping in the breeze, and I’m clutching my diploma like it might disappear if I let go.

He’s talking animatedly about Austin; about neighbourhoods we could explore, little cafés he wants to take me to, how we’ll make a game out of furnishing our first apartment with thrift finds and marketplace steals when we get there.

“i told my mom we would both be coming and she was so excited. She's probably already redecorating the guest room in her head.”

I smile, a little dreamy. “Sounds like she’s excited.”

“She’s been dying to meet you since she saw your name on my phone,” he laughs.

 “Jack!”

He turns immediately, eyes lighting up. “Speak of the devil. Come on.”

I follow his gaze. A tall woman is weaving through the crowd toward us, waving, her smile open and radiant.  Long chestnut hair pulled back in a low twist, cream blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted trousers, everything about her elegant but approachable. 

“Mom!” Jack jogs a few steps forward, wrapping her in a warm, familiar hug. I hang back for a beat, suddenly nervous. 

When she looks over at me, her expression softens even more, like I’m exactly who she hoped I'd be.

“Hey there, I’m Tess,” she says, stepping in close, voice warm with barely restrained excitement. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, offering my hand, which she ignores entirely in favour of pulling me into a hug.

“I’m so glad you two are coming to stay for a little while,” she says as we pull apart. “You’ll love the house. Jack’s room still looks exactly like it did when he left. I made him promise I could keep it.”

Jack groans. “She’s not joking.”

“I’m totally not,” Tess says, laughing. “You’ll see photos of his hair phases.”

I chuckle and for a second, I forget everything else. Tess is easy to like. There’s no performance in her warmth, it’s just there, natural and effortless.

“Oh!” Jack says suddenly, looking over his shoulder. “Here comes my dad."

I'm still looking at Tess when I hear it; a voice too familiar. Low, even, with that unmistakable rasp that wraps around the vowels with a twang id know anywhere. 

“Pleased to finally meet you, darlin’.”

[besidesjustmyamour]

"if you want something done right, do it yourself."

in which you're pregnant and tired and ask them to do something then do it yourself.

tw: pregnancy, talk of losing the baby

inspired by this post

with g.satoru, n.kento, choso, f.toji, g.suguru, r.sukuna

satoru gojo was soooo glad that you were pregnant. it just came with so many bonuses. it was like after wife-ing you up, he had just unlocked the newest and greatest upgrade.

which was just as well. some new features included: staying in bed late and waking up whining for cuddles, wearing his shirts around the house with barely anything on underneath, and so much more.

but the best part was being able to flaunt it to others.

"did ya hear?" "yes, gojo." "my wife's pregnant." "we know. you told us three minutes ago." "okay... you could be a little happier for me." "honestly? i'm done being happy for you every time you tell me that your goddamn wife is pregnant. i'll be happy for her instead."

satoru gojo didn't expect the conversation to go like that. but either way, he was excited to be a father. more than that, though, he was excited for you to get into the tired phase.

dubbed the worst phase by all mothers. he had researched it online.

"'fellow hubbies, be warned.'" "satoru, put the computer down." "'once in the third trimester, your wife will be unable to do anything herself. you will have to help her into the shower, help her onto the toilet, and even help her get dressed.'" "so help me i will strangle you---" "i just want to be prepared. although you don't sound very tired." "that's because i'm always tired around you. you exhaust me." "i enchant you." "enchant yourself. preferably to sleep. it's three in the morning."

satoru gojo was still waiting for that, even a week before the baby was born. but you never asked for help. never asked anything more than what was needed.

he just wanted to baby you. to coddle you. to wrap you up in a blanket and never let you go. all you had to do was let him.

and the day you finally relented?

"saaaaaaaaaatoooooooooruuuuuuuuuu." "yes, my beautiful wifey?" "help me move the couch." "hey, sit down! the doctor said you shouldn't be moving around as much anymore." "the doctor said i should also remove all stress inducing stimuli from the nearby environments. but you're still here, aren't you?" "ouch. that hurts." "help me move the goddamn couch." "okay, okay, fine."

satoru gojo felt proud when you stepped back. less proud of the glare you shot him when he kicked it and it flew to the side by a few feet. he had grinned at you and you had slumped into the cushions, satisfied with the new angle facing the television.

but one night, he was out late running errands and was catching up with a friend. your texts buzzed at his phone, sudden and sharp.

"sorry, give me a sec. my pregnant wife's calling me."

when he heard that you were trying to move the couch again, by yourself? he dropped the conversation with his old friend and nearly crashed into a car on the drive home.

when he opened the door, panting and his jacket slipping down his shoulders, he caught you. your eyes locked with his.

"this... isn't what it looks like." "did you seriously move the couch across the entire living room?" "i wanted a new angle to watch she-ra and the princesses of power! i've watched that show the same way, like, at least three times." "how about you just watch a new show instead of straining yourself?" "are you... mad?" "you could've seriously hurt yourself, baby. or the baby, actually." "satoru---" "promise me you'll never do something like that again. without my help." "babe---" "promise." "... i promise." "good. now sit back down. i want my cuddles."

kento nanami truly was excited. not that he ever showed it. excited for the new beginnings. to live in your new house, with you in it. to shower you with all his love and adoration, now that you were getting closer and closer to your due date.

he had even taken time off of work. his colleagues couldn't believe it.

and frankly, neither could he.

"you're... staying home. like, seriously." "yes." "for real? you won't come back halfway through the week and ask for any jobs?" "no." "wow, nanami. you're a changed man. what happened?" "it was either take care of my wife or come here. the choice is apparent."

kento nanami didn't mean to make him cry. his intentions were pure. well, aside from wanting to flaunt that he had a loving wife waiting for him at home while the rest of the workforce went home to empty houses.

but that didn't matter. all that did was getting prepared for the baby.

"article one says it should happen around the sixth to eighth week. but article two is more specific on which day." "ken, you're overthinking this. i'll be tired when... when i get tired!" "but what if something's wrong? we should head back to the doctor and---" "ken. listen to me. it's going to be fine. now shut up and let me get some sleep."

kento nanami didn't want to do that. all he really wanted to do was take care of you and shower you in all the adoration he had missed out on during his time at work.

the day you asked for his help was honestly majestic.

"ken kenny kensington kennedy---" "what is it, dear?" "good! help me move these boxes to our room." "the... the boxes?" "these have been here since we moved in! i figured it was about time i started unpacking all my stuff." "okay, okay, whatever you'd like. just... please, put the box down. tell me which one you want upstairs first."

kento nanami carried half of the boxes upstairs that night. you were pouting that he wouldn't let you lift a single finger, but it was some kind of pride and warmth blooming in his chest that warred against the nature of your rebellion.

he hadn't thought you would try it yourself.

it was supposed to be a simple run for groceries. kento nanami checked off a mental list of all your favorite foods, trying to rearrange them in his mind when you called.

"ken," you grunted, voice crackling through the phone. "help."

his heart dropped. "what? my love? what's wrong? is something happening? is the baby coming?"

"nooo..." your voice was breathy and shallow. "i just... wanted a dress... to look nice for you..."

"darling, what exactly are you doing right now?" the cashier gave him a confused look as he dropped a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter and nearly ran all the way to his car.

no, not nearly. kento nanami damn near turned into the flash.

and when he got inside? to see you heaving a box across the living room, struggling to get a foot on the stairs? he grabbed the box from you immediately and steered you back onto the sofa.

"ken, please don't be mad---" "mad? i'm beyond mad. i'm... disappointed." "w-what?" "i thought you knew that you could rely on me for... anything at all." "i can! you know i do! but..." "but?" "i just.. don't feel pretty anymore. all my dresses are down here, and you do all the work and i just... i'm not enough for you." "who told you that?" "nobody... i was just reading through the comments of that article you sent me---" "and did you read the title? it said '10 things expectant mothers look absolutely ravnishing in'. and i asked you what you wanted." "it did not say that." "something along those lines. you'll always be more than enough for me, darling. i promise. but you need to promise me that you will never, ever do something like this again." "okay, ken. i promise. i love you." "I love you too."

choso promised he would be better. better than the father he never knew. the one that made him like this. and he promised that you would never go through the pain he felt his mother suffer through during her pregnancy.

"this is the third time you've bailed on us, man." "i know, i know. but she needs me." "i think it might be the other way around." "if you want, you can come over and we can play at my place?" "so i can watch you leave the game every three seconds to coddle your wife? i'd rather exorcise myself, thanks."

he didn't mean to be so overbearing. choso just wanted the pregnancy to be absolutely perfect with no bumps along the road. unflawed, just like you were for him.

but something was wrong. you were never quite... tired. always bursting with energy, pattering around the house, refusing to stay still. he was worried for the longest time.

"this is so stupid, cho." "something must be wrong. the doctor said you should be experiencing something called... pregnancy fatigue?" "that's normal fatigue, and she also said everybody has different symptoms." "but you should be tired. you should let me take care of you while you do nothing." "i hate doing nothing." "i love taking care of you." "one of those things is stronger than the other."

choso didn't say it, but when he pulled into the doctor's office, he knew his love for you would always be stronger than any complaining you ever did. especially when you knew he was right.

so, just to please him, you decide to play along.

"choooooosooooooooo!" "yes, my love?" "i can't reach the cereal on the top shelf." "you... you want me to get it for you?" "yes please."

instead of getting the cereal like you asked, choso grinned, swept you up into his arms and spun you around the kitchen, planting you on the kitchen island and smothering your face with kisses.

he was truly happy. in a way that he couldn't quite describe. it was something about feeling needed by you even when you insisted that you could do everything yourself.

so imagine his horror when choso comes home to you scaling the fucking cabinets like some kind of deranged spider-monkey, one arm half extended out to the new box of cereal at the top.

"my... my love? what... what are you doing?" "uhm... i ate all the cereal." "why... why are you up there?" "i thought i shouldn't bother you and decid--- choso, are you crying?"

choso wanted to say no. but instead he collapsed to his knees and started to sob like a child on the hardwood floors. he wanted to protest and turn away from you.

but your hand on his cheek stilled him and the look in your eyes softened at the tears running down his face.

