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rrysbabydoll · 2 days ago

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♩ lana del rey — playing dangerous ♩

Pairing: Cop!Harry × Reader

CW: Explicit sexual content, D/S dynamics, consensual rough sex, spanking, power imbalance, light humiliation, crying, aftercare, and depiction of restraint (handcuffs).

Synopsis: When Officer Styles responds to a call about a drunk fight at a party, he’s shocked to find his usually sweet girlfriend caught in the chaos, so he decides to treat her like any other troublemaker.

It was almost 1:30 a.m. when the call came through Harry’s radio.

“Disorderly behavior reported at a residential party on Crescent Avenue. Possible fight. Officer requested.”

Harry sighed as he reached for the gear shift in his cruiser, rubbing a tired hand over his jaw and mustache. He’d been patrolling for hours, ready to clock out soon, but Friday nights in this town always had one last surprise.

He flicked on his siren for a moment, just enough to make his presence known as he pulled onto Crescent Avenue. The house was easy to spot, lights blaring, bass booming, people spilling onto the lawn in messy clumps. Harry parked across the street, his brow furrowed.

“Probably just a drunk mess,” he muttered, stepping out.

But the last thing he expected was you.

He recognized you immediately, even from the side, your little floral dress a size too short, your pretty lips in a pout, your cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. You were in a heated back-and-forth with another girl, waving your hands dramatically, while a group of tipsy onlookers watched.

You were supposed to be home tonight. His good girl. His quiet baby. Not… here.

Harry’s jaw clenched as he crossed the lawn. The crowd parted quickly, recognizing the badge and the low, commanding tone of his voice.

“Alright, break it up,” he barked. “Everybody calm down.”

You turned, wide-eyed. “Harry?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. His expression was unreadable. Cold. All cop now.

You stepped forward, stumbling a little on your heels. “It’s not my fault—she started it, she pushed me and—”

“Turn around,” he cut you off sharply.

Your mouth parted in shock. “W-What?”

“I said turn around. Hands behind your back.”

You blinked up at him, frozen. “Harry—wait—are you serious?”

He didn’t flinch. “You wanna cause trouble like everyone else? You get treated like everyone else.”

Your stomach dropped.

You weren’t used to this side of him. Usually when he wore his uniform around you, it was a joke, a tease, something sexy and playful. But tonight, he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Tonight, he was a cop.

And you’d just gotten yourself in real trouble.

Your heart thundered as you slowly turned around, facing the lawn while your hands shook behind your back. You weren’t used to him like this, stern, distant, all authority. It made your lip wobble.

“Feet apart,” Harry said coolly behind you. “Wider.”

You did as you were told, wobbling slightly in your heels, and swallowed a sob. Worst thing was the quiet sound of latex gloves snapping on behind you. He always carried a pair.

“Harry, please,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to—”

“Quiet,” he interrupted flatly. “You lost the right to talk when you embarrassed yourself and me.”

Your shoulders flinched. That stung.

His large hands began the body search at your arms, fingers brushing down with professional, practiced motions. But even with the gloves, you could feel the care underneath, barely there, but still there. He was mad, but not reckless.

He moved down your back slowly, checking your sides, your waist.

Then lower.

Your breath hitched when his hands skimmed down your thighs, deliberate and firm.

“Any weapons on you?” he asked, voice low.

“N-No,” you whimpered.

He hummed, not believing you. His hands dipped under your dress, high enough to check your upper thighs. And when his palm brushed over the thin strap of your underwear, he paused just a second too long.

You heard him exhale through his nose, like he was trying to rein himself in.

“You think this is cute?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Little dress. No coat. Drunk in the street. Fighting some stranger?”

“I didn’t fight her,” you whispered tearfully. “She pushed me and I was just trying to—”

“You smell like tequila,” he cut in, standing again, his tone cold. “And you’re slurring your words. Don’t lie to me, baby.”

The word baby was soft, almost unnoticeable, but you heard it. It made you cry harder.

He grabbed your wrists and clicked the cuffs on, tight enough to sting. Your breath hitched.

“Ow,” you whimpered.

“You’ll survive.”

The metal was cold against your skin, biting as he turned you back around to face him.

Your tearstained face looked up at him, lower lip trembling, mascara smudged under your lashes.

“Please don’t take me to the station,” you begged in a tiny voice. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be bad. I swear.”

Harry didn’t answer. He just grabbed your arm and started walking you toward the cruiser.

You sat in the backseat like a criminal, wrists locked behind you, cheeks soaked, your little dress riding up as you tried to sit properly. The doors shut with a heavy thunk and Harry rounded the car without a word.

Your stomach twisted. He hadn’t said anything. He was really going to do it.

The car started and you panicked.

“Harry,” you choked. “Don’t—don’t take me there. I swear I won’t ever do this again. I didn’t mean to—I was just—”

Still, no response.

He kept his eyes on the road, one hand firm on the wheel, jaw tense. The mustache above his upper lip twitched as he clenched it, like it hurt him to ignore you.

You were full-on sobbing now. Small, pitiful hiccups that made your body shake.

“I don’t wanna be booked,” you sniffled. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this—please.”

Nothing. He didn’t even look at you.

He drove deeper into a quiet, empty side road, far from the station. You didn’t even notice, you were too busy crying, thinking he’d never forgive you.

Then, finally, the car rolled to a stop.

Your breath caught.

“W-Where are we?”

Harry didn’t answer. He turned off the engine. Silence filled the cabin.

Then, he got out.

The back door creaked open, letting in a burst of cool air. You looked up at him with wet lashes, confused and panicked.

“Out,” Harry ordered, voice sharp.

You hiccupped. “W-What?”

“Out of the car. Come on.”

He reached in and grabbed you by the upper arm, not harsh, but firm enough to make your legs wobble as he helped you stand. The gravel under your heels crunched as you stumbled slightly, arms still locked behind your back.

The area was empty. No streetlights, no cars, just the quiet hum of wind through trees. He’d driven you somewhere private. Somewhere no one could see.

You barely had time to react before he spun you around and pressed you up against the back door of the cruiser. The cool metal met your cheek as he pushed your cuffed hands higher on your back, making you gasp.

“You think that was funny?” he snapped. “That I’d find you at some trashy party? Throwing drinks? Acting like a brat?”

You squirmed. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Shut it,” he barked. “You're gonna learn tonight.”

He stepped behind you, crowding your smaller body with his, the sharp edge of his badge grazing your shoulder as he leaned in. One gloved hand slid up under your dress again, rougher now, no longer pretending to search, fingers slipping up the back of your thighs until he found the lace edge of your underwear and ripped it off.

“Harry—!”

“I should drag you in, book you in front of my entire department,” he growled against your ear. “Let every officer see what a little mess you’ve been.”

“No!” you sobbed. “No, please—don’t…”

“Then shut up and take your punishment.”

He opened the back door and nudged you in. You climbed in awkwardly with your hands still cuffed, sniffling and shaking. He climbed in after you, pulling the door shut behind him so you were enclosed in darkness and heat and tension.

His voice was low, gravelly. “Stay on your knees.”

You scrambled to obey, heart pounding. Your dress rode up, exposing your thighs, your ripped panties twisted and damp from the rough handling. He grabbed your hips and yanked them back, your hands still pinned behind you, making it harder to steady yourself.

Then, without a word, he slid two fingers between your folds.

You gasped.

Even though your eyes were swollen from crying, your body was still soft and warm for him. Still his. Still needy.

“Fuckin’ dripping,” he muttered, jaw clenched. “Course you are.”

“Harry, please—”

“Not a word.”

He pulled down his zipper, and you heard the low sound of his belt unfastening. Then you felt the hot, heavy press of him against you. You sobbed again, overwhelmed, shivering, but part of you throbbed with need.

When he pushed in, you let out a broken moan.

He didn’t go gentle. Not like usual. His thrusts were rough and sharp, knocking your knees forward against the backseat. You were helpless, whimpering, tears still running down your cheeks as the cuffs bit into your wrists.

“Too much?” he snapped.

You shook your head quickly. “N-No—just hurts…”

“Good.”

He fucked you deeper, gritting his teeth as your body tightened around him. Your soft cries filled the cruiser, echoing off the glass.

“You ever embarrass me like that again,” he panted, slamming into you, “and I will book you. Let them throw you in the drunk tank for a night.”

You cried harder, your cheek pressed into the seat, hips arching helplessly. You couldn’t move your arms. Could barely catch your breath.

But you wanted it.

You needed it.

And he knew.

So Harry kept going. Punishing you with every rough, desperate thrust. But his hand still slid down eventually, brushing your clit, circling it gently.

Because you were still his baby.

Still his girl.

Even now.

When your legs began to shake, he leaned down, pressing his chest against your back as he hissed in your ear, “Come. Right fucking now.”

You came with a broken, breathless sob, legs giving out, body trembling around him. And a moment later, he groaned deep in his chest and followed, filling you hard, staying pressed close, almost like he wanted to shield you.

You were still whimpering softly, folded over the backseat, cheeks wet and dress rucked up around your waist. Your hands twitched in the cuffs behind you, wrists sore, thighs sticky and trembling.

Harry didn’t move right away.

His breathing was heavy, jaw flexing as he stared down at your fragile, bent form. He was still flushed from release.

“Don’t move,” he murmured lowly.

Then his hand came down hard on your ass.

You yelped, the sting biting into your already sensitive skin.

Smack.

Again.

Smack.

Again.

Three sharp slaps, firm and controlled, just enough to make you sob and jerk forward in his lap, thighs clenched and red.

“Let that sink in,” he growled, voice low and mean. “Next time you act like a little brat, this is what you get. Every single time.”

You hiccupped, tears spilling over again. “I’m sorry…”

“I know you are,” he said, a bit softer now.

One last spank. Gentle this time. More like a pat.

Then silence, except your breathing and his.

You felt him shift behind you, adjusting his uniform pants and zipping up. He stayed kneeling in the backseat with you for a few long seconds, eyes trained on your small, trembling frame, until the anger fully faded from his chest, replaced by something tender.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

You barely had time to move before his hands—now glove-free—were pulling you back into his lap, letting your sore body sink against his chest. Your cuffed hands still rested behind you, awkward and stiff.

He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Gonna take these off, alright? Easy…”

He pulled the keys from his belt and clicked the cuffs open.

They fell away with a gentle jingle, and your arms dropped like dead weight. You sobbed, folding forward, resting your head against the warm backseat.

“Shh,” Harry murmured, catching your wrists delicately in his big hands. “Let me see ‘em.”

You didn’t resist.

He lifted your red wrists to his mouth and kissed them one by one. Slow. Tender. Reverent.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your wrists were red and sore, the angry grooves from the cuffs clear under the moonlight. Harry cradled them carefully in his big hands, rubbing his thumbs softly over the marks.

“Too tight, wasn’t it?” he whispered, kissing the inside of one wrist, then the other. “Didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

You shook your head. “No—you didn’t. I deserved it.”

He hummed, brushing your hair back gently, inspecting your face, your flushed cheeks, the pout of your lips. You looked like a startled deer.

“You scared the fuck out of me, y’know,” he murmured. “When I saw you there, drunk out of your mind—baby, I could’ve arrested someone else for touching you. That’s how bad it looked.”

“I wasn’t gonna let her touch me,” you mumbled, eyes down. “But I shouldn’t have yelled. I know.”

“You shouldn’t have been there at all.” His tone firm. But then he sighed. “You’re my girl. You don’t need to go get attention like that.”

“I wasn’t—I swear, I was just mad you were on shift again, and I—” you hiccupped. “I missed you.”

That cracked something in him.

“Oh, baby…”

He pulled you tight into his chest, one hand cradling your head, the other still rubbing your wrists gently.

“I’m here now, yeah? I’ve got you.”

You nodded, lips wobbling again.

Harry leaned back against the door, letting you curl into him, your arms limp and sleepy now. His palm rested over your bare thigh as he whispered, “You’re alright. S’all over now.”

You let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers traced soft, soothing circles on your skin.

“And if you ever wanna act out again,” he whispered against your hair, “do it when I’m home. Not in public. Not like this.”

“Mhm,” you murmured. “Promise…”

He kissed your cheek, your nose, your temple.

“You’re still my good girl,” he breathed. “Even when you’re a little menace.”

You smiled faintly, snuggling deeper into his chest.

“Still your baby?”

He laughed under his breath. “Always.”

And in the quiet of that empty road, with your dress still askew and your body aching but safe, Harry held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like the rest of the night hadn’t even happened.

Just his baby.

His soft, silly, bratty baby.

And he’d forgive you a thousand times over.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #dom harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut

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heartyluv · 3 days ago

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—Click Here— for Camboy!Caleb Masterlist!

Note: Alright, this may be my favorite thing on the planet. As you read, each month is a really short story that highlights different moments during the progression of the pregnancy. This took me some timeeee. I just kept trying to make sure it was cohesive, sweet, sexy—ALL THAT. That’s how well I wanted it to be done for you, luvlys. But forgive me for any mistakes….please. I hope you like!!!

Warning: This is mainly fluffy and has occasional suggestiveness BUT, there will be a smut scene inspired by my bae @asiatic-apple! It takes place in month 7 & 8. I just merged them together because this was getting superrr long LOLLL!! But I guess the sex they had can be a highlight in the span of those two months for them 😉.

Word Count: 5.2K (don’t be intimidated LOLLL)

Summary: YOU’RE PREGNANT! And this is the reason

Camboy!Caleb/Pregnant!Reader

Month One

You were impatient with unbridled nerves and your leg refused to stop shaking. Sitting in the bathroom, you were staring at the four pregnancy tests you’ve just taken as your propped up phone remained focus on your nerve-wracked features.

Your husband went to hang out with a few friends and you utilized this perfect opportunity to see if your suspicions for the past two weeks were correct.

From the nausea to the morning sickness, you were the classic example of someone who more than likely has a baby growing inside their stomach.

And you knew exactly how it happened.

That day you came back from that trip, your man had you in the shower and several ways in the bedroom before your bodies physically couldn’t go another round. Between you ovulating and him coming inside of you so many times, it made absolute sense that his seed embedded itself in your womb and successfully took root.

Being so busy with preparations and the actual trip itself, you never noticed how you hadn’t been taking your birth control. When you finally did realize, that same day, you ran out to the store while Caleb was busy streaming and bought several tests without him knowing.

You’ve kept them hidden since and now that you had the house to yourself to panic in peace, you truly didn’t know what you were hoping for.

When the timer on your phone finally went off, you shot up off the toilet seat. As you inched closer to the white and pale pink capped tests sitting on your sink, it felt like the soundtrack of dread was thrumming in your mind. Your breath shuddered when you closed your eyes, giving yourself a moment before your fate was determined.

“Fuck…” you breathed, covering your mouth once your lids lifted to see every single stick had clear double lines, indicating that you in fact were pregnant with Caleb’s baby. You lifted two at a time with shaky hands to show the camera, trying to gauge your own emotions.

You wanted to feel excited, but you couldn’t be until you told your husband. You’ve talked about having children all the time, how you always wanted them, but you were still on birth control for a reason. You weren’t sure if now was the time, if he was ready, if you were ready, if he even wanted—

“Baby!” Caleb’s voice called to you and your heart fell to your ass. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He just left almost thirty-five minutes ago. How—

“I realized halfway on the drive that I forgot my wallet,” he chuckled. But when you didn’t come out to greet him, his tone shifted to slight panic. “Babe?”

You couldn’t move, you didn’t want to. His feet padded against the floor in his search until he stopped right in front of the bathroom. He didn’t even knock, opening the door to get some answers. His entire body relaxed after seeing you okay and unharmed.

“Why didn’t you answer me, pretty?” he asked with pure concern. But when you didn’t answer or look at him, keeping your gaze on what your future was, his followed to see what had you so unresponsive.

He looked between you, your recording phone, and the tests before he got close enough to see if his eyes were deceiving him. You were filled with so much anxiety and fear the longer he went without a reaction.

“We’re fucking pregnant!?” he exclaimed, making you jump. The way he acknowledges your situation in unity eases your thoughts for a moment. He turned to look at you with the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on this man.

“My baby is having my baby.” His tone softened as he grinned even wider before kissing your face all over. Immediately, tears flowed down your cheeks like a running faucet the second he held you and your arms wrapped around him tightly.

“I’m pregnant…” you mumble through your sobs, accepting that you are and can comfortably be as happy as he is, despite your tears.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” he kisses your temple. “I’m staying right here and we’re celebrating. Our family is growing and my wife is giving me that gift. What more could a man want?”

Month Two

Caleb has been so excited about you being pregnant that ever since you found out, you’ve spent almost every night together in bed on different websites. It’s been a mission trying to determine where to get the best toys for enrichment as well as baby clothes for comfort and cuteness.

Since you didn’t have the gender of the baby yet, he’s been weirdly obsessed with trying to find onesies and bibs with the loudest patterns. He’s added so many things to different online carts that you were sure it was a collective of over at least two grand.

And he was still adding as he laid his head on your lap, occasionally showing you his screen for input.

“Caleb, I am not putting our baby in a neon yellow geometric t-shirt,” you laugh.

He laughs with you, making the image larger so you could clearly see what had him so hooked on the ridiculous top.

“Pretty, look at it closely! It’s a whole bunch of little flowers. That’s stylish as hell.”

“You want our kid to look like walking wallpaper!” He can’t stop chortling, his face turning slightly red as he rolls over to face your stomach and presses a kiss to it. You grab your phone to film him, both of you still giggling when he rests his forehead against your warm skin.

“I’m warning you right now little babe, your dad is sick in the head.” A moment passes before Caleb looks up at the camera with faux offense. Your fingers in his scalp nearly distracted him from your comment.

“When it comes to my babies, I’ll be anything.”

“Except rational,” you roll your eyes, putting his phone screen into frame so it can see the ridiculousness he’s been entertaining. “I’d never put you in this. He’s trying to embarrass you before you’re even here.”

“First of all,” he gently takes his phone from you, going to the cart that has a mix of more preposterous apparel and regular ones. “I don’t think anyone should be like everybody else. That’s boringggg. So yes, our baby will be styling and profiling. I’ll even get us stuff to match.”

You smack his bare pec, making him cover his chest. “Your mother is a hater and aggressive! I’m telling you that right now, little babe!”

“I’ll really show you aggressive if you keep playing.”

Caleb looks up at you, his whole demeanor changing as he bites his lip. “Promise? Because I got a whole lot of things I can play about, then.”

“Caleb!” you scold, your cheeks getting hot. “Now we have to cut this part out because of your freaky ass!”

“We didn’t get here because we’re not not freaky,” he raises is hands in defense.

Quickly, he’s getting up to smother you in his love before you can retort and he ends the video mid kiss so that he can make sweet love to you properly.

Month Three

You’ve been up for the last hour, craving the combination that you dreamed about not too long ago. To anyone else, it may seem like something that would be absolutely horrid, but for you? It was a necessity to try.

You did your best to ignore it and attempted to fall asleep again, pulling the blankets up to your chin in an effort to get comfortable, but to no avail. The thought of and need for it became the reason why your eyes fluttered back open at one in the morning.

It wasn’t in you to wait anymore, so with Caleb sleeping like a log behind you, carefully you slipped out from under his arm and off the bed. In the dark and quiet space, you aimlessly grabbed some sneakers, a sweater, and your car keys. You then took those things and your wallet out of the bedroom to get ready somewhere you wouldn’t disturb your husband.

“Do I want ice cream or cream cheese?” you question yourself and slip on your shoes. “Maybe both? What do you think, little babe?”

You breathe out a laugh through your nose as you slip on your sweater. Your small bean is the reason you’re up like this and ready to go in the first place, so it made sense to ask.

Just as you get ready to stand, Caleb is stumbling down the hallway and into the living room where you sit on the couch.

“You scared the shit out of me. ‘Didn’t feel you in bed,” he mumbles through his sleepiness. His eyes blinked as he took in your attire.

“What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” His questions were coming out like lightning rounds.

You press your lips together, feeling absolutely horrible because his chest and cheeks are tinged red with worry. “We’re fine, love. I promise. I’m sorry for scaring you,” you sigh as you get up. “I wanted…I was just craving something and I figured that I could go get it. I didn’t want to bother you.”

He shakes his head, walking up to you and cupping your face in his hands before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and our baby are my priority, alright? I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing. You need something—anything—you come to me.”

You nod as he continues. “Don’t go anywhere this late without me, please, pretty baby. Whatever you need, I got you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, feeling your eyes burn with grateful tears.

“What did you want?”

He sees you trying to hide a smirk. “It’s weird isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t even think about laughing at me,” you pout.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Fine,” you huff. “I had a dream about pomegranate seeds with ice cream…topped with lemon juice. And chocolate. And tortilla strips.”

