#and the ‘something has to give’ can be SO MANY THINGS…..sigh

[goobstars]

i have arrived… WITH REQUESTS!!! this will be request numero uno.

can we pretty please with a cherry anon on top get sebastian with a VERY concussed reader like maybe from a fake door or smth?? (i must have a thing for almost incoherent readers, i was the one who requested the stupid sauce reader too 😭)

- with love, diamond anon 🫶🫶

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

summary : after many encounters with eyefestation and the good people, you go into sebastian's shop in hopes that he has something to help you.

tags : nothings.

note : i don't care if i'm sick i suddenly had motivation to write this.

you had stopped counting at around door eighty-five.

the amount of times you had chosen the wrong door—no thanks to painter—and encountered eyefestation was just tragic. your head was pounding from the many times you had hit your head on the ground as the good people yanked your legs, and you felt dizzy due to the fact you had glanced at eyefestation. it wasn't your fault, your head was being forced to do so, but you were still met with the consequences.

you trudged through yet another door, and despite it being the only one active, the fear that it was a bad door rested in the back of your mind.

"psst, over here!"

the faint voice was barely heard through the ringing of your ears as your gaze flickered towards an open vent, and you narrowed your eyes. did you really want to crawl through that vent?

or, even better, would you be able to crawl through that vent? you could barely walk, and you had no idea if you could stand back up if you decided to go through it.

you slightly shrugged before you walked over to the vent, and you slowly got down as you started to crawl through it. the sound of your equipment hitting the metal walls of the only made your headache worse while you let out a quiet groan, and once you fully crawled out of the vent, you looked over at sebastian.

"welcome back—" sebastian's words were paused as you flopped onto the floor, and he stared at you in confusion. "what happened to you?"

his words weren't filled with concern, but rather mockery as he crossed his arms and eyed your exhausted form. you look like you had been through hell, but he found it amusing.

"eyefestation and the good people..." your words were muffled due to your face being against the floor, and you slightly turned your head so you could meet sebastian's gaze. "did you try using your listening ears to hear the scary monster, or did the document i gave you say to just guess?"

you frowned at his words while he tilted his head, and a smirk crossed his face. "and i thought it was common sense to not look at the big, green eyes. it isn't a staring contest, y'know."

"i was being forced to—" you remarked while you slowly sat up, and one of your hands grasped at your temples. "just shut up and give me a medkit..."

"do you really think a few bandages are going to get rid of your little headache?"

you reached into your pocket before pulling out a flash beacon, and you pointed it at him with a glare. "call my headache little again."

"sensitive, are we?" sebastian commented as he reached down for his tail, and he plucked the medkit off of it before sliding it over to you. "if it's what you want, i guess...that'll be two hundred data."

you reached behind you and grabbed your backpack, and you tossed the whole thing over to sebastian before putting the flash beacon back into your pocket. you then opened up the medkit.

your hands shakily grasped at the bandages while sebastian picked up your bag with one of his claws, but he didn't open it to take out his payment. he just stared at you while you eyed the bandages.

the sight was just pathetic, in his opinion. it appeared like you couldn't even focus straight. you were holding the bandages like you had no clue what to do with them.

he let out a sigh before slightly leaning forward, and he snatched the medkit from you. "you're ruining perfectly good stock, kid."

you reached up to try and grab the medkit back, but once you leaned forward, you only crashed back onto the floor. sebastian gifted you a look of disgust before setting the medkit aside, and he looked around. things were cluttered around his store, and he didn't want you to remain on the floor because the sight of you was just pitiful.

his eyes flickered towards his tail, and he partially frowned. there really wasn't anywhere else for you to go, and with his tail, he could prevent you from moving around and bothering him. maybe he could also take all of your data while you were asleep, and this would prevent you from reaching the crystal for a bit longer.

your head lifted up once you heard shuffling, and you noted how sebastian was removing the pouches from his tail. they were tossed to the side, and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before you felt someone grab your oxygen tanks.

you were lifted up for a split second before you were placed against his tail, and it slightly wrapped around you. not tight enough to suffocate you, but tight enough to where you couldn't squirm around.

"what are you doing?" you questioned, and he leaned back against the wall with a small frown. "you're not going to get better unless you sleep it off for a bit."

you smiled as you leaned your head against his tail, "you care about me—"

"i'm taking payment for this. the more you talk, the more data i'm taking."

you squirmed your hand out of his tail before making a zipping motion on your mouth, and sebastian's frown only grew while you let out a yawn.

the ache in your head dulled once you closed your eyes, and sebastian watched as your head partially lulled. were you that exhausted? your eyes weren't even closed for that long.

he noted the deep eyebags you had, as well as the tears in your jumpsuit. you've gone through quite a lot, haven't you?

sebastian's tail tightened around you, and he questioned why he felt sorry for you. you were the one who signed up for this in the first place, so this was all your doing. there was no reason to pity you for something you had control over.

but then again, you most likely yearned for the freedom promised if you collected everything here. isn't that what everyone wants? freedom?

sebastian glanced at the radio beside him before he looked back at you.

everyone wants freedom, and you were unknowingly preventing him from his. if you took the crystal, it was over for him. he just needed a little while longer to get out of here, and you were standing in the way.

he wouldn't pity you. he couldn't.

because you were an expendable—nothing else.

[love-marimo]

Lover Girl (Luffy x Fem!Reader | Highschool AU)

Lolita's Note: my friends. i am back to writing! after months of yapping and yapping on this blog, i decided to get my ass back into actually writing. i realize i have already written two separate fics on sanji and zoro and luffy is the only one out of the monster trio that i havent dedicated a fic to (yes i love them cant u tell?)! im channeling my inner lover girl for this fic and make it as cringe as possible, so if you find reader to be too sweet and giddy, my apologies 😭

featuring: usopp, nami, chopper, and a mention of nojiko and the asl brothers ღ'ᴗ'ღ

as always, requests are open ! ★

ー inspired by laufey's new song of the same title (i love her so much) ♡

cw: none, just some silly high school fluff with our ball of sunshine (▱˘◡˘▱)

There has been a lot on your mind lately, but one person lives rent free in your head, and you want to know if you deserve a chance with him…

"Dear Luffy, I hope you don't mind me writing this to you. I like-"

Crumple.

"Hey Luffy-"

Crumple.

"Hi :) I love-"

Crumple.

"How am I gonna tell him?!" You buried yourself under your pillows and groaned in frustration. There are too many crumpled papers for you to count scattered on your bed yet here you are, trying to write a love letter that won't be embarrassing enough in case your friends find it. Your mind is in shambles. You still have an algebra assignment waiting for you at your desk. You think about your classmate that you've admired since 7th grade. You wonder if you should even write a letter to secretly hide under his desk. But then, will he ever find it? Or should you just go the classic route, wait for Valentine's and confess to him?

"This is just so dumb." You mutter to yourself, counting on your fingers the reasons why you shouldn't feel this way in the first place. "Why do I even like him anyway? He's stupid and makes childish jokes. He's noisy and never pays attention to class. He's always with Usopp doing random things, and god, he always does pranks on Chopper!"

But then you smile to yourself, clutching a pillow to your chest. "But he's also kind. And honest. And funny. And he's really cute when he smiles… gosh!" You squeal and giggle, recounting the many times you hear him laugh.

Your lovestruck thoughts were cut off by an angry older sister barging into your room.

"What the heck are you doing screaming and laughing to yourself? Go do your homework!" Nami, who's in her senior year angrily nags at you.

"Sorry." You pouted, getting up to sit on your desk and do what she said.

"What was it all about anyway? And why do you have so many crumpled papers on your bed?" She walked over curiously to read all the failed love letters you tried to write.

"Wait, no don't look!" But it was too late.

Nami pauses for a moment, shocked, then turns to look at you and laughs out loud.

"Seriously? You have a crush on Luffy out of all people?" You turn to her with a blush on your face, which makes your sister laugh even more.

"Oh my god. I need to tell Nojiko about this." Grabbing her phone, Nami giggles as she collects all the notes to read.

"Don't tell anyone in school! Please…"

"What do you like about him, though? He looks like someone who'll get robbed easily."

"He's not that gullible!!" You furrowed your brows, disagreeing.

"Look at you, huffing and puffing and defending him." She teases, pinching your cheek playfully.

"The truth is, I don't know how to confess to him." You sighed, hitting your head on your desk.

"Just give him a burger or something. That boy loves meat above anything else. Or you can ask Usopp to give him your letter." She says, stepping out of your room while calling Nojiko, your eldest sister who's away for college.

You didn't sleep well that night, because after finishing your assignment, you resumed in crafting the most acceptable love letter hoping that Luffy won't cringe or laugh at. You contemplated the color of the envelope to put the letter in but settled with a plain white one, so that it won't be obvious.

You were determined to confess to him, because you just can't take it anymore, and you want to get this over with, wholeheartedly expecting rejection.

The next day went by like normal. You made sure to wear your lucky charm before heading out. And at school, Luffy was being restless again, and teachers nagged on him like usual.

"Luffy and Usopp, pay attention to class! And Luffy, did I not tell you to stop bringing that strawhat?" Your teacher said angrily. Luffy quickly stuffed the strawhat in his bag, and the class snickered at him. The two obeyed the teacher, but looked at each other constantly trying to hold their laughs.

Lunch break came, and you're at the canteen contemplating what to buy for Luffy. Then you remembered what Nami told you last night. So, you settled for a burger and a can of soda.

"Please find the burger with the biggest patty." You told the lady behind the counter.

"Here you go." She said, smiling.

You thanked her and proceeded to wait for the Luffy, Usopp and Chopper at their usual spot. You made sure to catch Usopp first, so you can secretly give him your little gift to Luffy without being direct.

"Okay. Here goes." You whisper to yourself as you approached him.

"Psst, hey, Usopp!" You called to him when Luffy went to the bathroom.

"Oh, hey! What is it?" He waved, unassuming.

"Can you give this to Luffy?" You handed the food with the neatly glued envelope to the unsuspecting long-nose.

"What's this for?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Umm…"

And before you can tell a well-thought out lie, a familiar voice rings behind you.

"For me!!" Luffy giggles, taking the burger without hesitation.

"What's that?" Chopper peeks behind him, pointing at the envelope.

All the three turned their eyes on your letter, which was neatly written on a pastel pink scented paper. And that's when you realized you may have made the most stupid decision in your teenage life.

And you had to do something about it.

In a blur, you grabbed the envelope from Chopper, and dragged Luffy somewhere quiet. You didn't care where it is, your looming embarrassment makes you want the ground to eat you alive and get it over with.

"Hey!" The unknowing boy laughs, "What are we doing? Is this some secret game?"

"Open it." You look down, voice suddenly stern ー an attempt to save yourself from your rapidly beating heart, and a face blushing heavily that you wonder if he'll laugh at you if you look at him like that.

"Hmm… Let's see… Luffy, thank you for existing… Luffy…"

"You don't have to read it out loud!"

"Oh, okay. Sorry." He looks at you for a moment, and reads your letter carefully.

There's a moment of silence between you. It was overwhelming. You can't help but feel like you're waiting to be jumpscared in a horror movie. It's laughable, really. You pray that nobody else sees you in this state.

So when you do look at him, you find him staring at you. He calls your name.

"Yes?" You smile shyly, hoping he got the message as you wait for his reply.

I wonder what he'll say… you think a monologue to yourself trying not to smile like a fool.

"What does this mean?" He asks, as if he just read the most complex calculus equation.

It felt like somebody shattered a glass in your mind, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your expression… couldn't be drawn. You don't know if you'll cry, laugh or be mad at him in disbelief.

"Wh-what?"

"This letter. I don't understand it." He says, as a matter of fact. Because it's true. He has never received a love letter. And he's seen some words he's never encountered before. He has a rough idea of what you meant, but just to be sure, he asks again.

"Are you kidding me?!" You asked yourself more than you wanted to ask him. You fell to your knees, muttering words to yourself.

"Whoa, are you okay?" He kneels beside you.

"What is it that you don't get?" You ask, in a disappointed whisper.

"Well there's this word… uhh… bree…breeyath… brathta-"

"Breathtaking."

"And this one! A… adooray?"

"Adore."

"Oh and this one too-"

"Right. You can't read."

Now you wonder how he's in the same grade as you.

You heaved a sigh, composing yourself. Then you sat him on a bench and placed your hands on his shoulder, looking at him intently.

With his wide, childlike eyes, he smiles. Oh, that dumb smile that you fell for the first time you saw him…

"Listen. I'm going to say this once, okay?"

He nods.

"I. Like. You." You say slowly, making sure he understands you this time.

He blinked. Then he gasps.

"Oh!!! I get it now. You have a crush on me."

"Yes."

"So that means we are dating!"

"No!" You face palm. "I mean… if you feel the same way…" You say bashfully in a whisper.

"Well, I don't mind! What do people do when they date?" He pauses, finger on his chin, thinking hard.

"Luffy, this is not a game! God, you don't know what you're doing to me."

"What do you mean? I've heard Ace say that dating is fun. It's what adults do!" He laughs, as if he discovered an interesting hobby to do.

"It's not that easy! We're literally teenagers. And besides when you date you… k-ki…"

"Kiss!" He beams, like it's a great idea that popped in his head.

"Stop!!" He laughs in response, finding joy in your blushing state.

"Hey guys! We've been looking for you everywhere. What happened to her, Luffy?" Usopp called.

"Oi!! I have something to tell you." Luffy walks towards them, proudly showing off the letter you wrote for him.

"She made this for me! The burger had the biggest patty I've eaten in a while, too."

Chopper and Usopp shared a glance, then with a teasing look on their face, walked over to you.

"So that's why you suddenly disappeared on us." Usopp laughed, poking your cheek.

"Did you kiss? Did you kiss?" Chopper pinched your other cheek, giggling with the other boy. You closed your eyes in defeat. Luffy laughed at you, handing you the soda you gave him.

"Here you can have this. Thanks for the burger! I owe you one."

"But I bought this for you." You tried to reject it. But the smile on your face says otherwise.

"It's okay, if you want we can share." He suddenly has two straws and handed one to you.

"I have an idea!" Chopper suddenly placed a handkerchief on your head, took the soda can from your hand, and replaced it with Luffy's hand instead.

"Oooh, what's this?" Luffy curiously asked, casually taking your hand as ordered by Chopper.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you took it all in you not to pass out with it.

"Reverend Usopp, please read the rite of passage to consecrate this union." Chopper said in a lower voice, holding the soda can up in the air.

Then the realization hit you.

"Wait… are we simulating a marriage right now?" You stammered with a beet red face, and a mind going in shambles.

"What?" Luffy asked, dumbfounded.

This handkerchief… is supposed to be a veil… and I'm holding his hands right now… I feel like I'm going crazy!

Usopp improvised some sort of deeply worded paragraph, copying a priest. You stared into the distance, and all Luffy could think about is drinking the soda with you.

"Mr. Monkey D. Luffy, do you take her as your wife?" Chopper asked.

"Hey, give us the soda! I'm parched-" Luffy tried to reach for the drink,

"Just say, "I do.", you idiot! You're ruining the moment." Usopp punched him in the head. Luffy muttered out a weak apology while saying,

"I… do."

Chopper then turned to you and asked the same question.

"I… I'm not ready-" Usopp cut you off and tried to mimic your voice.

"I do~"

"Hey!"

"Then you may now kiss the bride! But let's keep this PG. Please enjoy the unifying potion for newlywed couples, the holy water!" Chopper proudly said, opening to soda can and inserting the two straws for the both of you to drink out of.

You burst into laughter. "What? Holy water? Chopper, you have a crazy imagination."

"St-stop praising me, stupid! It doesn't make me happy at all, birdbrain." He huffed out annoyingly at first, then smiled, giggling.

"I taught him well." Usopp said suavely, satisfied with himself.

"It wasn't a compliment, though." You replied, unimpressed.

"Hey, can we drink it now?" Luffy tapped your shoulder.

"Oh, um… okay." You opened the soda can and inserted the two straws.

"So, what was that about?" He nonchalantly asked after taking a sip.

"You don't know how a marriage ceremony works?" He shrugged in reply. Chopper and Usopp cheered in the background, humming marriage music together and laughing.

"Well, just think of it like dating." You looked away.

"Okay!" He smiled, drinking the last bit of soda.

"Whew, that was refreshing!" Absentmindedly taking your hand to walk you back to the classroom. He doesn't realize it, but you didn't miss the way his cheeks were slightly reddish, and his laughs more giddy.

You hope to yourself that he doesn't change ー that he remains to be this carefree guy who's always up for an adventure. You wonder what's on his mind, what he wants to be when he grows up, and most of all, if the future he dreams about includes you.

Now, for the million dollar question: are you two dating now?

Well… it's not as complicated as you make it out to be. He accepted your confession, and he's more than willing to try, even if this is his first time experiencing what young love feels like. It's foreign to him, but it's new.

And to him, new is always something to look forward to.

The bell rang, and it was time to go home. Usopp went ahead to Chopper's classroom because he promised to treat him to some ramen after school.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds." He waved, and you and then parted ways.

"What do you want to do now?" Luffy asks.

"I have to be home before five. Nami doesn't want me out pretty late."

"What?! Nami's your sister?" He asked, feeling a chill run down his spine.

"Yeah, do you still want to be my boyfriend?" You chuckle, expecting his reaction.

"Well… I still owe her money…" He looked away, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh… so that's why she knows you… For what, though? Did you ask her to tutor you or something?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"From now on, let's help each other study. I'm good with Math! In exchange, we have to go on dates every weekend." You suggested.

"Deal. Where do we go?" He replied excitedly.

"I'm working part-time at a flower shop near the docks. You've always liked ships, right?"

"I do!" He looked at you with sparkling eyes, and you smiled.

"I'll talk to Franky and see if I can make you work for him. He's a really cool shipwright."

"I can't wait! I have to tell about us to my brothers."

"I hope they'll like me."

"Of course they will!"

You held hands on the way home, telling each other stories about whatever. Luffy walked you to your house, and bid you goodbye.

"Wait, before you go…" You grabbed his arm and kissed him on the cheek.

Luffy's eyes widened, his chest suddenly feeling tight. Then he smiled, waving at you. "See you tomorrow!"

You waved back in reply, with your back facing him, as you ran towards your home, not believing how you just did that.

When you opened the door, you found your sister smirking by the stairs.

"Guess it went well, huh. He's such a simpleton." Nami teased.

"Don't call him that! I think… he likes me back." You giggled bashfully.

"Yeah, because you probably gave him food. That guy will go along with anything that he finds interesting."

"Curse you." You glared at her, heading towards your room, and Nami just laughs in reply.

Ever since then, you sat with the three of them during lunch. Luffy will sit next to you during class, and he did his best to pay attention, even asking you about things he doesn't understand.

During weekends, he does what you both promised each other. Franky quickly became friends with him, even if he's clumsy at work. The owner of the flower shop teases you every time he's finished with his shift and waits for you outside.

When you have enough money saved up, you go to amusement parks, the cinemas ー anywhere that the city can offer you. Sometimes he'll surprise you with little trinkets he bought or made himself, and you'll always keep it, no matter how silly.

Laughs are shared, and sometimes you cry together over the stupidest things. Luffy's notorious for being the troublemaker, but with you, he got a little tamed. He'd cut classes less often, he participates during discussions, and one time he even went to school with slicked back hair, and everyone made fun of him but he didn't care. Everyone likes him either way, because he makes them laugh, and hearing it especially from you fills his heart with even more joy. He helps out kids who are bullied, and teachers love making him do errands despite being always annoyed by his antics.

The precious strawhat that he never lets anyone wear, have found its way on your head. He will let you wear it especially during summer days, telling you that Chopper told him that the summer sun is bad for your skin.

It's these little things that made you realize that you didn't really make a bad decision that day. You tell yourself that the embarrassment was worth it, even though you frequently fight over food.

And before you know it, the happy-go-lucky simpleton who never understood what it's like to confess your love to someone and never really cared for that matter, now glows brighter with you.

ー Lolita

[inuiiwonderland]

Empire

Being crowned as empress of the Yuunkaedangon empire at the age of 17, you begin to start loving the new status and power. But it soon gets a bit boring and demanding the moment you turned 18. Harem? Heirs? Tf not!

Chapter 6

Words: 1.5k

-

The room was silent as Atsushi stared at his previous emperor with wide terrified eyes.

“W-what? But that’s impossible!” He screeches. Hands shaking with fear and anger.

The previous emperor gulps the remaining of his wine down, he knew to take this conversation somewhere private, knowing how loud atsushi can get when he’s surprised or angry.

“B-but it can’t be! The young empress has been doing a good job with keeping peace between empires and enemies!”

“I know atsushi I know, I even had some of my men go under cover and investigate it. The only thing I know as of now is that they’re planning on assassinating one of my empress concubines”

“WHAT?!” Atsushi is sure he’s going to give himself whiplash by how fast he turned his neck around to stare at the old emperor.

assassination?!

“But why?! What has the young-“

“I’m afraid it’s not because of my empress….but because of me”

Atsushi looked at him confused. Because of him?

“What do you mean?” The Old man stays quiet. He pours himself another glass before continuing with a heavy sigh.

“Many years ago when I was young and married my wife, the previous empress…I have gone to the dark forest the night my wife fell sick”

Atsushi gasps. Finally remembering that night.

“The night the previous empress almost died….she was pregnant with the young empress” He utters. Of course, how could he forget that scary terrifying night? No one has ever talked about it since it happened.

