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lassiie · 9 days ago

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HACKER!STEPBRO HEESEUNG - TRAPPED.

The one where your antisocial stepbro pretends he's not obsessed—while secretly hacking you, jerking off to your secrets, and discovering about your desire. He’s obsessed… And you'll use it.

BEST TO READ IN DARK MODE FOR EFFECTS

CONTENT ↠ nsfw! mdni!, smut, angsty toxic Heeseung, obsessive, psychosexual dark vibes step bro Heeseung, stalker heeseung, if I can't have you no one can typpa heeseung, deep voyeurism kink, needy/pervy/manipulative reader, strong depiction of fantasies, sexual tension, consensual edging, p in the v, overstimulation, , light choking, public act, bad behavior's reader.

WORDCOUNT ↠ 9k (not proof read enough.. damn...)

Was literally obsessed with those two songs when writing this : https://open.spotify.com/intl-fr/album/4OFZVvqlg84Czl7td7XddK?si=rakigTTnSJyY8CnPyp8A7w

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Heeseung barely glanced up the first time you met.

Not when your mom introduced you, her laugh sharp and grating over the clink of designer glassware. Not when she called you her little angel, like she hadn’t spent the last decade ignoring your existence—like a piece of cloth begging to be brought back just because it’s trendy now. And definitely not when you smiled at him like you actually meant it.

He just slouched further into his hoodie—hood up, sleeves covering half his hands like armor. Said something that might’ve been “hey,” but it sounded more like: I don’t give a shit.

You smiled anyway. Quiet, composed. Like you didn’t notice he hadn’t met your eyes yet, hadn’t even registered the color of his irises. He had a good face, for sure. And a nice name. Heeseung. Hee—seung.

Let’s try not to forget it…

He’s Heeseung—the one who doesn't match the luxury flooring or manicured smiles. Heeseung, who looked more interested in his phone screen than the pricey piece of steak he’d just been served.

You—

You were different. And Heeseung noticed.

Because other girls—especially the daughters of his father’s revolving door of Stepford wives—always played the same game: almost flirty, too fake, self-obsessed, and excited to be part of the family.

You… you were calmer. Almost shy. Ashamed to even call your mom “Mom.” You were also interested in his presence—lightly tapping his foot with yours, giving him those apologetic doe eyes, like: Sorry that my shameless mom got a grip on your already-married dad just to milk him dry…

But it’s not like he divorced his mom for yours. And it’s not like you were the first one. Generally, the other step-siblings never asked about him. Never cared to know what lay beneath the hoodie-tortured-kid style he wore like armor.

You?

You looked at him like he was a person. Like you saw something he didn’t even believe was still there.

And with months—and then a year—maybe… you liked what you saw.

You asked questions. Not the fake kind. Real ones.

“You coded that game on your own?”

“You really won a national contest?”

“That glitch mechanic you added… did you write it from scratch?”

He wasn’t used to that kind of attention. Not anymore.

You leaned over his laptop one afternoon, wide-eyed, genuinely impressed. Your breath was warm on his shoulder, the scent of vanilla and soft detergent clinging to your hoodie—one he was almost sure used to be his.

“You’re kind of a genius,” you’d said, and smiled that smile. Soft. Easy. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

Because why would you be? You were always so nice and caring to him. You’d bring him a plate of food when his dad never cared to check even once. Leave Post-its with sweet pep talks before exams—ones that made him smile for the first time in a decade. Sit silently beside him after he got scolded for placing second on the honor board. Your hand, always soft and peach-scented, would stroke his hair like he wasn’t eight months older. And your eyes—so sweet when they met his.

You weren’t supposed to make him feel things.

And he wasn’t supposed to want someone like you.

But there you were. Not just prim—but infuriatingly so. You weaponized it. You made being stuck-up look like a goddamn virtue. All perfect posture and polite smiles. Still, something was off. Like how you made him open up to you, but never really talked about yourself—your life, your past. Always mysterious, always evasive when he got curious, always turning the tables on him.

You… you made him feel watched. Seen. Known.

And he didn’t like not knowing you back. Because he needed to know everything. It was pathological. Every variable that could disturb his life. Every secret.

And you—you were the unknown variable. The only one he couldn’t figure out.

And the worst part?

Heeseung couldn’t match you. He wasn’t good with people. Never had been. Getting you to open up? Never happening. He even got tense in crowds. Even if girls liked him, he couldn't maintain relationships beyond hookups. He could throw a punch, sure—but he'd rather let the other guy walk off with a smirk, too bored to bother.

But he was good at something: systems. Code. Surveillance.

So he broke the rules he’d promised himself he wouldn’t—with you.

He hacked your devices.

He shouldn’t have connected to them. Shouldn’t have hijacked your phone. Shouldn’t have hacked your webcam feed like it was just another game level to conquer.

It started innocent—ish. Really. Just some harmless digital snooping. New mother, new stepsister, weird vibes, potential threat to his peace and privacy—totally justifiable.

But your passwords were laughable. The kind of thing a middle schooler could crack.

Seriously. “Bookworm123”?

Please.

After all he was Mr. Cybersecurity Prodigy. Award-winning code monkey. VPN for his VPN, two-factor-auth god.

And he peeked. Just a little…

Your instagram private account, that your mom swore you didn’t have because “socials medias was too destructive for her future doctor of a child.”

Your spotify. Pinterest boards. You’re files.

like essays about behavioral neuroscience and a note named “journaling” : Plans. Rage. Angry rebellion written between textbook reviews. Your escape plan : college far away, control of your own life, zero influence from Barbie and her string of Stepdads. How you craved more. Your identity crisis, GPA fetishist, and how competitive you were to the point of mania. Basically, a mirror of Heeseung in the shape of someone who tried to play the hero of his narrative.

Then, it got worse.

Because curiosity became fixation. He was too deep for it not to be.

On sleepless nights, Heeseung discovered things he absolutely shouldn't.

That his straight A’s and volunteering hours stepsister — was actually sneaking off to frat party with her friends, just feel alive, get waisted and let some sophomore finger her.

The music you fall asleep to, your “fuck” playlist too — the one you wouldn’t admit to owning even under threat of death.

That habit of yours to flirt with strangers like you had a death wish or just want to be ruined so badly being jailed would be for your own good.

That you send cropped pics, no face — just enough tits and thighs, to creeps then ghost them when they beg to meet, just to feel seen.

And he knew the kind of porn you watched on school nights, after wishing him sweet dreams. Earphones on, lips between your t-shirt collar like you’re scared someone might hear you in that big mansion. And what killed him is how fucking rough it is. Spit. Hair-pulling. Throat-fucking. Girls like you weren’t supposed to want that. Girls like you were supposed to blush and look away, like when he got too close. You’re supposed to be horrified at things like that — not get off to it at 1:38 a.m.

He discovered your texts with that secret boyfriend of yours. How badly he treated you—and how you let him, just to feel owned, loved. He knew when you snuck in those late-night FaceTimes, shirt half-off, hand between your thighs, playing the loyal girlfriend for him and his pathetic dick.

And Heeseung? He was obsessed with that version of you—the one he didn’t even dare to fantasize about, yet you handed to him on a silver plate.

Your self-care sessions got him hard under his desk. Got him jerking off to the way your fingers curled around your own throat in the dim hue of your bedroom, playing at power, pretending you didn’t crave being broken open.

You were too good at pretending. Sitting across from him, blouse crisp, smiling like a poetry award was the climax of your week.

What a goddamn lie.

But at least he’d seen you now. Most of you. And he understood better. Understood your issues. But something in him snapped.

Because this wasn’t just about obsession anymore.

It wasn’t about lust.

Or even protection.

It was about you.

And how you made him feel real again.

How you gave him a purpose.

You didn’t flinch when he glared. Didn’t avoid him at dinner. You just smiled, slid him your extra fries, and asked about the AI competition like it mattered. You looked at him like he was a person.

Not a project. Not a problem.

Not a hacker. Not a delinquent.

Not some mistake his father regretted.

And that… made you dangerous.

Because now you were a necessity. Something—someone—he cared about.

He did want to protect you.

But he also wanted to own you.

To erase the line between your bedroom and his. Between your thoughts and his access. Between your gasps at night and his name.