“You dreamt that?”

“I did.”

“Babe…” Caleb looks into your eyes, his thumb caressing your cheek. “That sounds like a sensory nightmare.”

“You promised!”

“I’m not judging!” he laughs. “Just…that’s interesting. But anything you want, we’re doing it. Let me get dressed and we’ll go wherever. I’ll even try it with you.”

Your eyes beam. “Really?”

“Really.” He kisses your lips briefly. “Give me five.”

From that point on, every single craving you have, Caleb indulges in your creations and tries them with you. Whenever he remembers, he records both your reactions for safe keeping and even during the times where he doesn’t like it, he’ll never show or tell you that.

Making sure you stay happy, healthy, and confident in any and all things is all that matters to him.

Month Four

Caleb has been doing sufficient research in everything pertaining to his health as well as yours and the baby’s. It’s why he’s up early every morning preparing vitamins, supplements, and freshly juiced vegetable drinks for you and him to consume on a daily basis.

When he learned how a man’s health can negatively or positively impact his woman’s pregnancy, he has ensured that he takes every single proper precaution to stay in tip-top shape. He has always been a very active and decently healthy person, but ever since little babe has been growing into fruition, the efforts have increased tenfold.

You wake up one morning, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes before you use the bathroom. Your bump is slowly starting to protrude out now and it’s made you so warm inside to visibly see what you were creating.

After that, the first thing you do is go and look for your husband. You’re happy to see him in the kitchen, sorting your pills in their respective compartments for the week as he softly mumbles to himself.

“Morning,” you say sweetly as you approach him.

“Good morning, mama,” he smiles, kissing you when you get close enough. He rubs his hand down your stomach. “How are we feeling?”

“We’re okay. I’m a little nauseous, though.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Prenatals and your supplements. Take ‘em.”

He dumps today’s bunch into your hand and grabs some water for you. “Drink the whole thing, okay? Then we’ll drink the smoothie I made before I cook you breakfast.

“You mean the cup of grass?”

“Don’t fight me on this, pretty. I know you hate the taste and smell, but the doctor and all the things I’ve read told me how good this is for you. For us.”

You take the cup he hands you after you follow his first set of instructions. “And I’m going to look into the best things that’ll help with energy and milk production, too.”

Your frown as you look down into the cup, but it’s not because of the contents that puts that look on your face. Knowing you so well, Caleb catches it.

“Uh oh,” he takes hold of your chin to have you look up at him. Your lip begins to quiver as he rubs his thumb over it. “What’s wrong?”

Reassuring you with his patience, he adds, “C’mon. What do we do?”

“We talk…” you whimper through a sniffle. Your hormones have made you infinitely more emotional and while it’s been getting on your nerves, Caleb’s taken that reality and has learned how to approach those feelings with care.

“I just feel like I haven’t been doing enough. You’ve been learning and doing so much for me and around the house. And I’m just…not. I just feel useless, sometimes.”

“Mama, I need you to understand…You are doing the most work, no matter what you see me do. Even when your pretty eyes are closed, your body is working to keep you and our baby safe, cared for, and healthy. All I’m doing is making that process as easy as I can, because it’s my job.”

He takes the cups and places them on the counter before bringing you in for a hug, resting his chin on your head. “Don’t ever insult or undermine yourself like that again, you hear me? I’ve told you before, I don’t like when people talk badly about my wife.”

“You’re such a cornball,” you chuckle, the tears on your cheek wetting his white gym tank top.

With a kiss to your hair, he pulls back. “I always will be. Now, drink up and after you eat, you’re sitting in the garage with me while I work out. I want to channel that energy to you.”

You snort, watching how he downs the deep green liquid. “Babe, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Even if it doesn’t, you’re gonna be there anyways. Besides, I got you a comfy chair and some snacks.”

You wink with a finger gun. “Consider me convinced.”

Month Five

“What do you think the baby will be?” You look over at Caleb as he sets the cake down on the extra large beach towel after helping you sit.

“That’s what we’re here to find out, pretty girl,” he smiles before plopping down next to you.

Today was the day you and your husband were going to find out if your little babe was going to be Sloane or Milo. After the doctor folded up the reveal and handed it to you last week, you and Caleb immediately went to your favorite bakery and handed it to the owner that you’ve gotten to know pretty well. You’ve frequented the family owned business a lot—even more so with the pregnancy—so it only felt right for them to assist you in this process.

Since you’re—ironically—pretty private people, you two decided to keep this little event to yourselves for now. Once decided on the perfect day that the weather permitted, you made your way to the beach soon after the owner called to tell you that your surprise was ready.

After you finished eating your messy but undeniably delicious dinner of burgers and fries in the car as you watched the sun begin its descent, you knew you had to be quick before you missed your chance to record the reveal beneath the golden glow.

You press record on your phone and prop it up against the box the cake was originally in, taking a deep breath as the warm and salty air fans against your skin and through your flowery dress.

“Excited?” Caleb asks, the wind blowing his hair back.

“Mhm. And nervous.”

He brushes a lock behind your ear, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “No need to be. Let’s do this.”

You both grab the two wine cups you brought, looking into each other eyes with love. The video catches your other hands that are holding yourselves up, resting on top of each other comfortably in between you two.

Turning away so that you can’t see the heart shaped cake with boy or girl? written on top, you two dig your cups into the soft dessert. You make sure to go deep enough to gather as much as you can inside the glass.

Caleb raises his eyebrows and bites his lip in anticipation. “Alright, ready?”

“I am.”

“Okay. One…two…three…”

You turn to look swiftly once you pull the cups out of the treat and immediate warmth fills your heart to see the light pink frosting in between your favorite flavor of red velvet cake.

Caleb stands and starts running laps around you, cheering and screaming, “I KNEW IT!! MY BABYGIRL SLOANE!!” with sand flying behind his feet after each step.

You can’t help but to giggle and cry a little at the same time, using your knuckles to brush away the joyful tears. Out of breath, he returns back to you and gets on his stomach to start kissing your now larger belly.

“Daddy can’t wait to meet you, pretty little babe. You’re gonna look just like mama, I know it.”

“And she might act just like you,” you retort playfully as he rubs you over your dress.

“We’re in for it, aren’t we?”

“A mini me with your behavior? Yeah, we’re definitely in for it.”

“In for one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, for sure.” He lifts his head to kiss you tender and slow.

You look at your phone, smiling as Caleb starts mumbling cute little things to Sloane like; “Be kind to mama, yeah?” and “You’re gonna like your geometric shirts. I’ll get you some pink dresses to match, too.”

The video ends up lasting for nearly an hour the longer you two sit talking and planning. There’s so many dreams and even more excitement surrounding the things you’re looking forward to doing.

And it all begins with baby Sloane Xia.

Month Six

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it chat?” Caleb greeted the fans as they started pouring into the stream by the thousands. Ever since you got pregnant, you two made the decision to keep it a secret from them until you were comfortable enough to share. Now that you’re showing so much and have ceased most sexual content until you’re ready again, you felt that it wouldn’t hurt to give them the truth as to why.

You and Caleb were able to get away with making videos and fulfilling requests freely up until you were nearly five months. After that, he had given the excuse that you’ve been super busy with something that you’d reveal when you were ready, but at the time, said you were also stepping away.

It’s been awhile since you’ve been on any livestream as of late, whereas Caleb still remained consistent. He would always assure them that that you were okay whenever they spoke of missing you a little more than usual.

Now that you sat beside him, watching the comments fly, everyone was not only eager to see you, but equally as excited to know what you’ve been up to.

g0oner4ever: SHE’S BACK OMGGG

calebst0pspenda: pls tell me we’re getting new content. i can only rewatch so many videos

iluv2cum: GIRL I’VE MISSED YOU WTF

pu$$yfairy: you can’t leave again. it’s not the same when you’re not hereee

this1smyw0rld: i wonder what she’s been working on 👀

“Hey, guys,” you smiled as you leaned in closer to Caleb. “I’ve missed you all, too!”

You looked up at your husband and he gave you his classic reassuring wink and grin, nodding before you continued.

“I’ve been MIA for a minute.” You blow out a breath. “There’s no reason to be all suspenseful and make you wait or guess, so let’s just show you what’s been…cooking.”

You roll back in your pink gaming chair and stand up. When you turn to the side, Caleb helps to lift your sweater to reveal your beautiful baby bump. He leans in to kiss your belly button as you brush his hair from his forehead.

“We’re pregnant!” you beam at the camera, resting the hand with your wedding ring on top of your husband’s who has his placed on your stomach protectively.

iluv2cum: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHITTT

iwantaburrito: SHE REALLY HAS BEEN COOKING

g00n3rcr3w: you see caleb? he wishes yall would say something rude LMFAOOO

havinagudtim3: SHE’S GLOWINGGGG OMG

daydreaminggalldatime: BOY OR GIRL??!!?!

cumminroundthamountain: we’re officially aunts and uncles guys

pu$$yfairy: EXCUSE ME?!? WE NEED FAMILY VLOGS, HELLO!!!!

“We’ve been thinking about posting some baby preparation content,” Caleb adds. “There’s already so much we’ve filmed, too. Plus, a lot of stuff is supposed to be delivered soon. Maybe I can go live when we start fixing up the nursery?”

Everyone is ecstatic, excitedly telling you both that they’d love to be a part of the rest of your journey. You’re filled with so much gratitude when you sit back down and start having a mini Q&A, spending nearly two hours with your husband and your fan base as the excitement for your pregnancy makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we tell them how it happened?” Caleb whispers playfully.

“If you want to be up here getting yelled at because we didn’t record it, go ahead,” you chuckle.

“I’m a pretty good story teller,” he kisses your lips and turns back to the camera. “They can use their imagination.”

Month Seven & Month Eight

“Okay, what do you think about this one?” You twirl around to face Caleb, smoothing down the sheer ruby red nightgown you were trying on. It’s a beautiful piece, stopping mid thigh with a deeper red lace trim and it cups your breasts perfectly.

Shopping for clothes as a bigger woman already had its moments of being a hassle, but add being pregnant and you were lucky if you found something you considered even remotely sexy.

That’s why when your husband found this rare gem of a maternity lingerie boutique, you just had to see it in person. Its atmosphere was perfect—with dim lighting and private rooms so people could look at clothes together in peace for as long as they needed to. With the way you’ve noticed your husband’s growing erection and how he can’t keep his hands off of you, not only is this trip a success, but this just might be the most confident you’ve personally felt in a long time.

Caleb clenches his jaw and shifts his hips as he sits on the small comfortable cushioned chair, his eyes scanning down your heavy tits and round stomach. Him knowing that he was the one who got you like this, that he’s the one who fucked you so good that he put a baby in you, has had him on cloud nine the moment he read those positive tests.

Watching you grow more and more satisfied with every article of clothing you put on has only made him grow hungry for you.

He licks his bottom lip as he pulls you in gently by the back of your thighs and he presses a kiss to your stomach.

“You’re perfect, mama,” he says truthfully, his hands rubbing up and down your smooth skin before going up to hold your ass firmly in his grasp.

“Yeah?” you smirk, running your thumb along his lip to cause his eyes to flutter from your touch.

“Don’t do that.” Caleb looks up at you and the lust that decorates his eyes makes your pussy tingle.

“Do what?”

“Talk to me with that tone like you want me to fuck you in this dressing room. It’s either that or I walk out of here and everyone sees how desperate you make me.”

You tilt your head the way he does, making your lips pout. “And what if I did?”

“You gonna let me take care of us?” His fingers are already in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your plush thighs.

“I’d let you do anything…”

The moment they become a pool at your feet, he stands and is kissing you like he’ll never get the chance again. He’s careful of your bump, not pressing against you too hard when your fingers dig pull on his soft hair.

“Bend over the chair for me, pretty,” he says through each wet kiss against your lips, biting on it gently to make you whimper. He watches how you cutely waddle behind the seat.

You go to pull off the gown, but he stops you. “Keep it on for me. We’ll buy it when we’re done.”

“You’re so dirty,” you smile, obeying and bending over like he asked you. The cool air against your sensitive cunt only makes you increasingly eager.

The sound of him undoing his belt causes your pussy to clench the longer it waits for him to fill her. Your sensitive nipples graze against the soft material of the gown as well, only adding to your stimulation.

“You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” he coos when he stands behind you, lifting the dress to get a perfect view of your pretty pussy.

“I’ve been wet since the first outfit.”

“Fuck…” he breathes, pulling his cock that’s been just as hard as you’ve been soaked. “I’ll fuck you properly when we get home.”

He takes hold of your waist. “‘Gonna make this quick, but you tell me the moment you feel any pain or discomfort, okay?”

“I will,” you promise. “Just…please, put it in.” You’re looking at him through the mirror in front of you, silently begging him to give you what you need.

He keeps his heady eyes on you as he begins to slide every thick inch into your soaked heat. You nearly cry out, but immediately cover your mouth because you’re not supposed to be doing this and you don’t want to be banned or worse—locked up. But you can’t help but to revel in the naughtiness of what you’re doing.

And Caleb couldn’t give a damn, not when he aims to make you come on his cock.

“We always find ourselves in front of one of these, don’t we?” he teases through a groan when you squeeze him. You ring gleams beneath the gentle fluorescents when your fingers flex to grip the couch with every thrust you take, and it makes him throb even more inside you.

“Caleb…baby, that’s so f-fucking good…” you mewl. Your skin makes quiet contact with him over and over as he tries to keep the noise down, but if he had it his way, his name would’ve been known around the entire block.

“You’re doing so well for me, mama.” He looks down to see how you cream around his length. “Letting me fuck you like this.”

His hand slides up your back to find purchase in your hair to make your skin prickle with goosebumps. Each time he glides within your tightness, it makes your head spin the closer your orgasm gets.

“I’m—gonna…Caleb, ‘m c-coming,” you blubber, nearly incoherent.

“Me too, pretty baby.” The pace picks up a little more to help both of you reach that pinnacle. “I’m gonna get you pregnant again one day, you know that? Keep you full of my cum until you tell me no more.”

“Yes…yes, I want it…” You feel like you could cry with how well he’s working your body. His hips push into you a few more times before you shut your eyes tight and bury your face in the cushion when you start to jolt from the pleasure ripping through you.

At the same time that you try to milk his cock, he pulls out to shoot his heavy load all over your curls and onto your trembling pussy lips.

“So pretty…” he praises through bated breath, holding the dress up over your hips to watch his seed drip like he always does. He uses his flushed tip to spread it around before kissing your back.

“I think we need to buy this in every color,” he half-jokes, helping you sit up after tucking himself back in his jeans.

“Maybe two of each,” you entertain, humming as he kisses down the side of throat. “You’re surely bound to ruin it the first time around.”

He nips at your neck. “My wife knows me so well.”

Month Nine - Baby’s Coming!

The game Caleb plays and his commentary while you two sit on stream starts to become background noise. That sharp pain you felt at first twenty minutes ago? You’ve been feeling it consistently every three minutes now.

Successfully, you reassured your husband that you were okay the first time—because of course he noticed—and have been trying to see if what you think is about to happen, is happening. You didn’t want to ring the alarm when it didn’t need to be. Not until you were sure.

He’s been so engrossed in the game and you’ve been doing your best to stay silent, so he doesn’t even know you’ve been having what is in fact, consistent contractions. You breathe in and out quietly, your eyebrows furrowing as the pain hits you hard again.

iluv2cum: caleb, for the love of god, pls look at your wife

pillowhumpingenthusiast: is she okay????

cUml0rd: IS SHE GOING INTO LABOR?!?!

Soon after the concerns started rolling in, a donation came on screen for $20 with an automated voice message attached that said, “Your wife is having contractions.”

He doesn’t even pause the game, doesn’t look at the chat or waste a moment more when he drops everything to put his eyes on you.

“Fuck…Fuck, babe, why didn’t you say anything!?” he exclaims with concern. He sees how your cheeks have gotten slightly pink from all the heavy breathing and pain.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t sure…” you press your lips together as you feel another contraction come and make your body tense. “I thinks it’s happening, Caleb…”

“We’re a go?” his eyes dance across your features, pressing a hand on your stomach.

“We’re a go,” you confirm, nodding when he kisses your lips.

“The hospital bag is already in the car. Do you need me to help you get dressed? You want to get cleaned up? Tell me what you need, mama. I’m here,” he urges.

gaminandcummin: MAMA?!?! OH MY HEART

itselectricboogiewoogie: don’t forget about ussss omg!!! and stay safe!!

“You,” you nearly weep. “I just need you…”

“You have me.” He helps you stand, shutting everything off and guides you so you can make your way to the hospital.

“She’s coming, Caleb,” you chuckle through another contraction.

“She is.” He’s nearly on the verge of tears himself. “Let’s bring her home.”

A/N: This was A LOT!!! But I had so much fun. I felt like I could see it all, like they were flashbacks or something. Know that this is NOT the end of them!!! I can definitely create more stories (if you guys want) but yes, Camboy!Caleb and his wife are officially PARENTSSSS!!! SLOANE XIA!!?? AHHHHH!!! Let me know if you liked this! Honestly, I got to month four and felt like I was way in over my head, but I refused to let up.

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deespace smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb smut #lads x you #lads caleb #lads smut #caleb xia

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yestrday · 1 day ago

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: ̗̀➛ NO BEDTIME TONIGHT ! yandere! heartslabyul / gn! reader

ramshackle's finally turned into a heap of rubble. you saw that one coming a long time ago. what you didn't see is the harem of unsavory magicians trying to keep you confined within their dorms.

TW ! yandere behaviors, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, mommy projection 💀, harassment, sadism, oral fixation (thanks trey), bullying (thanks ace), s3xualIinnuendos

Ramshackle was always kind of decrepit. Clearly abandoned generations ago when the last tenants moved out and the top brass decided they had no further use for it. Getting a good night’s sleep was always hard to come by in your dorm, not when you feared that the creaking roof might collapse on you and suffocate you and Grim in your sleep.

Tonight, it seems your fears have been realized. After a long day of classes, you’ve come back to your dorm house in a heap of hubris and dust. Grim is screeching your ear off next to you. You don’t even have it in yourself to be surprised, not when you always knew this would come. You’re just happy that it didn't collapse while you slept. But now you’re faced with the next new dilemma, which is where the hell should you sleep—?

Ace and Deuce loop their arms through yours, shooting you twinning grins that they wore whenever they had something (not-so) brilliant cooking in their minds. Ace flicks the stunned look on your face with a playful grin.

“Welp, that’s that, prefect. Off to Heartslabyul you go.”

The first order of business is getting you dressed for sleeping. After a long and arduous struggle (Ace and Deuce nearly killing each other), you have now donned ACE TRAPOLLA's bright red hoodie with only shorts to protect your dignity underneath. Ace swore up and down that he’d rather die than let Deuce dress you in that ugly pink getup he calls his pajamas (“My mom’s pajamas!” Deuce had screeched before tackling him once more). Now he’s taking pictures on his magicam, a smug cat who’s caught the canary.

“Hold that pose, yeah, like that.” You feel yourself blushing as Ace forces you into a pose too… suggestive for your liking. It shows a bit too much of your thigh and, well… cameras don’t exactly make you comfortable. “Whaddya hiding your face for? Stay still for a sec, wouldya?” The flash goes off, and he whistles when he sees the finished product. He holds it up to your face— you straddling a pillow with only his hoodie and a bright-red expression. “Pretty thing, aren’t you?”

Conscious of your getup, you tug down the hoodie. Ace’s grin seems to widen. “You’re a little bit into this, don’t you think?” You grumble. “It’s Cater’s thing to take so many pictures…” “I don’t think anyone can help themselves when they’ve got a sweet thing like you wearing their clothes, huh?” Ace has always been mischievous, buttering you up with nuanced flirts that you could just wave off as a form of playful banter. But this time, feeling trapped in his dorm room and clothes, you feel like his flirting is a bit too… real. “Yeah, you’re thinking too much.” He taps your nose. “Keep it up with that cute expression, and I might just be tempted to take that hoodie off you… Kidding~!”

He dodges the pillow you throw at him, laughing like a maniac. “Ahaha! Shoulda seen the look on your face!” “You’re a jerk!” You cry. You don’t know if this banter or genuine frustration is from you, but you get the feeling that he doesn’t care either way. He takes joy in your suffering, perhaps even pride when he’s the one to cause it. You’ve always known that, the little sadist. He’s propped himself on his elbow now, looking at you in anticipation. An eager cat always ready to play with prey. He laughs again when you glare at him tearfully.

“Relax~ How’re ya gonna get a good night’s sleep when you’re working yourself up this much?” He brings you to his side, gentle yet anticipatory, as if feeling like something good is gonna happen. “Doubt you ever had a decent wink in that rundown dorm of yours.”

