#I can still kind of go 'I was thinking about you while I made this 💖💙❤🖤💙🖤❤🖤💖💙❤"

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 54: The Farm

Summary: You adjust to your life on the MacTavish farm and learn some surprising things about yourself.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,237 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, A/B/O, alternate universe, angst, emotions, fluff, animals, you might fall in love with a fictional dog, slight language.

A/N: I love this chapter and I hope you will too!

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You’re trying to fight the tears as they sting your eyes, desperately trying to stop them from falling as you walk back towards the house. Lily steps aside, letting you enter before closing the door behind you.

“Aw, hen.” She coos, rubbing your back. “It’s okay tae cry.”

You can’t stop them. They would have fallen without the permission, but being allowed to cry only makes them fall faster. Lily wraps her arms around you, pulling you tight against her chest. Her hand strokes your hair as she coos softly at you, rocking you back and forth gently.

“Saying goodbye is always hard.” She says softly. “I damn near cry a river when Johnny-boy leaves. It’s hard when ye don’t know how long it’ll be until ye see them again. I’m sure ye know that well.”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. You don’t know when you’ll see Johnny or Simon again. If you’ll see them again. You shove that thought aside into the deep recesses of your mind. You have enough to cry about, you’re not going to entertain those kinds of thoughts right now.

Lily kisses the top of your head before pulling back, wiping your tears with her shirt sleeve. “There we go.” You sniffle, trying to stop the flood sliding down your cheeks. There’s a wet spot on her shirt, but she doesn’t seem to even notice. She gives you a soft smile, holding your face in her hands. “Ye remind me of my youngest girl. So sweet and soft and polite. All beta. Quite the opposite of the rest of her siblings. She’s in medical school now training tae be an omega specialist.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. It makes you think of Dr. Keller and how she’s doing with her new job, how things are going with Ashley. Maybe you’ll ask John if he knows when you see him again.

“I’m sure she’ll be great at it.” You say. “Takes a lot of patience to work with omegas sometimes.”

You think about how much patience Dr. Keller had for you at the beginning, while she worked on helping you through your trauma and unlearning what the institute taught you. It had taken a long time, but you’re here today because of her and everything she did for you.

“I had an omega specialist on base for a while.” You say. “I owe a lot to her for getting me through those first few months.”

“I’m so glad ye had someone tae support ye.” Lily says, petting your hair. The tears have slowed to almost none. “I’m sure it was a great help.”

“I don’t know if I would have made it without her.” You say quietly.

“I think you could have. There’s a strength to ye. A quiet strength. I can see it.” Lily says, squeezing you against her chest one more time. “Ye’d have tae have it putting up with those boys.”

You giggle, hugging her back for a moment before she releases you.

“Come on,” She says, patting your head. “I have someone I want ye tae meet.”

You tilt your head as she moves into the house, heading for the back door. You follow, unsure who else you have to meet besides maybe the sheep.

“Here,” She says, pulling out a pair of boots. “These should work until we can get ye a proper pair of Wellies in town.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You say, toeing out of your tennis shoes.

“Course we do.” She says, slipping on her own boots. Storm stands at the door, ready to run out as soon as its open. “Ye need a pair anyway.”

You don’t argue, following her out the door.

The back yard is spacious, a garden set up in one corner, and a veranda in the other with a barbecue. You can imagine sitting out there in the summer, eating a hot dog and watching the sun set over the green hills. Storm races around the yard, tail wagging, all excited.

“Still young at heart.” Lily says as she walks down the path towards the gate. There’s a barn off to the right in the distance, a dirt road leading between the pastures.

You can see why she insisted on the boots now as the ground gets muddy beyond the gate.

“Murray is over the hill with the sheep.” She says, pointing off to the right where a hill rises. “Spends most of his day out there.” She opens a gate to the left, passing through before holding it open for you. “I like to spend my time in here.”

Your boots squelch as you walk through the muddy grass towards a smaller barn.

“Ye ever lived on a farm before?” Lily asks as you approach what looks like a chicken coop.

“No,” you answer. “We always lived close to the base my dad was stationed at. We moved around too much to have animals.”

“He was in the service?” She asks.

You nod. “Marines. It was his entire personality.”

She chuckles. “Usually is.” She pauses in front of the coop. “These are my girls. I let them out early and collect eggs.”

There’s ten chickens that you can count roving around the coop. It’s decent sized, bigger than you would have imagined.

“I leave them in there so the hawks don’t get ‘em.” She says. “Now, who I wanted ye to meet,” She continues towards the barn, the grass getting more and more solid as you go.

You walk up a small hill to the barn, something standing beside it. Something large and brown.

“This here is my coo, Mabel.” Lily says, walking right up to the cow.

You nearly die of cuteness on the spot. Mabel is a highland cow, all thick hair and horns and perhaps the cutest cow you’ve ever seen.

“Ye can get close. She’s very sweet.” Lily says, patting Mabel on the side.

You step up to her, holding out a hand. “Hello Mabel.” You say, Mabel nosing at your hand for a moment. You pet her nose, feeling the coarse, thick hair draped over her face.

“She’s due for a haircut.” Lily says, brushing some of the hair to the side so Mabel can see better. “And she’ll start sheddin’ soon.”

“I love her.” You say, scratching Mabel between the horns.

“Yer welcome tae come out here whenever you’d like.” Lily says. “Mabel comes and goes out of her barn as she pleases. She’s good for some cuddles when you need some love.” Lily grins at you. “She’s a great listener too.”

You smile, continuing to pet Mabel.

You might just like living on a farm after all.

You had stayed with Mabel even after Lily had gone into the house to start on dinner. It wasn’t even lunch yet, but still she insisted on starting early for a proper Sunday roast. Lily had been right about Mabel being a good listener. She hadn’t minded you hugging her, leaning your weight against her body, petting her hair as you told her all of your woes and fears. Storm had stayed in the field with you, running around before settling in the grass with a stick.

Storm followed you back to the house around lunchtime, when you’d left Mabel with a pat and a promise to come back tomorrow. She hadn’t given much of a response, but somehow deep down you knew she understood.

“Will ye wipe her feet with the towel, hen?” Lily called from the kitchen when you entered with Storm.

“Yeah,” You say, spotting the towel hanging near the door. Storm stands dutifully, letting you wipe most of the mud off of her feet. She licks your face before heading for the kitchen, abandoning you for the prospect of food. You don’t mind. Your stomach is growling too.

“How many sandwiches would ye like, hen?” Lily asks, bringing a platter of chips and vegetables to the table.

“Just one.” You answer. She gives you a sideways glance. “I could probably eat two though.”

She smiles. “Two it is then. I won’t have ye going hungry here.”

You don’t doubt she means that.

“Murray’ll be in, in a bit.” She says, setting a plate of two sandwiches in front of you before taking the seat across from you. “He can make his own.”

“I could make my own too.” You suggest quietly.

“Nonsense.” Lily says, waving away the idea. “Yer a guest. I’m more’n happy tae feed ye.”

“Thank you, for doing all of this.” You say, taking a bite of your sandwich.

“Of course,” She says, grabbing a carrot off the platter. “John said ye were havin’ trouble bein’ on base. I wasnae gonna let ye live somewhere ye weren’t comfortable. Besides, I’ve been excited tae meet ye, get tae know ye.”

“I’ve been wanting to meet their families too.” You say. “I’ve met Kyle’s sister but that was it before now.”

“Aye, those Garricks are something special.” She says.

“They really are.” You grin. “Like perfect angels.”

“Indeed.” She says.

Silence falls over the table as you eat, Storm sitting by your side on the floor, staring longingly at your food. You’re tempted to ‘accidentally’ drop a piece but you’re not sure if that’ll be allowed so instead you try and look away, ignoring those big puppy eyes staring into your soul.

Murray comes in right before you finish eating, toeing off his boots at the door. His pants are splattered with mud, as is his shirt as he pulls off his jacket.

“Yers are in the kitchen.” Lily says, finishing off her own sandwich.

“Thank ye, love.” He kisses Lily’s cheek before heading into the kitchen.

“I hear ye like tae read.” Lily says, turning back to you.

You nod. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well help yerself to any of the books on the shelves. The kids have some books in their rooms too. Yer more’n welcome tae browse those too.” She says, standing from the table. She takes your plate, heading to the kitchen as Murray comes out with his own plate of sandwiches.

“Did ye have a good mornin’?” He asks, taking his seat at the head of the table.

You nod. “I got to see the chickens and met Mabel.”

“Good.” He smiles. “Mabel’s a sweet old girl.”

“She is. I’ve never been around animals, outside of a few petting zoos.” You say. “But I already like Mabel a lot.”

“Aye, we’ll turn ye into a farm girl in no time.” Murray grins. “Ye can see the sheep when I bring ‘em in later too.”

“I’d like that.” You say.

After lunch you settle into the couch with a book pulled off one of the many shelves in the room. Storm has joined you, curling up beside you with her head in your lap.

“That dog really likes ye.” Lily says as she joins you, pulling out her knitting.

You smile, petting Storm’s head. “I’m not sure why.”

“Dogs are good judges of character.” She says. “She senses something in ye.”

You scratch behind Storm’s ears as silence falls over the room again and you return to reading your book. You wonder if it’s really true, if Storm can sense something about you that’s drawing her in. Whatever it is, you’re glad she likes you. It could be the opposite, you suppose. She could dislike you. You wonder what that would say about your character if that were the case.

Regardless, you’re growing to find her presence comforting. The entire house is comforting, despite the turmoil you still feel inside. The farm is a good distraction, but in these moments of silence you know you’re going to struggle the most. These moments where you have to be present, you have to face down the truth that you’re hundreds of miles from your pack and there’s still a couple weeks before you’ll see them again...before you’ll see John again. It’ll be just you and John for a while. Then Kyle will join you. Then you’ll be three separated from the two others.

It breaks your heart that they won’t retire, but you’d never admit that.

Maybe someday they’ll make that decision, but you know it won’t be anytime soon.

You shift on the couch, Storm lifting her head before settling back down, adjusting herself so she’s even closer to you than she was before, almost as if she can sense the shift in your emotions.

You scan the photos on the wall in the hallway. You’ve been roving around waiting for dinner to be ready, taking in all of the artwork and the many photos decorating the walls. Photos of Johnny and his siblings as kids, family portraits, artistic shots of the farm and the animals and the kids with them. You’ve even found a framed photo of Storm and Bron on the wall.

You pass by a shadow box decorated with military medals and stripes. You’d almost assume it was Johnny’s but you know he’ll still wear his when the occasion requires. No, these are Murray’s. Chief Petty Officer MacTavish.

“You served?” You ask as the man himself rounds the corner.

He pauses, glancing at the box before nodding. “Aye. Royal Navy. Joined as soon as I graduated. Didnae know what else tae do with myself. I was forced to retire when Johnny was still a lad. Hip injury.” He smiles as he stares at the medals. “Moved the family out here, bought a few sheep, rest is history.”

“You must be proud of Johnny then.” You say. You can piece together that his father’s history with the armed forces played a role in his own decision to join.

“Aye. Though his job scares the piss out of me sometimes.” He pats your back. “I hear your own father served.”

You nod as the two of you walk down the hall. “Marines.” You say. “I can’t imagine him doing anything else. He was...very patriotic. Spent a lot of time preaching the necessity of giving our lives to protect the country to us kids. Two of my three older brothers joined too. The rest of us went on to do other things. I never thought I’d be back in it, though.”

“That must have been a shock.” Lily says as the two of you arrive at the table. She’s setting a pan of roast beef on the table. “I can only imagine what it was like tae leave that world only to be right back in it.”

“I was in deeper than I was with my dad.” You say, taking your seat. “It was an adjustment, but I’ll honestly say I’m glad I’m getting to leave it behind.”

“I don’t blame ye one bit.” She says, taking a seat at the table. “The stress is unimaginable, even when they’re not goin’ off tae war.” She passes a glance at Murray. “I’m glad yer gettin’ this chance.”

“Aye, I’m proud of John fer retiring. It’s time he settled down.” Murray says, staring to load his plate.

Roast beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables, yorkshire pudding. A proper Sunday roast, or so you’re told.

“You know him well?” You ask curiously as you start to load your own plate.

“Aye, he’s been here a few times since Johnny joined his pack.” Murray says.

“We were skeptical at first, but he proved himself alright.” Lily says. “He’s a good alpha, and a good man.”

“But whatever magic ye worked tae get him to retire…” Murray grins. “Consider it an act of god.”

You smile bashfully, your face warming just a bit. “I’m not sure what I did exactly, besides just existing in his life.”

“Sometimes that’s all a man needs.” Lily says, giving you a smile.

The Sunday roast is delicious. It’s better than what you ate at restaurants in town during the weekends that John insisted everyone go out for Sunday dinner. It’s even better than your own attempts at the cottage, though you’d never tell Dr. Keller that.

You’ll have to get some recipes from Lily before you leave.

After dinner the three of you settle in the living room again, Murray turning on the TV. Storm lays at your feet, Bron laying between you and Murray. You’ve got a beer in your hand, cold where it rests against your leg. Murray hadn’t even asked, instead passing one to you silently. You’d taken it, knowing it would be rude to refuse. It’s not your first time drinking by far. You and your brothers used to sneak sips here and there during barbecues and holidays, and the guys have made sure to corrupt you in that way.

Still, the alcohol makes you feel warm as you drink it, chasing away the nerves that nightfall brings.

A lot of things can happen at night, and you can feel the looming darkness outside. It’s darker here than on base, no light pollution to offer some respite from the inky blackness outside.

You’ve been avoiding looking at the windows, even with the curtains closed.

Despite the nagging fear at the back of your brain, the beer makes you feel warm and fuzzy. That, and Storm’s comforting presence against your feet. It’s nice knowing there’s someone that will sense something off before even you can.

It’s late by the time you decide to call it a night. Storm follows you to your room, standing in the doorway as you pull clothes out of your bag.

“C’mon Stormy.” Lily says, patting her back. “Goodnight, hen.”

“Goodnight.” You call, watching Storm hesitate before heading down the hallway with Lily.

You get ready for bed before turning out the light, crawling under the covers. You can still smell a bit of Johnny on the pillow and blankets. You breathe in his spicy, citrusy scent. It blends with the earthy scent of John on your shirt, offering up a comforting cocktail of your boys. You wish they were there still in person, but you’ll take their scents.

You wonder how long it will be until they fade away. You doubt they’ll last the entire time you’re here.

You grab your phone from the nightstand, pulling up John’s number. He had texted you earlier letting you know they made it safe, but you need to hear his voice. You listen to it ring, holding your breath. It’s late, and you half expect him to be in bed already. He has an early morning tomorrow, unless he decides to skip working out...you doubt he’ll do that though, now that he doesn’t have you to worry about.

“Hello, sweetheart.” His voice is rough, tired sounding.

“Hi,” you greet him quietly quietly, letting out a breath. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” There’s rustling on the other side of the line. “I was laying awake.”

“Same.” you say, pulling the covers up around you.

“How are things going up there?” He asks.

“Good.” you answer honestly. “I met a cow today.”

“Did you?” he chuckles. “How did that go?”

“Good. I really like her. She’s a good listener.” you listen to his chuckle on the other end. “Storm has also really taken to me.”

“Good,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Lily and Murray treating you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, rolling onto your side. “They’re amazing. Lily’s a really good cook. Makes me feel sorry for you that you’re going to have to eat my cooking.”

“Your cooking isn’t that bad.” He says. “I survived on it at the cottage.”

“Yeah but that was only a couple times. I can make like three things confidently.”

“Then we’ll learn together. We’ll only have to survive until Kyle’s paperwork is approved. Then he can cook. It’ll be good for him, having something to do.”

What are you going to do? You want to ask it but you’re not sure how well that will go over. What is he going to do once he’s retired? Maybe you can convince him to start a farm. It would be good for him to have some physical work to do every day. He’s used to never having a day off, and you don’t get days off on a farm.

You’ll worry about that later, when the time actually comes.

“How are things down there?” You ask. “How are the boys.”

“Coping.” He says. “Johnny pouted the entire way home. It’s not the same being just us again. We got so used to your presence it feels empty.”

A small smile forms on your lips. “It feels weird not having you here with me. I’m not sure I can survive.”

“I think we can make it.” He says. “It’s only for a couple weeks at most. By the end you’ll be sad to leave.”

“I do like it here.” You muse. “It’s cozy and comfortable and I like having animals around. Wish you were here though.”

“Soon.” He says, muffling a yawn.

“You should get some sleep. Early morning tomorrow, right?”

He hums. “Earlier than I’d like.”

“Ready to retire?” You ask.

“I can feel it coming.” He says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You should get some rest too. I know you didn’t sleep well last night.”

You likely won’t sleep well tonight either, but you won’t tell him that. You don’t want him to worry more than he already is. “I never sleep well the first night in a new place.”

He hums again. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, John.” You say quietly, holding the phone to your ear until he ends the call.

You stare at the screen for a moment before setting your phone on the nightstand once more. You feel more comfortable now after hearing John’s voice. It’s soothed some of the nerves churning in your stomach. He’s just a phone call away, and soon he’ll be back within reach. Just a couple weeks at most. You should be able to survive that.

You hope you will.

You do manage to sleep.

There’s light coming through the curtains when you wake, and you can hear the faint clacking of dishes down the hall. You squint blearily at your phone. It’s past nine. You’ve slept in later than you meant to. They’re early risers, being on a farm and all. You realized that yesterday when you heard them moving around before dawn.

Here you’ve gone and slept in.

You get up, changing clothes before heading to the bathroom.

Lily’s in the kitchen when you get up, still a bit bleary from a rough night’s sleep.

“Morning, hen.” She says, turning from the dishes when she hears you patter in.

“Sorry, I slept in.” You say, rubbing your eyes.

“None of that now, yer a guest. Ye can sleep in as late as ye’d like.” She says, waving her hand. “I’ve saved some breakfast for ye. Let me heat it up.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You say.

“Of course I do. I want to.” She says, pushing you out of the kitchen. “Juice or coffee?”

“Juice is fine.” You say, taking a seat at the table. Storm comes over to you, pawing at your hand. You give her some pets, scratching behind her ear.

“Here ye are.” Lily says, bringing you a plate loaded with eggs and sausage and toast. She sets it down in front of you along with a glass of orange juice. It’s probably freshly squeezed.

“Thank you. It looks delicious.” You say, picking up your fork.

It tastes delicious too. You never knew a simple eggs and sausage and toast could taste so good. Lily must work magic in the kitchen. That can be the only explanation for how wonderful she can make even the simplest food taste.

You slip on your borrowed boots after you finish eating, following Lily out into the yard again. Storm trots along beside you, tongue hanging out in excitement.

“Ye ever driven an ATV before?” Lily asks you, and you notice one parked next to the gate just past the fence. You hadn’t noticed it yesterday.

You shake your head. “No.”

She pats your shoulder. “I’ll teach ye soon. I’m gonnae go grab some hay from the barn for Mabel. Ye go on ahead and start givin’ her a good brushin’.”

Lily opens the gate to the pasture where the barn sits before climbing on the ATV. You open the other gate to Mabel’s pasture, Storm running through as soon as its open. You leave it open, passing the chickens on your hike up the small hill to where Mabel stands, looking like she has no care in the world.

Her brush hangs in her small barn and you grab it off the wall. Her hair is thick and coarse, the brush catching on a few tangles. You’re careful not to pull too hard, working the knots out gently.

Lily arrives on the ATV, towing a small trailer behind it stacked with bales of hay.

“Come and help me unload this, hen.” She says, climbing off the ATV.

You shove the brush into your back pocket, treading through the grass to the stack of hay bales. Lily tosses you a pair of gloves, something you’re grateful for as soon as you put your hands on the hay. It pokes at you, a few pieces even sticking you through the gloves.

It’s also heavy.

Your arms shake as you lift one of the bales, just managing to get it up off the stack. You heft it the few feet to the barn, stacking it on top of the others. Lily lifts the next bale, making it seem almost easy.

“They’re heavy.” You say, letting out a breath as you return to grab the next one.

“Aye.” Lily says with a grin. “We’ve got tae get yer muscles built up. Turn ye into a proper farm girl in no time.”

You’re out of breath by the time the last bale has been stacked, a few small scratches on your arms where you’d pushed up the sleeves of your sweatshirt to avoid getting hay in the fabric. Somehow you’ve still managed, feeling the small pokes even through your jeans.

“Keep workin’ on Mabel, I’m gonnae take the trailer back.” Lily says.

Your arms feel like jelly as you grab the brush out of your pocket again, returning to brushing Mabel’s back. You knew you were out of shape compared to what you once were, but you think even if you weren’t that would have been a struggle. Farm work is hard and you’ve barely had a taste of it. It speaks volumes of just how strong Johnny’s parents are that they can do this every day.

Lily returns, walking up the hill to where you are. “We refill her ‘bout once a week.” She says, patting Mabel’s nose. “Can’t keep all of it here, or she’ll eat it all.”

You grin, Mabel’s head tilting as you brush a spot on the side of her neck. You’re getting covered in cow hair, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“She’ll be sheddin’ her winter coat soon.” Lily says running her fingers through Mabel’s hair, picking out a few chunks. “Things get very hairy up here.”

You laugh, brushing under Mabel’s chin as she tilts her head up for you. “I can imagine.”

“I’m gonnae go find Murray, ye stay out here as long as ye like.” She says, patting your shoulder before heading back down to the ATV.

Storm stays in the pasture with you again, happily laying in the grass while you finish up brushing Mabel.

You lean against her side, resting your head on her back. “We’ll be okay, right?” You ask, not expecting an answer, and you don’t get one aside from a loud cluck from a chicken.

You head back into the house, Storm following you. You toe off your boots at the door, wiping down Storm’s feet before heading into the living room. You pick up the book you had been reading from the coffee table, settling on the couch. Storm jumps up beside you, sitting there staring expectantly.

You stare back, tilting your head. “What?”

She puts a paw on your leg, sniffing your cheek.

“Oh alright.” You put your book to the side before scratching her neck. She leans into you, licking your arm as you scratch her. “You’re so soft.” You say, hugging her against your chest as you scratch down her back. “Must have gotten a bath recently, huh?”

You kiss her head before releasing her, going back to your book. She curls up next to you, leaning against your leg. You drop a hand to rest against her back, feeling her comforting warmth against you.

The days go by and you settle into a bit of a routine on the farm. You start to wake up earlier and earlier, adjusting to hearing Lily and Murray up and moving around early in the morning. You’re still not sleeping well, but you are managing to get some sleep at night.

John’s called every day, wanting to know how you’re doing, how you’re settling in. It gets easier and easier to tell him you’re doing alright, as you start to believe it. But no matter how comfortable you get in Lily and Murray’s home, there’s still a deep ache in your chest, a yearning for your pack, for your alpha.

You thought it might be weird being around an unknown alpha, but Murray has been careful to keep himself from being overbearing and overwhelming. Sometimes you forget he’s an alpha, but his strong scent reminds you every time you smell it. He’s not like any alpha you’ve been around before, but then again, you think he has Lily to thank for that.

You don’t know many alphas that chose to take beta mates over omegas. It was so unheard of in your circle of friends and family friends growing up. Your father surrounded himself with like-minded alphas, traditionalists that prided themselves on scoring a prize omega who could give them pups.

You suppose John had taken a beta as his mate, but you know that dynamic is different, and it became even more complex once you were added into the picture. Maybe John would have wound up more like Murray had it just been him and Kyle in the long run.

A beta’s soothing presence is enough to calm and alpha’s instincts over time. It probably helps that he’s older, those instincts less strong now than they would have been likely just a few years ago. You know alphas calm over time, those instincts settling as they get older, as they settle down.

You wonder how long it will take John’s instincts to start settling now that he’s retiring out of a high-stress job.

You’ve taken to being on the farm and helping out more and more. Mabel has become your lifeline, your stand-in therapist. It’s a bit healing, laying against her side, telling her how much you miss your pack, how nervous you are about this new chapter in your life, how fast things seem to be moving. You’ve only been with your pack for just over a year now and already so many things have happened, so many things have changed. She may not be able to offer much in terms of conversation or advice, but it’s still comforting to have someone there who can listen and not judge.

You’ve even come to know the chickens a bit, gathering eggs a couple times when you’ve gotten up early enough to beat Lily to it. You’ve had your fingers pecked more than a few times, but you’re growing fearless around them, shoving the broody ones to the side to grab their eggs.

A week goes by before you know it, settling into the clock-like rotation of life on a farm. It’s comforting to have a schedule, to always have something to do. It reminds you of being on base, of conforming to the guys’ schedules. You prefer this kind of schedule and work, though.

Maybe you can talk John into a farm. It would be good for him, help him settle into civilian life where you don’t have someone telling you what to do...or where you’re not the someone telling others what to do.

You wake early on Sunday, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you lay in bed for a moment. It’s early, but still you hear Lily and Murray moving around. You feel like dragging your feet this morning, but you don’t, sliding out of bed before grabbing clothes.

“Morning Stormy.” You say, greeting the dog laying at your door. She’s taken up vigil in the mornings, laying there waiting for you to get up.

You pat her head before stepping over her, heading for the bathroom. Lily had done some washing for you, despite your insistence that you could do it yourself. She was keen to do as much for you as possible. She said she misses being able to mother someone. Murray won’t let her. He’s stubborn like that.

You head for the kitchen, Lily already up with breakfast at the table.

“Mornin’ hen.” She greets you, pouring coffee into a mug. Murray is at the table as well, sipping his own cup.

