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em1i2a3 · 1 day ago

Text

My Favourite Game

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Inexperienced!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You haven’t had much luck when it comes to dating and sex which has inadvertently placed you in a position of being wholly inexperienced with the whole scene in general. But when your long time friend Rhett Abbott offers you a way to experiment safely to figure out what to do, you immediately jump at the opportunity–desperate to learn and get more experience.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers? Hell yeah! Reader is inexperienced and actually has a safe space to actually experiment. The dynamics between Rhett and Reader are extremely comfortable (they talk about a lot of personal things), They’ve been friends for a while (high school acquaintances turned adult friends), Mentions of Violence (kind of vague as well), Rhett is Mentioned to be Protective

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all…), Oral Sex (fem! And male! Receiving), Fingering, Biting (leaving marks), Dirty Talk, Hickeys and Love Bites, Cum Play, Swallowing, Hair Pulling, Choking, Overstimulation, Semi–Public Sex (Truck Sex y’all wahoooo lol), Handjobs, Riding, Making Out, Thigh Riding, Praising/WorshippingTeasing (physically), Begging, Reader is described as being inexperienced they have had sex though, just really bad sex, Very Soft Dom and Sub dynamics that switches, Finger Sucking, Gagging (very brief moment, nothing extreme), Good Girl is used.

Author’s Note: Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of smut warnings lol. I loved writing this, I buy into the friends to lovers trope so much, but I also enjoy the ‘I’m teaching you new things about yourself and we’re slowly falling for each other’ trope lol. Did I go off on this and have to change my keyboard midway through because the A, D, F and G keys break? Yep. But holy hell did I enjoy writing this new segment of RAF and I’m so excited to keep writing for this man!

Word Count: 13,962

It was painfully evident that you didn’t have much luck with men. You used to think maybe the first one was just a fluke–that one high school boyfriend who didn’t know the first thing about tenderness and treated you like a friend more than a lover. But as the years went on and the faces changed–first dates, flings, those awkward two-month situationships that ended with unread messages or cold shoulders–it became harder and harder to ignore a simple, infuriating truth:

You attracted a certain type of guy, and unfortunately, that type of guy brought on heaps of trouble to you.

Rhett had told you as much–in different ways, tones, and situations.

”I can tell just by lookin’ at ‘em,” He’d mutter over his beer, eyes narrowed at whoever was looking at you, or whoever had come to pick you up from his ranch when you would hang out, “Ain’t no way that one’s gonna treat you right.” But you never listened to him. You had told him–and yourself–multiple times that he was just being overprotective, and looking too deeply into things.

But the truth was, he was right, you weren’t being treated right. Not even close.

In bed, it was glaringly worse. You didn’t come first–literally or metaphorically. The guys you saw acted like just showing up was enough, like their presence alone should’ve sent you spiraling into pure ecstasy–like you were supposed to be grateful that they were blessing you with the experience of having them between your legs.

You definitely weren’t. Not even once.

You could actually count on one hand how many times you’d almost felt an orgasm building. And the only time someone even offered to go down on you–and even then, he was half-assing the job, and made it feel like a formality rather than something he actually wanted to do. You barely felt his mouth. But you pretended it was good, just so it wouldn’t be another disappointment.

For a long time, you thought maybe something was wrong with you, that maybe your body was broken or maybe you were just one of those people who didn’t get much pleasure from these types of things and needed simpler acts to truly experience something even close to sexual pleasure. So. You stopped trying, stopped dating, and stopped chasing what felt more like punishment than passion.

And within the quiet that followed your dating celibacy, you had found yourself spending more time with Rhett.

Neither of you were truly close with each other before that.

Sure, you’d gone to the same high school, crossed paths in hallways, shared the occasional class where you’d borrow a pencil or flash him a smirk when he got caught nodding off mid-lecture. But he ran with the rodeo kids, and you–well, you drifted between circles, kept mostly to yourself, caught up in extracurriculars and jobs and the kind of boys Rhett always ended up warning you about years later.

It wasn’t until a spur-of-the-moment decision–one boring Friday and a reckless text to your old classmate–that you ended up at one of his circuits. You hadn’t seen him ride since high school, and you figured, why not?

You didn’t expect much.

But then you saw him in the dirt and the dust, bronzed under the stadium lights, laughing with his hat tipped back and his knuckles split open. And something shifted.

You stayed longer than you meant to that night. Helped him limp back to his truck. Got late-night fries together. Talked about everything and nothing, just like people who didn’t know yet that they were about to become each other’s person.

After that, it became a routine. A quiet, natural rhythm. The two of you set aside one day a week for bar hopping–usually Tuesdays, when the crowds were thin and the drinks were cheap. But when you gave up on dating for a while, something in that rhythm expanded.

You weren’t just hanging out once a week anymore. You were showing up at circuits again, slapping the rusted fence rails as he rode past, grinning like you were seventeen again and seeing him for the first time. You started meeting his friends. Familiarized yourself with his family again–Amy’s quiet greetings, Perry’s tired but kind nods, Cecilia’s slightly surprised but not unwelcome smiles when you appeared in their kitchen one Sunday morning, still rubbing sleep from your eyes in Rhett’s oversized hoodie, and Royal’s glares that he shot at Rhett.

You became a fixture in his life. A known presence.

Especially after long nights of drinking, where you’d inevitably end up back at his place, curled up on his bed groaning because a headache was already brewing.

And with that bond that grew came something that bloomed slowly but powerfully: his protectiveness.

It had always been there–coiled beneath the surface, stitched into the way he watched you, waited for you, walked you to your door even when he was half-asleep himself. But when he started to piece together the kind of experiences you’d had–the disappointments, the lack of care, the way men made you feel like an afterthought–it shifted.

It changed the way he looked at you. Like you were fragile, but not weak. Like he wanted to wrap his hands around every bad memory and crush it.

He never said much when you opened up about it. Didn’t need to. The silence was heavy enough.

”You don’t deserve that,” He said once, soft as gravel, not looking at you. It had hit you harder than you expected. Not because of the words–but because of how he said them.

When you broke it to him that you were taking a break from dating, he didn’t even hesitate before saying “Me too.” You hadn’t expected that. You had laughed, asked him why– saying you’re Rhett Abbott, don’t you have girls throwing themselves at you every other week?–but he just shrugged, scratched the back of his neck, and muttered something about solidarity.

What you didn’t know though was that Rhett Abbott was relieved by this news.

It meant peace. No more stepping in between you and men who didn’t deserve to speak your name. No more black eyes or busted knuckles or security dragging him out of bars with the same tired “Abbott, we warned you.” No more cold rage coiled in his chest when you came to him with a new dating story.

But more than all of that–it meant he had more of your time again, and that you were his once more.

Not in the traditional sense. But in the quiet, easy way where he got to have you beside him. In his truck. At his kitchen table. Laughing on his porch. Falling asleep in his living room. Talking to him about things you didn’t tell anyone else.

He got to watch you laugh with his family. Got to listen to you hum in the passenger seat. Got to see you when you weren’t trying anymore–when you were just being you.

And lately, Rhett had been thinking about things. Dangerous things.

About what it would feel like to be the one to show you what good could be. About how his hands would never treat you like an obligation. About how he’d never rush you, never expect anything, never make you fake a damn thing.

He’d been thinking about you in ways he shouldn’t. Imagining things he wasn’t proud of. But he never said it. Never crossed that line.

Not until you did.

——————————

The bar was louder than usual, the kind of noise that sank into your bones, all thudding boots and clinking glasses and low country twang pouring from speakers that surrounded the walls of the drinking areas. You and Rhett were squished together in a booth that barely had enough space for one of his thighs, let alone two. He was pressed against your side, the warmth of his arm brushing yours every time either of you reached for the second pitcher of beer you’d ordered.

You’d been sipping slowly at first–well, pretending to–but somewhere between your third and fourth shared laugh, the drinks started going down faster. Something about being shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhett always loosened you up. Maybe it was the way he leaned in when he talked. Or the way his voice dropped just slightly in the middle of a crowd, like everything else was just noise unless you were listening.

By the time the second pitcher was empty, your head was spinning, your cheeks hot, and Rhett was nudging you with his knee.

“Guessin’ it’s time we call Perry?”He suggested, raising an eyebrow and pushing his light brown hair out of his face. You groaned.

”Can’t we just sleep in your truck?” And he let out a small laugh, shaking his head slowly.

”You’re too pretty to get eaten by coyotes, sweetheart. C’mon, I’m sure my place is more comfy than the leather seats of the truck.” He teased, as he pulled out his phone.

You both slurred your way through the call–Rhett taking the lead while you giggled beside him, repeating his name like a chant until Perry muttered, “Jesus Christ, I’m on my way.”

The drive back to the ranch was a blur. You’d nodded off on Rhett’s shoulder. He smelled like leather and dust and whatever cologne he always swiped across his throat before circuits. He didn’t say much on the way home, but his hand never left your thigh–more because in his drunken stupor, all he wanted to do was feel your skin against his, even if it was seen as an accident.

When Perry’s truck pulled up to the house, it was as if your bodies had already memorized the path inside.

You and Rhett stumbled up the steps, bumping into one another in the narrow hallway, muffling your laughter behind lazy hands and hushed voices. His hand settled low on your back, fingertips resting just under the hem of your top, warm and heavy with quiet intention–though he played it off like it was nothing. Like he always did.

His legs bumped into the frame of the hallway table and he cursed softly, grabbing onto your arm to steady himself.

“Shh,” You whispered, glancing behind you, “You’re gonna wake your parents.” He waved his hand.

”It’s okay,” He murmured, his breath brushing your hair slightly, “I’m sure they’re used to it by now.” You reached his room like it was second nature–your bodies moving together in a practiced rhythm, like you’d done this dance before. And you had, in bits and pieces. Just not like this. Not with this kind of tension buzzing just beneath your skin.

You practically fell through the doorway first, catching yourself on the edge of his bed with a half-giggled groan. Rhett followed close behind, his shoulder knocking lightly into the doorframe before he caught himself and dragged it shut behind him with a soft click.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the pale moonlight bleeding in through the slatted blinds. Familiar shadows painted across the floorboards and the messy sprawl of his clothes on the chair. The scent of him clung to the room–warm skin, worn flannel, the faint tang of sawdust and leather.

You kicked off your boots, one thudding softly against the wall, the other tumbling onto its side. He mirrored your movements, stepping out of his own boots with less precision, letting out a groan of relief as he did so. You tossed your clutch onto the side table–just beside the lamp he never used–and sank onto the edge of his bed with a quiet sigh.

“Here,” Rhett said, reaching for the top drawer of his dresser, “Take these.” He tossed a soft, well-worn T-shirt your way–gray with faded black lettering you didn’t bother reading–and a pair of boxer shorts that still held the shape of his body in their fabric. You caught them against your chest, fingers curling over the cotton, the residual warmth of his drawer somehow sinking into your skin.

”I’m gonna go grab some water,” He added, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice low, but clearer now–more focused, or sobered up, “You get changed.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, the sound of his footsteps padding softly away as the door swung gently shut behind him.

You sat in the quiet for a moment, the distant hum of the house settling around you. Your pulse felt louder than it should’ve. Your fingers trembled slightly as you peeled off your tank top, the material catching on your shoulder before slipping free. You dropped it beside your clutch, then shimmied out of your jean shorts–tight and damp from the heat of the night, catching slightly on your thighs before falling to the floor.

The air kissed your bare skin, cool in contrast to the heat that had begun to build in your chest.

You tugged Rhett’s shirt over your head. It was too big, the hem falling just below your hips, the neckline gaping enough that the slope of your collarbone peeked out. You ran your fingers down the faded cotton, breathing in the faint scent of him lingering in the fabric–clean, woodsy, unmistakably him.

The boxers came next, soft and worn from a thousand washes. You slid them up your legs, the waistband resting low on your hips, baggy and comfortable in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once. You folded your other clothes neatly into a pile beside the bed, then sat back on the mattress just as the door creaked open again.

Rhett stepped in with two glasses of water, his knuckles curled tightly around the rims to keep them steady.

He paused when he saw you.

There was nothing particularly sexy about it, nothing overt or posed. Just you sitting on the edge of his bed in his boxers and his old shirt, legs bare, hair a little messy, your lips parted slightly as you took in a few deep breaths from the buzzing that tingled over your skin, and the shift in energy that floated through the room.

But something in his expression changed. His jaw flexed, and his eyes softened–the tension in his brow melting away the more he looked at you.

”Got you some water,” His voice was quieter now, more rough. You reached for one of the glasses, your fingers brushing his as you took it, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

”Thanks.” You took a sip of the water, the coolness of it sliding down your throat and settling somewhere just above your ribs. You sighed through the swallow, then leaned back slightly on one hand, blinking slowly at the ceiling as your head gave the first warning pulses of what would no doubt be a brutal morning.

“Jesus,” You muttered, placing the glass on the floor beside the bed, “I can tell I’m gonna have such a bad hangover in the morning…My head is already pounding.” Rhett hummed in agreement, moving toward his dresser again.

”Wouldn’t doubt it,” He mumbled, “I feel it too.” You watched him open the top drawer, his back partially turned to you. He didn’t say anything else–just reached in for another t-shirt. Then, without warning or hesitation, he grabbed the collar of the one he was wearing and tugged it off in one smooth motion.

And just like that, your breath caught.

You’d seen Rhett shirtless before. Once, maybe twice–at the lake, when his whole family had piled into trucks and driven down with coolers and towels and floating chairs. But those times had been quick, and you’d always looked away out of caution. Too many watchful eyes, too much risk of your gaze being caught. Too much danger in what you might feel if you stared too long.

But now?

Now there was no one watching.

No one except him.

And he wasn’t looking at you.

He stood a few feet from the bed, half in shadow, and your eyes swept over the length of his bare back, over the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the slight arch of his spine as he leaned forward into the drawer. You barely breathed.

His skin was pale where the sun hadn’t kissed it, but scattered across his chest and along his ribs were bruises–real ones. Deep and blooming like brushstrokes of ink and wine. Purple that melted into faded yellow. Green along the edges. Some were new, still fresh and angry. Others had already begun to fade, ghosting into the gentle gold of healing. They streaked across his ribs in uneven patterns, coiling beneath the planes of lean muscle, dipping into the shadows of his collarbones and clinging to his hips like the remnants of a war.

It was violent. And somehow, beautiful.

Because it was him.

It was the proof of everything he did, everything he gave. The risk. The pain. The stubborn pride that kept him getting back on the bull even after it had thrown him into the dirt. You’d heard the groans he swallowed, watched him limp back to the chute with blood on his jeans and dirt on his teeth, but you hadn’t seen this. Not up close.

Not in the quiet.

Your eyes traced the line of one particularly stark bruise that stretched from the edge of his left pectoral down to his ribs. The skin there was darker, tight. Raw. And still, your gaze followed it like your fingers wanted to.

And God the urge to touch him was burning through you.

You wanted to trace every edge, every mark, every scrape and wound. You wanted to know if his skin was as warm as it looked. If his chest would rise faster beneath your palm. If he’d shiver when you pressed your lips to that bruise just below his ribs.

Your thighs pressed together slightly, feeling your stomach tighten as you began to flush under the confines of your own thoughts.

Rhett tugged the fresh shirt over his head and ran a hand through his light brown hair, slicking it back out of his face before finally turning back to you. His eyes flicked up–just for a second–and he caught your transfixed gaze.

“You okay?” He asked softly, voice thick. You cleared your throat, heat climbing up your neck as you dropped your gaze for a moment, pretending you hadn’t just been caught practically devouring him with your eyes.

“Yeah…Totally fine,” You muttered, fingers fumbling for the glass on the floor, bringing it back up to your lips. You took a long sip–longer than necessary–as if the coolness of it might extinguish the warmth that was flooding your chest. Or the way your thighs were still shifting together beneath his boxer shorts like they had a mind of their own.

Rhett didn’t move, and didn’t say anything for a second, his blue irises scanning over you for a moment, seeing the little movement that your thighs were making, a little tell that he had seen before from other women. He licked his lips slowly, like he could still taste your gaze on him. His voice dropped just a little as he said it–casual on the surface, but thick beneath. Heavy with the kind of tension that had been building between the two of you for months.

“You were starin’.” Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked down instinctively, the corner of your lip twitching with something between embarrassment and defense. Still, you shrugged like you could play it off.

“Well…It’s kind of hard not to when you’re all bruised up from the bull,” You murmured, trying to keep your tone light. “Didn’t know they were that bad.” He hummed at that–low and dry, like he didn’t quite believe your answer.

“You’ve seen ’em before,” He said, voice gravel-thick, head tipping slightly. “Shouldn’t be a surprise to you at this point.” You lifted your glass again to stall, sipped slower this time, letting the water cool the heat that was quickly rushing to your cheeks. Then you glanced at him again and gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is, Rhett. I think the beer is getting to you.” That made something shift behind his eyes. He tilted his head a fraction, just enough to cast a slanted shadow along his cheekbone.

“Really now?” He murmured as he stepped closer, the floor creaking faintly beneath his weight. “You’re gonna tell me that I’m not seein’ straight?” He asked, pointing at himself. You nodded, your laugh shaky but still defiant.

”That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rhett.” He didn’t reply right away. He just stared down at you, long and quiet. Then, wordlessly, he stepped the rest of the way to the bed and placed his fist down–slowly, deliberately–on the mattress beside your thigh.

He didn’t touch you.

But the air between you shifted.

His knuckles were close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his arm. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes followed the shape of his forearm, the way the muscles tensed beneath the skin, until they traced up to meet his face again.

You tilted your head up to look at him, and he was already there–already watching you.

His gaze locked with yours, blue eyes shadowed and steady, but flickering with something sharp, something knowing. Your stare skimmed over the details of his face–so close now, you could count the flecks of gold in his irises. The stubble along his jaw. The faint creases near the corners of his eyes that deepened when he laughed. The way his bottom lip jutted out just a little more than the top one, wet from where he’d just licked it.

“You’re a little liar,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slow, crooked smirk. “I can see it in your eyes.”

The words hit low in your stomach.

You wanted to deny it–wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, tell him he was being ridiculous–but all you could do was hold his gaze and feel the heat crawling higher in your cheeks.

Still, you stayed composed. Barely.

“I think you need to sleep off your drunken stupor, Rhett,” You commented, chin tilting upward in subtle challenge. “You’ve got beer goggles on, and you really are seeing things now.”

He didn’t back off.

Instead, he leaned in closer. Slowly. Deliberately.

His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of beer and mint as it fanned over your lips. Your lashes fluttered, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t move. Not even when your breath caught slightly in your throat.

You just kept your eyes on him.

“…Guess I really do need some sleep,” He murmured after a beat, his voice quieter now. Rougher. But when he pulled back, he was grinning.

Cocky.

Like he knew you weren’t as unaffected as you were pretending to be.

Then he straightened, turned slightly toward the dresser again, and asked casually, “You stayin’ in the bed with me? Or you movin’ to the spare room?”

Your lashes fluttered quickly, and you swallowed hard before clearing your throat.

“I’ll stay here,” You said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your entire body was still tense from how close he’d just been. “Probably won’t make it to the spare if I get up.” He nodded once, like that was the answer he expected, then reached for his belt buckle

“Alright,” He replied. You quickly looked away as his fingers moved to undo his belt, the subtle clink of the buckle sending another unwanted jolt of heat through your chest. Before your mind could wander any further–before you could accidentally lock eyes with the line of his hips or the way his thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans–you padded toward the head of the bed.

You placed your water glass beside your clutch on the nightstand with a soft clink, keeping your movements slow, and controlled. Like that would help rein in the sudden buzz running beneath your skin.

The sheets were cool as you slipped under them, the scent of his laundry soap mingling with the lingering smell of him on the pillow. You shimmied slightly to get comfortable, dragging the duvet up to your waist and tucking one arm beneath your head, the other laid loosely across your stomach. You stared up at the ceiling.

Behind you, the sounds of him undressing were harder to ignore than you’d hoped.

A soft rustle of denim. The unmistakable swish of fabric sliding down over skin. A low breath–just a little ragged, like maybe even he was feeling the same pressure you were. You swallowed.

Then the mattress shifted.

He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to jostle you, but you felt him all the same. The bed dipped slightly with his weight, and the warmth of his body immediately spread beneath the covers, replacing the cold air you’d just tucked yourself into.

He settled on his side–close, but not touching. Or at least, not exactly. His arm stayed to himself, his shoulders turned slightly away, but your legs…Your legs brushed.

Bare skin to bare skin. Just barely.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Not anymore. It was full of tension, sure–but there was something else in it too. Something gentle. Something known.

“G’night,” He murmured, voice low and sleepy, already starting to sink into the mattress.

You turned your head a little, just enough to look at the back of his shoulder, then whispered, “Night.”

Your eyes lingered there for a moment. On the curve of his neck, and the slow rise and fall of his breath.

And maybe you were imagining it–but his leg seemed to press a little firmer into yours.

A quiet, tentative contact.

And neither of you pulled away.

——————————

You woke up to your alarm going off like a goddamn air raid siren, the high-pitched chime echoing through the quiet room like it had been waiting to give you a heart attack.

Your eyes shot open.

A groan ripped from your throat as you reached blindly for your clutch, limbs still tangled in the sheets and your brain pulsing with a headache that had already staked its claim behind your eyes. The light from the phone screen stung, but you silenced the alarm with a few taps, your movements sluggish and mechanical.

From behind you, Rhett let out a muffled groan of his own.

“Who the hell sets an alarm on a Saturday?” He mumbled, voice gravelled and sleep-heavy.

You ignored the ache in your skull long enough to fish out the familiar blister pack from the depths of your clutch, thumb already popping the next pill loose. You brought it to your lips and dropped it onto your tongue, reaching lazily for the lukewarm water glass on the nightstand.

“It wasn’t to wake us up,” You muttered, taking a small sip and swallowing. “It’s my birth control reminder.” The bed shifted behind you. A soft rustle. A new weight.

“Birth control?” Rhett’s voice had sobered slightly, still low, but laced with something else now. Confusion, maybe.

You placed the glass back on the table and rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder–and promptly noted two things: one, he’d taken his shirt off during the night, and two, he was looking right at you.

His eyes were a little narrowed. Brow furrowed. His hair was a mess, and his voice hoarse.

“Yeah…Birth control,” You replied slowly, letting the words hang in the air as you watched his expression closely. “You know…The thing that women take to help their periods and prevent pregnancy?” He rolled his eyes, though the motion lacked bite.

You raised a brow. “So what’s with the third-degree, Abbott?”

He shrugged lazily and turned onto his back, his arm behind his head, jaw tight. “Didn’t think you were on it, that’s all. Never seen you take it before.”

You smirked. “Well, I’m usually out of your house by this time. Or I’m in the bathroom and take it there.”

And that was all it took.

That one sentence cracked something open in his chest and sent his thoughts freefalling.

You were on birth control.

The implications settled into him like wildfire. No condom. No consequences. Just skin to skin, you wrapped around him, begging, whispering–he could come inside you and not think twice, could bury himself so deep you’d feel it for hours. He could grab your hips and pull you down hard against him, his hands splayed over your stomach as he fucked you slow and steady until you were begging him to finish. No pulling out. No holding back. No guilt.