Sleeping face-to-face with Ace is not something new for any of you. You’ve had plenty of sleepovers with him and Deuce, sometimes even the other first-years, but the comfort of Ramshackle and its ghosts kept you from overthinking things. You stifle your feelings and pout at him. “Like you didn’t sleep there whenever you and Riddle had a fight.”

He chuckles fondly, tracing your pouting lips with his finger. “Yeah, yeah. I’m grateful, so I’m paying back the favor, see? Got Riddle to say yes despite all his fuckin’ rules. Gave you a neat hoodie to sleep in since all your clothes are under that rubble now.”

The beating in your chest seems ever louder, even as his fingers pull away, the faintest warmth only lingering on your lips. “You just want to see me in your clothes, asshole.”

He grins. “Damn right I do, prefect. Might sell ‘em to Deuce, the poor pervert. Might keep them for myself. Who knows?”

DEUCE SPADE is on you the next day, Grim leaping out of his arms and grumbling about Deuce being too noisy to sleep with. He got the boot from Ace last night, and you’re a bit relieved to have a bit of familiarity back in your arms as he resumes his napping. “[Y. Name]! Oh Seven, are you okay? Did you get some sleep? What did that bastard do to you?” He whips his head to Ace, who’s ambling lazily behind you with a lazy stretch. “What the fuck did you do to them?”

Ace waves him off with a grin, walking off to the kitchen. “Nothing you wouldn’t do, hypocrite.”

The growl that Deuce lets out is outright guttural that you would have thought him a student of Savanaclaw, but he softens when he feels you flinch under him. “Sorry, [Y. Name], it’s just that… well, you know Ace.”

You laugh gently. Whereas Ace was a little sadist, Deuce was overprotective in ways that made you feel suffocated, but grateful nonetheless. It was nice to know that some friends were looking out for you rather than laughing at you. You ruffle his still-messy hair. “I know, I know. Nice to know the ADeuce combo is still chaotic even in the early mornings.” His face crumples a bit when you pull your hand away, but he guides you to the common dining hall for breakfast.

Being the overeager gentleman that he is, Deuce prompts you to make yourself comfortable while he fetches your breakfast. Grim is still curled up on your lap, trying to catch a few missing Zs, and Ace is across the room fighting with the roommates he kicked out last night. You feel a bit of guilt, but not as much when Ace is in a verbal match with them. They’re probably using Riddle’s absence as an opportunity to scream their heads off at him— you hear them call him an opportunistic man who’s trying to get their crush in his pants. You cringe upon hearing that. He laughs and says ‘At least I’m getting some!’ and a fistfight ensues.

Your breakfast plate, an impressive feast of golden honey pancakes topped with maple syrup and strawberries, is set before you. But Deuce’s eyes are narrowed at the fistfight happening, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “What the hell is that idiot doing?” He grumbles, sitting before you. “Spreading these malicious rumors about you… I should knock some sense into all of them!”

“Don’t,” you softly admonish him. “It’s only a matter of time before either Trey or Riddle walks in and they all get beheaded. Might as well let them learn their lesson.” You flash him a grin. “But thanks. Always nice to see my lil delinquent ready to defend my honor.”

He flushes and nervously picks at his own platter. It’s more meat than dessert, and he’s playing with the peas. “It’s nothing. You just don’t deserve to be talked about like that. You’re too…” He trails off, blushing bright red at what he might say, and stops. You don’t push further and let yourself enjoy the comfortable silence between the two of you. In the corner of your eye, you watch Ace and the other roommates get dragged off by the collar by Trey and Cater’s clones.

“Peace and quiet at least,” Deuce sighs. He glances at you before chuckling into his palm. You knit your eyebrows at him. “You’re so… oh well, hold still.” His thumb brushes against the side of your lip (a rather odd recurring event at your stay here) and pulls back to reveal the syrup residue. He eyes it for a bit as if pondering his next course of action. Then, locking eyes with you, his tongue peeks out and licks it off his thumb.

“Th– Deuce that’s…” Your voice catches in your throat. “That’s… dirty.”

“Dirty? You?” He hums softly, cocking his head to the side. Expression dazed and ditzy, he smiled like a boy partaking in something he's so long desired. “Never. But I… well, haha, sorry. Can’t really play normal around you for too long. But you knew that, right?”

stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): check this out you dumb fuck stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): [image attached] Deuce Spade took a screenshot. You (Deuce Spade): you!! what the fuck have you been doing with the prefect last night?! You (Deuce Spade): i’ll beat u to the fucking ground if i see even one fucking mark stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): haha stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): magichat tells y when you screenshot something u kno. stuupid. stupid hypoocriiite You (Deuce Spade): IT CAN?!?! stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): dun worry your lil brain bout it. stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): we besties rmember??? i aint doing squat without ya. hbu jack off to this as apologies stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): [image attached] Deuce Spade took a screenshot. stupid ginger (Ace Trappola): sooo fuckin easy ✌️✌️

As soon as you go back to Heartslabyul after another day of class, CATER DIAMOND whisks you away before Ace and Deuce can even say anything about it. He’s rambling about something or other, about how he’s so stoked to have you here and how much fun you’d have together. Sleepovers are the highlight of youth, after all! Cater might be in his third year, but he’s not so old as to relinquish all the fun to the freshies!

So he has you sitting still and pretty on his bed, your hair held back by a cloth headband and a nourishing face mask to prep you for the how-many-steps skincare routine that you’ll be doing for tonight. He has his own matching headband as well, and yes, he did take a selfie before posting it to the ‘net with the hashtags #twinning, #sleepover, and #cute. His dorm room is as loud and vibrant as he is, walls covered with posters of his favorite bands and shows, a table full of cosmetics, and the phone and ring light glaring at you.

You shift nervously. It’s like part two of Ace’s incessant photography from last night, but you know that with Cater it will always be twice as bad. Something to do with the desperation in his eyes every time he snaps a picture of only the two of you. Or maybe not. You can’t just assume.

Cater finally turns around, grinning lightheartedly as he brings over a pot of moisturizer. “Hey, hey~ Sorry for the wait. It was, like, reeeal hard to find this pot. I’ve been so messy these days.” He’s always been a bit messy, but taking a look at the desk, you have to agree that this is worse than most days. He sighs when he sees you glance at his table. “IDK… something weighing on my mind and… agh! Lookit me dragging the mood down! Cringe. Let’s take off your mask…”

He takes off the gel mask gingerly. Tonight, you see Cater in his rawest form. No makeup on, not even that little mandatory diamond he always wears, and just him in his pjs. He likes to play rough sometimes, especially if it means getting a reaction out of you, but right now he is gentle. Without the makeup, you can see the eyebags under his eyes that are usually hidden under concealer, and you can’t help but massage them away with your thumb. Green eyes stare back at you wide.

“Have you not been getting enough sleep?” You murmur. It’s glaringly obvious to you and to whoever bothers to look closely that he’s always been hiding underneath a mask, and your suspicions seem to be proven true. You feel him soften under your touch as you continue pressing gentle circles on his eyebags. “We’re in your room, Cater. You don’t have to pretend.”

He makes a face as he pulls away. Disgust, you assume when he laughs drily to himself. “Sometimes I can’t stand you,” he murmurs to himself, but the room is so silent that you can hear it as if he’s saying it into your ear. “You’re too stupidly perceptive, it's creepy. What’s up with that? You don’t even have magic.”

You huff out a laugh. “I don’t think anyone needs magic to have some basic empathy.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but twists the moisturizer cap open and starts to slather the cream on you. “Please. It’s Night Raven College. People don’t have empathy, aside from you and Kalim, anyway. But we know what the deal is with the two of you.” You don’t belong. “You act like some sorta therapist, then boom— you got yourself a horde of hormonal men at your doorstep who could kill you at a moment’s notice.” He pinches your cheek so hard that you yelp at the burn, and he pulls away smugly. “And it’s a~ll your fault.”

You rub your cheek and frown. It hurts. Like, no joking hurts, and Cater looks guiltless as he eyes the red mark. “You’re a doll, aren’t you?” He coos. “Nothing makes you special except for this adorable lil face. Why don’t you just stick with Cay-Cay and let him make you special? I’m sure my sisters would like a sweet thing like you.”

“You’re a dick,” you grumble. He laughs out loud, not even trying to deny the claim, and he throws a peace sign to the camera. “What’s that for? You’re not livestreaming, are you?”

“‘Course not!” Cater laughs, switching back to his usual preppy self. He reaches over and stops the recording, checking the video with small appreciative hums. “Can’t let my peeps know that their Cay-Cay is a sick, sick man who gets off hurting their cute junior! One more selfie, please?”

He tilts the camera towards both of you. Within the frame, Cater’s grinning face and your frowning, bruised one are obviously filtered to hell as he takes the shot.

“Looks like Cater got to you, huh?” TREY CLOVER laughs, handing you an ice pack. It’s later in the night, and Cater’s decided he isn't in the mood to have you in his bed for the night. Shame, Trey had said to him. I know men who’d kill for this. Cater had only stuck out his tongue and waved you off before retreating to his chambers. You hiss when you press the pack against your face. Moonlight silhouetting his figure like an ominous foretelling, Trey leans on the island as he inspects you.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing the messy strands away from your face. “You got your dorm ruined, forced to move into Heartslabyul of all places, and you get bullied by our members two days in a row. Must be tough for you, huh?”

You want to pout. Maybe complain. Cry a little bit. In the first few weeks that you’d known Trey, maybe you would have. You had always mistaken him for an exasperated elder brother type, exhausted by the dorm members’ antics but laid back enough to go along with it. But you know better than to vent to Trey of all people, not when he doesn’t bother to hide his smirk as he watches you shed tears.

“Not gonna work on me, devil,” you mutter. He laughs again and holds two hands in surrender, caught red-handed trying to make you rely on him. You eye him warily. “I’m sleeping with you tonight?”

“Oh, don’t word it like that, pet. The walls have ears.” You flush at the innuendo. “But hey, if you’re okay with that, then by all means go ahead.”

You sigh deeply. First Ace, then Trey. Where the hell was the housewarden when you needed him? Someone needed to keep these crazies in line. Trey, for the most part, was far more responsible than any of the other members. But he hasn’t bothered to be decent around you for a long time now. Always quipping subtle lewd jokes when you least expect it, hovering his hand on your hips as he guides you through a recipe… Riddle’s mentioned it once, calling it a display of indecency. Trey had brushed it off and teased that you liked it that way. You don’t know. Riddle hasn’t brought it up ever again.

Lost in thought, you barely register Trey’s fingers prying your mouth open until he’s peering into the recesses of your mouth. This guy and his mouth fetish. You try to squirm away from him, but his steady hand on your shoulder tightens, and you still. “Steady now,” he murmurs. “Ate chocolate, didn’t you?” You can’t nod like this, but something in your eyes probably gives the answer away. He chuckles. “Yeah, thought so. Cater bought those chocolates for your sleepover. To think he was so excited for this as well. Doesn’t really strike you as the moody type, huh?”

He cocks a grin at you. “C’mon, brush your teeth. I got some extra spare ones.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t want you staring.”

“Every man has his interests. You really think you can stop me?”

Being vice housewarden, Trey has the privilege of having his own dorm and bath, and now you’re alone with him in the latter. He’s the only thing blocking you from escaping out the door, leaning on it with arms crossed and the grin of a man who’s gotten what he wants. You make a face at him and turn to the sink. His reflection in the mirror continues to watch.

“Scrub more gently, why’re you rushing? Too eager to get out?” You heard it from Ace and Deuce, but you didn’t think that his being this naggy about brushing was real. “You’re neglecting the upper teeth.” Seriously. You didn’t think anyone was this naggy about brushing. “Scrape off the plaque from your tongue. Don’t wanna wake up with bad breath, do you?” You thought his family runs a patisserie? Not a dentist clinic?

You turn to him, features contorted in annoyance as you bare your mouth to him as proof, then clamp it shut again. “Here. Done. Now, can we sleep?”

“Mm, not yet. Open it again.”

You make a face at him, but sigh and relent. You know he’s gonna pry it open one way or another, magic or not. No use trying to argue against a man with magic and muscles bigger than yours. You open your mouth again— “Mpfh?!”

Trey’s two fingers invite themselves into your mouth, poking and prodding at your teeth as if they ought to be there. They’re gliding across molars, pulling against the inside of your cheek to get a proper see… It’s all uncomfortable. You shake your head and grab onto his wrist to try and pull him away, but his hold on you grows more painful as he levels you with a stern stare. “Always squirming, this dormouse. Stay still and excuse this senior’s… habits. Siblings back home, and all that.” He’s not even bothering to put any effort into his excuses. He presses down on your tongue.

“Mpphf mmh mpf!?”

“Just… a lil bit more. Can’t risk cavities.” He smirks at you, his handsome face taking on that sadistic expression that’s ever so common in this college’s students. “It’s okay if you’re scared. Really. More than okay.”

You’re beyond exhausted. You’ve always thought that Heartslabyul was the most normal of the dorms, but perhaps you’d hand that over to Pomefiore. One crazy (Rook) can’t possibly outcrazy four crazies. Especially not when you’ve had to suffer from them two days in a row.

But you’ve never been so happy to see that gorgeous shade of red hair until now.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS sits at his room’s tea table, enjoying himself with some warm lemon tea. His strict expression softens when he sees you enter through the doors, possibly due to your distraught state. Ever since the overblot, he’s loosened up and allowed himself to be vulnerable, especially around you. Riddle’s fond of looking after your quartet of misfits, but even the others admit that he favors you more than them. You’ve always chalked it up to you not getting yourself into trouble like the others do.

“Riddle!” It’s a bit pathetic, how needy you sound. But with the few days of being tossed around like clothes in the dryer, you’re willing to take any sense of order, no matter how extreme it may be. You don’t notice how Riddle’s smile twitches into self-satisfaction before he smooths it down. He gestures to the seat across him, and you take it. He pours you tea, the scent of warm lemon warming your senses.

“Apologies for not being able to properly welcome you these past few days,” he starts, leaning back on his seat. “It’s been quite a busy week for us housewardens, with the new event just around the corner. But things have settled, and I was really hung up on the fact that I couldn’t greet you properly.” He scowls, setting down his teacup as he remembers something. “Or my house members, for that matter. I’ve heard of the upheaval your presence has brought on these past few days.”

You shrink into your seat, shame coloring your face. “I’m sorry… after asking you for shelter as well.”

Riddle waves off your worry. “Oh no, don’t trouble yourself. As far as I know, you haven’t done anything. Goodness, Cater and Ace are throwing out their roommates! And just when we have a spare room as well. Although I do understand their worries, that room hasn’t been cleaned out for a while…” He fails to mention that their opportunistic ways of gaining privacy with you. “Ah. Well. There is always mine and Trey’s room.” He watches you shift uncomfortably and smiles understandingly. “Apologies. Trey hasn’t exactly relayed what happened last night to me, but I can imagine. And well, it wouldn’t be proper for us to be sleeping together.” You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, some damn common sense in this house. Now you know why Riddle is such an excellent housewarden. You tell yourself never to doubt—

“Not when we aren’t married yet.”

You catch the teacup before it can spill anything. Riddle continues sipping in front of you. He cocks his head when he catches you gaping and you shake yourself out of it. Misheard, misheard… joking?

“I brought you up to mother, of course, she was rather outraged that I harbor feelings for a magickless, but…” He laughs awkwardly, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. “I convinced her that you very much mirrored her, just not in… magical prowess or… um, fierceness. Your softness and ability to care for others are captivating, and she still isn’t convinced, but— well, she does have some sort of intrigue. I was hoping to bring you to her at the next break, and… [Y. Name]? You look unwell.”

Softness? Ability to care for others? Your qualities as a doormat seem to have been exaggerated and worse of all, placed on a narcissistic mother who couldn't care less about anything other than her trophy son succeeding. And worst of all, marriage talks? You put down your teacup, fingers shaking from the tumultuous feelings stirring within you. Dread, maybe. Riddle looks at you from across the table, staring at you worriedly with those adorable grey eyes, as if he hasn’t said anything concerning.

“You… want to get married?” You choke out, laughing like you can’t believe it. You shakily point to yourself. “To me? The one who’s going to leave Twisted Wonderland?”

Riddle furrows his brows. “Who says you’re leaving Twisted Wonderland?”

You laugh again in disbelief. “Me! The headmaster! As soon as he finds a way—”

“I don’t think so, not really,” he hums. “It’s obvious he’s delaying, or that there really isn’t a way out. And even if there was, I doubt the numerous people attached to you would allow that.” He looks out the window, perhaps thinking of the number of mages who are so eager to prey on you and your affections. “I, for one, wouldn’t allow that. Ah, don’t look so down, my family is well-off and I will work; I will provide you with everything you desire.” His hands, smaller and softer than yours, squeeze yours gently. “I promise.”

You feel sick.

“You will be a great partner. I know my mother’s extremities far too well, but I’m sure once I find myself a solid position in the government, she will be far too content to say anything about our marriage. All you have to do is be who you are now.” Riddle shyly smiles to himself. “Sweet, caring, docile… motherly.”

Sevens, you feel so fucking sick.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #ace trapolla #deuce spade #cater diamond #trey clover #riddle rosehearts #yester.writes

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blarshwritezz · 2 days ago

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Another one based on another oc I have, how joyful. Reader can be interpreted as ace maybe???? Up to you

Cheater Yandere x Reader

M yan x GN reader

TW - Cheating, NSFW, brief mention of noncon kinda

Two years. For two wonderful years you've been dating him. You didn't really think you had a chance back then. It was high school, and he was popular. Hot. The kind of guy most everyone had a crush on, even though he was a player.

And you were... Well, no one special. You weren't especially attractive, or social, or smart. You were just... There. But by some insane miracle, he actually asked you out!

It was tense at first considering his reputation. Your friends tried to tell you not to give him the time of day. Bit he was just so sweet... Bringing you flowers, little gifts, your favorite snack, always planning dates. He was like a dream! It didn't take long though before he wanted to get in bed with you. But you weren't really ready... And frankly, you doubted you would be for a while. But he was so patient. He promised to wait for as long as it takes, told you he loved you no matter what...

So that was a fucking lie.

Turns out, you wasted two years of your life on that whore! He finally confessed that he's been sleeping around with other people for nearly your entire relationship!

"I mean, what do you expect?" He said, as if this was just some other Tuesday. "You wouldn't sleep with me, so I had to have my fun with other people."

"No- no, this isn't something you can just brush off!" You snatched his phone from his hands and tossed it across the room, trying to get him to pay attention. "You've been cheating on me this whole time! What- was any of it - of this, of US - real?! Did you ever even love me?!"

For a brief moment, you swore something dark and terrifying shined in his eyes. But it was gone to fast for you to even care right now.

"Baby, come o-"

"Don't call my baby!"

His fist clenched at his side. You weren't easy to deal with when you were screaming like this... "Look." He finally said, that usual smile back on his face. It was just unsettling now... "Of course I love you. That's why I didn't break up with you back then. I just, you know... My body has needs. But you... You give me everything my heart needs."

He tried to hold your cheek, but you quickly slapped his hand away. What a bastard... If he really loved you, he wouldn't have ever cheated!

"You know what, I am DONE with this." You turned and started to storm away. You shouldn't have to take this. "We are over! Never-"

But he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, holding you tighter than he used to. His once warm and comforting arms felt cold and heavy. Unbearable. To think those same arms have been wrapped around other people... You didn't even know how many. You didn't need to. You were sure it would only make all this worse.

You squirmed and kicked, trying to pry his arms off of you. But he only held on tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Don't be like this... You can't leave me. I need you. You can't..." Something about his voice sent chills down your spine. There was something wrong with him... Other than the obvious. It only made you want to get away from him more.

"You can't make me stay here! You-" but he cut you off.

"I can. And I will" His grip only became tighter, suffocating. He was just about crushing you. "You aren't leaving me... You should be grateful I didn't make you have sex with me this whole time. But I've been nice and decided to be patient with you... And I still will be. Since I'm so nice. So you're going to stay with me."

Before you could fully process his dark words, one of his hands shot up to your face, covering your mouth and nose painfully. You were kind of starting to panic.

"Shhh... It's going to be okay, baby..." He whispered against your ear.

You squirmed and writhed, but it only made things worse. It didn't take long before you started to feel light headed. It only took a few short minutes for you to pass out, but it felt like an eternity.

But once your body went limp in his arms, he breathed out a sigh of relief. He couldn't lose you. You were the one good thing in his life. So what if he slept around a bit? He had his reasons. And he'll get over it eventually. But you... You were everything. He couldn't lose you.

And he wouldn't.