“Morning.” You say, taking your seat and the offered mug. “You’re up early.”

“It’s Sunday. We’re goin’ tae Mass today.” Lily explains.

You hadn’t really thought much about it, though you should have guessed given the candles and the crucifix on the wall that they were religious. The idea of Johnny being raised Catholic is hard for you to grasp.

“Did ye go to church growin’ up?” Murray asks you as Lily sets a plate of food in front of you.

“Not really.” You say. “Mostly just Christmas and Easter.” As patriotic as your father was, he didn’t pay much mind to religion. Sundays were for beer and football and a good dinner.

“We try tae go every Sunday.” Lily says. “Though we don’t always make it.”

Like last Sunday, you think. They had been busy with helping you get settled in.

“Gives us an excuse tae go into town.” Murray says.

“We’ll do some shoppin’ while we’re there.” Lily says. “Get ye anythin’ ye might need too.”

You’re not sure what you might need. You thought you had brought enough to last you the couple weeks, though something tells you Lily is going to find something you need. She had said something about getting you a proper pair of boots. You wonder what else she might decide you need.

Church went well, although you had no idea what a Catholic Mass was like, nor what you were supposed to do, but you followed along well enough. Shopping afterward had gone as you expected. You got your new pair of boots, strawberry printed, and Lily had decided you needed a couple new pairs of jeans. It was true yours were starting to show the wear and tear of farm life, and they weren’t proper work jeans, according to her. You weren’t sure what that meant, but she hadn’t listened to your protests, buying you the pants anyway.

It was a nice, warm day so Lily had taken you out to her garden to help her set up for the spring plants she’d grow. You pulled weeds, harvested some of the last winter vegetables, dug holes, played in the dirt. It felt good doing something with your hands. It gave you purpose, something you haven’t felt in a while.

Sure, being an omega you had your purpose, but lately it had been a bit...mundane. You had been forced into the box of ‘sit there and look pretty and offer us some comfort,’ even if they hadn’t realized they were doing it. You hadn’t even really noticed it until now, until you got some space from it. Now that you were actually doing things, now that you had a true purpose, helping out on the farm, you realized just how deep you had been shoved into that box.

Maybe coming here was a good thing after all.

That night you cry for the first time. You’re not sure why. Maybe the dirt under your fingernails had awoken something in you, some deep crevasse of your emotions opening under your feet.

It’s a silent cry in the darkness, the moon bright through the curtains, bathing your room with more light than even your nightlight. You’d just hung up the call from John and suddenly tears are falling down your cheeks. You miss him. You miss them all. You’re terrified for Simon and Johnny, you’re yearning for your alpha, for your comfort. You want the bed to dip behind you, for his arms to slide around you and hold you close. You want his scent to wrap around you and permeate your being.

You’re homesick.

The magic of the first week has worn off and now you’re feeling the complex emotions that have been brewing under the surface. There’s a deep ache in your chest, harsh and painful. You curl up tight in a ball, trying to ease the pain of missing home, of missing your alpha.

You drift off into a hazy sleep, floating in and out all night until you finally manage to slip into a deep sleep for a couple of hours early in the morning.

You wake later than you would have wanted to, and for a moment you forget where you are. There’s a warm weight against your back, and for a moment you think you’re back in the barracks, that John is sleeping behind you, pressed up against your back.

But as you wake up, you remember where you are: hundreds of miles away from the barracks and John.

The sun is up, shining its golden light through your window. You turn as best you can, the heavy weight pinning the blankets down over you.

You’re met with black and white fur. Storm has somehow snuck her way into your room and curled up on the bed with you. Tears prick your eyes as you turn to face her, running a hand down her back. She lets out a sigh, shifting her body onto her side so her head rests on your pillow.

“Hi Storm.” You whisper, burying your face in her fur.

She lays there, breathing steady and even as you try not to cry, as you fight the emotions welling up inside of you again. Storm licks your hand, dragging her soft tongue against your skin, almost like she’s trying to lick up your sadness.

“Okay, okay,” You sniffle, pulling your hand away. You lay there for a moment longer, both of you still in the quiet morning. Lily must be out gathering eggs or taking care of Mabel. You don’t feel bad for sleeping in this time.

Storm climbs down off the bed as you sit up, stretching your arms over your head. You grab a change of clothes before heading for the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Storm is waiting in the hallway for you and the two of you walk together towards the kitchen. Lily is sitting at the table, reading a magazine.

“Mornin’, hen.” She greets you before looking down at Storm. “Mornin’ ye sneak. Sorry if she disturbed ye. I tried to get her back out.”

You shake your head. “She didn’t disturb me. I didn’t even know she was there.”

Lily hums, patting Storm’s head. “Ye must have needed her, then.”

Tears start to prick behind your eyes, those emotions that you thought you had shoved down starting to come back to the surface. You know Lily won’t judge you for crying, for being homesick, but still that fear of showing too many emotions starts to overwhelm you.

“It’s alright, hen.” Lily says, on her feet before you even know it, pulling you into a hug. “Homesick, huh.”

It’s not a question.

“I understand.” She says softly, patting your head as you struggle to hold those emotions down. “I would be too.”

Her hands rub your back, her scent strong in the air as she tries to help comfort you. You both know it won’t be enough, but still the thought of it is sweet. She’s doing her best to try and make this easy for you, to try and help you through the inevitable breakdown of missing your pack and your alpha. From what John has said, it won’t be long before he’s finally free of the shackles of the military. A few more days at most before he’ll be making the final drive up here to retrieve you, and you’ll move on to whatever is waiting for you on the other side.

It makes you sad to leave too, though. You’ve grown comfortable on the farm, adjusting to life here and its routine and stability. It’s kept you more active than anything, and you’re going to miss having an excuse to do more than read and sleep all day. Of course, taking care of a house will involve a lot more, but you know there’s only so much you can do even in that regard.

You want to feel useful.

You don’t cry as much as you thought you might. Your thoughts have kept you stable, ideas forming, plans putting themselves together. You lean against Lily’s chest, arms wrapped around her. You’ll be forever grateful for everything she’s done for you, even if she doesn’t realize she’s done it.

You pull away, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Thank you.” You say.

Lily gives you a soft smile, petting your hair. “Of course, hen. Ye know I’m always here if you need a hug.”

You laugh, sniffling. “You give good hugs.”

“I’ve been told that.” She pats the top of your head. “Now, let’s get some food in ye.”

Storm sleeps in your room from then on. You’re not sure Lily could change her mind even if she tried. She’s on the bed as soon as you open the door to Johnny’s room, making herself at home. You’re silently grateful for her comforting presence, often waking cuddling her up on your pillow.

You’ve become inseparable, unless Lily is in the kitchen, then she betrays you for the prospect of any handouts. You don’t blame her one bit. You’d be in there begging too if Lily didn’t involve you as much as she has started doing. You had asked for recipes, so Lily had taken that as her excuse to start mentoring you in the kitchen, teaching you everything she knows.

You’ve been kept busy, and you’re grateful for it.

Storm follows you around as you do your chores, self-appointed chores. You fetch more hay for Mabel as she’s running low, give her a good brush to help loosen some of her shedding fur, feed the chickens and gather the eggs, pick a few of the last winter vegetables that have ripened before helping Lily make lunch.

You even get to hold a baby lamb.

You fall in love almost instantly.

Another animal to add to your list of animals to convince John to get for you.

Your last day on the farm comes with an unexpected morning phone call. Usually John called at night, but this time catches you by surprise at the breakfast table. You got up to answer, Storm following you down the hall as you speak to John.

“Hello?”

“Hello, sweetheart.” John says. “I have good news.”

You already know what he’s going to say. “Oh?”

“My paperwork was finalized this morning. I’ll be coming up tomorrow to get you.”

Nerves and excitement boil in your stomach. You’re excited that it’s finally happened, that he’s finally free and you’ll get to see him in just a few hours. At the same time you’re nervous for what this means, for this start of the new chapter. There’s also a bittersweet edge to it, from the thought of leaving the farm after the wonderful almost two weeks you’ve spent here.

“That’s great!” You say, trying to sound convincing, channeling that inner excitement.

“I’ll call before I leave so you know when to expect me.” He says, sounding almost relieved.

“Sounds good.” You say, leaning down to pet Storm as she paws at you. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I know. It’s been long enough.” He says. “I have to get packing, but I’ll talk to you tonight, okay?”

You nod even though he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too.”

You walk back to the table, your stomach in knots. Excitement and nerves still race through you. You’re not quite sure what to feel yet, all of it a bit too much at once.

“Everything alright?” Murray asks.

You nod. “John’s paperwork finally went through. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

Lily cheers. “That’s wonderful news! I’m sure yer goin’ tae be happy to see him.”

You nod again. “I am. I’ve missed him.”

“I bet.” She says reaching over to pat your hand.

“But I’m going to be sad to leave too.” You say. “I’ve really enjoyed being here.”

“And we’ve enjoyed havin’ ye.” Murray says.

“Ye can always visit, whenever ye want to.” Lily says, giving you a smile. “Yer always welcome here.”

“Thank you.” You say, trying to avoid looking down at Storm and her puppy eyes. You have a feeling she’ll be the hardest to say goodbye to.

You do your chores the next morning despite the fact John will arrive in a few hours. It just feels right to spend your last day on the farm doing as much as you can, savoring your last taste of farm life. You’ll miss Mabel, and you’ll even miss the chickens despite the few little cuts on your hands from sharp beaks. You’ll miss having stuff to do. Sure, you’re going to settle into your new life easier than John will, but at the same time, you’re going to withdraw from this routine you’ve grown to follow.

You spend the time after lunch cuddling with Storm on the couch. She seems sadder than usual, almost as if she knows this is going to be goodbye for now. Even Bron is at your feet, curled in a ball as you all wait for the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. Your bags are packed and by the door, including your Wellies, ready to be taken away from this surrogate home, from your surrogate family. Well, they are your family, you suppose. An extension of your pack member.

You’re not ready to get up as the sound of tires eventually does come, Murray rising from his seat to greet John at the door. You let out a sigh, patting Storm one more time before standing.

It feels almost surreal seeing John again after nearly two weeks away. He greets you with open arms and a smile, not even waiting for anything to be said. You’re in his arms almost as fast as he opened them, pressing yourself close against his chest. You’ve been without him for longer, but this time it felt different. You were hanging over the precipice of a drastic change. His arrival has been the first step in that change, the start of a new chapter in both of your lives.

“I trust you’ve been well taken care of.” He says as you pull away.

“Very well.” You say, smiling.

“And ye better keep that up.” Lily says threateningly.

“Don’t worry, I will.” He says, giving her a hug. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s no problem. We’re always happy to have some company.” She says.

“Ye can visit us any time ye like.” Murray says, shaking John’s hand.

John grabs your bags, the four of you heading outside with the dogs. You hug Lily, tears falling as you say your goodbye.

“Call me.” She says, patting your back. “For anything, even just tae chat. And don’t forget to visit.”

“Thank you.” You say, wiping your cheeks. “For everything.”

“Yer welcome, hen.” She says, brushing a hand over your head.

“Thank you, too.” You say to Murray, giving him a hug as well.

“Of course.” He says, patting your back. “It was our pleasure.”

You kneel down in the gravel, giving Storm a hug. She licks your cheek, letting out a quiet whine. “I’ll see you again soon, okay?”

She gives you one last lick before you stand, giving Bron some pats before you turn away, heading towards the car. Sadness but also joy fills you as you climb into the passenger seat, buckling your seat belt. You turn to look behind you, the car full of boxes, but in the seat behind John your big bear sits, buckled in.

You smile softly as John climbs into the driver’s seat, turning to look at you before he turns on the car.

“Ready?” He asks.

You nod. “Ready.”

He turns the key, the car rumbling to life beneath you. They wave as you drive down the driveway, and you watch the house until it disappears around the bend. You turn back in your seat, letting out a sigh as John turns onto the road towards Glasgow.

“Can we get a dog? And some chickens? And a cow? And some sheep?” you ask.

John chuckles. “Let’s find a place to live, first. Then we’ll talk about that.”

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[theonottsbxtch]

FALLIN' INTO YOU | OP81

an: this is apart of my very delayed 2k celly, we're closer to 3k than we are to 2k this is how late it is, anyway enjoy soft oscar <3

wc: 718

request: can I also request a song fic please? Fallin all in you by Shawn mendes, for Oscar and reader 🥹 something about early morning cuddles in bed 🫶

The morning light filtered gently through the sheer white curtains, casting a quiet golden hue across the bedroom. It was the kind of soft, early light that didn’t demand attention—just whispered its way in, warming skin and tangled sheets. The world beyond the windows was still, muted by frost and silence, the hum of life elsewhere waiting to begin. But here, in this small sanctuary wrapped in linen and hush, time had chosen to move more slowly.

Oscar stirred first, though only barely, a slow shift beneath the duvet, his arm tightening instinctively around her waist. She was tucked in against him, back to his chest, her legs tangled with his like they'd been shaped to fit there. The warmth between them, shared skin to skin, was the kind that made you forget what cold even felt like.

The season had finally let go of its grip on him. No long flights, no garage calls, no adrenaline slicing through his thoughts. Just quiet. Just her.

She made a soft sound, half-asleep, the kind that made his heart slow in a way the track never could. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in the scent of sleep and skin, letting it fill every place the noise used to be. His fingertips traced slow circles over her stomach, gentle and unthinking, a rhythm born of knowing exactly where she was without needing to look.

“Mmm,” she murmured, her voice all morning gravel and warmth, “what time is it?”

“Too early to matter,” Oscar whispered back, brushing his lips against her shoulder. “Stay.”

She smiled, he could feel it more than see it, her body curling back even closer into him. Her hand slid along his forearm, threading their fingers together where they rested against her.

“You’re warm,” she said.

“You’re mine,” he replied softly, almost surprised by the tenderness in his own voice.

He closed his eyes and let the quiet wrap around them again, slow, soft, infinite. Just a morning. Just the two of them. And for once, nothing else.

Without realising, in their comfort, the two of them fell asleep again and the next time they stirred, it was later, sunlight a little bolder now, stretching further across the duvet, warming the tops of their bare shoulders. The soft haze of half-sleep still lingered in the air, like it hadn’t quite let go of them yet.

She blinked lazily, her lashes brushing his collarbone as she shifted to face him. His eyes were already open, barely, just watching her, lids heavy, the sleep still sitting behind them.

“Mm. Morning again,” she said, voice hoarse and small.

He gave a quiet hum, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Think we might’ve broken the record for staying in bed.”

She tucked her face into his chest, laughter muffled. “Good. About time we broke something that didn’t cost millions.”

He chuckled, low, warm. “True. No engineers panicking about this one.”

There was a comfortable pause, the kind only shared by people who knew each other's silences. She let her hand drift across his side, lazy fingertips drawing circles without meaning to.

“You’re not restless?” she asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Not missing the chaos?”

He tilted his head a little, just enough to kiss the top of hers. “Not right now. Not when I’ve got this.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, one brow raised, sceptical in that way only she could be while still looking soft. “This being…?”

“You. Us. This duvet. Possibly your ridiculous pyjama shorts,” he said, grinning sleepily as he nudged the hem of them with his knee.

“They’re yours, actually.”

“Ah. Explains the excellent taste.”

She laughed again, this time quietly but properly, and nestled into him like she was trying to disappear into the warmth.

“You’re insufferable,” she murmured.

“Lucky you love me then, isn’t it?” he said, voice gentle, barely teasing.

“Mm. Might do.”

“Might?”

She tilted her chin up just enough to meet his mouth with hers, a slow, sleepy kiss that didn’t try to be anything more. When she pulled away, her lips were curved into a smile.

“Definitely.”

He let out a breath, half a sigh, half a laugh, and held her a little tighter.

Outside, the world could wait.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine @obxstiles @dongyeonssimp @gr4cier4cie

[musingsofheaven]

DREAMSTATE TRAP

summary: You don’t know what’s wrong with you and don’t even remember how it started. You just know you sleep better when he’s near. That your body wants him close, that you need him there, pressed up against you. You said you’d leave him. More than once. But you didn’t, not when he made sure you will always come back to his arms.

pairings: divorced dilf!art donaldson x afab!reader

warnings: 2k words. mature themes. somnophilia. nonconsensual undertones. obsession. manipulation. covert drug use (nicotine patches / chemical dependency). emotional dependency. breeding kink. free use referenced. sleep sex. dubcon-adjacent tone. power imbalance. dumbification (sleep-drunk, emotionally conditioned, mentally pliant state). read & consume responsibly.

notes: actually scared to post this. :( but hi! this is post-divorce art donaldson and yeah… he’s rich. lonely. washed. pushing 40. still hot. still got those sad little eyes. i just know he’d lose his mind if a pretty lil thing started sleeping in his bed. so soft. so warm. he didn’t want to be left ever again. he’d do anything to keep you close. even if it’s twisted. even if it’s wrong. this is manipulative dilf art dick. he’s emotionally unavailable and physically unavoidable. yes it’s wrong. yes he’s crazy. ANYWAYYYYYYY enjoy and if u want more fics or have requests or want to throw something unhinged at me pls do. i’m taking requests. thanks love u 💗

You sleep like you trust him.

You do. That’s the case. You sleep like you will be comfortable in your dreams because he’s just beside you to hug you. Like your body’s never been hurt. He doesn’t hurt you. Never. He will kill himself first before he lands a hand on you. (Unless it’s for sex and you asked it, or not, maybe) Like no one’s ever lied to you or walked away. You know he’s not lying to you. At least in front of your face, no. Like you don’t know what he is. You don’t, honestly.

He likes staying up late than you. You never knew why. He just said he’s not tired. Or he can’t sleep. Insomnia, sometimes, is what he’s saying to you. But in reality? He likes watching you. Like tonight is the same as the others, he watches you wide-eyed in the dark.

The sheets are already wrapped around you from the movements. You are not a mover, but don’t stay in the same place. Your cotton sleep shirt riding high over your ass, too big for you, too comfy, the collar pulled half off your shoulder like it always ends up that way. You didn’t even wear panties tonight. You never do when you fall asleep in his bed. It’s comfortable, you say. More air or your cunt can breathe, or whatever bullshit you say. Art doesn’t mind. It’s a raging go signal for him. Well, that’s what he thinks. He could lift your shirt, nightgown, or whatever loose or comfortable you are wearing, and he’ll cup you over it, sometimes rub his fingers if he’s aiming for tame, or slide in if he’s so horny. You don’t complain. Said that it helps him sleep by touching you or fucking you. And you like to help him.

That used to scare him. That sweetness. That trust. Especially when you’re just letting him take it. He even joked about you being his free use doll when he was inside of you. You whine and giggle. It scared and excited him. The idea that maybe you didn’t think he was capable of anything ugly.

Well, at first, he’s like that. But now? It doesn’t scare him anymore.

His fingers gently run into the back of your hair, and he watches you shift. He makes those little expressions when you sleep. You look soft. You look like you are at peace. Your skin’s so warm there. Your pulse flutters when he presses. It’s slow, steady, alive.

Sometimes, he’s praying to God because you’re so alive. So young than him. He prayed that others wouldn’t take you away from him. The thing is, he won’t even let them do that. You’ve got no idea what kind of things a man like him can do, do you?

He slips the drawer open quietly while his other hand is still touching you like he’s scared to slip his hand away from you.

Finds the little box. Peels one patch from the back.

Your thigh shifts when he touches it. He gently caresses the flesh. Feels hot beneath his palm, your skin soft and bare. He sticks the nicotine patch just under the curve of your ass, just below your cheek, where the hem of your shirt won’t hide it, but you won’t notice it.

You don’t even move.

Art smooths a hand down your leg. Feeling its smoothness under his palm. Just once. Then, back up again, where his thumb grazes the patch, which warms under your skin. His heart thuds in his chest like he’s done something filthy. Maybe he has.

Because fuck it. Every time he puts one on you, especially when it’s your thighs, or your ass, or the soft dip of your hip... he gets hard from it like clockwork. Like some part of his brain associates the feel of your unconscious body under his hands.

He shouldn’t want it this much. He shouldn’t. This is fucked up, even for him.

But he does. He’s willing to bend his morals just for you. You’re his girl, after all.

Your breath is soft and slow. Your chest rises and falls like you’re dreaming something sweet. Maybe you are. Perhaps it’s about him. Maybe you’re dreaming something filthy. Maybe your cunt is as warm as your mouth gets when you’re half-asleep and draped over him, murmuring his name like it’s instinct.

His cock throbs.

He palms himself through his boxers.

God, he thinks. He could slide right in like this. (It’s not like he didn’t try it already)

You wouldn’t wake up. Maybe you’d shift a little and let out one of those broken sighs, legs parting out of habit. And he’d be so gentle with you. He’s not even going to be full-on fucking you. He’ll just thrust slowly and deep. Just a little. Just enough. Feel you clench around him in your sleep like your body knows who you belong to.

He’d never forgive himself.

But he might still do it.

He strokes himself slowly, silently, teeth sinking into his lip.

It’s not just the patch. It’s the trust. It’s the faith you are giving him. You are devoted. The way your body gives without knowing. The way you turn into him when he touches you is like instinct. Like your body knows it’s bim. Like your whole system has rewired around him.

You always crawl to him. Literally. Or figuratively. Always coming back into his arms when you try to leave. Do you even dare to do that?

It makes him dizzy.

You’ve tried. Three times now. Bags packed, the door slammed, voice shaking. When he tries to text you, you’ll say that he should delete your number. He never really replied after that. He’s so comfortable with the idea of you coming back. Because you always do, every time, within days, you’re back. Pale and trembling. Clingy. Teary. Like you need him.

Like something inside you can’t bear the idea of being without him.

You don’t know why. But Art does.

You will bury and nuzzle your face into his chest. You will sob, your cries shake. Your shoulders are shaking, your fingers are holding tight to his clothes like you are apologizing for thinking about leaving, and you have it hard like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. His palm slides up and down your spine, slow and calming, while you try to speak through the hiccuping wreck of your voice.

“I don’t know why...” your breath hitches and breaks. “But I- I can’t-” you inhale sharply, nearly gagging. Stuttering as always. “I can’t sleep without you. It’s like my skin itches. I feel vomiting every time. My skin feels scrawling. I feel sick. My head hurts all the time. I-” You clutch into him tighter. “I need you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You sound so scared when you say it. You’re ashamed. It’s as if she’s the only one who wants to return, and he will continue to accept you as he does in a charity case.

But he’s not. He’s not ashamed.

Art hushes you, presses a kiss to your hair, and murmurs something like “Shh, I’ve got you, baby,” while his thumb circles just under the swell of your ass, right over where the patch had been the night before the day you left. He continuously removes them before you realize it’s there.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

But Art does.

He watches your breathing slow again. Thumb trailing down the back of your thigh, the spot just beneath the patch. His other hand is palming your ass, just gently, not groping it. You murmur something in your sleep, lashes fluttering, body arching slightly toward the touch.

His heart squeezes.

God, he wants to ruin you.

Wants to keep you this soft forever. He wants to be able to watch you sleep for hours. Keep you warm and drugged and fucked out and barely thinking, brain all mushy and just needing him, wrapped up in him like a koala that doesn’t know better. He wants to get you pregnant by accident. Watch you cry about it. Then he’ll comfort you into accepting it. Watch you stay.

You shift again, thighs pressing together. He watches the ripple of muscle, the heat in your skin, the spot where the shirt rides high enough to show the curve of your hip.

You’re not even awake, but he knows you’d let him.

If he touched you now, eased a hand between your legs, thumb soft against your clit, you’d whine for him. Quietly. Just enough to let out a sound. Maybe spread without waking. Let him finger you through your dream and wake up sore, aching, and full. God. He knows how easily you get wet.

Jesus.

He strokes his cock harder now. But not sloppy. Not the one who will make a sound. It’s just slow, desperate pulls, his other hand pressed to your hip like he’s steadying himself.

He comes quietly. Barely breathing. Fingers tight. Come sticky on his stomach, hips twitching. Your body shifts, barely, like it knows. His name almost falls from your mouth in your sleep. He quickly cleans it up, always having tissue beside the bed.

He watches you for a while longer.

You don’t wake.

You never do.

And he’s already up by the time the sun rises, turning the curtains lighter. Already cleaned up. But you’re still curled on your side. One leg is hooked over the blankets, patch warm, and pulsing on the soft meat of your thigh.

He peels it off gently.

Always before you wake. Always with a breath caught low in his throat.

God, you never notice how deep you sleep. That��s what he likes about you. The way you sleep early but even wake up later than him. Like you are enjoying your sleep, he loves how much warmer your body has run lately, how you turn into his touch before you’re even conscious of it. He knows your body better than you do now, how it reacts, clings and practically melts into the mattress when he moves behind you in the mornings.

He likes the morning the most. Sometimes, you’re still half-asleep when he fucks you. Sometimes, you sleep right through the first few strokes and mewling softly, legs parting, clit twitching under his fingers without thought. He’s not even rubbing it aggressively. Just slow flicks to make you more wet. To make you more slippery around him.

And sometimes you wake up in the middle of it. You are hazy and dazed and clingy as hell. Fuck he loves it. Already have you whimpering “Don’t stop,” like you’re the one who begged for it. Like it’s your idea. Like he’s not fucking you while you’re sleeping before you’re a whimpering mess. Like your cunt isn’t already dripping around him, greedy and fluttering and open for more.

It makes him crazy. The way you arch into him instinctively. You whine when he tries to slow down, like you’ll break apart if he leaves you empty. The way you cry into his neck with your face buried and say things like...