He wanted to kiss your thighs open, drag his tongue along your folds, taste every part of you while you whimpered into his pillow. He wanted to hear your breath hitch when he whispered let me do it right this time, to watch your expression when he sank in–slow and thick and deep–and told you how tight you were, how good you felt, how he’d dreamt of this.

He wanted to mark you up. Leave bruises on your neck, your hips, your thighs. Paint you with proof that someone finally gave a damn.

He’d be quiet about it, though. You’d both have to be quiet.

His parents were probably still in their room. Hell, Perry might be awake. So you’d press your mouth to his shoulder, muffle your moans against his skin, and Rhett would whisper filth in your ear with every lazy roll of his hips, voice ragged and barely restrained, telling you not to stop squeezing him like that. Not unless you wanted him to come right then and there.

His cock twitched against his thigh–sudden and sharp under the weight of his boxers.

Shit.

He shifted slightly under the blanket, adjusting himself, trying not to groan at how sensitive he suddenly felt. But the mattress wasn’t forgiving, and the movement wasn’t subtle.

“You alright?” Your voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. Curious. Careful. “You’re all red.”

He cleared his throat. A little too quickly.

“Mhm. I’m okay.”

You turned toward him more fully, propping yourself up slightly on one elbow, your hair flattened on one side from where you had slept on it. Your eyes narrowed, playful. Familiar.

And then–your voice softened to a whisper, full of teasing promise. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were staring at me.”

He blinked.

You were close. Too close. Your face inches from his, lips parted slightly, breath warm against his cheek. It mirrored what he’d done to you last night, except now the tables were turned–and he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

“I’m not,” He said quickly, voice cracking.

But you didn’t back off.

You just tilted your head slightly, and then–without meaning to–your thigh brushed his, and you felt something.

You stilled.

Your breath caught.

And your eyes went wide.

“…Oh,” You breathed, heat crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” You whispered a second later, but your voice was breathy and full of implication.

Rhett swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s alright,” He said, quietly. Voice a little higher now. Tight.

The tension between you thickened like syrup, slow and sticky and impossible to ignore.

Neither of you looked at each other at first. It was safer that way. Eyes stayed on the ceiling, the far wall, anywhere but the quiet place in the middle of the bed where everything had shifted. Where your thighs had brushed, where your breath had caught, where Rhett was still hard and trying to will himself down with a silent prayer and clenched jaw.

But then you shifted again.

Not a lot. Just enough that the blankets rustled and your voice came out–low, almost shy.

“Do…Do you want some help with that?”

His eyes snapped to you like a whip. His entire body went rigid.

“W-What?” The word cracked in the middle, like it hit the back of his throat too fast to smooth out. His brows pinched together, mouth parted, lips dry as hell.

You sighed–soft and nervous–and pushed yourself up a little more, bracing your weight on your elbow so you could look him in the eye.

“I said,” You repeated, quieter now, more deliberate, “Do you want some help with that?” Rhett sat up a little too–mirroring you without realizing it, like his body needed to be closer. His face hovered just inches from yours now, the tension rolling off him like heat off pavement.

“Are you bein’ serious?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded slowly, searching his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His gaze darted away for the briefest second, scanning the room like it might offer him a better answer than the one sitting right in front of him. But when he looked back, his expression was tight. Unreadable. Barely holding something back.

“Well, I mean…We’re friends…”

You raised your brows, your face still close, voice low but firm. “And we haven’t really been going out with other people. And sexual frustration is a thing, Rhett.”

He squinted slightly, more in thought than judgment. “You’re the one that said you wanted to take a hiatus from dating and stuff. I thought that meant physical things too.”

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That was more meant for me because I really don’t feel much when…Y’know…Things are happening.”

Rhett stilled.

His lips parted just slightly, his breath hitching. Then his jaw flexed and he leaned in even closer, until the space between your mouths was damn near nonexistent.

“You what?” He asked, barely above a whisper. His voice sounded gutted–like it hurt him to even imagine it.

You swallowed thickly, heart rattling inside your chest. “I…I don’t feel much when I’m being intimate with someone.” There. It was out. A truth you rarely admitted out loud, even more rarely to a man.

Rhett’s jaw tensed. His throat bobbed. Something wild flickered in his eyes–something that looked a lot like heartbreak, but deeper. Protective. Personal.

“…How about I make you a deal,” He said suddenly, his voice husky and serious.

You tilted your head slightly, cautious. “What kind of deal?”

“Let me try somethin’,” He murmured, watching your expression with unshakable intensity. “And then you can do whatever you want to me after. Or nothin’ at all. You don’t owe me a thing.”

Your lips parted. “W-What do you want to do?” He reached up slowly–like he was afraid to spook you–and let his fingertips brush beneath your chin, giving you the softest touch he could with the calloused pads of his fingers.

”Lay back,” He whispered, “And I’ll show you.” You stared at him for one long, charged heartbeat–your skin prickling, your thighs already pressing closer, the ache in your core blooming slow and warm at the tone in his voice.

Your face burned as soon as the word left your lips.

“Okay.”

It was soft, nearly swallowed by the quiet tension in the room–but Rhett heard it. His eyes didn’t leave yours. Not for a second. His hand drifted from your chin to your shoulder, then eased you gently back onto the pillow. The mattress dipped beneath the shift of your weight, the sheets cool against your skin–but Rhett’s hand never stopped touching you. He moved with patience. With care.

And then he did something unexpected.

He slipped his arm under your neck–not in a way that caged you in, but cradled you. Like he wanted to hold your head up, protect it. His fingers curled gently into your hair, and his thumb brushed over your cheek. Slowly.

His voice came next, low and laced with something close to a smile.

“Remember that time…In high school, when we ended up kissing in Marley’s closet during seven minutes in heaven?”

Your stomach flipped violently, a swarm of butterflies bursting awake.

You narrowed your eyes. “You said you’d never bring that up.”

He chuckled, soft and rough. “It’s been long enough that I think I’m allowed to bring it up.” His thumb grazed your cheek again, and you swore it soothed something in you you hadn’t known was wound tight. “But anyways…Remember when you said you were nervous? Because you didn’t know what to do?”

You nodded slowly, your voice nearly a whisper. “Yeah…”

“And I told you to just breathe. Don’t even think about what was happenin’. Just breathe.” Your lips parted a little, your heart thudding louder.

“Yeah,” You whispered again.

His gaze held yours, warm and steady. “Well… Just do that again, alright? Just breathe. Think about something else. Got it?”

You hesitated. Swallowed.

“Rhett…Are you sure you want to do this? It’s going to be a waste of your time.” Your voice cracked near the end, thick with embarrassment and doubt you’d carried for too long.

His expression shifted. Not angry. Just…Struck.

He leaned down slowly, and before you could say anything else–before you could panic or second-guess–he kissed you.

It was soft. Just lips brushing lips. But it stunned you all the same.

You gasped faintly into the contact, breath hitching, body going still under the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours. He lingered for only a second before pulling back, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours again.

“I’m positive,” He murmured, voice low and resolute. “Now just relax, okay?” You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. You let your hands rest by your sides, fists curled lightly in the sheets as Rhett shifted closer, keeping his arm under your neck, still holding you, still touching your cheek.

His other hand drifted down. Slow.

He didn’t go for the obvious. Didn’t grab. Didn’t grope. Instead, his fingertips brushed along the hem of the shirt you wore–his shirt–lifting it just a few inches before slipping beneath. You shivered instantly, the cool air meeting your heated skin, and then–

His fingertips touched your stomach.

Barely there. Like the ghost of a thought.

They dragged gently across your skin, dipping just beneath your ribs, pausing, then continuing downward. Featherlight. Reverent. You sucked in a breath as goosebumps erupted along your arms and legs, your thighs pressing closer together as he traced the soft curve of your waist with maddening patience.

“Still alright?” He asked, his voice low, lips brushing your temple now. You nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

His hand moved again–back up first, over the flat of your stomach, the pads of his fingers gliding like silk. He circled your navel once, slow and hypnotic, then dropped lower again.

And lower.

Until he reached the waistband of the boxer shorts.

His fingertips paused there, resting lightly on the elastic band.

He kissed your temple. Then murmured against your skin: “Can you lift your hips for me?”

You did–slowly, your legs tensing slightly as you pushed up just enough. Your breath hitched as the cool air rushed between the fabric and your skin when Rhett tugged them down, slow and smooth, watching your face the entire time. Your body sank back down onto the mattress as he pulled the boxers down your thighs, past your knees, until they slipped off entirely.

Rhett paused for just a second, the boxer shorts now discarded somewhere at the foot of the bed, the room still and warm as his gaze settled on you—completely bare in the soft hush of the early morning light.

His eyes traveled up your legs, over the subtle dip of your hips, and down again to the place between your thighs–and the air left his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes still locked with his, every inch of you humming beneath the heat of his gaze. The sincerity in his tone–thick, reverent, gutted–made your breath catch.

Then, slowly, Rhett reached out. One of his hands cradled your knee, coaxing your leg outward, and he shifted down the bed as he gently murmured, “Spread your legs for me, Y/N.”

Your heart thudded. You hesitated—but only for a beat. Then, you nodded, slowly letting your legs fall open, nerves twisting in your stomach like warm thread as cool air hit you, followed almost immediately by the heat of his body slotting between your thighs.

His skin was warm against the inside of your legs—his shoulders wide and strong, his bare chest brushing the backs of your thighs as he settled in. You saw his eyes trail up your body again—slow, careful, like he was trying to memorize you. Then he looked up.

You’d closed your eyes.

Breathing slowly. Deeply.

Trying not to shake.

“Hey,” Rhett said softly, and you felt the mattress shift as he reached for you. His hand found yours where it lay clenched beside your hip. He interlaced his fingers with yours carefully and held on tight.

Your eyes fluttered open just as he leaned forward–and kissed the inside of your thigh.

A soft press. Then another. And another. Working slowly upward, like every inch of your skin deserved a proper hello. His breath was warm, his mouth even warmer, and every brush of his lips sent a new wave of heat coiling through your stomach.

By the time his mouth reached the top of your thigh, you were barely breathing.

Then–he tilted his head.

And he kissed you right against your core, and your whole body jerked.

Your hips twitched against the bed, your hand tightening in his, a quiet gasp slipping out of your mouth. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate line through your folds–like he was savoring you already. Like he was trying to learn what made you shake.

He kissed you again. Then again. Languid, like he wasn’t in any hurry. Like this wasn’t something to get over with–it was something to cherish.

His tongue moved with devastating patience, lapping and sucking gently, drawing shapes that made your thighs clench around his head. His hand gripped yours tighter.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the words barely audible. Your back arched slightly, and you felt Rhett moan into you—actually moan—like your pleasure was feeding his. The vibration of it sent another jolt of electricity straight through your spine.

Then—his mouth didn’t leave—but you felt his fingers press gently against your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just teased. Traced. His tongue circled your clit once more—slow and wet—and then his finger slipped inside.

Your breath hitched, a sharp little gasp escaping you as your hips rocked upward without thinking.

Rhett stopped instantly, lifting his head slightly. His mouth was shining.

“You alright?” he asked gently, his voice low and rough and just a little breathless.

You looked down at him with wide, wild eyes and nodded quickly. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice cracking with need. “Oh my god, Rhett…yes.”

His mouth pulled into a crooked smile, his eyes still locked on yours. “Feel somethin’ now?” he murmured, teasing, affectionate.

You reached out and threaded your free hand through his hair–fisting it lightly at the crown, your hips rising up just slightly. “It’s witchcraft,” You whispered shakily, overwhelmed and already trembling.

Rhett laughed quietly, the sound sending shivers across your skin. “Nah,” He said, leaning in again, voice warm and sinful against your core. “It’s actually just me wantin’ to feel you come on my tongue, sweetheart.”

And then he dove back in.

This time, with more pressure. More hunger.

His tongue flattened against your clit, slow and firm. His finger curled inside you—and then he added another, stretching you just enough to make your breath come in shallow, frantic bursts. His pace increased, mouth and fingers working in tandem—sensual, focused, a little rough now.

Your thighs began to shake.

Your hips lifted and he pressed his arm across your waist to pin you gently down, grounding you while he devoured you like a man starved.

The noises he made—low, greedy groans—only made the tension build faster. Like your pleasure was his. Like getting you to break apart in his mouth was the only thing he cared about.

“Rhett,” You whimpered, barely able to breathe.

And then–he curled his fingers just right.

Your whole body seized. You let out a strangled moan, your mouth falling open against the pillow, your hand clutching his hair, the other tightening in his grip so hard you felt the tremor run down his arm.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train. Sudden, shaking, relentless. Your thighs clamped around his head and your hips bucked up into his mouth–and he didn’t stop. Not for a second.

He kept licking, groaning against you, working you through every last second until your legs twitched and your body slumped, utterly spent.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen, his chin slick. He looked completely wrecked–and proud of it.

His hand slipped out from between your legs, fingers soaked with your arousal as he licked them clean, before brushing his wet fingers against your trembling thigh. You were still panting, still half-blind with aftershocks. And he leaned over you again, eyes wild but soft.

”You alright, darlin’?” He asked, bringing his mouth to your cheek. You laughed–half a breath, half a sob–and nodded.

”Fuck, Rhett…Let me try and return the favour please…That was so fucking good.” He blinked down at you like he hadn’t expected it, like your voice alone could unravel him all over again. Then he let out a slow, ragged breath and leaned down, kissing you–soft, slow, indulgent. A thank you, a yes, a prayer.

“Okay,” He murmured against your lips, voice husky, “Yeah…okay.”

He eased onto his back beside you. The sheets shifted around you both as you rolled onto your side and slid your hand across his stomach, your fingertips brushing the light trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He watched you carefully, gaze gentle but burning. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly. “You already gave me enough just by lettin’ me–”

“I want to,” You cut in, voice quiet but certain. That stopped him. His jaw flexed slightly, his breath caught, and his hand reached up to cup the side of your face for just a second–his thumb brushing your cheek in a quiet, gentle pass. You kissed him again before shifting down the bed, your heart pounding as your thighs pressed together beneath the oversized shirt. You settled between his legs, your hands sliding up the tops of his thighs as he let out a low, shaky exhale. His skin was warm and soft beneath your palms, his muscles tense beneath the surface.

You hesitated just a little, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.

Rhett’s hand came down gently, resting over yours. His voice was low, coaxing.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”

You pulled the fabric down slowly, watching as his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already hard from the weight of everything he’d just felt and everything you were about to do. You swallowed nervously, staring for a second too long.

Rhett noticed.

“Here,” he said softly, sitting up just slightly. He wrapped his hand around himself first, guiding yours over his. “Just like this. Nice and slow.” His fingers slid away, letting yours take over, his breath catching the second you squeezed him.

You started slow, pumping gently from the base to the tip. The skin was hot under your palm, smooth and taut, and you watched in fascination as he twitched beneath your touch. His head dropped back onto the pillow with a thud, a low groan tumbling from his throat.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “That’s it. Just like that.”

You tightened your grip a little, experimenting, and Rhett’s hips lifted off the bed slightly. He let out a quiet, broken moan. “Fuck, darlin’–you’re already drivin’ me crazy.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you leaned forward, licking a slow, uncertain stripe up the underside of his shaft. He hissed between his teeth, his hand flying to your hair, not pushing–just holding. Anchoring.

“You sure?” He asked, voice tight.

You nodded, lips brushing the tip. “I’m sure.”

Then you took him into your mouth.

Just the head at first–soft and careful. The taste was salty and clean, a little musky, faintly bitter, but not bad. Just…Him.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling his thighs tense under your hands, and then took him a little deeper, bobbing your head slowly, finding a rhythm.

Rhett cursed under his breath, his grip tightening in your hair.

“Jesus, Y/N,” He rasped. “You feel so good…So fuckin’ good.”

You kept going, learning by the way he moaned, by how his legs twitched, by the way he tugged at the sheets. You tried to take him deeper–and gagged, just slightly, your throat tightening around him. You pulled off, coughing softly, lips slick and eyes watering.

Rhett sat up a little too fast.

“Hey, hey–Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” He murmured, pushing your hair back, “Take it easy on yourself, alright? You ain’t gotta prove anythin’.”

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m okay,” You whispered, voice breathy but determined.

And then you went back down.

This time slower. More confident. You pumped with one hand and sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Rhett’s breath went ragged again, his voice wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re–goddamn, you’re so good at this,” He groaned, hips twitching against your hand.

It didn’t take long after that.

You felt his thighs start to tremble, the hand in your hair tightening as he gasped, “Shit–I’m gonna come–“ It was more of a warning than anything, but you didn’t pull away. You just kept going.

His climax hit with a low, drawn-out moan. His hips stuttered and you felt his warmth spill over your tongue–salty, thick, slightly bitter with a sharp edge that made your throat clench. You swallowed instinctively, slow, letting it slide down, feeling him shudder beneath you.

When you pulled off, your lips were slick, your eyes glassy.

You licked your lips once and blinked up at him.

“…Did I do good?” You asked softly.

Rhett stared at you like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

Then he sat up, grabbed your face with both hands–his touch tender but firm–and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue massaging yours, tasting himself on you and you on him. He pulled back breathless.

”You were fucking perfect…So fucking perfect.” You collapsed back onto the mattress with a soft, stunned laugh, breath still coming in shaky waves as you wiped at your lips with the back of your hand. Rhett was beside you in a heartbeat, his strong arms already tugging you toward him like he couldn’t stand to have even an inch of space between you anymore.

You let him pull you into his chest–his skin still warm, heartbeat steady but strong beneath your cheek. His arm draped low over your waist, the other curling behind your shoulders like he was trying to wrap around as much of you as he could.

There was no tension now. No nerves. Just the quiet intimacy of skin on skin and breath against breath.

Rhett sighed softly into your hair, his mouth grazing your forehead before murmuring, lazy and fond, “We should do this more often…”

You let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle against his collarbone, your voice soft. “Yeah… I completely agree.”

There was a pause. The kind that felt full–not empty. Like something was waiting behind it.

You lifted your hand slowly, tracing a fingertip along his chest without looking at him. Then, voice smaller, more vulnerable:”You’re so…Safe.” Rhett went still beneath you.

Not tense. Just…Quiet. Like your words had caught him off guard and gone somewhere deep.

Then he smirked–soft and slow, the kind of smile you’d only seen a handful of times before. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, barely more than a brush of lips against skin, but it made you shiver.

“We can do whatever you want together,” He murmured, his voice like warm honey. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

That–his reassurance, his promise–settled something in your chest. Something that had been unsettled for a long, long time.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. Your nose nudged his jaw, and your lips were still curved when you whispered “You really mean it?”

“Of course I do.” He said simply. You couldn’t help the smile that rose up then, soft and wide and honest. It spread slowly, uncontainable, tugging at your cheeks as your hand splayed over his chest and you cuddled in closer.

Rhett exhaled against your hair, one hand trailing up and down your back in soothing strokes.

“You know what?” You whispered, voice thick with something more than just affection now–something raw and real and aching to be spoken aloud. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt like…Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe I’m not the broken one.”

His fingers stilled. Then tightened gently at your waist.

“It was never you,” He said, quiet but firm. “They just didn’t know how to do things.” Your eyes welled unexpectedly. But you didn’t look away.

And Rhett didn’t look away from you either–not even when you whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

“For…For showing me what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Rhett’s brow creased slightly, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against your forehead again, like he was sealing the moment there.

Then, against your skin, he murmured, “Ain’t even gotten started yet, darlin’.”

————————

You and Rhett made an effort to see each other every other day after that morning.

It wasn’t always planned. Sometimes it was just a lazy drive that ended in a shared milkshake and quiet conversation. Other times it was louder–pool hall banter, bar games, him showing up at your place just to fix the damn sink he swore wasn’t level. But no matter what it started as, it always ended the same:

With your bodies pressed together. With your hands on his chest. With his lips parting against yours like he’d been starving all day.

The first time it happened again was at the drive-in.

You wore cutoff shorts and one of his flannels tied loose at your waist, and you didn’t even make it halfway through the previews before your legs found his lap. The movie faded behind you like static. His palm settled low on your back, and your mouth found his in the kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your fingers curl in his shirt.

You didn’t even remember what was playing. All you remembered was the sound of your breathing turning into gasps when his hand slid between your thighs, his voice rough against your ear.

“You gonna let me feel how worked up you are already?”

You reached down, grabbed his wrist, and guided him to the apex of your thighs–slow, sure. His fingertips pressed against the damp heat soaking through your thin cotton panties, and Rhett exhaled like he’d been punched.

“Jesus,” He murmured, his forehead tipping against yours as his fingers flexed, just barely moving. “You’re soaked.”

You nodded, breath already hitching as you shifted slightly in his lap, grinding your hips forward just a touch. The thick muscle of his denim-clad thigh was already pressing against your core in the most devastating way.

“I wanna try something,” You whispered.

His eyes flicked up. Searching. Heated. Still trying to catch up with this version of you—bold, direct, knowing what you wanted and how you wanted it.

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” You admitted, your voice breathy but firm. “Especially with you.”

His lips parted. His chest rose.

And then he smirked.

“Okay,” He said simply. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

That’s all it took.

You adjusted your knees on either side of his lap, straddling him completely, your hands pressed to his shoulders for balance as you positioned yourself just right. His thigh was firm beneath you–years of riding and wrangling muscle. And you sank down onto it slowly, the seam of his jeans dragging perfectly against your soaked panties.

A quiet gasp escaped your throat.

Rhett groaned, hands rising to grip your hips–gentle, grounding, but not controlling. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your waist as he watched your eyes flutter, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“You good, sweetheart?” He murmured.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “So good.”

You started slow. Grinding gently against him in small, slow circles–testing pressure, building friction. The thick denim created just enough resistance to drive you mad, the fabric catching on your clit with every pass.

You rolled your hips again. And again. Shakier each time.

Rhett’s grip tightened, guiding you just slightly–his hands molding to your curves like he was born to hold them. “That’s it,” He breathed, voice almost reverent. “Just like that… Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

You whimpered, burying your face in his neck for a moment as the sensations built, wave after wave, hot and pulsing and slow. Your hands curled into the flannel on his chest, and you swore you could feel his heart hammering.

Then you pulled back just enough to kiss him.

Hard.

He groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, encouraging your movements, letting you use him–letting you take your pleasure from him like he wanted nothing more. Your hips began to rock faster, your thighs trembling, the damp patch growing darker on his jeans with every pass of your soaked panties.

“Fuck, darlin’,” He gasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “You’re gonna come just like this?”

You nodded, dizzy, breathless. “I can’t stop…Rhett–I’m gonna–”

He kissed you again–slow this time, anchoring you as your hips faltered and your whole body seized up.

You came on his thigh with a broken sob of his name, shaking hard against him, every nerve burning, clenching around nothing as your hips twitched one last time and stilled.

Rhett held you through it, murmuring sweet things against your temple as you slumped forward, boneless and buzzing.

“That was…” You panted, barely able to form a sentence.