You weren’t supposed to get close.

You weren’t supposed to care.

And he wasn’t supposed to fall for you.

Fall for you?

...

But now what ?

You were the virus in his system.

The girl who said “good job” when he didn’t ask for praise. Who laughed when no one else did. Who touched his shoulder once—just once—and left him with a twitch in his fingers he couldn’t debug.

But you were a line of code he couldn’t rewrite. A live feed he couldn’t turn off.

And maybe, if he watched long enough—if he memorized every breath, every sigh, every single unguarded look—you wouldn’t disappear like the others.

Maybe, if he learned your pattern…he could break you open before you broke him.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d want him to. Even if it meant losing something. Even if it meant pulling you into the dark with him… and never letting you go.

Now you were sitting across from him. You spare him a glance while structuring your salad like a freak, with those doe eyes and he’s hard. Hard at a family dinner while they talked business.

Suddenly his breath catches your feet touching under the table. Like questioning, you good ?

Yeah it’s me, Heeseung. That sweet voice of yours haunting his head.

His foot slides slower in between your legs mindlessly and when you almost jolt, he realizes.

“gotta go sleep.” he blurred, rushing off the table. “Tomorrow is exam day.”

Fuck, he wants more. More of your secrets.More of you—the real you.

So he turned on your webcam, night after night, and your phone’s, and tab. like you were his favorite streamer, his favorite radio mc, the best sound to sleep. Like you wanted him to fantasise, think of it every night…

You were stretched across your bed, laughing into your phone, wearing nothing but a tank and panties, circling your finger on your belly mindless. The way girls do when they forget they’re being watched.

You laid out your clothes for the next day like some little honor-roll princess—giggling when your friend called you a chaebol, and you shrug her off.

But the way you lingered on the lace you never wear… the silk you only sleep on alone… the sheer pieces he has never seen— holding them up to your chest, slow movements like the reflection was his to tell you what to wear. It was fucking foreplay. You were a fucking siren, with your fucking hair finally down, and those dumb big scare glasses off.

And him ?

Heeseung…

He was already crashing on the rocks. He was a black-hat addict no-full-blown cyber-pervert. rock hard, mindlessly stroking his bulge at the sheer form of you in unmatched underwears.

So innocent. So mine.

Some days later, you knocked on his door while your parents were off circling the globe, allergic to stillness and obligations. Your hair was tied up but messier than usual, cheeks sun-kissed, eyes almost red—like you’d cried.

God, if someone made you cry… I’d kill them.

You held two glasses of soda, dripping with condensation. No way you could deny you’d been pacing by his door for the last hour.

“What are you up to, genius? I’m bored,” you said, voice half-curious, half-something else.

Heeseung—fool, addict, liar—let you in. Let you get too close. Showed you things he shouldn’t because you asked with that look that made him feel like a god, not a glitch. But also made him wonder who had made you sad enough to want to change your mind.

Still, you smiled at his screens like they were art. Touched his keyboard like it was sacred. No step-sister had ever looked at him like that before—hell, no one actually had. Fuck, he needed to focus. Focus on you, not you.

“You really made all this?”

He nodded, trying not to smirk, trying not to shake. His fingers danced across the keys like a seduction.

“Wanna see something fun?”

A window blinked open. He typed some commands, and grainy footage appeared: the neighbor’s yard. Middle-aged man with hedge clippers, snipping bonsai like manicuring his soul.

He tapped more keys. Suddenly, sprinklers roared to life. The neighbor shrieked, dropped the shears, and bolted.

You burst out laughing, collapsing into him, palm against his chest. That sound—reckless, sweet—made something snap inside him. It wasn’t just pride. It was possession. You weren’t weirded out. You liked it. Liked him. Not the fake polite way. The way that made him want to caress your cheek and kiss those red eyes.

But he was a coward—or your strongest soldier, as he liked to call himself. One who wanted you close, for good, not some fling you’d regret like the others he barely tolerated. No, he wanted you for life—and he was in the perfect position, as long as your parents behaved.

Then your eyes met. Dangerous idea sparking. You dared him with your gaze, then dashed out of his room.

“Try it on my bedroom camera!” you shouted, disappearing down the hall, hoodie flapping like a flag.

Fuck. If only you knew he was already connected.

Moments later — Cam03: Her Bedroom Feed lit up.

You stood in front of the lens—he used to fuck himself to thoughts of you—starry-eyed as he purposefully reactivated the red dot, signaling it was on. Made a mental note to re-enable it later.

You waved. Smiled like sin. Mouthing: “See me?”

He choked. Because yes—he saw you. Always had. But now? Now you saw him.

Like you always knew.

You reached for your top, lifted the hem just enough to flash bare skin, then darted out of frame, laughing like it was a game.

His chest burned. Panic and arousal mixed in his bloodstream like a drug. Heeseung’s brain broke.

But he didn’t shut it down. He couldn’t. Instead, he gave in. His trembling fingers dimmed your room’s lights, shifting godspeed to soft pink. He knew it was your favorite. Knew too much.

Then he started your playlist—the one with soft beats, gentle melody, moonstruck, your favorite.

You paused in the doorway. Turned just enough for the camera to catch you again. Smiled with pure fascination, like a kid. You should’ve been afraid. But you weren’t.

You looked at the cam again, really looked, like he was the sweetest boy, and you didn’t care much what he was capable of—because it was him.

You walked back to his door, dripping sunlight and mischief.

“That was so cool,” you said, high-fiving him like your heart wasn’t thundering. Like you hadn’t just exposed the darkest part of him and come back wanting more. “Can you, like… track people? Their phones or whatever?”

Heeseung blinked. “I-if their GPS is on. Or if they ping the network.”

You tilted your head. Bit your lip. “…Wanna play hide and seek?”

He scoffed in disbelief, but there was a glint behind his eyes—half challenge, half thrill. Like he’d just been dared to play a game he already knew the rules to.

He grabbed his laptop. The mansion was too big. Too full of shadows, quiet corners. A maze of marble, high ceilings, inherited guilt.

Heeseung sat somewhere, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

You texted him: “find me.” One signal. One flare. Then silence.

He tracked you through your phone GPS—chose not to use the hallway cams, even though he easily could have. Something intimate, invasive, about watching your little red dot move on his map. Every time he walked to you was an ode to the game only you two could play.

Library.

“Checkmate. You’re here.”

“Wow! So you really can!”

West Wing.

“If I’m facing a mirror, it’s too easy… not even fun.”

“Fuck…”

Wine Cellar.

“If you’re trying to get drunk, pick the 2007 Bordeaux.”

You laughed.

The pool.

He stuck to the GPS. The red dot blinking. Stalling. Then disappearing.

You texted: “find me now.”

His screen dimmed like the whole house was holding its breath.

Heeseung’s pulse quickened. GPS cut out. No new pings. He tried again. Twice. Three times. Nothing.

Every nerve in his body was a wire of curiosity. The air heavy with chlorine and humidity as he stepped toward the pool deck, leaving his computer by the bar.

Then he found it—your phone, face down on the stone near the pool.

But you, where—

“Got you!” You leapt.

Laughter, bare legs, hoodie off. Heeseung didn’t have time to react before you crashed into him—both of you tumbling into the water with a splash that shattered the silence.

You surfaced first, grinning like a devil. “You can’t find me if I don’t want you to, huh?” you teased, flicking water at him.

Heeseung stared at you, laughing mid-cough. Clothes heavy. Hair plastered to his forehead. The water clung to your skin in a way that made his hands twitch under the surface. You floated closer then. Then reached out and hooked your fingers in his bangs, stroking them like you always did. Then tugging gently.

“How about I cut your hair?” you whispered, too close to him not to have his eyes linger on your lips. “We’re starting university soon. Can’t show up like some code-goblin, right?”

He snorted. But you two didn’t move. Just watched each other's souls for too long. Heart hammering. Skin burning. You were in his pool. In his arms now. In his system.

“Are you okay?”

He, with the most considering eyes a family member ever gave you. But you just nodded to his biggest displeasure. Something was wrong, yeah.