Aaaa did it

Hopefully there's no horrible glaring issues in this one lol

#blarsh writes #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #male yandere #yandere x you #male x reader #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #male yandere x you #yandere x gn reader #yandere x y/n #male yandere x y/n #male yandere x gn reader #gn reader

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nephynes · 3 days ago

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tension theory/friction principle bonus chapter 2

set right after the events of friction principle

Jake's pacing again. Back and forth across Heeseung's living room, socked feet on hardwood, hands slicing the air as he pleads his case for the third time in ten minutes. "I'm telling you, bro, it'll be fun. Beach. Booze. You, me, Sunghoon, Y/N—and Chaewon. You haven't met her yet, but she's cool. Funny. Smart. Kinda your type, actually."

Heeseung doesn't look up from the couch, arm draped over his eyes. "My type is women who don't try to sleep with other guys while I'm in the next room, remember?"

Jake winces. "Okay, yeah, that was...rough. But this is a clean slate. Fresh air, a whole new country. Would you be more convinced if I told you Chaewon was hot?"

Heeseung shifts, finally lifting his arm and narrowing his eyes at Jake. "Does your girlfriend know you're out here calling her friend hot?"

Jake pauses for a beat—just long enough to look mildly offended. "She told me to tell you that!"

Heeseung snorts despite himself.

"She said, and I quote, 'Tell Hee that Chaewon is super hot and really sweet and might help him stop being a mopey little bitch.' Her words, not mine."

Heeseung finally sits up, rubbing his face. "You're unbelievable."

"But are you coming?"

Heeseung doesn't answer right away. Jake stands still, watching him closely, then adds quieter, "You deserve a break. From all of it."

There's a pause. Then Heeseung exhales slowly. "Fine. But if this girl's weird or annoying, I'm blaming you."

Jake grins, victorious. "Deal. And hey—she's nothing like Yunjin. I swear."

Heeseung doesn't really know what he expected, stepping off the plane. Not much. Just some sun, maybe some sleep, and a temporary reprieve from the mess he left back home. Jake had pitched it hard—new country, fresh air—but Heeseung's not naive enough to believe in quick fixes anymore.

Still, the ocean air is cleaner than the thoughts that usually haunt him, and your bright smile when you spot him in the villa entryway? He hates how much it helps.

"Hee!" you call, jogging over in a linen dress, wearing sandals already. You look stupidly happy. Carefree. And for once, that doesn't annoy him, not that he really did before. But if Yunjin was annoyed with you then so was he back then?.

You grab his wrist and tug him through the airy room, chattering about bedroom assignments and welcome drinks, and then, too casually, you say, "Chaewon! Come meet Heeseung!"

The girl perched on the edge of the sofa straightens as they approach. She's dressed simple—denim shorts, a white tank top, sunglasses perched in her hair, but there's an ease to her posture, a warmth in her smile that immediately puts him off balance.

"Hi," she says, holding out a hand. "I've heard a lot about you." Heeseung glances at you, suspicious, but you’re already pretending to be preoccupied with the fruit platter. "Hopefully good things," he mutters, shaking her hand.

You shoot him a very obvious thumbs up over her shoulder before disappearing up the stairs with a grin.

Of course.

Heeseung clears his throat and drops onto the armchair beside her. "So...Chaewon, right?"

She nods, biting back a smile.

"I'm guessing Jake threatened you into coming on this trip?"

"Actually," she says, tilting her head, "Y/N bribed me with promises of beach sunset photos, bottomless sangria, and the chance to see you shirtless."

He chokes. Literally.

She laughs and reaches for a slice of melon. "Relax, I'm joking."

He coughs once more for good measure, dragging a hand over his face. "God, you're worse than her."

"Not really," Chaewon says. "I think Sunghoon and Jake bring out a whole different side to her you haven’t even seen."

And somehow, from there, the conversation just works. They talk about everything and nothing. Favorite music, the last book she gave up on, the dumbest argument she's ever had with her brother. She doesn't bring up Yunjin, even though he’s sure she knows about what happened by now. She doesn't tiptoe around him like he's fragile. And when she laughs, it's always with him, never at him.

It's strange.

Heeseung came here with his guard up. He didn't expect to enjoy himself, didn't think he had it in him anymore. But sitting beside this stranger with the soft voice and sharp wit, he starts to think maybe Jake was right. Maybe this trip isn't just a distraction and if he lets it, it could actually be something new.

The fire crackles in front of them, smoke drifting up into the ink-dark sky. Waves crash steadily in the distance, a constant hush beneath the chatter and laughter. The sand is cool under his feet, and there's a cold beer sweating in his hand, half-forgotten because Chaewon just said something that made him laugh so hard his abs hurt.

She's leaned in close, whispering some dumb inside joke they've crafted over the past forty-eight hours, and he can't stop smiling. It's been like this the whole trip—light, easy, better than anything he expected. He glances around the circle of beach chairs and towels, stomach warm from more than the alcohol.

Sunghoon's poking at the fire with a stick, his expression relaxed. You're curled up in Jake's lap nearby, his arms around you and your cheeks flushed from laughing too hard. You catch Heeseung's eye across the flames and beam at him. Jake leans in and says something that makes you both snort, and Heeseung knows that look—you're plotting and sure enough, Jake perks up. "Let's play something."

Sunghoon groans immediately. "Really? We're twenty-two."

You twist around in Jake's arms and grin. "So? Might be fun. We'll keep it chill."

Jake raises his beer. "Drinking game? Truth or dare?”

"God," Heeseung mutters, but he's smiling. He'd complain, but the way Chaewon's eyes sparkle under the firelight when she says "Oooh, I'm in" has him nodding before he can think better of it.

You sit up straighter and point directly at him. "Heeseung. Truth or dare?"

He raises an eyebrow, feigning hesitation.

"Don't be boring," Jake calls from behind you.

Heeseung takes a slow sip of his beer, then shrugs. "Truth."

You lean forward, eyes gleaming. "Do you miss her?" you ask, softer this time.

And everyone goes quiet.

Chaewon glances at him, just barely, but she doesn't move away. Doesn't flinch. Just waits with the rest. Heeseung could lie. Say he doesn't or that he's over it.

But the words stick in his throat, heavy and dry. He looks at you with your knowing expression, the way Jake tightens his arms around your waist, and something about the quiet between everyone makes him answer honestly. "I think I miss who I thought she was," he says. "But I don't miss how I felt with her. Not anymore."

You nod slowly and Chaewon nudges his knee with hers. "Your turn."

He looks at her, really looks, and the tension unwinds in his chest. He's not dreading going back because of what happened. He's dreading it because this peace, this laughter and warmth feels dangerously close to something he never thought he'd get again.

The circle loosens with his answer, everyone easing back into the comfort of the firelight and their drinks.

He turns toward Sunghoon, who's lounging back on a chair, sipping something strong out of a plastic cup.

"Alright, Sunghoon," Heeseung says, eyes narrowing playfully. "Truth or dare?"

Sunghoon sighs, but there's a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Truth."

Heeseung doesn't miss a beat. "When it's the three of you..." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully. "Who do you like starting with? Jake or Y/N?"

You sit up straighter, eyes going wide. "Heeseung!"

Sunghoon just blinks slowly, like he's thinking about it. You can tell he's tipsy, his gaze a little hazy, but still calculating. Then he smiles. "Y/n," he says, looking at you through the fire. "It's fun watching her get all worked up from just a little touch. She’s so easy to unravel."

You let out a soft, stunned laugh, covering your mouth. Jake groans behind you, tossing his head back dramatically. "Oh my god, Hoon."

Sunghoon's grin widens, taking another sip. "It's true. She melts. It's cute."

You give Jake a look over your shoulder, and he grins back at you, whispering something against your temple that makes you squirm in his lap. And from the way his fingers are already creeping along your waist and Sunghoon's looking far too pleased with himself, Heeseung thinks he’s way more interested in this game now.

Sunghoon takes another sip of his drink, eyes glinting with mischief in the firelight. "My turn," he hums, scanning the circle before zeroing in on Chaewon. "You." She stiffens slightly, eyebrows raising as she narrows her eyes. "Me?"

"Truth or dare?"

Chaewon, to her credit, doesn't flinch. She lifts her chin. "Dare."

Sunghoon's grin spreads slow and sharp—more amused than cruel, but clearly dangerous in that 'older brother who stirs the pot just because he can' kind of way. "I dare you," he says, dragging the words out, "to sit in Heeseung's lap for the next round. Until it's your turn again."

Heeseung blinks, caught off guard. "Wait, what—"

"You heard me," Sunghoon shrugs. "I'm just trying to join my boyfriend and girlfriend in their little cupid scheme."

You let out a bark of laughter, covering your mouth. Jake smiles, clearly loving this way too much.

Chaewon turns to Heeseung, and he's suddenly far too still, barely managing to lift his palms like I didn't plan this, I swear.

She pauses for dramatic effect then shrugs once and gets up on her knees, stepping toward him. "I've had worse dares," she says breezily.

And then she's settling herself delicately in his lap, adjusting her weight until she's comfortable, her legs folded neatly across his. Heeseung swallows hard, eyes darting to yours like help. He’s trying desperately not to look at where Chaewon's thigh is pressed flush against his. Her hair brushes his jaw when she turns toward the circle again, totally casual.

"Okay," she says coolly, lifting her drink. "Let's keep it moving."

And for a second, Heeseung looks like he might die, but then she leans back just slightly, her shoulder against his chest, and he exhales.

"My turn," she says, and her gaze cuts straight to you. You raise your brows, already bracing yourself. "Oh no."

She tilts her head innocently. "Truth or dare?"

You hum in thought, swirling the drink in your cup before settling back against Jake's chest. "Truth."

Chaewon's smile widens, she'd clearly hoped for that answer. "Alright," she says, voice light, but her eyes are gleaming with mischief. "Whose dick is bigger—Jake's or Sunghoon's?"

You just gape at her, somewhere between scandalized and impressed. "Oh my god," you wheeze, covering your face for a second before peeking at her through your fingers. "Do you want to see for yourself?"

She gasps in fake offense, then starts laughing all over again. Jake wraps his arms a little tighter around your waist, murmuring, "Answer carefully."

Sunghoon leans forward with a mock-serious expression. "There’s no wrong answer if she’s offering."

You roll your eyes, dramatic and exaggerated. "You guys," you sigh, grinning as you take another sip. "They're basically the same."

"Oh come on," Chaewon protests. "That's such a cop-out."

"No, I'm serious," you insist, nodding solemnly. "They’ve measured."

Jake groans, burying his face in your shoulder, while Sunghoon just grins, shaking his head like he can't even be mad.

It’s your turn now. You shift a little in Jake's lap, turning just enough to face him, a lazy smile curling your lips. His hands tighten around your waist automatically, eyes narrowing like he knows what's coming.

"Truth or dare, Jaeyun?"

He eyes you warily. "Truth."

Heeseung groans. "Oh my god, can someone pick dare?"

You ignore him. Your gaze is locked on Jake, voice syrupy sweet. "Do you prefer me more dominant or submissive?"

Jake immediately sputters, half-coughing into his drink, ears turning a soft pink. "What—" He clears his throat, eyes flickering to Sunghoon who's just watching him with raised brows, unhelpfully amused. "You're really doing this in public?"

You just tilt your head, smile widening. “This is barely public baby.”

Jake drags a hand over his face, but his answer is honest. "Dominant," he admits, low and a little hoarse. "You know that."

"Good boy," you murmur and he groans but now it's his turn. He peeks up and his eyes flick toward Chaewon—still in Heeseung's lap like she belongs there, comfortably sipping her drink, grinning.

"You," Jake says, pointing. "Truth or dare?"

Chaewon raises both brows. "Truth."

He nods like he expected it. "Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Yes," she replies, no hesitation. "More than once."

You and Jake share a quick, impressed glance, but before Jake can follow up, Sunghoon cuts in, a smug look on his face. "Ever thought about kissing her?" he asks, jerking his chin toward you.

The fire crackles, but it feels too quiet now. Chaewon's still smiling, but it's changed, still sly and amused. She looks you up and down slowly before her gaze settles on your face. "Who hasn't?" she says simply.

You blink and then burst out laughing, cheeks warm. "I'm flattered, really."

Chaewon leans forward again, still in Heeseung's lap like she's completely forgotten she has her own chair and her turn has come again now.

"Sunghoon," she asks, "truth or dare?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "Dare."

She smiles. "Three-way kiss. You, Jake, and her." She looks towards you. Jake laughs, setting his drink down. "You make it sound like that's hard for him."

You smile at Sunghoon already rising from his seat, languid and confident. Jake shifts forward and you both meet him halfway, leaning in. It starts with Sunghoon kissing you, slow and teasing, then Jake's lips press to yours just as Sunghoon kisses him too—seamless, practiced, because this isn't the first time and won't be the last.

Now it's Sunghoon’s turn again. He looks around deliberately before pointing at Chaewon. "Truth or dare."

She tilts her head in mock thought. "Dare."

His smile curves up, all slow wickedness. "Okay then," he drawls, "I dare you to kiss my girlfriend."

Jake hums lowly behind you, and you glance over your shoulder, brows raised, but you're smiling too. Chaewon looks at you, not at all flustered, just intrigued. "Is this you giving me permission or are you trying to test something?" she teases, but she's already standing.

Sunghoon shrugs, leaning back. "Does it matter?"

Chaewon moves toward you slowly, one brow raised like she's giving you a moment to say no. But you don't, in fact you meet her halfway.

Her lips are soft, more playful than anything, and when she pulls back, you're both laughing a little, breathless from the sheer absurdity of it all, from the thrill. You're breathless too, blinking at her before both of you burst into giggles like you can't believe what just happened.

But the second you turn and settle back into Jake's lap, you feel it. Jake’s hardened cock, pressing up under you. He exhales shakily, his fingers tightening on your waist.

Chaewon clearly feels the same thing, because she freezes slightly in Heeseung's lap, then lets out a small surprised noise—more amused than shocked. Heeseung shifts beneath her, trying to play it off, but his ears are red.

Sunghoon notices it all and he groans, tilting his head back toward the stars like he's suffering. "Okay, not to kill the vibe, but are Heeseung and Chaewon gonna kiss already, or are we gonna keep playing this middle school game until someone has to dare them?"

Jake chokes out a laugh behind you. Sunghoon waves a hand lazily toward them. "Heeseung's boner is probably suffocating by now."

You giggle uncontrollably, half turning to look at them. Chaewon raises a brow, amused, while Heeseung mutters something under his breath and tips his beer bottle to his lips like it might save him from the situation.

Sunghoon sighs again, dramatically, like he's shouldering the burden of everyone's pent-up tension. "This game is doing too much and not enough at the same time."

The game fizzles out not long after. Everyone's a little too buzzed, too tangled up in the energy pulsing beneath the surface. Bottles are half-empty in the sand, and laughter fades into background noise as the fire crackles lazily. Sunghoon gets up with a stretch and a groan. "I'm gonna head in," he says, brushing sand off his hands.

"No one asked you to leave," Jake calls after him, but Sunghoon's already trudging toward the beach house, mumbling about how no one ever appreciates his sacrifices.

Chaewon shifts in Heeseung's lap, the light painting her in amber. She leans closer to him, her fingers brushing his jaw and he doesn't flinch, doesn't overthink it. His hand moves to her waist, tentative at first, then firm, like he's finally stopped resisting.

And then they're kissing, quietly, intimately. No show, no dare, no commentary. Just them, lost in their own moment.

You and Jake sit back in the beach chair, watching like creeps. "Should we be watching this?" you whisper, eyebrows raised but voice too entertained to be serious.

Jake doesn't look away. "I mean...it's kind of cute."

You lean your head on his shoulder, both of you quiet now, observing from the flickering glow of the fire as Heeseung and Chaewon melt into each other. There's something sweet about it. Gentle.

Jake kisses your temple. "Think this means we'll get invited to their wedding?" He asks you as he helps you stand up. You giggle, squeezing his hand. "Only if you don't scare her off first." You tell him as he guides you off the sand.

You're standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fresh from the shower, robe warm around your shoulders, dabbing serum into your cheeks when you hear it.

A muffled whimper. Faint and distant. You freeze, fingers paused mid-pat.

Then another, louder this time. You blink at your reflection, brows drawn together. Was that...?

"Hey," Jake hisses as he swings the bathroom door open without knocking, eyes wild with mischief. "You hear that?"

You turn, wide-eyed. "Wait, you heard it too?"

Jake nods like a cartoon villain mid-scheme. "You think what I'm thinking?"

You squint. "Could it be them?"

He doesn't even answer. Just grabs your hand and pulls you with him like you're both on a covert spy mission. You're tiptoeing through the villa, trying not to laugh as you both make your way down the hallway, past the kitchen, and toward the bedrooms. The moans are louder now—unmistakable, breathy, high-pitched.

Chaewon.

You slap a hand over your mouth as Jake quietly loses his mind next to you, the two of you grinning like idiots. Her voice, breathless and needy, "God, right there—don't stop—don't stop—"

You slap your hand over your mouth again, nearly snorting with shock.

Then Heeseung responds, his voice low and hoarse, "You're so fucking tight—fuck—you feel insane."

You nearly choke on your laughter, burying your face in Jake's hoodie while he squeezes your hand in absolute glee. It's obscene, filthy, and you're both entirely too happy about it. "She's louder than I expected," Jake whispers.

You giggle. "Heeseung's filthier than I expected."

You're both crouched near the cracked door now, barely breathing from how hard you're trying not to laugh—when suddenly a voice appears behind you, low and cool, "You two get off on this or something?"

You both jump like you've been electrocuted.

Jake spins around. You nearly stumble back.

Sunghoon stands behind you, wearing low-slung sweats and a damp tank, brow arched, hair still wet from a recent shower. You blink up at him, guilt written all over your face.

"We weren't—" Jake starts. "—Spying," you say. "We were...just checking."

Sunghoon steps closer, expression unreadable and then dryly asks, "Did you confirm enough?"

You grin, tucking into Jake's side as the moaning from Heeseung's room hits another crescendo. You can't tell if Chaewon's laughing or crying with pleasure now.

Jake winces. "Jesus."

Sunghoon sighs and shakes his head, muttering, "Unbelievable," as he comes closer to you, making you straighten and turn, already smiling, already melting into him. His arms slide around your waist instantly, pulling you close until your nose nearly brushes his collarbone.

"Really" he murmurs, voice low and amused, eyes flicking toward the door where the sounds are still spilling out. "You two are standing out here like perverts"

"They're being loud," you defend softly, fingers slipping up into his hair, a little dazed from the heat of him.

Sunghoon tilts his head. "Hot?"

You nod, cheeks flushing. He leans in, brushing his lips just barely over your cheek as he whispers, "Not as hot as you."

Your knees go weak.

Then, his hand slips around the back of your neck, thumb ghosting just beneath your ear. "Is your plug still in, baby?"

Your breath hitches audibly, and you nod again, eyes wide. He exhales slowly, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, there’s something almost devout in the way he looks at you. Then he tips his head toward the guest bedroom behind him, his mouth curling into a knowing smile. "Yeah?"

You nod again, smaller this time, breath hitching as his hands grip tighter. Without another word, he lifts you and starts walking. Jake grins, trailing after you both, already tugging off his shirt. "Fuck yeah," he says with a laugh, gaze flicking to the cracked door of Heeseung's room.

════════════════════════════

• a/n: i had to give heeseung a semblance of a happy ending 😭 i just had too!

#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #heeseung smut #jake smut #sunghoon smut #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhablr #enhypen fanfiction #jake fic #sunghoon fic #heeseung fic

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ryomenslvr · 3 days ago

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secondhand

stoner!suguru geto x fem!reader

synopsis: after a long day, you seek comfort in suguru geto’s quiet apartment. where smoke curls in the air, tension hums low, and closeness lingers just a little too long.

content warnings: substance use and implied mental strain

a/n: I am obsessed with stoner!geto dude

The sky outside your window was the color of dull steel, the kind that promised rain but didn’t bother following through. You sat on your bed, still in your work clothes, staring at your phone like it might offer relief. It didn’t.

Your body ached. Not from battle, nothing as cinematic. Just the wear of expectation. Another day of pretending your fuse wasn’t burning out. Another meeting where someone called you “capable” in that way that meant they expected you to carry more than anyone else.

Your thumb hovered over Geto’s name in your contacts. You hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks, not since the last late-night mission briefing where he’d smirked at you from across the table like he knew how tired you were. He always did. It was annoying. And comforting.

You tapped his name. The message thread lit up, the last texts casual but soft:

Suguru:

You’re too tense. Try doing literally anything that’s not work for once.

You:

lmao define anything

Suguru:

Something that makes you stop thinking. I’ve got good weed and jazz. Just saying.

That had been four days ago. You hadn’t answered. You didn’t smoke, he knew that.

You started typing.

You:

Hey. You home?