“Yeah,” Rhett said, his own breath shaky as he kissed the side of your head. “It was fuckin’ perfect.”

From that moment on, it was like you couldn’t stop.

The next week, he was driving you home, windows cracked, your hand resting on his thigh like it was second nature now. And somewhere between a curve in the road and a long silence, you leaned over, unzipped his jeans, and slipped your hand inside.

He choked on a breath. “Jesus, Y/N–what are you doin’?”

“Helping,” You said, voice teasing and low as your fingers wrapped around him.

You stroked him slow, lazy, while he tried to keep his eyes on the road, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. When he came–hot and fast–you licked it off your hand and the skin of his stomach without hesitation.

Rhett nearly crashed the damn truck.

Another time, you just climbed into his lap without warning. No teasing. No warm-up. You just needed him–needed the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, the security of his hands cupping the back of your neck like if he let go, you’d vanish.

You kissed him like you were going to disappear if he didn’t hold you tighter.

And he did.

Every time, he did.

He was addicted to you.

And you were addicted to him.

Yet somehow, you still hadn’t had sex.

Not because you didn’t want to. But because you kept finishing each other off before either of you could think straight.

It was chaotic. It was messy. It was you and Rhett–tangled in passion, steeped in something deeper neither of you had put into words yet.

Until one quiet evening when the summer air hung low and warm, and you turned to him and said:

“Wanna look at the stars with me?”

He blinked. Smirked. “Like, right now?”

“Right now,” You said, already sliding your shoes on. “Bring pillows and a blanket for the truck bed.” Rhett raised a brow, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curving into something crooked and full of knowing.

“Oh,” He drawled, slinging an arm around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “You’re plannin’ somethin’.”

You only grinned as you wiggled out of his arms, walking out ahead of him before calling over your shoulder:

“Damn right I am.”

———————————

You and Rhett had a specific place you would go to when you wanted to look at the stars.

It was a lookout you had both found randomly one night, years ago, when you’d gotten lost coming back from a circuit. The GPS cut out somewhere along a winding dirt road, and the two of you had been bickering about turns when the trees finally gave way to a clearing so wide and open it looked like the sky had cracked open just for you. The ridge overlooked a valley, endless and quiet, the stars so close it felt like you could pluck them from the sky if you reached high enough.

That was the place he drove to tonight.

His hand was on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, fingers skimming just beneath the hem of your shorts. The low hum of the truck’s engine mingled with an old country song playing through the speakers–something slow and warm, full of steel guitar and dusty longing. The cool summer air flowed through the open windows, tousling your hair, raising goosebumps on your arms. But Rhett’s palm was warm and steady against your skin, his thumb tracing little circles lazily.

You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs parting just a little more, and he immediately took notice.

His fingers drifted inward–just a little. Just enough to make your stomach clench.

Then he started tracing letters.

Soft. Slow. One at a time, with the very tip of his finger, like he was spelling a secret across your skin.

“What’s that one?” He murmured, not taking his eyes off the road.

You blinked. Swallowed. “Uh… An S?”

“Wrong,” He smirked, squeezing your thigh.

“An E?”

“Nope.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “Then what was it?”

“Not tellin’,” He said, dragging another letter right after it, slower this time. “Guess again.”

You stared down at his hand, heat blooming low in your belly. “D?”

“That one was,” He said, a low chuckle caught in his throat. “But not the one before it.”

Your cheeks burned. You knew what he was spelling now.

He leaned closer, his voice thick. “Want me to keep goin’?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah…Keep going.”

He traced another letter.

And another.

You were just about to reach for him–just about to say screw the stargazing and climb into his lap right there in the cab–when the headlights hit the edge of the clearing, and the trees broke apart.

You both went still.

The lookout was exactly how you remembered it: tall grass, wildflowers curling in the moonlight, and the stars above glowing like soft embers in an old fireplace. The valley stretched below, dark and quiet, and the only sound was the breeze rustling through the open windows and the soft creak of the truck tires crunching over gravel.

Rhett cut the engine.

The music died.

Silence swelled between you, not heavy–just full. Like both of you were thinking the same thing and neither of you wanted to ruin it by saying it out loud.

Then Rhett opened his door and climbed out. You followed, your legs shaky as you stepped onto the grass, the air cool against your thighs. The tension was still simmering in your veins, but now it had space to breathe.

You grabbed the first blanket from the backseat while Rhett grabbed the pillows and the top blanket.

The two of you worked in an unspoken rhythm.

You laid the first blanket down flat across the truck bed, smoothing the edges with your palms. The metal beneath was still faintly warm from the earlier sun. Rhett climbed in beside you, placing the pillows near the cab, his knee brushing yours as he tossed the second blanket over your shoulders.

You didn’t speak as you climbed under it together.

You didn’t have to.

His body curved naturally around yours as you settled onto your sides, facing each other, the warmth of the blanket sealed around your bodies like a cocoon. Your foreheads almost touched. Your breath did.

Rhett’s hand found your waist under the blanket. His palm spread slow and deliberate, thumb grazing your hip, before lazily dragging across your stomach, the pads of his fingers skimming your skin like he was reading a prayer written in braille. You reached up and brushed his hair back gently, smoothing the strands that always stuck up in crooked directions. He sighed—low, content, eyes fluttering shut like your touch alone could unravel him.

His fingers slipped higher beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly, carefully. He tugged it up until you sat up and peeled it over your head. The night air kissed your bare chest, nipples tightening instantly under the sudden exposure—but you weren’t cold. Not with the way Rhett looked at you.

He stared like he was witnessing something sacred.

Then he leaned forward, lips parting just enough to drag across your collarbone before his teeth sank in—not too hard, just enough to make you gasp.

“Painful?” he murmured against your skin.

You shook your head, your breath shaky. “Stings a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

He smirked—something soft and sinful—and lowered his mouth again, kissing just beneath the mark he’d left behind. His tongue laved the spot slowly, like an apology and a promise all at once.

Then, his voice was velvet-wrapped gravel against your skin.

“Is there anything else you want to do with me? Any ideas you’ve got in mind?”

You shook your head slowly, eyes locking with his in the low, starlit dark. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He stilled. Just for a beat. Then smiled against your chest—slow and deep and pleased.

“Yeah?” he rasped, lifting his head to look you in the eye. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, your heart pounding.

He leaned toward your jaw, kissing a soft trail until his lips brushed your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “Beg for it.”

You bit your bottom lip, breath catching, heart stuttering at the sheer weight of the way he said it. There was no mocking in it. No arrogance. Just pure, overwhelming need–controlled only by the thin thread of his patience.

His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, pale blue burning like lightning behind clouds. You leaned in and kissed him–soft, needy–and whispered against his lips, “Please…Fuck me…”

He shook his head, grinning with that maddening, slow confidence. “Gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.” You kissed him again–more desperate now–and as you pulled back, his hand came up to your face. He cradled your cheek like you were breakable, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your bottom lip.

“Open up,” He murmured.

You obeyed.

Your lips parted, and he slid his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad against the back of your tongue. Instantly, your mouth watered, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him gently. His eyes darkened, watching you like he could come undone just from this.

He pulled his thumb out slowly, a glistening trail connecting your lips to the pad of his finger, then dragged it down–past your chin, your chest–until it disappeared beneath the waistband of your shorts.

His soaked thumb found your clit in one perfect stroke.

You gasped. Bucked.

“C’mon, Y/N…” He coaxed, voice a rasp as he rubbed slow, tight circles. “You want it, right?”

“Yes,” You whimpered, your hips grinding helplessly into his hand. “God, Rhett–yes–please–I need you–”

He groaned at the sound of your voice, fucked-out and pleading, and pressed his thumb harder.

“Keep talkin’,” He muttered, eyes flicking down to where his hand moved beneath your waistband. “Want to hear you beg while I’ve got you all worked up like this.”

“I want you to fuck me,” You gasped, your palm reaching for his lap now, squeezing his cock through his jeans. He was already hard–thick and burning hot under your touch. “I want you inside me–I want to feel it, Rhett. All of you. I want you to ruin me slow.”

He swore under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”

You kept rubbing, palming him harder now, feeling him twitch and grow impossibly harder.

“I want you to come inside me,” You whispered, eyes glassy. “I want to feel you finish deep. I want you to fill me up until I’m sore. Until I’m dripping with it.”

Rhett’s jaw clenched, his breath shuddered–and his thumb didn’t stop moving. Every nerve in your body was locked on the delicious, unrelenting drag of his thumb over your clit–your underwear now utterly ruined, soaked straight through, clinging to your folds in the most humiliating, erotic way.

Rhett kissed you again–hotter this time. Sloppier. The kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your breath catch. His tongue slid past your lips, curling against yours with growing desperation, and when he finally pulled back, he did so only far enough to breathe against your mouth:

“Take off your shorts,” He rasped, voice wrecked. “And get on top.”

You nodded so fast it almost hurt, fumbling to shimmy them down. Your panties peeled off with them, sticky and wet between your thighs. You didn’t even try to hide the way they dropped to the side of the bed. Not with the way Rhett was watching you. Not with how he was already ripping open his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers in one rough, desperate tug.

His cock sprang free, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, the moonlight catching on the slick sheen of it.

Your whole body ached as you climbed into his lap and straddled his waist, your knees bracing against the warm metal bed of the truck, the soft blanket bunched beneath them. You sank down slightly–not to take him in just yet, but to rub your soaked core along the full length of him.

The heat of him–thick and pulsing against you–dragged across your folds, every ridge and vein grinding right where you needed it. You tilted your head back with a breathless moan, your hips moving in slow, teasing circles, coating him in your arousal.

“Fuck,” Rhett groaned, his hands flying to your hips, holding you there, letting you grind against him like he was made for it. His eyes trailed up your body, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. Then he reached up and cupped your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful up there,” He rasped, voice trembling with restraint. “You like that? Like rubbin’ yourself on me like a good girl?”

You nodded frantically, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Fuck, Rhett…You already feel so good. I can’t wait any longer.”

He gave your nipples a teasing pinch, and you nearly came undone right there.

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” He murmured, voice thick with care and gentleness. “Take what you need from me, Y/N.” You reached between your bodies, wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, and guided him through your folds once more–wet and slow–coating him thoroughly before lifting your hips.

Then you aligned him with your entrance, and with one long, shaky breath…You sank down.

The head of his cock stretched you open, dragging against your walls in a way that made your whole body lock up. Your gasp cracked through the night air as you grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, using it as leverage while your head tilted back and your mouth dropped open.

“Shit,” You whimpered, your voice trembling. “So big…”

“Fuck,” Rhett gritted out beneath you, his jaw tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips. “You’re tight, sweetheart…Jesus Christ, I can feel every part of you.” You kept lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, your inner walls gripping him like a vice as you took him in deeper, stretching around his girth with a burn that made your eyes flutter.

“Rhett–” Your voice cracked, pleasure blooming slow and low in your belly, “–Feels so full… So deep…”

He looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. His head tipped back for a second, the cords of his neck flexing, jaw clenched as he tried not to buck up into you too soon. His hands left your hips only to return to your chest, massaging your breasts again with wide, reverent palms, his thumbs brushing your nipples in slow circles.

“God, you’re perfect,” He rasped, his voice shaking now. You whimpered again as you bottomed out, the base of him pressed flush against you, the stretch relentless. Your thighs were trembling already.

Then his hand came up–slow, gentle–and wrapped lightly around your neck.

Not choking. Not restraining.

Just holding you there, grounding you, letting his thumb graze your jawline.

“You okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, lips parted, barely able to get the words out. “So okay,” You breathed. “You feel so fucking good inside me, Rhett.”

He groaned again, like your words alone could push him over the edge. His fingers curled slightly around your neck, just enough pressure to make your walls flutter around him.

“That’s it,” He whispered, eyes burning into yours. “Take me. Use me. Fuckin’ ride me Y/N. I’m yours.” He watched you with something close to awe–his pupils wide, breath ragged as your hips rolled in that uneven, desperate rhythm, your thighs quivering from how much you were feeling, from the stretch and heat and weight of him pulsing deep inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N…” Rhett groaned, his voice strained and reverent, one of his hands gripping your hip as you moved. “You’re so fuckin’ tight like this…Every time you come back down, I feel your pussy clutch me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your breath hitched.

You whimpered again, high and shaky, your hands splayed on his chest for balance as you tried to keep going, but your rhythm faltered, hips stuttering with every twitch of your muscles. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls made you cry out a little louder.

That’s when his hands slid lower.

“Let me show you somethin’,” Rhett murmured, voice gravel-smooth as he sat up slightly and wrapped both hands around your waist. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was grounding you–like he was giving you something to fall apart against.

He pulled your hips forward, grinding you down slow, dragging your clit along the thick patch of hair above his cock.

You gasped, your eyes flying wide, hands bracing hard against his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking Christ–Rhett,” You gasped, your head falling back as your thighs quaked around him. “Oh my fucking god–”

“That’s it,” he breathed, dragging you again, slower now, more deliberate. “Feel that? Right there? That’s where I want you. Grind on me, sweetheart. Just like that.”

Your whimpers melted into full-bodied moans as he kept your hips moving in that rhythm–circling and dragging until you were damn near sobbing against his mouth, your clit raw and throbbing with every glide across the coarse hair and the thick base of his cock.

He didn’t stop until he felt your hips start moving in sync on their own. He let his hands slip back up to your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples again as you rocked into him like you were losing your mind.

“Good girl,” He groaned, voice deeper now. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect. Soaked for me…Riding me just the way I like.”

Your breath hitched, your hands tangling in his hair as he leaned in, kissing up your throat–sloppy, hungry, and hot.

Then–suddenly–he sat up fully, his hands grabbing your ass and pulling you closer, forcing you to stay pressed tight against him as his mouth found your neck.

He gripped your hair and yanked it gently, exposing the smooth column of your throat.

And he started kissing. Licking. Biting.

Not enough to hurt–just enough to make you whine.

“Bet none of those assholes ever touched you like this,” He growled into your neck, rutting up into you now–slow at first, but deep. “Bet none of ‘em knew how to fuck you right.”

You gasped as he hit that spot again, your nails digging into his shoulders. “They didn’t,” You whimpered. “Fuck, Rhett–they didn’t. You’re the only one who’s ever–”

“Damn right I am,” He snapped, his teeth grazing your throat. “You hear that? That’s what you sound like when someone actually gives a shit about makin’ you feel good.”

He slammed into you again, this time rougher–deep and hard and relentless–and your whole body jolted forward, your nails dragging down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He groaned at the sting. “Mark me up, Y/N. Let me feel it.” You were crying out now, your rhythm breaking down into messy, frantic movements, grinding and bouncing as best you could with how hard he was gripping your waist, how deep he was rutting up into you.

“Gonna come, Rhett–fuck–I’m gonna–”

“Come for me,” He rasped, slamming into you harder. “Soak me. Make a goddamn mess, sweetheart.”

Your vision blurred.

Your body locked up.

And then everything broke open.

You screamed his name as your orgasm ripped through you–wet and loud and overwhelming. You trembled violently, your whole body twitching as you felt yourself gush around him, soaking his lap and thighs, your slick coating every inch of him.

“Goddamn,” Rhett growled, his breath breaking into ragged pants. “Fuck–Y/N, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight–shit, I’m gonna–”

Then his hands flew to your hips.

He slammed you down against him one final time, holding you there with a bruising grip, his voice guttural and feral as he cried out:

“Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you–fill you up–gonna stuff you full of it, darlin’, so you’ll still feel me dripping out of you tomorrow–Jesus Christ–”

You gasped as you felt it.

The twitch. The pulse. Every thick, hot rope of cum flooding you so deep it made you clench again. He buried himself as far as he could go, his hips bucking wildly against you as he spilled every last drop.

You scratched your nails down his back again–hard.

He didn’t stop you. If anything, he moaned louder.

“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that.”

You collapsed forward, breath shaking, your chest pressed to his, your bodies fused together–hot and slick and shaking.

And he held you.

Tight.

Like you were the only thing tethering him to this goddamn earth.

Neither of you spoke at first.

Just heavy breathing. Soft trembling. The sound of your heart pounding where it pressed against his.

Then–barely audible–Rhett whispered against your ear:

“Guess what I’m writing?” Your breath was still ragged. Shallow. The tremors hadn’t stopped yet, and your chest was still rising and falling in uneven waves as you lay sprawled over him, your body warm and slick against his, your heart pounding so hard you swore it was echoing in his chest too.

“…Okay,” You whispered hoarsely, your voice barely carrying above the rasp in your throat.

Rhett didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled. One of those slow, crooked, half-cocky ones he couldn’t control when he was too soft to be smug and too smitten to pretend he wasn’t.

Then you felt it.

The gentle press of his fingertip against your outer thigh–bare, slick with sweat and still trembling slightly from aftershocks.

He dragged a slow line into your skin.

“I,” You breathed, voice soft and cautious.

He nodded, the tip of his nose brushing your jaw as he traced another.

“L,” You murmured, and he smirked faintly.

“Yeah,” He whispered against your cheek, his lips grazing your skin.

You didn’t breathe as he drew the next one–round and smooth.

“O.”

Another nod. His smile grew, quiet and reverent, the kind he only ever gave you when you were laughing in his passenger seat or half-asleep in his flannel.

And then he traced the last letter. Angled. Sharp. Deliberate.

“V,” you whispered. And this time, you stilled.

You pulled back just enough to look down at him, your hands sliding up to cradle his face. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. Just met your gaze with those wide, ocean-blue eyes–like he was terrified and relieved and stunned that he’d said it at all.

Your thumbs brushed the corners of his mouth, your fingers curling gently along his jaw.

And your smile–God, your smile–was soft and sure and finally at peace as you leaned in just close enough for him to hear you when you said:

“I love you too, Rhett.”

The air shifted.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it forever, his brows twitching with something emotional and overwhelmed, and then he leaned up, kissing you–soft and slow and messy with gratitude.

When he pulled back, his voice cracked.

“You’re so good, Y/N…”

You smiled again, barely able to speak as your hands continued to caress his cheeks, your fingertips memorizing every inch of him like a prayer.

“You’re perfect, Rhett,” You whispered. “I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be in my life.”

And this time–neither of you said anything after.

Because everything that needed to be said had already been written across your skin.

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott x you #outer range #lewis pullman the man you are #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman #sweet lordy lord we love cowboys lol #cowboys #howdy doody #Rhett Abbott is a frickin hottie #Spotify

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gojoest · 1 day ago

Text

the strongest softest heart — gojo satoru

part of papatoru days

gojo satoru is untouchable — or so everyone thinks. but when the birth of his daughter flips his world upside down, even the strongest sorcerer finds himself unraveling in the best way possible

f!reader, girl dad!satoru, petnames (baby, sweetness), mention of childbirth (non-graphic), hospital setting, satoru faints during labor, he’s the softest dad ever, suguru + shoko + nanami + fist-year trio cameo

Nobody would believe you if you told them that your husband, Gojo Satoru, can actually panic.

Most people who’ve met him would describe him in a strangely consistent way: loud, cocky, and infuriatingly confident. A man who walks into a room and somehow fills it with his ego before he even opens his mouth. He’s the strongest — and yes, he knows it. Which, on its own, is enough to drive people mad. He grins when others are irritated, teases them when they’re serious, and brushes off concern like it’s nothing more than a boring lecture.

To most, he’s arrogant. Unshakeable and untouchable — not just in strength, but in heart. Gojo Satoru doesn’t play by the rules, and more often than not, he doesn’t respect them either. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t bend, doesn’t let anything break past that blinding, boyish smile.

So naturally, if you told people that Satoru fainted during labor, they’d look at you like you were trying to convince a grown adult that Santa was real.

But it’s true.

Only those who were there at the hospital could confirm it — because, of course, the moment your water broke, Satoru called everyone. Suguru, Shoko, Nanami, his students…He didn’t even try to play it cool and, unfortunately for him, they were all present when the nurses had to roll him out on a stretcher.

In his defense, it wasn’t immediate. He was doing fine at first, holding your hand, breathing in sync with you, whispering encouragement through gritted teeth as if he could will your pain away. Then the doctor said: “The head is crowning” — and for some reason (of course) Satoru peeked.

One second, he was squeezing your hand and calling you a superhero. The next, he was flat on the floor.

And since Satoru is not a small man, getting him out of the way took six people and a whole lot of muttering.

But he bounced back quickly. Stubborn as ever, he came back into the room just in time to hold your hand again as you pushed, his face pale and lips trembling from all the emotions swirling in his chest. You’re pretty sure you left bruises on his knuckles — and maybe even dug your nails in a little too hard — but all he said was: “Don’t worry, baby. Take all your pain out on me. It’s my fault you’re going through this anyway, sweetness.”

He tried to joke, but his voice cracked with every word. Satoru didn’t know whether to laugh or cry from the sheer weight of it all. So he did both.

And the people who were there — the ones who thought they knew Gojo Satoru inside and out — they all saw it. Because no one had ever seen him cry. Well. Except for once, and now — two times.

The first was on your wedding day. When you walked down the aisle in white — radiant and glowing — something in him cracked. The bravado, the smirks, the untouchable facade all crumbled the moment he realized this was real. You were going to be his. For real. For life. And when the tears came, they weren’t loud or messy. They were quiet, but raw. The kind of tears that stunned everyone into silence. Some still say it didn’t happen, but you know the truth. You were the one holding his shaking hands at the altar. You saw the way he looked at you — like you were the only thing keeping him anchored to this world.

And… the second time was now.

When they placed your daughter in his arms for the first time — tiny and screaming her lungs out — something inside him broke again. But this time, it wasn’t panic. It was wonder. Awe. A love so huge and overwhelming it knocked the wind out of him, and he laughed through the tears while the baby was crying against his chest as if she recognized his heartbeat.

He had never felt so fragile, yet so powerful at the same time. And in that moment, Satoru knew — this is what he was born to protect. You and her. This is why he can’t lose and this is why he has to come back home. Every time. No matter what.

Outside the delivery room, the hallway was uncharacteristically quiet. Nanami stood with his arms crossed, his jaw tight but his expression soft. Shoko was nursing a coffee with red-rimmed eyes. Suguru stood quietly with his hands in his pockets, eyes locked on the delivery room door. Yuuji kept blowing his nose into a tissue. Nobara had unironically threatened to kill anyone who laughed at Satoru. Megumi stood stone-faced near the door, though his eyes kept flicking back to the crib ID card the nurse had set aside, as if trying to memorize the baby’s name, weight, and height.

And then, the door cracked open.

Satoru stepped out into the hallway, his newborn daughter cradled gently against his chest while the doctors finished cleaning you up and preparing to move you to recovery. He couldn’t wait — he had to show them. His miracle. His pride. His entire heart bundled up in a tiny blanket. His hair was messier than usual, eyes suspiciously red, and his hands still trembling just slightly. He looked like a man who had just witnessed the universe being rewritten — and was holding proof of it in his arms.

There was silence.

Then—

“Someone take a picture”, Shoko whispered. “I need proof that Gojo Satoru actually has tear ducts.”

Suguru blinked, awestruck. “She’s even tinier than I imagined.”