Actually, everything was wrong. And surely something was wrong with you. You felt trapped. In your studies, in your relationship, in these always-new families, in your boring unstable life. You wanted more. More attention, more love, more recognition, more freeness, just more…

You weren't special like Heeseung. You couldn’t clap your fingers and get that video back from your so-called boyfriend—he threatened to leak it if you ever thought of leaving him again. Couldn’t clap your fingers and make a scholarship appear on your forms for university, and couldn’t clap your fingers to make you go to your best choice without the biggest loan you can think about.

But it was better to tell him everything was okay. Because if you didn't fake it… you’d be dead by now.

And maybe it’s the weather, or his concerned look, or his trembling hands on your ribs—not too low, not too high. But it felt good being with Heeseung, even better seeing the way he looked at you—you really had a problem.

“Can you… like… if I ever asked you…”

“What?” He came closer, almost locking in his hands. “Tell me…”

“If someday I needed you, would you… like… help me if I have something very complicated to solve... like… you know, math.” You laughed it off like you weren't about to ask him to get that sextape back.

He nodded so obediently it hurt. Fuck, you had him in the palm of your hand without doing anything more than just letting him watch. Deny his ever-growing desire. Playing this game you caught him in.

Yeah… maybe you really were what your mom made out of you… sadly.

After that, Heeseung was like a man on a mission. He hacked every piece of info he could find on that deep shit. Until he found it… your complicated math exercise…

A tap of you and him. Filmed like you weren’t aware of it. Heeseung couldn’t find the courage to watch it…

Until he did.

And it was everything he ever fantasized doing with you.

I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him.

That guy needed to be out of your life.

Now.

He could frame him for anything he wanted. Crash his Tesla. His mind was spiraling as he bit on his nail, replaying that video again and again and again. Zooming on you.

I’ll protect you.

First, you needed an escape. Easy—that guy already cheated on you with so many girls, it was easy for you to catch him. So he wrote a fantasy he hoped you’d fall for. He drafted messages from your bf’s phone. A fake date. Something sweet, just enough like your boyfriend to pass.

“Meet me tonight baby girl. Just us. Let’s talk. 9PM. My room.”

“Baby girl…” you hated that name, but still couldn’t refuse him. And now Heeseung understood.

You saw it, and for a second, you believed. He watched you re-read it, then start getting ready—lip gloss, that fluttery dress, even that nervous little smile like it still meant something.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend was across campus, buried in someone else. Moaning her name. Careless, as always.

Heeseung watched it all—your hope fading when you opened that door, his betrayal, his choke. Your silence. Her grasp. One earbud in, one eye on every camera feed you both could offer.

You left the place in a rush, your phone starting to buzz as Heeseung watched every message your now-ex boyfriend sent you. You found yourself drifting in a club. You needed air, music, and drinks.

The music wasn’t even that good, your drink, not that strong. You didn’t plan to dance. And you didn’t plan for some no-brain guy with smooth hands to hit on you.

And you almost let him have his way near the bathrooms. Just to forget the sound of your phone. Forget that you had to go back to that guy until he decided he’d had enough or leaked the tape.

Almost.

Until Heeseung’s hand was on your wrist, showing up out of nowhere to pull you away.

“Heeseung?”

He got you out of the club, his hand digging into your wrist. The car ride was dead silent. Heeseung looked pissed. You were hollow, but not dumb. And you let him snap.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer.

“... Don’t you have a bf?”

Still silent. Tears welled up before you could blink them back, and Heeseung was at a loss for words. Yeah, it was that easy to shush him—crocodile cries easy.

“Stop crying…” he muttered, but he looked panicked now. Like your tears were acid on his skin. “Tell me what’s going on?”

Like he didn’t know.

But you had to play it well. Make him do it tonight, and no other night.

“He cheated…”

“Then leave him…”

“I can’t…” Hee looked at you with fake wonder. “He filmed me once… and…”

He nodded, enough to tell you you didn’t need to keep going.

When you got home, Heeseung took your hand before you stormed into your room, and he watched you—really watched—and got in a hug. Caressing your hair, getting closer to your ear, “I'll help you.”

You almost feared he could feel your smile. You detached your head with the saddest questioning expression.

“I’ll protect you,” he said, the heaviest stare he ever gave you.

You just nodded like you weren’t expecting much. When you actually wanted exactly what he gave you.

Back in your room, you kept re-seeing Heeseung’s expression. Almost mad, almost dangerous.

And you. You wanted more. You wanted everything—not just protection, but revenge. Revenge for the time you lost on that guy, for your virginity you couldn’t bring back, for the stress… for everything.

So you opened your laptop. Placed your phone next to it like it’s part of the performance. You know he’s watching.

You know.

Heeseung, on his part, got in his room ready to execute the next part of his plan when the ping of your camera alerts him. But tonight is not the night. After seeing you like that, he doesn't want to do that.

So he started to undress. Until—

“Heeseung?”

His head snapped to his monitor. WTF.

“You’re here, no? I mean, you’re watching.”

He almost fell on the ground, unable to walk straight to his computer.

What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What?

The webcam light doesn’t flicker on right away when you open it.

You look at your reflection. This webcam is better than the last time you used it. Wide-angle. Pretty high-def. You can see almost your entire room. Bed. Closet. Console. The mirror angled just right to show the bathroom.

God. You made it so easy for him.

You let your fingers lazily drift to your dress straps. In a slow reveal. You watch yourself in the camera—legs tucked just right to keep mystery intact. Eyes locked on the return. You open your—

“You like it when I do that?” You looked almost innocent doing it. What the fuck were you doing, Heeseung’s mind screamed. “You want more?”

Heeseung was stunned. Too many questions. Too many desires.

He didn’t even respond, his hand mindlessly disconnecting your camera’s red dot and reconnecting again like Morse.

“Then ruin him for me. Make him as ashamed as I was.”

You were pulling his obsession like strings. A puppet master in silk cloth. The light on the webcam flickered once again.

You smiled, slowly nodding. “Good night, Heeseung.” Shut it all down.

By morning, half the campus was infected with a juicy little virus: dozens of very compromising photos of your now-ex, including a special feature of him being pegged by none other than his mom’s best friend.

Iconic.

The breakup text? Already sent. Blocked him before your brain even had a chance to process.

You didn’t see him all day. No dinner, no open door when you brought snacks. Nothing.

Maybe you really fucked up. Poor Heeseung, thinking you were innocent, only to find out you were just like everyone else—grey, messy, complicated.

But just before bed, your phone lit up. A note. Your password written clear on the screen.

You sat frozen, eyes flickering between the note that started typing on its own, and the webcam pointed right at you.

“I’ll always protect you.”

Then, an mp4 file popped up. Your lips curved into a shy smile.

You almost said something, but instead, you tapped beneath his words:

“Thank you, Heeseung. I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t there.”

The cursor blinked, paused—like he was thinking hard about what to say next.

“I protect what’s mine.”

Your eyes drifted to the webcam. “Am I?”

“Aren’t you?”

Your gaze dropped shyly, biting your lip to keep the smile from slipping out. Fuck, it was hot—this obsessive, protective boy who’d kill for you.

“I am…” you breathed, fingers playing with the thin straps of your dress.

“Maybe?”

Slowly, you peeled it off. No bra. No panties. Just you—bare, glowing in the soft light of your screen.

Heeseung’s side: panting mess. Trembling. Rock hard. Watching was always intense, but this? His brain shorted out. Every movement you made poured fuel on the fire in his chest—the way you loosened your hair, slid off your glasses, shy but teasing.

Your voice slipped through his headphones like a spell.

“Tell me what you want,” you breathed. “I’ll do it. As a thank you.”

He was nearly feral, watching you perched like a dream made just for him. But now you wanted him to take the lead. For once, you wanted control handed over.

And for a long, heavy moment, silence.

Then, a new line in your notes:

“Anything?”

You nodded, lips parting.

Another line.

“Touch yourself.”

“For me.”

You rose, heading for your bed.

Then:

“No. Here.”

You sat back down. Fully exposed. The chair never felt colder. The electricity on your skin was undeniable—the weight of someone watching, devouring every move.

You shivered. Something folded inside, vulnerable but not scared.

Then your screen flickered.

A video opened.

Porn.