You stared at it for a second before pressing send. Too short? Too blunt? Maybe you should’ve asked how he was doing first.

Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Suguru:

Always. What’s up?

Your lips curved, just slightly. He was always quick like that. Present, but never invasive.

You thought about lying. Saying you just wanted to ask something. But your fingers didn’t obey.

You:

are you around tonight

i’ve had a shitty day

Three dots appeared and vanished. Reappeared. Then stopped again. For a long moment, nothing.

Then,

Suguru:

Come over.

No pressure. Just quiet and company. Promise.

You bit your lip. The simplicity of his reply made something loosen in your chest.

Still, you hesitated. You tried to gather the courage to type more, but instead your thumbs hovered again.

You:

It’s okay if I just show up? Like… right now?

A longer pause this time.

Suguru:

It’s always okay. You don’t have to ask.

You blinked at the screen. That did something to you. Made you feel both warm and fragile all at once.

You:

Okay, I’ll be there soon

You didn’t fix your hair. Didn’t fix your makeup. You just grabbed your hoodie, tied your shoes with unsteady fingers, and slipped out into the night.

It didn’t take you long to get there, you push open the door to Suguru’s apartment. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and something sweet and herbal immediately washes over you, like stepping into a hidden alcove where time slows down. It’s always like this here. Calm. Warm. A little messy in that effortless, lived-in way.

There’s a woven throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, stacks of books on the coffee table, a few potted plants thriving in the corners despite the low light.

He’s on the floor cushions in front of the low table, legs folded beneath him. His long hair isn’t tied up in a loose bun like it typically is, a few strands falling against his cheek. His eyes are closed, face soft. The kind of stillness you only ever catch in people who’ve carved out their own version of peace.

When he opens his eyes, they land on you with gentle precision. “Rough day?” he asks, voice low, like he already knows the answer.

You nod, dropping your bag by the door with a dull thud. “One of those,” you mutter. Another cursed spirit no one else wanted to deal with. Another meeting with higher-ups who love the sound of their own voices more than they love actual solutions. You feel frayed at the edges. Splintered.

He didn’t press. He just tilted his head, gaze warm. “Come here.”

You stepped carefully onto the cushions beside him. Your thigh brushed his as you sat, and the contact sent a quiet jolt through your body. You didn’t move away.

The small wooden tray in front of him holds a handcrafted pipe, still smoking faintly. The scent is stronger here, earthy and sweet, something like sage mixed with citrus and something else you can’t name. It clings to the air in a lazy, dreamy haze.

You sit with your knees pulled up to your chest, arms around them. Your body is stiff. Coiled.

He watches you quietly, his eyes half-lidded with that knowing calm. No judgment. Just presence.

He lifts the pipe to his lips again and takes a slow drag. Holds it. Lets it linger in his lungs before he exhales through his nose, a soft cloud that drifts between you. You glance at it, a little mesmerized by the way it curls and dances.

“You know,” he said after another slow inhale, voice smooth around the exhale, “you look really good when you let yourself slow down.”

The words slid through the haze like warm silk. Your heart stuttered, like it missed a step. You turned to look at him, startled. “I—what?”

He was already watching you, head tilted slightly, mouth curved with that maddeningly calm amusement of his. A smile not just because you were flustered, but because he liked seeing you like this. Unarmored. Real.

“I’m serious,” he said, tone dipping just enough to feel dangerous in your chest. “You should let someone take care of you more often. You’re always too busy pretending you don’t need it.”

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed and glanced away, face burning under the weight of his gaze. “I’m not pretending,” you muttered.

The words came out softer than you intended. They didn’t sound very convincing, even to you.

He didn’t challenge it. He didn’t push. He just leaned a little closer, his voice lower now, quieter. Almost reverent.

“I can help,” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “If you let me.”

You hesitated, just a breath. The words felt too big, like they were pressing against something in you that hadn’t been touched in a long time. Maybe ever.

Then his hand moved, slow, unhurried, until it rested gently on your knee. The heat of it spread like ripples in water, like warmth you didn’t realize you were aching for until it was already there.

You met his eyes, and your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned in, deliberate but unrushed. Close enough that you could see the way the low light caught the edges of his lashes, the faint curve of a smile that wasn’t teasing anymore, just steady. Present. Real.

His lips parted, and then,

His breath, warm and laced with smoke, ghosted over your mouth. A soft exhale meant just for you.

You froze. Every nerve in your body sparked awake. Your lips parted on instinct, and you drew in the breath he gave you. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was gentle. Grounding. Like being touched without being touched.

The smoke curled down your throat, warm and slow and strangely tender. Intimate in a way that made your heart clench.

You coughed, a small sound, more from surprise than discomfort. Your cheeks flared hot.

Suguru chuckled under his breath, the sound a warm press against your skin. “Cute.”

You blinked at him, caught off-guard, wide-eyed. “Shut up,” you said, flustered and defensive and somehow too aware of how close he still was.

“I’m not teasing,” he said softly, still watching you like you were some delicate thing he wanted to memorize. “It suits you.”

You didn’t know how to answer that. Your pulse was thudding so loudly in your ears it drowned out every rational thought. And his eyes, god, his eyes. They lingered, slow and heavy, like his gaze alone could trace the outline of your mouth.

He lifted the pipe again, took another drag, even slower this time. Held it. Watched you the whole while.

Then leaned in again.

You didn’t move away.

You didn’t even breathe.

This time, when his breath met yours, you were already leaning toward it. Lips parted, breath shallow, heart racing. You met it halfway. Smoke curled over your tongue like something you weren’t supposed to taste but did anyway.

His breath was warm. His eyes, half-lidded, didn’t leave yours.

You felt something loosen inside you. Something unspoken. Something hungry.

Your lashes fluttered closed as the sensation washed over you, heady and slow and strangely tender. It felt like saying yes without words.

You didn’t realize how tense your body had been until it started to let go. Until his closeness, his quiet, steady presence, started to undo you in the most careful, intentional way.

A quiet laugh escaped your lips, breathy, dazed. “Suguru… this is so weird.”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Welcome to my world.”

You huffed, something between a laugh and a sigh, but your body leaned subtly toward him again. Gravity, maybe. Or just him.

And then, just for a second, you wondered what it would feel like if he kissed you.

You didn’t say it. You didn’t even let yourself hold the thought for long.

But when you glanced up at him, his gaze had shifted, no longer amused, no longer teasing. Just still. Intent. Like he could feel it too.

Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved, not at first. Just looked. Watched.

And then, slowly, like testing the temperature of something fragile, he lifted his hand from your knee to your cheek. His palm was warm, fingers rough and careful as they brushed your jaw, as if asking first, quietly, wordlessly.

You didn’t pull away.

His thumb stroked once, featherlight beneath your eye. Then his gaze dropped to your mouth. His breath ghosted over it again, but this time he didn’t stop there.

He leaned in.

And kissed you.

Soft. Slow. Like he had all the time in the world.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was intentional. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything, it just gives. Steady pressure. A warmth that bloomed through your chest like sunlight under your skin.

You inhaled sharply against his mouth. Your hands found the front of his shirt without thinking, curling there, grounding yourself.

When he pulled back just slightly, you stayed close, breath mingling. Foreheads nearly touching.

He searched your eyes, a small, private smile tugging at his lips. “You’re allowed to want this,” he murmured.

Your throat felt tight. Full of everything you couldn’t say yet.

But your hand reached for his again. And when you kissed him back, slower this time, more certain, it said everything you needed to.

dividers by @/uzmacchiato

header art by @/rise5x

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #jjk au #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen geto #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #mei’s fics 🪷

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menelausblues · 2 days ago

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ode to all our living.

꒰ you're starting to change since running away with xavier. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 1.5k. no evol, ex-royalty au. princess mc/reader x knight xavier. established relationship. mentions of faking death. reader/mc runs in the rain. fluff. ❀ ݁ endless vow verse n sequel to paragon of reverence.

mdni.

a quaint, cozy cottage worn down by time, nestled in the nowhere of a field’s endless blooms is where you start your new life. long gone are the elegant gowns and elite affairs. your title of princess is dead with your name. they won’t come looking for you both; xavier makes certain of it. as far as the kingdom of philos is concerned, you both perished in an unpreventable accident on your way to lemuria. the plan went smoothly, without a hitch. xavier’s integrity granted him friends more loyal to him than the king they allegedly worship. they helped you both get away. they made sure no one would raise questions. it was clean. precisely executed. there was no room for doubt about where you’d both gone. you both die with honor embedded into every curve of your names. you would rather them all mourn you than spend their lives seeking you out to charge you for your treason. a princess who would rather have a grave of falsities than a husband and a life she can’t choose. “sweetheart?” xavier calls, entering the tiny home. “i’m home.”

‘you’re home. i have so much to tell you about living.’

it still doesn’t feel real sometimes, leaving it all behind for a simple life of anonymity and connection, but when he comes back from a long day of working as a farmhand for the couple that owns this cottage and the land it lives on, your heart floods with elation at the reminder that there’s no more hiding. happily, you meander into the front room where the entrance is. you greet him in gratitude, launching yourself into his waiting arms. “my prince is home.” you say sweetly. “oh, you won’t believe what i did today!” xavier chuckles but pulls back as he realizes your clothes are sopping wet. “how was your day, princess? did you travel into town? why are you drenched?”

his eyes widen with soft shock. he notices the way your hair sticks to your skin, the way it bunches up into dripping curls. you offer him a gummy smile, eyes alight with excitement as you reach for his hand. “have you ever been foolish in the rain?” you ask in wonder. there are many changes in your life. the biggest is independence. you had always wondered what liberation tasted like, if it was sweet on the tongue to the point of inspiring selfishness and greed or if every notion was whimsical and exciting, unknown in its flavor but always intense. but it’s hard for you to properly name what you struggle to fathom. all you’ve ever known is an intricately woven life. from the moment you woke until rest, your every move was decided for you. your habits were taught to you. your personality was crafted, not fully discovered. it’s been hard to understand independence and autonomy, but today, you find that the rain helps. xavier looks both amused and bewildered, trapped between concern and laughter. “i…huh?” “the farme–i mean, mr. zayne’s wife, wendy! she gave me explicit instructions for if it rained today. the roof is quite old and fragile. she says eventually they’ll have it repaired since we’re staying here, but for now, we have to play prevention. i was nervous but i’m quite competent at following directions –” xavier softly interrupts to quip, “of course, the princess is good at everything, after all.” a triumphant grin. “precisely. so i went outside to raise the rain cover, but i had just woken from a short nap, so i was a bit late and it was starting to pour. i got the cover raised but by the time i was done, i was completely soaked.” though xavier appears to be quite endeared, concern does shape his features for a moment as he reaches to caress your cool cheek. “was it difficult? i apologize. i had a feeling it might rain. i should have placed it up before i left.” “no way!” exclaimed excitedly, “i did something i’ve never done before!” his lips curve. “i’m proud of you for putting up the cover. is that what’s got you so excited?” a hard shake of the head and a grin. “i played in the rain.”

you sing it as you place your hands on your waist boldly, proud of your own declaration. you’ve been conditioned for cleanliness all your life. it was reinforced in every notion that royalty ought to find dirt and mess aversive. it should be a catalyst for disgust. but today, the ends of your dress got stained with mud from your small labor and the sight of it made your heart jolt. when you realized that on the other side of this supposed offense there was no consequence, your heart flooded with a strange sense of relief. the freedom to be dirty and not be berated or treated with repulsion, it makes you wonder what else you can get away with now. and you recalled all the times you would sit in the window of your room and watch the rain fall while everyone below scattered about. you found yourself taking one step from under the protection of the cover, then two, then five, then so many you were laughing hysterically as you ran around the field behind your new home. “you?” xavier questions, brows furrowed. “but i thought my princess hated being wet and dirty.” your voice lowers into a shameful murmur, your face leans into the palm of his hand. “i think the princess just wanted to be perfect.” “ah, i see. and you realize now you don’t have to be?” you nod and that seems to make him smile. “does it feel exciting?” another gentle nod. “to the point of feeling frightening. i laid down in the grass to catch my breath from running around and i…i found myself so happy that i wanted to cry. i think…royalty is…a very lavish prison with an abundance of amenities. and even though it was comfortable, it was still control.” xavier cups your cheeks then, stepping closer as he presses tender kisses to your lips, simpering through the entire burst of affection. “i’m proud of you.” your brow bunches and you laugh softly. “proud of me? for getting filthy and wet?” “very proud of you,” his nose rubs against yours. “you wouldn’t even sit down in any of the chairs when we first got here because you said they were too dirty and old. now you’re laying in grass and running in rain.”

oh.

this much is true. you remember the day you arrived, every bit of furniture was covered in thick layers of dust and rot. it made your nose scrunch in disgust. even after xavier diligently wiped and scrubbed everything down, you still couldn’t get the feeling of lingering filth out of your mind. but this morning, you sat across from him at the small dining table and had breakfast together. you hadn’t even realized that today you were so comfortable reading in your bed that you actually took a nap. “huh,” you breathe, perplexed. “i suppose you’re right.” a tender kiss is placed on the center of your forehead. “i’m glad you had fun in the rain, but try to be careful. the last thing i would want is for you to get sick, princess.” “even if i do, it was worth it.” taking naps after reading in bed and running around the rain was only the beginning. little by little, everything about your nature started to change. xavier was like the sun, shining down on you in support and all you could do was bloom. helplessly. just like the wildflowers of uluru. you end up with your knees sinking deep into the earth of a garden you decide to cultivate, planting forget-me-nots with your bare hands and dirt caking under your nails all because you miss their loving sways. you start to like sleeping under the afternoon sky with xavier, laying in the grass with him to listen to him read you poetry. kissed by the light. staining the fabrics of your clothes doesn’t make you flinch; it doesn’t even cross your mind. you start to look at flaws like odes to living. you welcome them with an open heart. you like to leave the windows open while you and xavier prepare your meals. you like the way the spring seeps into your home once the hyacinths bloom. you don’t mind the sticky summers or the scent of sweating skin. you like the way the outdoors lingers on flesh. it makes you feel alive. you love picnics in the fall, the way the breeze lightly and playfully nips at your skin. you like the way the tips of xavier’s nose and ears flush when he lingers outdoors for too long. when the winter comes, you discover that snow is more than a picturesque nuisance. there are ways to find joy in its dreariness and inconvenience. you like the way your laughter echos with his while you both make the shapes of angels in chilly fluff. you fall in love with messiness and the mundane, and xavier falls even more in love with you. and eternity suddenly doesn’t feel like enough time to do it well. he watches the princess he’s always known become even more of herself, and sometimes, it’s someone entirely new.

#𖥨 ݁ fics ⋅#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff #xavier x reader #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier fluff #xavier #shen xinghui #shen xinghui x reader #lnds xavier #lnds x reader #lnds #lads fluff #xavier lads #lads xavier

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meiguicha · 3 days ago

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Area student discovers fate worse than death, attractive man paying attention to them

Phainon x Reader - Uni AU

Your first society event, and it just so happens that you accidentally sit on the foot of an attractive stranger while competing in a spelling bee, can it get any worse? (yes it can)

//i love that stupid man's ahoge i love it so much i wanna chew on him a little bit. this chapter ended up so long how

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Though many cite the many benefits of living outside college accommodation, you will happily say that at the very least, you don’t have to pay to enter a club with yours. Because yeah, you have to pay an entrance fee to join clubs in your university and it sucks, especially since most of them have the worst form of communication called ‘none’. And with your second year here, you thought it only fitting to re-join your society and provide your ‘generous’ help.

Pulling along a trolley of snacks and drinks from your RA’s room, you toddle along the path towards one of the many common rooms. The weather is still cooling down from the high of the summer noon, and the thought of lazing in the air-conditioned room while playing board games is starting to sound more than just heavenly to your ears right now.

Your hands engage in a little olympic-level gymnastics to get yourself inside and after you lug the honestly, amazingly heavy trolley in, the members in the room rush to empty everything and arrange them into a suitable formation. Nithya, your friend, enters right after you, sending you a wave before she joins the rest of your fellow members in arranging the array of snacks.

With that out of your hands, you scan across the room to find the two tables littered with the many games hand-picked for the event. Not everything is here yet, but with your RA’s approaching form from beyond glass walls coming ever closer, it's safe to say that the timeline for this event should be right on track.

At least, that’s what you thought, until said RA of yours opens the door with a panic reserved for only medical emergencies…

“Guys, they didn’t print out the right poster.” Anya holds up a stack of papers, pointing at the date as her voice titters between calm and frustration, “I’m not sure whether anyone knows it's happening today so I’m going to head out and put the correct ones up.”

Well, you guess you can blame only one person for that but naming names would be a bit too rude.

“I’ll go with you, it’d be better with more hands,” You offer, already grabbing your lanyard and phone to head out with her.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! But it’s just one or two places.”

Your head tilts. “Are you sure?”

She nods, and something in your chest sours for just a moment before one of your fellow members pulls you away with a question.

Dearest observer, let’s not waste your time talking about how long it took for people to arrive, all that needs to be known is that you saw a few familiar faces and then the gaggle of newer students arrived so that is that. Nor will you drone on about how amazing you are at some odd game or how much mango juice you drank— No, that isn’t what’s entertaining.

The surprise spelling bee is what you’re really here for, the surprise spelling bee that lets you win a $25 frozen yoghurt gift card. $25, $25! Do you know how much that gets you? A lot! Well, a lot for broke university students.

And thus, with Anya standing amidst at least 2 dozen very, very competitive university students, phone in hand, the spelling bee starts with 7 people failing on their first word.

Well, she did say that apparently people can’t even write their own damn essays anymore so you don’t know why you expected them to be able to spell.

As you wait for your turn, you notice a pair of men sitting on the extra chairs. They’re about the same height, the blond has these sharp eyes and the general aura of a warrior king of old while the other is…? Are those purple shorts? You didn’t even know they made shorts in that colour but you know what, at least he’s taking a risk with his fashion. Peak fesyen if you will.

Nithya gets her word, ‘languor’, a re-used word from last year’s spelling bee. She, of course, gets it right with little issue and glides across to the other side to join the rest of the passing candidates.

Your name is called, and you can thankfully avert your focus from fesyen guy. You’re given your word, ‘extrapolation’, which arguably is interesting for the beginner round but otherwise, you still spell it right despite your initial shock.

Giddily, your hands squeeze together as you stride across the room, sitting next to Nithya before noticing something that really shouldn’t be there. Reaching down to check what you sat on, the very feeling of your fingertips touching a shoe is enough to cause every hair on the back of your neck to stand at attention, as if caught red-handed.

You don’t know whether you even want to turn around but, it’d be rude not to, right? Right????

Despite how much you would rather the earth to come swallow you up right now, you make that cautious turn as you apologetically smile, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

And lo and behold, who is it but fesyen guy.

“Don’t worry, it's fine.” He chirps back at you, this almost too-sunny expression on his face and these wide blue eyes— you never thought you’d say this in real life, but please someone get him some brown contacts— crinkle at the corners in delight.

Why is he so cute? You didn’t even know it was possible for men to actually look so cute? He’s like a dog! Like a cute smiling dog! *pop fans always compare their idols to animals but this guy? This guy? This guy is a dog! He’s a smiling samoyed one hundred percent and–

In your terror, you turn away before your face can pull some expression you don’t want him to see. Vaguely, you think you can hear whoever is next to him say something before a laugh escapes your lips, and you can only dig your nails into your palms, hoping that maybe you didn’t actually sit on some cute guy’s foot. Nithya sends you a side-long stare, and before she can say something, the next round starts.

Oh horrifically the next round starts.

While the both of you get through this round, fesyen guy and warrior king guy do too. In fact, you’d dare say that the latter of the two guys is way more well-read than most anyone else in this room and that thought is both horrifying and comforting to know. Well, you keep calling them that but Anya called out their names at one point and you’re pretty sure their names are Phainon and Mydei.

Pretty sure, like 67% sure.

And well, maybe blame the nerves but you’re given some bullshit word you’ve already scrubbed clean from your mind and before you know it, you’re out of the last quarter semi-finals. To be completely fair to yourself, you didn’t even expect you’d make it this far, not when the words that now plague the remaining five people sound like they came from some poor medical student’s flashcards.

Still, Nithya snags second place and immediately decides that the correct course of action is to run to you.

She triumphantly displays her $15 dollar voucher, intertwining your hands together as she shakes them side to side, “And they say that math doesn’t help you spell.”

“I think you’re the only person to use math for spelling,” With a breath through your nose, you shake your hands together faster in return.

Her smile only grows wider, clearly more than amused at this turn of events before she’s pulled away for photos of the top three. Maybe this says something about you, but you only realise that who you think is Mydei has apparently gotten third place and the image of this tall muscular dude standing awkwardly beside two shorter girls is oddly too funny for you.