“She’s perfect”, Yuuji sniffled. “And sensei is going to spoil her so bad— hic—sniff”

Nobara tilted her head, staring at the baby with a complicated expression before cracking a smile. “She better grow up with my fashion sense! I’m not letting Gojo dress her like a walking blindfold.”

“If he buys her sunglasses, I’m leaving”, Megumi added dryly.

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “Another girl who can make Gojo Satoru lose his head. Impressive.”

Satoru just beamed. Eyes full of tears and pride and love, as he looked at the tiny girl in his arms. “Yeah”, he said softly. “She’s going to ruin me.”

And everyone knew it was true.

#ઈઉ — ai writes #[ ♡ ] — satoru #papatoru days #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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bunni-v1 · 2 days ago

Note

I just saw the teasing, but shy / brat taming story. Can I request kinda similar but kinda opposite, MC who is shy and likes to tease but is actually a good girl? 🧡

I personally like to tease, I love seeing them start to lose it because they start to get so turned on but they know they can't do anything about it. (Not in an angry way tho, if that makes sense?) But I'm also very much a good girl, while I very slightly might test boundaries, I live to please. I don't see many stories for us good girls, (also pillow princess stories are quite rare) so if you feel comfortable, I would love to see this version also. 😄

Such a Good Girl~

Necessary marc tag: @cilomarc

🍓I saw this and IMMEDIATELY started brainstorming. Other than when I was writing Cookie Run, this is the fastest I've gotten to a request. Now, It might've taken me a little longer than I wanted to get it done... but shut up. Now I'm not sure how loyal I was to the prompt, I kinda just... got lost while writing. Still, I do hope that it's what you were looking for my love <3

TW: Brat tamer Zayne & Sylus; Mean Xavier; Oral Receiving (Rafayel) & Giving (Caleb); Use of "Good Girl"; BLATANT Caleb favoritism; Grammar Errors

Info: NSFW; Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (separate); Short drabbles

Total Word Count: 6.2k words (individual count listed with character)

MDNI

ZAYNE (1.2k Words)

You don't even remember what you did to get yourself in the position in the first place. Well, you do, but you felt too lightheaded to think about it now. Zayne had you pressed close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and dick nice and snug inside your tight little hole. There was a pressure deep in your stomach that couldn't be relieved without movement, but he refused you the option, hands stilling your hips when they wiggled even a fraction.

Maybe, coming into Zayne's office during work hours in his favorite skirt wasn't the greatest idea you'd had. He was only so patient, especially when it came to you and your teasing. He let you play dumb for a little while, because it made you happy, and it's not like he didn't enjoy seeing the soft curve of your ass in the tight fabric as you waltzed around. It was almost cute the way you played dumb, like you didn't notice the way his eyes trailed after you and his pen stilled occasionally to observe you.

It was only meant to be a cute little game between the two of you, one you didn't expect to yield the results it did. But when he beckoned you over, pulling you between his legs by your hips, your fate was sealed. He had his usual calm expression, but his eyes were alight with need, drinking you in with each rove over your curves. The hands on your hips slid down to your thighs, then back up again, feeling the expanse of soft flesh as if it were his personal comfort.

His eyes find yours when he finally speaks, "Is there a reason you chose this skirt today?"

A little smile crawls up your face, almost shyly, "I thought you might like it."

His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, lifting his chin just slightly in affirmation. His fingers pull you closer by the backs of your thighs, drumming up and up until they rest atop your butt. It's not a science to tell that he's very pleased with your answer, no need for a rigorous degree to read him, he spells it out for you without needing to be asked.

"I do," he hums, kneading your cheeks in his hands, "Were you hoping for a reward?"

Direct and to the point as always, you couldn't hide from him. There was no attempt with the way you flustered, eyes flitting around nervously while you nodded your answer. Far too cute, if you asked him. He tapped your bottom, and like a trained dog, you looked back at him with fluttering lashes.

"If you can be nice and patient, I'll give you what you want," he hums, tilting his head so the light catches in his eyes just so, "You can do that for me, can't you?"

And that's how you'd ended up throwing your legs on either side of him and curling into his neck like a lifeline. You'd cock warmed him before, it wasn't a challenge to sit still and let him work. The stagnant pleasure was something you had come to enjoy, an intimacy that set butterflies free in your stomach every time he offered for you to do it. What was difficult to deal with, though, was the tension in built in your head.

You knew how your night would end, obviously. The issue lay in not knowing when Zayne believed the reward awaiting you was earned. You were always his good girl; you knew you were so well behaved, he told you all the time. There was simply no measure that could properly count when you had behaved well enough for your treat. That was up to Zayne to decide, and it could span from minutes to hours of waiting. That was the fun of it, though.

He would tap his fingers along your sides when the time was getting closer. Physical affection and comfort pick up, as a little warning. You think it's mostly subconscious, more for himself than it was for you. Fingers slide up and down your spine, kisses pressed to the side of your face in reassurance, or arms pulling you just a little closer.

Your nerves jitter in excitement when he sets his pen down, the soft shuffle of papers being moved out of the way, the most exciting sound in the world. Gentle hands pull your face into view, stroking over your warm cheeks as an apology for making you wait so long. You smile at him, leaning into his hands, craving that skin-to-skin contact more than you'd realized.

"You want to move, don't you?" He asks, though it comes out as more of a statement.

Adamantly, your head bobs up and down, "Yes, Sir."

He hums, copying your nodding, "Go ahead then, you've earned it."

Not needing to be told twice, you use his shoulders as leverage to bounce yourself up and down in his lap. Slow and steady motions to start, dragging his length along your walls, taking in each inch of pleasure with delight. All the while, he watches you, making sure you behave like you're meant to. Both of you know you will, you'd never do anything to purposely upset him, but the thought of him watching for little slip-ups gets the heat boiling beneath your skin.

His hands rest on your hips, not helping, just resting patiently. Just in case. You try not to think too hard about it, focusing in on the task you were given. Taking in the comforting feeling of him buried deep inside you, dragging along your walls like he was made to be there. The pleasant squelching sounds filling up his normally quiet office, encouraging you to keep going even though your legs start to burn.

His head leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair, content just watching you use him. His hands squeeze in patterned intervals to further encourage you to chase your high. Quiet, watchful, and entirely taken with you. The flush on his cheeks was more than enough to signal that you were performing exactly as he wanted; there was no need to vocally pronounce it when he made it so obvious to you. Heated gaze committing every little shift in expression to memory, utterly obsessed with the way you fall apart so obediently.

And fall apart you do, movements quickly becoming sloppy. It's too difficult to raise your hips in the same motion over and over, so you've taken to rolling them instead. Your orgasm is quickly building, coiling up your spine and fuzzing up your brain deliciously. You can't cum without permission, though. You don't want to misbehave and face punishment. Luckily, Zayne knows you too well, sensing your need from the way your hips seem to stutter and how you clench in uneven patterns now.

One hand cradles your chin between loving fingers, tilting your face toward his. Those sinful green eyes glimmer with knowing, looking over your flushed face like reading a report. The smallest smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, head tilting to the side in a teasing motion.

"You want to cum?" He hums expectantly, and when you nod he continues, "Go on then, be good, cum for me."

And like magic, like your body has been trained to listen, that coil springs and snaps pleasure through your body. Your orgasm draws a long, low moan from your lips, your body falling forward against his shoulder. Despite the way it tingles from the intensity of the pleasure curling along every nerve, you feel the unmistakable gentle rub of practiced hands along your spine. Coaxing your body to relax into him, easing the heat encasing you just enough to keep you lucid.

Your reward for being so good for him.

XAVIER (1.2k Words)

Xavier loves the way you like to play with him - it's cute how you tentatively poke at him, then hide away the second he questions you. It's a little game he likes to play with you: play dumb and see how far you'll let yourself get before you self-correct your behavior. He doesn't even have to do anything; you give yourself up for him every single time with a flutter of your lashes and a pout.

Just like today, you were testing your limits again, and he was happily playing oblivious. It started with some poking to his cheek and his side, annoying, but nothing he wasn't used to. The way you lit up when he hummed in acknowledgement set a chill down his spine. You didn't stop there, eventually letting your cute little innocent poking evolve into firm grasps. Nowhere too risqué, on his arms or holding his waist as though that was where your hands belonged.

He'd slid his hand over yours at that point, quietly warning you that he was on to you. Not to negate, just to tell, a reminder of who was in charge of whom. You took it as an invitation and worked yourself up to more teasing touches. Featherlight as your hand grazed over his chest and above his thighs, still too good to push further than that. Your intention was clear without needing to go further, though, and it brought Xavier great excitement to see how you shrank back from giving in to your wants.

You didn't have to worry about it, and you knew that fact. Xavier was ready to hand it over to you on a silver platter, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came when your fingers strayed just a little too high up his thigh, not intentionally, but the perfect excuse to grab them firmly. Bringing the hand to his lips, kissing their tips with such devotion, you nearly forget that he'd caught you in the act. Those pretty blue puppy dog eyes darken slightly when he gazes at you, intent clear as day in their sparkle.

"You've been quite playful today, starlight," He mumbles against your skin, "Are you hoping for something from me?"

You fluster immediately, just like he expected you to, because you're so scared of being bad for him. You hate it when he's mad, so you nod obediently. His other hand tilts your head gently, as if it's a suggestion of movement rather than a command. You listen regardless, moving your face as he likes, swallowing when his thumb grazes over your lip. He watches your tongue dart out after it, like you were trying to get a taste of what he left behind. That makes him more of a mess than he'd be willing to admit, breath shaking with his next exhale.

"Don't worry about telling me," He says, moving forward in a swift motion, pressing you to the couch cushions easily, "I already know what you need, just behave and I'll give it to you, okay?"

Another helpless nod, and he is hovering over you like a predator who'd just caught his prey. Sliding your clothes out of his way, not bothering to take anything off fully, far too preoccupied to care about such a trivial matter now. He only makes sure you're wet enough before he pushes inside your tight heat. It takes all his self-control not to moan out loud, mouth finding your neck to distract his brain with a different task for the moment.

He laves at the skin there, soft tongue sending shivers down your spine as it runs along the sensitive spots he's able to find like second nature. He works his way up to the shell of your ear, nipping and kissing along your jaw, buying time for your world to stop spinning before he sends it out of orbit again. You can feel the satisfied smirk against your ear, whining when the ghost of his teeth nibble along it.

"You're already so wet, you took me with no problem," He whispers, wiggling against you for emphasis, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? How naughty, here I thought you were so well behaved."

You tug at his shirt, letting out an annoyed whine. Insistent, defiant, denying the idea that you had misbehaved. You hadn't, after all, he let you do all of it after all. He smiles, pulling back to look at your angry little pout.

"No?" He hums, and you confirm with a nod, "You think you're a good girl?"

You agree, vigorously nodding your head so hard he worries you might give yourself whiplash. Your angry pout makes him want to kiss you stupid, but he holds back on that. Only good girls get that treatment, and he wasn't so sure you'd earned the title yet. Instead, he presses his face close, just a hair's width away. Refusing to kiss you, but allowing you to desire it enough that he can see the need on your face.

"Why don't you prove it, then," He asks, rolling his hips once, "if you cum for me, maybe I'll reconsider my judgment."

With that, he begins his movements, sending your head spinning yet again with the pace he sets. Never one to waste time when he had you laid out so openly beneath him, he pistons himself into your wet heat at a steady but quick rhythm. Each drag manages to hit each spot against your spongy walls perfectly, getting you dizzy within moments of him starting. Your grip on his shirt tightens, using the fabric as a means of bracing yourself against the warmth spreading across your body.

It doesn't do anything for how quickly he manages to get you babbling, knowing your body better than you do. Those deep blue eyes watching you submit yourself willingly, knowing well that you would before he started. You always behaved so well for him; he just liked making you work for his praise. The angry expressions as you fought his accusations off, making him stupidly hot and bothered. Making the way your face absolutely scrunched up and losing itself to the heat of the moment all the more satisfying.

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak, not with how easily he works your body like this. Knowing exactly how to move his hips for you, like it was instinct to get you to fall apart on him. You cry out his name, fingers balling the fabric of his shirt like it would help you somehow. Cute, cute, cute sings inside his head, over and over, like he was losing his mind. He sees the moment the invisible thread in you snaps, and feels it as you grip around him as though trying to drag him down with you.

Instinctively, he comes down to kiss you, giving you your just rewards for being so good for him. The gentle reprieve he gives you makes it all worth it, though.

Mumbling against your moans his soft praises, "Good girl, keep going, give me all you can."

RAFAYEL (1k Words)

The only thing in the world Rafayel likes more than you is your attention. Knowing you're looking at him, having the awareness that you are encapsulated by him makes him happier than he'd be willing to admit to you. Something about the reassurance that you are there, and that you find him as mesmerizing as he does you, helps to calm his raging heart. Quells the burning fire of his yearning to a low simmer, no longer consuming him whole, but warming him from the cold of memories that still haunt him.

That attention of yours was addicting, and you were simply unaware of the effect you had on him. Which is why he felt as though he'd been going through withdrawals all day, a notable lack of your eyes on him driving him nuts. Yes, you were busy and he was oh so understanding of that... but he could only take so much. It was getting to be unfair at this point.

First, you wouldn't let him pull you back into the sheets, scolding him about 'work' and 'responsibility'. You sounded like Thomas, but he didn't complain too much that time, content to watch you get ready; the show was compensation enough. Then, audaciously, you refused to send him any pictures. Wouldn't even amuse the lighthearted flirting, too busy running around being a hero to pause for him. What made it all worse, when you got home, you were 'too tired' and 'just wanted to eat and nap'.

Fine, okay, whatever. He'll make you a tasty, nutrient-full meal and cuddle you on the couch while you talked about your day. He doesn't bring it up again, wouldn't push you when you seem so genuinely exhausted. He can go without for you, he did it for hundreds of years, what's a day?

It's fine until you start to get restless, wiggling about this way and that and pressing into him very intentionally. It clicks when you glance over your shoulder, pouting expectantly. You'd tortured him on purpose, how mean.

He pulls you back, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a smug satisfaction. The ends of his hair tickle your cheek when he pulls you into a deep and insistent kiss, not allowing you the time to catch up. He goes until you're dizzy, wiping away the string of saliva connecting you with that familiar playful smile of his, then it drops.

Annoyance, and that pout you hate to love stare you down, "Tell me, Cutie, were you intent on torturing both of us today?"

You shake your head, ready to deny him, but it catches in your throat. He nudges your nose admonishingly, almost daring you to say no. You'd played your mean little game, and he obeyed your rules, it was time for his reward; And he would be getting it. No matter what.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, "I didn't think I'd get this far."

He huffs, like he doesn't believe you, tracing your lip with his thumb.

"Talk is useless. Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He rumbles out, eyes darkening in his desire.

You drop to your knees like you were being mind-controlled, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He stands at attention, proud and aching for your pretty lips to wrap around him. It makes you feel worse for playing hard to get all day, knowing how he must've been so needy this whole time. Those observant eyes watch you with hardly restrained excitement, twinkling down at you encouragingly.

You slide your thumb over the tip, spreading the pearly pre over it. There's an obscene amount of it, proof of how long he'd been keeping himself together, dripping down your hand. Absent-mindedly, you lean down to lick it up from where it slides down your wrist, following it back to the source. Salty and a little bitter, you ignore the taste for the sheer satisfaction of making him feel good.

You lick up what you spread around, popping the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He curses your name like it were sin itself. Sensitive and desperate. You use it as motivation to take him in, inch by inch, until your throat tickles, then you pull back. Wrapping what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand, beginning languid motions back and forth. Sucking, swirling, pleasing him just how you know he likes.

You want to make it up to him, feeling so bad for teasing him the way you did. You really didn't mean any harm, but from how he was throbbing along your tongue, you know you did. Using your mouth to make it up to him was the least you could do. Apologizing with each hum you send along his shaft, sending your sorry directly through his nervous system.

A hand runs through your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly in reward. Not that you've earned it, but he can't be too mean when you're just so good for him. The prettiest sight he's ever seen, lips wrapped around him while you desperately try to keep eye contact between the fluttering of your lashes. All your attention was his now, and he was happy to hog it all unashamedly, just like you were to suck him off for hours.

He thought about letting you, he thinks you may even deserve the way your knees would sting after the fact, but he can't help but be weak for you. Not when he had a lot more he wanted to get done tonight. The gentlest tug is all it takes for you to pop off him, swallowing up air as though you'd been drowning. He smiles, wiping a little bit of spit running down your chin. His messy little masterpiece.

"You can take all of it, can't you?" He asks, and you nod in a daze, licking your lips.

He allows you to take him again, helping you take more and more down your throat until he's settled there like it's where he belongs. You breathe through your nose, face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to make it up to him. It's so charming, making his heart race and sending the blood right back to his dick.

It's not enough, though; he needs you to look at him.

"Cutie," he hums, and you look up at him, glassy-eyed and desperate for approval. He smirks, "Such a good, obedient girl for me, I think I can forgive you this once if you keep it up."

SYLUS (1.2k Words)

Sylus was a very busy man, something you knew intimately after being with him for so long. Frequently, he was off somewhere in the N109 Zone doing something that you were safer turning a blind eye to than asking about. You'd spend weeks at a time without seeing him, alone in your apartment as you worry needlessly about his well-being. He always came back in perfect condition, smirking at you as though your worry was some pointless thing, teasing you for how much you care.

Being with him was difficult, but ultimately worth it in the long run. The way he took care of you far outweighed the periods where you could not physically have him with you. Though... sexually... You felt your resolve waver just a bit.

You found yourself very pent up in the weeks that he was gone, and there was only so much your fingers or toys could do to satiate the heat that boiled in your tummy. Pictures and videos of your previous times together helped, but also made it worse at the same time. You just wanted him: his warmth, his touch, his taste. Devastatingly addictive, and you felt strung out without him at your side.

You'd send him pictures and videos, hoping he'd return the favor when he gets the chance. Sometimes he'd call you and talk you through it, cooing at you as though you were an insatiable kitty and not his very needy partner. Naturally, given your human nature, you can only handle so long before you start feeling petty.

Normally, you wouldn't deprive yourself when he comes home to you, whispering syrupy sweet words into your ear. Not this time. No, you wanted him to have a taste of how frustrated you would get. Since he seemed to find it oh so funny when you got all needy, let's see how he liked it.

You forgot how patient he was.

He could reasonably wait several millennia, and you were finding that out the hard way. He was a stone wall of impartialness; nothing could shake him, and within a week, you felt your resolve rapidly crumbling. He knew this, of course, he always knew. Yet, he let you play your game without a peep. It only made you more infuriated, need burning in your stomach every time you looked at him, trapped in a prison of your design.

You give in a week and three days into your little facade, frustrated and pent up, and by Astra needing him to do anything for you. He looks up at you like he was expecting your arrival at his office door. You're not aware of the cute little pout on your face, nor the way you nervously fiddle with the hems of his oversized shirt sleeves. And, goodness, he questions himself on how he could possibly hold out for so long when you're just so radiant.

You stop short of his desk, positioning yourself with arms crossed as you glare at him. He regards you with a tilt of his head, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. It's not meant to be intimidating, but it sends a chill up your spine. Fuck he was unfairly sexy, wasn't he? How could you purposely ignore him for some stupid petty pride?

You take a deep breath, sighing out your apology, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" He hums, amusement thickening his voice.

"For avoiding you," you continue, stepping forward like owning up to it, "I was just..."

"Frustrated?" He finishes for you.

In a ridiculously smooth movement, he stands, walks to your side, and gently guides you to his couch. You are lying down across his lap, head propped up by a pillow against the arm, looking up at him with wonder. A large hand rests on your thigh, sliding your skirt to pool around your waist as you prop your knees up. Fingers stop just short of the apex of your thigh, tapping patiently along the soft skin there instead.

"It must be so difficult, being without me for so long," he purrs, "I can only imagine so, since you thought to play such a silly game with me."

You frown, resisting the urge to clench your thighs, "I just wanted you to feel how frustrated I was."

"You think I don't miss you when I'm away?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes like it was an offensive thought.

"Not as much as I miss you," you spit back.

He releases a huff of a laugh, squeezing your thigh, and you realize too late you've fallen into his trap, "Oh really? I suppose not, then. Tell me, though, what exactly do you do when you miss me?"

He knows what you do, of course, and he takes great pleasure in the videos you send. That does not stop him from quickly dipping his fingers into your underwear, finding the wetness pooling there pleasing, "Do you touch yourself like this?"

His fingers, long and slender and precise, swirl over your clit in practiced motions. The movements seem sloppy, but it's far from unintentional. He's mocking you, discarding his usual smoothness for how he imagines your fingers might play with the needy bud. It's annoyingly accurate, which is why you melt so easily. You missed his touch so badly, unable to move your fingers in the same way he can, far less precise and sure of yourself.

You nod, swallowing hard, "I can't touch myself like you do."

"Poor little kitten," he soothes, mercifully correcting his motions to the tight circles you missed, "Don't worry, I'm here now. I'll touch you as much as you want."

Flimsily, you grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug, "Kiss me, please."

He doesn't waste any time in giving in to your commands, lips finding yours in a slow and passionate kiss that gets you sighing. You had missed him so badly, you were so needy, and now he was kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. Your little game was stupid anyway, the pettiness melting to make way for your desire to please and be pleased.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers dip into your heat, dragging along your walls, reaching far deeper than you could've dreamed. He's skilled with his movements, curling them along the most sensitive spots he'd taken time to memorize. Somehow, knowing your body better than you do. Which is why it's no surprise you cum quickly, orgasm coming without warning and leaving you breathless against his lips.

He's muttering your praises, 'very good', 'that's it', 'perfect', and it only makes you more hazy. How he could be so sweet to you after you were so stupid was beyond you, but you didn't want him to stop. He doesn't, intrinsically knowing what you need without voicing it, and soon you are working through your second consecutive orgasm. Then your third, until you are finally coming down from your high with his steadfast praises ringing through your mind.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"Thank you," He answers, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

CALEB (1.6k Words)

You didn't mean to tease him, honestly. It was innocent. It was always something innocent... until it wasn't. Until you managed to push enough that he decided it wasn't, because there was no way he was rock hard over some harmless little antics of yours. Or, maybe it was the fact that it was so innocent that got him so hot and bothered.

As much as he loathes to admit it, he gets a kick out of defiling you. You call it a kink, he calls it human nature (only for him, though, forbid another man thinks about the things he does.) Regardless, you tease him without meaning to all the time. The comfortableness you feel with each other allows your walls to come down, and unintentionally make something else of his rise. It was a good thing to be so comfortable with your partner, after all, you'd insist. Not realizing what seeing you in nothing but his oversized t-shirt did to his mind.

It drove him wild the way your completely harmless antics managed to 'wake him up' so to speak. He felt like a helpless virgin, which... he sort of was before you, but he figured he'd grow out of that phase eventually. Feels like it only got worse with time, and yet he wouldn't trade it for the world. Content to spend the rest of his days blue balling himself so long as he gets to live that sweet domestic bliss with you.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, working on the breakfast you'd insisted on making for him. Sweet as it was, Caleb was never really one to accept your acts of service without a fight, preferring to be the provider. It was a fight to get him to sit down and relax for once; one of his scarce days off should be spent decompressing, letting you treat him for once. He sat on the couch watching the news for all of ten minutes before he got annoyed and wandered to the kitchen.