"y-you could've hurt yourself!" "but i'm fine, see? i got down just fine. i'm fine, cho. look at me." "i... don't want you putting yourself in danger." "okay." "okay?" "yes. okay. just... please never cry like that again." "i just... i can't even think about what i'd do without you. or the baby." "we're not going anywhere, m'kay? we'll always be here. i love you." "i love you too. but seriously, don't do that again. i almost just died."

toji fushiguro wanted to do it right this time. after all, he didn't put a baby in you for no reason. he wanted to cherish you, to hold you tight, even when the nights were long and he knew the bed was cold.

"you sure? don't think i'll have the job waiting for you in three hours." "yeah. gotta take care of my girl." "damn. never seen you whipped like this." "what can i say? she's got me doing cartwheels around her."

and it was true. you really did have toji fushiguro doing the most absurd things for you. running out to the grocery store to buy pickles and peanut butter? done. listening to you complain about how the soap opera female lead was an absolute idiot? his ears were yours.

but it was more about how you depended on him. how you needed him. how megumi and you got along in a way that made him feel like he was actually meant to be a father, for once.

so of course, toji fushiguro indulged in everything you asked.

"toooooooooooo---" "yeah?" "where the fuck did you just spawn in from?" "i've been standing behind this door for the last five minutes." "uhm... what?" "i used the last of the toilet paper." "... and you didn't think to replace it?" "nah. i knew you'd come begging for me. just a chance for me to see my girl---" "okay, that's enough. just get the toilet paper down from the closet before i use your shirt to wipe my ass."

toji fushiguro had laughed and handed you a roll. a few weeks later, there was a mission he couldn't ignore. after making sure the house was stocked until he could come back, he pressed kisses to your face, ruffled megumi's hair, and was off.

but he didn't expect to be faced with this when he got home.

"are you out of your goddamn mind?" "did you hear megumi? he was screeching his head off." "then you ignore it! you don't climb up the wall like a fucking spider and get yourself stuck on top of the refrigerator! how the fuck does that even happen?" "your son has a pretty good throw." "you're dodging the question." "i just wanted to do something for him. with all this fuss about the baby... i think he feels left out."

leave it to you to be thinking about megumi when you're literally microwaving another baby in your stomach. toji fushiguro couldn't chastise you about that.

"as long as you promise never to do that again." "but what if he throws---" "then you slap him across his face and wait for me to get home so i can properly beat his ass." "toji! he's only five!" "that's five years too old to be making his mother do all that." "fine. i'll wait next time." "you better. i love you too much for you to fall and die like that." "i wouldn't die. i'm more flexible than you are, old man." "oh, yeah? how about we test that theory?"

suguru geto was ready. the hospital bag was prepped months before you were even aware of the hospital you were choosing to have your babies at. twins! he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"take another look." "geto-sama... i've looked at them already." "my pretty little girls..." "you... can't even see anything in this picture." "well, i can recognize my darling girls just fine." "girls? you already know the gender?" "consider it a feeling. i know my girls already."

he was obsessed with them already. and they weren't even born! his duties with the cult kept him away from home enough, so he wasn't about to let the time with you decline as you grew brighter and brighter when you were supposed to be tired.

"ugh, let me go!" "can't i spend some time with my lovely wife?" "you can, but this is too much. you've kept me locked in the bedroom for three hours already!" "and i'll keep you here until my girls are ready to come out." "i wanna go out and see the world! being a mother takes the spark out of so many people!" "it won't for you, pretty. trust me." "you aren't the one carrying our children." "i hope you know that if i could, i would do it in a heartbeat." "you would make a lovely seahorse husband."

you had been joking, but suguru geto wasn't. he truly and seriously would do anything you asked with his whole heart... even if your requests were a little... strange.

"is... this... high... enough..." "yes, sugu! it's perfect! thank you!" "anything... for you... pretty..." "you sound out of breath. let me get you a glass of water." "no... i've... i'm fine."

it was a painting of the two of you, commissioned to a curse that had a particularly keen eye and a swift hand. you were radiant and glowing and his hand was on your stomach, eyes fixed on you.

they had demanded his attention. suguru geto had none to spare.

especially not when he had returned from a meeting late at night, cold and aching for your warmth, only to find that you weren't where he left you in the bedroom.

instead, you were heaving a painting back across the room.

"what were you thinking?" "it was pissing me off. it wasn't at the right angle." "you said it was perfect!" "it was. but then it started pissing me off." "god, why do i do this to myself?" "i didn't like it there! it looks so much better where it is now." "yeah, after you nearly broke your back to move it! you endangered yourself! not to mention our little girls!" "well, i don't appreciate you breathing down my neck like some kind of mother hen! i can still take care of myself!"

your anger filled the silence, strung his lips together. suguru geto watched as your trembling subsided, your fists unclenched and your expression softened.

"i appreciate everything you do for me, i really do. it's just... suffocating." "what do you need me to do?" "just... space. please." "i can do that. i might claw my eyes out, though." "don't do that. and... thank you. for not getting mad." "oh, don't get me wrong, sweet. i'm definitely still mad at you." "but?" "but i love you more than that. so just promise me this. you'll never do something like that again without someone's help, okay? that's all i ask." "okay. i can do that." "i know you can. just like i know you'll be everything my girls could wish for."

ryomen sukuna demanded only the best for his wife. for his queen. for the love of his life. anything less meant that he wasn't worth it. that he didn't deserve you.

and perhaps he didn't.

"are the preparations done?" "they are... coming along, sire." "what are you trying to say?" "the child isn't due for another five months. isn't this all a bit... hasty?"

ryomen sukuna would've killed that guy if you hadn't stepped in. he watched as the decorator trembled as you led him into the newly built nursery and offered your thoughts on a particular color scheme.

he got lectured that night, told it wasn't okay to murder people just because they made a mistake. ryomen sukuna held back the urge to scoff and just nodded at you.

"i am beginning to think something is wrong." "with me? wow. you didn't realize that when you married me?" "with the child. you should be tired at this point." "you're worried because i'm not... tired?" "yes." "i feel fine." "precisely the problem. you will not allow me to carry you around the estate, nor feed you by hand." "because i'm perfectly capable of doing those things on my own."

but if the king of curses couldn't even serve his own wife, what was he meant for? ryomen sukuna pondered that question for a long time as the weeks passed. eventually, you offered an answer.

"sukuna. kuna. ryoooo." "what do you want, wife?" "well, husband, i happen to have misplaced my robe at the top of the cabinet. would you mind fetching it for me?" "... thousands of servants walk the palace grounds and yet you call me for this trivial task." "you said you wanted to be involved more." "i did not." "yeah, when you were whining about me not being tired---" "i do not whine." "i beg to differ. now, be a good boy and fetch that for me, will you?"

and even as he scowled and grumbled under his breath, ryomen sukuna reached up and grabbed it for you. because the truth was that he would do anything for that bright grin on your face.

especially when it was faltering under the same situations, just slightly shifted. and the look of horror and awe on your face was priceless. he would've taken a picture if a strange sensation wasn't spreading across his own chest.

"what do you think you're doing?" "uhm. threw the robe back up here. thought i'd get it down." "are you stupid? do you know the consequences of---" "hey, calm down. what's wrong?" "what's wrong? are you seriously asking me what's wrong? you could've just killed yourself! or just as worse, the child!" "but i'm okay! see?" "we have servants for this exact purpose. just one call to assist you at any means necessary. but of course. i should've expected this from you." "woah, wait. what's that supposed to mean?" "it means that i knew you would try and prove that you can do things yourself even if it means putting yourself and our unborn child at risk." "that wasn't what i---" "no, it might not have been, but it happens to be the very situation you are painting at the moment."

fear. the hand that squeezed his heart was fear. he recognized it and refused to acknowledge it because the king of curses was unafraid of everything. ryomen sukuna had to be.

"swear it." "swear... what?" "that until the child arrives---no, even after the child is here, that you will not lift a single finger until you are able-bodied and completely healed." "sukuna, i---" "no. you must swear it." "... fine. i swear i won't do anything by myself again." "good. and i will hold you to that." "... what is that supposed to mean?" "it means that i will indeed be trailing you around the estate. i will always be watching. do not attempt to defy my orders." "ooh, scary." "what's scary is the thought of losing you and our child."

a/n: idk where i decided that this was going to be angst but whatever it's been in my drafts thought i'd release it. likes and comments always appreciated! love ya!

[cherrydriver]

Sobbing from your "I'm alive" Saja boys post. Can we have a part of something where they ACTUALLY do come back alive but because of the first time, reader thinks it's just a hallucination again </3

If not that's ok! Sorry if your requests are closed, I checked and I did not see anything about requests sooo

Have a good day! And if you do plan on doing this, please remember to take breaks! Love your writing so far ❤️ (even if it makes me cry)

Hi!! This is my very first request so I was so excited to write this, also because I wanted to do a part two to "I'm Alive"! Thank you so much, btw! <3 (I apologize in advance...)

Aftershocks - (I'm Alive, I'm Alive, I am so Alive pt 2.)

CW: Angst, mentions of insanity

Find part one here!

-----------------------------------------

ABBY -

He was alive, really truly alive but how could he get you to believe that? The last time you saw him, you were so happy and then Mira pulled you away, claiming that you were seeing things. Abby was determined to make you believe that he was really alive and back for good. 

Abby had been waiting a few days, waiting for a good moment to finally show himself again. He knew that you were finishing up your shift so it gave him the perfect moment to see you alone. He waited till all the customers were out of the store before he headed inside. 

You heard the quiet ding of the door, indicating that someone had come in. “I’m sorry but we’re closed.” You said before turning to face the person, dropping the box in your hands as you saw who it was. “Abby..,” you murmured under your breath before shaking your head and looking away. 

“No…no I can’t do this. Not again.” You told yourself as you picked up the box you had dropped, trying to ignore the presence by the door. Abby wasn’t actually here, you knew that now. Mira had made sure that you knew that you were hallucinating that night in the kitchen because of grief. 

“Y/n, it’s really me. I promise…I’m alive, baby.” Abby told you quietly, stepping cautiously towards you since he knew you were vulnerable right now. Your face tensed and you shook your head once more. “Leave me alone…you aren’t really here and this is just making everything worse.” Your voice trembled as you spoke, setting the box down on the counter. 

You gathered your things, trying not to look at Abby who seemed so real and alive but you knew better now. Abby wasn’t giving up though and he could tell that you didn’t really believe this was happening which only broke his heart more. “Y/n, I’m really here! I’m right here and alive!” He raised his voice a little, reaching out and grabbing your wrist, tears filling his eyes. 