“Mmph… dunno why…” she breathes into his chest, lips barely moving, voice sticky with sleep. “Sleep so good when you’re here…”

A soft “ah-” slips out when he shifts, cock still half-hard, still pressed against the mess between her thighs. “Feels good… don’t go yet… don’t-” she mumbles, clinging tighter, legs tangled with his while he’s thrusting his cock slowly, just how you like.

A choked little “mmph, fuck-” when he moves again, just enough to press deeper. To find your spot.

“Hurts when you’re not- when you’re not touching me…” she sniffles hiccups. “You make it go away… I don’t know how… I just need-”

You trail off in a breathy whine like your words are too much. Like you’re overwhelmed just being near him. Your face always buries in his neck, damp and hot, tears cooling your cheeks. Your hips shift without meaning to. It made you whine.

You don’t even know what you’re saying. Doesn’t realize how deep it’s sunk. How wrecked you already are. How utterly, unconsciously, you’re his.

You don’t know what’s keeping you here.

But Art does.

And every morning, he gives her body another reason to stay.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[rafayelxsylusho]

Totally understand if not willing but a request for a Raf or a Sylus drabble/fic

I'm on my period this week and miserable as hell so I've been thinking about my faves

Request:

You're on your period, miserable and both the boys want to help relieve your cramps and pain. Oral and the whole package, maybe a little blood kink? I can totally see either of them kicking their messy fingers fr fr

Thanks in advance if so! If not I totally understand 🤝 it's a niche request probably lol

(also really loved your recent Caleb fic)

I hope it's what you wanted! It's my first time writing something like this, if you do let me know so I can write something for Raf. ☺️

Tw: Smut/Period sex/blood kink?

If someone is not into this kind of fics please just skip it. Don't leave hate messages or comments. Thank you ☺️

🐦‍⬛RED🩸

The first sign was the dull ache that crept into your lower belly, a familiar throb that always seemed to arrive unannounced, like an unwelcome guest crashing your monthly party. You groaned, rolling over in Sylus' expansive bed and clutching your stomach.

Trying not to disturb Sylus as he sleeps, you get out of bed. The chill of the marble floor sent a shiver down your spine, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. It was only then that you noticed the red stain on his sheets.

Blushing profusely, you hurry to the bathroom. You didn't want Sylus to see the mess, didn't want him to know about your issue. It was silly, really, considering all the blood you'd seen as a hunter, but somehow this felt different. More intimate. More... personal.

You quickly shut the bathroom door behind you, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. The cool wood felt good against your skin as you tried to calm your racing thoughts. You didn't want Sylus to think you were some kind of mess, or that this natural process was anything to be ashamed of. But old habits die hard, and the instinct to keep this private stayed with you.

So you let out a frustrated groan, swiping angrily at the tears that had begun to fall. You hated feeling this way, hated the helplessness and discomfort that came with this monthly curse. It was times like these that made you question why you were even born a woman at all. You wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and block out the world until this nightmare was over.

There was only one thing that could help right now. A shower. So you stepped into Sylus' spacious shower stall and turned the knob, the sound of rushing water filled the room as you adjusted the temperature.

As the steam began to rise, you stepped under the warm spray, letting it wash over your body. You couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the familiarity and comfort of your own bathroom, your own space. This was Sylus' domain, his sanctuary, and while it was beautiful and luxurious, it somehow felt tainted by your current state. You wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by your own things, in a place where you could wallow in self pity without fear of judgment.

As you stood there, the warm water streaming over your skin, you couldn't shake the feeling of shame and disgust that had taken root inside you. No matter how much you scrubbed, no matter how hard you tried to wash away the blood, you knew that the stains on Sylus' sheets would still be there.

"Are you ok kitten?"

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as his deep, smooth voice cut through the sound of the rushing water. For a moment, you considered pretending you didn't hear him, hoping he would go away and leave you to your misery in peace. But the concern in his tone was unmistakable, and you knew you couldn't ignore him entirely.

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just... I needed a shower." You stumbled over the words, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. The shame and embarrassment burned hot on your cheeks.

"What’s wrong, sweetie? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine! Just go back to bed, Sy. Please.”

You gasped, instinctively trying to cover yourself with your hands as the shower door swung open. Sylus stood there. He was still in just his silk pajama pants, his chest on full display, droplets of water from your shower starting to cling to his skin.

"Kitten, you're pale as a ghost," his voice rumbled "And there's blood on the...oh"

He could see the embarrassment in your eyes, the way your body trembled under the shower's warmth. But he also saw the blood, the crimson streaks running down your thighs and pooling at your feet.

"This is none of your business Sy. Just go back to bed already"

"When you're bleeding, it's my business. When you're hurting, it's my business. When you're hiding in my shower hurting and bleeding it's my business"

"What the hell are you doing?! You can't just... I don't want you to see me like this!" you sputtered as Sylus stripped off his pajama pants, leaving him just as bare as you were. Your face flushed an even deeper shade of red at the sight of his naked body.

You slammed your hand against his chest, halting his advance into the shower. Your eyes flashed with a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and desperate pleading as you tried to maintain some semblance of modesty.

"Y-you can't come in here, Sylus! It's... it's not clean. I'm not clean!" you stammered, your cheeks burning with humiliation. You gestured vaguely to the pink tinged water swirling around the drain.

Sylus chuckled lowly as he easily removed your hand from his chest, bringing it to his lips. He placed a soft kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours as he spoke.

"I assure you, I've seen more than my fair share of blood in my lifetime. A little bit of it staining the shower floor doesn't bother me in the slightest."

He took a step closer, the spray of the shower misting over his bare skin, droplets glistening on his chest and abs. He looked utterly unbothered by your protests, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well stop fighting me on this. Let me take care of you, like I'm supposed to."

"But..."

"Don't get the wrong idea I'm not trying to be a creep or anything, but I really think you're beautiful right now. The blood just makes you look more... alive. Fierce. Fucking gorgeous."

Your blush deepened, spreading from your cheeks down your neck and across your chest. Sylus' bold words left you speechless, your mind reeling at the idea that he could find you beautiful like this. You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off.

"I know you're not used to someone seeing you as I do. Someone who appreciates every part of you, even the parts society deems... unsightly."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, your cheek, before finding your ear.

“I’ll prove it, you trust me, right?”

"Yes"

When he captured your lips with his own, you melted into the kiss, your body molding against his as if it was made to fit there. His hands roamed the curves he had grown so accustomed to.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he guided you backwards until your back hit the cool tile wall of the shower. You gasped softly into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, using it to his advantage to explore you further. His hands trailed lower, gripping your hips and urging you to relax into his touch.

A new cramp hits and a pained groan escapes your lips, muffled by his mouth. You felt his body tense against yours, his hands tightening around your hips.

"I can help," he whispered against your lips, "I promise. I can make it hurt less."

"We don't have to do this Sy, it can get really messy"

Sylus chuckled against your lips. He nipped at your bottom lip, tugging it gently with his teeth.

"You are always messy for me down here, a little blood makes no difference. In fact... it only turns me on more"

He rocked his hips forward, grinding his erection against you as his hands slid down to grip your ass, kneading the soft flesh.

"Just relax and let me take care of you. Trust me, sweetheart. It will feel so much better than any pain you're feeling now."

His touch felt measured and careful as he pressed a finger inside your cunt. He could feel you clenching around him, your body's instinctive response to his intimate touch. The wetness coating his finger was a mixture of your arousal and blood, but he paid it no mind, because to him, it was all a part of you.

"Fuck, kitten, you're so wet"

He pumped his finger slowly, steadily, his palm pressing against your clit. His eyes flicked to yours, burning with intensity as he spoke again.

"Don't overthink it. If I don't mind being covered in your blood, why should you? Just focus on how good this feels. Let me make you feel good"

He added a second finger, curling them inside you as his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He licked, nipped, and kissed a trail along your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point before sucking hard.

"Is it good, kitten?" he murmured against your skin "Tell me how good it feels to have my fingers inside you"

"I...I don't know..."

He paused, his fingers still buried deep inside your core as he felt your nails dig into his shoulders. He looked down at you, his eyes taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your lips parted around a weak gasp.

"Don't know what, sweetie?" he murmured "If you're not sure if it feels good, then I must not be doing something right."

He repeated the motion, pressing harder, stroking deeper, as if trying to prove a point. Your body clenched around his fingers, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. A moment later, he withdrew his hand, holding it up for you to see, letting the pink tinged water drip down his forearm, off his elbow, and onto the shower floor. The sight was strange, intimate, and somehow arousing, even as a part of you wanted to look away.

Sylus smirked at your wide eyed expression, finding your shock and awe oddly endearing. He dropped his hands to your hips, gripping them tightly as he effortlessly lifted you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. Your folds pressed against his rock hard lenght as he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your sensitive flesh.

Sylus groaned, a string of curses falling from his lips as inch after inch of his fat cock slid into your impossibly tight pussy. He had to go slow, fighting the urge to slam into you and take what he wanted.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight. Tighter than usual, but so goddamn wet. It's incredible."

Once he was fully inside you, he paused, his hips flush against yours. He tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the black consuming the crimson until only a thin ring remained.

"You feel so fucking perfect wrapped around my cock, I can feel every inch of your sweet cunt squeezing me. I don't know how long I'll last like this."

He gripped the undersides of your thighs tighter, holding your legs spread wide as he braced you against the tile wall. He took a moment to adjust his stance, ensuring he had the perfect leverage to take you with the force he craved. Then, with a growl that echoed off the shower walls, he pulled his hips back and slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

"Fuck...Sy!"

He groaned in response to your cry, the sound rumbling through his chest as he leaned into you, pinning you securely to the wall. His blood soaked hand came up to cup your breast, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh. He massaged your breast in time with his thrusts, his palm leaving red, finger shaped stripes across your skin with each pump of his hips.

And he could tell by the way your back arched and your nails dug into his shoulders that you were losing yourself in the pleasure, your discomfort fading away.

Your legs instinctively wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of his hard body against your soft curves.

The friction against your sensitive clit sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, making your toes curl. Your nails dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as if your life depends on it. The pain in your belly begins to melt away, replaced by a building heat that starts deep in your core and radiates outwards.

"I can feel you sweetie...you are so warm and tight...it feels good doesn't?"

"Yes," you manage to whimper out between panting breaths "It feels so good, please don't stop"

He didnt stop, he dipped his head down, his tongue flicking out to lap at the red streaks marking the soft skin of your breast. You watched in disbelief as he licked the blood from your flesh, his tongue tracing the path of his fingers. The sensation making your walls clench down hard around his cock.

"Ah, fuck!" He moans against your skin before he bites down, teeth sinking into the tender flesh, leaving indents that will surely bruise.

You feel your body seize up, muscles tensing and limbs trembling uncontrollably as one of the most intense orgasms of your life hits you. A scream tears from your throat as you come undone in his arms. Your head falls back against the cool tile, your eyes squeezing shut as pleasure consumes every nerve ending.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he chases his own release. With a final hard thrust, he hilts himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his peak.

Warmth floods your core as Sylus' seed fills you, his cum soothing the lingering soreness in your belly. The sensation of his hips rocking gently against yours, working to prolong both your pleasure, calms your nerves and leaves you feeling sated. You melt into his embrace, your body going limp as the aftershocks of your shared climax roll through you.

When you glance down to where your bodies are still intimately connected, the sight that greets you leaves you breathless. Blood is smeared across his stomach, your thighs, and on his cock where it's still buried inside you. It looks like a scene from a violent crime scene, yet strangely arousing.

It's as if the exposure to your own blood, once a source of shame and disgust, is now a turn on.

He carefully set you down on your feet, bracing you against the wall until he was certain you wouldn't fall. As he stepped back, you couldn't help but glance down, taking in the sight of his cock, slick with both your mixed releases, swaying heavily between his thighs.

You shifted your weight slightly, surprised to find that the sharp, twisting pain in your lower belly had subsided to a dull, pleasant ache. It was a sensation that originated from the deep, intimate place where Sylus had just been, leaving you with no doubt about the true source of your newfound discomfort.

[nyoru]

━━━ SMART BOY, SHOW ME

ㅤsypnosis ⁝ㅤㅤif you were going to learn anything, why not ask the smartest person you know ?ㅤㅤ〝 cw.ㅤㅤprotected sex, mentions of virginity ﹢ sexual curiosity, light body worship / praise, best friends to ??ㅤㅤ﹪ㅤㅤ𝗒𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗂-𝖾𝗎𝗇 × 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

you met si-eun when you were sixteen. he sat alone at the back of the classroom, a thin shadow against the window, always half-lit by grey skies and never once acknowledging the chatter around him. he was the type of person who didn’t seem real at first. quiet in a way that wasn’t shy, just detached. still. not like a boy, but like a blade, folded cold and sharp.

you, on the other hand, were always a little too soft. not dumb. not loud. just… curious in a way people didn’t always understand. you liked to ask questions no one else thought to ask. and si-eun, for all his silence, never once ignored you when you did.

the first time you spoke to him, you asked if he liked the rain. he looked at you for a long moment, eyes unreadable, and said, “i don’t like or dislike things. they just happen.” you nodded. then sat beside him the next day. and every day after that.

friendship with si-eun wasn’t simple. he didn’t laugh much. didn’t talk unless there was something to say. but you learned to read the space between his words. how his fingers twitched when he was thinking hard. how he always bought two bottles of water and silently handed you one without asking. how he walked you home when the sun went down, even if he never said why.

you got used to it — his silence, his stares, the way he always seemed like he was calculating the world and choosing you anyway.

people didn’t get it. they said si-eun was scary. too smart. too closed off. and maybe he was. but not with you.

with you, he listened. when you asked about physics, he explained. when you forgot things, he remembered. when you cried over a bad grade, he let you sulk in his room and only rolled his eyes once, before quietly pushing a packet of snacks your way.

you admired him. that was the simplest truth of it all. not in a puppy love way. not like those girls who whispered about him in the halls. you admired the way he always knew what to do. how he seemed immune to everything that confused you — emotions, impulses, the mess of being young. si-eun had answers. you.. had questions.

you always thought si-eun was a little unreal. not in the dramatic, daydream kind of way. more like he didn’t seem to belong to the same world as everyone else. while your classmates stumbled over themselves, trying to be liked or seen or chosen, si-eun just existed. unbothered. untouched. like the rules everyone else followed didn’t apply to him, and maybe they didn’t.

he was too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. not just in class — though his grades made teachers swoon — but in fights too, the kind that happened in empty stairwells or behind buildings when someone pushed too far. he always won. but to you, he was just si-eun.

you, who couldn’t punch a wall without crying. who didn’t understand half the formulas written on the board. who walked through the world like it was full of things you hadn’t figured out yet. and somehow, for reasons you never fully grasped, he liked being around you.

sometimes you wondered why. you talked too much. you asked questions that made other people look at you funny. once you asked si-eun if he believed in ghosts and spent the next fifteen minutes rambling about the difference between spirits and shadows. he didn’t interrupt. didn’t laugh. just listened, completely still, until you trailed off with a sheepish “…never mind.”

“I think you’re more interesting than a textbook,” he said after a beat and hell you didn’t stop smiling for hours.

the others noticed it, of course. “why does he only talk to you?” su-ho once asked, mouth full of snack crumbs and voice full of suspicion. “like, what do you even do to him?”

“is he maybe into weird girls?” he snorted, dodging a soda can you threw at his head. “it’s kinda funny watching him look at you like that.” he added.

you had no idea what su-ho or they meant. you weren’t doing anything. si-eun was just your friend. your weird, closed-off, unnaturally competent friend who let you fall asleep on his shoulder during movie nights and always stood a little too close in crowded places.

who handed you napkins without being asked when you spilled something. who once got a nosebleed during a fight and still texted you right after: you need help with physics tomorrow?

you didn’t overthink it. you admired him, sure. everyone did. but your admiration was different.

you liked how he remembered small things. like how you hated seafood and couldn’t drink coffee without sugar. you liked how he never tried to make you feel smaller for being confused or slow. even when you whined and said things like “i’m gonna drop out and open a flower shop,” si-eun just nodded and said, “you’d be good at that.”

he didn’t say things unless he meant them. and that made you want to believe every word that came out of his mouth. he wasn’t as expressionless as people thought, either. you learned how to read him.

when he was annoyed, he’d tap his fingers — short, quick movements like he was trying not to snap. when he was amused, he’d blink a little slower, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

and when he looked at you, sometimes — just sometimes — there was something different in his eyes. not fondness, exactly. something heavier. softer. you didn’t know what to call it, but it made your skin feel too warm.

si-eun wasn’t much of a talker, but he never shut you out. not really. once, you asked him if he liked being your friend. it was a stupid question. you regretted it the second it left your mouth.

but he looked at you and said, “you’re the only person who makes me feel like.. i’m not just good for fixing things.” you didn’t say anything back. just leaned against him and hoped he could hear your heartbeat. it was loud. embarrassingly so.

and now, you were in si-eun’s room again, the one place that never changed. the curtains were still half-drawn, the light outside dim enough to make everything inside feel like it was holding its breath.

his desk was organized like always — books stacked in perfect columns, black pens lined in a row, a digital clock ticking too quietly. you were on the floor, stretched out on your stomach, chin propped up on your arms, your phone somewhere nearby but forgotten.

si-eun sat behind you, back against the wall, legs stretched long beside yours. he was scrolling through something on his tablet, probably notes you wouldn’t understand even if you tried. you didn’t know why your heart had been beating too fast all day.

maybe it was because you’d started noticing things you used to ignore. like the way his hair had grown just a little longer over his ears. or how his sleeves were pushed up, exposing veins and wrist bones and that thin scar on his forearm that you’d once touched without thinking.

or how his voice sounded different when he talked to you — slower, quieter, like he didn’t need to say much at all to keep you listening. you couldn’t focus. your thoughts were loud in your head, tangled up and restless.

you were thinking about how you’d never kissed anyone before. not seriously. not properly. and you weren’t embarrassed, exactly — it just felt strange. like you were missing something that everyone else seemed to understand instinctively. like you were too far behind, and eventually someone would find out.

but the real problem wasn’t the kiss. it was that you kept thinking about what it might be like if si-eun was the one to teach you. the thought had been creeping in lately. quiet, uninvited. the way his mouth would feel. the way his hand might tilt your jaw.

the way he’d look at you after. it didn’t make sense — you weren’t dating. he wasn’t flirty. he wasn’t even particularly gentle. but there was something in the way he always noticed you. something that made your stomach twist and your fingers curl.

so you said it. you didn’t even mean to. it just slipped out, too casual, too soft, like a pebble dropped into still water.

“hey… can I ask you something?”

si-eun hummed. not looking up yet.

“it’s gonna sound really dumb.”

he glanced at you then. his face was unreadable, but you could feel his attention sharpening. he always listened like that — completely, like he was watching a wire for signs of tension.

you hesitated. your skin prickled.

“…do you know how to kiss someone?”

the silence hit you immediately. thick. loaded. you almost regretted saying it — almost laughed it off, ready to cover it up with a joke, but then he sat forward slightly, tablet lowering to his lap, and your breath caught in your throat.

“why are you asking me that?” his voice was calm. too calm. not teasing, not annoyed, just.. still?

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were to him, how the space between your knees and his was barely wide enough to fit a thought.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice smaller now. “I guess… I was just wondering. you always seem to know everything. and—” you paused. “I haven’t. not really. I mean, I’ve never done it properly.”

si-eun stared at you for a long time. his eyes weren’t cold, but they were heavy, like he was holding something back. something sharp and coiled and dangerous, sitting quiet just under the surface.

“and you want me to teach you?”

you blinked, he didn’t sound surprised, more like he was trying to confirm it. like he’d already run the calculations in his head and was now trying to decide if he should press the button.

you sat up slowly, heart pounding so hard you thought it might echo. “I just thought… if anyone could explain it, it’d be you.”

he let out a breath. not a laugh. just an exhale, low and almost bitter. “you really think kissing someone is something you can explain?”

your mouth opened. closed. “you’re smart,” you tried again, weakly. “you’re good at things.”

“i’m not good at this.”

you tilted your head, trying to read him. “you’ve kissed someone before, right?”

he didn’t answer, which meant yes. you nodded, trying to play it cool, trying to stay where the air wasn’t burning.

“i’m just curious,” you said, softer now. “i’ve never done it. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

si-eun didn’t move for a long time. then, quietly: “what do you want it to feel like?”

you blinked. “I… don’t know. warm, I guess?” his jaw tensed. his hands stayed in his lap, fingers laced together, like he was trying not to reach for something. you. the air. anything.

you didn’t say anything else. just watched him. waited. the way you always did when he needed time to think. and finally, si-eun looked up. looked at you.

“come here.”

your chest squeezed. you didn’t know what he meant, not exactly — but you moved anyway. toward him. slow. unsure. your knees touched his first. then your legs slid between his. your hands hovered. you didn’t know where to put them. he fixed that for you.

si-eun reached out, and gently — like he’d been imagining this for a long time — he cupped your face. his palm was warm. steady. your skin lit up under his fingers.

he looked at you like he was memorizing you. like he didn’t know whether to pull back or fall forward. and maybe, for the first time in all the years you’d known him, he looked a little unsure.

but his voice didn’t shake. “i’ll show you once,” he said, low. “but after that… you don’t get to pretend you don’t know what you’re doing anymore.” you nodded.

his mouth met yours slowly, at first. like he was testing it — testing you — making sure you wouldn't flinch, wouldn’t pull away once you realized this wasn’t just about helping you anymore. this wasn’t about being smart, or useful, or your reliable best friend. this was him giving in to a thought he shouldn’t have had in the first place.

you didn’t move for the first second. you just felt it. how warm his lips were. how firm. how careful he was, like he was afraid one wrong angle might make you disappear. and then he tilted his head just slightly, hand still cradling your cheek, and kissed you deeper.

and you made a sound — a soft, breathy sound in the back of your throat — that made him freeze. just for a moment. like hearing you respond flipped something in him he hadn’t meant to turn on.

his other hand came up, resting at the side of your neck, and his thumb brushed over the pulse there. and you didn’t even realize you were leaning into him until your knees were bracketing his thighs and your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“you’re shaking,” he murmured, against your mouth.

“you kissed me,” you breathed back.

he huffed something between a laugh and a groan, thumb dragging lightly across your bottom lip as he pulled back a fraction — just enough to look at you.

“this was your idea.”

“you said just once.”

“do you want me to stop?”

you stared at him, he looked calm, too calm. again. but his eyes — his eyes were glassy, his breath unsteady, and you could feel it in the way his hands stayed on your skin like he didn’t want to let go.

you shook your head, slow. “no.”

his jaw flexed, and then he kissed you again, hungrier. no more holding back. no more waiting. the second his mouth opened over yours, you felt your whole body react — your stomach tightening, thighs pressing in, heart stuttering out of rhythm.

his tongue slid past your lips, coaxing yours to move, to respond, and gosh — gosh — the low sound he made when you kissed him back with more pressure, more curiosity, more want —

you’d never heard that from him before.

your hands were in his hair before you could think about it, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, mouth hot and desperate now. he shifted beneath you, letting you settle fully in his lap, your knees on either side of his hips — and when your bodies pressed flush like that, you both gasped into the kiss at the same time.

his grip tightened on your waist. “fuck,” he muttered, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck. “you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“then show me,” you whispered. “teach me.” he let out a shaky breath. like he was barely hanging on.

“you have no idea what you’re asking for.” but his hands were already sliding beneath your shirt, and you weren’t stopping him.

his fingers slid under your shirt, slow and tentative, careful not to make any sudden movements as if you were something delicate. you weren’t sure why your body trembled at his touch — it was barely anything, just skin grazing skin, the slightest warmth over your waist — but somehow it made you feel stripped raw.

like you were finally standing on the edge of something you’d only ever dared to imagine. you didn’t stop him. you tilted your head instead, offering more of your throat, and his mouth found the hollow there — gentle, reverent, teeth barely brushing.

his palms flattened, spanning across your hips, feeling the rise and fall of your breath like he was memorizing it. “you okay?” he asked you softly, voice lower than usual, hoarse at the edges.

you nodded. “yeah.” he paused, like he was giving you space to change your mind. “you’re sure?” your fingers curled around his wrists, holding him to you. grounding him. “I trust you.”

and that must’ve been all he needed. because something in him cracked. a quiet breaking, not a loud one, like ice melting, like something long-contained finally spilling over.

his mouth was back on yours with a hunger that hadn’t been there before, lips parting yours open, tongue licking into your mouth with purpose. he kissed you like he’d been waiting a lifetime. kissed you like this was all he’d ever wanted but never believed he could have.

and when his hips rolled up against yours, you felt it — him. hard beneath his sweats, thick and undeniable, pressing right where you were already aching. your breath caught. your legs tensed around his sides. you whimpered, just a little, and his forehead dropped to your shoulder with a guttural sound.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice low and shaken. “don’t do that.”

“what?” you breathed.

“make sounds like that. I—” his hands gripped your waist tighter. “i’m trying to go slow.”

you could feel your pulse everywhere now. your thighs clenched again, instinctively, seeking friction. “you want to stop?” he asked, a final out, even now, even with the way his body trembled.

you shook your head. “no. I don’t want to stop.” he lifted his head. his eyes were dark, lashes fluttering slightly like he was holding back something deeper. “do you want me to be your first?”

your answer came in a whisper. “yes.”

he kissed you once more, slower this time. then reached beside the bed, into the drawer, and when he pulled out a condom, you blinked.

“you just… have that?”

his mouth twitched. not quite a smile. “su-ho gave it to me.”