He knew better than to get in your space, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a glower. It softens when you send a smirk over your shoulder, brushing off his pouting effortlessly as you glide around his kitchen. It was too cute a sight to stay mad, anyway. His old t-shirt - the one he got from his high school honors program that he couldn't fit into anymore - hardly covers your ass, giving him just the smallest glimpse of your panties each time you reached up or shifted just right.

You shift from foot to foot as you work on the pancakes - apple cinnamon, his own recipe, of course. Hair pulled away so he could see the evidence of your late-night activities peek from just beneath the collar of his shirt. If that wasn't enough to send him into a catatonic state of domesticity, you would look at him every few moments, like you were waiting for him to do something. Sultry little pout tossed over your shoulder, gliding over his bare chest, just over the dick print in his grey sweats, then turning around like you weren't being the biggest tease in the world.

Normally, Caleb would let it slide. Normally, he'd roll off your teasing with a bright smile and a halfhearted scolding. Normally, he had somewhere to be in the morning, so he couldn't afford to give in. Today was not a normal day. Today was a rest day, and what better way to rest than indulging in all the desires he'd purposefully pushed off until now?

He cages you between his arms when you look away, moving a fluffy pancake to the plate set next to you. They looked perfect; you'd followed his recipe exactly. Too bad he wasn't craving pancakes right now, and judging from the way you giggle when his lips graze your shoulder, you weren't either.

"Feeling hungry?" You laugh, reaching a hand back to scratch the base of his skull like he was an overgrown mutt.

One of his hands slides to turn off the stove, then wraps around your hip, pressing you back into his crotch. You feel how hungry he is, poking at your buttocks through the minimal layers of clothing both of you are wearing. Open-mouthed kisses across all exposed flesh he could reach further incriminate him, urging you to give in.

"Starving," he groans.

"Well then," you hum, turning to face him - he doesn't leave your skin for a moment, moving with you, "dig in."

He moans, lifting you up to the counter with a swift heft, spreading you out pretty for him. His lips trace down the fabric of his shirt while his fingers inch it up over your hips, humming satisfied when they find skin to ravish again. He makes a fast trail to your clothed entrance, pressing his nose to the wet fabric and taking a deep whiff. Another groan grumbles out of his chest, and in another moment, he's licking along the slick staining the fabric.

You both moan at the sensation, Caleb's muffled by you and you by your hand. He tugs you closer, tossing your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with your thighs. No escape, not that he had any intention of leaving. He looks up at you, smiling when he notices how you try to hide, eyes darting around the room like that would help you.

Gently, he takes the hand covering your mouth, settling it firmly on his head. He doesn't let go of your wrist until you weave the soft locks through your fingers, scratching at his scalp just like you had earlier. You get an encouraging little smile for it, a soft kiss pressed to your thigh as a reward. His other hand tucking your panties to the side, revealing your hot sticky cunt to him. You clench reflexively when he licks his lips, amethyst eyes finding yours again as he spreads your lips.

Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses your clit. Your mouth falls open because that might just be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. You think you might need a million pictures of the way he looks at you as his lips pucker against the sensitive bud. Unfortunately, you don't get to stare at it for too long, as Caleb is as insatiable as he is in love with you. Eyes falling closed as he brings his tongue across your folds, lapping the juices there up like a thirsty dog.

Your fingers curl tightly into his scalp at the sensation, pressing him closer with a pathetic noise. Somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, addicting to a man like Caleb. His mouth dips down to your entrance, a loud slurping ringing in your ears as he drinks up the juices that leaked out from your needy hole. Tongue working in steady rolls, still not quite experienced, but moving exactly like you needed him to. Your clit does not go neglected, nose nudging against it with his eager movements. His head bobbing excitedly with each shameless slurp, and he really does remind you of a dog like this.

When his tongue plunges as deep as he can get it, you whine out his name, thighs clenching around his head. It slides in far too easily, like it was made to be there, which certainly does something for his ego. You lock your feet behind his back, trying to roll your hips into his uneven rhythm with little success. Not that he needed the help, you were already tumbling over the edge when you lifted your hips the first time. Fucking yourself against his face, elongating your orgasm for as long as he allows you to. And he allows you to for a while, long enough that he's able to force a second one out of you in your frenzy.

Only when you slam your head against the cupboard does he force himself back, concern overpowering his need to eat you out until you can't speak. You whine at him, trying to force him back down, but he isn't having it as he checks you over. He laughs at you when he decides that you're fine, pinching your cheek like you were a petulant child and not his very overstimulated, needy girlfriend.

"You want more? You already came twice, pips." He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

Instead of responding, you press your foot to his hard on, taking great satisfaction at the way he hisses. He catches you by your ankle, tugging your legs open so he can stand between them again. You pull him into a heated kiss, scooting dangerously close to the edge of the counter so you can press into him. You feel his resolve crack instantly, kissing you back like you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

"I need you inside, please," you murmur into the desperate dance of lips on lips.

Without argument, he tugs himself out of his sweats, pressing himself against your heat, "Since you've been so good, I think I can be nice, just this once."

You gasp as the tip slides between your folds, lubricating himself up with a few thrusts, then sliding into your desperate hole with little resistance. The stretch is accompanied by low whispers in your ear, cooing and coaxing you, "Goooood girl, that's right, you take it so well," and "Breathe, princess, I've got you."

By the time you're done with each other, the pancakes are freezing cold, and Caleb decides it's time to start lunch instead. He's cooking this time.

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0scarp1astr1 · 17 hours ago

Text

˖ 𐔌 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐚𝐲࿐.۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || When the flu hits the Norris household, you're suddenly the full-time nurse, chef, and cuddle provider. With Lando down and sick. It's up to you to nurse him and the kids back to health. ||

ᯓ★ (Husband!) Lando Norris x Fem! (Wife) Reader

ᯓ★ 1x Genre: Fluff

ᯓ★ Warning: None

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: More of the Norris Family on your feed. Some stories might not be as long as the others. I do apologize, I am swamped with some things, but making it work. As of now, here is some fluff about the Norris family. DOUBLE POST TODAY!

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

It started with Sebastian.

You were home on the couch, one leg curled beneath you, a warm mug of tea in your hands as the low hum of afternoon silence filled the house. Lyla was upstairs napping, snuggled into her favorite pink blanket with her bunny tucked beneath her chin. Lando had gone out for the afternoon to grab groceries and maybe meet up with Oscar for lunch. It was peaceful. Until your phone rang.

You glanced down, squinting at the screen. St. Mary’s Primary School.

That peaceful feeling? Gone.

You picked up immediately. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Sebastian’s mum?” a gentle voice asked. “This is Nurse Rachel, I’m calling to let you know Sebastian isn’t feeling too well. He’s got a slight fever, looks a bit pale, and he’s complaining about a headache and chills. He’s resting in the office now, but we’d recommend picking him up as soon as possible.”

Your heart dropped. “Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes later, you were parking in front of the school, your chest tight with worry. As soon as you stepped into the nurse’s office, your heart broke.

There was Sebastian, curled up on a cot with a blanket pulled up to his chin. His curls were a mess, flattened to one side, and his eyes looked heavy and dull. His cheeks were flushed, lips dry, and the moment he saw you, he blinked slowly and reached out with a weak little, “Mama…”

“Oh, baby,” you whispered, rushing to his side. You ran your fingers gently through his curls and kissed his forehead. He was burning up.

“Let’s get you home.”

At home, things started okay. You and Lando worked like a well-oiled team—fluffing pillows, taking temperatures, setting timers for medicine, keeping cartoons going on a loop to distract him. You’d been through colds and stomach bugs before. This was just another one. Or so you thought.

But two days in, Sebastian was getting worse.

“He hasn’t eaten anything,” Lando muttered, pacing at the foot of Sebastian’s bed. His hands were shoved into his hoodie pocket, eyes fixed on his son who was lying limp, glassy-eyed, not even responding to his favorite movie playing.

“I know,” you sighed, rubbing Sebastian’s back gently. “He won’t even drink juice.”

“He’s not… him. He doesn’t even want me to read to him.”

You both looked at each other then, the unspoken agreement passing between you like a bolt of electricity.

Doctor. Now.

The diagnosis: flu. A pretty bad one.

“Just rest, fluids, and keep monitoring his fever,” the pediatrician said kindly. “These days, the strains going around have been knocking kids out hard, but with proper care, he should be alright in a few days.”

Lando let out a long sigh once you were back in the car, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Okay. Okay. So we can do this.”

You smiled weakly. “Yeah. We’ve got this.”

You didn’t have this.

Because two days later, Lyla got it.

She woke up wailing in the middle of the night, her entire little body on fire with fever, cheeks damp from tears, and that heartbreaking toddler cry that said she didn’t know what was happening.

“Oh no,” you whispered as you scooped her into your arms.

From the doorway, Lando stood in pajama pants, his shirt long forgotten, with sleepy eyes, hair sticking out in every direction, and dark circles under his eyes. “Not her too.”

“She’s burning up, Lan.”

The house descended into chaos.

You barely knew what day it was. There were humidifiers going in every room. Thermometers beeping every few hours. Medicine charts taped to the fridge. Lyla wanted nothing but cuddles. Sebastian was in a zombie state, and you were running on cold coffee and adrenaline.

One afternoon, while you were wiping down the kitchen counter, a soft knock came at the front door.

You opened it to find Oscar standing there, hoodie pulled over his head and holding a large brown paper bag.

“Hey,” he said with a small, apologetic smile. “Lando said you guys were in full-on crisis mode. I figured you could use a hand.”

“Oscar,” you blinked, almost tearing up. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He stepped inside, pulling off his shoes. “I brought electrolyte drinks, cold meds, some soup, and—” he pulled a stuffed dinosaur from the bag with a small grin, “a get-well friend for Seb.”

You laughed softly, taking the items. “Thank you. Seriously.”

He looked toward the living room where Lando was sprawled on the floor with Lyla clinging to his chest, half-asleep. “How’s he holding up?”

You snorted. “Heroically. Stubbornly. Recklessly. Pick one.”

Lando looked up just then. “Oi! I’m doing my best over here!”

“You’re gonna catch it too, mate,” Oscar warned.

“Nah,” Lando said, stroking Lyla’s back gently. “I’ve got dad immunity.”

“You mean denial,” you muttered, setting down the soup.

But Oscar was right.

Two days later, you walked in from the store to find the living room in complete stillness.

Lando was lying facedown on the couch, motionless. Sebastian was snuggled on top of his back like a human blanket, fast asleep. Lyla was curled at the base of the couch with her head on Lando’s leg, mouth open, drool visibly soaking into the fabric of his joggers.

He lifted his hand lazily and gave you a pathetic wave.

“You’re home,” he rasped, voice so congested it didn’t even sound like him.

You set the bag of groceries down and crossed your arms. “Lando.”

He turned his head just slightly, revealing red-rimmed eyes and a nose that was clearly on strike.

“What?”

“You’re sick.”

“No, I’m just tired,” he mumbled.

You arched a brow. “Tired? Your face looks like it’s been hit with hay fever, the flu, and a cold front.”

He huffed. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. You have a seven-year-old with the flu asleep on your back and a two-year-old sneezing on your leg. You’re now patient three in this house of doom.”

“Don’t diss my babies,” he muttered, sniffling.

You walked over and gently lifted Sebastian off him, carefully not to wake him. “Come on, superhero. Time to go to bed.”

He groaned dramatically, trying to sit up before collapsing again. “This is how I go.”

“Lando.”

He opened one eye. “If I don’t make it, tell Oscar I forgive him for bringing me that soup with ginger.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the fond smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Tell the children I fought bravely.”

“You got the flu from cuddling a toddler.”

“...still brave.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The early morning had become your only moment of true peace.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but soft golden light was beginning to filter in through the tall windows of your Monaco flat, casting long, warm shadows across the quiet living room. The city beyond the glass was still sleeping, wrapped in the quiet hum of a new day not yet begun. No traffic. No coughing. No cartoons buzzing in the background. Just silence. Precious, rare silence.

You stood barefoot in the kitchen, the tiles cool beneath your feet, wrapped loosely in your robe. One hand cradled a warm mug of tea while the other rested against the edge of the counter as you took a breath. Deep. Grounding. You could almost pretend the past week hadn’t happened—almost pretend the house wasn’t still full of flu-stricken chaos, discarded tissues, and sleepless nights.

But you knew better.

Your eyes wandered toward the hallway.

In your bedroom, Lando lay sprawled across the bed, curled protectively around a small, warm bundle. Lyla was tucked up against him, her tiny frame almost disappearing beneath the heavy duvet. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, her thumb still resting against her lips, breathing soft and even. One of Lando’s arms was draped over her securely, his hand resting gently on her back as if shielding her from even the remnants of the flu. His curls were a tousled mess on the pillow, his mouth parted slightly as he slept—exhausted, stuffy, and completely defeated by the same virus he’d insisted he wouldn’t catch.

You’d warned him. Time and time again, you told him to stop letting her cough in his face, to quit letting her nuzzle into his hoodie while she sniffled and sneezed.

“She’s a daddy’s girl,” you had said. “You’ll be the next one down.”

And now, here you were.

Across the hall, Sebastian was finally asleep too, curled up in his bright red race car bed. His tiny body lay limp under a Cars-themed comforter, his arms tucked beneath his pillow, one leg dangling out from under the blanket like it always did—flu or no flu. His cheeks were still a little pink, but the fever had come down overnight. You’d stood in his doorway earlier just to watch him breathe, just to make sure.

He looked peaceful. For now.

And for a few stolen moments, so did everyone else.

You sipped your tea, turning slowly back toward the stove.

“Breakfast,” you mumbled to yourself, eyeing the sparse options you’d managed to keep stocked through the week. There wasn’t much point in cooking something elaborate. Nothing seemed to stay down anyway. Every meal came with the risk of being met with a gag, a grumble, or worse—clean-up duty.

You sighed and set the mug down. “Oatmeal and yogurt,” you decided aloud. “Simple. Gentle. Not likely to end up on the floor.”

You grabbed the oats and a small pot, setting it on the stove to warm the milk. Your hands moved with practiced rhythm—quiet, calm. You sliced some banana, then carefully cut a few strawberries, arranging them in a little dish in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, the colors might tempt Lyla or Sebastian to eat something.

The silence was comforting, for once. No crying. No sneezing. No soft calls of “Mama…” from down the hall.

Just you. Your kitchen. The soft hum of the refrigerator. The aroma of tea.

And then—ring ring ring.

You jumped a little at the sudden break in stillness and reached across the counter for your phone, sighing lightly. You glanced at the screen and smiled.

Cisca.

You picked up immediately. “Well,” you said with a chuckle, phone pressed to your ear, “it’s nice someone is calling me and not crying or throwing up.”

“Calling to check in on the family!” Cisca’s warm, familiar voice greeted you.

Your smile deepened. Lando’s mom had always been so caring—gentle but no-nonsense, the kind of woman you could rely on. She knew how hard motherhood could get, even with help.

You leaned against the counter, balancing the phone between your shoulder and cheek. “You have impeccable timing. The house is actually… quiet. For once.”

“I was hoping I’d catch you before the chaos starts again. How’s everyone holding up?”

“Well,” you exhaled, stirring the oatmeal slowly, “Sebastian’s fever finally broke last night. He’s asleep in his bed, looking like a little zombie racer.”

“That’s good news.”

You nodded to yourself. “Lyla’s still all sniffles and sleepy cuddles. And she’s in bed with Lando right now.”

Cisca laughed knowingly. “Let me guess—tucked under his arm like a little koala?”

You chuckled. “Exactly. It’s actually adorable. She’s latched onto him like he’s her personal comfort pillow. She refuses to be anywhere else.”

“She always was a daddy’s girl.”

“Yeah,” you said with a smirk, “which brings me to the bad news—he’s got the flu now too.”

“Oh no…”

You shook your head, scooping the finished oatmeal into a bowl. “I told him. Over and over. Stop letting her breathe on you. Stop kissing her forehead every five minutes. But he couldn’t help himself. He cuddled her through the worst of it and now…” You glanced toward the bedroom door. “He’s just another one of my patients.”

Cisca groaned. “He never did listen to advice when it came to sick days.”

You grinned. “Now he’s snoring like a bear, wrapped around his sick toddler like he’s the one keeping her alive.”

“Well, you’re a stronger woman than me,” she said with a laugh. “I’d have booked a hotel.”

“Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You both laughed, and for a moment, the tension eased.

“You’re doing great,” Cisca said warmly. “I know this part is exhausting, but it’ll pass. Just make sure you don’t go down next.”

“Knock on wood,” you muttered, glancing at the counter. “I’m the last one standing.”

“For now,” she teased.

You chuckled again and looked over your shoulder, taking in the morning light filtering across the floor, casting a soft glow down the hallway. Behind those doors were your whole world—sick, tired, and helpless—but still your heart in three fragile, beautiful pieces.

And right now, you were holding everyone together.

“I’ve got it,” you whispered more to yourself than anyone else. “I’ve got all of them.”

The sound of a raspy cough pierced the quiet, interrupting your rare sliver of calm. You gently pulled the phone away from your ear mid-sentence.

“I think that’s my cue,” you murmured with a soft sigh. “One of the tiny patients is awake.”

“Hang in there,” Cisca replied sympathetically. “Call me later if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you, Cisca.”

You ended the call and set the phone down on the counter, already hearing the familiar rhythm of small footsteps padding against the wooden floors. And then—

“Mama!”

You turned toward the hallway, just as Sebastian appeared—his race car pajamas rumpled, curls flattened on one side of his head, and his cheeks still flushed from fever. He rubbed one eye with the back of his hand, dragging his favorite stuffed animal behind him.

Before you could respond, Lando stepped into the kitchen behind him, holding Lyla close to his chest. She was bundled in a blanket, thumb in her mouth, her heavy head resting on his shoulder. Her curls were tangled from sleep, her little body completely melted against him.

“Lando,” you sighed gently, though your tone carried the weight of exhaustion, “put her down. You all should be in bed. I’m making breakfast.”

He gave a tired shake of his head, voice barely above a whisper. “We’re fine, love.”

But you saw the truth in his eyes—the fatigue, the faint daze behind his movements, and most telling of all, the harsh cough that followed his words, forcing him to turn away from the stove area.

“Please,” you said more firmly, “not around the food.”

He nodded weakly, patting Lyla’s back as she made a soft noise in her sleep.

You set the spoon down with a soft clink and crossed your arms. “Okay. You three—back to bed. Now. All of you.”

“Mama…” Sebastian whined pitifully. He shuffled forward and leaned into your side, wrapping his arms around your leg. “I want to stay with you…”

Your heart tugged painfully.

You ran your fingers through his curls and crouched down to meet his tired gaze. “Oh, sweetheart… you three make me feel awful. I hate seeing you all like this.”

Lando watched you, still holding Lyla like a sick little koala bear. His lips were pale, eyes heavy-lidded. You stepped closer, gently brushing a hand over Lyla’s back and then across his arm.

“Lando, honey,” you said softly, your voice dipping into something tender, something pleading, “can you please lay back down? Take them with you? Just rest a little longer.”

He hesitated, shoulders slumping as he exhaled shakily. “I would,” he murmured, “but my head is pounding and I feel like my whole body’s made of wet paper.”

You sighed, leaning into him briefly, pressing your forehead to his arm. “I told you this would happen.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But she wouldn’t sleep without me…”

You looked down at Lyla, who hadn’t stirred once since they entered the kitchen, her little fingers fisted in the fabric of Lando’s shirt.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Come on. All of you—back to bed. I’ll bring breakfast to the bedroom. Just let me finish getting it ready. I’ll even add a bit of honey to Sebastian’s oatmeal and cut Lyla’s strawberries just the way she likes them.”

Sebastian sniffled and looked up at you. “With the little star shapes?”

You smiled tiredly. “With the star shapes, baby.”

Lando gave you the faintest, grateful grin. “You’re kind of a superhero, you know that?”

You reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “Don’t you forget it.”

As they slowly turned back toward the hallway—Lando shuffling like a sick penguin, Sebastian clutching his stuffed animal and trailing behind, Lyla still completely draped across her dad—you watched them disappear one by one into the bedroom.

The kitchen was warm with the gentle scent of honey and oats, the steam from the tea curling softly into the air. You moved with quiet care, filling the bowls with the oatmeal you’d just made—each one sweetened with a drizzle of honey and topped with star-shaped strawberries and banana slices. A small cup of yogurt sat beside each bowl, along with spoons, napkins, and the kind of quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, the kids would eat today without rejecting it.

You poured a mug of warm tea for Lando—his favorite herbal blend with a slice of lemon, just the way he liked it when he was sick—and then filled a tiny glass with vegetable juice for Sebastian, placing it gently on the tray. You knew he didn’t love it, but he’d promised to try if you made it “look fancy.” Lyla’s sippy cup was filled halfway with the same juice, mostly in the name of fairness.

Balancing the two trays with practiced care, you made your way down the hall and into the bedroom.

What you found made your heart ache in that bittersweet way only motherhood ever could.

Lando had propped himself up against the headboard, hair a complete mess, cheeks slightly flushed. Lyla was curled up on his lap, wrapped in her blanket, her thumb tucked into her mouth as she blinked sleepily at you. Sebastian was leaning into Lando’s side, his little head resting on his dad’s shoulder, still holding tightly to his stuffed bunny.

“Goodness,” you breathed, stepping into the room, “you three amaze me…”

Lando looked up, managing a tired grin as you carried the trays in.

You set them carefully on the bedside table and climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as you sat at the edge. “Alright, breakfast is served—oatmeal, yogurt, fancy fruit, and drinks you’ll all probably ignore.”

“Ocker!” Lyla suddenly perked up, her voice muffled and sleepy as she looked at you hopefully.

You gave her a gentle smile, brushing a hand over her forehead. “Uncle Oscar’s probably busy right now, baby girl. And you’re too sick—he can’t come over until you’re feeling better, remember?”

Lyla frowned, clearly disappointed, but snuggled back into Lando’s chest.

Lando groaned softly, placing a hand over his face in mock defeat. “Great. Sick, miserable, and now my own daughter is choosing Oscar over me.”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging his foot under the covers. “Relax. She’s not picking favorites.”

He peered at you over his hand. “Sure sounds like it.”

You glanced at Lyla, who was now absently poking the edge of her blanket and sucking on her thumb again. “You know when she’s anxious, she gravitates to people who make her feel calm,” you said gently. “And Oscar’s like her giant golden retriever. He’s quiet. Still. And he always lets her talk first, even when she’s babbling nonsense.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I don’t let her talk?”

You gave him a look. “You narrate her every move like she’s a Formula 1 highlight reel.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it again, sheepish. “Okay… fair.”

Sebastian let out a soft laugh beside him. “You do that, Daddy.”