But not just any porn. A girl like you—same frame, soft lighting. She was in a gaming chair, legs parted, cat headphones, a pink toy buzzing between her thighs. Moaning like she’d been waiting for eyes to watch.

You blinked. The message was loud and clear.

Your breath caught—not shocked, but challenged.

Back to the webcam—doe eyes, tempted. Your fingers traced lower, hips shifting, copying her exact position. Mimicry never felt so twisted.

You didn’t hesitate. Your fingers moved.

Heeseung watched like it was a live confession. Pupils dilated, chest heaving, gripping himself tight, trying not to explode too soon.

A message appeared:

“Slower.”

You obeyed, breath shaking, already slick with every stroke.

Another message:

“Fuck, you’re shaking.”

You were. Legs twitching, spine arching against the chair.

You never thought you’d go this far, but he was puppeteering you with his commands.

Then:

“I’ve never seen you like this. Fuck. I want to cum in you. In that chair. Just like that.”

You groaned, eyes fluttering shut, but forced them open—locking onto the lens like it was him.

Another message:

“I want you ruined. For anyone else. Say it.”

You moaned, fingers freezing.

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

“Say it again,” he typed.

“I’m yours, Heeseung.”

The pressure built—right at the edge—

Then:

“Stop.”

“Don’t cum.”

Your breath hitched. You froze mid-stroke, legs trembling.

Another line:

“I said stop. If anyone makes you cum tonight—it’s me.”

Your fingers hovered, shaking. The ache burned deep in your thighs, stomach taut.

But you stopped.

Because his word mattered more than your desire now.

Your screen blinked.

“Get your toy.”

You swallowed, nodded, reached into your drawer.

The vibrator was familiar—sleek, pink, faintly scented from your date-night oil. You rubbed it, coating it with your wetness, then slid it slowly inside, breath heavy.

Then the toy buzzed. Flickered. Came alive.

You gasped—he was controlling it.

Before you could say a word, it pulsed hard. Your body jerked, chair creaking beneath you. Your grip tightened on the arms as pleasure rolled through you like a whip.

“That’s it,” he typed. “Don’t touch it. Just take it.”

You moaned—too much, too fast—your body trembling, legs spreading without control. The sounds you made were filthy, desperate.

Heeseung’s fingers typed again.

“Grip the chair.”

You obeyed.

The toy buzzed harder, relentless and cruel.

“Look at the camera.”

Tears pricked, but you held his gaze—through that little glowing lens. Your thighs trembled, breath catching—

He knew.

He memorized every sound, every gasp, every twitch.

Your climax hit like an explosion—so fierce your back arched from the chair. Toes curled, lips parted in a silent cry.

If only you could hear it—the gasp, the groan, the shuddering moan from his room. Rooms apart, perfectly synced.

You collapsed back against the seat, chest heaving.

The toy powered down. The room fell silent but electric. Only the Notes app stayed open. One final line appears:

“I know your body better than anyone ever will.”

You smile, eyes rolling, calming yourself. You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes.

Unknown Caller.

You smirk. Answer it without hesitation.

Hee,” you whisper, lazy satisfaction dripping from your tone.

You hear him—shaky, panting, like the edge nearly broke him. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck… You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His voice is hoarse, frayed with restraint. You picture him—still burning from his climax, hand resting low, skin flushed.

“You drive me insane. Every breath you take, every moan...” He watches you lift your thighs, tucking yourself shyly behind them like a girl playing innocent. “It’s mine. You’re mine. Don’t you get it? I want you so bad I—fuck—I can’t even—”

You cut in softly.

“Heeseung,” you murmur, voice smooth like silk sliding over a blade. “I never said I was yours...”

Silence.

You lean in, sugar-sweet, doe eyes locked on the lens, like you don’t quite know what you’re doing.

“You think this makes me yours?”

He breathes hard. You swear you hear the tension in his throat—how he swallows that growl.

“Then what?” he whispers. “What do I have to do?”

You hum, hiding your face in your thighs, thoughtful. “I’ll know.”

Heeseung almost chokes. “You’re playing with me.”

You tilt your head.

“Of course I am, Hee. Isn’t that what you like? What we always did? Playing games.” Your voice softens, teasing, the tone that always breaks him. “You’re obsessed, Hee. But to own me?” you shake your head slowly. “You’ll have to do more than just watch me cum on camera.”

A pause. You let it hang, let it burn. Then, low and teasing:

“If you really want me,” you whisper. “Stop being a coward. Show me.”

His breath catches. You almost feel the stillness on his end.

Click.

You hang up.

Still smiling, you toss your phone aside.

“Good night, Heeseung,” you murmur to the camera before shutting everything down.

Heeseung hadn’t heard your voice in three days.

Not on the phone, not through the headphones, not even that little intake of breath when you tiptoe around your room late at night.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours of silence.

No webcam flickers. No Notes app replies. No little “good night, Hee” teasing him through pixels.

Nothing.

He tapped at your IP like a lunatic. Pinging dead signals. Checked your cloud for new files. Scraped your cache for cam logs, anything—anything—that might prove you were still playing.

But you weren’t. You’d shut him out completely. Blocked him, in every way that mattered—except the one that destroyed him the most: in person, you were still perfect.

Because in real life, you were still her.

Still the step-sister who sat next to him at dinner, nudging his arm, sipping from his glass like it meant nothing. Still in those stupid soft modest dresses that smelled like your vanilla lotion and innocence. Still saying his name in that sweet voice that didn’t match the girl who once whispered “I’m yours” for a night, while fingering herself in his favorite dress.

Still shy smilling in front of the parents, like he wasn’t slowly going fucking insane of you ghosting him in the cruelest way possible.

Heeseung clenched his jaw until it hurt. His fists, tighter. You were torturing him. Training him with your silence. Denying him touch, sound, ownership—making him feel like just another loser watching from a screen.

And worst of all? You liked it.

He could see it in the way you smiled at him when no one was looking. Like the devil behind a halo. Like the dom who knew her puppy would crawl the moment she said good boy.

You knew what you were doing. And you knew he was starving.

He watched you meet someone new through your messages—tracked him from his first DM. The second the guy sent a heart emoji, Heeseung had full access to his cloud, laptop, phone, and location history.

So when you showed up at that guy’s place in that same dress as that night, Heeseung went feral. watching you through the guy’s hacked MacBook camera. Front-row seat. 1080p. Wide angle. Clear sound. Perfect view.

You didn’t even try to hide untapping your phone camera, angling it for him. But he was already there.

He watched the way you swayed when you walked into the room. That skirt was short—barely legal. Hair done like you were on a mission to ruin him. Lip gloss like you were asking to be kissed. Or owned.

Heeseung’s fists dug into his thigh. You let the guy kiss you. Hands on your hips. Heeseung scoffed in fury. The guy went down on you and Heeseung leaned forward—eyes glued to your face smiling at him. Not for the man.

Only for him.

You mouthed his name, Heeseung, made that sound again—that sweet gasp that cracked every nerve in his body—and his hands were already down his pants before he even realized it. Stroking slowly. Angry.

Then the guy started fucking you. It was… pathetic.

You looked bored. Pretty. But not wrecked. Not how Heeseung would have done you—needed you. Not how you looked when he edged you, whispering commands through your notes.

He texted :

He’s not even close to making you cum.Why are you with him?Stop.

Now.

Please.

You didn’t stop. You got louder. Not for performance, because knowing hee was watching, unleashed you.

Heeseung’s hand stuttered. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard it bled. You were performing. For him, not the other guy. You had to be. And yet you didn’t stop when he begged you.

Heeseung didn’t drink. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t call a friend.

He texted one of the girls who’d been orbiting him since he entered university—some pretty, pouty girl with no idea what she was walking into.

She came fast. Obedient. Heeseung fucked her like punishment.

Shoved her onto his lap, dragged her skirt over her hips without a single word. Didn’t ask if she was ready. Didn’t even pretend to care. Just spread her thighs, lined himself up, and buried in—rough, silent, merciless.

She moaned his name, kissing his neck. Heeseung kept his eyes on the screen. Because on the monitor behind her?

You were still live. Fucking someone else. His airpods were in. And he was moaning your name under his breath.