“as a joke?”

“he said something stupid. like, about how I need to ‘get laid before I die cause my pen doesn't work anymore’ or something.”

you laughed, despite yourself. and si-eun’s eyes softened.

“but now,” he said, voice turning quiet again, “i’m glad I have it.”

he rolled it on carefully. you watched, heart pounding, seeing him fully now for the first time. long and thick, flushed at the tip, already leaking. your mouth went dry.

you hadn’t seen a guy naked before, let alone like this, aroused, ready. you swallowed hard, thighs tightening. your whole body ached with nerves and want.

“you okay?” he asked again, brushing hair from your face. “yeah,” you managed. “just… new.”

he leaned down and kissed your temple. “then we’ll go slow.”

he pulled your shorts and underwear down in one motion, so gently it felt like a question. you lifted your hips, let him slide the fabric away, suddenly aware of the cool air on your exposed skin, the vulnerability of being bare in front of someone for the first time. but he didn’t leer. didn’t stare. he looked at you like you were something to be honored. something sacred.

his fingers slid between your legs, testing. your whole body jerked at the first touch — light pressure over your clit that made your thighs twitch.

“you’re already wet,” he said, breath catching. “fuck. you’re soaking.”

your face burned. “sorry—”

“don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “that’s good. that’s so good.”

he dipped one finger lower, easing it into you slowly. you gasped at the stretch. even that was new. he stilled, letting your body adjust, whispering, “breathe,” as he stroked your inner walls gently.

once you relaxed, he added another, curling his fingers, spreading you open with deliberate care. the sound of your slick filled the space between you — wet, soft, real. when he pressed his thumb back to your clit, circling it gently, your hips jolted, and you whined.

“you’re doing so good,” he whispered. “so fucking good.”

your eyes fluttered shut, body rocking helplessly against his hand. when his fingers finally slipped away, you felt empty. needy. but then he was positioning himself, cock brushing against your entrance.

“deep breath,” he murmured. “i’ll go slow.”

and he did.

the first push was the hardest. you tensed without meaning to, your cunt clenching, breath hitching — but he paused, whispered to you again, and let your body guide him.

once you opened up, he eased in deeper. your fingers clawed at his shoulders, trying to hold onto something. the stretch burned. it was full, unrelenting, almost too much.

he was big. bigger than you’d expected. and still he moved gently, carefully, until his hips were flush with yours and you’d taken all of him.

“jesus christ,” he breathed, shaking. “you feel—so tight. so fucking perfect.”

you exhaled shakily. “you’re big.”

he chuckled softly, forehead pressing to yours. “you’re doing amazing.”

he didn’t move right away. just kissed your cheek, your collarbone, brushing his nose against your skin like he was grounding himself.

your walls fluttered around him, already adjusting, and when he finally started to thrust — slow and shallow — it knocked the air from your lungs.

each movement was controlled. each drag of his cock inside you purposeful. he hit deeper with every rock of his hips, and it didn’t take long before your body began to want it.

your breath hitched. your fingers dug in. you let out a moan — small, involuntary — and si-eun groaned. “fuck. that sound.”

you tilted your hips toward him instinctively, seeking more, and he took the cue. he rolled his hips, found a rhythm. and when he shifted slightly — angled deeper — you cried out.

“right there?”

you nodded helplessly. “si-eun—please—”

his hand found your clit again, rubbing you just right while he fucked you through slow, deep strokes. your head fell back. the tension was building fast now, tight, molten, dizzying. your cunt squeezed around him with every thrust, every perfect touch.

and then you broke. your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, rushing through your body, stealing your breath, leaving you writhing beneath him. your cunt fluttered around his cock, milking him, and that’s what pushed him over.

he groaned your name, voice wrecked, and fucked into you one last time, deep and hard. you felt him twitch, felt the heat of him spill into the condom as he came, hips stuttering, body pressed tight to yours, jaw clenched.

you collapsed into each other, breathless and shaking, his arms wrapping around you like he couldn’t bear to let you go. neither of you spoke for a while. but eventually, he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “you’re mine now, you know.”

and you smiled, because you already were. you didn’t know how long the silence stretched between you after it was over, only that you didn’t want to move from the warmth of his body or the way his arms had circled around you so tightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away.

his breath was still a little uneven against your skin, his chest rising and falling against your back now that he’d pulled you into a side hold, your legs tangled under the sheets and your heart still thudding softly in your chest.

he hadn’t said anything more since the last kiss he’d pressed to your shoulder. hadn’t asked how you were. hadn’t pulled away or shifted like he was finished with you.

he was just holding you.

you weren’t sure what came over you, but your fingers reached out and curled lightly into the soft fabric of his shirt, he’d pulled it on again after discarding the condom and wiping you up with the gentlest hands, like it was the most natural thing in the world to clean and dress you himself.

you hadn’t even realized how shy you felt until that part, but he hadn’t teased. hadn’t smirked. just murmured, “tell me if anything hurts, okay?” and you remembered thinking then, he really did think everything through. even now.

“you’re really quiet,” you whispered, voice still hoarse.

his arm tightened around your waist. “thinking.”

“about what?”

he paused for a beat, and then his voice came out low. “how lucky i am.”

you blinked.

your heart stuttered in a different way now, softer, almost painful. he wasn’t the type to say things like that. si-eun didn’t do grand confessions or obvious declarations. he always kept his feelings close to his chest. but now, lying here in the dim warmth of your room, the words felt like they’d slipped out before he could stop them.

you didn’t say anything back. just nudged your head gently under his chin and curled into him more fully.

and for the first time, you felt his lips brush your hair. not in a lustful way. not in a way that tried to start anything again. just quiet affection. soft. steady. like he didn’t want the moment to end either.

you don’t remember when you fell asleep, only that you woke up the next morning still in his arms.

he was already awake when you opened your eyes, blinking blearily against the sunlight seeping in through your curtains. his hair was a little messy, eyes on you like he’d been watching you for a while now, but not in a way that made you nervous. he looked.. calm. at peace. like maybe sleeping beside someone had made him rest easier than he had in years.

“morning,” he murmured, voice rough.

you smiled sleepily. “hi.”

he looked like he wanted to say something, then settled for brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “you still good?”

“mmhmm.” you stretched slightly, muscles sore but not unpleasantly so. “better than good.”

he looked relieved. and then, like something clicked in his head, he muttered, “wait—class. what time is it?”

“we have plenty of time,” you said, laughing softly. “I always set an early alarm.”

he groaned and flopped back beside you, an arm thrown over his eyes. “you’re too responsible.”

“well, you need me to keep you on track.”

you hadn’t meant it to come out so naturally, but the second you said it, you felt his hand drop from his face and his eyes meet yours again. and not that heavy, unblinking stare you used to catch him slipping into when he thought no one noticed.

his eyes had always carried something haunted in them, ever since the day you met. something fractured, a little hollow, like he’d learned too early that the world could betray you if you weren’t ready for it.

but this morning, it was different. you didn’t notice it right away. it was in the tiny shift. the way his gaze warmed instead of hardened. how he blinked slower, more at ease, like the knots in his chest had loosened overnight. you stared at him for a long second, trying to trace what had changed — and then you realized.

the sadness was still there. maybe it always would be. but it wasn’t all-consuming anymore. not sharp. not cold. there was something softer behind his eyes now.

something that bloomed quiet and tender, like spring cracking through frost. and for the first time, he didn’t look like he was fighting himself just to be here. he looked like he wanted to be.

you leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “you’re different today.”

he raised a brow. “already?”

“I mean it in a good way,” you said. “your eyes don’t look sad.”

he was quiet for a second, then laughed under his breath. “maybe it’s because you kissed me back.”

“maybe it’s because I let you fuck me.”

he turned to face you fully, lips twitching into a smirk now, but not cocky. still fond. “both.”

you rolled your eyes and shoved at him lightly. he caught your hand. and then he said, “can I take you somewhere today?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“after class. I wanna take you out. just us.”

your heart flipped a little. “a date?”

he nodded.

“okay,” you whispered. “i’d really like that.”

the walk to campus that morning felt strangely new, even though it was the same sidewalk you took every morning. the sun was a little too bright, your bag slung too casually over your shoulder, and si-eun was right beside you — hands in his pockets, that unreadable expression on his face that made most people wary of him.

but not you. not anymore. not with the way his pinky kept brushing yours on purpose as you walked. not with the way he leaned in to murmur, “you’re sure you’re not sore?” while your classmates were still ten feet behind.

and definitely not with the way you glanced up and saw it again — that look in his eyes. no longer cold, no longer cracked, still intense, still si-eun.

but clearer, softer, like he could breathe a little easier. like you were the first thing he’d ever let soften him. and god, you wanted to protect that softness for as long as he’d let you.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

bed chem | m. murdock

a/n: hey guys guess who's back with a matt one shot! i started this a loooong time ago so i decided to finally finish it!! not much to add other than hi guys i've missed you so much and am excited to be back in my writing weird and quirky readers era. so. enjoy!! maybe if anyone's interested in reading a part two, i can write one. warnings: 18+, Smut, lots of flirting and pining, reader being emotionally unavailable and way too insecure, matt being flirty and dom, lots of pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, one kid), no one's ever made the reader cum, reader is super effing poor, has two jobs, hates her job, age gap, lowkey just strangers hooking up. lots of teasing, lots of banter, reader says 'hooker' a lot, matt makes you an offer you can't refuse, probably some other stuff i'm forgetting but isn't that kind of our deal by now? wordcount: 4.6k summary: A handsome stranger makes an otherwise dull and annoying night worth your while. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: bed chem - sabrina carpenter "come right on me, i mean camaraderie/said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be/where art thou? why not uponeth me?/see it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy."

You meet Matthew at a party.

Your story starts like so many do.

Music is playing, people are chattering all around you. More than that, you feel out of place. You clutch your champagne glass immaturely, unsure how you’re supposed to hold it.

How did you get dragged here, anyways?

Wasn’t there some shitty early 2000’s apocalypse movie and an edible that you needed to attend to? Didn’t you long to order shitty bar food and use your vibrator for hours? Wasn’t there something, anything more important than your attendance to this party?

It’s too fancy for you, anyways.

Yeah, sure, your degree sits framed on your wall, but your soul tells you that you’re no academic, that if you wanted to go to a party, you deserve to be at a house party in your shitty neighborhood, the village that raised you, where your mother, the girl who gave you your first hit of a joint, and the teacher that taught you to read still lived, reliving the same high school gossip you’ve known for ten years. You’d be wearing ripped jeans and a too revealing top that your friend talked you into.

Instead, you’re trying to recall facts from your undergrad education that you haven’t thought about, trying to figure out how to impress these people.

Didn’t Ernaux write about the transition from being poor to being an academic? Didn’t she write about—

“You sure like this bar.”

The voice you hear makes you turn your head—You’re faced with a handsome man, red glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. There are whisps of grey in his scruff. He holds a glass of.. Something.. maybe resembling whiskey? You’re not sure.

“I’m sorry?”

And you are. Men don’t really talk to you, and in your brain, maybe this blind man—you assume he’s blind based off his glasses and his cane but you don’t dare say this assumption out loud, maybe this blind man is playing some sort of trick on you.

“You like this bar. You’ve been standing here for a half hour.”

You struggle to find anything clever to say.

So, maybe because it’s all you can think, or maybe because you think it’ll get the handsome stranger to leave you alone, you respond,

“I’m just trying to figure out if everyone at this party can tell I grew up poor or if it’s all in my head.”

And though you’re one hundred percent serious, handsome stranger laughs.

Something sparks. Deep in the confines of your soul where you’ve locked away any routes to passion or excitement, having thrown away the key when you got your mind numbing poorly paid office job.

“I’m Matt.” He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you give him your name. At least you shake his hand properly. “So, if you feel so out of place, why are you here?”

“My boss told me I had to.” You respond, your voice carrying a bored edge as you mention him. “Told me I needed to come to make the company look good, because everyone brings secretaries to this thing to show their appreciation. Like it’s a privilege to have these men talk down to me, to have them coo and aw at my lack of money or maybe my lack of intelligence and have them go,” You lean over to this man who told you his name two minutes ago, and put your hand on his thigh—“Don’t worry honey, I’ll happily sit here and explain basic government systems you learned in eighth grade while you worry about paying your rent because you had to buy a dress for this stupid party and you only make enough money to choose between the dress and your rent,” You explain, your thumb rubbing his thigh for a little extra emphasis on your point.

Matt blushes.

That spark grows.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” He hums.

You withdraw your hand to take a sip of your drink.

“Just exhausting.” You sigh, neglecting to mention that you’re further unable to pay your rent because you had to take off your second job to be here. The job you’ve had since high school. The job you swore to quit one day. “Anyways. I’ve probably annoyed you, Sorry.”

“No, no, I appreciate the honesty. I grew up poor too,” He answers, “And now I feel like part of the problem.” He shrugs.

You look to him. In his finely pressed suit, his expensive scent.

“Prove it.”

His face twists into something of amused confusion.

“Prove it?”

“Yeah. Tell me something only someone who grew up poor would understand.” You request, daring him. He knows this is serious to you, that if he’s lying to you, whatever he hopes to get out of this is not going to happen. So, he sips his drink and goes to the dark corner of his mind to when his dad was alive.

“Well, besides the fact that I grew up in an orphanage,” He starts, and you feel like an asshole, “When my dad was alive, I used to have to do my homework in the laundry mat, moving over our clothes, while he was at work. Then I’d wheel the load home in this laundry basket on wheels.” He told you. You smile, comforted—You can see through the graying hair and fine pressed suit. At his core, he is just like you.

At that shitty house party you don’t go to, he’s smoking a cigarette in a tee shirt and cargo shorts, and you’re just as attracted to him there.

“Alright, I trust you.” You promise. You take another sip of your champagne, looking around the room. The party is starting to dwindle down and bosses are taking their secretaries to dark corners. Your back hurts.

“Good.” He takes a sip of his drink and stands up, leaving the now empty glass on the bar counter. “How much?”

“How much what?”

Matt grins and holds a room key card to one of the many rooms in the hotel above this stupid fucking party.

“How much do you trust me, sweetheart?”

-

His room is on the 8th floor, and it’s.. bigger than any hotel room you’ve ever stayed in. It’s clean, the lights are warm, and you’re pretty sure you could sink right through the bed. You step into the room and find yourself taking off your heels, with no real idea if you were allowed to stay the night.

“Nice place,” You admire, and you predict his words before he says it,

“Thanks. Smells pretty fancy, I guess.” He shrugs. He listens to as you jump onto the bed, stretching out. Matt slips out of his shoes, and he lays next to you, groaning a bit as he lays down.

“Can I ask you something?” You wonder, just admiring his face. Your hand comes up to touch his cheek.

“Anything.” He hums, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“How old are you?” You wonder.

“Forty-two.” He responds, and he goes to say something else, but you lean in to kiss him. But just before he can gratify you, before you can learn the taste of his lips, his hand, quick as lightning, comes up and grabs your jaw, holding you in place, “Really, sweetheart? The fact that I’m forty-two turns you on?” he asks.

You can’t help but defend yourself—

“Well, just kissing you doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m turned on or anything—”

“So if I snuck my hand up this pretty dress of yours, you’d be what? Not soaking wet?”

You just look at him for a long time.

“Okay, what do I have to do to get you to kiss me, instead of just talking to you?”

“Why? I like the sound of your voice,” He smirks, and you roll your eyes. You feel defensive, like he’s making fun of you. Like he knows how badly you want him, and he’s withholding it from you on purpose, just to see you squirm. As your mind starts to spiral, you pull away from him, the lustful heat in your cheeks being replaced by hot, bubbling rage.

“You know what, I don’t need this shit—” You move to get off the bed, trying to find your heels when Matt grabs your wrist—with gentleness he’d use to care for a skittish animal—and pulls you back towards the bed, trying not to laugh when you stumble over your feet, now standing between his legs.

“Stop.” His voice is gentle, but firm. He hears the way you inhale, the way you try to mask your anger. It turns him on. “You really want to kiss me?”

You hesitate to respond—you want to kiss him so fucking badly. You can’t remember the last time you wanted anything other than wanting to pay your rent or wanting a new chair at work.

“Yeah.” You finally breathe. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “Well, if I ask you a question, are you gonna try to leave again?”

You clench your teeth.

“You just asked me a question and I’m still standing here, aren’t I?” You see him smile.

“Okay, when was the last time you kissed someone?”

“..A while ago.”

“How long ago since someone’s made you cum?”

Your silence is deafening—it’s revealing. Matt starts to chuckle.

“Oh, fuck this—” You turn to leave but Matt pulls you in, and then his hand is on the back of your thigh, pulling you close.

“C’mon, sit on my lap,” He starts, and hesitantly, and admittedly clumsily, you sit on his lap, your legs resting on either side of him, while his hands hold your sides, as if they were made for him to hold. “So, no one’s ever made you cum before?”

“No one except my vibrator.” You say, and Matt just shakes his head.

“I’m a lawyer.” He starts, and you groan, your head tilts back,

“Jesus Fucking—”

Matt’s hand squeezes your side.

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart—”

“Is this some sort of joke? Am I being—”

Matt comes forward to kiss you, his lips silencing your thoughts. He tastes like whiskey and vanilla, and it eggs you on. You deepen the kiss, any anger or frustration slowly melting. And when he pulls away, his teeth catch your bottom lip and he tugs just enough to drive you crazy.

“Are you going to listen now, sweetheart?” he asks, and all you can do is stare at his pretty pink lips.

“Sure.”

“Good.” He clears his throat. “I’m a lawyer,” he says, “So part of my job is to help deliver justice. And it is..” He laughs a little like his plans to fucking ruin you are funny, “a fucking injustice that no one has ever made you cum. That all you know is some battery-operated thing instead of my fingers or my cock,” He sighs, “So how ‘bout we deliver some well-deserved justice, sweetheart? How’s that sound?”

It sounds like you could die. What is happening? Weren’t you just complaining about how badly you wanted to get away from this whole scene? Why do you want him so bad?

“..Sounds like you have all the power in this situation.”

Matt grins like he knows it.

“Does sound like that, huh? Here, I’ll tell you a secret,” He leans in, his lips grazing your ear, “You have the power here. You say the word, and I’ll stop. I’ll stop, and you can stay here for the night, or you can leave, I’ll pay for your cab, or..” His hands begin to gently rub up and down your sides.

You smile. He’s trying to make you feel better, and it’s working.

“Or..?” You prompt.

“Or.. I could teach you how good it feels to cum from something with a pulse. And not something.. battery operated,” and the way he says it, you know he’s repulsed by the idea that your vibrator is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

And it makes you smile wider.

“My vibrator is very good to me, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh,” He chuckles, “Not nearly as good as I’ll be to you.” He promises.

It’s a big promise.

You just look at him for a long minute, trying to decide. As if there’s even a choice to make. You’d let him break your heart if he asked nicely.

“Can I take off your glasses?” You ask softly, and Matthew nods, and you find yourself taking them off and just holding them for a moment. You stare for a long time, to the point where you start to nibble on the ends of his glasses, and he smiles. He likes how authentic you are. How unable to hide yourself from him you are.

“So, what do you say?”

“Hm..” He suspects you’re fucking with him. “Well, I’d have to—”

“Yes or no?”

“I thought I had all the power here.”

“You do. But I’m running out of patience here, and,” He brings your hand down to his pants so you can feel his bulge, “I am way too hard to wait for much longer.” He confesses. He thinks he might die if he can’t feel you clench around him, so he quietly, desperately hopes you’ll say yes.

“Okay,” You smile, “Alright, let’s do it.”

“Not very enthusiastic—” You inhale, and he knows you’re close to leaving, so he tries to entice you, “C’mon, just.. humor me, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

“Making a whole lot of promises, Mr..?”

“Murdock.”

“Matthew Murdock,” You hum, “Okay, Mr. Murdock. I want you to fuck me, just like you’ve promised. Make me forget all about my vibrator.”

And before the words finish leaving your mouth, his mouth is against yours, swallowing any insecurity you had earlier. His fingers begin to slowly move up and down your sides, and you already know that whatever is about to happen will ruin your vibrator for you forever.

You could see yourself becoming addicted to this feeling, to him, to the feeling of being wanted.. You could feel yourself already slipping down that rabbit hole.

As you kiss him, he lets out this soft moan into the kiss, and in response, your hands come up to play with his hair. You start to roll your hips a bit, as if you want to tease him. Matt’s hands squeeze your sides, and he pulls away from the kiss just for a second.

“Safe word?” He wonders, and you scoff.

“No one’s ever made me cum, you think I have a—Woah!” You cut yourself off, because Matt suddenly flips you over so you’re beneath him against these too expensive sheets.

“So, if things go too far, you’re uh.. you’re gonna say Lava, okay?” He wonders out loud.

“Yeah, Okay,” You nod, “Lava, got it,” and then he’s kissing you again, and his hands are slipping off his jacket, and then he starts to loosen his tie as he kisses you, but then he gives up on that to put his hands on your thighs and then beginning to travel up. You shiver as his hands travel up your dress,

“Pretty fucking dress..” He mumbles, between kissing you silly, “Pretty girl, too..” He mumbles, “Gonna need to rip this dress off you—”

You fully pull away from the kiss to say,

“Rip this fucking dress and I’ll leave so fast,” And Matt knows you’re not joking, but he smiles and says,

“How about I buy you a new one?” He asks, “Or two or three—”

“Oh, my god, just leave the dress intact,” You request, and Matt’s smirk begins to grow.

“Then how about I just fuck you in the dress, huh?” he wonders, “How would you like that, sweetheart?” You nod, letting out a soft ‘mhm’, but Matt shakes his head, “No, no, I gotta hear you say it, baby. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you in this dress. Maybe I will.”

You stare at him for a long moment, wondering where your dignity went.

“Matthew,” You start, “If you don’t fuck me in this dress, I think I’m gonna go crazy. I can’t.. I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything this badly,” You confess, and the words start tumbling out before you can stop them, “I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel pretty like you have, and I can’t ever use my vibrator again because I already know how much better you’re going to be, and holy fuck¸ yes, it turns me on that you’re forty two and—”

Matt kisses you again, this time only for a short time, because he pulls away after a moment to tell you—

“I think we should work on your dirty talk, but, good. Was it so hard to just do what I asked?”

“..no.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” He says softly, and then his lips are against yours again, while his hands explore, and when his fingers brush over your panties, you moan against his lips, barely registering it as he slips your panties off and stuffs them in his back pocket, because his fingers are caressing your folds, slipping inside you as you moan and writhe beneath him.

“Holy fuck,” You whine, “Matt—”

“Sh, sh, sh..” His lips press a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure the first time someone else makes you cum is on my cock.” He tells you, and he chuckles when he feels your folds flutter around him at that. “I’m gonna fuck you in this dress now, okay?” He wonders, and you nod,

“Yes, please.”

“Aw, pretty girl does have manners under all that brattiness, huh?” He smirks, and before you can retaliate, he kisses you.

When he slowly eases your cock into you, you moan against his lips, and you try to really just feel it. You try to really remember how full you feel, the feeling of Matt’s breathless pants against your lips and skin, the feeling of being wanted by him.. and you know you can’t quit him.

His thrusts begin slowly, and that becomes a feeling you want to remember too. He thrusts into you while burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Wait, hold on, Matt,” but when his thrusts don’t stop, you say, “Okay, Lava,” You offer, and Matt’s thrusts stop, and he very hesitantly pulls his head out of the crook of your neck,

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I just..” Your hands come up to rest on either side of his head, and you just stare at him for a moment, “I just want to memorize your pretty face so I can live in this moment forever.”

Matthew blushes.

You know you’ve won.

You’re not sure what you’ve won, but you definitely feel like you’ve won whatever it is.

Matt presses his forehead against yours and while you stare into his pretty brown eyes, he whispers,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” Then, after a moment, he asks, “Can I keep going now?”

“Yes, please.” Matt smiles and kisses you again as he begins to thrust into you, and you realize how dirty this entire situation is—an older man, still mostly dressed, fucking you in your expensive (rent stealing) dress just after meeting him, and it makes you want him more. Your hands move to play with his hair as his thrusts increase, one hand gripping the bottom of your chin and the top of your neck, the other sneaking up your thigh to rub circles in your clit.

You’ve never felt closer to God.

This is so much better than your vibrator.

Matt can feel you clench around him, and it makes him chuckle, so, in the most condescending tone he can muster when you are being so good for him, he asks,

“Wanna cum, sweetheart?” He wonders, and when you just whine in response, he continues, “C’mon, use your manners, I know you know how to respond properly,” He reminds, and if you didn’t want him to cum inside you so badly, you’d tell him off.. maybe.

“Please,” You manage out, “Yes, I wanna cum,” and Matt begins to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, and your neck, and only after leaving quite the bite mark on your collarbone, does Matthew say,

“Alright, pretty girl, let me feel you cum on my cock,” He says, and you do, and the way you clench around him makes him moan against your skin, his speed increasing, “Fuck.. Fuck, kid, I gotta..” He sighs.

“Inside,” You beg quietly, “I’m on birth control and—”

“Are you.. sure?” He asks, but his voice is shaky from how badly he wants the answer to be yes.

“Yes, please, please—” And before the third please can leave your mouth, he lets out the prettiest moan against your lips, cumming deep within you, filling you in ways you never thought possible. His hips roll a few more times, just to help you through your high (and just a little bit because he can’t think of anything clever to say that isn’t ‘Will you be mine forever so I can keep fucking you like this?’) but after a few moments, he whispers,

“So.. what did you think?”