You gasped and pulled your hand away so quickly like he had burnt you with his touch. “No! I said leave me alone! I can’t do this anymore! Please!” You yelled, assuming you were yelling into mid air. “Abby is dead! You aren’t really here so please go away!” You sobbed, hurrying out of the store, leaving Abby alone. He felt completely broken, seeing the way you had pulled away from his touch, seeing you sob…it tore him apart. He didn’t know how to get you to believe that he was back for good but he wasn’t giving up. “I’m not giving up, y/n…I’m alive.” Abby said to himself, wiping the tears from his eyes as he turned and headed the opposite way. 

—---------------------------------------------------

ROMANCE -

Romance needed to convince you that he was alive. When he saw you in the kitchen, you looked so surprised and happy to see him until Zoey pulled you away, telling you that he wasn’t really there. He was there though, and he needed you to know that for good. He gave you a few weeks to process everything, hoping that the next time you saw him, you’d be just as happy as the last time. 

Romance decided to leave you a note on your apartment door so that you’d see it when you got back home after being out all day. It just simply said to meet him at one of your favorite spots, the park you guys would go to all the time. 

When you got home from work that day, you noticed the pink note on your door. You hesitantly took it off and read the words, a small gasp leaving your lips. It was signed off by Romance and it looked exactly like his handwriting but it couldn’t really be him. Romance was dead. What had happened in the kitchen had just been a hallucination from grieving. Whoever thought it was funny to put this up was sick. 

Still, you decided to go to the park anyway, needing some fresh air and maybe the person who decided to write this would be there. You still couldn’t believe someone could be so cruel to write this note. You made the walk to the park, the note crumpled up in your pocket, and headed to the spot that had always been special to you and Romance. 

When you entered the hidden area, you noticed pink hair almost instantly. “No…no not again.” You said quietly to yourself, turning away. Your heart started beating quickly as you convinced yourself that Romance wasn’t actually there. You hadn’t hallucinated him since the kitchen and you weren’t about to start again now. 

A hand on your shoulder made you gasp out loud and you turned to face Romance, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Y/n, listen to me, my love. I’m here. I’m really here, okay? I’m alive, I promise.” Romance told you in a serious voice, searching your eyes in hopes that you’d believe him. You didn’t believe him though and you shoved him away from you, still believing that this was all a hallucination. 

“No you aren’t! I can’t do this again…please.” You begged yourself, your hands on your head as you took in shaky breaths, tears filling your eyes. “You aren’t here…you aren't alive. Romance isn’t alive. Zoey was right…I am hallucinating." You told yourself, feeling the panic begin to rise even more. 

Romance’s heart shattered at the sight of you panicking, seeing you there with your hands in your hair and tears streaming down your face. He reached out towards you again but you just broke out into a sob, running from the spot and leaving him alone once again. “One day you’ll see, y/n…I really am alive.” Romance told himself quietly as he left out a defeated sigh, blinking back tears. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

MYSTERY -

Mystery couldn’t get your reaction to him out of his head. Ever since that night in the kitchen…he needed to see you again. He needed to prove to you that he really was there and alive, but how could he do that when Rumi had pulled you away that night and told you that he was really dead. He decided to leave you alone for a few weeks after the kitchen incident, knowing that you needed some time. 

He was growing impatient to see you again though, needing you to see him back and alive. That’s how he ended up in your apartment, still knowing where the spare key was. He wasn’t sure if this was the best idea or not but he was desperate and couldn’t wait any longer. 

You knew something was wrong when you got home and your door was unlocked. You held your breath as you slowly opened the door, walking into your apartment. You were hoping it was just Rumi coming by to check on you but this felt different. You quietly set your stuff down and walked towards the kitchen. 

You instantly paused in the doorway when you saw the figure inside, recognizing him instantly. You felt like you stopped breathing. A few weeks ago you found Mystery in the kitchen but he wasn’t really there…so why was this happening again? You felt like you were going insane. Your breathing became quicker and more shallow, feeling the panic rising. Mystery heard you walk in and turned to look at you, seeing the panic on your face. His eyes widened in concern and he quickly ran over to you, holding onto your shoulders. 

“Y/n! Breathe…I’m here, sweetheart. I promise, I’m really here. I’m alive, okay?” Mystery begged you, hoping that you’d believe him but you weren’t making eye contact with him. You just kept your head down, small sobs now coming from you. 

You pressed your palms against your eyes, shaking your head quickly. “I’m going insane! I can’t do this…I can’t do this again. Leave me alone!” You yelled out at the figure that you assumed was all just a hallucination. Mystery wasn’t there. He wasn’t alive. 

Mystery was starting to get more panicked. He needed you to believe him but you were so convinced that he was just a hallucination. He stepped back from you to give you space, looking at you with a pained expression. He could feel himself getting more worked up the more he watched you freak out. “Y/n, I’m here! I’m right here in front of you! I’m alive, you need to believe me!” He yelled out in a frustrated tone, shocking himself because he never once spoke to you like that. 

Your eyes widened and you were now looking at him like you didn’t even recognize him which was even worse. Mystery’s expression instantly dropped and he reached out. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He said quickly, trying to save this but it was too late. You were already running out of the kitchen, calling Rumi, and soon you left your apartment all together, leaving him alone and broken. 

—------------------------------------------

BABY -

Baby knew how much of a toll his death had taken on you, especially after seeing you in the kitchen a few weeks ago. He was alive again though…and he needed you to know that, needed to convince you somehow. He didn’t try to see you right away because he didn’t want to put too much on you right away so he started off small. He started texting you again. Every day, he’d messages like: 

“I’m alive…Y/n, please. You have to believe me.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in but I’m really alive again.”

“I want to give you time to process, but I want to see you soon. Please…” 

He never got a text back though and eventually his messages stopped going through to your phone. 

When you started getting messages from Baby again, you figured someone had gotten a hold of his phone somehow. The messages were awful…making you break down every time you received one. It felt like someone was playing a sick joke on you and you couldn’t do it anymore so you blocked and deleted the contact. 

You thought you were free from it all…from the hallucinations that Mira made you realize were from grief until you turned a corner to head to your apartment and saw him standing there. Tears instantly filled your eyes as you stood there frozen. 

“I’m going insane…this can’t be happening again, I thought it was over. Why can’t it be over?!” You yelled to yourself, hearing movement as Baby walked towards you. You felt him tilt your chin so you’d look at him. He felt so real, standing right there but you knew better now. “Y/n please…those messages were from me. I’m here and I’m alive! For real this time, I promise.” Baby told you, begging you to believe him because it broke him seeing you like this. 

You didn’t respond very well to that and shoved his hand away, surprised by how realistic these hallucinations were. Mira was right…maybe you really did need to speak to someone because you felt like you were losing your mind. “No you’re not! Just leave me alone…please go away.” You sobbed, assuming you were just speaking to yourself. You felt like you were going crazy, which was the last thing you needed especially when you were still grieving his death. You covered your face with shaky hands, moving past Baby like he wasn’t even there. Because he wasn’t. 

Baby could only just watch you leave, feeling his heart split in half watching you break down like this. He watched you enter your apartment building, feeling his own eyes sting. He wanted to go after you but he knew that he couldn’t push you any further. “I’m alive, y/n…” He whispered to himself before he pulled his hood up and walked away, feeling a tear go down his cheek. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

JINU -

Jinu needed you to see. Needed you to believe…that he was alive, fully alive. He knew that it had been a fright for you, seeing him in the kitchen. When he watched Zoey pull you away from him, convincing you that you were exhausted, he knew that he would have to work hard to get you to believe that he was fully back now. He knew that he needed to be cautious about this in order to not risk scaring you away. It would take some time but he was determined. 

Jinu didn’t mean to follow you but when he noticed that you had gone into the aquarium, one of your favorite places, he couldn’t help himself. He kept his distance for a while, just watching you from afar and seeing the sad, closed off expression on your face that made his heart break. 

You had gone to the aquarium to hopefully feel a little more normal but all it was doing was bringing back memories of Jinu. You let out a small sigh as you looked out the big window, staring at the water and the different fish until you felt a presence. You felt your heartbeat pick up slightly as you slowly turned your head to look behind you and he was there. Jinu. You instantly looked away, closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, expecting him to be gone when you opened your eyes again. You looked behind you and he was still there, looking at you with a slightly concerned look. 

You shook your head and began to walk away, not wanting to seem insane in public. You could feel his presence following you which only made you feel even more uneasy. You thought the hallucination had been a one time thing but apparently it wasn’t. You picked up the pace as tears filled your eyes, not wanting to be seen having a breakdown. You hurried out of the aquarium, turning down a side street that was empty as you began to sob. 

“Y/n…please listen to me. I know this is a lot, but I’m alive. I’m really here…with you.” Jinu told you, reaching out towards you which only made you break down more. You were shaking and Jinu could tell you were panicking hard. “Y/n. Y/n, baby…breathe.” Jinu said urgently as he stepped closer to you. 

You stared at him with wide eyes and yelled. “Leave me alone! Just go away! Oh my god…I’m actually going insane…I can’t do this.” You said between sobs, pulling out your phone to call Zoey. You glanced at Jinu once more with a terrified expression before you hurried away, still sobbing. 

Jinu felt frozen. He wanted to run after you so badly but he had a feeling it would only make things worse. His eyes began to sting with tears as he just stood there, staring at the spot where you once stood. “Y/n…I’m really here again…” He said to no one, feeling a few tears fall from his eyes. 

[firingstars]

YAY congrats on 1k, luv! can i ask

♡ “do you think i want this? do you think i want to be stuck in this endless cycle of wanting you? do you truly think i enjoy waking up every morning realizing you’re not there?”

bucky barnes x reader warnings: 18+, mdni, implied sex, light angst word count: 1.1k+ a/n: eee !! thank you for the congrats <3 hehe sorry this took me a second to do i was getting stabbed a few thousand times by a needle (i was getting a tattoo and was talking to my artist for several hours for a few days before) yari's 1k celebration: requests are open!