The girl was clueless to much overwhelmed by his deep, rough trust. Riding him like she thought she was doing a good job for him to be so feral.

Heeseung touched her the way he would have to you, controlling. forcing her in position trying to reach her deepest part, as he watched your hips roll on screen. Your nails dig into someone else’s back.

“Grippe my back. leave marks.” he ordered her.

He hiss, mouthing along with your sounds like a prayer.

“Fuck—Louder. Just like that... Just like that—fuck.”

The girl on his lap whimpered, “does it feel good, Hee?”

Heeseung stared at your body—your lips, your tits, your sweat-shined thighs.

“You’re so perfect,” he muttered. “Fuck—you…”

His climax came hard, violent. He choked your name on the exhale and came inside the girl like she didn’t matter—because she didn’t.

When the girl left, he stared at the screen for an hour. Watched you dress. Watched you check your phone. Smiling.

Not once did you reply to his messages.

You were killing him. Starving him. Making him beg. He slammed the laptop shut, chest heaving, hatred and love boiling into the same sick ache.

You were right. He was a coward. But not for much longer.

You found it on your bed. No card. No note. No sender. Just a black box, wrapped in a ribbon you never heard arrive. Inside: lingerie. Lace. Sheer. Decadent. Your exact size. Your exact taste. Lightly soaked in a scent you could recognize in your sleep—his cologne.

Your fingers trembled when you held it up to the light. No message. But then again, he never needed words.

Heeseung didn’t ask. He tried to command.

So, you didn’t text. Didn’t thank him. You just wore it.

That night, when the webcam light blinked to life, you were already sitting pretty in front of your laptop. Sheer fabric draped over your body like a sin begging to be confessed.

You leaned into the camera, eyes soft, voice sweeter.

“Goodnight, Genius. Hope uni’s not eating you alive.”

And then—

You logged off. Just like that.

Left him starving. You knew he’d pretend it didn’t affect him. He tried, bless him.

He texted the next day, like it was nothing. Invited you to his university party. Like this wasn’t war. Like he wasn’t already losing.

Of course, you went. Dressed in red. Not the lingerie—something sharper. Something that made his friends stare a little too long.

Heeseung barely spoke to you that night. Slipped back into his old self—like he hadn’t spent the week watching you like a man possessed. But he was in his element, charming his nerdy circle, and you were happy just watching him thrive.

Then, it changed.

He didn’t introduce you as his stepsister. That alone cracked the air between you. His hand found your back, fingers tracing lazy nothings while he laughed with his friends, eyes on you like you were art.

You liked seeing him smile. Liked knowing you made it easier.

And then—he excused you both. His friends wished you luck with admissions. So polite. So clueless.

He walked you up a narrow hallway, like it was nothing. A quiet corridor, half-lit.

Then he locked you in a hug.

And kissed your neck.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, hands already exploring.

“You too,” you murmured, smiling. “New haircut? You kept it long in the back. Looks good.”

“You said I should, so...”

You smiled harder, went in for a kiss—your first. His lips were maddening. Soft, sure, and hungrier than you expected. He kissed like he’d waited for years. Like he’d decided waiting was over.

"Untie your dress," he whispered against your mouth, voice low.

You raised a brow, smirking. “Thought you liked watching from afar.”

His jaw flexed. “Not tonight.”

You let the ribbon fall, letting the dress slip open. Underneath—his gift. His breath caught.

“You like it?” you teased.

He didn’t answer. He spun you, pressed you into the wall, and his hand was already between your thighs—finding you soaked.

His mouth brushed your ear, voice cracking with restraint.

“Fuck. You’re so wet for me. I’ve waited so long.”

“Say it,” he growled.

“What?”

His thrust was sharp—two fingers deep.

“Say you want me to ruin you. Say you like it.”

You whimpered, arching into his hand. “I like it when you ruin me.”

“Say it right.”

You licked your lips. “I want to be yours, Heeseung. Ruin me.”

His exhale was jagged—like something inside him broke.

Then came silence. Just heat. Breathing. Fingers moving in and out of you as he grinded against your body, shameless and reckless in a hallway anyone could walk into.

And just before you came—he pulled away.

“No,” he said simply. “Let’s go.”

“Home?”

“No. My room.”

His dorm was massive, dark except for the red glow of a snoozed monitor. His roommate was nowhere. Probably never real to begin with. You practically jumped on him. Messy kisses. Wandering hands. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, your back—and then—

Your hand brushed his desk. The monitors flared to life. And there you were—your webcam feed, glowing on the screen.

Recording. Your name as the file.

“You always make me watch,” he whispered, stripping you down to the lingerie. “Now watch yourself.”

He pulled you onto the bed, body still facing the screen.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, spreading your legs for the camera. “I’ve owned you since the first time you stepped into this house.”

On screen—your reflection trembled. Moaned. Melted in real-time.

He eased fingers inside you again while holding you in his lap, pinching a nipple until you gasped, breath tangled.

“I know what you fantasize about when you’re bored,” he whispered.

He started humping you, slow and heavy.

“I know what kind of porn you scroll past—then go back to.”

Thrust.

“I know which songs you loop when you touch yourself. I synced your playlist.”

You choked on a gasp.

“I know you changed your passwords, just to make me mad.”

His hand curled lightly around your throat.

“But I like it. I like when you pretend.”

He never slowed—just kept pushing you higher, mean and relentless.

And when you moaned his name?

He broke.

“I’m going to give you every twisted thing you’ve ever typed,” he growled. “Every fantasy you deleted. Every filthy draft you couldn’t finish. I’m going to make them real.”

Your climax slammed into you, shuddering through your bones—but he didn’t stop.

“I’ll tie you up in the library when no one’s looking,” he said, voice wicked. “Bend you over your best friend’s bed and leave a bruise only I’ll recognize.”

He laughed.

“I’ll make you cry my name with someone else inside you—just to remind you no one will ever ruin you like I do.”

You turned and kissed him, wild and unhinged.

He kissed back like a claim. Like he was branding your soul.

Then he grabbed you and threw you onto the bed. Reached for a condom.

You stopped him.

“It’s safe today, Hee. Do me raw.”

His pupils darkened. Something dangerous sparked.

He freed himself and dragged his cock against your wetness, teasing your entrance. You moaned each time the head kissed you. His smile was smug. Addicted.

“Heeseung. Please.”

He nodded—and slid in all at once.

You gasped, overwhelmed, stretched so good it hurt in the most perfect way.

He rocked into you deep and slow, biting your neck, lips pressed against skin he couldn’t stop worshipping.

Then he pulled you upright—still inside you.

“You like this position, huh?”

You nodded, dizzy, undone. He studied you like he’d been preparing for a test. He always aced those.

Then—his thrusts changed. Not faster. Just deeper. Harder.

“Hee—”

“Like that, yeah?”

You nodded again, mouth open, breathless at every delicious, punishing thrust.

He looked so fucking good like this—hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted, eyes glazed with need. You went for another kiss and he gripped your neck, slid to your hair, pulling until your back arched.

“Like that?”

“Yeah—yeah—fuck—don’t stop—”

He sucked your tits, relentless now, chasing both your highs. You clenched down so hard his groans turned ragged. He bit your nipple, then folded you in half, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

And then—he lost it.

He didn’t slow.

Not even as your body bucked under him, shaking.

He buried himself deeper, fingers biting into your hips, sweat dripping from his jaw as he fucked you like he wanted to unmake you.

The monitors kept rolling. Your name flashing on screen, over your own moans.

You reached for him—some desperate grasp for balance—but he pinned your wrists above your head, fucked you harder. One of your legs slipped off his shoulder, and he yanked it back up with a grunt.

“Keep it there,” he snarled, breath ragged. “Don’t move unless I say.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You were already too far gone.

You felt yourself stretch around him again, again, again—your walls pulsing and fluttering with every brutal thrust. It was filthy, unrelenting, and it wasn’t enough.

Heeseung's voice was in your ear, low and wrecked.

“This how you like it?” he panted. “Getting used like this—getting ruined on camera for me?”

You sobbed a yes—high and gasping—and he growled. His hips snapped forward again, this time shoving you higher on the bed.

“Fucking take it.”