Lando gave him a playful nudge. “Traitor.”

You smiled at the sight of all three of them bundled up in bed together—your entire world, messy hair and flushed cheeks and all. You passed out the bowls carefully, helping Sebastian sit up straighter and placing Lyla’s tray on the bed where she could reach it, even if you’d probably end up spoon-feeding her half of it.

Lando took his tea with a grateful hum, blowing on it gently. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

“Yes, I did,” you said simply, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Because if I don’t take care of you three, who will?”

He caught your hand in his and kissed your knuckles softly. “When this is over, I owe you a week of sleep and massages.”

“Throw in some chocolate and a hot bath, and you’ve got a deal.”

Lyla leaned her head against Lando’s chest again, sleepy and warm, and Sebastian spooned some oatmeal into his mouth with a quiet, “Mmm, the stars are tasty.”

You laughed softly.

Even in sickness, even in chaos—you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Medicine hour. A warzone.

“Lando, for the love of everything, just drink it.” You stood over him, arms crossed, holding the measuring cup filled with thick, cherry-red syrup. “You’re setting the worst example.”

He groaned. “I hate the taste. I’d rather die than drink that stuff again.”

“Dramatic,” you muttered, before grabbing a tissue and wiping a smear of sweat off his brow. “But fine. If you die, I’m throwing you out on the balcony so you don’t get the rest of us sicker.”

Sebastian, peeking from behind the kitchen island, gasped. “You’d throw Daddy off the balcony?”

You grinned. “Only a little.”

“Nooooo,” Lyla whined dramatically, half-laughing, half-crying from where she had crawled into Lando’s lap — seeking refuge. “No medicine! No meeeeedicine!”

“She’s hiding behind me,” Lando groaned. “I’m literally dying, and she’s hiding behind me.”

You gave them both the look. “I swear to God—”

10:00 AM They were scattered across the living room like sick little soldiers after battle. Lyla was curled on Lando’s chest, snot crusting around her nose as she finally gave in to sleep. Sebastian lay on his side with a cold rag on his forehead, muttering something about how he was “still in control of the situation.”

You were running on caffeine and desperation, perched at the edge of the armchair, flipping through temperature logs on your phone and timing medicine gaps.

“You okay?” Lando mumbled hoarsely, watching you through tired eyes. You hesitated. “I’ve been better.”

He gave you a weak smile. “I’d kiss you, but I’d infect you.”

You snorted. “You already did.”

12:45 PM Lunchtime was a joke.

Lando tried to stand and help but ended up throwing up water in the bathroom and groaning dramatically like a Shakespearean ghost. You had to threaten Sebastian with no Mario Kart for a week just to get three spoonfuls of chicken broth into him.

Lyla wailed when you brought the soup near her mouth. She refused to even open it unless Lando was holding the spoon, which he physically couldn’t. It ended with you holding Lyla, and Lando guiding your hand to her mouth with both of yours like some sort of messed-up relay.

“Say aaaaah,” you tried.

“No!” “Please?” “Noooooo!” “Fine, then no cartoon time for the day”

Her mouth opened like magic. You almost cried.

2:30 PM Nap time.

Not for you, of course. Never for you.

Lando was finally out cold in bed, one leg dangling dramatically off the side. Sebastian had passed out with a box of tissues under one arm and a Switch on the other. Lyla was asleep on the living room floor, a stuffed bunny clutched to her chest and tear streaks still drying on her face.

You just sat. In the silence. For ten whole minutes.

Ten peaceful, quiet, blessed minutes.

Until Sebastian shouted from his dream, “Don’t touch my kart!” and startled Lyla back awake.

4:00 PM Round two.

You had to strip Lando’s shirt when he started sweating through it again. He barely fought you this time, just muttered something about “this being true love” as you threw it into the hamper.

Sebastian vomited in the hallway. “I didn’t mean to!” “I know, sweetheart. It’s okay.” “Do I still get Mario Kart?” “…We’ll talk about it.”

Lyla bit your arm during her medicine dose. Not unusual considering who her father is.

6:00 PM You finally had them clean, medicated, in fresh pajamas, and watching a movie — a miracle. Lando took your hand from where he lay on the couch.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “You haven’t sat all day.”

“Who has time to sit when you have three Norrises pretending they're fine but slowly dying in front of you?”

He laughed softly, rubbing your knuckles. “Seriously… thank you.” You kissed his temple. “Next time you say you’re fine… I’m duct-taping you to the bed.”

From across the room, Sebastian weakly raised his hand. “Me too?” “Yes, you too.” “And Lyla?” Lyla sneezed so hard she fell over. “Nooooooo!”

You exhaled, leaning back at last.

One long, flu-stricken day down. God help you — it probably wasn’t over yet.

But for now… they were okay.

And that was enough.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The sun had barely crept over the buildings of Monaco, casting soft golden streaks through the glass windows of the flat. You stood barefoot in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves rolled up and hair tied messily atop your head. The faint hum of the dishwasher was a low reward for your efforts, and the strong scent of lemon-scented disinfectant lingered in the air. You'd deep cleaned every surface before anyone had even stirred. You sanitized toys, aired out bedding, wiped down door handles — anything that had been sneezed, coughed, or whined on.

You were exhausted, but the apartment felt new again — lighter somehow, fresher, like the weight of the past 48 hours had lifted a little. Even Monaco, framed through the glass windows, looked like it had taken a deep breath alongside you.

Just as you were about to sink into the couch for the first time all morning, the doorbell buzzed. You already knew the voice before the intercom clicked:

“Delivery!” came Oscar’s cheerful tone.

You grinned.

Dragging yourself to the door, you cracked it open slightly. “You,” you said with a tired smile, “are the absolute best.”

He laughed as you opened the door the rest of the way. “I figured you needed it,” he said, handing over a large brown paper bag with your favorites — fresh croissants, some fruit, and what you knew was a much-needed double-shot latte.

You clutched the bag like it was sacred. “You're a hero. Truly. Come in?”

He shook his head. “Can’t. On the way to the simulator, but I wanted to check in.”

“How’s Lando? And the others?” he asked as you leaned against the doorway, exhaustion written under your eyes but a soft smile on your lips.

You let out a sigh that carried a world of chaos. “Well… let’s see,” you began, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I’ve been running around handling cleaning and cooking and, you know, making sure no one dies from stubbornness.”

Oscar smirked. “Sounds about right.”

“Lando keeps trying to act like he’s fine, defending Lyla during medicine hour like some sort of sick knight in a hoodie. He practically begged me not to make her drink the syrup last night — while sweating through his own shirt.”

Oscar snorted.

“And Sebastian…” You softened a little, glancing toward the hallway. “He wants to do karting. He was almost crying this morning. Said he knows he can drive even if he’s sick — ‘just not with a helmet on because it squishes his head,’” you mimicked gently in Sebastian’s voice. “So, he’s very much stuck in the flat and not happy about it.”

You paused, then added with a chuckle, “And me? Well. I’m surviving. Officially crowned Mrs. Norris and her flu-stricken family. Put it on the mailbox.”

Oscar gave you a soft look, one of genuine admiration. “You always say you’re surviving, but honestly… you’re the one keeping the wheels turning.”

You gave him a tired smile in return, warmed by the words. “Maybe. But next time they all get the flu? I’m moving out. Temporarily. Maybe to your flat.”

“Ha! Yeah, okay. You, voluntarily away from them?” he grinned. “You’d last three hours before you’re texting Lando to send you pictures of the kids in their pajamas.”

You shrugged, accepting the truth. “Alright, fine. But I will complain the whole time.”

He stepped back, giving you a two-finger salute. “Hang in there. And seriously — nap when you can. You’ve earned it.”

You raised the coffee cup like a toast. “Oscar Piastri, Patron Saint of the Overworked Mother.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said over his shoulder as he walked down the corridor.

You lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, sipping your drink, letting the warmth spread through your fingers and into your chest.

The house was quiet again. Peaceful, if only for a few minutes.

You closed the door and whispered to yourself, “Alright. Round three… let’s go.”

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of soft whines, crumpled tissues, and half-eaten meals abandoned mid-bite. Every corner of the flat held evidence of a war against the flu — juice cups only half drunk, bowls of soup pushed aside, little socks strewn across the floor like fallen soldiers.

Sebastian and Lyla had entered the “bickering phase,” where every toy, blanket, or parental glance became a battle.

“Mummy, Lyla stole my truck!”

“Nooo, mine!”

“It’s literally mine!”

You exhaled loudly from the kitchen, gently massaging your temple. “Please… one moment of peace. One.”

Lando, lying horizontal on the couch with a blanket thrown over his head like a man defeated, peeked one eye open. “Want me to mediate?”

“You fell asleep twice during Cars 2,” you shot back. “You’re barely qualified to stand.”

“I’m fine,” he said for the fourth time today — voice raspy, hair tousled, and one sock mysteriously missing. “Totally fine.”

You glanced at the coffee table, where a half-full mug of cold tea sat untouched next to a bottle of cold meds. “You sure about that?”

“Mmhm,” he said, eyes already closing again.

You didn’t push it. You just picked up another tissue from the floor and added it to the already overflowing bin.

Midday blurred into afternoon.

You dragged a basket of clothes out of the bathroom, a trail of damp towels and pajamas trailing behind you. Every time you passed a doorknob, you hit it with a disinfectant wipe. The light switches, the remotes, the handles to the fridge — all wiped in steady repetition like you were running your own personal hospital ward.

Lyla cried when she couldn’t find Bunny. Sebastian cried when Lyla touched his Mario Kart controller. Lando made a valiant attempt to make toast, only to collapse back into bed five minutes later, claiming the “world got a little spinny.”

And you… you kept going.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d reheated your coffee. You hadn’t brushed your hair since early morning, and your hoodie had a suspicious smear on the sleeve — you didn’t ask what it was. But still, you moved through the house like a quiet force, taking care of your people, checking temperatures, brushing sweaty hair from little foreheads, rubbing Lando’s back when he coughed hard enough to wince.

You were tired.

Utterly drained.

But you looked at them — at the mess, the madness, the family-shaped hurricane swirling around you — and your chest still swelled with that quiet kind of love.

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Not the mess. Not the noise. Not even the flu.

Because they were yours.

And all you wanted… was for them to feel better.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Three more days.

Three more days of the same rhythm: tissues, thermometers, scattered toys, the faint beep of the washing machine in the background. You moved through the apartment with quiet determination, never stopping for long — cleaning surfaces with one hand, balancing a bottle of electrolyte solution in the other. You knew exactly how many crackers were left, how low the medicine was getting, and which blanket belonged to which feverish body.

You restocked what was needed, organized medications by time, wiped down doorknobs like it was second nature. You were the engine keeping the flat running — quiet, steady, reliable. But it was draining, and though you didn’t say a word of it out loud, your body ached with exhaustion, your eyes stung when you blinked too long, and your thoughts grew foggy from lack of sleep.

Lando noticed.

Even in his haze — buried in the couch, skin pale, lips cracked from dehydration — he watched you.

And it hurt him.

Every time he opened his eyes and saw you wiping down the remote or cleaning Lyla’s pacifier again, he felt it deep in his chest. Not the ache of the flu — but the ache of helplessness. The guilt.

He wanted to get up and take the load from your shoulders. He wanted to hold Lyla while you slept, chase Sebastian around the flat again, make you tea and tell you to lie down. But his body betrayed him. Every time he tried, the wave of nausea, of exhaustion, of weakness pulled him right back down.

Still… he silently promised himself: As soon as I can stand, I’m making it right.

And then — slowly, things began to shift.

Day Four of Illness.

It was subtle at first. But you noticed.

Lando made it to the bathroom on his own. No dizzy hands braced on the wall. No stumbling. Just… quiet steps down the hallway, and a simple, calm return to bed. He even flushed this time, a small miracle. When he laid down, he muttered, “Didn’t even gag this time.” It was ridiculous — and still made your heart squeeze.

His appetite came creeping back. He managed to finish toast without wincing, and even reached for a banana. “Don’t get too excited,” he said weakly when he caught your proud smile. “I’m still a shell of a man.”

Sebastian’s voice was still hoarse with a lingering cough, but he was no longer buried under four blankets in bed. Instead, he was camped on the couch, one leg hanging off as he watched cartoons, munching slowly on dry cereal. His eyes were brighter, not glassy anymore, and he even complained about how boring it was to be sick now.

“Can I go karting today?” he asked. You raised a brow. “Buddy… you’re still coughing.” “But I feel fast.” You laughed softly. “You’ll be fast again soon, promise.”

And Lyla — your little whirlwind — was finally playing again. Her fever had broken. She was dragging her plush animals around the living room like royalty, babbling half-words, climbing into your lap only to squirm out two seconds later. Her energy was returning in soft waves — not chaotic, but present.

And you?

You finally noticed you weren’t holding your breath anymore.

You weren’t setting alarms every few hours in the night. You didn’t have to make midnight runs to the bathroom cabinet. You no longer counted coughs or worried about temperatures spiking.

The house still held signs of the storm — the tissues, the blankets, the smell of menthol lingering in the air — but it was passing. Slowly, but surely, your family was healing.

That night, for the first time in what felt like forever, you laid down in bed and didn’t immediately feel the pressure of duty pulling you back up.

And when Lando turned over to face you, his voice was low, scratchy, but more him than it had been in days.

“You can sleep now,” he whispered, his hand gently brushing yours under the blanket. “We’re okay.”

And you believed him.

So you closed your eyes.

And slept.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You almost thanked the heavens out loud when color returned to your family’s faces.

Sebastian was up earlier, bounding down the hallway with his usual chaotic energy, no longer curled up on the couch like a sad, blanket-wrapped burrito. He was asking about karting again, insisting he was at “90% top speed, maybe 95 if I have juice first.”

Lyla had less whines and more giggles, finally dragging her plush bunny around like a queen commanding her court. She followed Sebastian with a trail of toys and an occasional squeal of laughter, her little feet pattering like soft rain across the living room.

And Lando — God, Lando was himself again. Teasing the kids, poking Sebastian in the ribs until he laughed too hard and snorted, lifting Lyla over his shoulder with ease as she squealed “Daddy noooo!” through laughter. His eyes had lost that fever-dull glaze. His cheeks held their warmth again, his playful smile was back.

It was perfect. Finally.

You could breathe. You could wipe your forehead, toss the washcloth into the laundry, and declare — with exhausted triumph — mission accomplished. You’d nursed your flu-stricken army back to health. You'd survived the storm.

Dinner plates were no longer left half-full. No one was clutching their stomach or whining about sore limbs or sweating through pajamas at 2am. They were whole again.

And then, like cruel irony, a week later… it hit you.

It started slow. A dull ache behind your eyes. The scratch in your throat. A heaviness in your body that you desperately tried to shake off.

No, you told yourself. Not me. I’m the caregiver, the strong one, the immune one. I don’t get sick. I fix sick.

But the ache deepened. The energy drained. And by the time you found yourself in the kitchen, hunched slightly over the steaming bowl of chicken soup, elbows on the counter, face slack with fatigue — you knew.

It got you. The flu finally got you.

Your head lolled to the side as the world tilted just slightly under your feet, and you groaned, nose wrinkling. You didn’t even hear him come in, not until that familiar voice softened behind you.

“You okay, baby?”

Lando’s tone was light, but laced with immediate concern. You turned your head sluggishly and gave a small, pitiful hum.

“Think the flu is trying to attack me,” you mumbled, punctuating the sentence with a weak cough into your sleeve.

He was at your side instantly, hand brushing your lower back. You saw his face fall just slightly. Not the dramatic Lando face he gave the kids — the real one. The worried one.

“Alright,” he said firmly, “go lay down. No arguments.”

You groaned. “No. I still need to finish—”

“Nope. Don’t care. You took care of us. Now we take care of you,” he said, gently taking the spoon from your hand and setting it down. “C’mon, don’t be stubborn. You were a badass nurse. It’s my turn to suck at it.”

You gave him a sideways glance. “You’re going to be the best and worst nurse. Somehow, both at once.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “Right. Now off you go. Shoo. Mama’s off duty.”

You were about to turn, maybe even argue a little more — but then, with a cheeky grin, he slapped your ass. Hard enough to make you yelp.

“NORRIS!” you barked, rubbing the spot with a soft wince.

“What?” he laughed, completely unbothered, “I’m just encouraging the patient to move along. Nurse’s orders.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, incredibly handsome.”

He winked, ushering you toward the hallway.

You dragged your feet, muttering, “A nurse does not hurt the person he’s caring for.”

“Oh come on,” he murmured, catching up to you, kissing the edge of your jaw. “It’s my favorite part of you. Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

You turned back to give him the dirtiest look you could muster — half-hearted at best — and he smirked again.

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” he said, following close behind.

From the living room, Lyla squealed in laughter and Sebastian shouted something about racing plush animals. You smiled faintly, even through the growing ache in your head. They were okay. They were whole again. That was everything.

Lando guided you toward the bedroom, one hand still gently on your hip.

“Oh, and babe?” he added, grinning, “If I nurse you back to health, I get baby number three.”

You spun slowly on your heel. “You really wanna try that while I have the flu?”

He raised both hands. “Just planting the idea. Let it simmer. Like your soup. Which I’m now in charge of, by the way.”

You laughed softly — hoarse and worn, but genuine.

He brushed your hair away from your forehead, pressed a kiss there. “Go sleep. I’ll check on the kids, do dinner. You’ve earned it.”

You nodded, curling under the blanket a few minutes later, body finally letting go.

Your husband — your teammate, your chaos, your comfort — was the biggest pain in your ass. But he was also the one always ready to carry you when you couldn’t walk.

And really, that made him the best damn nurse of all. Even if he had wandering hands.

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a-casxandra · 2 days ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃

Zayne's pov | the other side of the story

[Part 1]

You had always been the brightest part of Zayne’s life.

Three years. Three years of quiet breakfasts before dawn shifts, sleepy forehead kisses in the locker room, walking each other home under flickering streetlights. He wasn’t a man of words, but with you, he never needed them. You understood his silences. You understood him.

He had been planning it for months now. The proposal.

The ring sat in his desk drawer at Akso Hospital, hidden beneath files of bypass patients and transplant rosters. Platinum band, simple diamond—just like you. Understated, beautiful, eternal.

He was going to ask you to marry him after he saved MC.

MC. His childhood friend. Practically a little sister.

When she came in with her worsening heart condition, he felt responsible. She had no family left, no one to stay by her side. And Zayne… he was a doctor. He was her doctor. It was his duty to be there.

That day you walked in on them, the day everything shattered—

Zayne remembered the moment in blinding clarity.

“You should eat more vegetables.” he said, setting down MC’s lunch tray. It was bland, tailored for her condition, but necessary.

“Says the doctor who hates carrots,” MC teased, reaching out and flicking his wrist. Then she paused, silent for a moment, looking at him with unreadable eyes.

“Zayne… thank you. For always being here.”

“Of course.” He smiled faintly, busy checking her IV drip.

And then, without warning, her fingers curled around his collar and pulled him down. Her lips pressed against his. It lasted barely a second before Zayne jerked back, stunned.

“MC—what are you doing?” His voice was firm, almost cold.

That’s when the door opened. And there you were.

Your eyes widened. Your face crumpled with heartbreak before you turned and fled.

“Wait—[Name], it’s not what it looks like!”

He ran after you, his chest aching with panic. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to propose to you after MC’s surgery. After everything was calm again.

In the silent hallway, he grabbed your wrist. “Please—listen to me. Let me explain.”

“What is there to explain!?” you snapped, tears filling your eyes. “Does our three years together mean nothing to you, Zayne?”

“No—no, that’s not it. Please… don’t make me choose between you two.”

Because how could he choose between his entire world—you—and the life of a girl who saw him as her last hope? MC was family. She was a little sister, a patient. Someone he swore to save.

“Why? Because you’ll choose her…?”

Your voice trembled. Shattered. And he couldn’t find the words. He reached out, but you stepped back, the distance between you widening into a chasm that he couldn’t cross.

Afterwards, he went to MC’s room.

She sat up, clutching her sheets. “I’m sorry… I just… I thought maybe… you…”

Zayne shook his head. His eyes were cold, clinical. “Don’t misunderstand. You’re like a sister to me. I’m your doctor. My only responsibility is to save you. Nothing more.”

MC’s tears fell freely, but he didn’t comfort her. Because his heart belonged to only one person.

You.

Zayne planned to fix things after her surgery. To save MC’s life, clear the misunderstanding, and finally propose to you. He imagined kneeling before you in your shared apartment, holding the ring with trembling fingers, telling you everything he never said enough.

But fate was cruel.

“Where’s [Name]?” zayne asked immediately after the operation ended. Thanks to the last-minute donor, MC was stable. Her vitals strong. Relief flooded his body, because now—now he could go to you.

But the nurses wouldn’t meet his eyes. Dr. Greyson’s expression was tight with grief.

“Greyson. Where is she?” Zayne demanded, his voice trembling for the first time in years.

Greyson swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Come with me.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, each step echoing like a funeral march. When they entered the donor room, Zayne felt his chest tighten.

On the table lay a body covered in white sheets. He approached with shaking hands, gripping the edge before Greyson slowly pulled the blanket back.

And there you were.

Still. Silent. Beautiful, even in death.

“No… no, no, no, no—” Zayne choked, falling to his knees. He clutched your cold hand, tears splashing onto your pale skin. His thumb brushed the empty spot on your finger, the spot where he planned to place your ring.

He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers, pulling out the velvet box. Opening it, he slipped the ring onto your stiff hand, pressing his forehead against it as sobs tore through his chest.

“I was supposed to propose to you… I was supposed to spend forever with you…” His voice cracked. “Why… why did you leave thinking I didn’t love you? God… [Name], I love you. I love you so much.”

But it was too late.

No surgery could fix this. No time could undo this. You were the cut that always bleeds—and now, the wound would never close.

He loved you.

Zayne only loved you.

𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲...

Author's note : so.. I don't think i made this angsty enough...

#casxandraꔛ♥️#lads #love and deepspace #lnds #lnds x mc #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads caleb #zayne x mc #zayne x you #zayne x reader #non mc reader

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ladyyomiart · 19 hours ago

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This post is 100% Yokai-coded! 🐶🔥 The second pic even looks like him, haha:

Okita shrugged slightly and spoke with a softness uncommon in him as he replied: "If it makes Kondou-san happy, then it makes me happy." Having said this, he turned to engage with Yokai; who was barking as loudly as his small (and tired) lungs allowed him to in order to intimidate the newcomers. Okita brought his hand close to him and smirked when the little dog immediately bit it; shaking it as if he was trying to tear apart a prey that was unlucky enough to fall into his jaws. "Oh, this one has an interesting attitude. What's his name?"

"Yokai," Chie replied, coming to her senses after receiving a gentle hug and a few words of encouragement from her sister (who thought her noticeable unhappiness was due to Izanagi's poor health rather than her embarrassment at lying to Heisuke).

"A demon's name. Hmm, I hope it doesn't bring you bad luck and the restaurant burns to the ground again." He crooked his lips into a mean smirk, boring his green eyes into Chie's without bothering to pull away the hand that Yokai was viciously biting. "How have you been, Chie-chan? I hear you've gotten into dozens of troubles since we last saw each other."