It was easy to pretend. Easy to act like his hands hadn’t been all over you just hours ago, that you weren’t a mess beneath him– completely undone by the feelings that only he had been able to ever pull from you. It was so easy for you to pretend that his eyes weren’t glued to your back as you quietly dressed, then slipped out from his room before the rest of the compound woke up.

Even now, as you sat across from Bucky at the conference room, listening to Steve go on about the newest mission in Montreal– you were able to ignore the tugging feeling in your gut. 

You sensed him sparing glances at you. You always did. 

Bucky was always watching you. Even if no one else noticed, you did. Your body was in tune with his, always in such high alert, whether you wanted it or not. You were so far gone in this stupid fucking game that you two had started.

You could feel his eyes drift onto your form from across the room no matter where he was, dragging onto every part of your body and bringing goosebumps onto your skin with his gaze. Sometimes he was hungry with desire. Sometimes there was something else behind his stare that you didn’t want to address. Giving it a name would only make it real.

This wasn’t a game anymore, and you knew it. He knew it. Both of you refused to speak the truth into existence.

Lines had been blurred, boundaries had been crossed– you knew what had to be done. 

“This was the last time,” you muttered to him, still struggling to catch your breath as you closed your eyes. 

You could feel Bucky’s body freeze in place beside you. 

A few more moments passed before Bucky moved again, shifting off of the bed. Air finally returned to your lungs by the time he returned. Cool metal touched your knee as he spread your legs once more, and a damp washcloth met the inside of your thighs, cleaning up the mess he left behind. 

“You don’t have to–”

“What did you mean by that?” Bucky cut you off. His voice was soft. Non accusatory. It was questioning and gentle– everything that you didn’t want to hear from him right now. 

Your eyes opened, but you couldn’t look at him– you didn’t want to see the beginning of the wreckage that you created. You turned your head to the side, unable to find the courage to face him. 

“I meant that we should stop doing… this,” you said slowly. “That this is the last time I’m coming over to your room in the middle of the night.”

Bucky continued to clean you up, his touch light and careful. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

A scoff of a laugh exited your lips, and you shook your head. You felt Bucky’s hands pause between your legs, then the washcloth was gently placed next to your hip. A cool hand rested on your waist, while the opposite forearm sunk onto the mattress beside your head. Bucky hovered over you– so close– looking down at you now.

“What’s so funny?” he muttered.

You still weren’t looking at him. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the frown. The crease between his eyebrow– you could feel the gears turning in his head. 

A soft exhale escaped your lips. “This isn’t working anymore, Bucky. We– this is getting dangerous. For both of us.”

“I’m not understanding.”

Frustration was beginning to set in. You knew he understood. 

Missions were getting compromised. More than once– you both had fucked up your assignments out of pure worry for each other. You had abandoned your post, he had done the same. You had deviated from your course when you heard he was injured, and he had taken a bullet for you too many times. You both had gotten out of your missions alive, thankfully, but how many more times were you both going to remain lucky? You didn’t want to find out.

It was easier to do your job when you weren’t in love with him. 

Metal brushed against your jaw, fingertips pressing against your pulse, and you were gently coaxed into looking him in the eyes.  

You saw it.

The fear. The uncertainty. The anxiety and stress. All of it– raw, unguarded, without any barriers. 

Your body moved before you could stop yourself. It was instinct to want to touch him– to comfort him. Your hands moved to either side of his face, and he melted into you, leaning into your touch, a soft sigh escaping his nostrils. His eyes fell shut momentarily, and you watched as the crease between his eyebrow disappeared. 

“Do you think I want this?” he whispered to you. You watched as his eyes opened, and slowly began to take in all of your features. Your breath hitched as his thumb moved, tracing your bottom lip carefully. “Do you think I want to be stuck in this endless cycle of wanting you?”

Your heart hammered in your chest. You were certain he could feel it under his fingertips. 

“Bucky– the missions– the team– if we’re not careful–”

“We’ll be careful, sweetheart. Starting now,” he promised, and his eyes met yours once more. “We’ll work this out properly. We’ve never had a talk on how we should be as a unit. I think it’s time, don’t you?”

You were weak, and he was so sure. So confident in his words. His gaze was unwavering against yours. He could tell you were cracking beneath him. Just as you knew him so well– he knew you, too. 

“Stay with me,” Bucky pleaded, swallowing slightly. “Please. Don’t walk away from me again. I don’t think I can handle watching you go one more time.”

“Do you mean that?” 

“Doll…” he trailed off, a chuckle falling from his lips before he gave you a smile that you could only describe as devastating. “Do you truly think I enjoy waking up every morning realizing you’re not there?”

You bit the inside of your cheek as your eyes scanned his face, searching for some sort of hesitation– something to tell you that he didn’t actually want you. That this was just the afterglow.

You knew that you wouldn’t find it. 

“Let’s talk about logistics tomorrow when we wake up,” you whispered, your thumbs brushing against his cheek. “About how we’ll move through missions together.”

Bucky descended upon you, his lips pressing against yours in something that you could only describe as relief. You kissed him back, arms wrapping around his neck. Warmth bloomed in your chest, and it felt like a dam had broken within you– this was a release so much sweeter than when the nights were just physical.

“It was so hard to pretend, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling back from your lips just far enough to speak. “I don’t ever wanna do that again.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, lips brushing against his before tugging him back down to you once more for another kiss. “It was.”

[vivvangel]

typing... | NM.R

synopsis: it’s 2 a.m. when his name lights up your phone again. weeks of silence, one knock at your door, and a kiss that feels like both an ending and a beginning.

› pairings & contents: situationship!niki x vulnerable!reader ✧ warnings: themes of ghosting & abandonment, commitment issues, love bombing elements, making out on couch (no smut), angst, emotional vulnerability

part of heartbreak weather, 2024.

You weren’t supposed to miss him.

Not after the way he left. Not after the way his name turned into nothing but a gray bubble that never lit up again.

Yet, at 2:13 a.m., you were still staring at his profile on Instagram, @riki.drive. The last message from him sat unopened, not because you didn’t read it, but because you couldn’t bring yourself to let the “seen” pop up under your “goodnight then, ily.”

That was six weeks ago.

You told yourself you’d moved on. You muted his posts, stopped refreshing his profile. But when his story lit up tonight; black leather jacket, blurred lights of some late-night arcade, and the caption “miss me?”—you felt your chest tighten like a punch. That son of a bitch. You thought to yourself.

Your phone buzzed.

[2:15 A.M.]

riki🤍: typing…

You froze.

The bubble blinked, disappeared. Came back. Vanished again.

And then:

riki🤍: you’re awake.

Your breath hitched. Six weeks of silence and that was what he opened with?

you: it’s 2 a.m. what do you want.

The reply came fast, almost desperate.

riki🤍: you.

Your heart stuttered. No. No, not again.

you: you can’t just show up like this. disappear. then drop that.

The typing bubble appeared, paused, like he was choosing every letter.

riki🤍: i know.

riki🤍: i’m sorry.

riki🤍: i freaked out. it was getting too real, yk how i am..

You closed your eyes. The words felt familiar. Too familiar. Niki didn’t date. Niki didn’t stay. He loved hard, fast, and then he ghosted like he was scared of his own heartbeat.

You knew all of this and still… still you’d fallen for him.

Your phone buzzed again.

riki🤍: can i see you?

You hesitated. And then, because you were weak for him, you typed:

you: now?

riki🤍 : yeah. before i lose my nerve again.

2:45 A.M.

The knock was soft but urgent, like he was afraid you’d change your mind. When you opened the door, there he was—hood up, hair a little damp from the mist outside, eyes wide and unsure.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

You stepped aside, and the moment he crossed the threshold, the air shifted. Your apartment suddenly felt smaller, the walls closer. He hovered in the middle of the living room like he didn’t know if he was allowed to move.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said softly. “I just… I’ve never done this before. Stayed. Felt this much. It scared the hell out of me.”

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to guard. “Then why come back?”

His lips pulled into the smallest, saddest smile. “I thought I could walk away. I tried. But every day without you felt… wrong. Like I was missing something I didn’t know how to live without.”

Your breath caught. “You can’t just love bomb me and vanish when it gets too much.”

He flinched at the words but stepped closer anyway. “I know. I won’t. Not this time.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Let me prove it. Please.”

You should’ve told him to leave. You should’ve made him earn this. But when his hand came up, fingers skimming your jaw with a touch so careful it hurt, you couldn’t move.

“Niki…”

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he murmured, stepping forward until your knees bumped the couch behind you. His forehead brushed yours, his breath warm against your lips. “And I’ll let you go.”

You didn’t speak. That was all the permission he needed.

The kiss started soft, tentative, like he was afraid you’d vanish. Then you clutched the front of his hoodie and pulled him in, and the carefulness shattered. His hands cradled the back of your head as you sank back into the couch, cushions dipping under your weight. He followed you down, one knee braced on the cushion beside your hip, the other sinking into the floor as if he couldn’t stand to not be close enough.

Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his hoodie, dragging him closer until his chest pressed against yours. The kiss deepened, slow but consuming, every brush of his mouth tasting like apology and want. One of his hands slid down, palm flattening against the small of your back, tugging you forward until your body molded against his.

The couch creaked faintly beneath you both as you shifted, his weight half over you now, his knee brushing the outside of your thigh. His thumb stroked absently over the curve of your waist, not moving higher, not lower —just there, steady, grounding you when everything else felt like it was spinning.

He broke the kiss only to breathe, lips barely an inch from yours, his voice trembling. “God… I missed you.”

You kissed him again instead of answering, catching his bottom lip between yours until you felt his quiet, shaky exhale ghost across your mouth. His fingers tangled gently in your hair as he kissed you deeper, slower, like he wanted to memorize every second.

By the time you both pulled away, the room was quiet except for your uneven breaths. His forehead stayed against yours, his hand still cupping your jaw like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Don’t mute my stories anymore,” he whispered, voice rough. “I need you to see me.”

Your chest tightened, the words catching in your throat. “Then don’t disappear.”