He leaned in, biting your lip, grinding deeper. The rhythm turned meaner—each thrust slamming into you with brutal precision.

“You like knowing I’ll replay this?” he whispered. “Jerk off to it when you’re not around?”

You moaned helplessly.

“Want you to. I want you obsessed.”

“Oh, I am,” he said. “You made me this.”

His rhythm stuttered—he was close. You could feel him twitch inside, groaning against your mouth.

Then—

He came.

Hard.

Buried deep.

His whole body went taut over yours, shuddering as he emptied himself, hips rolling slower, deeper. You felt the heat inside you, the stickiness, the way his cock throbbed even after the high.

And still—he didn't pull out.

He kissed your collarbone, your throat, lazily now. Worn out. Quiet.

The screen behind him kept glowing.

Your body was wrecked, your heart pounding against his chest.

He pulled you close, like he wasn’t finished. Like he never would be.

The next morning, the sun barely broke past his blackout curtains. You were still half-naked in his sheets when you heard his fingers tapping at his laptop. A fresh hoodie hung off his shoulder, hair a messy halo.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

You groaned into the pillow. “Already working?”

He smirked. “Coding clears my head. Better than coffee.”

You rolled over. He looked too good like this. Soft around the edges. Eyes warm.

“I wish you could come here,” he said. “To my university.”

You blinked, suddenly alert. He smiled, but it didn’t reach all the way. “You did apply, right?”

“…Yeah.”

He nodded like he already knew. “But you didn’t tell me…pfff.”

Your stomach turned, just a little, as you smirked. “I didn’t want you to be happy for something so unsure.”

“I know.”

Silence. He got back typing.

“You really think I wouldn’t find out?” he said. “You think I’d just… let you leave somewhere else?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What did you do?”

He smiled. Shrugged. “Nothing you’ll ever be able to prove.”

Your heartbeat slowed. Thick. Smiling unsure.

“Heeseung...”

He stood, walking over. Calm. Barefoot. Still smelling like last night and wanting more.

“I didn’t touch your application,” he said softly. “But I might’ve nudged the scholarship committee. You’re exceptional, after all.”

You froze. “Why?”

“Because you belong here, in that prestigious place and nowhere else.”

His fingers grazed your chin. Tender. Possessive.

“...With me.”

You swallowed. He tilted your face up to his, eyes half-lidded.

“You would've turned it down if you knew,” he murmured, getting his lips closer, smooching slowly. “You’re too proud for that kind of help. Too proud to admit you want to be kept.”

Your voice caught in your throat. “That’s not why I applied.”

“I know why you applied, just like me.”

His thumb ghosted over your lower lip.

“That’s why I made sure you’d stay. to be free.”

A flicker of something dangerous passed between you. Or maybe it had always been there. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“You think you’re playing me right now, huh,” he whispered, “but—what if I like being used, if it means I get to keep you?”

Your breath hitched. And he smiled. Like he’d already won. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe you’d just let him believe he had.

Author’s Note:

Babies~ here it is!! 💗 The second part of my enha stepbro AU (first one was HUNTED).

I really hope this one pleased you… did it??? 🥺

I worked so hard on this piece to match the exact vibe I had in mind. Like—why was I waking up at 3 AM with wild ideas for scene effects that were borderline impossible to execute?! 😭🌀

This one definitely has a different flavor! While HUNTED leaned into soft, needy sub!Jakey energy (bless him), I wanted TRAPPED to explore the more intoxicating side of obsession—but not so far that we start hating our sweet little Heeseung~ Just a touch of crazy, y’know?

I really hope the mood translated well, because after rereading it 500 times, I fully lost that "first read magic" feeling I’m not super proud of this draft yet—kinda wish I had more time to proofread and polish it up. I’ll probably update it later (perfectionist problems 😭).

Next up is Part 3, which is supposed to be Sunghoon’s! Let me know if you want anything special in it—I’m all ears... and pervy brain. Just know it’s gonna involve dacryphilia, so bring tissues… for various reasons

XOXO

Reblogs and thirsty little thoughts are always appreciated don’t be shy~© Lassiie

@heejunluvr @choeryyxyz @hoonprksung @schniti-is-in-the-house @ii2sanrio @woniedoyouloveme @saeris-world @gonorrheaisme @soobiverse

#lassiie's #enhypen smut #enha hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #heeseung x you #heeseung smut #heeseung drabbles #desire unleash #bad desire #heeseung #heeseung hard hours #heeseung x yn #heeseung x reader #stepbro!heeseung #stalking fantasy

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grotesquevi · 1 month ago

Text

18+ mdni, pure filth, firefighter!sevika, cam!girl reader, she masturbates to your underwear, panty sniffer sevy yikes, sexting and nudes yehaaaaw, phone sex, guided masturbation, perv!sevika forever.

side note # this was a three-part series i made for my previous blog vicorices when reaching 800 followers, (the blog's terminated by tumblr out of nowhere if you're confused) one minute of silence,,,, also there's an ellie and vi version too connected with the same site and the same cam!girl user, it's listed bellow but you take a look at the directory if you want to.

‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤㅤ now that you’re here? check out spacemoth's or cherryvi's file.

her control was currently hanging on by a thread.

sevika must have lost the plot somehow when her entire life paralyzes as the yellow envelope comes to meet her eyes and she stays there for a second, finally resting from a long night putting up with the fire in a residential building outside the city.

she happens to know what's in it. but she keeps staring at it until suddenly kneeling to pick it up from the floor, collecting her house keys and closing the door behind her back: privacy. she needs privacy.

she's quick to tear apart the top of the paper-like textured package, letting the waste fall to the floor before her breathing hitches on her throat and she stays there, planted in the entrance in dead silence.

her muscles are sore, she's tired after a 24-hour shift and she's grumpy, craving to sleep her whole time away from duty — a plan that fails miserably when her mind drifts back to something entirely different that catches her full attention: underwear.

this important package here is indeed, your underwear.

there's a pair of polaroid pictures inside she holds between her fingers for a moment, and the scent of your arousal reaches her nostrils in mere seconds filling the air of the living room as she tosses her gym bag to the floor, unbuckling her uniform jacket to reveal a fitted white shirt tucked inside her working pants that made her look three sizes bigger: this was unexpected.

the air is hot all sudden and she has to search for her reading glasses before she has a good look of the picture. the sight of you wearing the same panties that were on her left hand made sevika's head spin, mouth dry when she sees you're there bending on the waist giving her a nice view of your ass, a warmth sensation going down her spine when she catches up the second one, someone else's fingers shoved inside your mouth while your tits are shown for the camera, and the black underwear you're pulling to the side is more than evident as a trophy almost cause you did, in fact, had more than just a good time using the pair she received in her mail.

you're a luxury clearly. a 250$ dollar luxury she can afford even when it might be a little breach to her economy. does not matter when she can feel her own underwear dampening against the image of you, unbuckling her pants despite the pain on her limbs, lazily dragging herself to bed.

it takes a while to notice the numbers written in black marker on the back of one of the photos, but sevika's breath turns hollow when she's aware that's a phone and a code area, pretty calligraphy, polished when she reads: write me for the review, send pics if you want x

you fucking kissed it with red lipstick.

it's been a while since the last time she felt so good like this — perverted behavior to it's finest when she's smelling on your underwear, pressing the lacy fabric against her nose just to take a sniff at it so she's finally aware of how you really smell after so many times imagining it.

the scent clings to the cotton even when it must be a while since you last used them, she can recognize you sprayed them with your perfume so it's a mix between this intense, fruity scent with subtle notes of citrus in it, and a musky one that is unexpectedly good in her nose. and in that moment sevika knows she would text sooner or later, find out if that was a real number there that you gave her, yet she's too busy now, busy fixating in something else entirely when her flesh hand goes down and pushes past her pants just to tease herself from over the fabric of her own already-soaked underwear.

laying in the comfortable space of a king-sized mattress, sevika doesn't need much more than your photos. it's enough to have her panting, fingers moving on their own against the slick folds of her cunt unable to get off her uniform, her shoes or anything at all as she takes care of that ache that pools in her stomach, that need that trespass beyond her own being.

so her index and middle finger rub consistently against her clit now, fast, sometimes messy movements: she's tired, can someone blame her? after a 24-hour-shift you're the one thing driving her insane just by holding a simple g-string in her hand — and despite any torture, sev fucking loves it to the core. how the whole scene turns dirty all sudden, the dry traces of your arousal visible in the fabric as she gives a deep breathe and there it is again.