“Yes….and I was scared….so so scared that I was going to lose both my wife and my child that night”

Atsushi stays quiet. Listening intently as the old emperor talks about that fateful night.

“A witch told me she knew exactly what I needed to give my wife her strength and health back…told me she knew about one magical plant that can help my wife and my child”

“But it came with a very large price….and being the foolish young man I was, I told her anything. Name a price and it’s all hers. I should’ve known something wasn’t right when she only requested 200 thaumarks.”

“She gave me an old map that led to the dark forest. She said that it was the only place where I could find it before she vanished. That same night I gathered up over 300 guards to come with me to look for the magical plant in the dark forest. I lost a few men that night due to the dangerous creatures that lurked in that forest, hell I almost died a few times too! But after long hours of searching I finally found it…. The sunset flower”

He takes a sip before continuing.

“It was the only flower left….and I took it. Once we arrived I made sure it was prepared immediately to be served to my wife. I took so long I almost lost her as she waited for my return. I didn’t waste a second before feeding it to her-” He looks up and his eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“My wife got better, she was comfortable for the remaining days of her pregnancy before she blessed me with my beautiful daughter. Both my wife and daughter were strong and healthy”

“But little did I know, while I had my happy ending, someone out there didn’t”

-

The man stares down at the hole in the ground with gritted teeth and a heart broken expression. His fist trembled with anger as he let out both a choked out sob and scream of anger.

“NOOOOOOOOO”

He falls to the ground as he punches and tears the nearby plants down. Two men both at his side tried to help him up but he pushed them both away.

“NO NO NO THIS CANT BE!! SOMEONE STOLE IT SOMEONE STOLE IT!!” He screams as he then repeatedly starts punching the ground.

“Master-”

“Please-”

“She’s dying! My daughter oh my beautiful daughter is dying! This plant was our only hope!”

The two men gave their master a sad look. Knowing that now there’s nothing else they could do.

That night the man came home to heart wrenching news. His wife stands in front of him with puffy eyes and a loud sob.

Their daughter has passed

Due to the lost of her precious daughter, the mother couldn’t handle it anymore and soon died due to a broken heart.

The man was left to grieve not only his daughter's death but also his wife.

-

“The ruler of the dark forest lost two of the most precious things to him that same night”

“So he’s back with revenge?” He was scared for the old emperor answer, but once the man nods atsushi pales.

“So what now? The young empress isn’t aware of this right? We should tell her! She needs to know so she can prepare-” but he is soon cut off by a stern voice.

“No”

“W-what?”

“No. She can’t know, not yet at least!” Atsushi frowns. Confused and also upset.

“B-but…the young empress has the right to know. Especially if it concerns her concubines and her future heirs!”

But the old man ignores him. Atsushi stood there confused and helpless. If he can’t tell you then what should he do? What can he do to help you and the others to stay safe along with the empire?

-

It was getting dark, the festival was still going strong as the crowd gathered around for the fireworks. You separated from the rest of the group, saying you needed a bit of alone time and that you’ll meet them before the firework show starts.

You walked down a small path that leads to one of the many bridges your palace has. You look down at the pretty koi fishes swimming in the pond. You smile down at them and their pretty scales, admiring their patterns and beauty.

As you were busy admiring the fishes, you didn’t notice the unknown figure creeping up to you. A loud leaf crunch brought you back and you turned to see a young man.

A beautiful young man actually

He didn’t seem to notice you yet, but you took that time to admire him. Short white hair, sun kissed skin, he seems to be wearing traditional clothing along with some gold jewelry and makeup- sevens he looks beautiful.

His eyes soon met yours and you were met with a pair of red eyes. His eyes widened once he noticed you.

“Ah! Sorry I didn’t know someone was already here! I’ll just go-”

“No” He stops in his tracks, a bit startled by your words.

“Huh?” You realize how weird you sounded and quickly straighten up as you awkwardly invite him to stay.

“You…can stay” he stays still for a moment which causes you to grow nervous. Sevens what if he thinks you’re a weirdo?

You two stayed quiet. You go back to admiring the koi fish as he just stares at the sky. The silence was soon broken when he turned to you and asked for your name.

“Mm? My name?”

He nods. You smile at him before telling him who you were. You were startled by his loud voice after you told him your name.

“W-wait? Y/n?! As in the young empress?!” You nod and his jaw drops. He quickly composes himself before respectfully bowing.

“Sorry for not asking sooner, young empress!” You blinked at him before letting out a small giggle at his antics. Giggles soon turning to laughs as he continues to apologize and bow and you had to physically stop him.

“And you? What’s your name?” You asked once he was done.

“Ah right! My name is Kalim Al-Asim! Prince of the scalding sans!”

Oh

OH

“Ah so you’re Kalim!” He nods joyfully. You smile before bowing.

“It’s really nice to meet you, we haven’t really gotten the chance to talk at all today”

“It’s nice to meet you young empress! I heard a lot of good things about you from my father!”

“Really? I sure hope so” you joked and the two of you laughed. Kalim continues to talk about his day at the festival, how much he liked the food, how beautiful the imperial palace looks and how they also do lots of lavish parties back home too!

You liked Kalim. He was funny and bubbly, something you wouldn’t mind having in your harem.

Your moment was soon cut short as a voice calls out to Kalim.

“There you are! You had me and your parents worried-”

“Jamil! Look, come meet the young empress! She’s really nice” Jamil was soon then in front of you. He blinked a couple of times before quickly bowing and introducing himself.

And well wow

Is everyone from the scalding sans this gorgeous?

His long silky hair was in a ponytail along with some of his hair in braids. He was also wearing traditional clothing with a few gold accessories. His makeup wasn’t as bold as Kalim but it did get the job done with making his eyes stand out.

“It’s very nice to meet you young empress”

Mm

These two would make lovely concubines…

The two of them looked at each other confused at your sudden change. Both watching you as you looked at them up and down before a mischief-like smile graced your face.

“Young empress?”

“Kalim what did you do?!”

“She was fine just a few minutes ago!”

-

Taglist!

@gl00muraaii

@ghostlysyntaxed

@zoukaposts

@twistedcece

@kisses2kanao

@s7-evermore

@c0ralrubi

@owl778

@rubyninja1

@roseapov

@soft-blue-clouds

@coffeedragonhobbyist

@sherryclover

@stormynightstorytime

@rory1939

@kikiarara

@cecil-the-crybaby

@fscomet101

@0tomefreak

@bluewolfangel01

@kiki-kuku

@leatherhighway

@dexr-jan9am1

@iridescentnautilus

@littlepenguinheart

@moonstonedrop

@magnoliafairy

@ravenbc

@2ndmeate

@rooksforehead

@cacauriiexz

@cupid73

@m1urayun

@beautiful-mezz

@profoundmusickryptonite

@rookiecookie12

@amellialunarie

@keikeiluvyou

-

What happens next? Is reader and their concubines going to be okay? Alsooo, new consorts?

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

"they’re the sons of Athena, the goddess famous for her making infants from her thoughts."

The funniest thing about Athena and her thoughts babies in og PJ? The implications of Anabeth just Appearing on her father's doorstep (if I remember right, and I think I do). Which means all her kids do not even need to be conceived in a biologically sound way (this is how Caryn Pines can still win lmao! gee Stan twins how come you have three parents and only one relatively decent? ...we could also throw Maurice in there; just to bully them more. somehow they ended up in the world's most unlikely polycule).

Ideal set up for Shifty actually! Bonus points if it's somehow with both of Mcguckets. Brain child 🧠

They're not even together with Stan, he just thought too much about it after one too many Emma-May's rants about cloning! Then nine months pass and Fiddleford stumbles into baby on their doorstep. But it has six fingers like Ford, so maybe someone mistook the house and left his secret child there?..

Emma-May is away, either on the heroic quest or academy one, so she can't yet run the tests and see that this baby is somehow theirs and also a Pines?? What???

So these two are still getting each other baby trapped and arguing over whose kid is this. Stan feels something is Different, especially after a head-splinting headache he randomly just had, but he never had a brain baby before, he has no idea what has happened.

You're absolutely correct in that none of Athena's children are conceived in any kind of biological way, meaning her chosen mortal brain lovers are even less ready to be parents and can easily be either gender. (Which, sudden thought, would be really funny if the reason Athena didn't claim Stan was because she had 0 idea he was hers, because he's Athena's and Caryn's brain baby who got born 15 min after and is coincidentally identical to Ford. They are actually half brothers and have no idea), which did lead to some tension when the twins showed up and Caryn thought her husband had cheated on her, while Filbrik was legit clueless about these two kids popping up from nowhere. Thankfully he managed to convince her he was telling the truth and she warmed up to them, but Stan vividly remembers the time she wasn't as motherly as she eventually became, while Ford only vaguely recalls there being a difference.

I'm also going to use this platform to speak about my creature, Maurice. Let me tell you, i have been so tempted to reuse their character in a different fic as a fae but call them Lessrice, as a gag. In a pj crossover i could very much see them as some kind of nature spirit or god of Never Talking to People.

Also I love how we're making Shifty Stan's baby here. He's the full god now, he gets to be the dad to this shapeshifting baby.

But no wait imagine.

Stan got crowd funded into god hood, meets Emma-May/Fiddleford while the two of them are on an adventure (they are 18, maybe 19 at this point) she yaps about cloning and Fidds yaps about robots their voices get stuck in his head, gets a growing headache, shows up to camp to see them building him a cabin, and then a few weeks later his headache disappears.

Heres the thing, those babies show up on the parents doorsteps, and the McGuckets, still being young, live in the cabins over the summer.

So Stan's headache disappears, and then a baby shows up on the Hephaestus or (hmm. I want to say Demeter maybe? Or some minor god is Emma-May's demigod parent. Unsure at this time) front doorstep.

There's one huge suspect, Athena, except Stan bounces out and just sighs in relief of this headache he's had finally being gone :) hey whats up everyone :), and this baby has six fingers and Fiddleford's nose and Emma-May's hair and then maybe Athena herself has to show up to give Stan the baby brain talk.

Alternatively the baby shows up, six fingers and Fiddlefords nose, and then everyone is Looking at them while they argue about the identity of this baby. Fords not a god! He can't make brain kids!

Are we sure about that says Fiddleford, and also are you directing impure thoughts my way? I'm married

Ford: ITS NOT MINE???!!!

Any way this shakes out (McGuckets moved out, Stan's obviously down one headache, Stan has to get The Talk from the parent who didn't acknowledge his existence ever) is hilarious. Fords the first suspect regardless of godly hood, and everyone's disappointed he wasn't using brain protection.

[starrymix]

giving various date everything women head… headcanons!

feat. penelope, kopi, tydus

date everything has soooo many baddies that it drives me insane. i just need to give them so much of my loving

tags: gn reader, cunnilingus (characters receiving), trans kopi, somewhat dom tydus

penelope

it takes a real long time for penelope to allow you to eat her out. not that she doesn’t want it. it’s more so that she managed to convince herself that she doesn’t deserve to receive something like that. as if you’re inconveniencing yourself doing it.

luckily this isn’t your first rodeo since you literally had to beg her to start raising her standards and choosing better romantic partners (you) ‘cause she deserves the best!

the first time you’re in between her legs, she instantly gets shy and instinctively closes up her legs. so if you want to proceed, you may have to hold them open yourself. though she may also love it if you rested her legs on top of your shoulders.

she is HELLA sensitive overall that even brushing your fingers against her inner thighs can have her whimpering.

when she feels your tongue flick her clit, she has a full body shudder. knowing her rocky dating past, it’s probably the first time anyone has found it that quickly.

she is for sure a squirter. she may think it’s inconvenient and messy but she’ll stop trying to excuse herself once she sees how much licking it all up. if you wanna fluster her further, feel free to kiss her right after and give her a good taste.

kopi

personally i headcanon kopi to be a trans woman who’s had vaginoplasty.

even tho she had the procedure a good while ago, she hasn’t been able to take the time and explore what feels good for her now.

that’s where you come in.

she was definitely anxious before you two started, worried that she may not feel much sensation after all and that she’ll get her hopes up.

those worries are immediately shut off the moment she feels your tongue on her. the way your tongue moves, making sure to explore every part of her pussy to see what reaction you can get out of her, has her instantly shaking. not to mention the constant eye contact from you watching out for her physical responses also drives her crazy.

the way she arches her back and desperately grabs onto the pillows as she experiences these incredible sensations in a completely different way. definitely making her euphoric in more ways than one.

when she cums, one can say this coffee maker most certainly a creamer if ya know what i mean. she’s probably already leaving a MESS on your mouth and chin halfway through, which you’ll gladly lick up with no issue.

safe to say that the experiment was a success and she’s more than eager to try out more things with you.

tydus

compared to the other two girls, she can be a bit more rough and is overall more experienced.

she loves being eaten out after training or sparring cause that’s when the adrenaline is really flowing through her body.

loves doing it while leaning against a wall with you on your knees or simply just sitting on your face. really any position where she can just grab a hold of your hair and absolutely grind down on your face is more than enough.

one thing she does enjoy in particular is you sucking on her clit, like really your lips suctioning around the bud. honestly the perfect finishing move when she’s already on the cusp. guaranteed to have her moaning above you, damn near making her keel over.

she’s absolutely amazing at using her beautiful words to praise you. probably has the best pet names for you as well that totally hit different whenever you’re eating her out. just hearing her breathily sigh out those words with her gorgeous voice will make you feel soooo damn intoxicated.

i’m kinda leaning towards her being the creaming type whenever she cums. though it’s definitely a lot more noticeable if you finger/penetrate her.

kinda realizing i unintentionally wrote for my top three date everything women lol (not in particular order tho bc kopi isss my number 1 girlfriend teehee)

[isolatednights]

"hey, if that's how you plan to make your fortune, i will definitely take your share of the lawsuit we're going to win against the airline." she muses with a grin. "i know what you mean, eli," laughing as the man scrambles to correct himself. "oh no, you're definitely my island husband, you can battle it out with my mainland husband once we're rescued to see who can keep me long-term." another tease - something she's coming to appreciate about the man; his ability to make anyone smile and laugh while still seeing to their survival. "you might get some odd looks if you do," she giggles, the noise steadily dying as she settles down beside the fire.

"we were taking a girls trip - it was meant to be a single-girls trip... get eden away from sam for good sort of thing," she explains beneath her breath, eyes flickering across the space to look at her friend and the little girl she considers a niece. "we were planning to bring them both back to my place when we got back. stay with me while eden got things sorted and then sam insisted on coming with us... wouldn't take no for an answer."

"i was about 95 percent sure it was you guys anyways." he retorts with a sigh. here he was, putting up a valiant effort to be a protector and he was being criticized for it. what the hell was he meant to know about survival outside of the corporate world? silas is prepared to sit some distance from the woman - allow her the space she's so willingly sought from the others, so the eager patting at the space beside her gives him pause and it takes him several seconds to realize she is in fact motioning to her. sinking down at her side, he sneaks a glance in her direction.

full of surprises, he realizes, taking the hair pin. it's elegant in a subtle sort of way, and somehow he finds himself wondering what it might look like tangled up in auburn locks. blinking away the thought, he carefully takes the pin and slides it into his pocket. "thank you," he manages after a moment, leaning back on his hands. "you didn't have to do that, you know? even if i didn't have this, or my flaming stick... i'd tackle whatever i needed with my bare hands to keep her safe, you know? her and lily. they're just kids. deserve better than this." they all did.

"can boil the fish bones with the shellfish, keep it all for breakfast. maybe lily'll drink the broth? extra nutrients." he could remember a time when his younger sister was that age - picky and temperamental - it had been hard enough finding things she'd eat or drink when every day luxuries had been at his fingertips. now? they just had to guess and hope. "wasn't me," he admits, though now he wishes it were given the excitement that's sprung so easily to the woman's face at such a simplistic thing. "just glad we could help you two." two - not three. because asher would sooner let the man - let sam - wander into the jungle and never return. he casts one more glance over the woman before he's moving to take his self-claimed spot at the fire, carefully beginning to clean the fish for cooking.

it's karma, she thinks. for opening her mouth and having such hope that maybe the man might not return, only for him to stumble out of the jungle with his usual cheerful attitude. there's a familiar itch beginning under her skin - one that wants her to snap at the man, especially now that there are so many other witnesses who would never allow him to do anything to her, but aiyla can't help but stay quiet. it's only when sam moves, a touch too aggressive that aiyla flinches forward ( a silent breath of relief escaping her at the sight of cade already on his feet ).

it's only sam has finished his rant that aiyla raises fully from her position and shuffles over to eden, crouching before the woman. "don't listen to him, alright?" she whispers. "lily will learn when she's ready, but until then, she needs some comforts from home, and between her sippy and her suitcase, now she does. you're a good mom. don't let him you believe otherwise, hm?" reaching forward to run her hands up the others woman's arms, she flashes a smile. "borrow my blanket tonight, hm? it's getting cold and you and lil's could use it. i'll be up a bit longer and cade got me a nice sweatshirt. i'll be plenty warm." there is no waiting for a response before aiyla is offering a quiet goodnight and pushing to her feet and over to cade. almost hesitantly, she reaches to give his fingers a squeeze. "thank you."

"oh yeah but come on now, if we get rescued i've a small fortune in airplane food. that stuff is always so overpriced." he looked ahead, eyeballing eris then shrugged. "i think you're probably right, she seems a tough cookie to crack- not that.. i mean it's not like that but either way, i think she's just protective and i don't think that's a bad thing, i don't mean it in a bad way." then rhea might as well have stolen breath from his lungs the way she shocked him but he was smirking about it, the smile growing, the flattery evident. "notice that i'm not objecting to that?" elias laughed, his head bobbing in how he nods. "please do, claim me, like a dog marks its territory." he held his hands up. "for the record, i was single before this too, i don't have like a secret wife or anything i haven't told anyone about so, very free for the being claimed like a dog thing. should i woof?"

"and that fire would do good until it was blown out of your hands. then what?" she hummed. what she didn't expect was the blanket dropped around her shoulders, it had her looking up at him with surprise before paying the choice to tap the space next to her eagerly, her choice made. he couldn't defend himself adequately with a stick and a little fire, it wasn't going to work long term and she'd found... enough. she'd found her case, she'd stayed quiet about it thus far, mainly because she didn't want everyone knowing the strange amount of weaponry she'd managed to smuggle through an airport.

eris slipped a hand into her jacket and discreetly pushed the 'hair pin' towards him, the type you used to type your hair like a stick... just like the kind currently twirled in her hair and keeping it back and secure. "pull the handle and it reveals a blade, long and thin but very effective and very sharp so.. no playing with it. don't say anything." she whispered. "a stick wouldn't save you close range, this would." she didn't look at him, she stared into the fire and then to mia. "only because i want you to protect her if i can't, for whatever reason."

"yeah! yeah we still have water, you've done amazing we can all be fed from this." she beamed but nothing beat the absolute joy that radiated from her at the sight of that sippy cup. "you found it! oh my god she's going to be so happy in the morning!" eden was joyous in that moment that she took it back, there was a relief for her too, knowing her daughter would actually drink plenty now she had that cup back. "thank you thank you thank you!" she was instantly moving to put some of the clean water she'd pre-boiled into the cup, mainly so there was some ready for morning before they used any or all of it. "oh no, no sign of him actually, i wonder if h-" like it was right on queue, speak of the devil. he walked through the tree's and didn't have a damn thing to show for it. if anything he looked like he'd spent the day lounging down at the beach rather than trying to catch a damn thing.

"thanks for sending out the search party." he comments dryly, eden felt it... the look between everyone but she tried to at last seem positive. "sorry, we've all been prioritizing and these guys only just got back too but- but look! look what they found." she held up lily's cup, she was so.. sweetly happy about it and he didn't even crack a smile as he moved towards her. "does that really matter?" edens hands lowered, holding that cup closer. "well- well she finds drinking hard without it she's still so little.." she started to mumble, to lessen her joy and go quiet.. he squished that, so easily. "she has to learn, eden. i mean we're on a fucking island, and a sippy cup isn't fucking priority is it?" he whispered that last part at her, it wasn't nice, he didn't want everyone to hear the nasty tone he could take with her. "i just thought it'd make her feel a little more normal." she mumbled and there was a moment he jerked towards her, like he'd really hit her or lay a hand on her in front of everyone. it was noticeable enough that cade squared up, standing back up as if to prepare for it to get worse there and then. "none of this is fucking normal eden, christ are you blind as well as dumb? open your eyes- actually what have you done today? i've been out there trying to catch us meat, protein and what have you done?"

her fingers were fumbling, her cheeks burning.. she felt so put on the spot. "well i- i was looking after lily and i made.. i made tea." his brows raised at her. "you made... tea. you know what that's pathetic but fuck it, i'm going to go sleep over there." he gestured, raising up what he'd decided was his sleeping bag and making sure he was far enough away that he could curse under his breath and not be heard which at least meant, they couldn't be heard either. "sam you'll be cold-" she tried to sound soft but he waved her off. eden turned to look at the others, mainly aiyla and rhea and she looked so sheepish. "sorry he just... the heat and stuff.."

[crescentfool]

orpheus and thanatos 💚

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

How the f-word does he play a trombone.

---

Someone keep me away from the music video I just found several things I want to aggressively point at and perhaps be incoherent over.

[deviousdiesel]

.

[tanadrin]

And God said, "Behold! I have created the fourth primordial force: the weak interaction!"