His fingers slid down to lace with yours, squeezing once like a vow. “Not this time.”

viv's note: first ever niki fic!!! fun fact i wrote down the plot of this & even though i didn't have a particular idol in mind while writing it, i feel like niki with this plot works so, so well. as u all know i don't write smut about niki, so a make out scene is all you'll ever get from me about niki. even though he's only 2 years younger than me, he feels like my child 😭🙏

[jellesreid]

Injured

In which Spencer doesn’t turn up to teach his lecture at the University due to being injured during a case leaving his girlfriend extremely worried (angst? fluff?)

masterlist

tags: professor!spencer reid, student!reader, university, bau, age gap relationship, injury, spencer gets shot on a case, worried reader, meeting the team, caring for spencer, relationship, early days relationship, love, hospital setting, spencer has pictures of the reader in his wallet

warnings: nothing major talks of hospitals and gunshot injury. Also reader is 23

Note: I’m so sorry I keep forgetting to post I promise I have loads of fics written I’m just super busy

———————————————————

You were more than slightly surprised when you walked into class early to find the room empty, Spencer was always there forty minutes before class if the lecture hall wasn’t being used. 

He had been in Pennsylvania working on a case but on your phone call last night he said he’d be back in time for the afternoon class. You hadn’t heard from him yet today but that wasn’t unusual if he was working and then returning home quickly after. 

You sat at your desk and pulled out your laptop to do some work before he turned up, but as the minutes passed and the class got closer, you couldn’t help but drum your fingertips on the table. 

Your best friend took her seat next to you 10 minutes before class started, “Where’s your handsome boyfriend?” She whispered into your ear. 

“Uh, I’m not actually sure.”

10 minutes turned into 5, and 5 turned into the time class started, and still no Spencer. You bit your lip anxiously. At this point, you knew something hadn’t gone to plan; you just weren’t sure what yet. 

A substitute professor entered the class a few minutes after class started offering a quick apology for getting lost on his way down.  

He laid the papers out on the desk and stood in front of it leaning against it, “I’m Professor Lang, I’ll be covering the first hour of your class today as Doctor Reid has been held up.”

‘Held up’ circled through your head… maybe they hadn’t caught the guy yet, that had to be it. 

“Held up how?” Sydney, the girl in the 4th row who never stopped giving your boyfriend heart-eyed stares throughout the lessons, asked.

“I was told a case ran over and Doctor Reid was injured, he’s at the hospital. The dean is unsure when he will be back to teaching,” Professor Lang replied. 

With each word the Professor said you felt more and more sick with anxiety until you had almost blocked out any words he was saying by the end. Avery’s eyes softened as she looked at you, her hand falling to your arm to comfort you unsure of how you were going to react. 

You took a few minutes to regulate your breaths, trying not to think of the worst possibility in this situation. The first thing you thought of doing was to look at the train times for straight after the lesson ended. 

It was also moments like this where you wished someone on Spencer’s team knew who you were so you would receive a call when things like this happened but you understood there were things he liked to keep private. 

The case was in Philadelphia so it was only just under 3 hours on the train and a whole lot cheaper than a flight so that would have to do. 

You booked a train that was leaving in an hour and 20 minutes which would give you enough time to get to after the class finished. For the rest of the lesson you sat and listened but you couldn’t bring yourself to do any work until you found out what had happened. 

The moment the class ended you were first out of the door with Avery, you dialled Spencer’s number hoping that someone had it with them and would answer. 

———

In Philadelphia, the team sat in the waiting room, waiting for updates on Spencer. A nurse had brought out his clothes along with personal belongings such as his phone and wallet. 

Spencer’s phone rang in JJ’s hand pulling her from her worried haze, she looked over at the others, “Should I answer?” 

“What does the caller ID say?” Derek asked. 

“It says, ‘Honey’ with a heart?” JJ answered confused. 

“Answer, he must know the person,” Penelope said. 

JJ answered the call before taking a few steps away from the team, “Hi?”

You weren’t expecting a woman to answer the phone but you knew he worked with a few, “Hi, I’m assuming you work with Spencer?”

“Yeah, who are you?” JJ asked.

“I’m Spencer’s girlfriend.”

“What? Spencer doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Um I know he hasn’t told you guys about us but if you’ve got his wallet, there’s a picture of us in there or in his camera roll there are pictures of us or me, I just want to know if he’s okay… please.”

JJ opened his wallet to see a picture of Spencer and a younger-looking woman in his wallet, “How do you know he was injured?” 

“The substitute professor told the class, I’m on my way but please can you tell me what happened and if he’s okay?” You were basically begging at this point.

“He was shot, he’s in surgery but the last update the nurse told us he was stable,” JJ said choosing to ignore that she was in his class right now.

You gasped, placing a hand over your mouth, “Oh my god, okay breathe everything will be okay,” you said to ground yourself.

“Do you need the name of the hospital? Or maybe a ride?” JJ offered.

“No, it’s all good, uh I have his location for emergencies, thank you though,” You ended the call after that.

The rest of the team's eyes were on JJ as she put the phone down on her lap.

“So?” Emily asked.

“That was Spencer’s girlfriend…”

“He’s never mentioned a girlfriend?” Emily replied.

“I assume that’s because she’s roughly half his age,” JJ said with slight judgment in her tone.

“My man!” Derek responded, earning glares from both JJ and Hotch.

“What’s her name?” Penelope called through Derek’s phone.

“I didn’t ask…”

“How do you know it’s not some stalker?” 

“There’s a picture of her in his wallet.”

———

Spencer had just come out of surgery when you arrived, you had to admit you hadn’t planned on approaching his friends.. were you even meant to? 

Instead of going to them, you went to the reception first asking for the update but they blasted the nonsense that you weren’t allowed to know because you weren’t married or family.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and looked up, it was Derek, you had seen multiple pictures of the team you knew who they were but you were unsure how Derek recognised you.

“JJ showed us some pictures of you, plus you look like the sort of girl, pretty boy would go for,” He smiled. 

You raised your eyebrows, “Uh thanks, Derek right?” 

“Yeah, do you know the others?”

“Not formally of course but I can match names and faces from pictures Spence has shown me. Oh, have you had any updates?” You asked hopefully. 

“He’s out of surgery, they said we can go and see him within the next couple of hours, he won’t be awake yet though.” 

You nodded as Derek led you over to the rest of the team gesturing to an empty seat. 

“What happened?” You frowned, “Last night he said everything was on track for you to finish up in the morning and be back in Virginia by the afternoon?” 

“Things can get complicated, it's not always as straightforward as we may once believe,” the man you believed to be Aaron Hotchner, Spencer’s boss, answered. 

“I understand that but how did Spencer get injured… shot rather?”

“There were many shots fired by our unsub, luckily most of them were badly aimed, a couple hit other members of the team's protective vests but Spencer was unlucky the bullet hit his leg. Shortly after the unsub was gunned down,” Hotch explained. 

“How bad?” You asked. 

“That’s as much as we know, but with it being his leg he will need to be out of the field for a while and likely a personal trainer to help him with the function and movement as he will have to be off it for a while.”

“How long have you and Spencer been together?” JJ asked. 

“Uh, about six months?” 

“Wait around that time Spencer started mentioning a girl,” Penelope said. 

“He did?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, Y/N.” 

“He mentioned me?” You asked surprised. 

“That’s your name?” Emily asked and you nodded, “I figured he was talking about a cousin that’s why I didn’t pay much attention.”

You scrunched your nose up but at the same time you felt a pang of sadness that your boyfriend’s friends didn’t listen to him as much as he thought they did, “Definitely not a cousin… gross.” 

“How old are you?” Emily’s curiosity finally got the better of her.

“23.”

Before anyone had a chance to reply the nurse came to the team letting them know Spencer was out of surgery and you could see him one at a time. 

You and JJ both rose from your seats at the same time, which made you feel awkward so you chose to just sit back down as JJ made a couple of steps to follow the nurse to Spencer’s room.

“JJ, maybe she should go first?” Derek suggested. 

“Why? I’ve known Spence longer and she’s basically a kid,” JJ said. 

The words hurt you a bit but you knew you and Spencer had an age gap, which not everyone would agree with. 

“She’s his girlfriend.” 

JJ looked to Hotch and Emily for their support but both had straight faces. 

“It’s okay, you can go I’ll wait…” You said to be nice, she was right she had known him longer. 

JJ had been in the room for at least half an hour before you finally got enough courage to find the room and ask if you could swap with her.

As you approached the room you heard two voices, one that belonged to JJ and the other, your boyfriend’s voice which was groggily sounding to say the least. Your first feeling was hurt that she hadn’t come to get you when Spencer woke up but that was quickly replaced with relief that he was awake. 

You knocked on the door and leaned against the door frame as they both looked up.

A smile broke out over Spencer’s face, “Honey what are you doing here?” 

“You got shot idiot,” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. 

“But you didn’t need to come, honey, I would have been fine,” Spencer said, brushing it off. 

“Spence, you had surgery that’s not fine.”

“JJ could you leave us alone for a bit?” Spencer asked. 

JJ looked between the two of them, “Are you sure?” 

Spencer looked at her puzzled as to why she was questioning it, “Yes, I’m sure.” 

JJ nodded and left the room as you took her place on the chair before Spencer scooted over on the bed and patted a small sliver of space.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, I don't want to hurt you.”

“Please,” Spencer gave you a small welcoming smile that you couldn’t resist. 

You climbed into the small space facing him, “Does it hurt?” 

“I’m on a lot of pain meds, so as of right now no,” He laughed. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” You said with a frown, placing a small kiss on his cheek. 

“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault honey.”

You shrugged, “I just don’t want you to be hurt.” 

“I didn’t really want to get hurt either but it’s a risk with the job. How was class?” 

“I stayed up all night doing your assignments and then I couldn’t pay attention in class because I was worried about you,” You held his face in your hands gently brushing the stubble he had growing.

“Don’t do that again, You need to sleep I’ll let you off the assignments,” He reached to play with the ends of your hair. 

“No, I don’t want special treatment, other people have too, so I do as well.”

“You’re pretty,” He said, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“You’re pretty too baby but you need to get some sleep,” You left a kiss on his nose watching him smile as he drifted off to sleep before getting out of the bed and returning to the chair beside him, holding his hand gently as he slept. Not long after you somehow managed to fall asleep in the not so comfortable chair with your hand intertwined with his.