"Oh, yeah..." Chie pouted before backing away to stop her pet from further attacking the visitor. "Yokai, stop it! Leave Okita-san alone!"

"Leave him be, I've been bitten by worse things," he confessed, as amused by Chie's discomfort as he was by the way Yokai bared his tiny teeth, eager to resume the confrontation.

"Yokai-kun has good instincts," Kohana commented after offering a graceful bow to Heisuke, which he returned with a flustered awkwardness that stemmed from how much he disliked formalities, "it's only natural that he would prevent a Shogunate dog from entering his territory."

"A dog recognizes another dog, huh?" Heisuke joked, putting his hands to his hips as he asked: "Hey, but what the hell are you two doing here?"

[Excerpt from Chapter 25 "Moral High Ground" of my Canon x OC Hakuouki fanfic "A Friend Like You"].

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mona-risms · 2 days ago

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◆ MAIN COURSE: Rumi x boxer!gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: Let's fucking try this AGAIN. Bc for some reason Tumblr decided to be a nasty little shit and post my draft HALF AN HOUR AGO when IT WAS CLEARLY SET TO "SAVE DRAFT" and I was fucking EDITING IT. But whatever I'm nonchalant

So when a boxer is found out to be dating someone, it's like. Basically fine. Whatever you have your own life outside of the ring, good for you. But when an IDOL does it, the entire world explodes. Rumi's most definitely always exasperated about this but also she's not really all that bothered--she likes her privacy (or as much privacy as a K-Pop idol can get anyway) AND she def likes seeing a side to you that only she will ever see :3c

You could just easily walk out after training and grab snacks you know that Rumi (and the others, bc ofc you can't just ignore your girlfriend's two closest people) loves to eat before heading back to the penthouse. You even get them their favourite ramyeon cups cuz why not? Maybe you even text her if she wanted you to pick up anything specific and she says that you don't have to! Before quickly following it up with what she actually wants and then like a sticker, probably of herself for comedic effect LMFAO

While you're doing that and making your way to the penthouse, HUNTR/X are doing a vlive. They probably just kinda have it so like they can just drop in and drop out whenever, so maybe while they're doing it together, Rumi gets your message and she smiles before she can even stop it. Ofc the viewers WILL pick it up and they're like "OH????? WHO GOT YOU SMILING LIKE THAT" to which the trio immediately scramble aka Rumi says she saw little turtles on her feed and sets Zoey off on a tangent bc they all know FULL WELL why Rumi's smiling. She probably drops out a little later to go do her own thing (code for texting you on the other side of the room)

And then 😭 you fucking arrive 😭 completely unaware of the stream going on, esp if you have earbuds on for music and stuff 😭. The lift doors open and out you pop, immediately making a beeline for Rumi at the kitchen section to say hi, to give her the bag of snacks you picked up on the way, to lean in so that you can--

"AAAAAAAH TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF--"

"I'M TRYING--"

You and Rumi immediately jump away from each other before the latter ducked down to hide behind the kitchen counter, taking you down with her.

"Shit," you hissed out quietly, "sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"No, no, it's okay," but Rumi winced at herself before continuing, "well, no, not really, but it's not your fault, okay? I probably should've told you we were doing a vlive. Plus this probably means that—" she raised her volume for the other two members "—WE SHOULD PROBABLY CHANGE THE COUCH FORMATION!"

"FINALLY! Thought it'd never turn off."

"BUT THE COUCH HAS SUCH A NICE VIEW!"

You stood back up, helping Rumi up in the process and wrapping your arms around her, "A nice view of me, apparently. Still, I probably screwed you guys over, didn't I?"

"What? Pshh, naaaah," Zoey waved it off haphazardly, "it's totally fine! I bet they didn't even notice and Bobby's not panicking whatsoever!"

Of course, it's followed by Rumi's ringtone, prompting her to pick it up—Bobby—and answer, "Heeeeey, Bobby, how's--"

"GIRLS, I'M PANICKING! EVERYONE SAW RUMI WITH SOMEONE ELSE AND NOW SOCIAL MEDIA IS ON FIRE WITH THEORIES ABOUT RUMI'S LOVE LIFE!" Bobby's very panicked screaming is then immediately snuffed out when he forces himself to stay calm, "It's okay. I'm okay. There's a reason you pay me 3% and I am going to PROVE--"

The call is immediately terminated with a beep when Mira, who you hadn't even realised had walked over to the kitchen island presses the merciful red 'end call' button, her other hand already making its way to grab at a snack in the plastic bag. "Anyway. Don't even worry about it. Best case scenario, they forget about it. Worst case scenario, they storm you and the internet for answers--"

"Not helping, Mira--"

"--but it's not the end of the world. You either just wait for it to blow over or own it," Mira opened the bag of crisps and took one in her mouth, "which I'd obviously say 'screw them' and own it anyway, but I know the fans can get a bit--"

"--wild?"

"--wild, crazy, all of the above." The tallest member moves back to her original spot on the couch, holding out the bag for Zoey to take some too, "Just let Bobby handle it—not like their face was shown clearly anyway. And if someone comes up too close to be weird about it, [Y/N]'s a boxer for a reason."

A small laugh left your lips as Rumi leaned back into your embrace and tilted her head to press a kiss on your face, further making herself comfortable, "I'd rather not have an assault charge on me."

"And I'd rather not have to visit them in jail," Rumi added.

"Hey, your loss."

Oh to make an entire twt AU about this.....unfortunately I'm lazy ay eff and will absolutely forget about it in like a day or two

I pray you have your socmed notifs off or else there's like an entire ONSLAUGHT of posts in every single postable platform. Kpop twt is on fire and even people outside of it are getting involved, there's like debates and fights like 'WHO JUST CAME INTO THE PENTHOUSE THAT'S NOT MANAGER-NIM👹👹👹👹" vs "let them live wtf yall crazy" and honestly it's really funny to read. Even Rumi finds it a little entertaining bc all this fuss just bc you walked into the frame and brought them snacks. Bobby and co. are trying their best but like. The devil works hard but the fandom works harder yk

And the THEORIES. Not just about what relationship you have w Rumi, but what you were gonna do before Mira and Zoey started screaming and who you even are in the first place. There's actual WARS happening about this, and fans are all on a scale from "omg happy for her" and "WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US". This eventually reaches boxing twt somehow and it gets WORSE when they EVENTUALLY profile-match you LOL

Now YOU don't know peace either as you go outside. Suddenly ticket sales for when you're fighting TRIPLE bc everyone wants to see and bombard the mystery stranger with QUESTIONS about what your link with Rumi is. And before this, Rumi probably watched all your matches asw. Now she can't even do that bc of damage control 😓 and Zoey sends you pics of Rumi sulking during practice bc she's missing a match of yours thanks to the stream (that most likely has been clipped more than 20x now)

Eventually she'll end up getting so tired—especially if this is taking place post-demon reveal—of having to distance herself from you for a while thanks to the whole thing that at some point during a concert, imagine tone of their other songs has a segment like the Saki seat or smth

The arena had boomed with shrieks and cheers and HUNTR/X's music as they went through their setlist with deadly precision. Though you came to wonder why you were told to sit in this specific seat when before, you were often just given any other place to watch them from whenever they performed.

You weren't really given a lot of time to wonder, however, when the music gets to a certain part—one you knew required certain audience participation—but you simply cheered your girls on as your girlfriend made her way to--

Wait.

"Wh--"

You don't even get your words out before Rumi pulled you up, the spotlight pointedly following her just like the other two's line of sight, and pulled you in for a VERY public kiss.

"YES!" "Ugh, finally!"

But even their mid-song exclamations could only barely be heard at the deafening screams of the venue around you as the two of you are blatantly displayed on the jumbotron. Though it's not like you care, not at that particular moment, as you pull her closer to deepen the kiss.. before Rumi eventually pushes you back down on the chair lightly. The jumbotron shows your shared breathless state, along with the idol's unrepentant grin amongst slightly-smeared lipstick that stayed even as she jumped for the hoop that swept her away.

..Yeah, there was no denying anything anymore.

By god, you love this girl.

The internet implodes into itself after taht, with people showing recordings and clips of your public kiss. But honestly neither of you probably care atp 🤷‍♀️ at least you two can go out together and cling on each other without it being a huge question mark anymore. If anything she'll def own it—wearing your clothes and hoodies as she's spotted watching your matches and everything HAHAHA

#mona's main course...#rumi x reader #kdh rumi x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

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chevxyn · 2 days ago

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VIDEO GAME LOVER!

you guys met at a roblox game, which game did you meet and how did it went?

featuring; nagi, hiori (bllk). kenma, suna (hq) x you.

crackfic, romantic outcome.

NAGI SEISHIRO

you both met at royale high— he was one of those jake/single/prince guy as a joke, and you wanted to be a troll for him.

you met him at the cafeteria of royale high, you saw him and his terrible name— wanting to mess with the (what you thought) kid, seeing him all alone in the corner, you joined his seat. and the conversation went like this:

you : hii!

nagi : hey

you : ur very cute :3

nagi : thx, u too

you two kinda went back and forth (trolling eachother by flirting) until someone in chat went ‘eww’ and then he private chatted you.

nagi : ur not a 12 year old aren’t u

you : nope

right after that, he sent you a friend request. and that was history, after 2 years— both of you met and strangely enough, actually started dating after catching feelings for one another.

HIORI YO

you both met at life in paradise— he was a random guy that you picked up to be the father of your kids

he was just a random guy that was chilling outside the adoption center, when you pulled the hearts item to him cause you were bored. seeing that, he wanted to mess with you, so he pulled the hearts item from his inventory too.

from there, he sorta just followed you around as you took (kidnapped) 2 kids to roleplay with. but with your odd way of roleplaying and raising the kids, he immediately catched on that you’re most likely a troll and not a kid playing this game.

hiori : why are u giving our kids that

you : it’s healthy

hiori : that’s literally metal

you : it’s natural, so technically it’s healthy

that’s when he shot you a friend request, after around a year— you both face revealed to eachother and began a long distance relationship after learning about eachother.

KOZUME KENMA

you both met at arsenal, you were the always ranked first player until he came and then he destroyed you.

you were peacefully playing, destroying all these children until a player called “kodzuken” joined the game. safe to say, you were humbled. the guy would always choose the other team, or the team where you’re not on.

not to mention, always targetting you, and he never missed. being a little annoyed, you wanted to leave the game but decided to stay until you finally get your revenge. but after countless of times, he private chatted you.

kenma : just give up lol

you : no

kenma : i will keep targeting you

you : alr then vro

and so you did— well, tried to get your revenge. when you thought you won when his profile wasn’t in the leaderboard, you suddenly realized; he had left. curious, you went to check who kodzuken is and found his twitch. turns out? bro was a monster at arsenal.

you shot a dm, and when he replied— you both (somehow) befriended eachother. when they figured out they were at the same school, they became friends. well, until their third year where they dated.

SUNA RINTAROU

you both met at my little pony 3d : friendship is magic roleplay, he was discord and you were playing as fluttershy.

you both met in the canterlot castle, you were using fluttershy and he was using discord. the catch? you both act the opposite of the way the two characters interact.

suna : p-please fluttershy.. i’m so sorry

you : don’t worry girlie, i got you

suna : my hero!

you : grrr..

it was so bad, that a few kids even raged and told you guys that’s not how they act and how both of them are stupid friends. but, both of you didn’t even knew eachother before this.

suna : b-b-but fluttershy, i-i can’t..

you : yes you can ### (bbg)

you : oh come on

suna : ####### (LMAOOOO)

after you said you needed to go, he sent a friend request— which you accepted. you both were initially just bestfriends, but after 4 years being with eachother. you both realize you can’t function without the other. in that equation? you both date.

©chevxyn

#blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk #bllk x you #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #hiori x reader #hiori yo x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq x reader #haikyuu x you #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #kenma x reader #kenma kozume x reader

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keirareidss · 16 hours ago

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cherry chapstick - s.r

♡ summary: spencer finds solace in your arms after prison pairing: post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, mommy kink, p in v wc: 2.0k a/n: this turned out to be more hurt/comfort than I meant it to but whatever 😅 based on this request

When Spencer came home from prison, the first person he saw was you. Even after he had banned you from seeing him for three months, making you resort to letters for communication, you had still shown up for him. You stood outside the prison, waiting to see your husband come back to you.

As he stepped away from the guard who led him outside, his breath hitched. Your scent filled his nose, a scent that he hadn't smelled in so long but one he hadn't stopped thinking about. He paused before you, watching you with cautious eyes. Was this real? Was he actually seeing you in front of him? Or was this some kind of sick dream?

You gave him a soft smile, stepping forward and gently wrapping him in your arms.

"Hey, Spence." You murmured in his ear and he broke. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you to him tightly. His face buried into your neck, inhaling shakily, tears pricking behind his eyes.

"I missed you." He said, his voice cracking. You pulled away and he immediately missed your warmth. You cupped his face in your hands, looking up at him.

"I missed you too." He leaned into your palm, your thumb gently brushing his cheek.

You drove him home, his hand clutching yours in his lap. He wondered if you'd changed anything in your shared home. Did you take down all the pictures of the two of you because they were too hard to look at? Had you started sleeping in the guest room because the bed still smelled like him?

When he walked through the front door, he realized that everything was the same. His gaze trailed over the pictures of both of you. Your wedding photo, a picture of both of you on your honeymoon, one of the two of you all dressed up at Rossi's, another of both of you on your first date. The first date that Penelope had spotted you on and joined.

"Spence?" You called, pausing halfway to the kitchen, noticing how he'd stopped in the entryway to stare at the photos. He blinked, coming out of his mind, a place he'd spent three months cooped up in. "Are you okay?" He nods, following you to the kitchen.

He takes you in his arms again, bending down to kiss your lips. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he tastes your lips for the first time again. Or, more accurately, the cherry flavored chapstick you always wore. He was addicted to the taste.

His lips moved against yours passionately, stealing your breath. He pulled away, both of you breathing heavily, your foreheads pressed together.

"I missed you so much. God, I- I wanted to see you so bad."

"I know. I know." You responded, running your hands through his hair.

"You were the only thing-" His kissed you again. "That got me through." Another kiss, longer this time. "Just the thought of you made it all go away." His kisses were nearly bruising, the cherry taste on his tongue.

He's dreamed about this, holding you in his arms and kissing you silly. He couldn't help but melt under your hands tugging at his messy strands. He was seconds away from tugging at your clothes to get you to undress when you pulled away.

"Are you hungry?" You asked, catching your breath, as if you weren't just full on making out in your kitchen. He felt his stomach grumble and realized he was starving.

He sat in the living room, just taking everything in as you started making him dinner. He was excited to eat a real meal for once. Your home cooked meals had been on his mind every day, at every meal he ate in that prison.

You ate quietly, letting Spencer take everything in. He nearly inhaled his meal, politely thanking you when you brought the dishes to the kitchen. He fell back into the routine that he'd missed so much, both of you working in tandem, washing and drying the dishes before heading to the bedroom to wind down.

But this time, you did something different. You went to the bathroom, turning on the faucet in the bath. He was planning on taking a shower, regretting not doing so right when he got home a bit distracted with taking everything in, but if you wanted to talk a bath he could wait.

"Hey, are you gonna be in here long?" He asked quietly.

"No, honey, this is for you." You said, feeling the temp of the water.

"What?" He asked, dumbfounded. You turned the tap off as it reached a couple inches under the ledge. You grabbed a few candles from the cupboard, placing them around the bathroom.

"This is for you. I thought it might be nice for you to have a good soak. You look like you need it." You smiled a bit, finding a lighter.

"Oh... thank you." He stepped closer. He wasn't usually a big fan of baths, the act of stewing in your own filth unappealing to him, but he'd make an exception tonight because you were being so nice his heart hurt.

He reached for the hem of his shirt to pull it off but when you started heading for the door, he paused.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh- I- I thought you might want some privacy or alone time or something." Frankly, that's the last thing he wanted. After 3 months of being away from you, the last thing he wanted was more alone time.

"No, I don't- can you stay?" He looked so fragile and innocent in that moment that you absolutely couldn't say no, it didn't matter what he was asking.

"Of course." You stepped back into the room. The two of you slowly undressed and climbed into the bath. You sat with your back against the side, Spencer sitting in front of you, his back to your chest. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tightly.

He leaned back against you, suddenly wanting to cry at the sweetness of the moment. You heard a sniffle and rubbed your hand up and down his arm.

"Are you okay?" You asked softly, a worried crease between your brows.

"I'm fine. I just... I missed you. I missed this."

"Me too." Your hands caressed his body, gently rubbing his arms before moving to his sides, your fingertips soft on his skin. When you graze the inside of his thigh, his sucks in a breath. You immediately pull your hands off of him. "I'm sorry- I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's alright. You- you can touch me." He murmurs, his cheeks getting warm. You put your hands back on him, sliding up and down his thighs slowly. You work your way inwards until your hand grazes his length.

He lets out a soft moan, his head falling back to your shoulder as you grasp him fully.

"Please... I need you." His whimpers. You started stroking him slowly, his cock leaking between his legs. His chest heaved and he whined, making you go faster. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

"Already?" You asked, and he blushed.

"I- it's been three months." He weakly defended himself, his hips jerking slightly, his face hot.

"You're right. Cum for me baby." He moaned, his jaw going slack as he finished, the fastest he's cum since the start of your relationship. You take your hand off of him, wrapping your arm around his middle as he turns into a melted puddle of fucked out Spencer between your legs.

You help him out of the tub, drying the two of you off and wrapping him in his soft blue robe that you'd kept in the bathroom for those three months. You drained the tub, blowing out the candles and leading him back to the bedroom.

"Are you tired?" You asked as he laid on the bed on his back. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to lay on such a nice mattress. God, and the way your scent lingered on the pillows, he was in heaven. "Spencer?"

"Oh, uh, no." He answered. He was hoping the reason you were asking was because you wanted to go another round. And he was right.

You climbed onto the bed, swinging one knee over his hip, straddling his lap. Your hands braced on the bed beside his head, you leaned down to kiss him. He tilted his chin up, chasing your lips. You reached down, untying the robe and pulling the two sides apart. You helped him slip out of the robe and he lay bare underneath you.

His eyes widened when you unwrapped the towel from your body tossing it across the room. Sure he'd pictured your body maybe a couple times during his time in prison (understatement of the year), but this was the first time he was seeing it in person in what felt like ages.

"You're so... you've gotten prettier since the last time I saw you."

"Really?" You asked, smiling at his love struck state. He nods, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

"Uh huh. You're magnificent." You grin, shifting so you were hovering over his cock, already hardening again. You hadn't felt his cock inside you in three months, you were dying to finally feel full again.

Bringing two fingers to his lips, you pushed them into his mouth, coating them in his saliva as he sucked obediently. You pulled them out, slipping them between your legs, past your folds. You sighed at the sensation and Spencer watched in awe as you rode your fingers.

Once you felt ready, you replaced your fingers with his cock. You both moaned in sync as you sank down onto him. For a moment, you didn't move, relishing in the feeling of him inside you finally.

You started moving your hips slowly and Spencer whimpered immediately, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.

"Shit- please, oh god, mommy please." He probably hadn't even realized he'd said it but it made you pause your movements. He opened his eyes. "Why'd you stop?" He whined.

"What did you call me?" He thought for a moment before realizing, his cheeks going red as he averted his eyes.

"I- I didn't mean-"

"Say it again." His glassy eyes widened as he stared up at you, his curly hair splayed on the pillow.

"Mommy." He whispered and you took his jaw in your hand.

"Again."

"Mommy... please." He whimpered louder. You grinned wickedly, moving your hips again. You bounced up and down, drawing him closer and closer to the edge, though now, it didn't take much to get him there.

"Fuck, Spencer." You moaned and his hips jerked up to meet yours.

"I'm so close, I'm so close." You placed a hand on his chest, steadying yourself as your back arched. Your other hand reached down to circle your clit, trying to speed up your impending orgasm. "Shit- I need to- can I come, mommy, please?"

"Yeah, cum for me baby." You breathed, Spencer going limp underneath you as his cock emptied inside you. His length twitched as you kept going and he whined, the overstimulation something he hadn't felt in a while.

You kept rolling your hips until you felt the knot in your stomach snap, releasing all over his cock. You slumped down on the bed next to him, both of you catching your breath.

Spencer lazily turned his head to face you, his eyes half lidded. You could tell he was exhausted.

"I'm sorry, I called you that. It wasn't-"

"Shh, don't worry about it." You cupped his cheek in your palm, stroking your thumb over it. "I kinda liked it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You can call me whatever you like Spence, as long as you stay here."

"I will. I'm never leaving again, I promise." He leaned into your palm, kissing softly as his eyes fell shut. You watched him sleep, finally looking peaceful. After the hardest three months of his life, he was finally home.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

#criminal minds #♡ keira's fics #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

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revelboo · 1 day ago

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May I humbly request anything with the Rescue Bots! I love the bots in the show so much! Plus Heatwave is voiced by Steve Blum who has a wonderful voice!!!

Hope you are taking care of yourself wore yourself!

Sure! 🔞 🌶️

Guilty

Heatwave x Reader

• Slowing down to park in his altmode, he knows this is beneath him. That if any of the others, especially Chase, find out where he keeps sneaking off to, he’s never going to hear the end of it. Sun warming him until he’s fighting off recharge, you finally come out of your house with a folding chair tucked under an arm, a bag over your shoulder, and dressed in a loose, sheer garment with butterflies on it and flip flops. This is exactly what he’s been waiting for, your daily ritual. Settling on his shocks, he watches you bend and unfold the chair, flashing soft skin to make him groan.

• And you’re pulling off the coverup to reveal that tiny little scrap of cloth that’s the only thing standing between him and all your secrets. Luckily the street is dead today, hates when your neighbors are out and see too much of you. That’s only for him. Watches you squirt something in your hand before slowly rubbing it into your skin and he can smell the sweetness even from across the road. Addicted to that scent now because of you as your palms slick that stuff on yourself and there’s glitter in it to leave a faint flush of color to your skin. Every time he comes out here, he swears to himself it’s the last time. That he’ll leave you alone.

• Instead he finds himself right back here just in case you come out if he’s not on duty. You’re becoming an obsession. Watching you lay in the sun and wanting. He could transform, walk over and say something. Anything. Be smooth and romantic. He’s seen Kade flounder enough times to know exactly what not to do. And you’re digging a book out, rolling onto your belly to read, legs swinging in the air. Imagines striding across your yard, kneeling and cupping your face in his hand. Kissing you. Except, you’d probably scream. Growling in frustration at himself, he rocks slightly on his shocks. Because this is so fragging stupid. Why can’t he just talk to you? Why keep pretending he’s just a dumb robot?

• They’re back. Stealing a glance at the firetruck as it slowly rocks, all you can imagine is two firefighters going at it inside. Probably fucking nasty to get a vehicle that big moving like that, too. Maybe they’re voyeurs fucking while staring at you through those tinted windows. Oh. Ew. Immediately wishing you hadn’t had that thought, because now you can’t get it out of your head. And you’re standing up with your book and heading into the house, weirded out. Because that truck is always there.