And the angels all clapped and nodded politely, and there was a long silence; and finally Verchiel, the Angel of Grace, spoke up and asked, "Er, what exactly does it do, O Fashioner?"

And God said, "What do you mean, 'what does it do?' It's the fourth fundamental force of the universe."

And Verchiel said, "You mentioned that. Um. But it's just that the other three sort of have a brand, you know? Gravity helps build large-scale structures, acts over vast cosmic distances, shapes time and space. The strong force is secret, hidden, binding together quarks and all that. Electromagnetism, very cool stuff, somewhere in between. We're all big fans of the whole magnetic monopole double bluff, very clever. But, er. What does this 'weak interaction' do?"

And God said, "It mediates radioactive decay. Sort of."

And Verchiel said, "Radioactive decay? All radioactive decay?"

And God said, "No. Just some kinds."

And Zephaniel, the Chief of the Ishim spoke, and he said, "A whole independent force just to mediate some kinds of radioactive decay?"

And God said, "Well. Not totally independent. Technically it's related to electromagnetism."

And Zephaniel said, "Wait, it's not even a real force?"

And God said, "It's totally a real force. It's just that it's one aspect of a combined electromagnetic and weak force. An electro-weak force, if you will."

And Metatron, the Celestial Scribe, scratched his head at this, but said nothing.

And Cambiel, the Angel of Transformation, said, "Maybe you can walk us through it from the top."

And God Sighed an immense Sigh, and said, "All right, fine.

"So the way it works is that all of space and time is permeated by a field that has imaginary mass."

And Cambiel said, "Imaginary mass, O Generous Provider?"

And God said, "Yes, imaginary mass. It's tachyonic, d'you see?"

And Sarathiel, the Angel of Discipline, said, "Wait a minute, I thought we agreed nothing was going to travel faster than light? All that 'c' business and the whole Lorentz transformation thing. What's happening with that?"

And God said, "Let me finish. The field is tachyonic. The particles in the field all move slower than light."

And Sarathiel had to think about this for a second.

And God said, "The point is, a field with imaginary mass has a non-zero vacuum expectation value."

And this really gave Sarathiel trouble, since he had never been very good at math.

And God, seeing this, went back to explain. "Most fields, like the electromagnetic field, have no effect when they are at their lowest energy state. It's like they're not there at all. If you give a field imaginary mass, then it vanishes only when it's at a very high energy state, and at a low energy state, it has a nonzero value everywhere."

And Sarathiel nodded, but he was confused, because he didn't understand why God would create such a thing.

But Verchiel thought he saw where God was going with this, and he was amazed.

"Truly, you are cunning beyond measure, O Only One Certainly Sound and Genuine in Truth! Only now do I understand your design! For in order to make the universe homogenous and isotropic, it is necessary that all large-scale fluctuations in temperature and mass must be evened out early in the history of the cosmos; and therefore, you have designed a field which will rapidly expand space after the Big Bang, many orders of magnitude in brief moments, and then swiftly and spontaneously decay as it gives up the energy it began with, giving rise to radiation and particles of all kinds as it does, which will condense into the material universe! It is a wonder to behold."

And God said, "What? No. I mean I did, but this isn't the inflaton field I'm talking about. This is something else."

And Verchiel said, "Wait, it's not?"

And God said, "No, I'm going to use a different field to drive cosmic inflation. The properties of this field are totally different."

And now Verchiel was also confused, and lapsed into silence.

And God said, "Like I was saying, this field is a scalar field with imaginary mass, and it does spontaneously decay to a ground state with a non-zero value. But it's not the inflaton field. Instead it combines with the W1, W2, W3, and B bosons."

And Metatron began to flip back through the pages of the Heavenly Record trying to figure out where he'd lost the thread.

And Zephaniel said, "The what bosons?"

And God said, "The W1, W2, W3, and B bosons. I'm sure I mentioned them. You know, the massless bosons?"

And Zephaniel said, "I'm pretty sure we only talked about the W+, W-, and Z0 bosons. All of which you said were going to have mass, O Owner of All Sovereignty."

And God said, "Yes, but this is how they get them, you see. Once this field acquires a nonzero value everywhere, the massless bosons interact with it and get mass. Well, some of them do. They turn into the W+, W-, and Z0 boson. And the photon."

And Zephaniel said, "…and the photon, O Accepter of Invocation?"

And God said, "Well, I did say I was going to unify the electromagnetic force and the weak interaction, didn't I? This is how. Above the critical temperature--right now I'm thinking 10^15 K, but I'm open to feedback on that one--electromagnetism and the weak force act as a single unifying force. Below that temperature, the field gets a nonzero value, you get three massive bosons to mediate the weak interaction, and the photon pops out seperately."

And Zephaniel said, "That seems… a bit overly complicated, doesn't it, O Reinstater Who Brings Back All?"

And God said, "No, it's exactly what we need. Look, that way the W and Z bosons have something to do, but the weak interaction still only travels short distances. Gravity is still the star of the show on cosmic scales, as it were. But now quarks and leptons can swap their flavor!"

And Zephaniel said, rather weakly, "Their… flavor, O Source of Good?"

And God said, "It's this new quantum number I'm trying out, to give the three generations of matter more unique identities."

And Cambiel said, "Three generations of matter? Now I'm really confused."

And God said, "I'm sure I mentioned this. You've got the lightest quarks and leptons, and then two heavier versions of each that can decay into the lighter versions."

And Cambiel said, "What do they do? New kinds of chemistry, is it?"

And God said, "Well, no. Mostly they just decay in a couple microseconds. Or even faster."

And Zephaniel began to rub his temples, and Cambiel sniffed.

And Cambiel said, "This all seems a bit ad hoc to me. Not really the stuff of an elegant and obviously ordered Creation. Why not have four generations of matter? Why not a trillion?"

And God began to grow irritable, and said, "Well, that's not really up to you, now is it? We're going to have three generations of matter, and the electroweak force, and that's that!"

And Zephaniel said, "As long as we are unifying fundamental forces, perhaps we could somehow also unify the electroweak interaction with the strong interaction, or even gravity."

And God hesitated saying, "Well, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm not sure I want gravity to be quantized, you know? Seems to take some of the geometric elegance out of general relativity."

And now it was Zephaniel's turn to sigh, and he bowed his head. "As you wish, O Possessor of Authority of Decisions and Judgement."

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

You’re My Baby Too

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

You'd think that the second pregnancy would be a breeze. You already know everything about how it goes, how to prepare, what to expect, but in your case, your second pregnancy was dreadful.

First trimester, horrible nausea, you spent half your time over the toilet with Lando holding your hair. Your baby boy was so much bigger than Isla it made your back hurt like crazy all the time, and the worst thing of all was that your baby boy didn't wanna come out.

You prayed you wouldn't give birth before Lando finished the season, so when the season ended you were relieved. But then your due date passed, and nothing happened. Then five days passed after your due date, nothing again. 10 days after your due date - the baby just doesn't wanna come out.

You were frustrated, exhausted, and tired of being pregnant. You just wanted to be able to see your feet again and be able to get up off the couch without Lando having to pull your hand.

"It's because you make such a good home for him he doesn't wanna come out, love." Lando tried to calm you down in a nice way, not even realizing that he irritated you with that because he's been saying that for the last 10 days and your nerves have become very thin hearing it.

"I swear, if you say that one more time.." You barked rolling your eyes at him while holding your still very pregnant belly.

"I'm sorry, I'll shut up.."

“Thank you.” You glared at him.

He didn't hold it against you for your brazen response because he understood that it had become too much for you. Lately, he's been walking on eggshells around you because everything has been annoying you, and he didn't want to be the one to contribute to that.

When the twelfth day passed since your due date, you realized that too much time had passed and you even started to worry a little that something was wrong. So Lando decided to take you to the hospital, where you very clearly told the doctor that you weren't leaving the place until you gave birth.

You thought that by some miracle, as soon as you stepped into the hospital, labor would start and you would just pop the baby out and everything would be over in less than two hours just like it was with Isla, but of course that wasn't the case with this baby.

"I think we have no other choice but to induce the labor." The doctor said.

"Okay, how long does it take?" You asked. "Is it like natural labor or?"

"Induced labor can last from a few hours to a few days, it depends. It's most often completed within 12 to 18 hours from the start of the procedure."

"Oh my God" You sighed in despair with tears in your eyes and Lando immediately squeezed your hand to offer you at least some comfort.

"Does it hurt more than a normal birth?" Lando was very concerned about how painful it would be for you. While you were giving birth to Isla, Lando was of course by your side, and even though it was much shorter and easier, he was still terribly shaken to see the pain you went through.

"I don't want to discourage you and scare you right from the start, but many women have said that induced labor is more painful."

And boy oh boy was it painful.

When they gave you the drip to induce contractions, that's when the real agony began. The drip makes contractions stronger and more frequent and you can't even begin to explain what you'd compare that pain to.

You were sweating.

Crying.

Gripping the sides of the bed and Lando's hand, which at one point you thought you were going to break.

You honestly felt like dying. What was supposed to be the most beautiful experience of your life was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Lando was heartbroken seeing you like this. He was putting cold compresses on you, hugging you, kissing you, comforting you, begging you to endure this.

"I'm so sorry baby, I wish I could go through this instead of you. I'm so sorry."

He didn't leave you for a second, except when you caught a 5-minute break from the contractions and managed to close your eyes for at least a moment and calm down. Lando said he had to go to the bathroom.

He lied actually. Instead he went to the hallway outside your room where his parents were patiently waiting. By the look on his face, Cisca and Adam could see that Lando was not well and that he himself was traumatized.

Lando didn't say anything, he just hugged Cisca and buried his face in her neck, soaking her shoulder with tears.

"I'm so fucking scared for her. It wasn't like this the first time." Lando cried quietly.

"Oh honey, y/n's going to be alright, I promise you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but soon this will pass and you'll be going home with your baby." Cisca comforted trying to lift his spirits. "Honey, you need to get yourself together, alright? She needs you right now and you need to be there for her."

When labor finally began after 14 long hours, you were running out of strength. You were so exhausted that you weren't sure if you would be able to push the baby out.

"Push y/n, push!" The doctor encouraged.

"I c-can't" You cried breathing rapidly. "Lando, I can't do it.."

"Come on baby, you can, I know you can. Just a little bit more and it's done, I promise. You've got this" He was pushing your hair out of your face, holding your hand, and holding your leg at the same time.

"Come on, push, push! I can see the head!"

Finally, the baby's cry was heard and soon the baby boy was on your chest. As soon as you saw him, all the pain instantly vanished.

He was so perfect. So worth it.

Lando couldn't contain his emotions as he rested his head on your shoulder, carefully observing his baby.

Later that day, when everything had calmed down, Lando was still there by your side. He couldn't be separated from you nor did he want to. His gaze shifted between you and the baby watching you both sleep peacefully.

He was tired too. He didn't really remember the last time he slept, but he knew you had it worse than him anyway, so he didn't even think of complaining.

"Lan?"

"Hey, love" His face lit up when you opened your eyes. When he saw you smile, it brought energy back to him. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Did you get some rest?"

"I did, why didn't you?" You asked him when you saw the huge dark circles under his eyes and the same clothes from the day before yesterday. "Baby, please go home, I know you're exhausted too."

"The only way I'm getting out of here is with you two."

You didn't want to argue with him because you knew it was pointless. You were just grateful that he was there and that he was yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl. I'm so proud of you." Lando said softly caressing your cheek and looking into your tired eyes. "I love you so much you know that, right?"

"I know, I can feel it. I love you too, so much." You say before kissing him. "Where are our kids?"

"This little guy is sleeping here without a care in the world."

"And Isla? She didn't come with your parents?"

"No, I told them not to bring her because I knew you'd get too emotional if you saw her, and I wanted you to rest as much as possible."

"You should've told them to bring her, I really miss her and I can't wait for her to meet her brother." You said, but you could still see the worry in Lando's eyes. "I'm fine, Lan, I promise."

"We're done with the kids. Our family is complete now."

"Lan.." You chuckled.

"No, I'm serious. I never want to see you go through so much pain again. It's been so hard to watch you like that and not be able to do anything and I'm not putting you through it again. "

"It was worth it tho. Look at him, he's so perfect. I'd do it all over again for our baby"

"I know, I know, but you're my baby too." No matter how many children you have, his protective attitude towards you will never change.

"Oh, love.." You pulled his hand to get up from the chair and come sit on the bed next to you so you can cuddle up next to him.

"I can't wait to take you home, both of you." He said quietly kissing your forehead.

You rested your head on his chest, knowing that wherever you are, as long as he's there, everything is fine.

[kageyuh]

caught ya! | ★ nerd!armin arlert x roommate!reader pt. 1

cw/pairing: nerdy armin, glasses armin, catching armin beating his meat, masturbation, kinda nsfw (nothing wild), perverted? roommate armin x reader summary: you catch your roommate moaning your name during the act. you've always known he was a nerd, but who knew he was a pervert, too?

armin is a gooner.

you lost count of how many times you caught your glasses-framed roommate mid-sesh, fleshlight in hand, lube at the ready, sat on his desk chair with a hentai open and visible on his monitor.

it has become such a common occurrence, in fact, that you barely even flinch when you swing his door open today to pornographic moans and high pitched noises coming from the screen. the one thing you didn't expect, however, was him moaning your name as he pleasured himself.

you're frozen in place, hand hovering above the door handle as you process what you're hearing. you scooch closer to the wood, ear pressing against it to eavesdrop. but there's nothing but the moans of the characters that are likely gracing his screen with big busts and crevices.

were your ears playing tricks on you? there's no way that armin has a thing for you, right?

you're waiting, pressed against the door, when you hear the padding of footsteps. you stumble forward as the door swings open, revealing a panting, sweaty, and slightly confused armin.

his rectangle glasses are slightly foggy, and he's looking back and forth at you and the door before putting two and two together.

"were you spying on me?" he asks incredulously, stepping back as if he were a cowering rabbit. the horrified look on his face causes you to avoid his gaze.

"no," you lie out your ass, voice rising in pitch. you clear your throat. "i was just about to ask if you wanted to go see that new titan movie."

he's raising an eyebrow at your excuse. "right now?"

"yes, right now." you nod. you pull out your phone with swiftness, eager to change the topic. "next showing starts in 30, so we gotta leave now if we wanna catch it."

he's nodding along, seemingly unconvinced, but agrees. you let out a sigh of relief as he shuts his bedroom door again, mumbling a, 'just give me 5 minutes.'

the evening goes by swiftly, and the incident is pushed to the back of your mind for the rest of the week. armin's ramblings and theories about the series flood your head, and his moans from that day seem to be the least of your worries as midterms approach.

it's only a day before your chemistry exam, and you're approaching your roommate's door to ask him for help with the study packet.

it's closed, as usual, and you lift your knuckles to leave a knock on his door when a pitchy, strained moan makes you stop in your tracks.

"ngh- y/n, fuck..."

your jaw drops. that's not real, is it? before you can think, your hand is turning the doorknob, swinging the door open.

it's a mess. lube on the floor, fleshlight discarded on the desk, tissues scattered across the carpet. you don't even have time to analyze the setting you've just barged into before the blonde-haired boy is stumbling out of his gaming chair, mouth gaping like a fish as he stammers an excuse, hard, reddish cock still exposed in his hand.

"w-what the fuck?!" he's turning away now, attempting to shield his nudity. he's still donning his green top, and he struggles to stuff his cock into his khaki pants as he panics. "don't look!"

you cover your eyes, but an image from the corner of your gaze peaks your curiosity. "armin..." you start, slowly lifting a finger to point at the object. it's tiny, almost hard to miss, but it was stuffed messily into the drawer, causing the face on the polaroid to be exposed. "is that my picture?"

he yelps, hands darting out to snatch the photo from sight, hiding it behind his back. he's fully dressed now, but anxiously avoiding your curious gaze. "that's...private." he says, shifting his weight. "now what do you need? i was clearly in the middle of something."

"no, no." you're shaking your head, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. you're not going to let him off this time. "you were jerking off to my photo."

armin looks like a child who just got caught with their mother's makeup. he shuffles, eyes trained on the floor. "i wasn't."

you take a step closer to him, and he steps back cautiously. but before he can get any farther, you dart past him, snatching the polaroid from his fingertips.

"hey!" he's jumping, and you're tackled down onto his star-trek bedsheets as he attempts to wrestle the image out of your hands. when you catch a glimpse of it, you gasp.

it's a candid photo of you, short pajama shorts riding up so that the flesh of your ass is peeking out, and you're donned in a thin tank top that leaves little of your cleavage to the imagination. you had been seated at your desk, a mouthful of ramen puffing up your cheeks as you turned to face the sound of the camera with a shocked expression. heat creeps up your cheeks as you shriek. "why do you have this?!"

armin huffs, collapsing over you. "stop..." he grumbles, pushing his face into your chest. "you look hot in that."

his shy demeanor has your expression softening. you reach up to pat his hair soothingly. "it's alright, i'm not mad."

his head darts up in realization, eyes wide. "i swear 'm not a pervert, though!" he's defensive, lifting himself off your chest. "i-it's only because i like you a little!" he's rambling now, squirming in anxiety. "and the feelings will go away, so don't worry..." he trails, noticing your silence. he follows your gaze down to...oh.

his movement had landed you two in a rather precarious position, with your legs spread, him kneeling between them, and his crotch pressing against your core. with an obvious tent, of course, as it was still bulging from his...activities. and now that he's noticed this, his pants almost seem to get a little bit tighter.

also, his hand is on your boob.

he groans, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. blush creeps onto his cheeks, and he almost feels like he's going to get a nosebleed from how perverse this scene is.

is this...his lucky pervert moment?

no. nope. nope! he shakes the thought from his head, springing up from the bed and drawing himself away from you. he had lowkey just confessed, and now he's thinking about your body? what a douchebag. he scolds himself internally. "i'm so sorry," he repeats frantically, arms waving in front of him. "i didn't mean to, i'm so sorry, i just--"

you cut him off with a wave of your hand, sitting up on his bed with a laugh. "armin. it's okay, trust me, i know it was an accident. and honestly, you can keep the photo. it doesn't bother me, but..." you eyes trail up his fidgeting figure as he attempts to cover his boner by pulling down his shirt. "will you be okay?" you say pointedly. your gaze is fixated on the bulge in his pants.

"y-yeah." he stutters, sweat dripping down his temple as the heat on his face rises. "sorry, can you get out now? i need to...take care of it." he mumbles ashamedly.

you cock your head curiously. you'd be lying if you said you never had a thing for your nerdy roommate, but all hope had long been lost since you determined his waifus would come before he'd set his sights on any real girls in his life. but now that his interest in you is real and tangible...

in that second, you make a decision.

"want me to help you out?"

part 2 here

a/n: should i continue this? (i will)

banners: the reason why the new issue is xxx is because of the new salesman MY FAVVV LOL

[all4yoi]

𝓣he 𝓓addy 𝓓iaries

!? . . ★ 𝓜ood 𝓢wings — wherein they realize just how real pregnancy mood swings are and how they try (and fail) to survive them.

➹ enhypen hyungline x fem!reader ✦ cw: fluff fluff fluff super fluff !! some crying (ofc), pregnancy, and that's it?? just fluff really, lmk if i missed something. not proofread

➹ taglist 2: open! SEND AN ASK — SERIES MASTERLIST

LEE HEESEUNG

Heeseung has heard about the eventual mood swings you'd go through, specifically now that you're pregnant. "Take her easy." his mom has said to him hundreds of times. No matter how many times he has seen you cry over the littlest and silliest things, he couldn't get used to seeing you cry.

Just like now.

"Baby? What happened?" Heeseung asked upon seeing his pregnant wife sniffling quietly on the couch. He sat down next to you, placing his hand instinctively on your lower back and rubbing.

Your glassy eyes looked up at him and he could hear his heart cracking. "They got it wrong." your voice cracked as you whined, gesturing towards the box of chicken nuggets on the coffee table. Heeseung frowned, opening the meal and looking at you with worry and confusion.

"What's wrong baby? Did they give the wrong sauce? Should I go get-"

"They gave me twenty-one instead of twenty!"

Heeseung blinked.

Wait.. shouldn't.. that be a good thing? Nevertheless, he nodded solemnly as if it had offended him too, wrapping his arms around you. "That's okay, baby. I'll eat the extra one." and before you could say anything, his hand reached towards the box and put the lone nugget in his mouth.

Big mistake.

Heeseung flinched when you suddenly slapped his shoulder, glaring at him. He raised his arms in confusion, his eyes wide like a bambi's.

"That was for me! The twenty nuggets were for the baby!"

Yeah, Heeseung could get used to this. Maybe. — more under the cut!

PARK JONGSEONG

You were only ten weeks pregnant and yet your moods were all over the place, and ever since then, your husband has been walking on egg shells.

A single misplaced glass on the kitchen cabinets can either trigger a meltdown or a full-on crying session. Jay had even stopped making eggs for breakfast after you once yelled at him for "stinking up the whole kitchen," only to burst into tears seconds later because you felt bad for snapping at him.

Despite all that, he still found you charming. He'd coddle you, calm you down, and kiss you breathless just to bring your mood back up.

But there were times where he let his guard down, just like now.

"Baby, can you please fetch me some water.." you whispered sweetly into his ear, pleading politely and softly. Jay didn't answer but merely sat up from his position on the bed with a grunt.

A grunt.

But you didn't hear a grunt. You heard a groan and a heavy sigh. A sigh that only an annoyed man would do.