You feel amazing. You could die happy. You can barely think, so you respond,

“I think I’m gonna throw out my vibrator.” And it makes him laugh, and you think he’s even prettier when he laughs than when he cums, so you kiss him. And in between kisses, you say, “We made a fucking mess,”

And he finally pulls away with a sigh.

“Well..” A smile tugs at his lips, “Wanna.. check out the shower, sweetheart?” He wonders.

“Do I have much of a choice, Mr. Murdock?” You smile.

“Nope,” And before you can say much else, Matt is grabbing you and swinging him over his shoulder to carry you to the most expensive bathroom you’ve ever stepped foot in.

-

In the morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee, and the sound of the shower running again. You slowly blink away your sleep, rubbing your eyes. You have a bit of headache, the consequence of a long night of drinking.. and bad decisions.

You blink, and anxiety begins to well in your chest. Your heart beats out of your chest quickly, and you kind of feel like you can’t breathe. What did you do last night? Well you know what you did, you weren’t that drunk, but if Matt was at that party last night he must’ve been important or—

Your eyes drift over to the side table, and you see a delicious smelling coffee next to an envelope, an envelope that is sloppily marked with your initial, the sign of a blind man attempting to write. You find your bra and then find yourself unable to find your underwear—whatever, you’ll deal with it later, you decide, so you begin looking in drawers and find a pair of Matthew’s boxers. You pull them on, and then take a long sip of the coffee that’s been ordered for you.

Then, you pick up the envelope, and halfway through the sip you stop. It’s an envelope full of cash, it would cover your rent and then some..

So naturally, you put down your coffee and then begin to bang on the bathroom door, hitting it over and over again,

“Matthew! Hey, we need to talk!” You demand, and you hear some shuffling as the shower turns off, and the door opens, and you see Matthew with his hair, and scruff, damp, and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

And you have to admit, in the middle of your anger, he is so hot.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He smiles, handsome devil. “Everything—”

“What the fuck is this?” You ask, smacking the envelope against his chest, “I’m not a fucking hooker,” and your voice matches how badly you want to smack him.

“I know,” he starts,

“Well, only hookers get left an envelope of cash after they fuck some stranger,” You snap, “And I’m not a fucking hooker.”

“Are you wearing my boxers?” You see him smile.

“Do you think I’m a fucking hooker?”

“Boy, you sure like saying fuck and hooker.”

“I’m being serious,” You remind, “I’m not a hooker. I don’t need your money.”

Matt, although he won’t tell you this, doesn’t need his super senses to know that last part is a lie.

“Can I talk without you accusing me of thinking you’re a hooker? Because I don’t think you’re a hooker, I know you’re a very distinguished young woman, and—”

“Alright, I’m not president, I’m a secretary, relax,” You scoff, and start to move around the hotel room, trying to find your shoes, dress, accessories.

Quietly, it turns him on that you’re so difficult.

“Can you just—” he sighs, finding his own boxers and pants, and then starting to put his button up back on, but it hangs on him without being buttoned up as he sits down. “Can you please sit, so we can talk about this?” He wonders.

You’re still holding the envelope.

“Fine.” You grumble, walking over to the bed and sitting next to him. He’s really hot, so you just admire him, and wait for him to talk.

“I know you’re not a hooker.” He starts, “But I am a lawyer, like I told you last night. And.. I make more than enough money for me,” and You want to tell him he doesn’t need to brag about it, “And.. I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now, but.. I really like you.”

Your face flushes.

“You do?”

He smiles gently.

“I really do. So, here’s the deal, sweetheart—And you can’t get mad at me just for offering, okay?”

“Okay.” You concede.

“Let’s keep seeing each other.” He starts, “Nothing committal, we’ll just hangout, sleep together, I’ll get to hear your pretty noises.. and I’ll pay your rent, and.. and buy you things.” He shrugs.

You blink.

“You want to be my sugar daddy?”

Now it’s Matt’s turn to blush.

“That makes it sound so.. dirty,” he starts, “Which it is.. But you never.. have to do anything, I just.. want to hangout with you. Fucking you will just.. be a nice benefit. A really.. really nice benefit.” He breathes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?”

You consider it for a long moment, thinking. You’d be able to quit your shitty second job, the one you’ve had since high school, the one you swore you were going to quit. And last night was amazing. You really do want to throw out your vibrator, but maybe you could convince him to show you some of his favorite toys.

He’d tell you that you are his favorite toy, and then you’d have to fuck him like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

“I’d like that.” You smile, “But on one condition.” You say, and he nods.

“Anything.” He smiles.

“You can’t fall in love with me.” You say, “And I can’t fall in love with you either. We can be friends, and we can fuck, but no being ‘in love’ with your sugar baby.” You request, and he nods.

“Deal.” He holds out his hand to you, “Shake on it?”

Your fingers wrap around his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Deal.” You echo. “We won’t fall in love with each other.”

Yeah, let’s see how long that lasts.  

[thoughtfulfiction]

Operation: The Hangover (Joe’s Version)

Author’s Note: Freaked out dad to be Joe is kind of my favorite to write if you couldn’t tell.

“Nope. Not happening.”

You hear Joe’s voice float up from the living room, low and firm, the tone he uses when he’s trying not to lose his patience. From your spot halfway down the stairs, you can tell whoever’s on the other end of the line is pushing, but Joe isn’t budging.

“I said no. I’ll pay for the Airbnb, put your names on whatever list you want, hell, I’ll even book the damn dinner reservations. But I’m not leaving this house unless it’s for football.”

The conversation ends abruptly, and you hear his phone hit the couch cushion with a soft thump. You decide not to pry. He seems worked up, and you’re more focused on finding a snack before the next wave of heartburn sets in.

You walk past the living room where Joe’s sitting, heading into the kitchen.

“Okay, what are we feeling today, baby?” you mumble, rubbing your belly like your son might whisper the answer back. After a thorough fridge scan, you reach for some leftover naan and hummus and start snacking at the counter.

Joe joins you a moment later, water bottle in hand, and sets it down in front of you like clockwork.

“How’re you feeling? Little man still jumping around in there?”

You smile, watching him reach out to give your belly a quick rub. “Nope, I think he’s sleeping. He wore himself out last night trying to recreate WrestleMania in my uterus.”

Joe grins and steals a piece of bread. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You haven’t actually done any WWE moves in a while,” you say with a smirk.

“I know, I need to get back to my roots.” He leans on the counter. “Speaking of roots, Trae’s trying to get everyone to go to Columbus this weekend. Like a pre-bachelor party thing. I told him I’m not going.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why not?”

He looks at you like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Because it kind of is. “Babe…you’re thirty-eight weeks pregnant. I don’t want to be two hours away in a different part of the state when you could sneeze and go into labor.”

“It’s Columbus, honey. Not Australia."

Joe shakes his head but doesn’t argue. You just hum and dip another piece of naan into your hummus.

You don’t bring it up again, but you definitely file it away. Something about how quick he shot it down sticks in your mind.

As the universe would have it, the trip gets brought up the very next day while you’re loading the dishwasher. Your phone buzzes on the counter, and when you glance over, Trae’s name is flashing across the screen.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I’m calling in a favor,” he says, skipping pleasantries. “I need your help with Joe.”

“Right,” you say knowingly, “the mysterious phone call from yesterday.”

“He told you?”

“Sort of. Said something about not wanting to leave me alone in case I go into labor.”

“Well yeah, I figured he’d tell us all to fuck off,” Trae sighs. “Which is why I’m calling you. Because you might actually get him to listen.”

You sigh, using the dish towel to dry your hands off, “I don’t know Trae, his mind seemed pretty made up when we talked yesterday. You know how he gets.”

“Please,” he whispers. “You know he’s bad at saying no to you. And I’m not above begging.”

You snort. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. We owe you. Big time.”

You know you have to catch Joe at the right moment. He gets home from the facility around 2:30pm, showers, downs a protein shake, then disappears into his office to watch film for a couple hours. While he’s holed up, Morgan returns from the grocery store and starts prepping Joe’s favorite spicy chicken and rice, thanks to a subtle nudge from you.

By the time Joe wanders downstairs, he’s freshly showered and starving. He grabs both your plates and heads for the living room to watch the NBA playoffs.

Go time.

You trail behind him and park yourself on the couch beside him, soft-voiced and smiling.

“Hi baby,” you coo.

“Hey.” He shifts the side table so you can reach your food. “Feels like I haven’t seen you all day. Missed you.”

“Missed you too. How was practice?”

“Good. Offense is clicking already so I feel good about where we’re at. Just hoping that we can put everything together and make a run.”

“Well,” you say between bites, “you’ve got some time before Week One. You know what you need, though?”

He gives you a look, already sensing where this is going. “What do I need?”

“A break. Mental and physical. Away from all this and being my personal bodyguard. Go to Columbus. Please.”

Joe’s expression doesn’t shift much, just that faint squint that means I love you, but I see right through you.

“I just don’t know about this. It’s too close to your due date and I'm just not comfortable leaving.”

“Joe.” You laugh softly and slide your foot under his shin. “You haven’t even let me go to the grocery store alone since I hit thirty-five weeks. What exactly do you think is going to happen in the frozen foods aisle?”

“I just…I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’d rather be here. In case something happens.”

You don’t say anything at first. Joe takes that as a cue to elaborate, like maybe if he explains it better, it’ll sound less neurotic out loud.

“I’ve been around you every single day since the season ended. I want to be around you every day. But we’re getting close and I can’t—I can’t miss it. Not even a second of it.”

You look up at him, and there it is, the barely disguised anxiety sitting under that quarterback calm. Not fear, exactly, but that deep need to not get it wrong. That Joe Burrow sense of responsibility that doesn’t shut off even when he’s off the clock.

So you reach over and take his hand.

“I love how much you want to be here. And if I said I needed you, I know you wouldn’t go. But Nikki’s coming to stay for the weekend. And if that doesn’t make you feel better, I can get my mom on a flight.”

Joe raises an eyebrow. “Trae called you and cried didn’t he.”

“He just gently told me what was going on, and that you’d never say yes unless I pushed you. So now I’m pushing. Go. See your friends. Eat something with zero nutritional value. Pretend you’re not someone’s dad for like 48 hours.”

He looks unconvinced.

“I’m serious,” you say gently. “You haven’t stopped in months. And you’ve been on edge about everything. The baby’s okay. I’m okay. You can be one and a half hours away and still close. If anything happens, I promise I’ll call. You’ll be here before I finish putting on the hospital gown.”

Joe runs his free hand down his face and sighs. “If you go into labor and I’m not here—”

“Then you’ll be mad. I’ll be in labor. We’ll both survive.”

Joe looks at you, quiet for a beat. Then he leans over and kisses your forehead.

“And you're sure about this?”

“Positive.” You smirk. “But if you don’t bring me back Buckeyes from that bakery downtown, I will go into labor just out of spite.”

You’d think your husband was being forced to hang out with his best friends against his will.

In truth, as much as you loved Joe, and loved how prepared and excited he was to become a dad, you were relieved he’d be in another city for the weekend. Not because you didn’t adore him. But because you needed a little room to breathe.

Yes, Joe needed a break. But so did you. From the constant reminders to drink more water, to stay off your feet, to not eat too much processed sugar.

He’d been hovering like a worried nurse for weeks. A very handsome, iPad-carrying, perfect spiral throwing, list making nurse.

All you needed was the house back to yourself. Even just for a little while.

You’re propped up with a pillow under your back, your legs stretched out across the ottoman, while Nikki is loudly judging someone’s pan-seared scallop.

“Oh my God, that’s raw,” she groans. “You’re sending raw seafood to Gordon Ramsay? Be serious.”

You laugh, popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth, just as footsteps start down the stairs. Heavy ones. Slow and very dramatic.

Joe appears in full panic-dad mode. Duffel slung over one shoulder, hoodie wrinkled, checklist in hand—printed, of course, because no way was he trusting the notes app with this mission.

“Alright.” He holds the paper up like it’s a scroll. “Nikki, this is everything. I printed two copies. One’s on the fridge. The other’s in your room.”

He starts listing off the contents like a man reciting his final will and testament.

“Recent cravings. Thermostat directions. OB’s number. The hospital’s number. Closest ER. Spare keys. Backup charger. Oh, and I already filled your tank in case you need to drive her anywhere.”

You blink. Nikki blinks.

“Joe. I love you. But you do realize I’m still a functioning adult woman, right?”

Nikki smirks, taking the piece of paper out of his hands, “oh my God. She’s not in a coma, bro.”

Joe sighs. “I know, but just humor me. So I don’t have a heart attack and you don’t have to raise Kai on your own.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling. You reach out and tug him gently closer, rubbing his back in soft, lazy circles. “You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be fine.”

Just then, the doorbell rings. Nikki gets up to answer it. Joe lingers in the living room doorway, one foot pointed toward the exit, the other still rooted in place. You can see the internal war happening behind his eyes, the “should I just cancel and stay home” loop spinning for the hundredth time.

“This is our last chance, are you sure you wanna do this?"

You sit up a little, wincing as your belly shifts, and reach for his hand. When he takes it, you guide him down so he’s crouched beside you.

“I’m sure,” you say softly.

You press a kiss to his lips, then rest your forehead against his. Close enough to feel the heat of his worry.

“Go have fun,” you murmur. “Play golf, eat too much, yell about the NBA, roast Trae when he inevitably has his little pre-wedding meltdown. You deserve it.”

He nods slowly, soaking it in. But he still doesn’t let go of your hand.

Then, gently, he shifts his palm down to your belly.

“Alright, little man,” Joe says, voice low and affectionate. “I’m talkin’ to you now.”

His fingers move in slow, calming circles over your bump.

“You just chill, okay? Stay put for like…forty-eight hours. That’s all I ask. Then you can do whatever you want. Deal?”

As if on cue, Kai gives a small kick.

Joe freezes, eyes wide. “Was that a kick? Was that a labor kick?”

“Joseph. It was a normal baby kick. Get out of here before I kick you.”

Joe throws you one last look.

“If anything changes—”

You cut him off with a knowing smile.

“I will tell you. I will.”

He nods. Reluctantly. Like someone preparing to leave his newborn baby with a sitter for the first time…even though said baby is still in the womb.

“Okay. Okay. I love you.”

“Love you more. Now go.”

He finally does, pulled toward the door by a shouting Zacciah who’s already demanding aux privileges for the car ride.

Nikki waits until the door shuts behind them before turning to you with a raised brow.

“Sooo…you think he printed a copy of that list for Kai too? Just in case he comes out early and wants to catch up?”

“Please don’t start,” you warn Nikki as you close the front door behind you.

You both watch through the window as the car pulls out of the driveway—and the second the taillights disappear, you exchange a look.

“Girls’ weekend,” Nikki declares, raising a fist.

“Plus boy fetus,” you remind her, rubbing your belly.

“I would never forget about him, he’s the star of the show.”

She immediately digs through her tote like a woman on a mission, emerging victorious with a stack of takeout menus.

“Go ahead, babe. Pick your poison.”

You shrug, flipping through options. “I did give Morgan the night off…”

An hour later, your coffee table is a crime scene.

Empty cartons of sesame chicken and fried rice, rogue crab rangoons, dumpling sauce everywhere. A two-liter of ginger ale sweats next to an open bag of Haribo gummies. Final Destination plays in the background, and you’re both sprawled on the couch, halfway between food coma and horror-induced paralysis.

“Did I just feel Kai kick because of the death-by-tanning-bed scene?” you mumble.

“He’s already got taste,” Nikki says, tossing a gummy in her mouth.

Meanwhile, in the car…

Joe checks his phone again.

And again.

And again.

“Absolutely not,” Trae snaps, snatching it out of his hand. “We are not doing this all weekend.”

“Give it back.”

“You have three seconds to chill, or we turn this car around so you can personally babysit your baby mama.”

“We just want your attention during the day,” Zacciah offers diplomatically. “Morning, lunch, bedtime? Check in all you want. But until then? Pretend we’re not holding you emotionally hostage.”

Joe hesitates. Then thinks about your kiss, your voice in his ear: Go have fun. You deserve it.

Their Airbnb is obnoxiously perfect. There’s a movie theater, pool, game room, every room with blackout curtains and memory foam.

They do a house tour, claim beds, and head straight to Butcher & Rose for dinner. Joe pours Sprite in his wine and lets himself relax. They talk about how wild it is that Trae’s getting married, how old they’re all getting, how much hair Adam has lost.

They finish the night with a few rounds of indoor mini golf. For a few hours, it’s just like old times.

Until Joe checks his phone in the morning.

No missed calls.

No texts.

No you.

He tries once. No answer. Twice. Still nothing. He sends a text and tells himself you’re asleep.

By 9AM, he’s leaving a voicemail:

Hey…just checking in. Wanted to see how you’re feeling, what you were up to last night. Call me when you wake up. Love you.

By 9:30, the pit in his stomach is unbearable. By 10:48, his bag is over his shoulder.

“Joe, where the hell are you going?” Adam asks.

Joe doesn’t look up, typing furiously. “She’s not answering. Nikki’s not answering. What if something happened?”

“They’re probably just asleep,” Trae says, trying to calm him. “Let’s get breakfast. Museum after. If you still haven’t heard by then, fine. You can panic. But not yet.”

Joe doesn’t say it, but the fear is lodged in his throat:

If she needed me and I wasn’t there… I’d never forgive myself.

He lets out a long breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah.”

Back in Cincinnati…

The screen’s gone dark. Final Destination has ended. You and Nikki are sunk deep in the couch, limbs tangled in blankets and popcorn bowls.

“Ugh,” you groan. “What time is it?”

Nikki squints at her phone. “Almost eleven.”

Panic spikes in your chest. “Wait. My phone. Where’s my phone?”

You launch into a frantic search—couch cushions, under the blankets, the kitchen, the bathroom, the baby bag. Nothing.

“If I don’t find it in five minutes, Joe is gonna be in the car on his way back and this entire weekend will be canceled.”

Nikki grabs her phone and freezes. “Oh…shit.”

“What?”

She holds it up, scrolling:

Joe: Where are you guys?

Joe: Nikki, please call me.

Joe: Is everything okay?

Joe: I’m coming home if you don’t answer.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no. We’re so—”

“Fucked,” Nikki finishes. “We are so fucked.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, heart pounding. “Just—give me your phone so I can fix this.”

Nikki hands it over without a word. The second you press call, he picks up before it even rings twice.

“Nikki? What’s going on? Is everything okay? Is she—”

“Joe, it’s me,” you cut in quickly. “It’s me. I’m fine.” You swallow hard, feeling the weight of the last few hours settle in your chest. “We just fell asleep. I couldn’t find my phone, so I had to use Nik’s.”

There’s a pause, then a sound, a deep exhale like he’s been holding his breath since yesterday.

“You can’t do that to me,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were in labor. Or hurt. Or…”

“I know.” You press your hand to your face, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I just—”

“I FOUND IT!” Nikki yells from across the room, holding your phone in the air triumphantly. “It was under the couch. You have…eleven missed calls from your husband. And seventeen texts.”

You wince.

“Okay,” Joe says on the line, “when you say it out loud like that, I sound…insane.”

“That’s because you are,” Nikki chirps.

But there’s a warmth behind her words now. A quiet understanding that yeah, he’s over-the-top. But it’s only because he loves you.

“Insane but sweet,” you murmur, your voice softening. “I love you too. I’m really okay. We’re okay.”

Another breath from Joe, steadier now.

“Alright. I’ll leave you alone. Just…have some fun today, yeah? Laugh a little. Try to forget how much of a psycho I am until at least 7 p.m.”

“I’ll try my best,” you promise, cradling the phone like it’s him.

Joe hits end call, sets his phone down on the counter, and for the first time since they left, doesn’t immediately pick it back up.

The guys are sprawled around the Airbnb living room—Trae scrolling on his iPad, Zacciah face-down on the couch like he lost a fight with the throw pillows, Adam and Ibi arguing about whether or not their breakfast spot is still open.

Joe stands up and stretches.

“Alright,” he says, clearing his throat. “Let’s get burritos.”

That’s all it takes. Within ten minutes, they’re packed into the rental SUV, driving through sleepy Columbus streets with the windows cracked just enough to let in the late spring air. Joe’s still tense, he can feel it in the way his jaw clicks every time he chews a bite of egg. But when Zacciah makes a terrible pun about sausage and Ibi shoots back a groan that could curdle milk, Joe actually laughs.

And it feels like a weight’s been lifted.

They walk the long way to the Columbus Museum of Art afterward, smoothies in hand, no schedule, no hurry. Joe pays for tickets at the front desk even though it was Adam's idea. “My treat,” he shrugs, because something about today feels like a send-off. Not dramatic, not final. Just… symbolic.

In the museum, they lose each other a dozen times—wandering through exhibits, posing in front of sculptures, taking blurry selfies in strange lighting. Joe takes a picture of Ibi pretending to be deeply moved by a Monet and sends it to you with the caption: “High art. Low effort.”

You heart the message.

They stay for hours. They talk about everything and nothing: college memories, worst dates, weirdest DM requests. Joe keeps checking the time less and less, the edge of responsibility melting into long stretch of the day.

That night, they go out.

Zacciah knows not to just throw his best friend's name around but in this case, for privacy reasons Joe's name is mentioned, so they end up in a roped-off VIP section at a club that smells like fog machine and cologne. Joe gets bottle service and he doesn’t even think twice. The owner of the place comes out to greet him and his group, bringing champagne and tequila and vodka and things none of them asked for but are definitely going to drink.

“We’re too old for this,” Adam says as he sips from a plastic flute.

“Speak for yourself,” Trae grins, already on the dance floor.

Girls start hovering. Joe’s used to it. Some are half-curious, most...half-bold. One grabs his arm mid-song and leans in close.

“Aren’t you—”

“Married,” he says, calm but firm.

She laughs like she thinks he’s joking. He’s not. She walks away.

Joe watches the dance floor, sipping a drink he doesn’t really like. For a second, he wonders if he should feel flattered or tempted or something, but all he feels is tired. Not exhausted—just…at peace.

He texts you: “Love you. Hope you’re asleep.”

He barely gets to press send before chaos erupts.

“BROOOOO.”

Zacciah has launched himself off the edge of the VIP section in an attempted crowd surf. Only problem? The crowd didn’t catch him. There’s a thud, a yell, and then the poor guy is sitting on the ground clutching his ankle, looking more offended than injured.

“My fucking leg,” he groans dramatically.

“Nope. You’re done,” Joe says, already motioning for Trae to help him lift him.

Between the two of them, they manage to haul Zacciah out of the club and into an Uber, Ibi and Adam trailing behind and making jokes about Spider-Man: No Crowd Home.

They end up in the ER a few minutes later, sitting under fluorescent lights in cracked leather chairs while Zacciah fills out paperwork and flirts with the nurse despite being in a wheelchair.

The waiting room smells like antiseptic and old vending machine pretzels. It’s 2:08 a.m., and Joe is trying not to have a full-blown anxiety spiral in the middle of the triage area.

Not because Zacciah might have broken his ankle crowd surfing.

But because Joe is...Joe Burrow. And if one blurry cell phone video of his tipsy best friend yelling “I’m immortal!” before face-planting off a VIP platform goes viral? That’s a TMZ headline waiting to happen. During the off-season. While his wife is nine months pregnant.

Nope.

Joe steps into the hallway and calls Brian, his agent, who picks up on the second ring sounding groggy but alert.

“Tell me you’re not in jail.”

“Zacciah tried to crowd surf. We’re in the ER. No press yet, but I need eyes on this now.”

“You want security?”

“Security and a PR seal. If anything leaks, I want NDAs on the whole damn building.”

“Got it. Sit tight. You need me to call Paige?”

Joe hesitates. Paige, his publicist, is ruthless and efficient—exactly the kind of person you want in your corner when your friend makes the dumbest possible choice at a nightclub.

“Yeah,” he says. “Tell her it was a dumb friend injury. Not mine. But I want to stay ahead of it.”

“On it. How’s the dumb friend?”

“Waiting on X-rays. He says he landed like Spider-Man. He did not.”

Brian laughs. “Glad you’re not dead. I’ll handle it.”

Joe hangs up, scrubs a hand down his face, and walks back into the waiting room.

The nurse calls Zacciah back for imaging. Joe, Trae, Adam, and Ibi sprawl in the uncomfortable chairs, cracked vinyl squeaking every time someone shifts. The vending machine eats Trae’s dollar and gives him a bag of plain pretzels instead of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

“This feels like high school,” Ibi mutters.

“If high school had bottle service,” Adam adds.

“And publicists,” Joe says dryly, taking a sip of his very necessary Gatorade.

Trae leans back and smirks. “Think they’ll let Zac keep the X-rays? Like a souvenir?”

Joe just shakes his head and laughs. He can feel the tension melting away again—muted by exhaustion and the kind of delirium that only comes from a full day of doing everything and nothing with the people who’ve known him the longest.

By the time Zacciah hobbles back out in a medical boot and crutches, holding his discharge papers like a proud soldier returning from battle, they all cheer like idiots.

“I survived,” Zac says. “And I got a sticker.”

“No you didn’t,” Trae says.

“Okay, no, I didn’t. But I deserved one.”

They pile into another Uber—Zac spread across the backseat like royalty, boot propped up, scrolling through Instagram like he didn’t just fracture several bones two hours ago.

Back at the Airbnb, the guys settle into the living room, dazed and slouched but happy. It’s quiet for a moment, just the hum of the fridge and someone’s soda fizzing open.

Joe looks around.