Staring at her with the kind of look that can only be described as humoured pride, you’re scarce to notice the presence that comes to stand besides you. Whoever it is holds up their phone to take a photo, a kind of sniggering smile on their face and oh god its fesyen guy.

He’s close, he’s so fucking close you swear he can smell the terror in you. The fine hairs on your shoulder prick up at attention and maybe you shouldn’t have worn a tank top because wow when did it get so cold? Why are men so scary?

As if a child stealing from the cookie jar, you shiftily glance to your side then back at your friend, to your side then back at your friend, to your side and–

Where did Nithya go?

Your feet swivel around in your haste, eyes desperately looking for the familiar sight of short hair and a golden clip only to find nothing. Quietly, you shimmy yourself out of this precarious position to retreat to the table of snacks and drinks. Yet, as you do so, your unfortunately very sweaty, very wet hands drop your lanyard with a pathetic smack onto the wooden floors.

Damn it, why did the heavens curse you with sweaty hands?!

With a kind of desperation saved only for public embarrassment, you fall to your knees to swipe it back into your hand only to grab at a hand instead. You don’t even have to look up to know whose it is and in your deepest of hearts, all you can do is look helplessly into the heavens, eyes wet and wide as your mentally quivering lips break.

Refusing to look up, whether out of shame or fear or humiliation, you don’t know, the voice that comes from ahead of you is uncharacteristically gentle, too kind, too friendly, “I got it.”

Dead in your throat, your voice refuses to even listen to the thirty million signals your brain is tossing at it as you slowly meet his eyes, staring blankly with no hope of response.

He’s cuter up close. Dog cute. If he was a dog you’d pick him up and carry him everywhere like a baby.

“Your lanyard is cute, what character is it?” The man before you tries to fill the awkward silence, offering you a gentle smile and even goes so far to hold your lanyard back to you.

A breath of facade mirth but real fear leaves your lips, breathlessly you squeak out, “Pochacco.”

He tilts his head, a 45 degree angle as if changing the angle of his brain would help him understand. The smile on his face, once a sociable tilt, grows just the slightest wider, one that barely betrayed a kind of unsettled geniality. It's too open, too blatant and something inside you flinches at the sheer display. Averting your gaze, you look up, away, anywhere but his sunny features, and your eyes notice the tufts of hair standing defiantly, and though waving in some invisible wind, you almost believe yourself going delusional when they form a heart for but a split of a second.

As if burned, you snatch your lanyard back and bow your head, replacing what your traitorous throat won’t speak. You do eventually find Nithya at the snacks table, carefully hovering a plate beneath her mouth as her eyes widen at your return.

“You abandoned me.” Pushing your bottom lip out in an aggrievedness she sees right through, she lets you cling onto her as you continue your sorrows, “That was so scary, don’t leave me alone like that again!”

“He seems nice. What’s there to be scared about?”

“I don’t know! It was just scary,” As you sniff away your pretend grief, she shoves a cookie into your mouth.

Distantly, you can hear more and more people filter out of the room, and by the time the remaining members of the now very starving society emerge from their fest, there are only stragglers left. Well, if stragglers count as two idiots and a gaggle of equally starving boys.

Still, with so few people left and the main crowd attractor finished, Anya decides that it's time to pack up. Comparatively, cleaning up is way less time consuming than setting up, what with less food to stuff into a trolley and more hands willing to take said food.

Some of those who do remain come up to offer small bouts of ‘thank you’s’ but take their leave as usual. It isn’t some fanfare that really requires much discussion, and if you’ll be honest, you barely remember the actual process and before you know it, you’re crammed in an elevator with your RA, her trolley and the two idiots.

Which, well, doesn't sound too bad, right? Right?

Wrong! Your RA shoves at least a kilogram of snacks and the last bottle of mango juice into your hands and when you walk down the long and treacherous hallway to your room, you realise with a horrible trepidation that a certain figure ahead of you is looking far too familiar for your own tastes.

Those purple pants, that yellow shirt, that is the mark of a man unabashed by society and of one who scares you more than ever. If you don’t look at him, he won’t notice you, that’s the rules of the game and by right he should follow them.

And yet as dim lights shine from above and that smell of musty carpet fills your senses, this hallway you have walked through countless times seems to grow longer and longer, and that figure from afar only seems to grow closer and closer. It's like there’s a new disease plaguing the world and apparently it's called ‘walk slow-ism’, as it turns out not even this peak of fashion icon is safe from it.

A thought pops up in the stew of your cognition, and your steps grow faster in response. In a swift and totally not at all nervous pace, you speed past Phainon to your room and promptly fumble with your god damned key card again. Your fingers dig into your lanyard only to drop the actual thing itself, leaving the card clasped between your steadily sweating fingers.

Letting out an audible huff, you bend down to pick it up only for the bag of chocolates to fall. As you pick that up, your hold on the mango juice starts to slip and oh god have you lost your ability to hold thirty million things in a singular hand already?!

Just as you’re about to call it a day and just leave everything on the floor, a hand starts to pick up your fallen objects.

This is it. This is how you die. In this shitty student accommodation hallways with an unopened bottle of mango juice and flip-flops.

“Hey again.” He smiles, and for some reason, and you wish you were exaggerating when you say this, that voice of his registers in your ears a lot more soothing than you remember it sounding, “Need some help?”

“Yeah,” Breathlessly, you squeak out. Realising the curtness of your response and probably how shocked your expression must be (you’re certain you look like you saw a car crash happen right in front of you), you squeeze out a smile. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

The man before you only tilts his head, a soft breath of mirth escaping his lips upon your response.

Without wasting a second, lest you really die in flip flops, you unlock your room door and push it open, turning on the lights and tossing your lanyard onto the kitchen counter. Tentatively, you accept the items in his hold and for a brief moment, your hands brush over each other. Just that is enough to get your heart banging against your ribs like a prisoner with a tune, you can’t be this weak (y/n)!

Suddenly, an overwhelming shyness overtakes your speech, one that dominates that fear and turns your softened speech all too formal. “Thank you, sorry for troubling you,”

“Don’t worry about it.” He only beams, so bright that he could very well outshine the sun itself.

“Anyone would’ve helped, it's only right.”

You’d be surprised buddy.

Still, you can’t help the amused huff from leaving your lips, nor the softening of your gaze, “Good night,”

“Wait!” Reopening the door to more than just a sliver of dim hallway light, you tentatively look up (why is he so tall?) to meet his eyes.

He places a hand behind his neck to rub, a light tinge of blush dusting his ears and his cheeks, and now that you really, really look at him, Phainon really does seem to flush quite easily. Like a school boy confessing to his crush, he shyly admits, “The event was really fun, you all did really well.”

That’s it? What’s there to be so shy about?

A wry smile tugs at your lips. “Thanks, we’ll be having more so feel free to join.”

“Yeah.” He blinks, once then twice. You can almost see the gears in his head rotating, and when they make that full round, the very energy around him shifts. Lighter, happier even, he straightens up and that smile only seems to grow fonder. “Yeah, I will.”

“Have a good night.”

The genuine endearment in his words, in his voice and in his eyes, it still scares you and yet still you offer back a smile of your own. Shutting the door, you turn on your phone to look for the photo of the campus samoyed you’ve been seeing all these days.

He really does look like a dog when he smiles like that. Well, just thinking about that little idiot has you longing to pet him again. Maybe you’ll have to make him a purple bowtie the next time you have the leisure to.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #x reader #hsr phainon #phainon #phainon x reader

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bowxs · 2 days ago

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heyyy! I absolutely LOVE your fics. I was wondering if you could do something long the line bfd! Beau Arlen, or if you have another character you think might fit better thats also cool!

im so sorry to tell you ive never seen big sky (YET) and so idk beau arlens character enough to write him and i dont wanna assume anything

so for now ill give you bfd!soldier boy until i watch big sky and can do it properly!!

this id kinda like a normal!au? but like ben was still famous at some point (mention of him being in magazines) it made sense in my head😔

divider from @uzmacchiato

god knows how long youve had a crush on your best friends dad- probably since the day she first invited you over.

you weren’t the only one with a crush on him though, obviously with him being a former model for playgirl magazine, he was every teenage girls crush back in the day

but now. now he was so much hotter, with the slightest dad bod, scruffy beard and that look of maturity on his face? who could blame you for having the hots for him and having every magazine hes ever been in

your thighs clenched together as he called you that nickname he has called you for the past 6 years. sweetheart. it sounded so sickeningly sweet coming from his lips- god you wondered how good his lips would feel on both of your lips

“sweetheart? you listenin’?” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping up to his, a sheepish smile on your face

“yes sir- sorry, just a bit distracted” you mumble your excuse, hoping he doesnt ask what has you so distracted

“what did i say about calling me sir, sweetheart” he gently scolds, sitting next to you on the lightly worn couch. you has been waiting for your friend to come home and she was taking way longer than expected. not that you were complaining

“sorry ben” you say in that sheepish voice again. god did ben love it. hes known you for so long, and since youve turned 19 you just had this allure about you that he struggled to ignore every time you were around

you guys sat in a not-quite-comfortable silence, with you staring at your feet, hand politely in your lap, trying not to steal glances at your damn best friends dad

but ben didnt care. he stared at you with no shame, a small but cocky smirk on his lips like he could feel how damn worked up you were just from being that close to him

“i got an idea to pass the time, sweetheart. you know how long she takes..” is what you hear before your brain short circuits as his hand reaches your thigh. god you must be dreaming.

ben was behind you, chest pressed flush against your back, his hips pumping in and out of you like hes been holding back his whole life- its only been a couple months since he started to even look at you in that way but god was it torture

“ben- ben oh my- ah” your body wanted to collapse, just fall forward into the bed from the pleasure, but bens strong hands held you up- one gripping your waist like a lifeline, the other arm hooked around your throat like a chokehold

“fuck, who knew youd be a slut? fuckin’ dripping on your best friends dad?” he tsks at you like hes not the one thrusting into you non-stop. like this wasnt his idea.

“you have no goddamn idea how much ive been thinking about this- shit your so tight.” his voice is gruff against your head, his breath fanning on the side of your face

you wondered if he was so good cause he was older- all of his experience was paying off. the way he moved, the way he knew you were about to come just from the way you clenched around him, it all had you seeing stars.

“yeah come on my cock- juustt like that- goddamnit” he grunts out as you clench and pulse around him, his own orgasm approaching.

you can feel him pull out, almost whining at the loss before you feel a warm drip of something on your ass- his cum. you practically moan at the feeling, looking back at the mess as he takes his arm off of your neck

before you know it hes leaving you on his bed, face down ass up as he grabs a wet cloth from the bathroom to clean you up. his touch was gentle despite the way he practically just destroyed you, and it only made your pussy clench around nothing

“shouldve got you to do this as soon as i was legal” you smile, craning your head to look back at him, meeting his already grinning face

“we got lots of time to make up for it, sweetheart” and god you hoped your friend went out without you more often.

#soldier boy x yn #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy #the boys x you #the boys smut #the boys #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles #dean winchester smut

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m0narche · 9 hours ago

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Cw: Yandere themes, heavy infantilization, mommy kink, forced captivity.

"Oh little one..."

The freezing cold bubble of shock and numbness pops when he reaches for your face to wipe away the messy tears streaming down and you can't even flinch away –not that he'd like that.

"It's okay, shh you're safe, sweet thing. Everything's okay" Each word feels no less heavy and painful than a blade cutting through your tender beating muscle. Your ears are ringing and the world feels so loud, it's just too much. So unpleasant, unbearable –And he would love to tell you that you're too sensitive to survive.

It takes a few seconds of grounding for your hearing to be fully restored, that's when you realize you've been sobbing on his lap the entire time –Ah, that explains the coddling, why he's been bouncing you on his thigh, why his arms feel somehow more like a cage than usual.

"I'm so sorry Mommy had to scare you like that. But you needed to learn your lesson."

Right.

Suguru came home to a broken window since you didn't have time to cover up your tracks. The sound of the keys jigging in the keyhole coupled with his sickly sweet signature call of "Sweetheart I'm home" made your mind go blank and sent your feet sprinting to the woods.

It's honestly very infuriating how he manages to reduce you to a little prey animal. One he is very eager to domesticate.

You didn't get far, of course you didn't. He was immediately hot on your tail. It took him no more than 5 short minutes to pin you down on the wet dirt –with his hand nailing your face to the ground and your hands held up together behind your back, his weight felt more crushing to your soul rather than your body– you felt silly for even trying. And like a switch was flipped you went completely limp, –a little white bunny playing dead on the snow –camouflage. You don't recall anything besides being scooped up and scolded all the way back to the cabin he keeps you confined in.

It didn't even hurt when he savagely slammed you down.

Granted it would be the only time he ever was aggressive or rough with you, it was a moment of desperation, he was frantic to catch the little startled bunny before it hopped away, not that it had a chance to begin with. His excessive coddling must have been what snapped you out of your daze and triggered the panic attack.

"It's okay, mommy's got you now" he continues to shush you quietly "poor thing, you must have been so scared. I'll make sure to properly lock the windows next time, okay?

For God's sake.

You'd think falling on your sword is the smart way to go about avoiding any punishments, but he doesn't even fucking retaliate. He's so deep in his own delusions that he sees your attempt at escaping him as a consequence of his negligence.

It's just so humiliating. You want to yell, scream, hurt him in any way. You want him to understand and you want it to be painful and heartbreaking.

And before you could even move, Suguru notices the shift in your mood and moves to lift up his shirt and shove your face into his plump chest before securing you in place with a firm hand. It feels like putting a swift end to a toddler's tantrum before it even begins.

"I know you're scared, baby. I really do" he coos "But it's alright. Once you finish suckling, mommy will clean you up and put you for a nap, alright?" He starts to bounce you on his lap again, gently this time.

"Tsk- silly little thing, you were just tired weren't you?" More caressing, more touching– so suffocating.

"You're just too little to understand what's good for you".

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rori-is-writing · 2 days ago

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Oh i love your writing for abbot & robby!!! Could i request for the muse drabble series reader & robby taking care of abbot/taking the reigns? I feel like while robby is a dom-leaning switch, abbot is always the one calling the shots and could use to be taken care of for once

Thank you so much! 🥹 And of course you can! I hope this is what you’re looking for!

Oh How The Turn Tables

The Pitt | Explicit | Dr. Robby x Reader x Dr. Abbot | 209 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: You and Michael decide to gang up on Jack for once. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Blowjob, Poly, Soft Dom

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?”

Jack is usually such a calm lover. Charming and lovingly forceful in the most delicious way. But right here, right now…he seems more like a petulant child to you—all whining and backtalk as you and Michael turn the tables on him for once.

“Because you deserve nice things sometimes.” Michael says smoothly, kissing the top of Jack’s thigh.

“Only sometimes?” He snarks back as you giggle.

You’ve both got him supine along the sheets, body languid and soft after a very thorough massage. Honestly, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him this relaxed.

Even if his smart mouth hasn’t quite gotten the memo yet.

“If you wanted to give me something nice all you had to do was let me lick that sweet—”

His sentence is cut short with a groan as Michael swallows down the other man’s cock with noisy gusto.

“Oh I’m sorry, were you saying something?” You tease before sliding up along his side and licking a stripe along his pretty white throat.

“You’re…” Jack gasps, his heart racing underneath your fingers. “You’re a…a…a menace. The..the both of you.”

“Mm,” you agree. “It’s only fair you get a taste of your own medicine.”

Previous Drabble Request | The Muse Masterlist

If you would like to make your own drabble request, please see my Drabble Request Rules here.

Thanks for reading! 🩵

#drabbles #fic request #answered asks #drabble requests #the pitt drabble #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby x reader x dr abbot #michael robinavitch x reader x jack abbot #michael robinavitch #jack abbot #the pitt #the pitt fic #the pitt fanfic #asks

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oceantornadoo · 2 days ago

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is it cool that i said all that? (5+1 times jack abbot almost confesses his love to samira mohan, pt1)

Flirting with journals is med school shit. Jack Abbot knows this. Nonetheless, he sends Samira Mohan yet another newly published journal as night shift quiets settles in, 2am yawning and stretching leisurely.

2:03AM

Me: Sickle Cell and colorism in the African American community: A rainbow of treatment outcomes.pdf

Me: Buddy of mine from the Army just published this

2:05AM

SAMIRA MOHAN *R3*: So cool!!!! Well, not, obviously. Thanks, Dr.

"Abbot." Jack jerks his head up like he's been caught watching porn instead of texting a resident. Ellis quirks a brow, her arms crossed as she scans him up and down instead of explaining why she's bothering him. "You busy?" He locks his phone and tucks it into his scrubs, the picture of nonchalance thanks to his Army education.

"Hit me." Ellis just squints, eyes full of suspicion as she stares at his phone burning a hole in his pocket. "Who were you texting?" Sometimes Parker reminds him of his nieces -- sticky fingered gremlins turned into nosy tweens in just a few years. She's got that look like she's about to tell the whole school how Jack Abbot has a crush, despite not even knowing who he was texting.

Crush isn't the right word for Samira Mohan anyway.

"Your phone is buzzing."

Shit.

He takes it out and sure enough SAMIRA MOHAN *R3* is buzzing on his screen. He turns it away from Ellis but not fast enough, her brows raising an inch as she seems to take stock of the situation. Of which there is none, obviously. It's probably a buttdial.

He goes to the empty staff locker room and answers it anyway.

"Mohan?" Jack's ears were never 100% after the IED that took of his leg, but they aren't that bad, which means he's not imagining the yelling and music in the background. Pounding bass turns into cackling female voices that become muffled after a few seconds. Samira breathes down the line and it's like one of those Dunkin atrocities Shen insists on. Sugar sweet like honey on his tongue.

"Mohan?" He says again, a little more forcefully. "Hi, Jack." Jesus Christ. He sits down so someone doesn't walk in and see his reaction to a simple breathy giggle after his name. He woefully thinks of the warm May night outside the Pitt doors, of how he should've taken this outside instead of the stifling stark white walls that backlight her curls everytime he sees her.

"Everything okay? It's 2am." Samira gasps in his ear and it goes straight to his cock, not the first time and certainly not the last that he can't control his body around her. "I didn't know it was so late. I'm sorry." She confesses, apologizing like she's kicked a puppy. "It's okay." He waits a beat, closes his eyes when she doesn't respond. He's trying not to imagine where she is or who she's with or the fact she's probably in one of those short dresses that flare at the bottom that she wore to Collins' birthday a month ago. He tries and fails.

"You gonna tell me why you called?" Jack prods when she doesn't answer. "I wanted to say thanks for the article." A frown takes over without permission, bringing out the wrinkles on his forehead. "I send you journals all the time, Samira." Unfortunately, it's true. He had to get one of those extra storage subscriptions after saving too many PDFs to his phone, despite having not published in years. They're all for her.

"I know but-" a gulp, almost a hiccup, "I wanted to say thank you. And I'm drunk, so I can't read it right now. I'll read it in the morning." Samira is drunk. She's drunk and she called him, of all people. He was an easy pick, most likely the first notification she saw on her phone. Drunk actions aren't always sober thoughts, this he knows.

"I don't expect you to drop everything just to read what I send you, Samira. I know you have a life." She snorts at the other end of the line. He imagines her nose scrunching, her doe eyes staring at the ground. "I don't have a life. I'm only drunk because Victoria is 21." Finally, it all clicks. The infamous Turning 21 party that Santos was talking his ear off about a week ago, something about turning Javadi into a real person. He appreciates her sentiment, even if the delivery feels a little childish. Or maybe he's just old.

"And I'm working a shift I wasn't even scheduled on. You've got more life between the two of us." He grins into the stale air of red-painted lockers, just to drop it when that med student whose name he still can't remember passes through. Something about his face must throw the kid off, because she immediately apologizes and hightails it out of there. He half wishes for a trauma just so he can put himself out of his own misery.

"You're so nice. You help me with my lit review and refuse to co-author and you're always answering my texts at 2am." He doesn't point out how usually he's either working or struggling to fall asleep at that time, because even if he wasn't doing either of those, he'd find a way to text her back. He opens his mouth to say a censored version of this but stops when he hears a little sniffle at the end of the phone. What he'd give for a full-functioning ear.

"Samira?" His chest tightens and his shoulders straighten, preparing to fight an enemy that isn't there. "I only have a year left, and you're so nice." She reiterates strongly, as if he's supposed to understand what she's trying to say. They're friends, that he knows, so she's probably just hoping they stay in touch while she's off doing some world-changing fellowship in a hospital that doesn't dub its ER the Pitt. He imagines smothering his amygdala with a pillow whenever the thought of her leaving crosses his mind and focuses back on the situation at hand.