"fuck-" she curses silently in the middle of a lonely room, hips jerking against her own hand in seek of a more direct contact just because unlike any other time; she’s not able to edge herself, tease like she usually do when seeing one of your streams or your saved videos on your profile in hotdozed. sevika’s quick and she goes straight to the point when filling her own cunt using her thick, long fingers until she's moaning in the privacy of an small apartment in the suburbs, door wide open as she ground her hips against her hand and hell, she's so needy for it.

a coppery taste leaks into her mouth and she didn't know she was biting on her lower lip so hard it draw blood out of it, but it makes nothing more than spur her on to the point she can hear the wet sound her pussy makes each time she's thrusting herself. sweating, there in the edge, she can still feel her own smell after a whole day of being hard working, white shirt hanging dirty on her own frame showing the hairy lower-part of her stomach as she has a great view of her fingers stuffing herself until there's no space for more and you're there, there in her mind, under her fucking nose, in her memories — written all over like a damn poem.

your scent mixes so well with her's it's enough to make her cum, it drips between her legs and stains on her damn pants and she knows it's just chaotic, you only cause disorder as she lays on bed for a moment trying to catch on her breath for a second. your underwear now rests on the edge of her pants, slightly shoved inside her own soaked-through hip huggers, but not enough to be fully in contact with her fluttering cunt.

and if sevika was intelligent, she would be taking a shower and relishing every single hour of her much-needed days off now, but instead of moving from bed to do so, she's just reaching her phone cause she's been dumb as fuck lately, cleaning her fingers with the tissue papers she keeps on her nightstand before she's saving your phone in her contacts and taking a huge fucking risk she would never even take if being rational.

matter of fact, she shouldn't be allowed near a phone while being this horny. not even technology itself, but she's opening up the camera app and before even fucking checking if it's really you, she's taking this photo of her opened pants and her stomach, happy trail showing since she knows — fucking knows girls get off from it. your underwear is half shoved inside, visible in the shot and before she thinks it twice she's fucking sending it as she writes down:

nice panties. kinda thought your pussy would smell this good.

you don't answer until she's finishing her shower like an hour later or so, about to get some sleep now that she has satisfied herself enough to survive until the next morning, but it's clearly an interrupted plan again as her phone buzzes and sevika's forcing herself to open her eyes: too much curiosity to wait to the next morning, at least, that's the poor excuse she's been giving to her brain before she sees your name in the screen.

glad you like them, you think a lot about me normally?

next time you should finger yourself with them on your cunt so you can feel me closer- sevika right? nice view.

and to be fair, she caught you in a bad moment, a weak one. it's late at night, you're binge-watching this series you're so invested in until the phone you set up specifically for work buzzes and your mouth is watering at the sight of a good, satisfied client and you're debating with your very own self whether if you should answer or fucking not.

she got you hooked clearly, even if it's late — the firefighter pants, the hair on the lower part on the stomach, your panties lose inside her underwear: doomed cause when you zoom in, you swear to fucking heaven you can see her bush there peaking out ready to have some fun and it’s all it takes for you to respond, guilty of all charges.

you're breaking your own rules, the ones you put some good effort in following cause she keeps texting you and suddenly, you're turned on as ever while exchanging fucking texts for free just cause you're attracted to this client who happens to be a pervert who gets off from buying your used underwear.

got well fucked in this, peach? seems you enjoyed yourself on the photos you sent me.

thing is, sevika won't really show it much, but she knows how to flirt. the words roll out of her tongue easily as she's quick to pick up on a girl's attribute, so she's flirting with you until she's slipping another photo this time of the mirror in front of her bed — she had the need to turn up the lights of the room now and you thank her mentally for it as you stare at the picture, sharp angles of her face, she's not wearing anything else on top more than a silver chain that hangs in her neck and lands between her tits, holding the phone between her fingers to show her reflection.

you know that kind of people, the dangerous one — cause you expected a whole weirdo behind the screen, yet you're quickly ashamed of your poor judgment as you have to eat your words cause sevika's indeed fucking hot.

it's different from the other photo. while the first one was messy and dirty she didn't show her face; however now is nothing but the opposite. wet hair that sticks on the sides of her bone structure, wearing a clean, cropped tank top and briefs who's waistband hangs dangerously low on her belly, it's enough to give you space to peek a little for the intrinsic lines of her body without even fucking zooming in.

she's playing, you're playing. it's not like you really do that all the time anyway, but your fingers are tapping on the camera app too before wiggling comfortable in bed only to lift up your own shirt — it's simple and effective as you squeeze your tits together, biting on the fabric of your shirt only to pull it slightly upwards, you want to show some as well, tease like she does.

it's far from the complex shit you upload on hotdozed but god — turns sevika on more than ever.

maybe it's the normal factor to it, she can see the wrinkled sheets beneath you, a band shirt she does not recognize, plump lips; you're not wearing make-up and fuck's sake: each photo it's better than the last one. it's just flesh, simple skin but it makes sevikas mouth water, her body stiffens and her muscles ache, burning beneath fatigue and lust.

escalates quickly cause you're sending her an audio of your moans next and sevika cannot fucking believe it, not when she's been masturbating to your stuff months from now. she's pressing the play button before turning on the volume to hear it clearly and she's already familiar with low moans that fill out her solitary room, the wet sound of your drenched cunt on the background, barely audible but enough to make her chest explode: you're touching yourself.

you send videos not longer than ten seconds after, fucking riding your pillow and moaning out her name. playing dirty, fucking dirty because that's special content for her only, her favorite so far and she saw plenty already — fucks her up entirely as the message slips from her fingers without thinking about it: fuck weirdness. if so, sev's been always attracted to it, to the unconventional and the rather unexpected. hope you did too.

free to call ??

she didn't expect your reply either. it seems to take eternal seconds before sevika can read another one of your texts on her lockscreen again before she's about to forget about it.

yeah, go on.

simple and effective, she needs you to put a final stop on her misery. the phone rings one, two- three times before you're picking it up, voice rough and still panting for air before you talk on the other side of it — it seems sev interrupted something important when she's greeted instead with silence.

"already starting without me?" your client asks, and her own voice seems to travel throughout your entire apartment, strained, rough as she's already thinking now about her own release, how you should be getting off her uniform before it needs to be double cleaned.

"shit-your voice sounds so fucking nice" you admit on the other side, and she recognizes your tone already from your videos, the moans that don't differ much from the ones you're holding on as you speak "i don't really do this- so don't get any weird ideas, i won't answer your calls in the middle of the night. this is special."

"i wouldn't even dream on it, peach" sevika teases, resting her sore back against the head of the bed as she holds the phone close to her mouth: special, this is special — "now that you settled the basics, are you going to tell me what you're doing right now or do i have to beg you to start on spilling me the details, huh?"

"i uh- i'm riding my pillow" the tone you use to say it? fuck fuck fuuuuck her, it's not all so confident and cocky like she usually sees online, you're fucking shy as you're moving again and she can feel the sound of your bed creaking as your breathing becomes heavy again "got so turned on- s'all your fault."

"good, so you now you can feel just a bit of what you've been doing to me for months now" sevika spats on the other side, and you let out a moan against her words as you move again and the friction sends a shiver down your spine when your folds drag across the usual soft fabric now rough against your sensitive core — "does it feel good baby? does the friction feel nice?"

"yes," you breathe out as you're now moving faster, a wet trace now over the pillow marking up the constant back and forth movement you've been following "yes, need more-"

"so use your fingers then," she suggests, mushy brain at the idea "i know you have some nice toys doll, stuff yourself up so i can hear."

"pervert," you chuckle on the other side, laughs that are interrupted by the pleasure you were being a victim off, how quick your fingers seem to assault your own clit as you begin to move faster — "fucking pervert wanting to hear me cum- ah shit."