“Thanks,” he says, voice low but sincere. “For today. For putting up with me. You guys are the only people in the world that I'm not related to that make me feel like...me. Just a normal guy. And I really appreciate that. I don’t think I say that enough. But I really do.”

The guys glance at each other, then Trae clinks his soda can against Joe’s water.

“You are a normal dude,” he says. “You’re just…a normal dude with a massive contract, an entire city at the palm of his hands, bunch of endorsement deals and a baby on the way.”

They all laugh.

Joe leans back into the couch cushions, feeling something settle deep in his chest. Not nerves, not fear, just…gratitude. Exhausted, grateful peace.

“So, speaking of the baby on the way,” Trae breaks the silence, tossing a pretzel in the air and catching it. “Are we gonna talk about what actually happened this morning, or do we have to keep pretending your near mental breakdown was about a missed text?”

A few chuckles follow, but Joe doesn’t look up.

“I know I overreacted. I do. I usually don’t let it get that far but…I don’t know, man.” He finally lifts his head. “It just really hit me today. There’s gonna be a baby. And he’s gonna need me. Like really need me. For everything. And I don’t know if I know how to do that.”

Adam, quiet until now, shifts forward. “You think any of our dads knew how to do it before they had to?”

Joe gives a short laugh, dry. “I’m good at my job. I know how to lead, how to control a game, how to fix things when they go sideways. If the pocket collapses, I know where to go. I watch. I prepare.” He shakes his head. “But this? There’s no playbook for this. No game tape I can study. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do when he cries.”

“You hold him,” Trae says simply. “You love him. That’s it. That’s the job.”

Joe exhales, slumps back into the couch, running a hand through his hair.

“I want to be good at it,” he admits. “Not just…present. Not just around. I want to be someone he can depend on. Someone she can depend on. And that scares the shit out of me because I don’t know if I’m built for that kind of pressure.”

Ibi tosses a pillow at him. “You’re literally built for pressure. Have you met yourself?”

A few laughs ripple through the room, cutting some of the weight.

“Seriously,” Zacciah adds, “you don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Nobody does. You’ll learn. And that kid’s gonna think you hung the moon, even when you screw up. Hell, especially when you screw up and still show up.”

Joe stares at the ceiling for a long second before blinking fast and nodding.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. I just…needed to say it out loud, I think.”

“We got you,” Trae says. “You don’t have to know everything yet. You just have to care. And you clearly do.”

Joe finally smiles, just a little.

“Okay,” Ibi says, grabbing his controller. “Enough feelings. Smash Bros. One Round. Winner gets first pick of cinnamon rolls in the morning.”

“You’re all going down,” Joe mutters, taking the controller with a renewed grip. “I may not know how to be a dad yet, but I do know how to kick your sorry asses with Ness.”

The room erupts in laughter, and Joe’s shoulders have officially dropped and the tension in his jaw is completely gone. Not because he figured it all out, but because he knows he won’t have to do it alone.

Cincy

The night air was soft, humming faintly through the cracked window while your favorite throw blanket cocooned you from the ribs down. Your ankles were elevated, your belly a curved little hill under an old LSU sweatshirt, and Nikki had taken up her usual position at your feet, proclaiming she should quit her dad job to be a masseuse.

She pops a mini Reese’s in her mouth and nudges your leg.

“You know what we should do to wrap up this perfect weekend?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling already at whatever’s about to come out of her mouth.

“God help me. What now?”

“A baby time capsule.” She sits up straighter, suddenly energized. “Like—a box full of memories. Things we’ll forget about otherwise. And Kai can open it when he’s, I don’t know… seventeen? Like before high school graduation. Something huge.”

You blink.

“Wait…that’s actually the cutest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I know, right?” She grins, already heading toward the kitchen like the idea was something she'd been planning for weeks instead of a random post-candy epiphany.

You end up sitting cross-legged on the rug—well, as close to cross-legged as your body allows—gathering bits of nostalgia like it’s a scavenger hunt. Nikki finds an old shoebox in the coat closet. You dig up a few sonogram photos: the first blurry outline when he was just a peanut, and the most recent one, where you can finally make out the curve of his nose and a hand tucked under his cheek like he’s already napping.

Nikki contributes a stack of Polaroids from the baby shower, including one of you both in matching pink sunglasses, one of you and Joe (because “he’d haunt me if I didn’t include it”), and the invitation from the shower that took Robin three weeks to design. You laugh, seeing the trending baby names list with the dramatic “NO” scribbled next to Braxton and Colt in Nikki’s handwriting.

“We should write him letters,” she says softly, like it’s just occurred to her.

“And when Joe gets back, he can write one too.”

You nod, throat tightening unexpectedly. You hadn’t planned to cry tonight, but here you are—already misty just imagining your son reading these letters one day. What kind of person will he be? What kind of mother will you be?

You write in silence, the only sound the faint pop of a candle and the shuffle of pages. Nikki hands you a pen and a sheet of paper, and you feel the weight of it. Like writing a message to the future, to someone who already has your heart in their tiny hands.

You fold the letter slowly and place it in the box like it’s made of glass.

Then you return to the couch, blinking the sting from your eyes.

“Nik... are you crying?” you ask gently.

“What? No. Absolutely not.” She wipes her eyes aggressively with the sleeve of her hoodie. “There’s, like, dust or something. You’d think with Joe’s neurotic nesting and deep cleaning, every molecule in this place would be sanitized, but apparently not.”

You give her a knowing smile and reach out, resting your hand on hers.

“It’s okay to be emotional. Everything’s about to change. We’re adults now. Like…full blow adults. With storage units.”

She sniffles, managing a laugh.

“It’s not that. I want things to change. I just…I love him already, you know? And I haven’t even met him. He’s just this little person we’ve been talking about for months, but soon he’s gonna be real. He’s gonna exist. And I just…I don’t know what to do with all this love I already have for him.”

You nod, heart swelling. “He’s gonna be everything.”

“Who do you think he’s gonna look like?” she asks, gently resting a hand on your bump like she’s afraid he’ll hear her.

“Joe thinks he’s gonna be my twin. But I think…maybe he’ll have Joe’s eyes. That impossible blue. Or his smile.” You pause, putting a hand on top of hers.

“It’s wild though, right? How someone so tiny already has us wrapped around his finger.”

Nikki grins, wiping her cheeks again.

“He doesn’t even know how obsessed I am with him. He better get used to me being in his face 24/7.”

“He will. He’s going to love you so much.”

She shrugs playfully. “He doesn’t have a choice. I’m already planning sleepovers, I’m gonna be the cool aunt who sneaks him snacks and teaches him how to prank Joe.”

“Oh I don't doubt you have big plans,” you laugh.

But deep down, in the quiet space between heartbeats, you know it’s true.

This little boy is going to be so loved. Not just by you. Not just by Joe. But by every person in your lives who waited for him before he even arrived.

And you can’t wait to introduce him to the people who already call him theirs.

Columbus

Joe only woke up because the morning sun cut low through the blinds and his eyes are sensitive, casting golden stripes across the half-empty pizza box on the coffee table and the mess of crumpled clothes across the living room floor. The house still smelled faintly like tequila, aftershave, and overpriced club cologne. Someone’s shoe was on the kitchen counter. Zacciah’s crutches were tipped over by the fridge. And he felt… good.

Not anxious. Not distracted. Not checking his phone every thirty seconds.

Just good. At ease.

He headed upstairs to shower and pack. He zipped up his duffle bag with one hand while tossing Adam’s hoodie at him with the other. “Is this yours? Or Zacciah’s?”

“Mine. He tried to steal it. It still smells like my laundry detergent and dignity.”

“Couldn’t be me,” Zacciah muttered from the couch, his injured foot now propped up on a throw pillow. He was wearing sunglasses indoors and nursing an iced coffee like it was medicine.

Trae shuffled out of the guest room, hair flattened on one side and his T-shirt backward.

“You know what’s wild?” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Joe actually chilled this weekend. Like didn’t make a color-coded agenda or freak out about logistics or check in with his brain every twenty minutes.”

“We’re witnessing growth,” Ibi added, tying his sneakers. “Actual, emotional growth. Should we clap?”

Joe laughed, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. His back cracked in three places.

“Yeah, yeah laugh it up.”

“Oh, you’re still you. You packed a med kit and four types of protein bars for a 48-hour trip.”

Zacciah pointed lazily from the couch. “But you didn’t answer every email. You danced. You even had a few sips of alcohol. I saw it.”

Joe just grinned as he leaned down to double-knot his sneakers. “I needed this. All of it. The dumb museum selfies, bottle service, Zacciah almost crowd-surfing into a lawsuit—”

“Hey,” Zacciah interrupted, raising a finger. “I committed to the bit.”

Joe shook his head fondly. “You did. And I’m really glad I came. I got to laugh like an idiot. Hang out with people who knew me before all this.” He paused, lifting his eyes to meet theirs. “But I’m also really ready to go home.”

It settled in the room like something sacred—like they all knew what “home” meant now. Not just a city or a house or a bed. But her. His best friend, the love of his life, waiting. And the son he hadn’t met yet but already loved more than he felt comfortable saying out loud.

“You’re about to be a dad, man,” Trae said quietly. “I still can’t believe it. But you’re gonna kill it.”

“And remember, you’ve got a team for this too,” Ibi reminded him. “Just not one wearing helmets.”

“Speak for yourself,” Zacciah muttered. “I’m fully prepared to wear a baby-proof helmet when I babysit.”

Joe laughed again, this time softer. He’s definitely not letting any of them hold his son without a full security screening, let alone babysit.

He zipped up the last of his stuff, grabbed his keys, and took one final look around the room. The guys were still buzzing with jokes, tossing pillows, making plans for the next trip that might not come for another year.

But he felt full. Rested. Ready.

“Alright, boys. Let’s hit the road.”

As they filed out, Zacciah limping behind like a wounded soldier, Joe glanced at his phone for the first time that morning. No texts from you yet. But he knew you were still sleeping.

He couldn’t wait to wake you up.

To crawl into bed, bury his face in you shoulder, give you a kiss and say:

I’m home.

It’s late afternoon when he walks through the door, duffle slung over his shoulder, sneakers thudding softly against the hardwood.

You’re still in your robe, legs tucked under you on the couch, half-watching a reality show you don’t care about when you hear the lock click.

“Hey, baby,” Joe calls, voice lower and lighter than it’s been in weeks.

You stand slowly, belly leading the way, and meet him halfway in the entry. His arms go around you instantly—tight and sure—and he presses his lips to yours like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Hi,” you whisper, giving him a squeeze.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes, and you can feel it: the weight of his relief, his presence, his peace.

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s something different in his eyes—clearer. Softer. His jaw’s relaxed, shoulders loose, like he’s let go of something he didn’t even realize he’d been clenching.

“How was it?” you ask, hand smoothing down the front of his sweatshirt.

Joe grins. “Honestly? It was good. Really good. We ate our body weight in breakfast burritos, Zacciah almost died crowd surfing, and I think Trae and Ibi got mistaken for a married couple at the museum.”

You laugh, pressing a hand to your belly as the baby kicks. “Sounds about right.”

He lifts your hand, kisses your knuckles, then pulls you back in for a slower, more purposeful hug. “But I missed you. Every second. Even when I was laughing, even when I was fine—I was still thinking about you. About him.” He presses a hand gently to your bump. “I’m really glad I went, but damn, it’s good to be home.”

“I’m glad you went too,” you tell him honestly. “You needed that. You’ve been carrying so much…”

Joe lets out a little laugh, the kind that sounds like it surprised even him. “Yeah. I didn’t realize how tightly wound I was until I wasn’t anymore.”

“You’re different,” you say, leaning into his chest again. “In a good way.”

“You strongly encouraged me to breathe,” he murmurs. “And now I can do this next part better. For all of us.”

After a little while, he notices the box on the coffee table. You follow his gaze and smile.

“Oh. That’s the time capsule,” you explain, suddenly bashful. “Nikki had the idea. We’re saving it for Kai to open when he’s seventeen. There’s a letter in there for him. From me. She wrote one too.”

Joe’s brows rise as he drops his bag and kneels beside the box. His hands move gently over the items inside—his fingers pausing over the sonogram photo, the baby shower invite, the playlist scribbled on a napkin. His eyes catch on the picture of the two of you, beaming and glowing under a balloon arch, and his throat bobs when he swallows.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods, not speaking for a moment. Just soaking it in. Letting it land.

Then he reaches for a pen and a blank sheet of paper from the stack Nikki left behind.

You smile. “Take your time.”

Slipping into the backyard, you curl up on the lounge chair with a blanket and your phone, flicking the outdoor TV on low. The late spring sun is warm, breeze soft, and everything feels still in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

A buzz on your phone interrupts your thoughts.

Trae:

Thanks again for convincing him to come. We got our brother back this weekend.

You blink, surprised by the lump that forms in your throat.

Your thumbs move quickly.

Thank you for getting me to ask him. He needed it more than he knew. I think he’s gonna be an even better dad because of it. I’m really glad you all got to spend time together.

A few minutes later, the door creaks open behind you.

Joe appears, barefoot now, paper folded in his hand. He doesn’t say anything as he walks over and settles beside you, curling his big frame into the chair until your legs are tangled, his head resting lightly against your shoulder.

You glance down at the folded letter in his hand. He doesn’t let go of it.

“Did you cry?” you whisper.

He nods, brushing his nose against your arm. “Twice.”

You smile, tipping your head to kiss the crown of his hair.

“If you tell anyone how emotional I’ve been this entire pregnancy, I will lie.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, his arm draping lazily around your waist. “I would never.”

You arch a brow, unconvinced. “Not even to Nikki?”

“Especially not to Nikki. She’d frame it and hang it in our foyer.”

You snort. “Honestly…she probably would.”

Joe shifts to look at you, blue eyes soft in the glow of the backyard string lights. “I think Kai’s gonna be just fine.”

You nod, emotion bubbling just under the surface again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna have me. And apparently three uncles with no sense of self-preservation and one with a very busted ankle. Plus a mom who keeps sneaking sour candy and pretending it’s for the baby.”

You gasp. “That was one time.”

“It was four times. I counted.”

You swat at his chest, but he just laughs and pulls you closer, folding the letter carefully and slipping it into the blanket between you.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, “thank you. For letting me go this weekend. For holding it down. For making space for me to freak out a little and figure it out.”

You rest your forehead against his. “You didn’t need to figure it out. You just needed to remember that you’re allowed to breathe.”

Joe closes his eyes like he’s taking that in—like he really believes you now.

Then he leans back and grins.

“Okay, but seriously. Did we save any of the free takeout or did Nikki eat it all?”

You blink. “Define ‘save.’”

“Jesus.” He drops his head back on the cushion and groans. “This kid is gonna be born with a sweet tooth.”

“This kid’s gonna be born with taste, thank you very much.”

He laughs again, pulling you in until your head rests on his chest, his hand still curled protectively over your belly.

And maybe, just maybe…Joe Cool was back.

[absdollievu]

hi!!! stalker abby is riddling my brain haha.. what do you imagine domestic life with her would look like once reader and abs have really settled down and how would abby act now that she knows shes got reader tied down forever? (i hope your day/night is cozy and pleasant 🩷 mwah)

Yesss omg!

quick drabble

warnings: dark romance

At first, living with Abby feels intense. Not in a dangerous way—anymore—but in that suffocating, obsessive “you’re mine and nothing will ever touch you again” kind of way. She’s hyper-vigilant from the start. The front door is always locked. Then double-checked. Then again. Cameras go up on the porch. The curtains stay drawn. You find a tracker tucked into your car under the excuse of “for safety, baby, please don’t fight me on this.”

Everything is too quiet, too curated, too Abby. Your home becomes a shrine to the relationship she clung to like a lifeline. There are no meaningless objects anymore. Every framed photo on the wall is of you—alone or with her. The mug she pours your tea into each night only exists for that purpose. Even the throw blanket on the couch is your favorite color. She acts like she’s still trying to prove she deserves you, even now that she’s already got you.

Abby worships you through daily ritual. When you wake up, the smell of breakfast is already drifting from the kitchen. Eggs exactly the way you like them. Toast never burnt, never cold. She always knows how to make it just right. If you try to help, she nudges your hand away with a soft little “I’ve got it, babe.” She feeds you forkfuls sometimes—too slowly, too intentionally—watching your mouth like it’s sacred. Like she still can’t believe it’s hers to kiss.

When you’re away, she cleans the house from top to bottom. Not just to be kind—though that’s how she frames it—but because she doesn’t want anyone else to ever know what your dirty laundry looks like. The sheets you sleep on? Washed and tucked by her own hands. It has to be her. No one else gets to be that close.

Once she’s convinced you’re hers—truly hers—she settles into a quieter kind of possessiveness. You can go out with friends again. You can take solo trips to the store. She trusts you now. Or at least, she trusts your loyalty. But the moment you’re out of sight, her eyes are back on your location. If you’re even a few minutes late, she starts pacing, chewing her nails, already spinning up scenarios of you hurt—or worse, with someone else.

She doesn’t say anything when a coworker starts texting you a little too often. But you notice the way she says their name slowly, like she’s tasting it. Later, she’ll look them up. She’ll scroll through every one of their photos, every tagged post. You won’t hear about it. But you’ll feel it, in how tight she holds you afterward. In the way her kisses are harder. Deeper. Like she’s reclaiming something.

Abby touches you constantly. Her hands find your waist in the kitchen. Her chin hooks over your shoulder while you brush your teeth. When you’re on the couch, she’s curled behind you with her face buried in your neck, arms around your middle like a seatbelt. She doesn’t ask for affection—she just takes it. Like breathing. Like it’s owed.

Sometimes, you’ll catch her staring. Not in a soft, dreamy way. In a memorizing-you-down-to-the-molecule way. You wake up in the middle of the night and her eyes are already open, just watching you, expression unreadable. You ask what she’s thinking and she always answers the same.

“Just… you.”

If you ever joke about being stuck with her forever, she doesn’t laugh. She just smiles, something too calm, and says, “You are.” Not a question. Not a tease. Just a fact. A promise. A vow.

You’ll never have to wonder if she still wants you. The answer is in every breath she takes. In every door she locks. Every plate she sets. Every time she cups your face like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she looks away.

You’re not just her lover. You’re her obsession made real. Her favorite routine. Her home.

And Abby? She’s never been happier.

—

[themoonlightfae]

So Close

Pairings: Fem!Reader x Hongjoong and Wooyoung

Summary:

Wooyoung crashes your and Hongjoong's scheduled hangout day, which you kinda expected.

You wind up in bed with them.

Which you did NOT expect.

Genre: Friends to Lovers

WC: 6,078

Rating: Explicit

Originally Published: 250530 on ao3

Tags: Under the cut

A/N: For @spacequokka

Tags: friends to lovers, hangouts, implied cannabis use, awkward crush, awkwardness, first kiss, safe sane and consensual, threesome - F/M/M, safewords, oral sex, vaginal fingering, sex toy use, sexual overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, post-coital cuddling, defining the relationship, happy ending

And these could be the best or darkest days The lines we walk are paper thin And we could pull this off or push away 'Cause you and me have always been So close So close to giving up So close to going all the way

~ Andrew McMahon in the Wildnerness, "So Close"

You hurried to get the door as someone stood on the other side, endlessly mashing the doorbell. There wasn’t a single doubt in your head who might be the culprit, and sure enough, you opened the door to find Hongjoong there as planned, with Wooyoung at his side, a wide smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. 

“I picked up a stray,” Hongjoong laughed. "Hope that's okay with you. Wooyoung didn't seem to think it would be."

“Oh, gee, both my best friends here together? You’ll have no objections from me,” you laughed as Wooyoung stepped forward to envelop you in a full on koala hug. You froze as he gave you a peck on the cheek, suddenly self-conscious in front of Hongjoong. You’d had a huge crush on Hongjoong or quite a while now, and although you were sure he didn’t feel the same, some small part of your brain was still clinging to the hope that one day he’d up and confess some feelings of his own.

Until then, you supposed you didn’t mind the alternative. When you had moved six years ago, you had never imagined that you’d have found such caring and kind friends in your new city, but the universe clearly had had plans for you. You had bumped into Hongjoong and Wooyoung one night at a late movie— quite literally in fact. You still remembered the resultant mess— the contents of two large buckets of popcorn strewn across the floor, drinks spilled, and several angry staff. 

The wild laughter that followed from all three of you was enough for said staff to ask you all to leave, and your newfound acquaintances lost no time in inviting you to their favorite 24 hour diner as an alternative.

Since then, the three of you had been joined at the hip, and you had quickly fallen in with the rest of their friend circle to boot. 

“I brought snacks,” Hongjoong announced as Wooyoung detached himself from you. Woo grinned mischievously. 

“I brought something too,” he giggled. 

“Should I be scared?” You feigned horror as you let them in, though you had a feeling you knew what the surprise was.

Hongjoong made a beeline for the kitchen, and Wooyoung sauntered in behind him, that same grin never leaving his lips. 

“Let’s just say… I thought of a way we can really… elevate … our rot day,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. 

Called it. What a dork. But also… hmm. I hope that doesn’t make things weird.

Hongjoong appeared at your elbow, slipping an arm around you and giving you a gentle side hug, causing your heart to drop into your feet. You knew that he was generally hesitant when it came to skinship, and more than a little picky about who he chose to allow himself to be close to. You had noticed over the last several months that he seemed to be getting more comfortable with you, which had been both a blessing and a curse. Part of you wanted at the very least to be able to cuddle with him the way you sometimes did with Wooyoung.

The rest of you knew that was a supremely terrible idea; the more Hongjoong paid you attention, the harder it was to talk yourself out of your stupid crush.

You knew if it ever escalated from where you were now, you were a goner.

Absolutely unfair, really.

Once the three of you were comfortably sprawled out around the living room— you and Hongjoong on opposite ends of the sectional and Wooyoung in your old, well-worn recliner, Woo reached for his computer bag with a giggle. 

“So… I brought gummies,” he announced. “No one is obligated of course, but they’re here if anyone wants.” 

You watched as he opened the small pack and ate one himself, holding it out to you next.

"Jagiya?"

You tried to ignore the tingle down your spine at the pet name.

“Oh, sure, why not,” you shrugged, and Woo tossed the bag to you. Although it wasn’t a regular occurrence for you, you did occasionally enjoy getting out of your head like this. The few times you had done so had really amped your creativity, to the point where you could absolutely see why Wooyoung had recommended it in the first place. As a budding writer, you were now nearly done with your very first novel, and you had scads of ideas logged away for future endeavors.

You checked the dose on the bag before partaking, and held it out to Hongjoong.

“Joongie?”

“Sure, just don’t make fun of me if I fall asleep immediately,” he giggled. “Might as well at least try to be on the same level once you and Wooyoung get even more silly I guess.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” Wooyoung said airily as he turned to his book. “I’m very serious all the fucking time.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Hongjoong scoffed as he downed his gummy and opened his laptop. 

“Someday someone will believe me,” Wooyoung said solemnly. “Just you wait.”

“Music preferences?” You interjected as Hongjoong made a face at Wooyoung.

“No preference,” both of them said in unison. 

“Weird nostalgia playlist it is,” you shrugged, pulling up a lengthy playlist of your old favorites and hitting play. 

“Weird playlist for the weirdo,” Woo said. “Who’d have thunk.”

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly, laughing brightly as he did so. 

“You asked the elder emo what she wanted to listen to, now live with the consequences, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Wow, you didn’t have to government name me,” Woo pouted as he snuggled down further under your favorite blanket and picked up his book again. “Gosh.”

“Are there days people don’t have to do that?” Hongjoong asked, eyes never leaving his computer, but you could see the faint smirk on his lips.

His stupid, perfect, disgustingly kissable lips. 

You tried to internalize the sigh as you turned to your writing. You had been having some trouble with the resolution of one of the core relationship conflicts, which annoyed you in more ways than one, but mostly because at this point you felt it was just a parallel to your predicament with your crush on Hongjoong.

You shook your head as you began to feel the effects of the gummy, and glanced over to your friends. Wooyoung was engrossed in his book, one foot sticking out from under the blanket as he lay sprawled out on the recliner, absentmindedly cuddling one of your Stitch plushies. 

Hongjoong, however, was staring at you, eyes slightly glazed over, and you froze, quickly looking back to your computer screen. You heard a small kerfuffle and peered to the right as best you could without moving your head to see Hongjoong closing his laptop and moving the tray table aside.

“I need a snack,” he said hurriedly.

“Ooh, munchies already?” Woo asked. “Will you bring me the bag of gummy worms?” He added.

“Sure,” Hongjoong nodded. He turned to you, cheeks visibly flushed. “Do you want something?”

“I don’t suppose you brought pretzels—” You started, and Woo began to giggle.

“Hongjoong was sure to pick out some of your favorite snacks,” Woo said, brushing his long black hair out of his face. 

“I got two kinds of hummus,” Hongjoong mumbled. “Roasted garlic and that lemon dill one you like.”

“Roasted garlic please,” you hummed happily. 

Not like I’m gonna be kissing anyone anytime soon.

You immediately regretted this thought, as your thoughts were loosening up further, and you were well aware of where they’d go if you let them run unchecked. You turned back to your writing instead, but found yourself just staring at the screen. You startled when Hongjoong appeared in front of you, offering the bag of pretzels and a small dipping cup of hummus.

“Thanks Joongie,” you said, and now it was your turn to blush. You noticed Wooyoung was staring at you and Hongjoong, the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

You watched as Hongjoong quietly returned to his station on the sofa and reopened his laptop. 