"Are you mad? Why are you mad?" you furrowed your brows. "I just asked for water from the fridge, you should be thankful I'm not asking for fresh spring water that you'd have to get from a waterfall."

To say that Jay was taken aback was an understatement.

"Baby, what are you talking about? I'm not mad." he said gently with a frown, looking at you in confusion. His confusion deepened when you slapped his hand away when he tried to touch you.

You shook your head and turned your back towards him. "You are. Don't hide it. You sighed."

He raised his brows in amusement but didn't let it show in his tone. "What?"

You turned your head at him, lips pouting and eyes narrowed. "You sighed, Jay. I heard it." you whined in annoyance.

He hadn't. But he wasn't about to argue with a hormonal woman carrying his child.

Instead, Jay pursed his lips before planting a soft kiss on your temple while his hands stroked your hair. "Okay, I'm sorry baby. It's not gonna happen again, okay? I'm so terribly sorry-"

"So you admit you were mad!"

He really wasn't, but if it meant seeing you smile at him again, he'd apologize a hundred more times.

SIM JAEYUN

Despite being only ten weeks pregnant, Jake had been treating you like your due date was just around the corner. He'd help you up the stairs, one of his hands would always be on your back when you'd sit up, and he didn't let you do any chores even though there weren't any physical changes in your body yet.

After long talks with each other and both families, you'd decided to keep the baby, especially after getting nothing but love and support. It felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest when your mom simply hugged you through tears and when Jake's mom embraced you just as tightly, apologizing for her son with a laugh.

Jake was over the moon. He's always wanted a family and to build it with you? He could die a happy man.

He was enjoying himself too much, even through your mood swings.

Jake watched you spread butter on a toast with heart eyes, utterly lovestruck. His attention averted to his phone when it vibrated, notifying him of the food you asked for being delivered.

Really, he only took three minutes max to get the food from the front door before walking back to the kitchen to see you kneeling and sobbing on the floor with a fallen toast beside you.

"Lovely, what happened?" he asked with a smile, kneeling down beside you to wipe your tears with his thumb. You hiccuped a few times before you spoke.

"That was the perfect slice, Jake! It was golden on the edges, it was for our baby," your hand cradled your still-flat stomach. "Now it's dirty and... unhealthy."

Jake widened his eyes, his jaw dropping. "The baby's toast?!" he gasped. "That's no good!" he exclaimed, gathering you in his arms and helping you up.

Jake knew that telling you it wasn't a big deal and that it was fine because it didn't fall on the buttered side was inevitable. He could tell you. Instead, he let you cry to your hearts content while he held you, his lips pecking your temple at every hiccup.

"Shh, look at the brighter side," he murmured as he pulled away gently, just a tiny bit to look at your red, swollen eyes. "Your requested chicken tenders just arrived, fresh and hot." Jake smiled when you paused mid-sniffle, your eyes flicking towards the paper bag on the counter.

"...Yay," you mumbled, before curling back into his embrace and kissing his neck.

"I love you, Jakey."

"I love you too, baby."

He'll clean the floor later.

PARK SUNGHOON

After two whole years of yearning for a baby and now finally having it, Sunghoon was sure that he was prepared for the long journey ahead. That included the morning sickness, your cravings, and your mood swings.

Or so he thought.

"Im hungry." you suddenly said from beside him on the couch, pouting while rubbing your still-flat stomach. Sunghoon hummed, pausing the movie and turning to you with a gentle look.

"Yeah? What would you like this time, baby?" he asked, waiting for you patiently as you looked towards the ceiling as if it had the answer to his question.

"Um.. I don't know." you mumbled, ashamed as tears started to form on your tear ducts. Sunghoon sat up straight, both hands cradling your face as he cooes at you softly. "Shh, don't cry. We'll figure it out together. Let's go to the kitchen."

He helped you up, pressing a sweet and warm kiss on your cheek as you both walked towards the kitchen hand-in-hand. He helped you sit down on a stool before walking across the counter and looked at you with a determined look.

"Okay baby. Bring it on. I'll do anything."

You giggled, watching your husband in awe and began thinking.

Ten minutes passed. Your smile had faded, now replaced with frustration as your lower lip was caught between your teeth. Sunghoon stayed patiently, one hand holding yours  and giving it gentle squeezes

"I want.." you hesitated. "Something sweet. No, maybe salty? Or crunchy- Ugh! I don't know, baby." you rambled, voice cracking in guilt and frustration.

Sunghoon merely nodded. "It's okay, I got you baby."

Those were his last words before he disappeared from in front of you and into the walk-in pantry. Minutes later he came out with a tray filled with chips, sliced pickles, strawberries and a spoonful of peanut butter.

You looked at it in disbelief. "This isn't what I wanted, Hoon!"

Sunghoon paused mid-step. "..Okay. Um.. do you know what you do want now?"

He shouldn't have talked and just came up with something more appetizing because now you're full-on crying. Sunghoon panicked and rushed towards you to pull you in a warm hug and murmured apologies profusely against your hair.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll come up with something new. I'll fix it baby, shh."

Sunghoon thought he was prepared, turns out he wasn't. He just needed more creativity (and yummy) ideas in the kitchen.

taglist 1! bold can't be tagged — @stawberri @saphiranishimurashan @strxwbloody @heesexual74 @jooniesbears-blog @ayablogsblog @teddybeartaetae @gandaengene @snowprincehoon @e-r-i-15 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @maveysoup @hhyvsstuff @tobiosbbyghorl @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia @lostwonderwall @starlit-rin @luciathcv @kkamismom12 @1-hypegirl @50-husbands @talesofthegreatest @kristynaaah @izahere @aeri-shi @shawnyle @riribelle @storeyz @17ericas

[reignpage]

Things That Bind Us

Summary: in which student mage!choso encounters a spell that binds one’s body to an object of their choosing and he can't resist trying it out on an unsuspecting you… with a magically conjured sex doll?! Warnings: porn with little plot, 18+, mdni, fantasy au, fem!reader, a little hogwarts-esque, non-con/dub-con but it's really more cnc, sex toy usage, tit slapping, cunnilingus, quick pússy job, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, spitting, pússy slapping, creampie, brief ass play/rimming, díck piercing, squirting, overstimulation, portrayal of a possibly unhealthy fwb scenario, reader seems abusive but I swear she's not TT, she just needs to reign Choso in, not proofread Word Count: 3.3k

It’s stupid really.

Choso wasn’t even looking for a way to get back at you for leaving him high and dry after you rode his face to three orgasms. In fact, he was searching the archives for some textbooks he could use for the five thousand word essay he has due tomorrow, though it seems like it’ll have to wait now that he’s found something much more interesting and helpful. 

Throwing the last ingredient into his portable cauldron, he watches red fumes puff in the air, signalling that he’s ready to get the other half of his plan in motion. 

Hidden in his dorm room, door locked and walls reinforced with a shield spell, he climbs into bed and douses the potion all over a temporary conjurement. If anyone found out what he had done and is going to do, he’d both be the laughing stock of the academy and the one guys would turn to for help with their own deviant desires. But no one will know…except, of course, for you. 

What is the temporary conjurement?

Why, it’s a soft, almost life-like recreation of the female body. He’s sculpted it in his mind to look just like you, at least the you he remembered as well as he could given that he was a little preoccupied with gathering the ingredients necessary for his potion. Long limbed, smooth-skinned, bearing your complexion, and completely bare, it can do nothing as the wayward student douses the thing with the gloopy concoction, massaging it in thoroughly and leaving the body shiny and slick. 

Smelling of lavender and perversion, he doesn’t miss a single inch of skin with the potion, oiling the body up to the point where it glistens temptingly. Then, just as naked as his conjuring, Choso mutters a binding spell none had uttered in centuries and will not for longer. 

Nothing happens. 

He frowns, the black mark spanning cheek to cheek over his nose twitches with the movement. Did he say it wrong? Were the frog eyes he used expired? Or maybe he forgot to boil the snail mucus for a minute longer than usually recommended? 

What a shame. He was so looking forward to getting some payback — too often is it the case that he’s the one chasing after you, flushing an embarrassing red in the face when you’ve embarrassed him by pointing out that he’s drooling or that he already came by humping the bed from just your mere scent. Oh, what Choso wouldn’t give to render you just as flustered and dizzy as you leave him. 

You two have an agreement — nothing is too weird or sick. You love it when he touches you as you sleep and his cock drips like a leaky faucet when he pretends he doesn’t want you to suck his dick at the back of the pegasus stables. An odd pair in everyone’s eyes, his friends remain surprised that you two have stayed together as partners in lewd crime for so long. There are many times you two have broken things off, promising to do better, to be better, but those breaks never last very long before he’s bending you over backwards in the toilets. 

Sighing, he curses out the stupid spell book. No wonder it was dusty and hidden away in the library; who’d use a book full of faulty spells and empty vows?

Just about to wave the thing away, something catches his eye: a slight rise and fall of the chest. 

Wait…

No way…

It worked!

Your body is actually connected to the one he has in his bed. And, judging by the rhythmic breaths you’re taking, you must be asleep. That means you’re in your room too and won’t be caught in a compromising position because of him. Choso pretends he isn’t disappointed. 

Carefully, he planks over you and inhales at your neck. His eyes shut tight. Even with the distance, even when this isn’t your real body, he can still smell you and it sends blood rushing straight to his cock. He begins mouthing at the skin, sucking marks and smiling when your breathing quickens, just a little. 

Nipples flat, his fingers tweak at them, wanting to see them pebbled under his touch. You wear shirts to bed and he wonders if you can feel the flicking through the material or under — he hopes it’s the former since you like the friction. Either way, whatever he’s doing is having an effect on you: your heart is beating faster, breath irregular, skin warmer, back arching ever so slightly, and your nipples poke his palm. 

His memory was right. The breasts he cups weigh the same and feel practically the same. How often had he cradled your body like this for him to know the sizing of your tits perfectly? 

Choso’s mouth waters. Unable to help himself, he suckles a nipple into his mouth, tongue rolling the bud around. The potion is surprisingly tasteless though it is oily. That doesn’t put him off at all, however. Though you’re asleep, you still feel him, almost like a sixth sense. That’s sweet. He can tell you’re still asleep; you’re only ever this docile when in the land of slumber. Well, he won’t complain. Instead of shaking you awake, he trails a hand down your torso, tickling your belly button before it curves downwards to your pussy. 

You’re not very wet yet. 

Undeterred, he pets your cunt to waken that part of your body before your mind does. He loves the warmth and the plumpness of your pussy lips. Truly, he could spend eternity making out with it if only you’d let him. 

Your juices are leaking now and he spreads it around, smearing your skin with your wetness. The potion eases the tight circles he rubs against your clit, still hidden under its hood. Mouth full, Choso grunts. “Come on, baby. Come out for me. That’s it.”

Jostling, he watches your body come to life. You’re waking up. He wonders how you’ll react to the feeling of your tit being sucked and your clit being rubbed. Would you scream? Would you frantically search your textbooks for an explanation to the sensations you’re feeling? Or…would you indulge in the pleasure for a little longer than you should?

How long will it take you to figure out that he’s up to no good? What punishment will you give him?

He gasps. 

Without realising it, he had been grinding down onto your body double’s thigh. His cock is dribbling pre cum onto the skin. Can you feel that too? Can you feel the throbbing of his dick against your leg? Can you count the veins? Feel the length? Does it seem familiar?

Choso shoves two fingers into your pussy, burying them right up to the knuckles and getting his silver rings coated in your juices; he loves when the smell of you lingers and he can sniff the memory in class. Sometimes, he even absentmindedly takes a ring into his mouth and plays with the remaining taste of you whilst he studies.

It’s not really your body, he reminds himself. It’s not your pussy but, in the haze of pleasure and shame in knowing he’s doing something wrong, he can’t seem to care. The difference is marginal. You’re tighter but the heat is all the same, so are the pleats he’s rubbing. That gummy spot that has your toes curling is at the same place too. 

The body can only lie limp, the dusty spell book he found was clear on that — your arms won’t be wrapping around his back, won’t be clawing red lines down his spine that get his cock rising to full mast in the hallways when his shirt grazes them, and your legs won’t lock around his hips the way you usually do when you want him to cum inside and not on your stomach or back. 

Still, there’s something crazily hot about that. You can’t fight him off either. Can’t argue with him or boss him about. He gets to decide what position he wants you to be in, to control the pace and says when this ends. Surely he’ll pay for this later but he just can’t bring himself to think about the consequences, not when you’re tightening around his fingers and the tangy scent of your pussy is reaching him. 

“I bet you’re so confused right now,” he mumbles. “You might even be scared. Don’t be. I’ve got you. Always.”

SLAP!

SLAP!

He’s smacked each of your tits just to watch it bounce; you usually hate it when he does that. By now, he’d be sporting a bump on his head as you push him over to ride him until he’s overstimulated and begging for mercy. But you can’t do anything. And that fact is going to make him cum on your thigh. 

Shaking his head, he hurriedly grips the base of his cock. He can’t cum. Not yet. And not here. He didn’t go through the trouble of climbing up the whispering willow tree for the tallest branch in front of, what felt like, the entire student body, to not feel your pussy clench around his dick. 

First things first, though…

With haste, he scrambles down the bed to dive between your legs. Like a dog, he laps up your juices. You taste sweet, forever so sweet. It’s why he doesn’t complain when you teleport into his room at random times of the day and beckon him over without even speaking to him. It’s why he doesn’t mind when you leave his cock untouched; he can cum just fine with the taste of you lingering on his face, lips, and tongue. 

Using the tip of the long appendage, he plays with your clit, coaxing it out of the hood so he can suck hard at it. More cream drools onto his tongue. His eyes roll to the back of his head. Fingers digging deep into the fat of your thighs and threatening to bruise, he holds you in place and licks and sucks and licks again. 

“Hmm, you’re such a good girl when you’re getting what you want…come on then, you pretty little devil, take what you need. Bet you’re riding the air on your bed right now -hah- I wish I could see how pitiful you look.”

His fingers return inside, feeling the quivering of your pussy around the calloused digits. You’re close. He doesn’t need to hear you scream it out. He can simply tell from the way your clit is jutting into his mouth. A disappointment blooms in his chest — he so badly wishes he could hear you whine and whimper. The only consolation he has is that you’re not squirming out of his hold; you’re prey to his monstrous thirst.

SLUUUUUURPPP!

He’s shameless in the sounds he’s pulling out of your pussy. In fact, he’s fuelled by the squelching of your greedy cunt. It’s overwhelming him. You’re overwhelminghim. All of his senses are filled with you, dragging him down into the depths of pleasurable mania. 

“Tastes so -hah- good. I love your pussy so much. She’s so nice to me, not like you. No, you’re so -fuck, give me more, baby- so mean.”

Mischievously, his other hands treads further down. A thumb skims the rim of your asshole. You hate it when he does that too. Well, you can't do anything about it. Slowly, he pushes in the thick digit, laughing to himself when he feels the tight hole tense around it. Oh, you're definitely biting down on your fist right now. You're thinking Choso Kamo is a dead man walking, or rather, a dead man wanking. If he had longer, if you aren't such a clever student who can solve a puzzle within seconds, then he'd shove his tongue in there too.

Another day perhaps.

Hips rutting against the mattress, he feels like he can follow you to the edge just like this but this —the depravity, the power, the control— will likely never happen again and so he must make the most of it. When your orgasm erupts all over his face, soaking his cheeks and sheets, he desperately licks up as much as he can before he lays a kiss on your pulsing clit. 

“Feel good? I wish I could see your face. You always look so pretty when you cum. It’s okay though. You did such a good job. Well done.”

Choso positions himself between your legs. You’ve cum twice now but he hasn’t yet. Now, it’s his turn. Pushing the thighs back and feeling resistance, he slides his cock through your soaked slit, catching your pulsing clit. “I know you don’t like it when I -hah, you’re so -heh- wet- when I push your legs like this ‘cause you think it makes your tummy look silly but -ah fuck- b-but I love it. I love spreading you nice and wide for me like this. So, bear with me, ‘kay? Don’t get mad. I’ll do your homework for another week, I promise.”

You can’t hear him, he knows that. Yet, somehow, whispering comforting words to you brings him some peace of mind. He doesn’t want you to feel scared or panic. Ever. But you deserve to feel even just a little bit of what you make him feel on a regular basis. A balance must be struck somewhere and somehow. You’ll understand…or not. Either way, he doesn’t care anymore.

Slowly, he enters you. The stretch is as it always is: slow, maddeningly tight, and perfect. You’re wrapping around his length with expert skill. Maybe now you’ve caught on. Maybe now you know exactly what’s happening. There’s no way you don’t know it’s his cock that’s filling you up. Only he can push all this cream out of you. Only he can reach your deepest parts, can stimulate your g-spot and grind against your clit as he bottoms out. 

He’s sure you can feel the piercings on his frenulum. You once said it’s your favourite part of him. Something about the coldness at first and then the hardness whilst it rubs at your walls. 

If the feel of his cock stretching you to your limits doesn’t clue you on, then his piercings will. Now, you must be absolutely out of your mind with both bliss and anger. The very best combination when it comes to you.

“Oh, Merlin, you’re so tight. Fuck, I swear you do it on purpose.” Already his hips are stuttering, body and mind engulfed with the scent, feel and scalding burn of your doughy pussy. Everything about you is perfect, even the memory of you, which has manifested into a mindless sex doll and pales in comparison, is perfect. “You always m-make me want to cum so quickly. Not fair.”

Thrusting with a furious pace, Choso curses and flicks his wrist. A vibrator manifests in his hand. It’s your turn to be overstimulated, to cum again and again, and beg for mercy. He won’t hear you. Can’t. And a good thing, too; If he could, he’d give in. He always does. He’s pathetic. You make him pathetic. 

Cruelly, he presses the toy down onto your clit. 

“Fuck! T-too t-tight. Ah shit.” The immediate clenching of your pussy almost made him cum. Needing to ground himself, he holds onto a bouncing breast, still pummelling his cock inside you. It feels good for him too. The vibrations rattle your bones, sending it straight to him. Choso usually hates it when you use a vibe on him but he doesn’t right now. How could he when it’s making his abs flex and his vision blurry? 

At least now you’re not here to mock him for the drool trailing down his chin. He gathers it up and spits it down on your clit, landing with an obscene SPLAT! before he mixes it in with your frothing juices using the toy. 

The bed is banging against the wall. Thankfully he’s mastered that sound shielding spell; being a third year without having done that would make you a runt of the pack. No one will hear the salacious squelching of your pussy, his filthy moans and whimpers, or the foul slapping of skin against fake skin. 

You tighten impossibly around him as you cum again. He fucks you through it. No one can resist the devious power of a vibrator, not even you. “Bet you’re r-regretting all the times you’ve tortured me with this, h-huh? It’s not nice being on the receiving end, is it? Is it?”

When he doesn’t receive an answer, he pouts and smacks your clit. 

“It’s rude to ignore someone.” 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! 

Each ruthless slap has your pussy pulsing hard, hugging his cock like it could offer reprieve. It only angers him more. His thrusting goes deeper and harder, wanting to punish you to the point of tears. 

Then, he laughs. “Hah, I forgot. You can’t -ngh!- reply. Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to be so -hah hah fuck- mean to your pretty pussy. Let me a-apologise.”

There is no apology. Not really. He’s ramming into your cunt at an unrelenting pace, balls smacking against your ass. At least now he’s let go of your legs, has stopped slapping your clit, and discarded the vibrator. That’s as kind as he can manage to be at this present moment. He’s sure he’ll pay for that too. 

Nearing his end, delirious and manic, he suckles at your tits once more. He could spend eternity worshipping them too. Something about how soft and warm they are, and when he lays between them, it’s like they’re welcoming him home. Choso licks up the sweat under your breasts. It’s something he can’t do with you even though he’s been wanting to for years. Now, he can live out his deepest fantasies, can fuck you how he’s how wanted to for a long time. 

You’re probably furious despite the euphoria channelling through your veins. Mentally, you must be cursing him out, planning all the hexes you’ll attach to him. Whatever you have planned for him, he’ll gladly take it. No matter how bad, how humiliating and stupid the punishments he receives are, he takes them with a smile — the fact that you spent time thinking about him at all makes him so happy. 

Oh, he can’t wait to see you. 

“H-hurry up and find me already! I miss you -sooooo fucking t-tight- miss you so so much.”

There’s no longer any rhyme or reason to his thrusting. He’s just chasing his high, fuelled by images of you. And when he cums, he swears he sees you appear in his room with a face one can only describe as livid. 

“Shit shit shit shit!” Choso’s orgasm makes him whine. It’s too much, too strong and too good. He slumps over your body, drooling all over himself and muttering confessions of adoration into your skin. Hot cum floods around his cock, pooling out. It’ll be a mess to clean up but all he can think about is how you’ll feel it. 

With a poof, the conjurement disappears. He’s left humping his bed, riding out the remnants of his orgasm. Totally worth it. 

“Had your fun, Kamo?”

He stills. 

You’re not a figment of his imagination. You really are in his room. Dressed in just a shirt — his shirt — you stand there, hands on your hips, hair a mess, tears on your cheeks, and wetness glistening down your thighs. Much prettier and better in every way than the doll, the sight of you in his room again urges his hips on. He winces at the raw and painful pleasure bolting through his body but he can’t stop.

Weakly, he waves at you, too tired to even feel panicked. All his survivor’s instincts have fled at the sight of your wrath, apparently. 