———————————————————

[angsty-warlock]

explicit vs implicit queer rep in comic books is incredibly complex and nuanced topic, and I do think that thanks to the hays code the weight of implicit rep should carry at least some weight. Because for so long coding was the only way to actually get any representation which was the culture the x-men came up in back in the 60s and 70s. So a lot of Kurt's coding from early on is heavily baked into the character, which I do personally think should count for something more than "not explicitly gay"

as for implications and jokes I don't know if your referencing specifically modern marvel or not, because if you are you're correct. I cant stand what they've done to my blorbo's over the last (approx) 15yrs and in no way condone the way they conduct themselves and their writing.

to be clear tho, I do hear the point you make about lesbophobia and can see where you are coming from. This is not the first time I've heard someone make this before about other peices of media. I'm sorry if I appear to have ignored this point.

I just at the very least wanted to defend Kurt's honor as queer rep since I dont think its fair in this instance to write him off... now I'm open to being wrong about Logan since I don't have sources on hand and i'd much rather admit defeat than be proven wrong and die a fool.

If ive missed some area of nuance in this reply, please keep in mind this is a tumblr post and its far from the ideal medium to actually have this discussion... and a medium that I have never quite gotten the hang of writing despite being here as long as I have.

[alwayssassydreamer]

Under Your Skin Part 2

A/N: so this is the seconds part and I, well I think I got possessed because somehow I ended up with this part having almost 7k words since I personally am not a fan of reading stories with over 6k words in on go I decided to split it *yay* 🤣 🤦‍♀️ so now we have the smut split into this "softer" one and the next part containing the "heavier" stuff (we're talking DP in one hole and two holes) and the last part also has the ending/aftermath in it. So sorry about all that smut I just couldn't stop and didn't want to cut it out

Part 1 | Part 3 (not yet posted)

Word count >3200

Plot: you were a Marine officer who regularly ran into Shanks and Beckman having to endure their relentless flirting and teasing that slowly started chipping away your resistance and made you forget about your duty BUT not much plot in this part

Warnings: nsfw, fingering, oral (giving and receiving), p in v, praising, restraints, MDNI ⚠️🔞

Characters: Shanks x FMarineReader x Beckman

A few days after that you met them again because apparently fate hated you and this time, god this time, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It happened because of something small. That was the worst part. Not some grand moment. Not battle, not even duty. Just… Shanks leaning too close at the bar again, fingers ghosting your wrist, smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Y’know,” he drawled, “we’ve been awfully patient with you.”

Patient. That was one word for it. Torturous was another.

You’ve spent weeks, months, really, enduring this game. The slow smiles. The shared glances. Beckman’s low, rumbling voice curling around you in quiet moments. Shanks’ bold, shameless flirting in public. The faint touches. The way they spoke to you like you weren't a marine, like they had already won, and you were just too stubborn to admit it. The nights you lay in bed touching yourself thinking about them because apparently they had occupied your mind and you weren't getting rid of them.

Tonight though something in you snapped.

Maybe it was the way Beckman was standing behind you, a little too close, cigarette smoke curling around your throat like a noose. Maybe it was the way Shanks’ hand was still on your wrist, thumb tracing circles that made heat crawl beneath your skin.

Maybe it was the fact they were looking at you like they were daring you, waiting to see if you'd finally stop pretending this wasn’t what you wanted.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Beckman murmured by your ear, voice low. “Running out of excuses?”

Shanks laughed under his breath. “Let her have her pride, Beck. Won’t be much left of it after she finally gives in,” he said with a teasing wink.

You just glared at him but then Shanks looked a little more serious at you.

“Say the word,” he murmured, inching closer, no teasing in his voice for once. “We’ll back off. For good.”

“But we don’t want to,” Beckman added, calm and grounded. “And you don’t either.”

You looked between them.

At Shanks so bright, alive, his charm suddenly stripped of performance, like this meant something now.

At Beckman, still, unreadable, but watching you like he already knew the outcome.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out.

So instead… you grabbed the front of Shanks’ shirt and kissed him.

Hard, rough, messy and definitely uncontrolled. Weeks, no months, of tension crashing through you like a wave. He barely had time to smirk before you stole his breath from his lungs.

He groaned against your mouth, fingers digging into your waist as he kissed you back like a man starved.

When you broke the kiss, Shanks looked dazed. “Oh… she’s done pretending now.”

And then a hand curled around your arm.

Warm, strong and steady.

You turned into Beckman without thinking, your breath catching as his hand came up to cradle the side of your neck. His lips didn’t crash into yours. No, he took his time. It was slower, deeper, more sensual. Like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

And you let him because you wanted him to, wanted them.

The fire and the quiet.

The heat and the weight.

The way they wrapped around you from both sides, and for the first time in your life, you felt wanted without being claimed. Desired without being owned. 

Seen nit just as a pretty face.

Beckman’s laugh was low almost approving. “Finally,” he muttered.

“If you’re going to keep taunting me, you might as well follow through,” you said trying to sound confident and firm but your voice betraying you.

The look Shanks and Beckman shared wasn’t surprise, it was triumph. You were never really in control of this. Not when they had been patient enough to let you break yourself, when they unraveled you so slowly for months now, when ghey knew exactly what they were doing to you.

“Don’t worry. We’re just getting started,” Beckman whispered as his hand caught your chin, tilting your face to his with infuriating slowness before his hands slipped beneath your thighs and hoisted you up like you weighed nothing.

One moment you were standing your ground. The next? His grip locked under you, your legs wrapping around his hips on instinct because where else could they go? Your dignity was long gone anyways.

Shanks just laughed. Loud, delighted, like this was exactly what he had been waiting for.

“She’s not running, Beck. Never really wanted to. She’s been asking for this since the first time she told us to leave her alone.” His grin was cheeky, teeth flashing.

You were flushed, burning alive beneath your skin, but there was no escaping them now.

"But I have to admit you lasted longer than we thought," Beckman said teasingly carrying you like he owned you, while he headed towards the docks where The Red Force waited.

Shanks followed, leisurely, like he had all the time in the world to enjoy this victory.

“You’re both insane,” you hissed but your voice lacked any malice and your arms locked tighter around Beckman’s neck, your clothes tugged out of place by rough hands and bolder intentions.

Beckman’s smirk said it all. “And you’re not fooling anyone anymore, sweetheart.”

“Besides,” Shanks added from behind, voice low and teasing as he watched how Beckman handled you, “we’ve been more than patient. You wanted this. You wanted us. You just didn’t know how to admit it and don't worry you will not regret this we'llmake sure of it.”

The ship wasn't far. Beckman didn’t slow down. Shanks leaned in close as you were carried aboard like some spoils of war.

“You could’ve made this easy on yourself.” Shanks breath ghosted over your ear, his grin burning against your neck. “But where’s the fun in that?”

"Nah duty wouldn't let her give in. But seems duty is no longer something you care about" Beckman teased and you groaned but truth was he was right because you left duty somewhere at the bar.

Once the door closed behind them you were lowered to the ground but Shanks was immediately there and kissed you like you were a secret he was finally allowed to speak out loud, hand warm and eager, mouth hungry, but careful.

Reverent even.

Like you were something he wanted to worship properly.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips. “You feel so good already. Gonna let me taste all of you, yeah? Been dreaming about it since the first time you tried to kick my ass.”

His hand slid up your shirt, calloused, teasing, brushing the swell of your breast with a gentleness that made you ache.

He bit at your jaw, kissed the corner of your mouth and grinned against your skin.

“Knew you’d break eventually. Didn’t think you’d beg for it with your eyes like that though.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to shut up but then Beckman’s hand fisted in your hair.

He didn’t say much, he didn’t need to.

He kissed you like he owned your next breath, slow, open-mouthed, possessive. One hand tangled in your hair tilting your head carefully. The other skimmed down your hip, fingers curling around your thigh as he pressed in from behind.

“Already shaking,” he muttered, lips dragging down your throat. “You’ve been fighting this so long you don’t even know how to let go.”

You wanted to say something sharp. Wanted to bite back but then his hand slid between your legs pushing the fabric of your skirt out of his way with slow, deliberate pressure and you gasped, your whole body arching.

“Thought so,” Beckman murmured. “Already soaked.”

Shanks chuckled low, sliding your shirt over your head, eyes devouring you.

“Fuck, you’re stunning. Look at you, sweetheart. All that righteous fury and nowhere to put it. Should’ve just let us take care of you sooner. You’re in it now, sweetheart.” His voice was warm, playful, but there was no mistaking the hunger underneath. “You’re ours.”

You should’ve pushed them away.

But instead you reached for Shanks, clinging to his shoulder, moaning as Beckman’s fingers pressed harder.

“You finally broke.” Beckman’s tongue dragged across your pulse. “That means you don’t get to pretend anymore.”

They took their time stripping you after that, svoring the moment not ruahing anything.

Shanks unhooked your bra with a grin that could melt steel. Beckman slid your skirt alongside your panties down slowly, knuckles brushing the heat between your thighs as he went. And when they finally saw you bare, trembling, theirs, neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“Fuck me,” Shanks whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Beckman just pulled you into his chest.

“Get on the bed,” he said firmly against your neck. 

Your knees nearly buckled at the tone.

They didn’t fight over you.

They shared.

Your head spun as you carefully crawled onto the bed and they followed right after you. Their hands were everywhere. Their mouths were heat and teeth and smoke and wine. You stopped fighting the moment you had kissed Shanks first and they were going to remind you of it. Over and over and god did it feel so much better as in your dreams because finally this became real, no longer did you have to dream about them touching, kissing and claiming you. 

Shanks’ laugh was lower now, breathless against your skin.

“Hope you’re ready, sweetheart. Because this time? We’re not letting you walk away.”

“You were begging for this,” Beckman muttered against your skin, his hand already dragging up your thigh. “Every time you gave us that little glare. Every time you stood there trying not to stare back,” he continued before kissing you. 

“You’re beautiful,” Shanks murmured, dragging his mouth between your breast.  “Been thinking about this for too damn long,” he admitted before he continued down your stomach until he ended up sucking bruises to the inside of your thighs while Beckman rolled your nipples between his fingers, voice rough in your ear, praising every sound you made. 

A very undignified one left your lips the moment Shanks leaned closer to your core, breath hot on your soaked, twitching cunt and his tongue licked a long stripe over it. Your back arched and Beckman pressed you back down onto the bed his fingers never stopping their relentless but sweet torment on your nipples. 

The first few licks were slow, up your slit, over your clit, swirling in a deliberate, commanding loop and you choked on a moan making Shanks smirk against you before he began to devour you.