“What are you working on?” You asked him, your curiosity getting the best of you. Hongjoong had been designing clothing since you’d known him, but he had recently been hired by a brand local to you, and they had immediately asked him to design a line for them. You knew he was excited, but you also had no doubt that he was probably stressing over it too. But now, with relaxation flowing through his veins, he happily scooted closer to you, bringing his laptop with him.

You listened, your slight haze growing a bit as Hongjoong animatedly walked you through the dress designs he’d been working on that week. He was quick to blush as you complimented his work, raving over a few designs in particular that you knew you’d have to have for your own closet. Hongjoong returned to his end of the couch, now seventeen shades of red. Out of nowhere, Wooyoung chuckled to himself, and your eyes flicked to him. As you suspected, he was not laughing at his book, but he was looking at you with a knowing grin.

You hadn’t meant to let Wooyoung know about your crush, but if anyone was good at reading people, and even better at learning their secrets, it was Jung Wooyoung. You glowered as you tried to return to your writing, but your brain was too far gone, and the only thing left was Hongjoong. The snack you’d had had only served to elevate you further, and you flipped over to your socials instead as the room fell quiet again, save for the music still playing over the speaker. 

You jumped as you got a Discord notification from Wooyoung.

Wooyounggg_ [2:53pm]: Hongjoong keeps staring at you :)

You tapped out an answer, your eyes flicking over to Hongjoong. Sure enough, he was looking at you again, and your heart skipped a beat.

You [2:54pm]: Listen here you absolute carrot don't make me murder you I like that chair too much to bloody it up

Wooyoung burst into a fit of giggles, and you rolled your eyes. Hongjoong remained oblivious, though he had managed to wrestle his gaze back to his own computer.

You [2:54pm]: He’s just super stoned. Remember the time Mingi gave him half of one of his homemade brownies and he slept for 20 hours? Poor guy is probably totally zonked.

Wooyounggg_ [2:55pm]: I will never forget or let our darling Joongie live it down. But it’s not just that.

Wooyounggg_ [2:55pm]: You know as well as I do that people tend to be more real when they’re under the influence. ;) 

You sighed. He was right, of course. You knew this from experience.

Most notably, the first time you and Woo had gotten high together, which had started quite innocently, and had ended in heated makeouts and an all-nighter for the history books. Since then, the two of you had decided to just be friends, but you knew you’d never get those memories out of your head.

If you were being really, truly honest with yourself, you liked both of them. You had realized quickly that you had more of an attachment to Wooyoung than you wanted to admit.

But the risk of ruining everything had kept you from going any further with him, and anywhere at all with Hongjoong. They were friends. That was that. As much fun as you’d had with Woo during your previous escapades, you knew you couldn’t chance repeating it.

Your head snapped to the side as you heard Hongjoong sputtering, and Wooyoung began to laugh again. Joong was clearly loopy now, not that you were faring much better, though you were also willing to bet you were slightly more functional than him, considering he had entirely missed his mouth when taking a drink, dumping water down his shirt instead. 

“Fucking fuck,” he muttered. You flitted to the kitchen to grab a towel, bringing it back to him and helping him clean up. You took a seat next to him, sensing some prickliness, and gently laid a hand on his forearm. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as his gaze flicked from yours, to your hand, and back again.

Seconds later, he was pulling away, shoving his laptop into his bag, muttering about how he should probably head home and lie down. Your eyes stung with tears, and you silently admonished yourself for reacting the way you were. You had been scared it was only a matter of time before you overstepped somehow. 

And of course all of us being zooted helps exactly nothing.

He was out the door in less than five minutes, leaving you sitting on the couch, chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself. Wooyoung was next to you almost unreasonably quickly. 

“You okay, jagi?”

“I don’t know what I did,” you sighed, ignoring the pet name. 

“I’ll go get him,” Wooyoung told you. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No,” you said, taking a swig of water. “Um. I’ll go.”

Wooyoung did not say a word, but gave you a sly grin. You rolled your eyes yet again and clambered to your feet, donning a pair of slippers as you stepped outside to go find Hongjoong. 

You were surprised to find he had not gone far, and was standing just outside your apartment door, fumbling with a rideshare app. You closed the door behind you quietly, clearing your throat quietly. Hongjoong jumped, nearly throwing his phone.  

“Joongie. What’s wrong?” You frowned. “I thought we were having a nice day.”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just… thought maybe I should go home? I don’t know. I just.” He shook his head. “I can’t think straight right now is all.”

“Why leave though?” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t even understand what hap—“

Your sentence was cut short as Hongjoong stepped to you, slipping his arms around your waist and tugging you to him roughly, his lips crashing onto yours in a heated, desperate kiss. You gasped against his lips, but it did not deter him, not that you minded in the slightest. He pushed you back against the door with a thump , pressing his body to yours in the same second as he continued to kiss you like his entire existence depended on it. 

Your head was spinning now, and you thought you heard a cackle from the other side of the door. You broke the kiss, and a split second later Wooyoung opened the door. Hongjoong caught you before you tumbled backwards, pulling you back to him and holding you tightly. 

“Hey there kids,” Wooyoung said gleefully. “Having fun out here?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung,” you and Hongjoong said in unison. 

“All I’m saying is it’s more comfortable in here,” Woo said insistently, and you caught the wink he gave you. 

Carefully, you extracted yourself from Hongjoong’s grasp, and he allowed you to lead him back into the apartment, though you could tell he was somewhat timid, his face still flushed red. 

“Should I leave you guys to it?” Wooyoung asked, still grinning from ear to ear as you and Hongjoong sat down together on the sofa. “Or…” He winked at you again. 

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung. 

“You know,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink.

“Jung Wooyoung, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” 

“I mean…” he shrugged. “I bet I could show Hongjoong a thing or two.”

“Wait, wait,” Hongjoong said, and you could see the gears turning in his head. “Did… did you guys sleep together?!”

“There is a distinct possibility that that is a thing that happened,” you admitted. “Sorry we didn’t tell you. It was totally an impromptu thing and it didn’t happen again and I didn’t want to—“

“Well that’s not fair,” Hongjoong said calmly, interrupting as he scooted closer to you. Carefully, he pushed you back against the pillows next to you, and before you knew it, his upper body was pressing you down further as he kissed you again, with a renewed fervor that left your head spinning even more than it had been. He broke the kiss after a few moments, and you stared at him blankly. He had not moved, his weight on top of you comforting yet insanity-inducing. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Is…” You blinked, trying to clear the fog in your head and knowing it was a losing battle all the same. “Is this real?”

“Hmm, sounds like you need convincing,” Wooyoung surmised, stroking his chin as if he was thinking big thoughts. “I have a few ideas as to how we could orchestrate that.”

“I’m sure you do, you little shit,” you fired back, still hyper aware that Hongjoong was basically still lying on top of you. Wooyoung let out a high-pitched giggle, and you sighed.

“Are… are you guys sure this is what you want?”

“To be clear, we are talking about a threesome, right?” Hongjoong asked, his question followed by a nervous giggle. 

“Yes, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said exasperatedly. “God. You need to get out more.”

“Well, I’m out now,” Hongjoong whispered as he lowered his lips to yours again. “Should we take this adventure somewhere more comfortable?” He whispered against your lips as he kissed you softly now, with deep, unhurried kisses that had you gasping for breath. It felt so intimate, even though you could feel Wooyoung’s eyes on you, could see his smirk in your mind’s eye.

“S…sure,” you managed to get out. At once, Hongjoong had moved, and he and Wooyoung were hauling you to your feet. Wooyoung stopped you before you could take a step, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you to him to kiss you deeply. He giggled into the kiss, as he nipped at your lip, sucked on your tongue. He had clearly not forgotten a single thing from your previous encounter. You felt wetness pooling between your thighs at an embarrassing rate now. The idea of being with both of them was almost enough to make you come on the spot.

“Mmm,” Wooyoung murmured as he came up for air.” I missed this, not gonna lie. I don’t think once was enough.”

“Come on,” Hongjoong urged, taking your hand. Wooyoung let you go, taking your other hand and squeezing it. 

You led them to your bedroom slowly, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. Part of you hoped you weren’t making a huge mistake.

The rest of you was practically vibrating at the chance to finally show Hongjoong how you felt about him, in more ways than one. 

The second you were across the threshold of your bedroom, you found yourself sandwiched between your friends, their hands everywhere at once, two sets of lips kissing every bit of exposed skin they could reach— which happened to be a lot, considering you’d dressed for comfort in sweats and a tank top that probably showed just a bit too much . 

You felt hands tugging at the waistband of your pants, and looked back to see Wooyoung with a wicked grin. He leaned over to whisper in your ear. 

“Wanna let me show Hongjoong how to make you come?” 

You gulped. You turned back to Hongjoong, who was staring at you, wide-eyed. 

“Joongie?” You asked. “Would you like that?” You took a deep breath as you put your hands on his waist, pushing his t-shirt up and hooking your thumbs underneath to graze his pecs as you pulled it up and over his head. 

“Oh my god, fuck,” Hongjoong whined as you pressed your lips to his collarbone, kissing a trail across and down, trailing your tongue lightly across what was evidently a very sensitive area. 

“Careful, jagiya,” Woo laughed. “You’re gonna make him come in his pants before we even get started.” 

Wooyoung made quick work of your clothes, then his own, but Hongjoong stood stiffly now, staring at you, jaw falling open as you strode back over to him. You tugged at the waistband of his own sweatpants. 

“You should take these off,” you asked softly. “What’s wrong, Joongie? Are you nervous?”

I say as though I’m not . Holy fucking hell. 

He fixed you with an unreadable gaze, and you began to trace soft lines over his hips. When he did not stop you, you hooked your thumbs into his waistband, pulling everything down in one go. His cock was rock-hard, and you tried not to stare, imagining how that girth would be stretching you out later, pushing into you over and over until both of you were quivering messes. 

Without thinking, you dropped to your knees, unsure where your sudden courage was coming from, but fully willing to embrace it. You ghosted your palms up Hongjoong’s thighs, watching as gooseflesh rose in their wake. As you began to tease closer to his cock, Hongjoong let out a loud moan. 

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered. “We don’t have to do any of this.”

“Please don’t,” Hongjoong hissed as he grabbed your shoulders. “Please, fucking hell, do not stop…”

You moved to grasp Hongjoong’s cock at the base, and he cried out at the contact, stumbling a bit and catching himself on the wall next to him.

“Maybe we should lay you down,” you suggested, straightening up. “Before you fall and hurt something.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

“No sir,” you tutted. You grabbed his wrist and guided him to your bed, and he begrudgingly clambered up to lie down in the center. 

“Oh fuck me, my head is spinning more lying down,” Hongjoong whined.

“Hmm, that’s too bad,” you said softly as you lay down on your tummy on the bed, pushing his legs apart. You could feel his eyes on you, and you peered up at him through your lashes as you lowered your lips to the head of his cock, tongue swiping up the drops of pre-cum. 

“Oh, holy shit,” Hongjoong whined, immediately trying to thrust up into your mouth. You were quick to lay a hand on his waist, pressing him down into the mattress.

“No no,” you chided, dipping your head lower, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, relaxing your throat as you went. As your nose nudged at his pelvic bone, he let out a long string of curses, hands scrabbling to grab ahold of you. 

“Please move,” he begged. “Oh please. Please. Fuck.”

You hummed as you began to suck him, drawing out each movement, licking slowly and firmly up his shaft, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, changing things up every few moments to make him extra insane.

You yelped as you felt fingers between your own legs, and looked to one side to see Wooyoung perched on the bed, stroking his own cock with one hand. His other was now pushing your legs apart, wasting no time finding your slick folds. 

“Ah… so, so wet for us,” Wooyoung cooed. “Hongjoong, just wait til you feel this perfect pussy…”

Wooyoung shoved two fingers into you without warning, and you nearly choked on Hongjoong’s cock as Woo stretched you open. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hongjoong whined as you picked up your pace, working the base of his cock with one hand while you continued to suck him off with a renewed intensity, matching Wooyoung’s pace as he finger-fucked you from behind. Woo’s next thrusts hit you in just the right spot, and you moaned around Hongjoong’s cock. 

“I’m… help,” Hongjoong whined. “Close, I’m getting close, ah, fuck, fuck…”

You did not relent despite Hongjoong’s high pitched cries that he was overstimulated, and continued through until his cock was pulsing, shooting thick ropes of hot cum down your throat. You swallowed every drop before backing off a bit, continuing to give kitten licks to the head until he found the strength to sit up and scramble away from you. 

“Perfect," Wooyoung remarked as he stopped his own movements. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. “Ah, fuck. Forgot how good you taste,” he moaned, and you heard Hongjoong groan in the background at the mere idea of tasting you. 

Woo was across the room now, rummaging in the bottom drawer of your dresser. You joined Hongjoong in the center of the bed, and he kissed you deeply as you leaned back against the pillows.

“I can’t believe you,” he whispered. “That was…”

“Do you need a do-over to believe it?” You asked with a wicked grin. His eyes widened, and you giggled. “Don’t look so scared, Joongie.”

“Not scared,” he breathed. “Just… haven’t come like that in a long time… Wanna…” His cheeks were red again, and you kissed him softly.

“Wanna what?”

“I wanna make you come too,” he said breathlessly as he kissed you again. “I want… I want you… in every way, please…”

“You scrambled his brains already,” Wooyoung laughed as he returned, holding a few things behind his back. “What happened to pacing?”

Hongjoong flipped Wooyoung off, and Woo cackled in response as he crawled onto the bed, reaching for your ankle and tugging your leg.

“On your back, jagiya,” Wooyoung instructed. “Now, please.”

“Or what?” You challenged. 

“Or I’ll go back for the restraints,” Wooyoung warned. “Don’t test me today.”

You shivered. This was a side of Wooyoung you were unfamiliar with. 

“Do it then,” you said smugly. Wooyoung stared at you for a second.

"Color?"

"Green."

"Safeword?"

"Red."

"Good," he said shortly, turning and heading back to the dresser. You glimpsed a black box in his hand, and clenched around nothing.

Oh fuck, so he’s going to show Hongjoong how to totally and completely ruin me. Fabulous.

Hongjoong was a little bit concerned at the restraints given the circumstances but calmed down significantly when scissors were brought out as a potential safety measure.

He then lost zero time lying down next to you on the bed, pressing his flushed, naked body close to your own, slender fingers tracing your skin, and it wasn’t lost on you how he was marveling at the experience. 

“I… I don’t even know what to do first,” Hongjoong admitted. "You're so fucking pretty that it makes me feel insane."

“Her neck is sensitive,” Wooyoung piped up from over near the dresser, where he was rummaging again, and came back holding your vibrator as well. “Also, she likes it when you twist her nipples.”

“Jesus Christ in a crock pot, Woo, just tell him all my secrets why don’t—” 

Your words died in your throat as Hongjoong leaned in, pressing sloppy, desperate kisses down the column of your neck, across your collarbone, then dipping lower. Once his lips reached your breasts, he began to suck a trail of marks before closing his mouth around one nipple and sucking hard. Your immediate whine must have been like music to his ears, as you heard him giggle. Instead of pulling away however, he reached for your other nipple with one hand,  twisting it firmly as Wooyoung had suggested.

“Holy fuck, Hongjoong,” you whimpered as he continued to tease. “You’re— FUCK!”

Your entire body tensed as you felt Wooyoung shove two fingers into you roughly. 

“Hmm,” he murmured. “Good.”

Just as quickly, his fingers were gone, replaced by heavy, cold metal, and you shrieked at both the intrusion and the temperature. 

“Mmmhmm. She likes this metal dildo a lot,” Wooyoung explained to Hongjoong, speaking in such a casual way he might as well have been just explaining how to do any simple task. 

“I can tell,” Hongjoong breathed, nipping at your neck. Between your legs, Wooyoung was staring up at you with a wicked grin as he began to fuck you slowly with the toy. He was gentle, but clearly had not forgotten the firm upstrokes to your g-spot that were bound to make to come in seconds flat— and so you did, tumbling off the edge as your release ripped through you like a wave of blistering heat. 

You were completely unsurprised that he did not relent, sending you quickly into another orgasm without giving you time to come down. 

“Wooyoung, I adore you,” you whined. “But the second you let me out of these restraints— FUCKING HELL!” 

You came again, having been partially distracted by your empty threat, head spinning as you tried to form any coherent sentence.

It did not help in the least that the effects of your earlier edible were in full swing, elevating your releases to levels you had never dreamed were possible. 

That being said, it also enhanced the overstimulation— something which Wooyoung knew full well, as he pushed you towards yet another orgasm, now with the vibrator planted firmly on your clit and set to an infuriatingly teasing pattern. 

“Wooyoung, please, please,” you choked out, though you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking at the toy every time he plunged it into you. “Woo. Baby. Please.”

“Oh, you want me to stop? Okay,” he said nonchalantly, ceasing his movements at once. The brattiness was radiating from him in waves, and you rolled your eyes. You had been close again, of course, but you weren't sure whether you could have handled another orgasm so quickly.

Then again, you also regretted not trying, if for no other reason than it was Wooyoung. 

You knew he knew this too, judging from the look on his face. 

“You little shit.”

“Who me?” Wooyoung chirped, gesturing to himself. “What an accusation!"

“She does have a point,” Hongjoong said dryly. 

“Wow, you guys stink,” Woo laughed. "Whatver."

“I want to try,” Hongjoong said, abruptly changing the subject.

Oh god, help me.

Wooyoung handed Hongjoong the dildo, and you tried not to giggle as they discussed in hushed tones. You could tell Hongjoong was afraid of hurting you— it was in the way he gently pushed the toy in, the hesitation in his initial movements. But before long, you were over the edge again, begging loudly for them to give you a break. 

You were unsurprised that Hongjoong relented, but judging from the way Wooyoung was moving, you could tell he already had other ideas. 

He’s so… I don’t even know. Insane? But also… good god damn, if these encounters with him aren’t some of the hottest I’ve ever had. Fuck.

"How about we let our pretty girl out of her restraints before we have some more fun?" Wooyoung suggested. You saw Hongjoong flush bright red at Woo’s verbiage, and he slipped out of the room, muttering something about getting water. Wooyoung proceeded to untie you, and rested quietly with you on the bed, massaging your wrists and ankles until Hongjoong came back bearing a few bottles of water. After the three of you had hydrated, Hongjoong lay down on your other side. 

You felt fingers nudging your legs apart again, and glanced to see it was Hongjoong taking the initiative. The second he touched your clit, you nearly came off the bed with a shriek. 

“Mmm. So sensitive,” Hongjoong whispered. “So many things I want to do, but I want to be inside you the most,” he admitted with a small smile and another rather impressive blush. 

“Idea,” Woo chimed in.

Yep, there it is.

“Jagiya,” Wooyoung said sweetly as he nuzzled your cheek. “What would you say to me fucking your mouth while Hongjoong fucks that tight little cunt?”

“I’d probably accuse you of trying to murder me,” you answered, turning your head to face him. He kissed you softly, but nipped at your lip as he pulled back.

“Only a tiny bit. But in a good way,” he assured you. "So it's still legal."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Mmhmm," he said as he kissed you softly. 

Moments later, Hongjoong was slotting himself between your legs, having given you some reprieve from the overstimulation, if only for a short time. 

Wooyoung was moving too, throwing one leg over you to straddle your upper body, moving closer and checking that you were okay every step of the way.

“Color?” He asked, clearly just wanting to be sure.

“Green as fuck, my dude,” you breathed. “Are you going to let me suck that pretty cock or just dangle it in front of me?"

Wooyoung pushed into your mouth at the exact time Hongjoong buried himself in you to the hilt, but your cry was muffled by Woo’s cock. 

Hongjoong began to move first, and you whined, causing Wooyoung to curse and hunch over, grabbing the headboard for leverage. He was looking down at you as he fucked into your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts that you knew were driving him even more insane than they were you. Wooyoung loved to be teased and edged; he had confessed this to you the first time you’d slept together— which is how that night had ended with you bending him over your bed and giving him the strap until he was pleading and beating at the mattress, begging for you to let him come. 

Oops. Maybe this is payback. Oh well. Not sorry.

Your head was surprisingly clear for just a few moments, before Hongjoong changed his angle slightly, and you nearly came again right then and there. You tried to speak, but Wooyoung continued to fuck your mouth, and your words came out garbled, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“I think that’s a good angle, Hongjoongie,” Wooyoung called back to him. "Keep it up."

“Mmm. Good for me too,” Hongjoong whined, and he increased the pace, hitting you just right every time in the process. 

Hongjoong was the first to come, spilling inside you as you crashed with him. Wooyoung followed quickly, emptying himself into your throat, praising you as you swallowed it all and continued to suck until he was overstimulated himself. They pulled out of you quickly, losing no time in lying back down and snuggling close. 

“Wow.” Hongjoong was first to break the silence. “Just… wow.”

“Mmm,” you agreed. 

“Yep,” Wooyoung nodded. “Wow, fuck, holy shit, all those good terms. Yeah.”

After a shared shower, the three of you returned to your bed after a quick stop in the kitchen to retrieve snacks. You flipped on the TV, navigating to a movie that was familiar to all, before settling back down between them. 

“I could get used to this,” Wooyoung said suddenly.

“Same,” Hongjoong murmured. “For sure.”

“Wait, hold on,” you said, sitting up. They followed you, each slipping an arm around your waist. 

“We should just tell her,” Woo said. 

“Tell me what, exactly?” You asked cautiously. 

“You tell,” Wooyoung told Hongjoong, and you smacked him in the back.

“You brought it up, dweeb.”

Hongjoong sighed. 

“I wanted to hang out today because I wanted to talk to you,” Hongjoong said quietly. “I… I wanted to ask if you’d go on a date with me. And then I told Wooyoung, and he wanted to tag along to… I don’t know. Cheer me on? But also…”

“Also?”

“I like you too,” Wooyoung blurted out, clapping a hand over his mouth immediately. 

“You…” You were trying to get a handle on what was happening, your brain clearer now but but not at 100%. “Huh? You both like me?”

“So yeah, we kinda… did things… backwards...” Hongjoong started, but you cut him off.

“That’s not really so important,” you reassured him as you took a deep breath, still a little scared to make your own confession. “What is important is that… I like you both as well.”

Neither of them seemed particularly shocked by this news, which made you wonder if you had ever been good at hiding it.

Oops?

“Mmm,” Wooyoung hummed happily, nuzzling into your shoulder and giving you a squeeze. On your other side, Hongjoong was pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“So…” You said. 

“So you’re our girlfriend now?” Wooyoung asked eagerly, eyes shining with excitement.

“Please?” Hongjoong added. 

"Say yes?" Woo giggled.

“Absolutely,” you told them, without hesitation. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wanted this… so… you can have all of me. I’m yours,” you said breathlessly.

“Ours,” Hongjoong repeated.

“Ours,” Wooyoung affirmed, as they lay you back and snuggled up to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I like that you’re ours, jagi.”

“Me too,” you told them. “Always."

[chigsprincess]

Omg hi!! I love your works, they’re all so nicely made 😽😽!! (Don’t die to a blender pls ur too awesome sauce😋)

Anyways, I have a request (I came up with it late at night so hear me out PLEASE) I was thinking of bllk x reader, where the two get caught hanging out/on a date when the public doesn’t know that they are dating you. I understand if this is not worded correctly and sounds weird, but anywho thank you!!

Exposed

a/n: dw! it sounded totally fine, thank you so much for requesting, and i hope you have an awesome day!

getting caught when your relationship is still private - h.chigiri, r.itoshi, m.kaiser, y.isagi, s.barou

Chigiri Hyoma

One date in a public place couldn’t hurt. You two even chose a remote location for it. Hell, he wore some disguise too. (If you can call sunglasses indoors that.)

You tell him he dressed up like he is about to rob this place. He just pouts.

His fans immediately recognize him tho. Doesn’t even take a full 15 minutes.

“Oh my god, is that him?” whispers someone, followed by the unmistakable click of a camera.

He just lets out a sigh and shrugs “Guess we are trending tonight.”

He grabs your hand boldly, not hiding it, but also not making a big scene, and walks you back to the car with calm confidence.

When a fan asks him: “Who’s your date?” he cheekily replies:

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

then winks and shuts the car door behind you.

Social media explodes. Fans are divided between mourning the loss of their!!!! Princess and zooming in to ID you.

Itoshi Rin

He arrives at the restaurant wearing a baseball cap pulled low, a dark coat, and a stupid mask. He’s not trying to be seen; in fact, he dreads it.

You tease him about being so dramatic: “You act like the paparazzi are waiting behind every menu.”His reply? A low, dry, “They usually are.”

The dinner actually went pretty well, no fans, no media, no nothing, but then came the walk back to the car.

He immediately hears a camera clicking, and, lets go of your hand by instinct.

You start to step away, but he grabs your wrist. Not aggressively, but like he needs you close.

As flashes start to go off, he turns away from the cameras and mutters a cold, “Unbelievable.”

When asked, “Is that your partner?”, he doesn’t answer. Just shoots a piercing glare that shuts the question down instantly.

A week later, he posts a single photo on his, rarely used Instagram story: a picture of your linked hands resting on his lap, no faces, just a caption: “Mine.”

Isagi Yoichi

It’s been almost a month since you two last saw each other, so when he asked you for a date, he kinda forgot you two haven’t announced your relationship yet.

He greets you with a huge smile and an even bigger hug, the kind that lifts you a little off the ground.

A fan across the street spots him mid-laugh, leaning in close to you. They try to be subtle, but the flash goes off. And then another.