• Don’t. Don’t do it. Transforming to lunge and grab your coverup, he immediately transforms back and books it to base. What if someone saw that? Maybe you saw. You’re going to think he’s a creep and a thief now. Heading inside and transforming once he’s home, he manages to avoid the others and locks himself in his room, sits on his berth and mass shifts. Pressing the thin, soft material to his face he vents in the scent of you and that sweet stuff you use. Laying back venting against your coverup, he frees his spike and slides a servo over the head then teases down the underside before fisting himself. Imagining you sprawled on your belly naked as he covers you. Pumping his spike as he thinks about how you’d feel wrapped around him. Soft. You have to be and he’s gritting his denta as he wraps that silken material around his spike and works himself in hard strokes. Wondering what sounds you’d make under him as he claimed you. Head back as his hips lift slightly, he gets rougher, rutting against that soft cloth until he’s shuddering and overloading. But the release is hollow when what he really wants is right down the road waiting for him. Frag him, but patience has never really been his strong suit when he wants something.

#transformers x reader #valveplug #heatwave x reader #rb heatwave

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serve-cunt · 2 days ago

Note

|˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ 60.Truth Serum/spell or 4.mind reading for the prompt game

thank you for not giving me a pairing for this, v low stress prompt I just let it sit until inspiration struck.. the inspiration in question?? listened to Sue Me by audrey hobert until my brain melted

— —

sue me I want to be wanted (galex, truth serum)

It’s a bad idea, but it's been a bad weekend and Alex is sick of being careful. George is across the room at the bar, squinting at a bill. Alex thinks fuck it and makes his way over.

Halfway there somebody he’s pretty sure he recognizes hands him one of the two drinks she's holding, clinking her own glass to Alex's and shouting something Alex can't hear over the music. “Thanks,” Alex shouts back, hoping that it’s appropriate or, alternatively, inaudible, and shoots it back in one swallow. Then he hands the glass back empty, claps her on the shoulder, and keeps walking.

“Hi Georgie,” he says directly into George's ear when he's behind him. George jumps, and his signature skids off the receipt slip with his pen. “Saw you and realized I didn't want to talk to anybody else.”

It isn’t what Alex had been planning to say; he hadn't worked out what exactly he was going to say but he'd been leaning towards something more casual. He and George haven't spoken properly since—well, in a while. George doesn't respond immediately, his eyes skittering over Alex’s face. “Well,” he says finally, “Here I am.”

“Heading out?” Alex asks, nodding at the bill.

George hesitates. “No,” he says, and Alex laughs. Trust George to pay for his round immediately instead of starting a tab and forgetting his card at the bar when he left like a normal person.

“You look good tonight, George.” Huh. Also not what he had been planning to say. He had been going to make fun of George's outfit: grey and unadorned. The outfit, unfortunately, does look very good. Alex is more drunk than he thought.

George's hand goes spasmodically to his collar, then to his drink. His fingers are long; they wrap around the glass and George takes a sip, glancing at Alex and then away. Alex smiles. Sometimes when he's sober he feels badly about this: how much he likes being wanted by George. How easily he can soak this up—this, what can he even call it? attention? affection?—without intending to let it go any further.

“Where's Lily?” George asks, and Alex answers breezily: “She left. We had a row, actually, I think it might have been a bad one.” Then he blinks. He really hadn't intended to say that. God. He must be loads more drunk than he thought. But he didn't feel it; he was still walking. Felt clear-headed. Didn't need to be sick, et cetera.

George frowns. “Why are you still here, mate? Go talk to her.”

“Need the ego boost,” Alex says. “I figure if you’re still giving me fuck-me eyes I can't be a total troll.”

What the fuck. George goes bright red, visible even in the dim light. Alex has a moment of panic. They've never, ever talked about it. Alex doesn't care that George is gay. He's flattered that George has—whatever, a crush on him, or something. He knows that he shouldn't let it go too far—probably shouldn't let George jerk him off anymore, for example. One time was probably too many times, to be honest. Three times would be inexcusable.

“Sorry,” Alex says, stupidly, and tries to think how to rescue the situation. “It's okay that you're in love with me, or whatever. I like it. It makes me feel good.”

Alex needs to shut up, what the fucking fuck, what the fuck is wrong with him? He puts his hand over his mouth, and laughs a panicked laugh. “I didn't mean to say that,” he says. “God, I’m sorry—I don't know what's wrong with me—George—”

But George has put his drink down on the bar with a clatter and turned away. He heads for the door, head down and shoulders tight. Alex looks after him, heart pounding. The drink he’d been handed a few minutes ago is still coating his throat, sickly sweet and medicinal, unlike anything he's ever tasted before.

#thank you for the promptttt #on a galex kick .. idk they're eating my brain a bit..#galex #my fic

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twijaxx · 2 days ago

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hey bbg i love you and i am patiently waiting for a full fledged one shot of phantom isagi and white haired isagi, I AM WILLING TOWAIT THOUGH !! however is it possible for you to bless us with smut headcannons of them 🥹🥹🥹

soooooo i have NO idea when im gonna post that one shot cause yall just KNOW how lazy i am. I AM GONNA BLESS MY FELLOW OTHER ISAGIS PERSONALTIES FANS THO.

So let’s start with phantom-sagi:

- He’s a meanie, a BIG one and he probably (100%) has a degradation kink. Yall saw how he was talking to reader in that pervious work. It just gets him going, feeling how your pussy sucks him in when he’s saying mean things to u :/

- As much as he tries to hide it he’s probably the one whimpering a lot more then white haired-sagi and ohhh he loves! to tease him about it when the three of you have sex. I think the time he just can’t hold in his whimpers anymore is when he’s cumming inside of you, just the thought of you getting pregnant is too much for him.

- Which leads me to another point. He has a raging!!! breeding kink. Thinking about how little versions of normal isagi’s would run around your house playing with each other makes his dick so hard it’s starting to hurt.

- I feel like he’s also the one who leave most of the marks u have when the night ends, he’s just a little too possessive even tho it’s literally just other version of him fucking you.

- He is into pet play or/and role replay. He would love!! if u put on cat or bunny ears while having a butt plug that serves as your tail inside. He also likes when u dress up as a nurse or a maid just for him ;)

- His earlobes are sensitive! so he tries to keep your hands occupied on all times once u learn about it. One nibble and he’s gone, his whole “tuff guy personality”?? vanished, he wants u to ride him immediately after u tease his earlobes.

- Talking about tying someone up, he is lowkey into this but he feels like it’s a waste of time, when he wants to gain more control over you he can just put you in a mating press and fuck u silly.

Okay soo moving into white haired-sagi:

- I feel like he’s the part of normal isagi who “gave” him the thighs fetish. He just can’t comprehend how soft and plum they are, how every time he slams into you they jiggle a little bit. He loves nibbling on them and squeezing them with his big hands, he could just spend hours between them eating you out. And he would! pay u to choke him/squeeze him to death with those two fluffy mussels u have. The thing he likes the most is when he leave hickeys and bite marks on your inner thighs just to make you think about him everytime you change.

- talking about eating you out, just like phantom-sagi has a raging breeding kink, this one has the biggest oral kink u could ever see. As i said he could spend his whole life eating you out, he would kill! to have you just sit on his face without worrying how the hell is he getting air in there. He also loves when you put your fingers into his mouth, he’s letting out groans as he swirls his tongue around your digits.

- Don’t let his innocent looks fool you, he will and he does steal your panties :3 Either they are clean or straight from the laundry basket, he’s taking them when he has a chance!!! He would probably jerk off with them wrapped around his cock or on his face when he misses you a lot, but sadly after normal isagi takes control again he can’t quite do it.

- He also has a breeding kink but not as much as phantom-sagi tho.

- He loveeesssss when you give him head and i think it’s the time he’s letting out the most sounds. He covers his eyes with his forearms when he’s about to cum, while the most angelic sounds leave his throat, u could swear it makes you want to overstimulate him till he no longer remember his own name.

- he likes overestimation whatever it’s him overestimating you or you overestimating him. The feeling of his own dick feeling like it’s milked dry to this point when he thinks he won’t be able to cum for at least two weeks is driving him insane.

- Talking about overstimulation brings us to another point. He is into edging to the point when he wouldn’t let you cum at all while he finished 3 times already. But don’t worry the orgasm he provides you after all this teasing is worth it ;)

just a little note from me

- I think that phantom-sagi stamina is “unlimited” bc well.. he’s not real he’s just living in people minds not for u tho while white haired-sagi stamina is just like isagi’s one cause he “uses” white haired-sagi on the field a lot.

Tags: @iqxatlantic @yumyumcherryy @yutamy1beloved

this is my first time writing headcanons tbh…. i hope yall liked it and that it will cure your hunger for those two for a while. Also sorry if it got a little messy towards the end but it’s 01:35 for me and i’m lowkey a little tired, maybe i will update it after sometime.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock fic #bllk smut #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock smut #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x you #isagi yoichi x y/n #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi smut #isagi yoichi x reader #blue lock isagi #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi headcanons

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venusbyline · 1 day ago

Text

Movie Night — Aegon II Targaryen.

— summary: Aegon bought two tickets for the movies to watch a silly romantic comedy that premiered two weeks ago. A semi-empty showtime. It seemed like a horrible gift to give to a sixteen-year-old girl. Well... And it really would have been, if Aegon had not been holding a small box wrapped in a pink gift package, decorated with cute teddy bears and with a white bow in his other hand.

— pairing: soft dom!Aegon II Targaryen x innocent niece!reader

— type: smut, dark, modern AU

— tags/warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, female!reader, modern AU, Targcest (uncle/niece), underage sex, age gap (older man/younger woman), reader is 16 and Aegon is 27, corruption kink, innocence kink, public sex, sex toys under clothing, birthday sex, oral sex (female receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, forced orgasm, squirting, exhibitionism, praise kink, dacryphilia, dumbification, reader and Aegon started having sex when she was 13 and he was 24, "romanticized" hebephilia and ephebophilia, secret relationship, unhealthy relationship, reader likes clothes inspired by Lolita/Dolores, kinda fluff content too, dubcon ending. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: This one-shot was based on a post I saw here on Tumblr. I reblogged it with a specific prompt about modern!Aegon II and his niece, so I thought about write a real one-shot about that.

— author's notes²: I considered this story as dark content due to the fact Aegon started to fuck the reader when she was too young. Although there's no violence or anything like that, Hebephilia and Ephebophilia are heavy themes with many possible triggers. If you don't like that or if you know the possibility of being triggered my work, so please save your mental health AND DON'T READ IT!!!!

❥ Aegon II masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

Aegon bought two tickets for the movies to watch a silly romantic comedy that premiered two weeks ago. A semi-empty showtime. Most all the seats would be empty and most of them would probably have just antisocial people who chose to enjoy their own companies rather than spend time with someone else.

It seemed like a horrible gift to give to a sixteen-year-old girl. Well... And it really would have been, if Aegon had not been holding a small box wrapped in a pink gift package, decorated with cute teddy bears and with a white bow in his other hand.

"What's that, uncle?" his dear niece showed up in the room, after some time busy combing hair and doing makeup.

Sitting on your bed, Aegon smiled a little when he saw you finally ready, observing your hair tied with two low braids, one on each side and held by red silk hair ties.

Even though Aegon was about to compliment about your Lolita-inspired hairstyle, his attention turned to the makeup and he sighed, kind of frustrated. "Red lipstick again? I told you so many times about how it makes my face all smudged after our kisses," his reprimand made you pout sadly, eyelashes glistening as if you were going to start crying at any moment.

He sighed at that cute and overreacted sight, trying hard to remain gentle. It was your birthday after all, maybe letting you wear any lipstick you wanted for just one night was fair. "Okay, okay, no tears. I'll let it slide for today, but next time you'll wear one of the lip glosses I bought you," You smiled excitedly when his severity eased.

Deep down, Aegon liked your current obsession with that type of clothes, even though he would not let you watch that fucking Lolita movie or read the book, limiting himself to showing you pictures of the character's clothes on Google or Pinterest — he always brought new pieces for your wardrobe.

"Come here, I bought you something."

Obeying him immediately, you moved closer to your bed, pushing away one of the stuffed animals that was there so you could sit right next to Aegon.

The smell of your strawberry and vanilla perfume invaded his nostrils, his pupils dilating as he touched the bare part of your thigh. The white and pastel blue gingham dress you wore was quite cute and quite short too, just the way he needed it to be that night.

"Open it, doll," he encouraged, his expression amused while he watched you undo the white silk bow that held the gift package, your eyes widening as you pulled the small box out of the fabric.

"It's a... A vibrator?" your voice came out low, cheeks flushing so much that they were pinker than the effect of the blush.

You had already seen one of these once, during one of the typical nights when Aegon took you to his house, making you sit between his legs later and ordering you to spread yours wide. Then he "forced" you to watch porn with him while he fingerfucked your little pussy or ordered you to rub yourself — he had shown you several types of porn content: stepsiblings; men with fat cocks fucking petite girls; MILFs with big tits taking their stepsons' virginities; threesomes; anal sex; both male and female masturbation; lesbian sex; orgies...

Aegon remembered you really enjoying a particular video, where a guy caught his hot younger stepsister on his bed, masturbating with a remote controlled vibrator, and then as punishment he kept playing with the vibration settings until she had multiple orgasms and squirted a lot of times. You came quickly on his fingers while watching it, and Aegon knew that this could be a perfect gift — besides, of course, the new stuffed animals and cute clothes he bought you in advance over the weekend.

"You like it?" the question was rhetorical. He knew how much his niece wanted to try something like this... The idea of feeling pleasure in public seemed scary and exciting. Without waiting for an answer that would be obvious, he continued: "I want you using it at the movies today."

Since his half-sister moved to a house near the one he shared with his younger siblings, Aegon could spend a long time with you. Rhaenyra was rarely home, having been working too much since her divorce from her ex-husband. Your older brothers, Lucerys and Jacaerys, were already studying a college from another state. And Joffrey, who was a year older than you, preferred to spend his free hours with his friends, smoking weed and skateboarding with Aegon's youngest brother, Daeron, who had dropped out of college a few months ago.

The best part? Aegon now spent all his free time corrupting his niece.

As the minutes passed, your uncle waited for you to open the box and admire the toy and its model. The first idea had been to buy you the Lovense Lush, whose function would be to put inside your entrance and stimulate your G-spot. However, Aegon could leave this one for a near future day. The Lovense Ferri would be more interesting for the current situation, since it was that specific model that you saw on that video.

He wondered if you would ask countless questions about whether it would even be safe to do something like that in public, smirking when you remained silent, looking at him with bright eyes — no matter how much he fucked you into oblivion, you were still his innocent little girl, never questioning whatever he wanted to do.

"I'll put this inside your panties and turn it on when we're at the theater," you nodded at his explanation, watching his hands that were now holding the toy. "Lie down and spread your legs for me, niece."

Without hesitation, you crawled to position yourself better on the mattress, placing your head on the pillow and then spreading legs. The soft fabric of your short dress rose even higher, and Aegon's eyes darkened when he saw the panties you were wearing, a pink one with strawberry details and a red small bow centered in the middle of its waistband.

Ignoring the fact that he already had his shoes on, he positioned himself between your thighs, facing your core. The smell of perfume and the natural scent of your arousal made him hold the breath, running his nose over the material and closing eyes.

Your legs were shaking, the tip of his nose touching your clit. The urge to grab his hair and beg him to fuck you was strong, but you knew you had to wait for that new and wonderful experience with your uncle, forcing yourself to just whimpering and rolling your hips when he kissed your panties, before finally starting to pull them down a little.

No matter how many months passed or how many times the two of you had sex, he always felt aroused at seeing your shoved, glistening little pussy, salivating like a starving man. Keeping the self-control was not easy, so Aegon left a few soft licks on your swollen clit, wondering how it would turn all red during the night, from being stimulated for hours and hours. "Here we go..." He hummed, giving it one last lick and picking up the small vibrator again and fitting it in the exact spot of the panties.

Double-checking that the magnet was actually keeping the toy in place, with no danger of it slipping out later, Aegon lifted the fabric and told you to stand up, fixing the white lace hem of your dress. "How you feel, doll?"

"Feels so good, uncle..." you whined, rubbing one thigh against the other to feel the small toy fitted between your outer lips and pressing against the sensitive bud.

A low laugh escaped from Aegon's mouth, the man shaking his head in disbelief and standing up to be in front of you. How could you already be all sensitive because of such sensation? "What a needy little thing you are... That pretty, plump pussy can't feel anything pressed against that little button that already wants to be caressed," received only a whimper as an attempt at defense.

Cupping both of your cheeks and giving a soft kiss on your nose, a smirk appeared on his face. "Our night is gonna be amazing, doll. I'm gonna make sure you've the best birthday ever."

"And can I have a berry milkshake before the movie starts?"

"Only if you wear those red Mary Jane shoes I bought you over the weekend."

In the theaters, Aegon observed the other seats around. As expected, that place was practically empty. There were three single people scattered in random seats, a couple far away in a corner — who were probably there for a similar purpose to his —, and a trio of teenager guys four rows ahead, whose the only interest was about eat popcorn and mock the stupid script to tease the girls at their high school the next day for liked that.

The looks on the boys' faces when they all entered the place had been different among them: One of them, the one with light black skin and curly brown hair, had given you a flirtatious smile; the tall blond with a lip piercing did not stare for so long, just raising an eyebrow, as if he had noticed the big age difference between the two of you; and the youngest one with a black wolf cut stared intensely at your ass, hoping he could see more skin. Jealousy increased Aegon's urge to make you feel good, though.

Although anger ran through his veins when he saw those guys, he knew he would give you so much pleasure that soon they would realize what was happening there. Maybe his exhibitionism kink could be useful in this situation, to show how hot his little girl was. And all his.

Meanwhile, you were oblivious to anything other than the silly movie, focused on the cute scenes between the couple. You did not even notice when Aegon took out his phone, entering the password and starting to use the app that worked via Bluetooth. Taking another look at your cute face, he swiped his fingers higher on the screen.

A startled and loud little cry escaped you immediately, echoing through the movie theater, catching everyone's attention. The first vibration in your clit was so sudden and caught you completely off guard. Aegon knew that, he knew that you were so focused that you had forgotten about the sex toy inside your panties.

Your reaction had been so amusing to Aegon that he gave a low laugh, clearing his throat to try not to make it the reason obvious, especially when everyone turned to stare at you in confusion, thinking that something dangerous could have happened.

"Don't be so loud." Aegon mocked, relieved that the people turned their attention back to the movie.

Even though he did not mind people noticing what was going on between you now, he hoped it would take a little longer for that to happen, wanting to make sure you had already cum multiple times.

Settling yourself in the seat better — since you had slid down a little —, you looked at him with a pouting. "Sorry, uncle... I just– Oh, oh!" your eyes widened when Aegon moved two fingers up on the phone's screen, knowing that any movement of two fingers made turned the vibration more intense.

He was enjoying learning how the app worked in the practice, because he never experienced anything like this with any other girl. The way you squirmed brought a smirk on his face.

"U-Uncle..." you whimpered when he started moving his fingers in circles on the app, your little bud throbbing as the vibrator began to vibrate hard against it.

"Shushh... Try to be still, my doll. Aren't you enjoying that?" he purred, stroking your hair with his free hand, continuing the movements.

It was visible that you were enjoying it, Aegon knew that very well. The way your legs started to trembling and you opened a bit, the way you gripped the arms of the seat, needing to hold on to something so you would not squirm too much and draw someone's attention.

Aegon wondered about how your pretty pussy was right now, all wet and throbbing more and more every second, soaking your panties and about to make a mess.

"Mmm... P-Please, uncle," one of his eyebrows rose at that whispered and weak request, waiting for you to say what you wanted, his smirk turning into an amused grin. Oh, he was really loving this, wanting to tease you beyond what you could handle. "More, pleaseee..."

"Such a greedy and naughty little girl..."

Circling his fingers faster, Aegon admired the sight of you and those legs spread wider, one hand covering your own mouth as your clit pulsed painfully. From this angle, he could see the soaked fabric of your pink panties.

It had been three years since Aegon fingered you for the first time, when almost the entire family was on a vacation at their beach house and you had been clinging to him like a needy puppy. Although he had been twenty-four at the time and had been wanting to flirt with some gorgeous surfer woman from that seaside town, Aegon's attention focused on you after a while, when he accidentally saw you changing your clothes in your room. Then when you came to the room he was sharing with Aemond to ask to sleep with him because you were having insomnia, Aegon welcomed you with open arms, and what started with an innocent kiss after an hour turned into the first orgasm of your life — Also, Aemond had heard everything, though, despite pretending to be asleep the whole time, and during the morning he forced his older brother to give him a good amount of money in exchange for his silence.

Now you were turning sixteen, sitting next to him in a dark movie theater with a sex toy that was controlled by him. All your pleasure was being controlled by him.

"C-Cumming..." it was what you could whimpering before starting to moan with a hand over your mouth, your eyes rolling back in the head, body convulsing due to the intense release.

Aegon groaned softly, his cock throbbing with the thought about fuck you right there, his balls heavy with desire. His fingertips circled the phone for a few more minutes, smirking cruelly when you began to lift your hips upwards and squeeze your own tits with your free palm, perky nipple sticking out of the fabric because of that physical and mental lack of control.

The overstimulation of your clit lasted long enough for you to bite the lower lip to try to keep yourself from screaming as your multiple orgasm hit you, squirting against the cotton material and making the drops run down the inner thighs until they splashed on the floor.

Aegon chuckled, looking around to make sure no one was about to call security for what was going on, but luckily the loud sound of the movie prevented everyone there from hearing those depravities — the couple who were also making out in their own seats noticed anyway, looking away after Aegon nodded in their direction, showing that he would keep quiet about what they were doing if they did the same.

Stroking your hair and stopping the vibrations from the toy, Aegon calmed you down. "You were so good, doll. Cumming so hard, didn't you?" he kissed the top of your head. "How does it feel?"

He did not waited for you to say anything, Aegon pulled one of your legs to the side and leaned down to give you a quick peek as he also pulled the panties to the side. That sight watered his mouth, your pretty pussy looking so wet and sticky just for him.

"What a chubby little thing..." Aegon teased and you moaned with flushed cheeks and biting the tip of your own thumb, making him chuckle. "Don't be shy, niece. You know how much I love seeing your pussy like this."

You shivered and whined in pain when he lowered the tip of his middle finger to flick your swollen clit, the bud throbbing even more than before. "S-Stop, uncle. It hurts..."

He just hummed, starting to rub that sensitive spot until a little more liquid squirted on it. "I know, doll. I know... But you're such a good little girl and I know that pretty, little pussy can take it."

Admiring his dear niece's tears, Aegon put your cute panties back in place, licking your juices that wet his palm, returning to circulate on the phone screen and catching you off guard for the second time that night, your muffled scream and your sweet pleas for him to stop for at least a while sounding like music to his ears. "Cum for me again, niece. Cum for your uncle."

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