No hesitation. No rhythm but total worship, he cherished the way you twitched under him, the noises you made and the way you tasted. He fucked you with his mouth like it was a sentence. His tongue drove inside, deep, every flick carrying a pulse of heat that felt like it was burning you from the inside out, all while Beckman kept his focus on your nipples and his lips on your neck and collarbone. It was overwhelming to say the least.

You cried out, clutching uselessly at the sheets as your hips tried to escape.

One of Beckman’s hands moved down on your pelvis to keep you from squirming so much.

“Don’t run from it,” he growled. “Take it, enjoy it sweetheart let us worship you like you deserve.” 

Shanks groaned into you the vibration of it sending shivers through you. He made you scream with hot licks, teasing flicks and hard sucks until his nose buried into your clit and his tongue dove even deeper into you. Your thighs instinctively tried to close around his head trapping him there as you moaned and felt like you were going to explode. 

“Louder,” he said between laps. “Let them hear how good a pirate can make you feel,” Shanks teased. 

You couldn’t breathe, you didn’t want to, your hips grinded towards his mouth, chasing friction, and the second he let you chase it you exploded.

Your orgasm hit like fire.

You screamed. Legs locking. Back arching. You gushed over his face, shaking violently and Shanks kept you there, kept licking letting you ride it out while Beckman bit down on your nipples intensifying the sensation. 

You were panting, thighs soaked, clit throbbing, brain fogged with pleasure so deep you were barely aware of your surroundings. 

Shanks now lay beside you, brushing sweat-soaked strands from your cheek with the gentlest fingers, while Beckman pushed off the bed, shirt undone, dark eyes fixed on your thighs, still parted from the orgasm they had coaxed out of you.

“You still breathing, sweetheart?” Shanks grinned, biting at your lower lip.

You gave a choked, needy sound that only made Beckman smirk.

“She can take more.”

“I know she can,” Shanks said, voice rough now. “Question is, where do we want her first?”

You didn’t even care anymore.

“Please,” you breathed, reaching out, thighs clenching. “I don’t care—just keep going—”

Beckman knelt between your legs so fast you gasped, broad hands curling beneath your knees, spreading you open. His gaze was calm but dark, intense and full of quiet control.

“You’ll take both of us,” he said simply. “You want both so we’re gonna give you us both.”

You nodded helplessly, back arching as he trailed two fingers down over your soaked cunt and Shanks leaned down to mouth at your breasts, tongue hot and greedy, teeth catching the soft flesh of your nipple until you whimpered and he hummed around it like it was a reward.

“Then let us show you what that means.”

Beckman’s teeth grazed your neck. His palm settled between your legs in an almost possessive way.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart,” he murmured, though his fingers were already finding you wet again. “Otherwise, I’m going to take what you’ve been teasing us with since the first day you opened that pretty mouth and made us fall for you.”

You didn’t tell him to stop, you didn’t want him to.

Shanks chuckled low, his hand cupped your jaw, turning your face toward him and kissing you as Beckman’s fingers kept working you open, slow but relentless.

Beckman’s hand didn’t stop moving between your legs, fingers slicking through heat that made you bite down on Shanks’ lip harder than you meant to. Both of them groaned like it was the sound they wanted all along.

“You’re making a mess of yourself on my hand, Officer,” Beckman breathed at your ear, his fingers finally sinking inside with a stretch that made your knees buckle. “Still pretending you’re above this?”

Shanks broke the kiss with a laugh. “Not anymore. Look at her, Beck. Desperate and we’ve barely touched her.”

“Tell me how many times did you dream of this, our hands burning against your skin, our lips marking you and us taking you, claiming you,” he asked deliciously low, hand never stopping it’s movement. 

You couldn’t answer, you were so overwhelmed but the look in your eyes and the small sounds you were making was answer enough for them and they both smirked at you, a laugh escaping Shanks lips.

Beckman’s fingers kept curling just right inside you making you gasp and arch while Shanks' fingers rolled your nipple. God you were close so damn close when Beckman pressed his thumb against your clit you thought you were reaching another climax but before that sweet feeling could rush over you and tip you over the edge they stopped and smirked and then turned you over, gently, face-down, ass up, one of Beckman’s hands cradling your hip while the other cuffed your wrists behind your back with his belt. Not tight, just enough, just a reminder.

“She looks so good like this,” Shanks groaned behind you. “Gonna wreck her, Beck.”

“Not if I wreck her first.”

Before you could process what was going on you felt the tip of Beckman’s cock nudge your entrance and a moan escaped your lips. 

And then Beckman finally pushed inside you, he slid inside you with one slow and long stroke that made your vision white out from the stretch. He hissed low, muttering curses and praise against your shoulder as he rocked in deep and didn’t move.

“Tight little Marine,” he growled, breath warm at your ear. “You feel this? This is what youwere running from. Us worshippi g you, making you feel good the wqy you deserve.”

You wanted to say something because honestly this was one of the nicest things someone had said to you but all that left your lips was a borken moan before Shanks’ hand was in your hair, lifting your head.

“Don’t think I’m letting you get away without tasting me,” he muttered, stroking himself as he knelt in front of you. “Open that pretty mouth.”

You obeyed.

Of course you did.

Beckman pulled back and thrust in again just as Shanks slid past your lips, thick and warm and already leaking for you. You gagged, just a little, but the moan that followed went straight down Shanks’ spine.

“She’s loving this,” Shanks gasped, hips rolling lazily. “Fucking look at her, Beck—drooling on my cock while you ruin her from behind.”

“Not ruined,” Beckman said, gripping your hips harder as he drove into you with more force now, each thrust knocking you deeper onto Shanks’ length. “Claimed.”

You weren’t just sandwiched, you were worshipped. Used but loved, in a twisted, raw but real way.

Pinned, stretched and filled in the best way.

Beckman’s low groans behind you, Shanks’ filthy praise above and you coming undone between them.

You couldn’t think, you were too overwhelmed with the hot blur of mouths and hands and being taken.

“That’s it sweetheart keep going” Shanks hissed head tilting backwards as you continued to moan around him.

His fingers curled into your hair as he fucked your mouth with smooth, shallow thrusts, groaning low when your throat took more than it should.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “You were made for this.”

You moaned around him, and that vibration nearly broke him.

“Just a little bit more….you doin so good” Shanks grunted getting closer and closer his cock pressed against the back of your throat until you felt something hot against it and him growl deeply spilling inside you.

“Fuck– swallow it all sweetheart” he panted and you obeyed as a cry tore from you when Beckman picked up the pace behind you.  

Shanks pulled free from your mouth with a gasp and a grin, chest heaving but clearly pleased as he watched you and Beckman for a moment. 

He watched how you were drooling from him and from the relentless pleasure Beckman inflicted.

A few more heavy thrusts and you were screaming the orgasm rushing over you as Beckman kept going, fucked you through it till he reached his own high, spilling inside you before he slowly pulled out and you collapsed onto the bed.  

“Gonna need a breather?” Shanks asked and you were too exhausted to speak and instead just nodded. 

“It’s okay, you’re doing so good for us” Beckman said running a warm hand down your spine, igniting every nerve ending  on your skin before he untied your hands.

The two of them kept pampering and worshipping you with gentle, soft touches and kisses and you didn’t remember the last time someone treated you like this but god did it feel good. 

"Don't worry sweetheart we're gonna take good care of you" Beckman breathed into your ear before kissing the spot just beneath it.

“Ready for another round” Shanks asked smugly his breath hot against your face making you tremble. 

“'M ready” you rasped and Shanks looked like a kid in a candy store.

.....to be continued

Taglist: @jintaka-hane @fleetadmiralsoffice @hakiofdreams @welcome-to-the-grandline @sailing-to-laugh-tale

[hotmusclebabe]

flu season

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sevika x reader blurb (headcanons/ficlet thing), 2.6k words

summary: how you take care of Sevika when she's sick, and how she takes care of you.

tags: mentions of illness, mostly sfw, slight playful banter, reader being sick section is longer than sevika being sick section, sevika likes to be doted on, clingy sick sevika is real to me, sevika and reader are both a little dramatic, again these tags are booty i'm sorry, fluff fluff FLUFF

notes: thank you @massiveragingdyke for being my reason for posting… also, this is a very tiny bit self indulgent but what can a girl that thinks of sevika all the time do except for write fanfic about sevika… hope you guys enjoy!! lmk if any if you would like to be added to a taglist for my next fic :P

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when sevika is sick:

Sevika is generally an easy person to take care of when she's sick, once you get past her little stubborn phase. Once you notice she has a fever, a cold, the flu, something of the sort— she'll immediately deny it and try to hide it. She decides that her tough image must be upheld.

This doesn't last very long. One, because you're persistent and adamant on not letting her stress herself out when she's sick, and two, because she secretly likes being doted on by you.

She's the sweetest thing once you get her to stop being stubborn. Initially, she'll be apprehensive about showing you any affection out of concern that she'll pass her illness onto you. However, once you insists its fine, there's a high chance she'll be a velcro girlfriend for the night. She wants you to be with you the whole time, and you have no complaints about it. Instead of you sleeping on top of her, she'll be curled up on your chest. She'll whisper quiet words and mumbles about how grateful she is for you, and how she doesn't know what she did to deserve you.

The front door opens quietly, as if whoever was there was intentionally trying not to make a sound. The quiet noise of boots hitting the ground echoes down the hallway, followed by a thump onto the couch. You've only just gotten out of the shower; hastily, you finish up your post-shower routine before entering the living room. Laying on the couch is Sevika, looking uncharacteristically tired. You move to the couch, sitting next to her. "Hi, honey," your voice is quiet and gentle. "Hard day at work today?"

"Was fine," Sevika mutters back quietly in response. Your hand reaches to her face, gently holding her jawline as your thumb runs over her cheek. She's burning hot.

Without any hesitation, you question her. "Hey. You're not feeling a little under the weather?" She grunts quietly, sitting up and leaning away from you— a telltale sign that yes, she is sick. You grab her jaw again, pulling her face toward you. The back of your hand presses against her forehead. Burning hot. "Go get a shower. I'll get you some soup ready." Before you let go of her face, you pull her forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Though Sevika wants to insist she's fine, she knows a shower sounds great right now. "Not sick," Sevika denies it as she stands up, but she looks shaky and cold. "I needed to shower anyway." She walks off to the bathroom, and you let out a quiet sigh. Stubborn. Once she's gone, you head into the kitchen to get her some food to eat.