He visibly panics for a split second. “Oh nooo,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-dying inside.

His first instinct is to apologize:

“I’m so sorry are you okay with this? I can ask them to delete it! I’m sure they will.”

He knows it’s a lost cause.

You just laugh it off and tell him you don’t mind.

Later that night, he's pacing while scrolling social media, muttering, “Okay, it’s not that bad. I only panicked a little. That’s fine. That’s totally fine.”

You tell him he was cute. He blushes, but replies confidently: “Yeah? Well… I’ve got more moves where that came from.” (Immediately trips over a shoe afterward. Still cute.)

A few days later, he posts a selfie of you both with half your faces cropped out, captioned: “About time I got caught. Not mad.”

Kaiser Michael

He doesn’t wear a disguise. He wears designer sunglasses at night, his hair perfect, jawline immaculate a walking PR headline.

You ask him whether he really thinks this won’t earn him attention, but he just smirks and shrugs his shoulders.

Shameless. hand on your lower back, arm around your shoulder, brushes your hair behind your ear. he doesn’t hide a damn thing.

“Careful. You keep looking at me like that, I’ll forget we’re in public.” You just look at him with a deadpan expression. “Seems to me you already forgot.”

You get caught almost immediately by paparazzi hanging across the street, and fans whispering excitedly nearby.

He kisses you on the cheek right in front of the cameras, then adds “Get my good side, yeah?”

He does an interview a few days later and casually mentions you like it’s common knowledge. “Yeah, they’re amazing. Gorgeous, and smart, makes better coffee than my nutritionist. Don’t know how I landed them, honestly. Actually- no. I do. Look at me.”

You just roll your eyes when you watch it later.

Barou Shoei

He picks a secluded restaurant with private dining options and tinted windows. The kind of place you have to know someone to get into.

When you show up, his whole face melts, his shoulders drop, and his lips quirked up just a little. “There you are.”

You’re leaving the restaurant, walking toward the car, when someone spots him. “Holy shit, that’s Barou!”

Cameras click. Fans whisper. Then one of the braver ones asks: “Is that your partner?”

He steps in front of you immediately. Instinctively protective.

He doesn’t say a word. Just glares so hard that the nearest phone lowers itself.

A few days later, his team’s official social media posts a picture of him post-game. You in the background, holding his water bottle. Fans lose it.

He finally gives in and posts a blurry photo of you wearing his hoodie, with a caption: “Yeah. They’re mine. Stay out of it.”

word count: 882

[what-even-is-thiss]

I’m about to combine my religion posting with my socialist posting for a second.

I’ve never tried to hide on this blog that I’m fairly religious. My faith is a big part of my life. I’m not here to convert anybody but I’m not interested in hiding that aspect of myself either.

Anyways I’ve been thinking about what I want from my life and wealth and how that relates to Christianity and the kind of economic system I live in.

Because in many ways pure capitalism and Christianity are kind of opposed if you really think about it. Any form of hoarding wealth and Christianity are opposed to each other if you really think about it. Yet it’s also been used as a reason to hoard wealth.

Jesus often spoke against hoarding wealth. He encouraged tax collectors to only collect what was due and not skim extra off the top. He said a poor person who gives a little money has given more than a rich person who gives a lot. He said it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than enter the kingdom of heaven. And I’ve heard interpretations that that “eye of the needle” thing was actually in reference to a kind of very small door in city walls or something but point is, it’s difficult.

Then you get the invention of something like prosperity gospel. The idea that if you’re doing well it’s because you’re blessed. You get politicians working for the rich or who themselves are rich making a show of being pious while also harming the poor.

So I’ve been rattling this around in my brain. The culturally dominant religion in the western world teaches against the hoarding of wealth. Yet that same culture also puts the wealthy up on a pedestal and protects them.

I watched this video once about this guy who personally decided to donate half of his earthly wealth to charity because of his Christian faith. He wasn’t trying to tell other people they should do this. Just talking about his own spiritual journey and why he decided to do that. He sold half of his possessions, sold his house and downsized, really went through the wringer figuring out what’s really actually important to him and this guy wasn’t even particularly wealthy. He was maybe middle class. This was a huge sacrifice he made.

I’ve been tossing around in my brain how the same belief system could could create both that guy and prosperity gospel.

We get stories all the time about how the real treasure was the friends we made along the way, right? About letting go, about being happy with less, about sharing, about the dangers of greed. Sometimes we even get those stories from the organizations and people looking to hoard more and more. Disney comes to mind. The real treasure is family. And also all this money we made off of toy sales.

I feel like society is trying to push us towards a very specific definition of “success” while also wrestling with the reality that even if you aren’t Christian you live in a society with Christian ideals and one of those big Christian ideals is supposed to be charity. Not hoarding wealth at the expense of others.

Like this idea of being happy with just enough is supposed to be a message for the rich, right? Yet it seems to have been twisted around the other way. If you’re sick it’s your fault, you didn’t try hard enough, you didn’t rise and grind hard enough. Even though Jesus helped those who were suffering whether their suffering was their own fault or not, and often he rejected the notion that a person’s suffering was their own fault.

I know the answer to this disconnect is that the rich can afford to twist the narrative in their favor. That religion is a tool that can be used for both great good and great harm.

It’s still frustrating though. That I feel like I’m socialist partially because of my faith but those same messages that inspire people who aren’t even that well off to give away half of their earthly possessions are used as an excuse by others to justify bleeding the poor dry.

It’s something I’ve been sitting with when it comes to what I want with my life. It’s a cliche I guess in some Christian circles that you shouldn’t want what society wants but I’m starting to think that’s true. At least to some extent. I think I don’t want success by society’s definition of it. God asks you to not hoard your wealth. God instructs you to make time for rest. Yet society has told you to climb that ladder of success and never rest, never sleep until you get there.

Yeah, I think I’m going to rest. I think I reject the idea that success needs to involve money. I think that hoarding wealth is bad. And you don’t need to be Christian to think those things obviously but my faith leads me at least to these conclusions. However it hasn’t lead everyone to them, clearly. It’s a contradiction of values we all have to live with for now, unfortunately. Hopefully one day we can all live out the things we preach but for now that day seems very far away.

[kkuras-gamer-gf]

Double (Daniela avanzini x reader x Sophia laforteza)

Smut

Idk what overtook me, god please forgive me. Im so sorry for my sins. Not proofread so there are definitely mistakes.

G!p dani and sophia, threesome, blowjob, Eiffel Towering, degradation, praise, unsafe sex, use of mommy for Sophia and papi for dani because why not, cumming on face.

Movie night with your best friend and girlfriend, it started calmly. A mediocre drama on the TV, Sophia your childhood friend sat to your right a couple feet away while to your left was Daniela, your girlfriend with an arm wrapped around you.

You didn't even notice the looks they were sharing behind you, completely oblivious to their plan. Though you should've known, it wasn't a secret that you had a crush on Sophia and Dani didn't mind, in fact when you told her she was more than eager to suggest a threesome.

"As long as I'm there." Being her exact words. But you didn't think she would pre plan something. Not even when Sophia starts inching closer on the couch, until her legs touch yours, trapping you between the slightly taller pair. It was intimidating but it would be a lie to say it wasn't a huge turn on.

It started to click as Sophia's arm replaced your girlfriends behind you, her legs spread out a bit with a very noticeable bulge. Even the stretchy material of her sweatpants strained. You had known her since middle school, and contrary to everyone's beliefs you have never seen her naked, only fantasizing about how much she would stretch you out.

"What are you looking at?" Sophia's raspy voice breaks the hour long silence, a smirk evident in the tone of her words.

"U-uh" You can't help but look back to your girlfriend, who has her own smirk and just shrugs as if to tell you you're on your own, "n-nothing" You stutter when looking back at the brunette.

"Nothing?" Slightly mocking you, "You sure you weren't looking at my cock?" Her head tilts as she stares at you, your mouth open with nothing to say.

"Answer her." Daniela suddenly chimes in, "and don't lie." She adds as she sees the no forming in your lips.

"I- yes" You eyes search for a place in the room away from their gaze, but you can still feel the eyes on you.

Sophia laughs a bit, the kind of laughter that makes you feel pathetic but in a way that you rub your thighs together.

"What a slut."  Dani chuckles at her words, making your cheeks go pink.

You let Sophia's fingers wrap around your wrist, dragging your hand to her bulge, a sigh leaving her lips as she does so. Her lips now leave light kisses on your neck, biting and sucking as she goes definitely leaving a few marks highlighted with her lipstick. Her hands pull at the tank top you're wearing, revealing your chest to the air, not wearing a bra. Her fingers rolling your nipples between them in between her palms squeezing at your chest.

""Why don't you help mommy out?" Her red painted lips were now by your ear, a low and raspy voice.

Once again looking at Dani, who had hooded eyes that told you all you needed.

"Go for it." You girlfriend says, verbally giving you confirmation to fuck your best friend.

Upon hearing that, your hands are quick to pull at her sweatpants so they land on the floor, taking her boxers along with them. Her cock springing out, she was almost the length of your girlfriend, but the thickness made you hesitate as you wrap a hand around slowly not even able to connect your thumb to your other fingers.

"What? Can't take it?" She teases.

"Don't worry, she's trained." Daniela quips from besides you. You recall the beginning of your relationship and what she called throat training so your mouth could takes every inch of her.

"Oh yeah?" Sophia giggles condescendingly. "Gonna be a good girl and suck my cock?"

You answer by leaning down, your tongue licking a stripe from the end of shaft to her tip before wrapping your lips around her.

"Shit." The Filipino groans, head nodding back onto the couch, a hand instinctively going to your hair making a fist.

Your tongue makes quick work of collecting the precum that was covering her tip before taking a couple inches into your mouth, not even halfway down and your mouth feels full and her tip is poking at your throat causing a slight gag.

"Take it all, like a good slut." Sophia says accentuating her words by thrusting upwards, making you gag even more as tears prick at your eyes.

Now you can hear little pants and groans from besides you, that you recognize as dani, the sound of her hand slipping up and down her length at a slow pace. The idea of her jerking off to you fucking someone else making the wetness spread between your legs.

Your best friends hand tightens in your hair, and her hips thrust into your mouth quickly. Your nose repeatedly hitting her stomach, saliva dripping from your mouth.

"You're taking me so well, baby." She coos, "So good for mommy." Hips quickening with each word, you can hear each thrust echo off the walls, "Gonna let me cum down your throat, hm?"

You try nodding, even with her cock filling you, causing a smirk to form on the other girls face.

"Such a good fuckin girl." She spits with one last thrust and stilling in your mouth, her load going down your throat, "Swallow it all baby." She says, and you comply leaving nothing left and she pulls out with a pop.

Daniela is still stroking her own cock, seemingly close to a release, but now standing to be in front of your and tilting your head by your hair. Her eyes roll back with a bunch of swears leaving her mouth and holding her cock so her cum covers your face.

"Hands and knees for papi" She says as she recovers, pulling at your hair to make her point.

And now you were on the gray couch with your girlfriend in front of you while your best friend was behind you. Sophia rids you of your shorts and underwear as soon as your ass is in front of her.

Dani grabbed at your hair to make you look up, a smirk on her lips before she looks up to Sophia who you become way more aware of as she runs her hands down your back and ass, squeezing on her way and subtly spreading you from behind.

"Fuck, is she always this wet?" The Filipino groans, reaching a hand down collecting your wetness on her fingers.

"Mm, always ready for me right?"

"Yes papi."

Daniela wears a proud grin as she looks down at you, a hand wrapped around her shaft to put it to your lips, tapping against your slightly open mouth.

"Open up." A familiar dominance filling your ears, your mouth opens automatically, your girlfriend length quickly filling you as she doesn't wait to stuff the whole thing down your throat.

At the same time, Sophia's tip rubs up and down your slit and just barely pushing in. Teasingly only thrusting her tip into you a few times, you push back trying to get any more of her inside of you while you let out an audible whine around your girlfriends cock making her knees buckle a bit before she thrusts harder into you.

"Such a needy slut." Sophia ends her sentence by sheathing herself fully inside you, pushing you forward so you take Dani somehow even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck." Dani's hands fall from your hair to the sides of your face so she can comfortable fuck your face, essentially just free use for the both of them. "So fucking desperate, letting both of us fuck you at once."

You don't know if you moan at her words or the way sophia pounds into you from behind, definitely leaving hand sized bruises on your hips from the grip she has on you. Her own hips slapping into you at a rapid pace.

"So fucking tight." Sophia moans out, eyes closed in pleasure.

"Come on baby." Dani speaks, "Wanna cum in your mouth." Your girlfriend getting a bit whiny as she's closer to her release, hips getting quicker.

Sophia hand finds its way to the back of your head, pushing you down onto Dani's cock even more, the other on your back causing you to arch into her.

Your moans are loud even as your mouth is filled, the sounds of saliva and skin hitting each other fill the air and you pray for your poor neighbors.

"Sh-shit" Daniela finally cums in your mouth, nose squished against her stomach as both girls hold your head there, she drips down your throat pulling just enough to cover your lips in the white liquid so it drips down your chin, "So pretty with my cum all over you."

Sophias thrust get slow and lazy as she also gets closer.

"Want her to cum inside of you?" Your girlfriend asks, you nod, "Of course you do, slut."

"Want mommy to fill you up?"

"Fuck, yes, please, yes, yes." You rush out, voice raspy as your finally free to speak without a cock in your mouth, your own orgasm right around the corner.

"Oh, fuck" Sophias hips stutters before they still inside you, cum leaking into you, filling you completelty and mixing with your own arousal and leaking out of you as you both cum at the same time.

You fall onto the couch as she pulls out, exhaustion taking over. Dani puts on her boxers before resting your head on her legs, while Sophia does the same with your legs rubbing at them in a comforting way, maybe to ease the ache in the next morning.

You definitely miss the look between them that says this will most likely happen again.

[guiltyandashamed]

hi! this might be a strange ask but could I please get some headcanons of the obey me brothers with an MC who laughs a lot? MC laughs at the smallest and most random things in public (like insta reels) and their laughter is contagious too. just a thought bc I laugh a lot (and for a long time, I once laughed for 20 mins straight over a trolls meme LMAO) and it rlly confuses my friends.

headcannons: MC who laughs a lot

Lucifer

At first, he’s slightly confused when you laugh at mundane things, but over time, he finds it oddly grounding. You remind him not everything has to be serious.

He doesn’t always join in, but he watches you with a small smile as you cackle at your screen.

If your laugh disrupts class at RAD, he raises a brow and gives you “that look”… but doesn’t say anything unless it goes on too long. He's ecretly amused.

The first time you made him laugh, really laugh, it caught him off guard. “...You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, still smiling.

Mammon

You're his favorite kind of person. Your laughter gives him an excuse to mess around even more, just to hear it again.

Will go out of his way to send you ridiculous memes and out-of-context Devilgram clips to get a reaction.

If you start giggling in public, he immediately joins in even if he doesn’t know what you’re laughing at. “Heh—wait, what? What’s so funny?”

Acts like he’s not affected, but the way your laughter makes his chest feel warm? He’s addicted.

Leviathan

At first, he's self-conscious about your laughter in public, afraid people are watching, but when he realizes it's you being your genuine self, he softens.

Loves when you laugh at dumb video games or anime outtakes with him. Starts saving funny clips just for your reaction.

If your laughter causes him to spiral in embarrassment, he might hide behind his hands, but deep down, he’s thrilled to be the reason you're happy.

Once joined in with an awkward snort-laugh and then froze. You teased him for a week. He secretly loved it.

Satan

He’s observant, so he notices the way people smile when you laugh. He admires how light your presence is in the room.

Will start setting up jokes just to see if he can get that belly laugh out of you. Especially puns or dry humor, it’s a challenge he takes seriously.

Occasionally feigns being annoyed if you laugh too hard in the library, but the way his eyes soften gives him away.

“That laugh of yours is a kind of spell,” he says one day. “You charm everyone in a ten-foot radius.”

Asmodeus

Thinks your laugh is one of your cutest features. Absolutely obsessed with it, especially when your eyes crinkle or you throw your head back.

Will post reaction videos of the two of you watching funny content because your laughter is genuinely entertaining.

If you laugh at his jokes or jokes about him, he feigns offense for drama. but eats it up.

“You should come with a warning label,” he teases, “May cause spontaneous joy and uncontrollable laughter.”

Beelzebub

At first, he’s quiet about it, but he smiles every time he hears you laugh. Even stops eating sometimes to glance at you when he hears it from across the room.

Loves how free you are with your joy. Makes him feel like the world isn't so heavy.

Sometimes asks, “What’s so funny?” just so he can laugh with you, even if he doesn’t fully get it. He likes sharing the moment.

If you start laughing while eating together, he chuckles and hands you a napkin. “Careful. You almost choked last time.”

Belphegor

Your laughter sometimes wakes him up from naps. and instead of being annoyed, he just watches you with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded.

Absolutely the type to lean against your side while you’re doubled over laughing, just to soak up your warmth and joy.

Will occasionally deadpan something outrageous just to hear you wheeze with laughter. Pretends it wasn’t intentional.

“You laugh at the dumbest things,” he says. But then he watches you giggle until you tear up and he hides his grin in your shoulder.

[revelboo]

Hey! I hope you’re having a good day! I love your work and not sure if you do much for the less talked about guys. Specifically Geomotus?

If I can find enough references to get an idea of the character, I’ll give it a try. I’m not that familiar with him, but an attempt was made. He’s adorable by the way from what I can find of him.

I hadn’t really thought about doing commissions, I’m just writing TF stuff for fun. I guess I could, but I’d have to figure out rules/prices. Plus, because I write 🔞 stuff, anyone commissioning me would have to be at least 18 and I’d need a way to reasonably vet that even if the commission was just fluff, so I’d rather not

Calm

Geomotus x Reader

• Stretching lazily tangled in sheets, you’re immediately aware that your big space heater is missing. Sitting up on his berth, you’re not surprised to find him at his desk. Hear the soft click of him setting his little, metal triangle down and then carefully nudging it until it’s in line with his other fidget toys. Knowing exactly what he’s doing even with his back to you blocking your view. Sometimes you wonder if you’re a fidget toy to him, too. Right now, you wonder if you accidentally overwhelmed him somehow. Maybe you rolled over and ended up against him? Sometimes he likes the warmth of you sleeping against his chassis and others, he’s said it’s too much. That feeling your heart beating, your breathing makes him feel like he’s overflowing. Too much to process. “Hey,” you call out softly and he doesn’t look at you, but you know he’s not ignoring you.

• “Hello,” he replies, slowly rotating his square until that warm hum of satisfaction spills through him. Likes you. Likes knowing you’re right there, that if he turns, he’ll see you, that he can reach and touch you. You’re warm when you curl against him, soft. Hates that touching you is sometimes too much, that he’s not sure what you want from him or if you want anything from him. Especially hates when you’re shivering and cold and he just can’t. Shoulders lifting guiltily, he reaches to pick up the ball and play with it, soothing himself with the familiar as he vents slowly. “You’re cold?” Can’t understand you sometimes, a lot of the time, but he tries.

• Grabbing a pillow and stretching out on your belly hugging it, you wish he’d look at you. But you don’t want to make demands of him. He’s so gentle with you, so kind even though he owes you nothing and you like him, weird little habits and uncomfortable awkwardness included. “It’s okay,” you say. “I can go out in the hall if I’m keeping you up?” And he finally turns to look at you. It doesn’t help that you can’t read the expressions on his alien face, don’t know when you’re stressing him out.

• “I like you here,” he mutters, servos rolling the ball in his palm. It’s just hard. You’re hard. His work, geology, tectonic plates, those make sense, but you rarely do what he expects you to do. Say things like that and it makes him anxious. Because he must have made you think he didn’t want you here. Did he say something wrong? “I like you here,” he repeats, uncomfortable with your eyes on him.

• “I like being here,” you offer and he’s just staring, servos rolling the ball to make it softly click against his metal skin. You wonder what he’s thinking when he looks at you like that. If he really does wish you’d leave him alone, but he’s almost painfully blunt most of the time. If he wanted you to go, he’d just say it. And he turns away again. Picking up his shapes and sitting on the edge of the berth, leaning to carefully lay them out. It’s not lost on you that he’s as far from you as he can get while still being on the berth, either. Wanting to be close, but not that close. With you, but not touching. “I like you,” you whisper and his servos falter in the act of arranging his toys. Laying your head down on the pillow, you’re dimly aware of the soft click of metal on metal as he soothes his anxiety. Almost asleep when he gently pulls your blanket up around your shoulders, a servo touching the back of your hand then gone.

[firewasabeast]

Hi

I password protected this account yesterday (I think??) with every intention of keeping it that way (hold your applause, please!), but I felt bad because I know some of you were waiting for a fic update and you might not follow along on my ao3. So, anyway, Lips of an Angel has been updated with chapter two. I will most likely be going into protection mode again in a day or two, once I've given people a chance to see this, so I highly recommend either subscribing to the fic so you get an email for the last chapter, or bookmarking the page and checking in every few days.

Some whining under the cut. Feel free to ignore:

I fully believe no one ever needs to announce their departure, but there's a few of you here I enjoy talking to and I hate when people just disappear, so...

I have been backing away from 911 for a while now and, as most of you know, the majority of my content has been focused on my Stargate rewatch lol That's my happy place!

I had a lot of issues with my account lately. It seemed that, no matter how much I stopped interacting with 911, some rabid "fans" felt it necessary to harass nearly constantly. I got an insane amount of angry asks, weird messages from burner accounts, and felt a need to change my password twice now (I can get paranoid, but also... things were weird). I don't feel comfortable in this space anymore, which is a whole different kind of depressing that we won't get into.

It wasn't just from buddies either. It was bucktommy fans that were mad because I spoke honestly about my lack of faith in Tommy returning and bucktommy getting back together.

Anyway, I do have a fully new account under a new email and everything. If you want to message me for it, you can! There will be no 911, it's pretty much all Stargate right now, and I will only give it to people I can be sure won't spread it throughout the 911 community. Besides writing for Buck and Tommy, I really want nothing to do with this place anymore. I'll enjoy Lou's beauty on my own, thank you very much 😂

This account will still exist, but only for me. That way, if I decide to come back in the future, I can- and I can keep my username (which I love and will miss dearly 😔).

Thank you to the lovely humans! ❤️ you made a mourning heart happy for a very long time 💕

[demie90s]

ex paige x ex singer reader, where no one knows abt their relationship and reader writes a heart break song (spread thin by mariah the scientist) and goes viral. Reader then performs the song in a award show and paige is there listening and reacting.

btw love ur works sm keep going, rooting for u girl!

-🐻‍❄️

(Yall insist on making me sad while writing these. But just for you my pookie wookie…I’m done❤️)

ᴘᴀɪɢᴇ ʙᴜᴇᴄᴋᴇʀꜱ x Ex!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

That Doesn’t Stop the Show

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You and Paige were a secret, quiet thing—kept tucked between hotel rooms, off-camera moments, and missed calls. But when things ended, they ended. You didn’t speak on it—not until the heartbreak turned into lyrics.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Angst, Drama, Second-Chance Energy, Secret Relationship Fallout

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Emotional heartbreak, public confrontation (non-verbal), toxic breakup themes, tension

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.4k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: cinematic. candlelit pain. raw and grown. a mic drop without yelling. revenge dressed in glitter and vocals.

The song starts. Just guitar and a soft beat—low, smooth, with that lazy kind of ache only R&B can carry. The crowd leans in. Nobody really knows what’s coming, but they know who you are now. The girl who vanished from the spotlight, only to reappear with a song that broke a million hearts and streamed ten million more.

You sit on a plain black stool, mic in hand. No flash, no theatrics. Just you. Hair pulled back, minimal makeup, loose pants and a fitted top. Clean. Intentional. You don’t need to dress the wound up. It bleeds fine on its own.

You glance at the band once, then look straight ahead.

And start.

“And now I cannot trust you…”

The crowd hushes. Phones lift, of course, but no one’s screaming anymore. They’re listening. Because this isn’t a performance. It’s a confession with melody.

Front row, Paige is still. Not stiff. Just quiet. She didn’t come here to be noticed. She came because she couldn’t not come. She told herself she was just here for support, that it was coincidental you were performing. But the second your voice hit that first note, she knew she was lying again.

“Thinkin’ of all your lies and cover-ups…”

You don’t point fingers. You don’t yell. You just sing. The way someone sings when they’ve said it all before—but never like this. Not where everyone could hear. Not with a beat carrying it and a crowd hanging off every line.

You keep your head low, eyes sometimes flicking to the side, but mostly you stare ahead. Not at her. Never at her. That silence says enough.

Paige’s jaw twitches. She tries to keep her face unreadable, but it’s there—the tight swallow, the blink that lingers too long, the way her foot taps just a little too hard against the carpet. She looks at you like she’s bracing for impact.

“You always think the only one who needs any attention is you…”

A few people in the audience murmur, damn. But you just keep going. You don’t rush. Every lyric lands like it was made to sit heavy in someone’s chest. Especially hers.

Because she remembers those nights. The excuses. The timing that never lined up. The “I’m just protecting us” that sounded more like I’m protecting me. You wrote about all of it. All the moments she pretended didn’t matter.

And now it’s playing in Dolby surround, live, on a platform she can’t mute.

When the song ends, there’s a second of silence before the applause hits. A pause like everyone just had to breathe. You stand. Give a quick, grateful nod. No bow. No theatrics.

And walk off.

You don’t look at her. Not once.

But she hasn’t taken her eyes off you since the first note.