“Don’t act cute. You’re so dead, you pervy asshole.” Jumping on the bed, you rain down punches on his back, tickling him more than anything. He can feel the soaked warmth of your pussy on his back and it’s reawakening his softening cock. “I’m gonna rip off your stupid dick piercing, mark my words. I’ll tear you a new pair of balls, Choso.”

Pouting, he looks back and meets your eye. Your cunt pulses. “Is that before or after you ride me?”

Choso doesn’t leave the room until the next day. He doesn’t answer when his friends ask him about his limp, the frightening hickeys on his neck, and the self-satisfied grin on his face, which, of course, falls when he receives detention for not having a five thousand word essay to hand in.

He has no regrats.

[rainrot4me]

A Little R & R (Rest and Relaxation, Raw and Rough)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

───────────────────────────────────── leave - whirr

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: From breaking and entering, to scaring you half to death, the proxies have never been conventional lovers. So why would relaxing with you after a hard day at work be any different?

✦ . Characters: {Separate} Jeff the Killer x Female Reader, Ticci Toby x Female Reader, Masky x Female Reader, Hoodie x Female Reader

✦ . Warning: Teasing, vaginal fingering, choking, dirty talk, overstimulation

✦ . Words: 16.2k (~4k per section)

✦ . Note: Is this a little self indulgent? Absolutely. But work has been kicking my ass and a good fingering down from the proxies would set me straight, so I come bearing gifts. Thank you again to my lovely lovely friend Angie for her beautiful art!!!! Words cannot describe my love.

Art by @z0l0fft.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You’re tired. 

Not just tired—drained. The kind of tired that settles into the marrow of your bones and makes you feel like even blinking is too much effort.

You stand on the front steps of your house for a second longer than necessary, keys in hand, bag slung over your shoulder, and try to summon the energy to go inside. Your muscles ache. Your neck hurts. Every part of your body begs for the sweet mercy of a hot shower and soft clothes. It’s cold out here, the nighttime air unforgiving. It’s all you can do not to collapse on the stairs outside.

The keys rattle in your hand as you finally slide one into the lock, twisting it until the door unlatches with a muted click. You shove the door open with your shoulder, stepping into the dark. The familiar scent of home greets you—laundry detergent, the faint trace of that candle you lit last night, something faintly musky that’s just… you.

You sigh, shoulders slumping with relief as you kick your shoes off one at a time. Your bag hits the floor with a muted thud, but you could care less to remember if there was anything valuable inside. You shrug your jacket off, tossing it haphazardly onto the hook. It’s your sanctuary, your space to finally breathe, not having to perform for your dumbass coworkers any longer. 

Work sucks. Everyone knows that, especially you.

There’s just something about a 2pm to 12am job that makes you want to rip everyone’s throat out, including your own. The money is nice, but some days you wonder if it’s worth your sanity and the constant back pain.

You start walking toward the kitchen, already reaching to loosen the tension from your neck, mentally checking off what leftovers might be in the fridge. Are you even hungry? You round the corner,

And stop cold.

The back door is wide open.

The long glass pane stares back at you like an eye, wind pushing it gently so it sways on its hinges, creaking faintly. The night air curls around your ankles, carrying the sharp, damp scent of wet leaves and earth. It raises goosebumps on your arms.

You blink, stunned for a moment, almost unsure you’re really seeing what you’re seeing. You never forget to lock that door. Ever. It's a habit, muscle memory, you could lock that thing in your sleep. There’s one too many home invasion cases on the news for you to just be comfortable with an easily accessible back door.

“…No,” you whisper under your breath. “No, I didn’t leave that open.”

Your heart gives a small jolt in your chest.

Immediately your mind reaches for something rational, something safe. Him. Maybe he came by. Maybe he used his key. Maybe he forgot to shut the door all the way. But even as you grasp for the thought, it doesn’t settle. He doesn’t forget things like that. He’s careful—always has been, he has to be. 

“Hello?” you call out, voice already tense. “Anyone here?”

No answer. You mentally punch yourself, you’re no better than the stupid girls who you make fun of in horror movies. 

Your house is still. The silence feels unnatural, forced, like it’s trying to hide something from you.

A pinprick of unease worms its way into your spine. You move quickly to the opposite side of the kitchen, flipping on every light switch available and illuminating the entire dining/living area. It doesn’t ease the pit in your stomach, but at least nothing can sneak up on you. You rummage through your broom closet in the laundry room, grabbing the wooden broom leaning against the doorframe. It’s not much, but at least there’s something for you to protect yourself with. You will not be as dumb as those horror movie chicks.

Your voice rises, more firm this time. “Seriously, if this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

Still no reply.

Your breath catches in your throat. You start moving from room to room, switching on lights as you go. The living room? Empty. Bathroom? Empty. Guest room? Nothing. You scan every corner, every shadow, peek behind every door with broom gripped tightly in hand.

The tension grows with every room you clear. The open doors groan behind you, the breeze from outside trailing in like fingers sliding across your back. The feeling of being watched is as strong as ever, and now you feel like you could throw up.

Your bedroom is the last place left.

You step in and flick the light on. The room is empty. Neat. Undisturbed.

And yet… your heart won’t stop racing. The hairs on your arms are standing straight up, and there’s a pit forming in your gut again, deep and cold.

You take a step back into the hall, gripping the flashlight tighter, half-waiting for something, anything, to jump out.

“Okay,” you whisper, trying to convince yourself. “Okay, it’s fine. I’m just tired. I’m overthinking this. He probably—he probably just stopped by, right? Left in a hurry. Right?”

You want to believe it. God, you want to believe it.

But then, just as your breathing starts to slow, just as you start to think maybe it really is nothing—

Arms wrap around you from behind.

A strong grip, smooth and steady, sliding across your waist, locking tight before you can even scream. You freeze. Your body goes stiff, lungs seizing as hot breath ghosts over your neck, close, too close.

You can’t move. You can’t even think. The broomstick is rendered useless in your hands. 

Until you hear that all-too-familiar chuckle humming into your ear…

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ JEFF THE KILLER

“Miss me, baby?”

You shoved the blunt end of the broomstick back with everything you had. It didn’t land hard, but it startled him enough that he stepped back with a laugh.

You whipped around, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum, and there he was.

Jeffrey.

His grin was still spread wide across that pale face, lips too stretched, eyes too sharp, the darkness under them as deep as ever. His hoodie hung off his frame like always, smudged with god-knows-what, hair falling wild around his face. He looked like something from a nightmare.

But he was your nightmare. And right now, he was standing in your hallway with his hands up in mock surrender and a cocky smirk like he hadn’t just scared the absolute hell out of you.

“God—Jeff!” you snapped, pressing a hand to your chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Too much to list, babe,” he said smoothly, taking a step toward you. “You looked so serious. I had to mess with you a little.”

“You left the door wide open.”

“I left it ajar.”

“Wide. Open.” You glared at him, storming past him toward the back door to slam it shut. “I thought someone broke in. I was about to call the cops.”

Jeff snorted, following you lazily. “Yeah? That would’ve gone well.”

You stopped and looked at him. “What if it wasn’t you?”

“It was,” he shrugged. “I got here first.”

“That’s not the point!”

Your voice cracked under the weight of the day. Between exhaustion, stress, and now this emotional whiplash, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You turned away, biting down on the frustration. You didn’t want to cry, not in front of him, not now, not ever.

“…Hey,” Jeff said softly after a moment, voice losing that teasing edge. “C’mon. Don’t be mad.”

You didn’t respond, just walked toward the kitchen to start your evening routine, collecting your abandoned bag from the ground and dumping your keys and phone on the counter. You opened the fridge, stared inside, then closed it again.

Jeff padded in behind you, quieter now. The change in mood was subtle, but real. He watched you for a second, then leaned his weight against the counter beside you.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice quieter this time.

You shrugged. “Same shit. You know how it is.”

“I don’t,” he smirked. “My day involved a guy’s trachea and a folding knife.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course it did.”

“I brought you something,” he offered.

You looked over at him warily. “Is it a severed finger again?”

“…No.”

“Because last time you said you brought me something, it was in a ziplock bag and I still have nightmares.”

Jeff chuckled. “Okay, this time, it’s better.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a single gas station chocolate bar, a little squished. He offered it to you like a peace treaty.

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “You stole this, didn’t you?”

“Obviously.”

You took it from him with a sigh and opened it. “Fine. You’re lucky I’m too tired to stay mad.”

He grinned and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You always say that.” His lips were cold and he smelled like outside, meaning he had definitely walked here from the mansion. Also meaning he probably intended on staying the night. You didn’t mind, him being here made you feel safe.

You munched on the chocolate and walked toward the couch, flipping off all the lights you had turned on in your panic, and shedding your outer layer again as you sat with a deep exhale. “You’re not even supposed to be here tonight. You’re still on call, aren’t you?”

“I ditched early,” he said, dropping beside you like a cat, legs sprawled, arms resting behind his head. “Told Masky I had important business. And I do.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, kicking your feet up. “What business is that?”

He tilted his head toward you, eyes hooded. “You.”

You shook your head with a soft, helpless laugh. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“And you love it.”

His hand found your thigh, fingers tracing patterns there while you chewed the last bite of chocolate. The warmth of his palm soothed more than it should have.

“…Missed you,” you admitted finally, softer now. “Even if you’re the worst.”

Jeff turned his face toward you, smile a little smaller now, but more real.

“Missed you too.”

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day finally start to lift. He didn’t leave your side. Just stayed there, content, his presence strange and comforting all at once.

Jeff’s hands were warm and steady, his touch deliberate as he pulled you closer onto his lap. The weight of your body against his felt grounding, like an anchor to the calm you hadn’t realized you’d been craving all day. His fingers curled lightly around your waist, easing the tension that had curled tight inside you since morning.

His breath brushed softly against your ear, low and rough in a way that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. 

“Hey,” he murmured, voice thick with something softer than you expected. “You don’t gotta be so tense.”

His lips traced a lazy path down your neck, featherlight kisses that felt like a balm on skin that had been cold and raw for hours. You could feel the slow unwinding beginning deep inside your chest, the tight coil of exhaustion loosening with each gentle touch.

One hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips ghosting along your ribs, memorizing the curves and the way your breath hitched when he found the tender spots. You closed your eyes, letting his touch carry you away from the harsh buzz of the day—the deadlines, the weight of responsibilities, the pressure that never seemed to ease.

Jeff’s other hand traveled lower, trailing along your thigh, fingertips tracing delicate circles that sent warmth blooming through your skin. 

“My girl is so stressed,” he whispered against your skin, voice a soft promise. “We gotta fix that, right?”

You leaned into him, back to chest, letting yourself breathe him in—the faint scent of smoke and earth and something darker, something utterly Jeff. His hands moved with slow certainty, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, skin pressing against skin, grounding you in a way no words could. His fingertips were cold, but it wasn’t a terrible sensation.

His lips pressed firmly against yours, coaxing, teasing. The kiss was patient, undemanding, the kind that made your whole body still except for the slow burn growing inside your chest. His hands explored without hurry, mapping every line, every shiver, every breath you let slip.

They roamed down, fingers pushing past the waistband of your pants and slipping them down slowly, as if you wouldn’t be able to notice if he did it easy enough.

“Jeff,” you sighed, lying your head back onto his shoulder. 

The tightness in your jaw eased as he pressed his chin atop your shoulder, his eyes half-lidded with something raw and hungry. “Just relax,” Jeff breathed, his thumb tracing small, lazy patterns along your skin. “I’ve gotcha.”

You could feel tears prickling at the edges of your eyes—not from sadness, but relief. Relief that someone saw you, that someone wanted to take this burden away from you, even if only for a little while—even if that person used these same hands to end lives.

“You don’t have to fight it,” Jeff whispered, voice low and steady, coaxing you into surrender. “Let me help my baby out.”

He pushed the fabric of your pants down past your knees, the garment pooling onto your ankles as your thighs fell apart, kicking them off onto the carpet beneath.

The fabric of your panties was already damp, Jeff’s arm reaching around your hips to press his palm atop the fabric. He hummed in your ear, planting one wet kiss after another against the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe that he knew made chills run up your back.

You sighed, hands falling down beside you to grip the fabric of his jeans underneath, his arms wrapping around you tightly as you let your body relax into him.

“What so ever could they be doin’ to you at work to make you this tightly wound?”

“Jeffrey, do not talk to me about my job right now,” you huffed, gripping the side of his leg when he began to rub his thumb in tiny circles against your clothed clit. “You’re so mean.”

He chuckled, pressing his thumb down firmly. “That so?”

Jeff’s fingers were now rubbing against your folds through your panties, causing you to moan at the friction. He playfully nipped at your neck before looking at you with eyes that look like he wanted to eat you alive.

You were close to nagging at him for teasing so bad, until he’s moving both hands away from your cunt and up under the fabric of your shirt, sliding it up your stomach and over your bra, letting it bunch up on your chest under your chin.

“Jesus, I love you,” he groaned, palming your tits through your bra, squeezing them enough to make you whine, then letting them go. You could feel his bulge hardening against your back, the length pressing against your tailbone as Jeff slid his hands back down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

You reached your hands behind you, blindly searching for Jeff’s belt, before his hand snatched your arms forward.

“Nuh uh,” he warned, moving both of your hands back to your front and readjusting the two of you so you weren’t sitting directly on his bulge. “I’m takin’ care of you, baby.”

“You’re telling me the Jeffrey Woods doesn’t want to get off? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Enough,” he groans, slipping his fingers under the hem of your panties and dragging them down your thighs. You lift your hips, helping him get them down your knees and off your ankles. He cups his left hand under your knee, pulling your thighs apart as you place your right foot on the couch next to his leg. You gasp when the cold air hits your damp folds, but Jeff’s hand quickly comes to remedy that.

“Now shut up,” he grumbles, licking lewd little circles on your neck, thumbing open your puffy folds to watch in amazement at the way you glisten and clamp around nothing.

You sigh, letting your head fall limp against his shoulder as you watch his face, his brows knotted and concentrated as he runs his fingers through your slick, easing you more.

He pressed the pads of his fingers against your clit, swiping slowly back and forth, sending the nerves in your legs and stomach jerking, legs nearly closing if it weren’t for his hand tugging them back apart.

You tilted your hips up, trying to get his fingers to push down further to where your cunt was weeping and clamping around, sadly, nothing. You’re soaked, pussy lips practically glistening in the glow of your table-side lamp. Your whines were enough to make Jeff chuckle, the vibration of it against your back. “So impatient.”

“I don’t like to be teased, you kno—oh…”

You can’t even finish your sentence before his two middle fingers are pushing against your entrance, the first inches of them slotting in and out, loosening you up. You huff a gasp, stomach clenching as your walls immediately clamp tight around the thick digits, sucking them in greedily. Jeff watches over your shoulder with hungry amusement.

“This all for me? Shit, baby, I’m gonna have to ruin you.”

Jeff never has and never will be a patient man, no matter how breathy your moans are when his two middle fingers begin to pump deeper and deeper into your cunt with each jerk of his wrist. He doesn’t stop until he gets knuckle-deep, letting your filthy hole clamp and flutter around him, before massaging his fingertips against your walls.

“Ah, yeah—right there-” you groan, letting your knees fall limp apart as you reach behind your head to grip into the back of Jeff’s hair. The veins running up his forearm are bulging, muscles tensing as he begins to pump his fingers in and out, dragging the hilt of his palm against your clit with every jerk.

There’s no room to catch your breath, no time to readjust your body as it slips down his chest and further into his lap, only relying on Jeff’s hold on you to keep yourself upright. You grab and tug at his hair, searching for anything grounding as his knuckles bulge in and out of the first tight ring of muscle, cunt stretching across his fingers when he begins to scissor into you slowly.

You didn’t get to dwell in the feeling for too long before his fingers were slipping out of you, fingers soaked all the way to the knuckles as he dragged them back up to your clit and began massaging, faster this time. Harder.

“Oh shit—okay-” you whine, thighs instinctively trying to close back together, but Jeff’s grip holding tight as always. You tried to sit back up, to give your body some relief, but Jeff just pressed his fingers down harder.

“You’ve got it, babe. Don’t go runnin’ from it.” He growled, plunging them back into your cunt and starting to fuck them inside of you quickly. He gave you no time to adjust, curling and crooking his fingers to snag against every sensitive spot he knew all-too-well, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit.

“Jeff—hah—hold on-”

“No can do. Gotta finish what we started, right?”

Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over. 

“Hngh- Jeff, more!” You grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers. 

You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick digits, rhythmically curling upward. The noises are so lewd, wet squelching and skin slapping filling up the quiet noises of your house.

It’s halted when he’s dragging his fingers out again, moving to swipe against your twitching clit as he had before, but this time with a faster pace. More focused on making your lips fall open and whines of sensitivity slip from you. “Ah—hah, Jeff, c’mon-”

“Now now…not yet,” he tuts mockingly.

“Please, Jeff. Please let me cum.”

“Begging? Really?” He chides, pushing three fingers back into your sloppy with no resistance anymore, your cunt open and weeping around the stretch. “You really must be tired, huh?”

You feel his cock twitch against your back, jeans stretching over the bulge that reminds you he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Well, you’d be enjoying this a lot more if you could fucking cum. Every time you get that familiar feeling, his fingers are slipping back and forth between hole and clit, ruining any build-up you had.

It took you jerking his hair and turning your face into the side of his neck with pitiful whines before he finally nestled his fingers deep inside again, sheathing them to the knuckle. Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Jeff knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close. 

His left hand moves from under your knee, letting it drop atop his leg and dangle with all the exhaustion you held. His now-free hand wanders the expanse of your body—groping your breasts, gripping your hips back, forcing your ass to grind back into his clothed length. All the while your soft mewls making him grin.

Jeff’s hand, blister riddled and fingers calloused from years of weaponry, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones, a smug grin as he rubs his thumb hard against your clit.

“Look at me when you cum,” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse. You couldn’t look away if you tried, his lips ghosting up your jaw and across your cheek until they planted firm on your puffed ones.

He tugs his fingers out, before slamming them just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Jeff’s fingers, hands clutching into his hair and eyes rolling just enough to make your head feel light. Jeff watches the entire time, wide eyes trained on the way your lips fall open.

“Fuck! Jeff- Jeffrey!” You whimper.

“Yeah, there you go. There you go.”

He keeps his palm pressed flat against your cunt, fingers clamped together by your constricting walls, letting you ride out every rippling wave of your orgasm. His hand is soaked, your juices dripping from your cunt and down the roundness of your ass, down onto his jeans. You’ve made a mess.

As your climax bates, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over your slowing pulse. “Did so good, baby. You did perfectly,” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin. You also still feel his cock pressing into your ass.

Lifting your head, you admire Jeff’s hardened features. Face flushed, lips swollen, dark eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you in admiration.

“You’re merciless. Ruthless, even.” You huff out a low laugh.

“No doubt about it.” He finally slips his fingers from inside you, your teeth gritting as your walls try their best to hold him in place.

His fingers are soaked, tips nearly pruning from the wetness. More juices pool from your cunt, sending a shudder down your skin, goosebumps rising on your legs from the cold. But even with all the uncomfortableness of it, you can’t help but notice your head has quit hurting, body isn’t as sore, overall attitude less fogged from the day you’ve had.

“I need a shower. And food. And to sleep for the rest of my life.”

“I’m pretty good at making people sleep for the rest of their lives.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, Jeff’s arms wrapping under your back and twisting you sideways, his one arm scooping up your legs and lifting you up as he stands off the couch. He carries you towards your bedroom, holding you close to his chest.

“You take a shower, I’ll make you food.”

“Your cooking sucks.”

“You’ll get over it.”

He set you down on the bathroom counter, the cold tile making you hiss as he sauntered over to start the water in the shower.

You couldn’t help but notice the obvious stain on his thighs, dark wetness soaking into the thick fabric. You smiled, glancing up just enough to see that he was still very-much sporting a boner.

“Are you still hard?” You smile, teasing him as the water begins to warm, steam rolling over the glass. Jeff doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and walks over to help you off the counter, pushing you towards the shower.

You think for a moment before stepping in, turning to run a hand down his chest, heart thudding against his ribs.

“If you make me a grilled cheese, I’ll suck your dick before we go to bed.”

Jeff doesn’t need to be convinced any further. With a kiss against your cheek and a helping hand to get the rest of your clothes off, he’s disappearing back toward the kitchen with a jittery laugh.

“Deal. But don’t get mad if it’s burnt, alright?”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ MASKY

You froze.

A rush of cold spilled down your spine as two arms wrapped around your waist from behind, tight. But before panic could reach your throat or your hands could react with the broomstick, you heard a familiar breath—low, steady, a little tired.

“Hey,” came the voice, muffled against your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Masky.

You let your tensed shoulders sag, releasing a sharp breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and nearly dropping the broom on the ground.

He pulled you back a step, chest against your back, hands smoothing over your sides like he was trying to melt the stress out of your skin. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quietly. “The door, I didn’t have time to close it before you were unlocking the front. My bad.”

You twisted in his arms enough to look up at him. Even with the mask still on, his body said everything—guilt in the way he ducked his head slightly, gentleness in the way he held you like something he didn’t want to break. Still, you glared with all the anger and fear burning in your body.

“You think?” you grit, voice shaky but slowly recovering. “I thought I was about to get murdered.”

“Evidently.” He eyed the broomstick squeezed in-between the two of you. You nudged him, and he gave a slow exhale, cupping your face like he was handling porcelain. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Really.”