"Of course I'm nice, Mohan. Trying to get my best resident on more nights before Ellis goes insane from boredom." She scoffs a little, and he practically sees her wipe a stray tear and give a watery game face like she does any other day in the ER. "You just want someone to race you in sudoku." She argues, clearing her throat. He imagines her straightening her shoulders and pushing off the wall of whatever hallway she found in whatever dive bar they chose. Pulling down her dress before it rides up over moisturized legs that shine under LED lights. Shaking her curls so they brush the tips of her shoulders like he's imagined in his wildest fantasies.

"Guilty as charged." He runs a hand through his curls just to have something to do, not wanting the conversation to end.

"You're a good friend, Jack." He blinks away the sudden rush of emotion that floods through him. Friends is better than nothing, he reminds himself. Friends can sustain him a year, and then she'll leave and he'll be here but at least they'll be friends. Right where she left him and he'll turn dusty with disuse, but he won't scare her off with the pure want that cracked his heart the moment he met her, a 28-year-old intern that wore her own heart on her sleeve and existed as Robby's worst nightmare. It's been almost three years since then, and ever since he hear she drilled a Burr hole with an easy IO eight months ago, his occasional dreams of her turned into fully formed fantasies. He's been tempted to call Pysch a few times, only stopped by the thought of his therapist shaking his head at his antics.

So he won't tell her. Jack Abbot has lived through earth-shaking loss and he'll live through it again. He can't imagine life any other way.

"You're a good friend too, Mohan. Go have fun with the kids and text me when you're home, okay?" He's tempted to call her a car now, but he doesn't want to ruin her fun especially when she probably took weeks of convincing to even go out.

"Okay." She murmurs, whisper soft, and ends the call with a click. He sits there for a moment, staring at the calendar tacked up in the corner by the trashcan. 14 months and she'll be done. And he can't tell her, because he won't ruin this for her. It doesn't mean he can't daydream about it.

The door bangs open and Bridgette, the night shift charge nurse, bursts in. "I've been paging you for a minute now. Five car pileup by that broken stoplight a few blocks down. Eight victims, two minutes out."

Jack Abbot stands up, shakes off his melancholy, and soldiers on.

#tornadothoughts #the pitt #jack abbot #samira mohan #abbot x mohan #mohan x abbot #mohabbot #jack abott x samira mohan #dr abbot #dr mohan #5 + 1 fic

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theywereafairy · 2 days ago

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party 4 u

⋆˚࿔ Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Wordcount: 7.9k Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (coming soon)

Had to keep writing this mess of a love story after part one, oops. Charli XCX continues to haunt this fic 💋 This is Part two so read Part 1 if you wanna know wth is going on here

⋆˚࿔ Summary: It’s been a week since your birthday, and since Joel Miller kissed you breathless, swore it was the last time, and then showed up anyway. Now you're texting daily, sneaking touches and looks you shouldn’t want as badly as you do. But when your dad throws a summer garden party and asks Joel to help set up, the tension becomes unbearable. Between stolen moments, nosy friends, and the fear of being found out, something has to give. And maybe… something real begins.

⋆˚࿔ Warnings: Age gap (reader mid-late 20s / Joel 50s) • established secret relationship • mutual pining • teasing • dirty talk (suggestive, soft dom) • sexual tension • kitchen counter sex (light detail) • soft!possessive!Joel • "daddy" nickname (light) • emotionally attached idiots • friends getting suspicious • fluff and filth in equal measure • kissing that ruins lives • baking innuendo • afterglow talks • making it official(?? 👀)

⋆˚࿔ Author’s Note: So I was only supposed to write two parts of this fic… but um. Yeah. There's definitely a part three in the work now because I love these two dumb idiots too much to stop. Thank you so much for the love on part one. Your reblogs, comments, and hearts truly made me emotional 🥹💘 If you’re screaming, crying, or throwing up over this one too, feel free to tell me in the tags or drop by my ask box. I’d love to hear what you think!!

It had grown warmer lately. Not quite the kind of warmth that made you reach for the thinner, silky duvet tucked at the back of your closet, but just enough to leave the window open at night, letting in the soft rustle of spring air and the faint scent of blooming grass from the yard below. The chill wasn’t gone, it still nipped at your toes when you kicked a leg free from under the covers, but it had softened, mellowed into something bearable.

From the headboard of your bed, you had a perfect view of the sky. The stars were clear tonight, scattered across the dark like spilled glitter. You used to love lying there on nights like this, staring up at them, letting the silence wrap around you like something holy. But for the past week, you hadn’t looked at the sky once.

Instead, your gaze was always tilted the other way, toward the nightstand, to the screen of your phone that rested there face-up, dimmed but never silent, like it was holding its breath, waiting for him. And god, the way you smiled when you saw his name. It was almost embarrassing. Your cheeks ached with it sometimes, muscles sore from curling upward all day long, the kind of grin you caught yourself wearing in mirrors or shop windows, like some teenager in love for the first time.

Joel had been texting you. A lot. Every morning, every night. His messages weren’t long, just a few words, usually, but they stayed with you. Hung in the air.

“Wish you were here.” “Show me what you’re wearing, baby.”“Miss you.”

You answered with the same kind of warmth and short replies. Little jokes. Blurry pictures from bed. The kind of casual intimacy that didn’t feel casual at all. And every time his name lit up your phone, something in your chest tugged tight, sweet and aching.

You knew words weren’t Joel’s strong suit. He wasn’t one for long paragraphs or flowery declarations. But he tried. You could feel it. In the way he checked in. The way he said goodnight. The way he called you baby more often than your name.

And sometimes, when you felt particularly soft, or particularly lonely, you’d sit in front of your mirror, legs bare, t-shirt hitched up just high enough to tease, your fingers trembling slightly as you angled your phone. Your body. His jacket in the background, still hanging from your door. You’d send him the photo and pretend it didn’t make your pulse race while waiting for the reply.

The first time he sent a voice message, you’d thought it was a mistake, just static, the low hum of his truck, a distant mutter. You were about to make fun at him for not knowing how to handle a phone when a second one came in.

This time with his voice. Low. Quiet. Still rough from sleep or work or, you hoped, the weight of missing you.

“Hey, darlin’. Just figured out you can talk into that thing. Hope you know you’re mine. And you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You’d thrown your phone across the bed, face hot, heart thudding like he’d whispered it into your ear. There was something about it, about him, that felt dangerous and soft all at once. Like a secret you wanted to keep and scream at the same time. It wasn’t official. It wasn’t defined. But the word relationship still floated into your mind sometimes, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

It lingered there. In the curve of a smile. In the pause before a voice message. In the quiet between stars outside your window and the glow of your phone screen that never quite let you sleep.

On Monday evening, the sky held that soft, bruised pink color that only appeared in late spring, when the air was just beginning to forget winter. The streets were quiet, fading gold light streaking across sidewalks and car hoods, and the last stubborn patches of snow had finally melted into memory.

Riley and Nico had invited you out, insisting you owed them “a full-bodied catch-up” and “at least two rounds of drinks.” You hadn’t hesitated to say yes, but you hadn’t realized until you were halfway there where exactly they’d suggested meeting.

The bar. That bar.

The one where Joel had fucked you into the backseat of his truck like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you in his mouth. Like he was trying to replace every thought in your brain with the sound of his name. You didn’t even have to step inside to feel it. Just walking past the parking lot made your skin prickle, heat blooming in your cheeks as if your body remembered more vividly than your mind allowed.

Inside, everything was exactly the same. Warm, low light. The clink of ice against glass. That same vaguely sticky table by the window, where Riley was already waving at you like she hadn’t just sent three “where are you bitch” texts. You slid into the booth with a practiced smile and ordered your usual, familiar words falling from your lips like you hadn’t been completely somewhere else in your mind.

Riley and Nico were mid-story, something about a coworker who wore crocs with toe rings, their laughter effortless and overlapping. You let yourself settle into it. Let their voices carry you. You needed that, something easy. To take your mind off him.

Time passed like it always did with them: quietly chaotic, a little off-key, and sweet in the way only long friendships can be. Drinks were ordered, stories got sloppier, and before long the three of you were leaning into each other across the table, tipsy and tangled in laughter.

Eventually, you slipped away to the bathroom. Your hands found the cold porcelain of the sink before your mind caught up, your reflection already waiting. It startled you how different you looked. Not in some dramatic, cinematic way, but in the quiet shift of someone who had been kissed like a promise.

Your eyes looked… soft. Your mouth, a little fuller than usual, as if it hadn’t quite recovered from being claimed. There were no smudges tonight. No mascara trails. No red-rimmed confessions buried in tissue. Just you, looking back at yourself. A little happier.

When you returned to the booth, something had changed..

Riley and Nico went still, just for a beat. One of those silence-cracks-open moments. Then they looked at each other, and whatever passed between them was immediate and loaded. You didn’t sit so much as slide into place, your pulse picking up as they turned their attention toward you with synchronized smirks.

“So,” Riley said, stretching the word like taffy. Her voice was too casual to be casual. “Anything new in the romance department, lately?”

You froze for half a breath,long enough for Nico to snort.

“She’s been glued to her phone all night,” he said, lifting his glass. “That shit-eating grin is practically trademarked by now. Someone’s been texting you. A lot.”

Your face betrayed you immediately. The heat crept up your neck, uninvited and obvious, your smile tugging at the corners of your mouth before you could stop it. You reached for your drink.

“Nothing’s going on.” You said it too quickly. Too practiced.

Liar. And they both knew it.

Riley raised an eyebrow, leaning in like a lion scenting something delicious. “Mhm. Sure. You just randomly decided to radiate that freshly in love and smitten energy ?”

You laughed, too high and too nervous. “I’ve just been in a good mood, okay?”

Nico leaned back, swirling the last of his drink. “Sure you have. Good moods don’t make people blush when they walk past a parking lot.”

That pulled your eyes up fast. He smiled sweetly. Gotcha.

Riley gasped. “Oh my god. Wait, is it someone here? Like here in town?”

You rolled your eyes. “There’s, like, fifteen people in this town, Riley.”

“Exactly!” she shot back. “That narrows it down. Give us a hint. Do we know him?”

“Her?” Nico added, raising a brow.

You shook your head, laughing, warm and cornered. “No. No one. I swear.”

“You’re glowing,” Riley said, drawing the word out with a sing-song lilt. “You don’t just wake up one day looking freshly fucked and emotionally fed.”

You nearly choked on your drink. They laughed like demons. Nice demons. And still, you didn’t tell them. Not because you didn’t trust them. But because this thing between you and Joel? It was still new. Still vulnerable. Like a candle flickering under too much wind. You didn’t want to blow it out by naming it too soon. So instead, you laughed with them. Let them tease. Let your smile curl soft and secret around the truth sitting in your chest like a precious little fire.

By midnight, the bar had filled out.

Clusters of teenagers, clearly underage, but no one really checked in towns like this, lined the walls, sloshing cheap beer into half-laughs. The air was louder now, more golden, humid with bodies and too many voices competing for space.

The door swung open again, a sharp gust of night air cutting through the warmth, and you glanced up out of habit. Your father walked in first, his presence as familiar as ever. Broad frame, easy smile, nodding to the bartender like they’d known each other for thirty years. And they probably have. But it was the man behind him who made your lungs forget how to work.

Joel.

You spotted him instantly. Those eyes—dark, slow-burning, always searching. The weight of his gaze settled on you like gravity.

And just like that, your spine straightened. Shoulders lifted. Smile pulling at your lips, blooming before you could stop it.

“Hi, daddyyy,” you drawled, dragging out the syllables in a tone far too flirtatious for the word, your drunk self tipping just past decency. It was directed towards your dad, your father. Still the irony wasn’t lost on you.

Riley snorted into her glass. Behind your father, Joel lingered in the doorway for a second longer, scanning the crowd before his eyes landed on yours again. He looked… devastating. The soft bar light slid across his salt-and-pepper hair, caught the edges of his jaw, his cheekbones. His flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, strong forearms on display, broad chest beneath layers you already knew the shape of.

Your heart thudded. Your thighs clenched. And in your slightly hazy, alcohol-warmed state, he looked like something you might’ve dreamed up if you were alone.

He lifted a hand in greeting. Just a small wave, fingers barely twitching. But the softness in it? The way his eyes didn’t leave yours? You were a fucking goner. You didn’t see your friends staring until it was too late. Didn’t notice the way their heads whipped between you and Joel like spectators at a tennis match.

“You’re fucking joking,” Nico whispered, eyes wide, mouth slack.

“Oh my god,” Riley giggled, her chin propped on her hand, gaze sharp as a blade. “You slut.”

You blinked. Slowly. Smiled into your glass. Too late to deny it now.

Your face had already betrayed you, the way your eyes sparkled, the curve of your lips. You probably looked like a lovestruck cartoon character, heart-shaped stars beaming from your sockets. They had been your friends for too long, not to notice.

Nico leaned closer, voice lowered to a hiss, eyes gleaming. “You’re not fucking Joel Miller.”

You cleared your throat. Shrugged. Stared deeply into the last inch of your drink like it could swallow the room whole.

They burst into laughter. Unhinged, tipsy, delighted laughter, like they’d just uncovered the town’s juiciest secret. Which, okay, maybe they had.

“Holy shit,” Nico said between giggles. “That guy is like, what, twice your age?”

“And your dad’s friend,” Riley added gleefully, her mouth curling into a devil’s grin. “Jesus Christ. That’s so hot.”

Your face was on fire. You could feel the blush blooming from your chest to your ears.

“Okay,” you said, cutting them off before your body spontaneously combusted. “Yes. We’ve been… seeing each other. It’s not official. Yet. I don’t know. But it’s going well. He’s…he’s a good guy.”

You glanced up, instinctively, and there he was again. Still watching you from across the room, only half-listening to whatever your father was saying.

“And before either of you give me some moral lecture,” you added, narrowing your eyes, “there’s nothing you could say that he hasn’t already said to me himself. So keep it.”

There was a pause.

“Oh, babe,” Nico said, practically beaming. “No lectures here. When I lived in New York, I slept with a dude who was, like, pushing sixty. Honestly? Phenomenal. So no judgment.”

“But holy shit,” Riley murmured, eyes now fixed on Joel like she could see through his shirt. “He’s so fucking hot. Bet he just talks you through it. Doesn’t he? Like, filthy and soft?”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Stop thirsting after my man.” You groaned, laughing despite yourself.

“Oh my god,” Nico whispered, fanning himself. “I bet he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for every year between you.”

You could feel the blood rushing to your face now. Your head might actually explode. Your brain, definitely melting.

“He…he’s very good,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. They screamed..

Your dad was now on his way over. That easy, loping step you’d known your whole life, the slight sway in his hips that always appeared after his second beer. The warm weight of his presence cut through the haze of low lights and crowd chatter as he approached, voice carrying easily above the noise.

“Evenin’, kids,” he drawled, that deep Southern tone still sticky even after all these years. “Just wanted to make sure y’all’re gettin’ home alright. I’m headin’ out, but Joel’s still here if you need a ride.”

You blinked at him. Your drink froze halfway to your mouth.

Riley bit down a grin that was far too sharp for her glossed lips.

“Oh, I bet he’d love to give her a ride.”

You didn’t even think, your elbow shot out, hard and fast, slamming into her ribs. She gasped, wheezing like someone had taken the air right out of her lungs. “Jesus!”

Your dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. Just pulled out his battered old wallet, creased leather and frayed stitching, slapping a fifty-dollar bill on the table.

“You kids be careful,” he said, tapping it once with two fingers. Then he tipped his chin in a lazy goodbye and turned, weaving his way toward the exit.

The second the door shut behind him, Riley sprang to her feet, drunk on power and tequila.

“Well,” she announced, eyes glinting. “Time to get your other daddy over here.”

You reached for her instantly, one hand flying to her shoulder. “No. Sit. Down.”

But it was too late.

“Mr. Miller!” she called, loud and unbothered, voice slicing across the room like a siren. “Can you come here for a sec?”

You nearly died. Like-actually. You could feel your soul begin to evaporate from your body. You were seconds away from melting through the floorboards and dissolving into the tile.

Joel looked up from across the room, his expression unreadable, though the slight pinch between his brows made it clear he knew something was up. His gaze flicked to Riley, then slid to you. Suspicious. But intrigued.He stood slowly, jaw tightening just enough to make your stomach twist. Then, eyes never leaving yours, he began to make his way toward you. Your pulse thudded in your ears. This was so not good.

The man made his way toward your table with the kind of pace that felt deliberate, unhurried, but not casual either. Controlled. Like every step was calculated. His brows were slightly furrowed, jaw tense, the kind of look he wore when something didn’t sit quite right.

You kept your gaze fixed on your drink as if it could offer protection, your fingers wrapped tight around the glass like it was the only thing anchoring you to this plane of existence. He reached the table. Stopped. Didn’t say anything. He stood there like a question mark, his height suddenly more intimidating in the dim bar light, shadow cutting across the side of his face.

“You called, ma’am?” he said dryly, his voice dipped in Southern gravel, eyes flicking toward Riley with just enough amusement to pass as polite.

Nico took control. Without saying a word, he reached toward a nearby table, grabbed an empty chair, and dragged it over with a loud scrape that made you flinch. He gestured to it with the flair of someone offering a throne.

“Please. Have a seat.”

Joel hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he sat, easing into the chair with a familiar kind of weight, his broad shoulder brushing yours as he settled in. Warm. Solid. So close you could smell the cologne he always wore.

You stared at your drink. He stared straight ahead.

And then, his hand found your thigh under the table.

Your breath hitched, heart skittering into your throat. His palm was warm, fingers wide and deliberate as they curled around the meat of your thigh, squeezing once, firm, grounding—and then rubbing slow, tight circles like he had every right to touch you like that here, now, in front of everyone.

Your back straightened instinctively. No one said anything for a beat too long.

“So, Joel,” Nico said casually, swirling the melting ice in his drink. “How’s the… furniture business?”

You blinked. Furniture business? What was this man up to? Joel’s fingers didn’t stop. He answered smoothly, voice low and even. “Busy. Still backed up on custom work.” His thumb pressed just a little harder into your skin. “Hard to keep up with demand.”

Riley nodded, her chin in her hand, elbow on the table like she was interviewing a celebrity. “Mmm. I bet you keep… busy.” Her tone was definitely not something you had ever heard before. “You always seem like a hands-on kind of guy.”

Joel didn’t so much as flinch. Your friends were drunk. Too drunk to play it cool, but not drunk enough to shut up.

“I try,” he said, deadpan. “Comes with the territory.”

His hand inched higher on your thigh. You crossed your legs to stop yourself from making a sound.

“What about… evenings?” Nico chimed in, slouched low in his seat, a grin twitching at his lips. “You more of a homebody or… do you get out much?”

Joel smirked. You wanted to throw your drink at him. And then yourself.

“Depends,” he said, not looking at you. “If there’s good company.”

Riley’s gaze snapped to yours for a millisecond, then back to him. You lifted your glass to your mouth, more for cover than thirst.

Joel’s thumb dipped beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging against bare skin now, the touch maddeningly slow. You stared straight ahead, refusing to react, heat blooming in your cheeks. This was torture. This was delicious. This was going to get you both killed.

Joel leaned back in his chair a little, relaxed, easy. You could feel the amusement rolling off of him in waves, like he was watching a show only he could understand.

“Anything else you two wanted to ask?” he said, so calm, so composed. “Or was this just a pop quiz?”

“Oh,” Nico answered, voice syrup-thick with suspicion. “Plenty more questions. We’re just warming up.”

You were already on fire. Every nerve was tuned to Joel’s touch, the slow drag of his fingers along your inner thigh, the way his thumb kept tracing tight, infuriating circles just above your knee. Close. Teasing. Possessive. And yet, from the outside? He looked perfectly calm. Unbothered. What a sly little bastard.

“Mr. Miller,” Nico said again, too high pitched to be anything but suspicious. “Joel, remind me, how long have you known her dad?”

Joel tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hmm…. Since I moved here 5 years ago?”

“Wow,” Riley said. “That’s a long time. And you know her pretty well too?” She pointed at you.

His fingers pushed up further, stroking the sensitive skin at the top of your thigh, so close to where you wanted him, you nearly gasped. You forced your jaw to stay clenched, took a slow sip from your drink, hoping it masked the shiver that ran down your spine.

Joel’s voice came low and lazy: „Mhm. Sometimes I think I know her better than her dad.” He turned slightly toward you then, finally, and under the table, slow, patient, he slipped his hand between your thighs.

You nearly knocked your glass over.

“Everything alright?” he murmured, just loud enough for only you to hear, like the smirk was embedded in his voice. You nodded, didn’t trust yourself to speak.

His fingers brushed up against the damp heat between your legs, finding the thin barrier of your panties. And then, slowly, like he had all the time in the world, he began to stroke you through the fabric. Confident and Steady.