A little later, Sevika exits the bedroom in full pajamas. Usually, she falls asleep wearing a cut tank top and boxers. However, today, she's wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. “Not sick”, your ass. You call her over to the couch, holding a bowl of soup for her. "Put some of that fish you like in it," you tell her, and her expression shifts from miserable to slightly less miserable. She kisses your temple before straining to eat the food you've prepared her.

Once she's finished, she wanders off to brush her teeth, and you put her plate away in the kitchen. You meet once again in your shared bed, and you slip under the covers first. Sevika gets in after you, laying her head on your chest and mumbling something quietly. The corner of your lip tugs. She's a Goddamned baby when she's sick, though you can't complain. Gently, you rake your fingers through her hair, and she lets out a content sigh.

"Go to sleep," you murmur quietly. Lips pressing gently against the top of her head, you pull her closer. She nuzzles her head against you, trying as much as she can to get closer. “Love you, baby,” you whisper quietly to her as she’s lulled to sleep by your gentle touch. She doesn’t respond, already knocked out cold. A smile tugs at your lips as you wrap your arms around her shoulder, knowing she’ll insist to hell and back that this never happened in the morning.

if you're sick:

The moment you wake up with skin warmer than your usual temperature, Sevika's called out of work for you. Complaining about ever a minor headache, or coughing in her vicinity, that warrants her demanding Silco to free you of work until you're better.

If all you've got is a cold, a headache, anything minor, she'll leave some food on the stove for you and head out to work for the day. Periodically, she'll text you throughout the day to make sure you're still living and breathing. Some check-ups would look like this:

Sevika: Still breathing??

Sevika: Chicken soup on the stove 🍗

Sevika: Hoodie in my bottom drawer. Take it if you get cold

Sevika: Be home soon, sugar 💋

When she gets home, she'll find you fast asleep on the couch, curled up in her hoodie, as well as having a blanket on top of you. She'll bundle you up, blanket and all, and carry you to bed, tucking you under the covers. After some time, you'll eventually wrestle out of the two layers of blanket, and wind up laying on top of Sevika's chest. Her fingers will rub gentle circles into your scalp as you breath quietly against her.

In the case that you are feverish, Sevika calls out for both of you. Additionally, she’ll stay home to ensure you're cared for. She'd rather die than admit she has some irrational worries about you falling over, hitting your head, and fatally injuring yourself, but it speaks for itself when she follows you around everywhere when you're sick.

"Sevika, I have the flu. I'm not gonna die." You mumble tiredly as she follows you into the bathroom.

She leans against the sink, allowing her hands to cover her eyes. Dramatic. "I'm not taking that risk. Now hurry it up."

She's extra gentle with you when you're sick. No rough-housing, not today. Though she'd love to put you into a headlock, your well being comes first. She cooks all your food for you, and if you're too weak to eat, she'll spoon feed you. A typical sick meal you'll get from Sevika is chicken soup— Sevika is rather skilled at cooking, though she prefers to use her skills on more delicate occasions. Moreover, if you can't stomach eating, she'll make you some tea, her specialty. Tea is harder to get in the Undercity, and even harder to make correctly; Sevika knows how to do both things right. The only time you'll ever really get tea from Sevika is on Valentines day, and when you're sick.

She absolutely spoils you when you're sick. Anything for you.

Later in the day, she'll shower with you to make sure you don't fall over and die on her. After losing so many people in her life, she does have a bit of paranoia that something might happen to you. Sevika will take such care in gently washing your back for you, and once you're both out of the shower, she'll make sure you wear a long pair of pajama pants with one of her hoodies. No shivering on her watch.

When its time for you to go to sleep, Sevika's keeping you on top of her the whole time. Starfish if you must, but you're not going anywhere.

A familiar painful ache overwhelms your senses; a sharp stabbing pain locates itself in your head. Your eyes feel heavy, and suddenly, your entire body feels hot yet freezing at the same time. You've only just showered and gotten ready for work, only to be hit by a wave of fatigue. Defeated, you slump onto the couch in the living room, burying your face in the cushion. A quiet groan escapes you as you lay down for just a second…

"You're going to make us late, y'know," A gruff, familiar voice calls out. You want to get up, but ultimately, the fatigue takes over. "What crawled up your ass today?" When you don't respond with, "hopefully, you,", Sevika recognizes something is up. She sits on the couch next to where you're lying down, eyebrows furrowed as she observes your state. With only one arm, she slips it under your stomach, flipping you onto your back. You grunt quietly as your eyes are assaulted with the light. Soon, her warm hands make contact with your forehead. God, that feels nice. "You're burning up," she sighs as she stands up. "I'll tell Silco we're both not coming in."

Words can't describe how grateful for your girlfriend you are. "Arnghh…" You grumble, because no words can truly come to mind. Sevika steps out of the living room to inform Silco of your absence, which leaves you to lay on the couch in pain. After what feels like an hour, Sevika comes back into the living room.

For a moment, she stands over you, hands on her hips. "Alright, asshole. Gotta get you to bed." Yet another grumble. "I can't manhandle you when you're like this. Come on." She kneels down in front of the couch.

"My head hurts," you mumble out, arm sprawled over your eyes to shield them from the harsh light. Sevika pulls your arms up, lifting you up against her.

She carries you back to the bedroom. "I know," she murmurs against your ear, then pressing a kiss to your cheek. Even though you feel as though you are previewing hell, at least you get to be doted on by Sevika. She carries you back to the bedroom, allowing your body to fall onto the soft bed. She tucks the blanket over you, running her fingers through your hair. "Gonna make some lunch. Want anything?"

"Death," you grumble, and she simply sighs. She kisses your temple before heading out, leaving you in the bedroom. Struggling to make sense of your pitiful existence in that moment, you decide to lay on your back and allow yourself to drift into an uncomfortable and fitful sleep. What feels like hours later, Sevika returns, bowl in hand.

She sets the bowl on the nightstand, sitting on the bed beside you. "Hey. You gotta eat," her fingers rub circles into your waist, coaxing you to sit up. When she realizes she'll have to push more, she sighs, allowing her arm to wrap your waist yet again. "Stubborn," she mutters before forcing you to sit up. "C'mon. Get your strength up."

Allowing the spoon to be shoved into your mouth, you eat a third of the soup before giving up. "If I vomit, I'll get it on you," you mutter, slumping back into bed. A quiet huff escapes Sevika; she stands up, grabbing the bowl of soup with her. A minute passes, in which she enters the kitchen and returns without the bowl of soup. Your eyes trail down her figure tiredly. "You didn't have to skip work for me, y'know." you mumble quietly, yet appreciatively.

Sitting back on the bed, her fingers gently card through your hair in an attempt to massage away the terrible headache you've got. "Anything for my girl," she mutters. "Get some rest, yeah?" You want to thank her, but no words can come out from you. Your eyes feel too heavy, and her fingers in your hair is lulling you to sleep…

When you wake up again, Sevika is still next to you. You’d slept most of the day, and by the way your body feels, you’ll likely sleep through the rest of the night as well. You don't say anything for a moment, just observing her features. Her expression is focused onto the magazine in front of her. There is a crinkle in her eyebrows— that's typically present whenever she is concentrating. Your eyes feel dry and heavy, yet you can't peel your gaze away from her. She's biting on her inner cheek, breathing quietly. Her eyes move to yours, and she flinches. "Hell," she grumbles. "Could've said you were awake instead of staring at me like a creepy bastard."

"You look pretty," you mumble, your body still pressed against hers the way it had been before.

Letting out a quiet huff, Sevika gets out of bed. "You look feverish and damn delusional. Come on. You're taking a shower." Grumbling, you begrudgingly allow her to drag you out of bed. With each step, your limbs ache as you approach the bathroom. Once you enter, Sevika has you sit on the edge of the tub while she undresses. Even in your deluded state, a smirk crosses your lips as she takes her shirt off. Sevika notices it and rolls her eyes in response. "You're lucky you're sick," she comments as she gets the shower running.

"Real lucky," you give her a tired smile. You peel your clothes off, handing them to her as you remove them. As soon as you take your clothes off, you feel freezing cold. As you wait for the shower water to warm up, Sevika tugs you away from the edge of the tub, holding you against her warm body. You sigh quietly. "Your boobs are warm."

Sevika grunts quietly. "Sick or not, you'd say that regardless."

"Its because I love you," you inhale through your runny nose, and she pulls you into the warm shower. After lathering a washcloth, Sevika carefully cleanses your body of any dirt or grime. Despite how calloused her palms are, they always meet your face with softness. She takes a moment to wash herself, rinsing herself thoroughly with the warm water. Twisting the knob off, she quickly grabs two towels, wrapping you first.

Upon entering the bedroom, you manage to slip into your pajama pants and hoodie, throwing on a pair of fuzzy socks to accommodate your freezing temperature. Sevika, on the other hand, is wearing boxers and a tank top. Though you would like to accuse her of flaunting her stable temperature, you know that her body heat will do wonders in warming you up. Flopping down onto the bed, you allow Sevika to cover you both with the duvet. "Never seen you look so defeated," Sevika comments. A smirk tugs at her lips. "Or quiet." In protest, you groan as loudly as you can, to which Sevika responds by rubbing your back gently. "Yeah, yeah." She slips under the covers beside you, using her arm to pull you on top of her completely. "Night, baby."

You sigh quietly, mumbling against her warm skin. "Just so you know, 'm gonna kill you tomorrow."

Sevika presses a kiss to your forehead, and you can feel her smirk against you. "I am so afraid. What for?"

In all honesty, you forgot what you'd threatened her for— but you're sure she did something regardless. "Haven't decided yet."

"Mhm," she hums unconvincingly. "I'll be waiting."

"Love you, Sev," you mumble, allowing her warmth to envelope you.

Her fingers run through your hair, and she allows her hand to settle cupping your head. "Love you too, sugar," she replies. Sevika allows you to fall asleep first, though, that's something she does regardless of if you're sick or healthy. No matter what, your well being is important to her.

Sick or healthy, she'll always take care of you. She kisses your temple, and as her lips press against your skin, she realizes your skin is no longer as hot as it had been before.