And you believed him.

“I should have grabbed a knife. Maybe getting stabbed will teach you to not to sneak up on people.”

“I promise you, it wouldn’t.”

You leaned into his touch just a little. “You always sneak around like a damn ghost. You ever think of just knocking?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Wouldn’t be me if I did.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension was already ebbing. You wanted to be upset with him, but the constant hardened look in Masky’s eyes always rolled unease off your shoulders. He kissed your forehead through the mask, then nodded toward the kitchen.

“Sit. You’re gonna tell me about your day, and I’m gonna make you something before you start melting into the floor. You look beat.”

You didn’t argue. You dragged your feet to the living room, switching off all the lights you had flipped in your panic, throwing the broom back into the closet, dropped into the couch, and watched him bustle around like someone who had done this a dozen times before. He made sure to shut the back door, too. Coffee brewed, a pastry from your cupboard was plated, and all the while, his eyes flicked back to you with that quiet protectiveness he wore like a second skin.

When he returned, he gently nudged your legs to drape over his lap as he sat next to you. You crossed your legs, calves lying atop his thighs, back pressed into the arm of the couch, as he handed over his gifts.

“Eat first,” he muttered. “Talk later.”

You sighed at the first touch of his hands kneading into your calves, thumbs pressing into the tight spots just right. It was maddening how good he was at this. The kind of man who knew the exact angle to dig into the muscle, the exact pressure to make it all unravel.

You ate what he had made you, sipping on the steaming coffee that Masky just always seemed to know how to brew just right no matter what brand you bought. When finished, you laid it on the table next to your couch.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice quieter now, slower. He ran a hand up to your knee, not asking for more than you were willing to give.

“The worst,” you murmured, letting your head fall back. “You ever feel like no matter how much you do, it’s never enough?”

“All the time,” he said simply.

He worked his way up your legs, then, shifting until your knees bent and he could pull you into his lap without resistance. You settled into him with a quiet sigh, your cheek against his shoulder, cradling you. He smelled like cold air and pine needles, something earthy that grounded you instantly.

He tilted your chin gently, mask still on, but his mouth pressed atop your head, chin resting there. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen if you do.”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

And for a while, you just… talked. About the manager who wouldn’t leave you alone. About the customer who screamed over nothing. About how tired you were of pretending to be okay when really you just wanted the world to stop spinning for five minutes.

Masky didn’t say much—but his hands did. One arm around your waist, the other slowly brushing up and down your spine. Reassuring. Real. His mask shifted up his face while you spoke. First, above his mouth so you could see the dark facial hair across his jaw, then above his nose, then completely off, left on the table next to your dirty dishes. You tried not to make a show of seeing his face, but it always made you a little giddy when he removed his mask on his own.

And then—quietly, like he was asking permission—he lifted you just enough to shift you deeper into his lap. His other hand skimmed up your side, drawing idle circles as he began to press kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

“Forget the rest of it,” he murmured. “Right now, it’s just me and you.”

The heat of him, the slow way his fingers ghosted over your ribs, the softness in his voice—it was everything you needed and nothing you deserved.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered. “Not with me.”

“Sam can be said about you, tough guy.”

He chuckled, but didn’t respond, so you continued.

“How was your day?”

He waited, thinking over his answer. “Had worse. But still not good. Left after everyone went to sleep ‘cause I decided I wanted to see you.” He paused for a second, glancing between you and the window outside. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Don’t. Stay as long as you want. Anything to get you out of that mansion for a bit, yeah?”

“If you insist,” he chuckled.

You melted then, entirely, your fingers curling in the front of his shirt. Letting him kiss your worries away, one soft press at a time. Every nerve in your body quieted. Every fear, every sharp edge the day left behind, dulled under the warmth of his touch.

You didn’t need anything else.

Until his hand dipped in-between your thighs. 

It wasn’t rushing or assuming, but just a flat palm slid between the warmth of your legs and resting against the apex of your body. The touch was lightening, tired body shifting to life when the hilt of his hand pressed firm against your center.

”Masky…” you breathed between kisses, half a question and half a sigh of want. He didn’t make any movement, but he didn’t pull away either, just continued kissing.

“Tell me to stop if you wish. Just want to help you relax a lil’.” He hummed against your temple, his facial hair tickling against your cheek.

“No— Uh, no.” You hesitated, evaluating your own body and tiredness, then accepting the fact that now you would be too stirred to relax anymore after the move he had just made. “Want you. Need you.”

“Easy now, don’t get worked up.”

“Hypocrite,” you shoved his shoulder, twisting off of his lap and planting your feet on the ground. You stood in front of him, facing away, and began to unbutton your pants. Your cheeks burned, no doubt Masky being able to see the deep red on the tips of your ears as you shimmied your pants down your thighs and off your legs.

You heard the unstrapping of laces behind you, boots being kicked off of feet and jacket being thrown to the other side of the couch before hands were planting on your hips and turning you around.

You placed your hands on Masky’s shoulders, his fingertips tracing the stitching of your panties as he leaned forward to place slow, breathy kisses against your stomach through your shirt. He hooked your panties around his thumbs, then slowly slid them down your thighs and off with your pants behind you. 

Masky lifted the hem of your shirt, placing another kiss just below your belly button before he was sitting back to look up at you, eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks a dark shade of red. You ran your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, but before you could make a move to remove any more clothes—his or yours—Masky was grabbing your arms, turning you, and pulling you down onto his lap.

He shuffled you both back, laying long-ways on the couch with his back sitting up against the armrest. He laid your back against his chest, planting his feet into the cushion so your legs hard to spread around them, cold air hitting your center with a chill.

“Wha- You’re not even taking your shirt off?” You question, readjusting and making yourself comfortable on top of him, entire body laying against his. Masky just chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and planting kiss after kiss against your neck.

“No need,” he hummed, running his hands down your waist and over the tops of your thighs, dipping under them to tug your legs back, pulling them apart. You planted your feet against each of his knees, socked feet slipping against the material of his jeans. “I scared you, so I have to make up for it somehow.”

“Ah, don’t say that,” you mumbled, hands tugging up the hem of your shirt as Masky’s rubbed further and further down. “I already forgave you.”

“Mhm. But I don’t see you stopping me.” You could feel his smirk against your jaw as he spoke, the deep baritone of his voice vibrating against your back. You would have given a retort back, but Masky was suddenly sitting up and hissing in pain.

“Wha-”

He reaches behind him, a click of something being unsnapped, and the rustling of metal. You’re jarred, until Masky pulls out his pistol that usually stays strapped to the holster on the back of his belt. He grimaced, setting the gun back on the nightstand next to the dishes.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“Whoops,” he chuckled, lying back down and dragging you back with him.

It was a blur of hands and lips next—Masky’s arm came to wrap around your middle, while his free hand grabbed your jaw and turned your head to kiss him fully. You smiled into the kiss, but found yourself being cut of when two fingers pressed between you, fingertips pressing against your lips.

You happily obliged, parting your lips as Masky sunk his thick middle fingers into your mouth, your hand wrapping around his wrist when he tried to push back further, slightly coughing on the digits.

“Nice and wet. There we go…” he hummed, feeling your tongue slip around his fingers and groan at the salty taste of them. Only when your drool began to coat your own lips and shine on his knuckles did he draw them out, leaving you breathless and flushed.

One arm still gripped around your middle, he let his spit-glistened fingers trail down between your legs. He found your clit immediately, wasting no time in pushing his fingers through your folds and spreading you open, fingertips pressed firm against your sensitive nub and drawing small circles.

“Ah, hah- Masky-” you huffed, planting your hands on his forearms and digging your nails into his sun-kissed skin. Thick veins ran up his arms, strong muscles from countless missions toning his body in all the right ways. It was mouthwatering, really. The only downfall? Every part of him was thick, fingers especially.

“Let it out, there you go.”

If there was one thing about Masky you knew for certain, he knew what he wanted and he always knew how to get it. Whether that be your noises, a specific body reaction, or just your pleasure all over his fingers—he was going to have it, and it was going to be now.

Another circle on your clit before Masky was pressing downwards, scissoring his fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and hum at the glisten that shone in the lamp light. You were dripping, and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

Your nails dug into the skin of his forearm when he began to prod his middle finger against your entrance, swiping up and down the slit but never fully pressing in. You whined, shifting your hips with each movement and praying that he would just finger-fuck you already.

“C’mon-”

“Shhh, don’t be whining,” he smiled, planting an open-mouth kiss against your neck, sucking the skin lightly and sending shock after shock through your body. “Need’a just let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

He tightens his grip on your waist, and you release a spell of air, giving Masky the chance to slip the first knuckle of his middle finger into the warmth of your cunt. You mewl, head lying back on his shoulder, eyes blinking slowly as he works the digit slowly in and out. It’s thick, and Masky can’t help but groan to himself at the way your folds stretch around it.

His bulge pressed against your back, the subtle shift and grind of his hips against you making you reel.

“More…” You huff, pushing his arm down and angling your hips up, whining for the entirety of his finger, not just the first knuckle.

“Greedy, greedy girl…” He purrs, popping off of your neck and moving up to your jaw, continuing his abuse there. Your neck is shining with his spit, little flowering bruises slowly fading in with each minute.

Masky obliges, curling his middle finger and pressing it deeper, warming his finger in your wetness and feeling the fluttering of your walls just begging for more, more.

You grovel, tilting your hips back and forth in time with his wrist, his one finger pumping in and out of you quickly, stirring your stomach with shocks of pleasure. It’s still not enough, you decide, turning your face into the side of Masky’s neck and whining there.

“Oh, what? C’mon, tell me what you want,” he slows his finger, teasing it in and out, the digit soaked with your arousal. “Don’t get all shy.”

“Another…”

“Another what, sweet girl?”

You huff, digging your nails into his arm just to prove a point, “Your fucking finger, Masky. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

Masky free arm unwraps from your waist, hand snaking down to press finger pads against your clit, hard—enough to make you flinch. You feel a second finger begin to stretch against your entrance, the tight ring of muscle sucking in the thick digits like they belonged there.

“Yeah—yeah—yeah-” You chant against his neck, tilting your gaze down to watch as one knuckle after another dips inside of you, just to tug back out again. He begins to slowly pump his two middle fingers in, your hips jerking to meet every pass.

His other hand does wonders, swiping lewdly across your clit, sounds of wet skin and arousal overtaking the silence of your home. You brace your hands on his forearms still, fingers clenching in time with his.

“Tell me what you’re feelin’, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your ear, biting at the carriage and sending goosebumps shooting across your skin. It’s accompanied with the repetitive massaging of that sweet spot deep inside that only he can reach, fingers pumping and knocking against every sensitive nerve on their way out. Masky knows your body like the back of his hand, and it’s proven here and now. “Let me hear that sweet voice.”

“Good—hah-” You gasp, gritting your teeth when he curls his fingers upwards, scissoring your cunt wider. “Jus-hngh-Just keep going.”

He gives a heavy circle onto your clit, fingers tugging at the nub, before his hand is retreating. You nearly whine, exasperated that he did exactly what you told him not to do, until his hand is wrapping around your wrist.

He maneuvers your hand down, pressing his fingers atop yours directly onto your clit, showing you how to rub yourself. When you slowly start doing the motion on your own, he lets your hand go.

You want to question, but he’s wrapping his hand around your jaw and tilting your face up, pressing a firm but wet kiss against your swollen lips. Then his fingers are slipping down, until his fist is wrapping around your throat and—

Oh.

The lightheaded sensation is instant, brain growing fuzzy with the little oxygen that you’re not getting to your head. He places the pressure on either side of your neck, right under your jaw, and squeezes until your lips are parting and you’re gasping.

Your fingers stall their movements on your clit, his two still pumping mercilessly into your sopping cunt, and a low rumble erupts from his chest.

Then his fingers inside of you come to a dead stop.

You whine, sucking in a rattled breath against the pressure constricting you, and try rocking your hips. Masky stays still.

“Move them fingers, sweetheart.”

You immediately light up, your hand getting to work at rubbing your cunt until tears prick the corners of your eyes, thighs jerking to close with every circle. Masky catches up immediately, the palm of his hand hitting against your fingertips every time he fucks his fingers into your wilting hole, his digits glistening.

His grip on your throat tightens, your eyes rolling back as your mouth creates an ‘oh’ shape, gasping for air. The air swimming in your brain makes your vision hazy, but it also heightens the sensations of every nerve lighting up in your cunt, every curl and jerk of fingers against yourself.

“You’re gettin’ close, pretty girl,” Masky hums, pressing his lips directly against your ear, gritting his teeth when your free hand comes up to wrap around his wrist. “Let it all out. Come all over me, sweetheart.”

His fist tightens one final time, your airway completely shuts out, and that’s what does you in. Your orgasm hits you like a train, hard and fast, and with barely any warning. Your nails are tearing into his arm, fingers rubbing your clit so hard you see stars, and his fingers—they’re slamming into your g-spot, legs shaking so hard they slip off his knees and fall wide. 

You cum into his palm, your arousal soaking his fingers and dripping down his wrist, absolutely covering your inner thighs and plush lips. Masky growls, deep and low, nipping at the corner of your ear while your cunt convulses and grips his fingers impossibly tighter.

He lets his grip off your throat, a crying gasp for air that has your stomach tightening and eyes shooting wide. He shushes you, rubbing methodical circles against your cheek as your head falls back limp against his shoulder. You’re shaking all over, body absolutely wrecked.

It took more effort than you care to admit for Masky to slowly tug his fingers out of you, muscles clamping down against the digits like they were begging him to stay.

The couch creaked softly beneath you both as you lay draped over him, cheek pressed against the side of his neck, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat in his pulse.

Masky’s arms slung lazily around you, one hand tracing slow circles onto your chest, the wiping against his pant-leg. His chest rose and fell beneath you, and you felt his lips brush your temple.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick and gravel-warm, like it had melted under the weight of contentment. “So damn good for me.”

Your tired body softened further at the praise, sinking against him with a faint sigh. He could feel your heartbeat syncing with his, slower now, soothed. There was no residual work-related emotion left in your body, no room when now all you could think about was how good you felt, how full.

His fingers ghosted along your jaw again, dragging a quiet shiver from you despite the warmth still lingering between your bodies. “You’re so pretty,” he added, quieter this time, like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud—but he said it anyway. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You nuzzled against him, and he chuckled — low and affectionate. Then, gently, he shifted beneath you.

“C’mon,” he whispered, sitting up with you still loosely wrapped in his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You wanted to protest, say you were fine, but your legs felt like jelly and your brain wasn’t quite caught up to your body yet. He carried you effortlessly, strong arms cradling you to his chest, his jacket and your pants abandoned on the floor behind him.

He carried you to your bedroom, sitting you on the bed while he disappeared to the bathroom. You could’ve fallen asleep right there, if the chilly air was lighting your body with goosebumps.

The bathroom lights were low and the tub was already half-full, steam curling upward like fog in the amber light when he gathered you back up and guided you to the bathroom, helping you remove the rest of your clothes.

Masky sat on the edge of the tub with you still in his lap, his skin warm where it met yours, holding you like you were something fragile and precious. The water lapped gently at the porcelain.

He ran his hand along your arm, soothing, grounding. “I got you,” he said. “Always.”

Once he eased you into the water, you sank with a small moan, the heat cradling you like a second set of arms. You leaned back against the edge of the tub, head falling to the side where Masky sat on a folded towel beside it, one arm slung along the rim, fingers trailing in the water next to yours.

You blinked up at him through the haze. There was this softness in his eyes he never showed anyone else. Not even the others. Just you.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah…” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Just… floaty.”

He smiled, barely there. “That’s the idea.”

Silence stretched comfortably between you, the kind that doesn’t need filling. Just the sound of the water sloshing quietly as he washed your legs, gentle and unhurried.

“I’ll be gone in the morning,” he said suddenly, not looking at you. “Long mission coming up, some out of town stuff.”

You opened your eyes at that, meeting his gaze.

He reached forward to brush wet strands of hair from your face, thumb trailing down your cheek. “I promise not to sneak up on you when I get back. Keep yourself safe until then.”

Your hand found his, fingers curling around his wrist, and you smiled—soft, tired, but real.

“Will you wake me up?” you whispered. “Just so I can kiss you bye.”

His lips quirked, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

“Of course.”

You knew he wouldn’t, knew that he would get too sentimental about letting you sleep, but that was for tomorrow.

Tonight, you just couldn’t wait to kiss his face and tell him your every thought before slipping off to sleep.

And maybe repaying the favor, too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ TICCI TOBY

You heard the fast cadence of feet moving behind you before you ever saw who it was, so obviously, you swung around broom-handle first. 

You felt the CRACK of wood against something hard, then turned the rest of your body around to see—

Toby?

His shoulder slumped against the wall, hands up in defense, and a sheepish grin on his now-red face. You knew he didn’t feel the pain of the hit, but he definitely felt the way it shook his brain for a second.

“Toby—!” you snapped, whirling towards him and swatting at his chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He was already grinning—goggles askew in his messy brown hair, hoodie half unzipped like he’d just walked in from a tornado. He ducked your halfhearted hits with an exaggerated lean, still giggling.

“You should’ve se-seen your face,” he said, wheezing through his grin. “I was gonna jump out from the closet but figured you might act-actually kill me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just now,” you muttered, heart still racing.

Toby tilted his head. “Yeah, but then you’d be stuck all alone again. Didn’t y-you miss me?” He stepped closer, hands slipping around your waist.

Your lips pressed into a line, still too wound-up from the fear to melt into his teasing right away. “Maybe. A little. But not enough to forgive you sneaking in through the back door like a horror movie villain.”

He leaned in, rubbing his nose gently against the side of your face. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Just… couldn’t help it. You’re so fun to surp-surprise.”

You sighed, the weight of the day still pressing down on your shoulders. He felt it too—because his smile dimmed, his hand reaching up to trace the curve of your spine over your shirt, slowly and carefully.

“Tough day?”

You nodded. “Always is.”

“Then let me fix that.”

Before you could argue, Toby grabbed your hand and gently tugged you toward the couch, taking the broom from your hands and throwing it back into the hall closet. “C’mon. Si-Sit down. You can yell at me later—right now you need to unwind.”

Toby’s hand was warm, his grip light as he tugged you toward the living room. You didn’t resist, not this time. After the day you’d had—and the scare he gave you—you didn’t have the energy to argue. Not when your bones ached with exhaustion and your thoughts were foggy from pushing too hard for too long.

The two of you flipped off every light you had anxiously flipped on on the way back, and made sure to shut the back door tight.

He plopped onto the couch first, legs spreading carelessly as he sank into the cushions with a groan that sounded far too satisfied, kicking his boots off. Then, without waiting, he grabbed your arm and pulled you down with him—until your body was tucked into his side, your head resting against his hoodie-covered chest, the rhythm of his breathing loud in your ear.

“That’s better,” he mumbled, shifting slightly so he could wrap both arms around you, folding you into his warmth like a blanket he’d been missing for days. “You always smell like… I dunno. Like so-soap. And work.”

You chuckled weakly, your body already starting to sink against him. “That’s probably accurate.”

He made a content little noise in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating in his chest under your cheek. Then one hand came up—calloused fingers brushing your hair back, again and again in soft, soothing strokes. He played with the strands absently, combing them through with care, sometimes curling a few around his finger and letting them slide loose.

You didn’t realize how much you needed this until you felt yourself beginning to melt.

No pressure. No noise. Just the low hum of his breathing, the sound of the wind against the house, and his fingertips skimming over your scalp like he was drawing patterns only he could see.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to.

Toby was always better at this than you expected. For someone who buzzed with chaos and laughter and unpredictable energy, he could be surprisingly… still. When it counted. And right now, he knew better than to fill the space with words.

You closed your eyes.

“Want me to get you anything?” he murmured after a while, quieter now. “Water? Snacks? I saw a bag of chi-chips in the pantry that looked lonely.”

You shook your head. “Just this.”

“That’s easy,” he whispered, a soft smile curling against your temple. “I can do this all night.”

He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch with one arm, dragging it around both of you with a lazy flourish, then curled tighter around you. His chin rested gently on top of your head, and his thumb traced a lazy, slow circle on your side. Over and over. Repeating the motion like it meant something. Like maybe he was grounding himself too.

You didn’t have to talk. You didn’t have to think. He made sure of that—kissing your forehead now and then, humming softly under his breath, keeping his arms steady and his presence warm and close and real.

“You’re good now,” he said, so quiet you barely heard him. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

And for the first time that day—hell, maybe the first time that week—you believed it.

And in the lull of your stress fading and his fingers gently massaging behind your ear, it finally clicked: no matter how weird or chaotic or infuriating Toby could be, he always came back to you like this—like home.

But every home has its cracks, and every crack is a breach at the foundation. And sure as hell, you both had your cracks.

You tried and tried to get comfortable, but after a little bit, your body was just too sore, mind too hazy with work. But, like the adult you were, gritted your teeth and scrunched your brow. Toby, however, wasn’t going to let you get off so easy.

“‘Just this’ my ass,” he laughed, pulling your hips back against his when you turn off of his body and onto your side, back flush against his front. “You’re still sw-swimmin’ in stress.”

Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at his dramatics. It’s hardly the first time you’ve forced yourself to sleep through a muddy brain, and usually by yourself. If anything, Toby’s pestering is making it more of an impossible task.

And yet, here he is wrapping his arms around your middle and pressing his face into your hair. His body shifts closer, the two of you laid out against the other, trying your best to play sleepy, knowing full well the other was wide awake.