Riley was still going, her drunk curiosity only growing. “You’re not dating anyone, are you, Mr Miller? A guy like you? I feel like you’d be married or something.”

His fingers pressed a little harder. You could feel the slickness already there, the ache building. And still, he didn’t let up. Kept a rhythm, like it was nothing.

“Nope,” he said simply, eyes on Riley now. “Not married. Not seein’ anyone, officially.”

You bit your lip so hard it stung.

Nico leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Not officially, huh? So… seeing someone unofficially?” Gaze flicking towards you. Joel tilted his head, like he was actually thinking about it. Meanwhile, his fingers slipped under your panties. A soft exhale caught in your throat.

“Could say I’ve been… keepin’ company,” he drawled, rubbing slow, devastating circles over your clit with the pad of his finger. You twitched beside him, body tightening like a bowstring.

“Who?” Riley demanded, grinning. “Come on, don’t be shy. Someone local?” She knew the answer, that didn’t stop her from forcing it out of him. Daring him to say your name.

Joel finally turned his head, looked right at you. And god, those eyes. The intensity. The knowledge.

“Yeah,” he said, voice just a touch quieter. “Someone local.”

Your whole body pulsed at that. And then, he slid one finger into you. You clamped your thighs together on instinct, your hand flying to grip the edge of the table so hard your knuckles went white.

“Jesus, you alright?” Nico asked, brow furrowed.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m ugh fine. Just… warm.”

Joel didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch. He was so composed, so fucking casual while his fingers moved inside you, slow and deep, curling just right like he knew every inch of you already. Which he did.

“Y’all got the heat on too high in here,” Joel added, looking around like this was just another evening with old friends. You almost laughed. Almost. If you weren’t seconds from making a sound that would get you both in trouble for something very indecent.

“Oh, I know who it is,” Riley said suddenly, pointing a dramatic finger at Joel. “It’s the bartender. Has to be. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” Riley glared at you, sipping from the straw.

Joel chuckled softly, thumb circling your clit again, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“She’s sweet,” he said mildly. “But not quite my type.” The man had the audacity to stare you down, let his eyes wander over your body. You squeezed your eyes shut. You were so close. You could feel it coming on fast, that telltale pressure building low and hot and unrelenting.

Joel leaned toward you, his mouth brushing your ear, voice barely a whisper.

“Be good, baby. Cum nice and quiet for me.”

And so you did. Silently. Clenching around his fingers, your breath caught so deep in your chest it felt like falling. Heat rushed to your cheeks, your whole body trembling from restraint as you held back a sound that would’ve given you away instantly.

Joel let his fingers linger a moment longer. Then pulled back, slow and sweet, like he hadn’t just fingered you in a booth beside your clueless friends.

You kept your eyes on your glass, blinking hard, jaw clenched. Your legs were still shaking.

Casually, like he had just eaten something warm and delicious he lifted his finger to his mouth. In the right angle one could see the glistening on it. Eyes steady on yours he put it in his mouth, licked it, like there was chocolate cream from a croissant left on it. You thought you could reach your height again, just from him doing so. If you were alone, not in a room full of people , your friends, you would’ve climbed him like a tree right now. God he was sexy.

Nico tilted his head, looking at you closely.

“You look kinda… flushed.”

Joel smiled. “Think the tequila’s hitting her.”

You could have killed him. And married him.

Joel sat back with the kind of ease that came from a man who’d just gotten away with something. One arm hooked lazily over the back of your chair, fingers ghosting along your shoulder like it was second nature. One still a bit damp from his spit.

Riley’s gaze drifted from his hand to your flushed cheeks and back again, a slow smirk unfurling on her lips like a blooming flower in dangerous weather.

“Well,” she said, sipping her drink with exaggerated poise. “I must say, it’s nice when a man sticks around after flirting.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That right?”

Nico leaned in over the table, eyes glinting. “Oh, absolutely. Most men disappear after five minutes of banter.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say to me, Nico?”

“I’m saying,” Nico replied, lips curling upward, “you’ve clearly made yourself comfortable.”

His gaze flicked briefly to your knee, where Joel’s hand had rested not long ago, then met Joel’s again, unflinching. Joel met it head-on, his smirk softening into something quieter. Less smug. Almost fond.

“Comfort’s important,” he said simply. “Especially with the right crowd.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, then toward Riley, whose grin had lost its bite and settled into something sweeter. Protective, even. She reached across the table, tapping her fingers gently against yours.

“Just so you know,” she said, tone softer now, “if anyone gives you shit, we’ve got a shovel and alibis.”

Joel let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled more in his chest than in his throat. “Good to know.”

Nico tilted his glass in a mock-toast. “To mutual understanding. And, uh…whatever this is.” his hand waving between the two of you like he was shewing away a fly.

You groaned, pressing your forehead to the table. “Can we not bring that up again?”

“Who said anything?” Riley teased, grinning wickedly. “We’re just impressed with his nice manners for such a…handsome guy, that’s all.”

Joel shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I like a hands-on project.”

Your head snapped up. “Joel.”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence, though the twitch in his lip betrayed him.

There was laughter again. Easier this time. More full-bodied. It rippled through the group like the tension had finally exhaled.

No one said it out loud. No one needed to. They knew. He knew they knew. And they knew he knew they knew.

Joel met Riley’s gaze. Then Nico’s. His face serious for just a beat. “Thanks for… being decent about all this.”

“Hey,” Nico said, raising his brows, “she’s one of ours. You treat her like she deserves, then so far, so good.”

“She deserves a lot more than good,” Joel said, voice quiet but firm.

That shut everyone up for a moment. Riley looked at you. Nico smiled. And maybe your heart grew three sizes in the quiet between their smirks.

The ride home was the kind of chaos that only came after too much tequila, too many whispered confessions, and the unmistakable giddiness of something unraveled but somehow still intact.

Joel had slid behind the wheel without protest, hands steady on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable except for the slight lift at the corner of his mouth.

“Your parents’d kill me, then hang me in the town square if I didn’t get y’all home safe,” he muttered as he adjusted the mirrors. His thumb hovered over the radio dial, turning up a soft hum of old rock that filled the silence without demanding anything from it.

In the backseat, Riley and Nico were a mess of limbs and laughter, swapping stories and half-hearted insults like they hadn’t just spent an hour flirting with the man now driving them home. You glanced into the rearview mirror once, catching Riley looking at you with a knowing smirk before dissolving into giggles at something Nico said.

He dropped Nico off first, who, despite being half-asleep, still gave Joel a dramatic salute and thanked him with the exaggerated. Then Riley, who took her sweet time opening the truck door, only to lean forward and whisper, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Night, Mr. Miller.”

You could practically hear the wink in her voice.

Joel watched her walk up the path, arms crossed lightly over the steering wheel, headlights catching her silhouette as she disappeared through the front door and closed it behind her.

“She’s a riot,” he said, still watching.

A beat of silence passed. Then, finally, he spoke to you again.

“They’re nice kids.”

You frowned, something about the word catching you sideways. “They’re not kids.”

A pause. “They’re my age.”

That made him smile. Small. Almost guilty. “You’re right,” he said, nodding as he pulled the truck back into gear. “Nice adults, then.”

Your dads house came into view a moment later, the headlights throwing long shadows across the front steps, illuminating the familiar shapes of your porch, your door, your little piece of the world. The truck idled at the curb, humming beneath you both.

Neither of you moved. Joel reached over. Slowly. Carefully. His hand, big and warm and rough from years of use, cupped your cheek like it was something delicate, something worth holding. He leaned in, and when his lips met yours, it wasn’t hurried or possessive. It was slow. Sweet. Full of restraint and promise, like he was saying something he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured against your mouth. “Sleep tight.”

You smiled, cheeks hot and glowing, eyes suddenly too full. It was ridiculous how giddy you felt, like a schoolgirl with a secret scribbled heart on her notebook, like a girl kissed for the very first time.

Your fingers lifted instinctively, carding through his hair once, just enough to feel the soft give of it beneath your palm.

“Night, Joel,” you whispered. Then added, a little breathless, “This… was nice. Is nice.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you with that unreadable expression as you opened the door and stepped out into the night. From the porch, you turned back once, and he was still there. Hands resting on the wheel, eyes steady on you.

The first truly hot day of the year arrived like a dare, bold and bright, stretching itself across the sky with no intention of being polite. Sunlight poured through the kitchen windows in wide golden strokes, warming the tiled floor beneath your bare feet. The house smelled like sugar and lemon zest, like heat and childhood, like something good was about to happen even if you didn’t quite believe it yet.

Your hair was pulled up loosely, little strands clinging to the sweat gathering at your nape as you leaned over the counter, fingers dusted in flour, cheeks pink with the kind of effort that made you feel useful Grounded. Not at all like a girl who’d been letting her father’s best friend ruin her in increasingly inventive ways.

Your dad came in from the yard with a huff, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “That patio’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, moving toward the fridge like he was mid-monologue in some invisible sitcom. “Can’t keep the damn boards level with this heat warping everything.”

You glanced over your shoulder, flicking a bit of flour at him playfully. “You said the same thing last summer.”

“And I’ll say it again next summer too, unless I finally break a hip out there,” he grumbled, though the smile on his face gave him away. “I should’ve replaced it years ago. The whole damn thing’s more crooked than a politician.”

You laughed softly and returned to smoothing out the pie dough you’d been working on, peach and raspberry, thick brown sugar crumbles waiting in a bowl nearby. “Want me to help when I’m done?”

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “Called Joel. He owes me a favor, anyway. Figured the two of us could knock it out before the party tomorrow.”

Your hands stilled. Your heart didn’t. He said it so casually, like Joel Miller wasn’t the man you’d just sent a very explicit picture to two nights ago. Like he hadn’t once muttered your name into your shoulder while gripping your hips like you were salvation.

“Right,” you said, dusting your hands off a little too briskly. “Good idea.”

The door creaked open fifteen minutes later, heavy boots stepping onto the wooden floor, and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

Joel’s presence always came in waves. First the scent, sawdust and soap and a hint of sun-warmed cotton. Then the weight of his gaze, always anchored, always aware. Like even when he wasn’t touching you, he was holding something.

“Where’s the patient?” he asked casually, pulling off his sunglasses and sliding them onto his collar.

“Backyard,” your dad replied, grabbing a pair of gloves from the drawer. “She’s looking worse than ever.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. You could feel his eyes on you.

“Didn’t realize you had a baker in the house,” he said, stepping closer, voice laced with easy amusement. “Smells like summer in here.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt the corners of your mouth curve. “Peach raspberry. Don’t even think about stealing any.”

“Oh, I’m not thinking about it,” Joel murmured, already reaching out.

Your dad slapped his wrist, laughing. “Get your hands off her pie, Miller. You’re not that charming.”

Joel grinned, feigned innocence, and held his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’ll earn it first.”

He moved toward the back door, but not before passing close behind you, fingers grazing the small of your back in a touch so light it could’ve been imagined. But it wasn’t. You knew his touch like you knew the sound of your name. That one little stroke sent your stomach into knots. You caught his smirk just as he stepped outside.

From the window above the sink, you watched them work, your dad kneeling by the warped boards, Joel crouched beside him in a grey t-shirt gone almost translucent with sweat. His shoulders stretched the fabric taut, veins in his forearms flexing as he braced a beam and held it in place. Every now and then, he’d wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, eyes squinting against the sun. You leaned into the counter, lips parted slightly, and let yourself stare.

When your dad went inside to grab a new drill bit, Joel glanced up at the window, straight at you. You didn’t move. Neither did he. Then he winked. By the time your dad returned to the yard, you were already pretending to rinse off mixing bowls.

“I’m gonna run into town real quick,” your dad called through the open door. “Outta beer and the grill won’t start without a goddamn lighter. You good here?”

“Yeah,” you replied, careful to keep your tone even. “We’re good.”

The front door clicked shut behind him.

Outside, Joel straightened slowly. Turned. And headed for the house. The silence that followed was thick. Heavy with heat. With possibility. With the kind of tension that only ever led to one thing.

Your heart beat faster. Your hands were still sticky with dough. And Joel Miller was coming inside. The screen door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn right away, just stirred the glaze in the small saucepan on the stove, slow and lazy, like you hadn’t been watching him like a woman possessed for the past hour.

When you did glance back, Joel was already halfway into the kitchen, shirt sticking to his chest, hair damp from sweat, forearms streaked with dirt and effort. His eyes landed on you with purpose.

“Hi,” he said, voice low, curling sweet around the word like syrup. You smiled, just a little wicked.

“Hi, sexy stranger.”

He huffed out a laugh, closing the door behind him with his boot. “Stranger, huh?”

You tilted your head, licking a smear of sugar off your thumb. “Haven’t seen you in, what, thirty minutes? Felt like a lifetime.”

“Mm,” he drawled, stepping closer, hands hooking into his back pockets like he was trying not to touch you. “Could’ve sworn I caught you starin’ at me through the window.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe I was just admiring your carpentry skills.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean the way I hold a drill or the way my shirt stuck to my back?”

Your eyes flicked over him, slowly, deliberately. “Both. Very educational.”

Joel shook his head, smirking like he didn’t stand a chance and knew it.

“Don’t you have a cake to bake or somethin’?” he said, nodding to the half-assembled dish beside you.

“Still gotta put it in the oven,” you said, licking your lower lip unconsciously. “But I’ve got time.”

Joel stepped closer, his hand brushing against the back of your waist, warm and rough and grounding.

“That so?” he murmured. “Cause from where I’m standin’, that cake can wait.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance. He leaned in and kissed you. It started soft, tentative, like he was still pretending to behave, but it melted fast. His lips parted yours with an easy, aching hunger, fingers pressing into your waist like he couldn’t bear the distance anymore. The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

You gasped when his hands gripped your thighs, strong and purposeful, and he lifted you onto the counter in one smooth motion, like you weighed nothing. The cool marble kissed the back of your legs; the heat between you made everything else irrelevant.

“Joel” you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back just an inch, breath brushing your cheek.

“Joel” you breathed again, hands curling around the edge of the counter, “what if…what if my dad comes back?”

Your voice was shaky, not quite convincing even to yourself. He was already kissing down the side of your neck, lips dragging slow and hot against your pulse, and your thighs were trembling from how he stood between them, broad, solid, unbothered.

“He won’t,” Joel murmured, barely lifting his mouth. The words came like a hum against your skin. “And if he does…”

He kissed under your jaw. Bit there. Licked the sting away. “Let him.”

You gasped. The words hit low, coiling between your legs like they’d been custom-designed to make you ache. Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, that signature half-smirk ghosting across his face, pupils dark and fixed on you like he was watching you come undone molecule by molecule. His hands, calloused and warm, slid slowly up your thighs, over the flour-dusted hem of your sundress, fingers spreading you apart like instinct.

“You think I haven’t been dreaming about this?” he muttered, voice thick, Southern and filthy. “This pretty little dress ridin’ up your thighs while you bake for me? Like you knew what it’d do to me?”

You swallowed hard. Your chest rose and fell faster now. He didn’t wait. His hands pushed the fabric higher, bunching it around your hips, the heat of his palms branding your skin as he pressed between your legs, the grind of his jeans against your panties making your back arch.

“Should’ve known you’d be soaked for me the second I walked in,” he rasped, eyes dragging down to where your thighs were parted around him. “Knew you were watchin’. Knew you wanted me.”

You whimpered, hips instinctively chasing his rhythm. The pressure, the friction, the way he was still fully clothed while you were unraveling, it was maddening.

He kissed you again, deeper now, tongue pushing past your lips like he had something to claim, and he did. His hands slid up, fingers brushing the straps of your dress off your shoulders, exposing you slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a gift he’d waited too damn long to touch.

“You still worried about your dad?” he murmured against your mouth, voice gone to gravel.

You shook your head. He grinned, one hand teasing over your chest, thumb flicking against your nipple through the lace of your bra.

“Didn’t think so.”

His fingers slid slow and deliberate beneath the hem of your dress, rough palms pressing your thighs apart with a quiet command that stole the breath right from your lungs.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low and unhurried. His lips brushed your ear, warm and wicked. “That mouth of yours usually has so much to say.”

You shivered, hands gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. He rocked forward just enough for you to feel the heavy pressure of his cock, still clothed, pressing against the soft heat between your legs. Your head tipped back with a shaky gasp.

“Joel” you breathed, needy, lost in the friction.

He chuckled. God, he sounded smug. Dark. Controlled. “That ain’t what you usually call me, baby.”

You blinked, dazed, lips parted.

“What is it you like to call me, hmm?” He grazed his nose along your cheek. “Use your words.”

Your thighs tightened around his hips.

“…Daddy.”

The word left your mouth like a confession.

Joel growled low in his throat, hands gripping your waist, grounding you to him. “That’s more like it,” he whispered, hips rolling in a slow, devastating rhythm. “My good girl.”

He undressed you like he was unwrapping something precious, like time didn’t matter, like the world outside the walls could wait. Every inch of fabric he pulled away was followed by a kiss, a touch, the scrape of stubble across soft skin. When you were bare beneath him, panting, trembling, he paused to look at you.

And that look—hungry and reverent, like you were something he’d built with his own hands and meant to worship—burned hotter than the sun outside.

“You want me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice hoarse, eyes locked on yours. “Say it.”

“I want you,” you whispered, breathless. “I want you to, Joel, please…”

He kissed you before you could finish, one hand sliding behind your back, the other guiding your hips toward him, aligning every aching part of you until you gasped his name like a prayer.

The moment he pushed forward, slow, thick, deep, you broke. Not loud. Not obscene. Just a soft, cracked moan that curled around his name like it was the only word you knew.

He moved slowly at first, savoring it. Savoring you. His hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go, your foreheads pressed together, breath shared, the heat between you messy and unrelenting.

“Goddamn,” he groaned against your skin. “You feel like heaven, baby. Like home.”

You wrapped your arms around him, legs tightening around his waist, meeting every thrust with desperate need. It wasn’t frantic, it was aching. Deep. Raw. Like he was trying to remind you of every second you’d been apart.

And when you finally came, shaking, clinging to him, biting back a scream into the crook of his neck, he followed with a broken groan, holding you still as he gave in, buried deep, heart racing against yours. For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, as the room settled around you, and your breath returned in small, sweet gasps, you looked down between your bodies, the evidence of him spilling out of you in slow, glistening trails.

Joel followed your gaze and smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the gentlest touch.

“You look good with glaze on you, darlin’,” he murmured. “Understand now why you’re making that for the cake too.”

You laughed, hoarse, warm, glowing.

“I’ll add it to the recipe.”

You were still on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, Joel leaning against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder as his breath slowed. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft ticking of the oven timer and the birdsong bleeding through the open window. The scent of sugar and sweat hung in the air, sticky and heady..

You shifted slightly, brushing your fingers through his damp curls. “We could’ve actually been caught, you know.”

Joel huffed against your skin, mouth brushing the space just beneath your collarbone. “Would’ve been worth it.”

You snorted. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He pulled back slightly to look at you, eyes hooded but soft. “Still worth it.”

You rolled your eyes but your smile betrayed you.

“We’re gonna have to be careful tomorrow,” you murmured, smoothing your dress back down over your thighs. “I mean… if my dad saw us like that…”

Joel leaned back enough to let your legs drop from around him, his fingers idly brushing the inside of your knee as he looked at you. “You want to keep sneakin’ around forever?”

The question hit like a pebble tossed in still water, quiet but echoing.

Your brows lifted slightly. “Joel…”

He tilted his head, searching your expression. “What if we told him? Not like right this second…but soon.”

You bit your lip. “Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Joel’s mouth twitched. “Would you say yes if it is?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I would.”

“Good.” His hand slid up to cup your jaw. “Then yeah. I guess I’m askin’. Be my girl.”

You leaned into his palm, a stupid grin tugging at your cheeks. “You’re lucky you’re hot and can build things.”

“And you’re lucky I’m bad at saying no to you,” he teased.

There was a pause then. A beat of stillness where you both just looked at each other.

“Do you think he’ll be mad?” you asked, quieter now.

Joel exhaled slowly. “Yeah. At first. Probably say some shit I’ll deserve. But he’ll come around. He loves you. Wants you happy.”

You nodded. “Still gonna be awkward.”

Joel smirked, stepping back and adjusting his jeans. “Everything with me’s a little awkward, sweetheart.”

You hopped down from the counter, legs still shaky, and turned toward the oven, brushing your fingers along the edge of the counter where things had just gone very, very sideways.

“Still think you like me better with your version of glaze on me,” you murmured over your shoulder.

Joel groaned like a man on the edge of his last nerve. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You winked. “You’d go out smiling.”

Taglist: @fallout-girl219 @glitterspark @thegirlthatsfalling @ashleyfilm

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