You can’t help it.

You peel yourself from his body, sitting up and planting your feet off the ground. Toby groans, hands trying to grip at your shirt, but you’re already moving to the kitchen by the time he’s up.

“Whe-Where’re you going?

The kettle’s old, a little too loud when it clicks onto the burner. You reach for the tea tin, fingers trembling slightly from the built-up static in your bones. You didn’t even realize how deep the tension ran until you peeled yourself away from the couch. Every joint ached like your body was still clocked in.

Toby isn’t far behind, of course.

You hear the soft pad pad pad of his mismatched gait, socks barely making a sound on the floor. He doesn’t say anything right away—just leans his shoulder against the doorway, watching. You feel his stare like a heat across your back.

“…You didn’t answer me,” he says after a beat, voice thick and scratchy, like it’s caught somewhere between sleep and screaming.

“I needed something warm,” you mumble. “Can’t settle.”

“Couldn’t se-settle with me,” he teases, pushing off the doorframe. “Ouch.”

“It’s not you,” you say with a soft huff, grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet. “It’s just work. Manager’s still refusing to hire more help.”

He hums, unconvinced, and steps closer. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his hands find your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, just enough to touch skin. The contact makes you shiver. Not cold—never with him around.

“I said you were st-still swimmin’ in stress.” His voice is closer now, the warmth of his breath skimming the curve of your shoulder. “Bet your head’s still full’a ema-email chains and shit.”

“It is,” you admit, biting back a sigh, scooping loose tea leaves into the strainer with slow, practiced fingers. “And tomorrow’s gonna be worse. I should be in bed.”

“So let me help,” he murmurs, all faux-innocent as his hands start to travel. “Didn’t I alrea-already do such a good job loosening you up earlier?”

“Toby,” you say warningly, but there’s no bite in it.

He grins into your shoulder.

The kettle isn’t even halfway to boiling when you feel him really close the distance — chest to your back, hips pinning you lightly to the counter, the twitchy energy in him turning molten. His lips brush your neck, first a feather-light graze, then a drag, then a kiss, slow and open-mouthed, right at the base of your throat.

Your breath catches in your lungs.

“Tobes…”

“You smell like me now,” he says into your skin, nose nuzzling behind your ear. “You got no idea how hard it is not to wanna crawl here after every day, just to see you, touch you, feel you.”

His hands spread wide across your stomach, palms flattening to keep you close. The gentle motion of his thumbs stroking absent patterns is a stark contrast to the heat coiling behind his kisses.

You let your head tip slightly, involuntarily—the smallest invitation.

“Still stressed?” He murmurs, one hand skimming undernesth your shirt and up to your ribs, not quite groping—just holding, grounding. “Or do I fi-finally feel you easin’ up?”

Your body is softening against him despite yourself. “You’re cheating.”

“You’re too uptight,” he counters, tone half-mockery, half-concern. “I’m just multitasking. Bein’ g-good for you and selfish at the same time.”

The kettle starts to whisper with pressure.

You could push him off. You should, maybe—wait for the tea, try to rest like an adult. But he feels safe against your back, fingers warm, breath warmer. Your thoughts slow a little under his touch, each kiss tugging you further from the work-stained haze you’d been drowning in.

“You’re not gonna let me drink that tea in peace, are you?”

Toby chuckles, the sound dark and fond and unmistakably turned on. His lips graze lower, teeth barely grazing where your shoulder meets your neck.

“…Nope.”

And then he bites, hard—enough to make you groan.

You grip the counter harder, bracing yourself as he presses fully into you from behind. You can feel him—hard, twitching, needy, through the thin fabric of both your clothes, and it makes your breath hitch again.

“I thought this was about helping me relax,” you say shakily, lips tugging into a grin despite the heat pooling between your legs.

He laughs, husky and low. “Oh, I am helpin’,” he mutters, biting gently at your earlobe. “You’ll be too tire-tired to think by the time I’m done.”

Toby watches over your shoulder as he unbuttons your pants, tugging them open as he dips his hand in and under the front of your panties, barely giving you time to gasp before his fingers are pushing through the growing wetness at your center.

Your hips buck against the counter as he drags two fingers over your folds, slow, testing. You’re already out of breath.

“Well fuck, sweetheart,” he growls, voice suddenly wrecked with want. “I haven’t even gotten st-started yet.”

“Your fault,” you whisper back, trembling, eyes fluttering shut as he teases his fingers through your folds, swiping slick against your puffy lips. “You started it.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” he promises darkly, licking up your neck again. “Right here.”

Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as he crooks one evil finger through your folds, gathering your slick to aid the taunting circles he begins to draw over your clit. He doesn’t care to drag your pants down any further, perfectly content with shoving your front against the counter and pressing his bulge against the roundness of your ass.

“Aha—Toby-” You whine, his fingertips rubbing merciless circles against your clit, your knees resisting the urge to buckle and crash you into the floor. Toby, all the while, is littering your neck with bites and kisses, disregarding exactly how much whiplash this is giving you. “Slow, agh—slow down.”

He lets off your neck, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw with wincing force, twitchy fingers dragging your deeply flushed face to turn and look at him.

He bores wide eyes at you down the length of his nose. He looks gloriously smug as he eases his middle finger inside you, but his mouth curling upwards at the wanton moan that spills from your lips as you clench around him.

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, as he curls it just so. You nod fervidly and capture his lips in a desperate kiss, as though eager to prove his point. You whimper against his mouth when he repeats the movement, and he swallows the sound of your pleasure; opening up to you and delving in with his tongue.

His finger is quick, edgy jerks of his wrist lighting your cunt up with shock after sensitive shock as your thighs shake under you. His tongue explores your mouth, spit coating each other’s lips with each hungry kiss Toby plants upon you.

Pressure builds against the kettle's spout, air growing louder. 

“Think I can make my sweet girl cum before your pre-precious tea is ready?” He grits, popping off of your mouth with a satisfied grin and spit-glistened lips. You go to shake your head, go to tell him to take it easy, but he’s already bullying another finger into your sopping cunt, panties soaked nearly through your work pants.

“Jesus, Toby—yeah, yeah okay-” you spread your legs a little wider, leaning just a little further against the counter as Toby’s palm nudges ruthlessly against your sensitive clit.

He smiles wide, pressing his hips harder against your ass, grinding himself in time with his curling fingers as his free hand snakes up the front of your shirt, groping your tits. He’s becoming frantic, and you can only hope to keep up.

You bite down on your tongue to cut short your whiny moan as Toby presses the pad of his fingers into your g-spot. The depths of his eyes glitter dark with malevolent glee as you writhe between him and the counter—your body caught in a battle between wanting to chase what his fingers are doing and needing him to stop for two damn seconds so you can focus on not buckling under both his and your weight.

“Let it all out, c’mon sw-sweet girl, let me hear you,” he growls against your jaw, nipping against the skin there. Your hips jerk in time with his hand, body following the rub of his palm on your clit, feeling the ever-closer tightness in your gut.

He pulls out of you and begins to circle your clit once more.

Your frustration materialises in a noise that’s partway between a whine and a growl, and you throw your head back against his shoulder—dishevelled breathing nearly overshadowing the faint whistle building on the kettle.

There’s no controlling the way your hips roll to compliment his movements, even though you’re trapped against the counter thoroughly enough that your own movements are limited by Toby’s arm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?”

Your hips buck when he catches on a particularly sensitive spot, a desperate attempt to have his fingers press into your entrance again. But he moves with you, continuing only to draw stuttering patterns.

“Let me hear you, sweet girl,” he repeats.

Your breaths have increased to a heavy pant, broken only by the small gasps and mewls at each movement he makes—all at once too much and not nearly enough. 

Maybe it’s the stance, or the overstimulation, or the fact that you’re about the cry if Toby doesn’t put his fucking fingers in your fucking pussy. But you’re slipping one hand off the counter and reaching back to tangle into his hair, dragging his gaze to meet yours.

“Please, Toby,” you pant. “I don’t care how fast you go, I do—hah—don’t care what you do. I just need to cum, right now. I need you to make me cum, Toby.”

Each word from your rambling mouth makes Toby’s eyes widen, grin growing wider and wider. He doesn’t need to be convinced any longer.

You mewl as he curls his fingers inside you, dragging against your walls as he begins a rapid, tear-jerking rhythm. He kisses and sucks at your ear, tugging on the lobe with a sharpness that has your eyes clamping shut and moans shrieking from your lips.

His free hand slithers from under your shirt to snag a bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to grind your hips down onto his hand, his own hips rutting against you like a dog.

“Yeah, Toby—Yeah.”

You moan as he scissors his fingers inside you. You’ve been so overwhelmed by sensations until now that you’re only just realising the kettle is nearly ready, faint whistle growing louder—as Toby’s fingers grew faster.

“C’mon, baby, almost there—al-almost there.”

He adds a third finger, and begins to pump into you with much more intention than before, the hilt of his palm purposefully rutting against your clit, cunt absolutely sloppy with your arousal in your panties.

“I’m close—Toby, ‘m so close, c’mon-”

“Let me feel it, sweetheart.”

His fingers hit a particularly sweet spot, and you gasp in approval as he begins to pick up speed, hitting that spot again and again, coaxing and curling and grinding his palm relentlessly against your clit.

Toby pays rapt attention to your face as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes dart between yours, and his lips curl upwards with every desperate sound that spills from you. He supports your weight while your legs tremble beneath you, and you cling to him for dear life as your stomach muscles shake, and coil ever tighter until everything inside you is pulled taut and—

The tension snaps. Your spine arches against him, his hips plowing against yours, and you cry out as the first relentless waves of your orgasm crash over you. Toby guides you through each pitiful swell with deep strokes that have you seeing stars. He doesn’t dare to let a single ripple of pleasure pass you by.

You’re still gasping for breath, knuckles white against the counter, thighs twitching where they press together, trying to regain some sense of control—but your body is spent, trembling, soaked through.

Toby’s palm is warm and steady where it rests between your legs, the heel of his hand applying just enough pressure to keep the mess contained while you come down from the high. His fingers slowly slip from you, careful not to overstimulate, though the ghost of them lingers, making you shudder in place.

Then—

The kettle screeches, high whistle filling the air.

Toby snorts through his nose, resting his forehead against your shoulder with a groan.

“Well, looks like I win,” he mutters, sounding slightly dazed himself.

You’re still catching your breath, legs barely cooperating. “I can’t move.”

He doesn’t hesitate—just guides you easily by the waist and back towards your bathroom, minding your still-sensitive body. He keeps one hand on your hip while grabbing a rag with the other, wetting it with warm tap water.

“Stay put,” he murmurs. “Lemme clean you up.”

You hum softly, dazed and grateful as he shimmies your pants and panties off of your hips and down your legs, this time not with lust, but with care. He eyes your soaked panties.

“Ruined ’em,” he comments, not unkindly. He gives you a cocky little smirk. “Might fra-frame ’em.”

“Gross,” you whisper, but there’s a sleepy smile on your face now.

His hands are gentle now—soft wipes between your thighs, slow dabs where the fabric is soaked. The wet heat of your panties clings uncomfortably, and without asking, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and peels them down.

Once he’s done wiping you clean, he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek—reverent this time��and tugs your shirt down to cover you back up before standing. He moves with less twitch now, more grounded, like something has calmed the buzzing in his own nerves.

He wipes you gently, but when he shifts to toss the rag into the sink behind him, the movement presses his hoodie up just enough for you to see.

A dark, unmistakable patch soaks through the front of his jeans.

Your brows lift slowly, a smile creeping across your face. “Toby.”

He freezes, mid-reach. “…Yeah?”

You lean forward, tapping a finger against the wet spot on his pants. “Did you seriously come in your pants?”

He jerks slightly at the touch, groaning as if you’d just caught him doing something far worse. “Fu-Fuck, don’t say it like that,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears flush red through his messy hair. “You were… God, you were makin’ noises, s-squeezin’ my fingers, it felt so good grinding against you… I wasn’t exact-exactly in control.”

You snort, amused and charmed all at once. “Didn’t even get your dick touched, and you still—”

“Don’t,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh again, light and warm, and slide to stand in front of him. His hands instinctively land on your hips to steady you, but he avoids your eyes, embarrassed even though he’s the one who just made you come undone with his fingers alone.

“Hey,” you say gently, hands smoothing up under his hoodie, resting at his waist. “Let me take care of you now.”

His eyes open at that—cautious, a little wide. “You d-don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut in, smiling softly. “But I want to.”

He swallows hard as you pull him toward the sink where the rag lies, damp and forgotten. You grab a clean one instead and dampen it with warm water, testing the temperature before turning back to him. “Pants down, killer.”

He stares at you like you just said the most blasphemous thing imaginable. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you counter.

Toby groans in defeat, tugging open his jeans and boxers with minimal ceremony, wincing at the sticky mess inside them. You don’t laugh—not this time. Instead, you step between his legs, towel in hand, and meet his gaze with soft, adoring mischief.

“You really did make a mess,” you murmur, crouching slightly as you press the towel gently against him. You wipe him down with care, the same way he did for you—slow, soothing, careful not to tease too much, though it’s hard when you hear the little breathy sounds he makes.

He grips the edge of the counter behind him, watching you like you’re some kind of religious experience. “Fuckin’ hell, watch your hands.”

“I just like seeing you flustered,” you tease, brushing the inside of his thigh lightly.

He hisses softly. “You’re mean.”

“I’m sweet,” you correct, finally finishing your gentle cleanup and tossing the towel into the sink behind you. “You’re just really easy to get riled.”

He grabs your waist again and pulls you up against him, nose brushing yours. “You keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna make us both miss tea and bedtime.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, light as a feather. “Tempting. But I think I’ve earned my tea.”

You both fix your clothes, you slipping on a fresh pair of bottoms, and shuffling back to the kitchen.

The kettle is still whistling softly, having clicked off on its own. He moves to pour the water, and you slide to grab the mugs, still a little wobbly in the knees.

He steadies you with ease, eyes flicking down to check on you.

“You okay?”

You nod, curling into his side. “Yeah. Sleepy, now.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “My duty has been fulfi-fulfilled.”

He hands you your mug first—your favorite one, the one he always pretends not to use but definitely steals when you’re not home. He hands you a steaming cup of tea steeped to perfection, then takes his own and nudges you toward the couch.

You settle in against him, tucked under his arm, legs draped across his lap. He presses a palm to your thigh, rubbing slow, grounding circles as you sip.

There’s still tension in your muscles, yes—but it’s softer now. Quiet. Manageable.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say quietly.

He hums, resting his head against yours. “Yeah, I did. You weren’t gon-gonna stop. You never do.”

“Hypocrite,” you snide, but he looks down at you with that rare, unfiltered softness.

“I want you tak-taken care of,” he says simply. “I beat too many randos up everyday. Sometimes I just wanna take care of somebody.”

Your heart swells. The tea in your hand warms your palms, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that fills your chest.

You lean into him, nose tucked into his hoodie, your body finally able to melt against something solid. He holds you there in silence, kissing the top of your head every so often.

The night is quiet now—no stress, no thoughts of work.

Just tea, Toby, and the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart that’s completely and totally in sync with yours.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ HOODIE

Arms wrap around you from behind. Firm. Familiar. Gloved hands press against your stomach, steadying you as you flinch and try to spin around, broom handle gripped tight.

“No need to scream,” his voice is low, calm, muffled slightly by the fabric of his mask. “It’s just me.”

You tense. “Jesus, Hoodie!”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turn in his arms to face him—not able to see his expression beneath the worn fabric of his hood, but it doesn’t matter. The tension bleeding from his shoulders says enough. He’s tired, like you. But he’s here.

“You left the door wide open,” you mutter, pushing against his chest with a huff, his hand leaving your waist to remove the broom from your hands. “You know I’ve had the worst week. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I thought something happened.”

He nods, quiet, and doesn’t let you pull away too far. “I got the weekend off. I was going to surprise you. Thought I’d beat you home.”

You raise a brow. “So you decided to break in?”

“Technically, I have a key,” he mumbles under his breath.

You cross your arms, unimpressed.

“Okay,” he concedes with a sigh. “I messed up.”

Despite your irritation, a little huff of laughter escapes. He always does this—makes you want to stay mad just a little longer than you can actually hold it. Still, the adrenaline is slowly leaving your system now, and your body remembers how exhausted you are.

He watches you for a moment. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He doesn’t press you. Instead, he steps out of your space and heads to the kitchen like he owns the place—and honestly, after all this time, maybe he kind of does. You hear the sounds of a mug being pulled down, the soft trickle of water filling the kettle. Cabinets opening. The scrape of a plate. It’s methodical. Gentle. Like he’s trying to undo the jolt he gave you.

You follow him, arms still crossed, trying not to let your annoyance outweigh your relief. On your way back, you flip off every light you had turned on in your frenzy, and make sure to shut the back door firmly.

Hoodie sets a steaming cup of tea in front of you a few minutes later and tugs the kitchen island chair back. “Sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m the one who scared you half to death. Let me make it up to you.”

You blink at him. That’s as close to a romantic apology as you’re probably going to get. So… you sigh, scoop up the tea, and scoot into the stool. 

The mug’s warmth sinks into your palms. You lift it to your lips, take a slow sip—earthy, floral, a little sweet—and let out a sigh. The tension in your shoulders doesn’t disappear, but it dulls a bit, enough to make you realize how tightly you’ve been holding everything inside.

Across the island, Hoodie leans against the counter, his own mug cradled loosely in one gloved hand. His head is tilted slightly, watching you in that quiet, patient way of his — like he’s giving you time to unwind, wordlessly encouraging you to talk without pushing. 

You glance up at him through tired lashes. “Long week,” you murmur.

He nods. “Figured.”

“You?”

A grunt of acknowledgement. “We were out on rotation. Recon, mostly.” He shifts a bit, pulling his hood down with one hand and sliding the mask up above his nose just enough to drink. “Nothing exciting, but… exhausting.”

You frown a little. “You’re back early. That usually means something went wrong.”

He shrugs. “Not wrong. Just… tense.” A pause. “Tim’s been on edge.”

“More than usual?”

“Mhm.”

You blow softly on your tea, letting the heat curl against your lips. “Work’s been hell. My boss is a micromanaging narcissist and I’ve had two people quit in the last ten days. One of them cried in the break room before they left.”

Hoodie hums, like he’s picturing that too vividly. “You quit yet?”

You let out a dry little laugh. “I fantasize about it. Daily.”

“Do it,” he says simply. “I’ll hide the body.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin sneaks in anyway. “Not every problem can be solved by murder.”

“That’s where we differ.”

Another beat of silence passes, but it’s not awkward. Just shared weariness between two people who trust each other to hold the quiet without needing to fill it.

Then Hoodie lifts the front of his sweatshirt to his nose, sniffs himself, and grimaces.

You raise an eyebrow. “Charming.”

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “We really are disgusting.”

You smirk into your cup. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you do smell like old sweat and outside.”

He glares at you over the rim of his mug. “You smell like stress and three-day-old coffee.”

“Fair.”

He finishes the last of his drink, sets it down with a soft clink, then pushes away from the counter. “Come on. Shower.”

You blink, surprised. “Together?”

He pauses. His body language doesn’t change, but you can feel the way his attention snaps to you—heavy and focused like a shift in air pressure.

You weren’t trying to sound suggestive, not really. But the way his eyes darken just slightly beneath the mask, the subtle way he squares his shoulders—it hits you low in your stomach.

“…That an invitation?” he asks, voice lower now. Rougher.

You stare at him for a long moment. Then nod. “Yeah. It is.”

The tension that follows is thick—not awkward, but heavy with something slow-burning, simmering beneath the exhaustion. Craving contact and comfort in the most stripped-down way.

He doesn’t move quickly. Just steps around the island and stops in front of you, gloved fingers brushing yours where they rest against the mug. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.

Because when his hand slides into yours and you let him lead you down the hallway, it’s not about rushing or undoing the tension with heat—it’s about scrubbing off the week, the weight, the grime, together.

The bathroom is quiet, lit only by the small bulb over the mirror and the faint orange glow bleeding in from the hallway. You pad in behind him, feet soft against the tile, while Hoodie reaches for the knobs on the shower.

The pipes groan as hot water spills from the head, steam rising slowly. His gloves come off first, dropped beside the sink in a damp little thud. You reach out without a word, your hands brushing his as you move to help—first with his sweatshirt, tugging the hem up, his arms lifting in silent permission.

He watches you the entire time. You can’t see his eyes fully behind the fabric, but you feel them. Heavy. Focused. You pull the hoodie up over his head and it catches briefly on his mask—the cloth tight over his jaw—and you freeze. One hand lifts gently, thumb brushing the edge of the mask just above his cheekbone.

His body tenses.

“I don’t have to,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t speak. He just watches.

So slowly, carefully, you slide the mask up and off—exposing his mouth, his knotted brows, the quiet twitch of nerves along his throat as he swallows. His blond hair is messy, but you don’t care to fix it. You don’t stare. You just fold the fabric and set it aside, stepping close enough to press a kiss just beneath his chin. He exhales—long and low—and his hands settle on your hips, grounding himself.

Then it’s your turn.

You tug your own shirt over your head, his hands slipping around your back as soon as it’s gone. You feel him press a kiss to your collarbone, soft and unhurried, while you make quick work of the rest—pants, socks, underwear. He follows suit, until the only thing between you is warmth and anticipation.

The shower is fogged by the time you step in.

The hot spray hits your shoulders first, drawing a sigh from you both. You lean back against him as he closes the curtain behind you, his body flush against yours, his arms slowly wrapping around your waist. The water beads down your skin, over your back, between your bodies.

Neither of you speak.

His hands start slow—washing, soothing, mapping the lines of your body like he’s grounding himself in the shape of you. You do the same, fingers sliding across the plane of his chest, up to his shoulders. You trace the curve of his neck, the muscles tense beneath your fingertips, and he lets out a low hum that vibrates against your back.

His hands wander lower, over your stomach, hips, the inside of your thighs. Not demanding—just feeling. Exploring without pressure.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder. “Still feel gross?” you murmur.

His lips brush your ear. “Not even a little.”

You laugh, breathless, and twist in his arms so you’re facing him. The spray catches you both in the face, so he shifts slightly, shielding you with his body. One hand cups your jaw, the other smoothing over your lower back, pulling you closer.

Your chest presses to his, slick and warm under the water.

He doesn’t kiss you yet—just watches, eyes roaming your features like he’s trying to memorize every expression. One of your hands comes up to brush his damp hair back from his forehead. He’s so much more real like this. Human. Not the shadow you’ve grown used to meeting in alleyways or at your back door.

You lean in. Your lips touch his.

It’s slow. Not rushed or hungry—just hot, steady, present. He kisses you like he means it, like it matters. Like being here, with you, is the only thing that’s made his week feel real.

His hand slides down again, fingers brushing the swell of your ass, pulling you in. Your thighs meet his hips. Your body melts against him.

And it’s not just comfort anymore. It’s hunger in disguise.

The spray from the shower rolls heat around you, hot and soothing—but the real heat is pressed against you. He turns you, Hoodie’s chest flush to your back, his hands skimming up your sides, palms calloused but purposeful. Every touch is unhurried, deliberate, like he’s tracing your nerves from memory.

One hand finds your jaw, turning your face slightly so he can kiss you again—slow, deep, his lips dragging across yours like he’s trying to sink into you. The other dips lower, brushing your stomach, your hip, until he’s between your thighs.

You gasp, fingers gripping his wrist.

His palm flattens across your mound, his fingertips dipping between your thighs with featherlight pressure—teasing, exploring. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches your face tilt slightly toward his, breath quickening when his fingers stroke along your slit.

“Let me,” he murmurs, voice rough in your ear. “Just relax for me.”

Your body leans into his, already giving in.

You’re already wet. Not just from the water—him.

A low, satisfied hum escapes his throat. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper as he drags his middle finger up slowly, parting you, brushing right over your clit. His fingers are big, his entire palm covering your cunt and making you squirm.

“Sensitive?” he murmurs against your temple.

“God—yes…”

You feel his smirk more than you see it. His lips graze your ear, breath hot, teasing.

“I haven’t even started yet.”

His hand moves with a firmer purpose now. His middle finger dips between your folds, gliding down to your entrance, and slowly—so fucking slowly—he pushes the first knuckle in. Your back arches against him as his finger sinks deep, curling slightly, testing the way your walls squeeze around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, the sound husky, almost reverent. “So tight…”

You whine, eyes fluttering shut. His other hand comes up to brace your chest, sliding across your ribs, then down again—holding you still as he starts to move his finger, curling it gently with each pump. The water pours down over both of you, but all you feel is him—every slow press, every filthy grind of his palm against your clit.

You’ve barely had time to adjust when he’s pushing another finger.

Your legs nearly give out.

“Easy,” he murmurs, shifting his body behind yours to support your weight. “I’ve got you.”

The stretch of his fingers—thick, deep, perfect—has your mouth falling open in a gasp. He keeps them pumping in a steady rhythm, thumb circling your clit now with increasing pressure, drawing tight little spirals that make your stomach flutter.

“You feel that?” His voice is in your ear again, ragged and dark. “How wet you are for me? How fucking hard you’re squeezing?”

You nod helplessly, body tensing with every thrust of his fingers.

“Say it,” he demands softly.

“I—fuck—I’m so wet for you,” you breathe, barely able to form the words. “Feels so good, Brian—”

“That’s it,” he growls, voice cracked with restraint. “Let me make you cum. Let me feel you lose it.”

His fingers drive deeper, faster now—fingers still curled, stroking that sweet spot inside you over and over, his thumb unrelenting on your clit. Your knees start to shake. One of your hands flies up to brace the slick tile while the other scrambles to grip his wrist, holding on for dear life.

Your body is falling apart under him.

Every drag of Hoodie’s fingers has you writhing—hips rocking, thighs twitching, your hands scrambling to grip the slick wall for leverage as your orgasm builds fast and hard. The water from the shower pelts your chest and stomach, but all you can feel is him—his broad chest flush to your back, his breath hot and steady in your ear, and those thick, relentless fingers stroking deeper inside you with every second.

But your body’s fighting it.

Too much pleasure. Too intense. Your hips twitch forward, your spine arches, your whole body bucks instinctively to escape the overwhelming stimulation—

He doesn’t let you go.

Suddenly his chest is pressing harder into your back, and both your wrists are yanked behind you, caught in his grip. His free hand locks around them tight, pulling your arms behind you in a rough, controlled hold that drags a breathless cry from your lips.

“Stay still,” he growls into your ear, voice low, commanding, not up for argument.

Your gasp is punched out of you as the new position throws your balance off—spine arched, chest pushed forward, legs shaking as you try not to collapse under the weight of your own pleasure. You’re pinned now. Arms locked behind your back, completely open to him, vulnerable, dripping wet, and aching.

The fingers inside you don’t slow down. If anything—they get rougher.

“Don’t stop—don’t stop—” you gasp, hips grinding into his hand, chasing the release that’s almost too much too fast.

“Not gonna,” he grits. “Wanna feel you break for me. Right here. Right now.”

He plunges deep with every stroke, knuckle-deep, curling his fingers in a punishing rhythm that makes your eyes roll back. His palm grinds against your clit now, adding even more pressure—building you to a fever pitch, pushing you over that edge harder than you were ready for.

“F-Fuck, Brian—!” you cry out, voice shaking.

“You wanted to cum so bad,” he hisses into your hair. “Then cum for me. Right here. Let me feel it.”

Your whole body goes tense—knees buckling, thighs squeezing shut around his hand as your orgasm hits like a lightning strike. Your scream tears from your throat, raw and high and completely involuntary. 

“That’s it… good girl… fuck, that’s so hot. You’re so good for me.”

Your walls clench around his fingers like a vice, pulsing so violently it almost hurts. He groans low against your ear, gripping your wrists tighter behind you, holding you steady while you thrash against him, shaking and twitching through it.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, voice reverent. “Look at you…”

You’re panting, trembling, your body sagging against him as your orgasm crests and crashes. Your knees start to give, and Hoodie finally releases your wrists, catching you before you can drop. His arms wrap around you, one hand slipping to your front again to gently cup between your thighs, rubbing softly as the aftershocks leave you whimpering.

“Shhh… easy now,” he whispers. “I got you. It’s over. You did so good.”

His nose nuzzles against your temple. His other hand lifts to brush the hair back from your face as you catch your breath.

You melt back into him, boneless and flushed and soaking wet—in more ways than one.

“You okay?” he asks again, quieter this time.

You nod weakly, voice hoarse. “Yeah. Jesus.”

He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Let’s get you clean. Then I’ll carry you to bed.”

His fingers leave you slowly, the tight ring of muscle clamping as you gush around him, and you can feel your body flutter around the absence, still sensitive, still twitching. But now it’s gentle again—his touches soft, calming. And the steady weight of him holding you upright, even when you can’t stand.

The water runs warm over your skin, steam curling lazily around your shoulders as you lean your back into Hoodie’s chest, heart still hammering beneath your ribs. Your thighs twitch now and then with the aftershocks, but his arms are steady around you—one curled low around your waist, the other reaching for the washcloth.

You don’t even flinch when he starts cleaning you up.

He does it slowly, gently—as if he’s smoothing away every trembling breath you let out. Between your thighs, the soft cloth catches the slick remnants of your release, and he’s careful. Tender. Like it’s important to him you know you’re not just some frayed thing he unraveled for fun.

He tilts your chin up with two fingers and kisses you once, slow and warm, then returns to washing you, rinsing off the sweat and tension like he can scrub away everything that made your week hard.

“You good?” he asks quietly after a while.

You nod, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “Yeah. I think I just melted a little.”

He chuckles low. “That was the goal.”

You roll your eyes, smile soft. “You’re smug.”

“Only when I earn it.”

You hum in response, watching the water swirl around your feet. It’s quiet for a few seconds. The kind of silence that feels like the weight has been lifted from your chest. You take a long breath in—and for the first time in days, your muscles don’t resist.

Your voice comes softer now. “I don’t feel as tense anymore.”

“Because I fucked the stress out of you?” he deadpans against your ear, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.

You reach behind you and swat his hip.

“No,” you say, turning your head slightly. “Because you’re here.”

That gets him.

You can see his face, but Hoodie has always been more of a body language guy—the way his arms tighten around you, the way his chin dips slightly to rest on your shoulder—yeah, you got him.

“I missed you,” you add. “Even your dumb sarcasm.”

“I missed you more,” he says without hesitation. “And I hate everything, so that’s saying a lot.”

You huff out a laugh and press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Come on. Let’s rinse off so we don’t turn into raisins.”

He grumbles but helps you finish washing the rest of your body, then lets you return the favor—dragging the cloth over his chest, down his arms, across the curve of his hipbone. You take your time, watching the way his muscles twitch beneath your touch, the way he bites back little groans when your fingers wander too low for too long.

“Careful,” he warns under his breath as you rake your nails over his abdomen. “You’re gonna restart something you just recovered from.”

You give him a slow smirk. “I’m just learning the terrain, soldier.”

He stares at you for a long second, then turns off the water without a word—stepping out first, grabbing two towels and handing you one. You both dry off, sharing lazy touches and lingering glances in the soft bathroom light. 

You glance at him in the reflection.

Still bare, hair damp, mask long gone—Hoodie looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your spine, the way your expression softens when you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, toweling off your arms.

He just shrugs, eyes warm. “You look like you again.”

Your hands slow. “Was I looking like someone else?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just… you look lighter.”

You smile, small and sincere.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to pad into the bedroom, bodies warm and lazy from the shower. You throw on one of his old black shirts, oversized and soft, and he tosses on some sweatpants he left here last time, towel-drying his hair half-heartedly before flopping onto the mattress.

You climb in beside him, crawling over his chest until you’re straddling his hips.

He raises a brow. “Starting round two?”

You grin and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Not yet. Just getting in position for when I do.”

He groans, palm dragging over his face. “Jesus. You were just screaming five minutes ago.”

“And now I’m thriving.” You dip down and murmur against his ear, “Next time, I’m gonna make you squirm.”

His hands find your thighs, squeezing once. “Promises, promises.”

You settle in beside him, curling against his side, the both of you tangled under the covers, body to body and nothing between. It’s the kind of peace that only comes after wreckage—the kind that settles in your bones and refuses to let go.

And as you close your eyes, cheek pressed to his chest, you realize something.

You’re not thinking about work. You’re not thinking about deadlines. You’re not thinking about anything but the weight of his hand on your hip and the sound of his breathing. You’re not just less stressed.

You’re home, and falling asleep easily for the first time in days.

This was an anonymous request!

Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader   word count: 2k and i have so many other ideas, lmk if you want more parts! notes: this one goes out to the nonny in my inbox when i asked for ideas! i kinda blended both your ex!reader and babydaddy!jack ideas! hope you enjoy!

You ended things amicably — as amicably as two people can when love’s still there but the capacity to hold it isn’t. Jack didn’t have space for you, your kid, his job, and his trauma. Something had to give.

But you co-parent well enough. There are bumps, but the rhythm is there.

Usually, handoffs are easy. He comes over, eats dinner with you both like old times, then wrangles Beau back to his place. But today’s different — off-cycle. You’re headed to the airport for a work trip, and Jack’s just wrapping up a shift, so you agree to meet at the hospital.

It feels strange walking in. You haven’t been back since the two of you ended things. There are plenty of familiar faces… and a few new ones.

The second Beau sees Jack, he’s wriggling out of your hand.

“Beau—no running in the ER—” you start, but he’s already barreling toward his dad.

“Oof, kiddo, remember we said soft hugs?” Jack laughs, catching him easily, hoisting him up into his arms.

Dana and Robby round the corner just then.

“Hey, look who it is!” Dana says, but Beau clams up, burying his face in Jack’s neck.

“Sorry, you know kids. He’s shy this early,” you say, brushing a hand down Beau’s back. “Be nice to Dana and Uncle Robby, baby.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen either of you around,” Dana says, pulling you into a quick hug. “I only get my Baby Beau fix from Instagram stories now.”

“Oh, I figured Jack would still be throwing his infamous backyard parties,” you say, trying to keep it light.

“Nope, those petered out. What’s it been—three years?” Robby glances at his watch, then at Jack with a pointed look.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize what he’s referencing.

Samira passes by next, lighting up at the sight of Beau. “Hi, Beau! Didn’t know I’d get to see you today!”

“Hi, ‘mira,” Beau murmurs, a soft smile still pressed into his dad’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Jack—could I get your opinion on something before you head out?”

Jack looks around. You jump in before he has to juggle.

“I’ve got a few minutes. I can set him up in the lounge?”

Jack nods, grateful. “That would be amazing. It’ll just be a minute.”

As you head down the hallway, you catch a whisper from a pair of interns behind you.

“Damn, didn’t know Abbot married a hottie.”

Dana’s voice cuts in, dry: “Not married. She’s smart enough to not sign a contract with a guy who’s half in love with his job.”

You finish laying out Beau’s coloring book when Jack slips into the lounge, pouring himself a coffee, rubbing at one eye. That tired, end-of-shift look still gets you.

“You know, you could’ve told me you were d-a-t-i-n-g,” you say.

“Huh?” he blinks. “Want a cup?”

“I’m running late,” you wave him off. “And I don’t mind — I just think maybe we should tell each other when new stuff like that comes up. For his sake.”

Jack straightens, confused. “I have no idea what you're talking about. And you didn’t give me a heads up about Carl or Craig or whatever his name was.”

“Chris. And yeah, I should’ve told you. I did tell you, eventually. I’m working on being better about communication, and I’d hope you’d want the same.”

He sighs, then pulls you just outside the lounge, out of earshot.

“Okay, I don’t want to make you even later, but if we’re going to talk, then talk. Don’t allude to stuff — just say it.”

You exhale. “I thought maybe you and Samira were… seeing each other. From the way she spoke to Beau. And the looks from Dana and Robby—”

Jack actually laughs. “She’s 29. I’m her attending. We grab coffee, I mentor her. Sometimes when I have Beau, yeah. If that bothers you, I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m trying to be a good doctor. A good mentor. A good… whatever to you. And it still feels like I’m messing it all up. So just—don’t assume. Talk to me.”

You flush. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed.”

He twists a strand of your hair between his fingers, gently. “Y’know… would take a lot of stress off both of us if you moved back in. We could split the chores. Carpool. Coordinate pickups. Plus, I can think of a few stress relievers we used to be real good at…”

You swat his hand. “Okay, sure. Ha. Ha. I’m going to say bye to Beau. See you Saturday.”

On your way out, you pass Dana outside on her cigarette break.

“You know, a couple doctors I know say those things kill you.”

She exhales a laugh. “Not if this job kills me first. Life’s too short already to deprive yourself of the things — or people — you love.”

“Sure, Dana.”

“Any time, missy. And just so you know… he’s different. He’s been going through it, but he’s doing the work. Seeing that therapist. Doesn’t come in as much on his days off. There’s some… balance there now.”

“Sure, Dana. Bye, Dana.”

But the thought lingers.

Two days into your trip, you’re feeling a bit lonely. It always hits harder when Jack has him. You don’t usually FaceTime when they’re together — boundaries. But this feels like an exception.

you: how’s my boy? jack: i’m doing great. how’s my girl? you: 🙄 you: how’s Beaujack: see, you gotta be more direct. a man could get confused jack: he’s great. hit a double. got a popsicle. we’re watching transformers for the 80th time. classic boys night. you: bad time to try to facetime?

Incoming Call: Jack Abbot (ICE)

You swipe to answer, suddenly aware of the dark circles under your eyes, still in the hotel bed after a full day of networking.

“Mooooommyyyy!” Beau’s voice shrieks through the phone. “I did so good at baseball and then got a treat and Daddy made pasta and we’re gonna watch a movie!”

“That sounds amazing, baby! Are you having a good time?”

“The best! When do you come back?”

“Three sleeps.”

“And then we have Mommy and Daddy time?”

“Of course. You think about what you want to eat, okay? I’ll pick it up on the way.”

“Okay. And then we all sleep here?”

You pause. “No, baby. Remember? I sleep at my house, Daddy sleeps at his. You sleep at either.”

He gets quiet. Your chest aches.

“Alright, time for jammies and teeth. Go get ready, kiddo.” you hear shouted from the other room.

“Okay, bye Mom!” he says, dropping the phone.

Jack’s face replaces the ceiling. “I like hearing your voice in the living room again. Makes the house feel full.”

“Jack. You gotta stop.”

“Just saying. Beau’s not the only one who likes the sound of you here. My offer’s still on the table.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Jack. Hey… would it be okay if I called again Friday? I know we don’t usually, but… I miss him.”

“You’re never a bother. I could strap the iPad to my chest, have you join us for the whole day.”

You laugh. “God, Jack. You really know how to make a girl’s night better.”

“Oh baby, don’t I always.”

“Bye, Jack.” you roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling when you hang up.

--

The weather turned halfway through your drive from the airport, and between the stop for food and the hike from the only available parking spot, it feels like you swam the last block.

Jack opens the door barefoot, in joggers and a hoodie, towel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking down to your drenched clothes. “Jesus.” He reaches instinctively for your bag, handing you the towel, hand brushing yours. “C’mon. Let’s get you warm.”

You step inside. Beau’s already wrapped around your legs before you can shrug off your coat. Jack disappears into the kitchen, already dishing out dinner.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just eat,” he says, setting a bowl in front of you. “You’re freezing.”

You sit. The food’s still warm, garlicky, comforting. You glance up at him. “You’ve gotten better at this.”

“Ordering takeout?” he teases, leaning against the counter.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No… this.” You wave a hand vaguely at the house — the toys in the living room, the quiet rhythm of it all. “The parenting. The life stuff. You don’t seem rattled anymore.”

He gives a half-shrug. “Had to be better.”

You eat in companionable silence while Beau chatters from his spot at the table, recapping his week in half-sentences and excited tangents.

“Mom, can I watch a show while you finish?”

“Dad’s house, dad’s rules,” you say, looking to Jack.

“Sure thing, kiddo. But grab your gifts for Mom first — then one episode.”

Beau vanishes.

“Gifts?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jack shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just some stuff he made. He’s proud of it.”

The silence that follows stretches, not quite awkward, but thick with something unspoken.

Then Jack says, low and clear, “I miss you.”

You look up, startled. Heart catching in your chest.

“I know I don’t say it often. Or the right way. But I do. I miss you. Not just the idea of you being around — you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about how it felt, before things got hard. And… how lately, it’s been feeling like that again. When you’re here.”

You put your fork down, gently. “Jack…”

“I’m not asking to go back. Or to pretend the last few years didn’t happen. I’m just wondering if maybe we could try something new. Something more intentional.” He gestures faintly in the direction of Beau’s room. “We’ve already rebuilt the foundation, haven’t we?”

You study him. The steadiness in his eyes. The quiet way he’s offering — not demanding.

Finally, you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d get another version of you.”

“I didn’t think I had another version to give,” he says softly.

“So… what are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m saying I want you back,” he murmurs. “In the way that counts. I want to build this life with you — not just pass each other in it.”

You reach up, cup his cheek. “That’s a really nice speech.”

“I practiced,” he grins.

“You’re still kind of an idiot.”

His smile widens. He brushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “I said I’ve grown, not become a completely new person.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Okay. So how do we do this?”

“What?”

“I’m not just moving back in and jumping into bed with you, Jack. You still have a lot to prove.”

“Of course,” he says, straightening a bit. “I was thinking… maybe a family movie night tomorrow? Something easy.”

“Okay,” you nod. “I like the sound of that.”

“And if that goes well, maybe a grown-up movie night? I’ll wine and dine you. And we can make out in the back row like teenagers.”

You laugh, big and genuine. “I think I like the sound of that too.”

“God, I missed your laugh.”

The silence that settles then feels different. Full, not tense.

Then Jack says, almost too casually, “Oh — I’m switching to days.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“Robby and I talked. Figured I’d use this week off to reset my sleep schedule. I start the day shift officially tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Jack…”

“This isn’t about you. Well — a little. But it’s mostly about Beau. Nights just aren’t sustainable anymore, and I want a more stable schedule for him. It’s time.”

You reach up, fingers brushing the side of his hair. “Okay. But only if it’s right for you. I never wanted you to give up what you love.”

“I’m not giving up what I love,” he says, voice quiet but sure. “I did that three years ago. I’m just rearranging things now — so I don’t lose it again.”

You don’t answer with words.

You just kiss him. Soft. Certain.

And when Beau comes racing back in with a construction-paper-wrapped something clutched in his hands, he skids to a stop and grins.

“Are you guys kissing?”

Jack smirks against your forehead. “Yeah, bud. I think we might be.”