"the things i'd do to go down on you and taste that cum too," you're not putting an end to her misery but only aggravating it all, making sevika's hand sweat as she's sniffing on your fucking underwear again and she cannot get a grip from it, not when it's the closest thing she has to your smell, that same scent that must be coating your pillow now as she can hear the moans that each of your movements elicit "keep moving c'mon, don't stop rubbing on your clit and keep talking to me."

thing is, you cannot really talk after a few seconds. you're reaching your peak and dragging it slowly with each roll on your hips, your fingers rub perfectly against your puffy clit, swollen labia, the friction is fucking killing you to the point your legs are shaking on each side of the pillow, mumbling incoherent words now unable to hold on the phone.

"ride it out," sevika says on the other side, biting on her thumb as the pain seems to ground her own being — "please, don’t stop moving death. soak up your sheets and make a mess for me, you deserve it for being so good."

you comply without making her beg. stupid since you think a lot about her voice and how awfully nice it sounds when she says please, but the friction’s already overstimulating when your folds seem to open up to the form of the pillow now just sliding between your legs and in return, you have no voice to ask for anything at all, don't matter how much you'd like to.

your eyes roll to the back of your head and you know you're in deep trouble when sevika keeps talking you through it, convincing you to grab the dildo in your nightstand, to let the pink head of it kiss your entrance before she reminds how you need to be gentle, rub it slowly in your sore pussy cause that's how she'd do it with her strap before slowly pushing it inside your welcoming hole until you're full, full so you’re unable to think about anything else but her cock.

outstanding. you never let a former watcher call you. the phone number was set up for a way of making more money, but you want this from the bottom of your stomach, a desire that much rather feasts on your guts.

and sevika keeps her promise cause she don't call you the week after. surprisingly good when it comes to follow your rules cause she don't want to push your boundaries (not like this anyway) respecting every-single-one of your non-written rules when she's letting you call in again — in the dead of the night, when she's least expecting it:

you always call her first.

#⋮ ⌗ ┆ grotesquevi ᵎᵎ ✮#riva's remaster ⋆.˚#sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane x reader #arcane smut #arcane au #arcane sevika x reader #sevika #arcane league of legends #arcane sevika #sevika smut #arcane sevika smut #sevika arcane smut #sevika arcane x reader #sevika x you #sevika fic #sevika lol #sevika league of legends

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abbotjack · 3 months ago

Text

Whatever You Say, Fruitcake

pairing : Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader (established marriage)

summary: Myrna’s being Myrna. Somewhere between the chaos, you and Robby manage to come up for air.

warnings/content: Fluff, Hospital setting, strong language, married intimacy, mild sexual tension(?), bodily fluids (mentioned), chaotic workplace dynamics, Myrna.

word count: 1,767, not beta read.

a/n: I’ve written so much smut and angst lately… felt like I needed a fluff filler. Honestly, with everything Robby’s been through too—he deserves one just as much as I do.

Someone left the remains of a hoagie in the trauma fridge again, and now the back hallway reeks of vinegar, cold cuts, and poor life choices.

The smell hits you as soon as you clear the curtain bay—sharp, sour, unmistakably fermented. You pause mid-step. Behind you, Dana makes a strangled noise in her throat and immediately starts waving a clipboard in the air like it’s going to do something other than stir it up.

“If this is Whitaker’s doing,” Dana says, already pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’m pulling him from patients and assigning him to mop duty and moral reflection.”

You snort. “Pretty sure that’s not in the union handbook.”

She’s already striding ahead. “Then I’ll write my own damn handbook.”

Just ahead, Robby moves through the corridor like a man who’s been paged three times too many. Hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, coffee in one hand, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a look that says he’s thirty seconds from announcing his retirement.

Whitaker’s hustling to keep up, slightly flushed and fumbling with a stack of blank admission forms and a clipboard clearly marked for peds. He’s also holding an empty emesis basin and a bag of saltine crackers.

“I dropped the kid off in Pediatrics like you told me to,” he says, catching his breath. “Then someone threw up on my shoes, I handed over some crackers as a peace offering, and I think I accidentally took this chart on my way out while trying to avoid a loud debate about Paw Patrol and screen time.”

Robby doesn’t even look at him. “Why are you holding a puke tray?”

“Someone in Peds handed it to me. I panicked and said thank you.”

“You don’t work there, Whitaker. You work in emergency.”

“Yeah, well, try telling that to the four-year-old who called me Doctor Crackers and wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

Dana watches Whitaker veer off toward supply, jaw tightening just slightly. “If he volunteers himself into another department’s meltdown, I’m having his badge color-coded for liability.”

You raise a brow. “Is that a charge nurse threat?”

“It’s preventative management.”

Before you can reply, the air shifts—like it always does when Myrna materializes. The low squeak of her wheelchair wheels, the jingle of cheap bracelets, and then—

“Hey, fruitcake.”

Robby slows when he sees her. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Just—ready, in that way he gets when Myrna’s name is involved in a trauma note or a psych hold request.

He hesitates, jaw clenched, clipboard tucked tighter under his arm as he steps in behind the wheelchair—slow and deliberate, one hand on the back like he's guiding a live grenade disguised in costume jewelry.

Myrna is cuffed, of course—standard protocol—but she’s sitting tall like she’s holding court. Her walker is bungee-corded to the back of the chair, and there’s a half-empty Styrofoam cup in the side pocket that no one remembers giving her. She smells like menthols and peach Schnapps. Her lipstick is smeared. Her eyes are sharp.

She cranes her head slightly to look up at Robby and grins with all the self-satisfaction of someone who knows exactly how to ruin your day and plans to do it slowly.

Robby exhales. “Myrna. What brings you in today?”

“I murdered my husband.”

“How’d you do it this time?”

“Meat grinder.”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting the tilt of her chair. When he stops, she immediately starts wheeling herself toward the empty staff breakroom like she owns the place—completely ignoring the Employees Only sign.

“Where do you think you’re going, Myrna?”

“Oh, none of your business, fruitcake.”

His jaw ticks. The clipboard drops half an inch.

“Actually, everything that happens in this department is my business. And you know what? I put up with a lot around here. I take very good care of you. So you can call me Dr. Robinavitch, or Dr. Robby, or you can use my first name, Michael. But I do not appreciate being called fruitcake.”

Dana leans toward you. “He’s two years and one more nickname away from tossing his pager in the East River and moving into a cabin with no electricity.”

You snort. “He can move to the woods if he wants, but I’m not following him into a life of compost toilets and mosquito nets. He’ll be back the second he realizes I’m not coming with.”

Back in the hall, Myrna shrugs.

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings, cocksucker?”

Dana snorts. You press your fingers to your mouth.

Robby takes a breath. “That said, it has a certain whimsical quality I can probably learn to live with.”

“Whatever you say, fruitcake.”

Without missing a beat, she pivots her wheelchair and rolls with precision toward the ambulance bay doors. The automatic sensor doesn’t catch her on the first pass, so she backs up, then rams the base of the door with enough force to jolt the frame—and nearly set off the motion alarm. A “Wet Floor” sign topples in her wake.

Then, slowly, she lifts her cuffed wrists and waves them at the security camera like she’s on parade.

Robby doesn’t move. Just watches her, unreadable.

She pauses at the edge of the exit, half-turned in her chair, chin tilted up like she’s daring someone to try and stop her.

A nurse nearby mutters, “Do we stop her… or let natural selection take it from here?”

You find him later in the breakroom, elbows braced on the table, fingers pressed into his brow like he’s trying to force the day out through his skull. His coffee sits untouched beside a chart he’s clearly given up pretending to read. The overhead light is flickering, unresolved, adding to the static hum that no one has the energy to report anymore.

You slide your coffee beside his and drop into the seat next to him. No words, not yet. Just your knee brushing his under the table—light, intentional, familiar. He doesn’t look at you, but he exhales like you just gave him permission to breathe.

After a beat: “I’m fine.”

You sip your coffee. “Mmm. Then why have you been brooding like a cursed Victorian husband.”

He drags his hands down his face and groans. “She called me a cocksucker in front of the whole emergency department.”

“And you didn’t throw anything,” you say. “Which, frankly, is a win.”

You nudge your foot against his. “Do you want me to fight her?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Outside. Ambulance bay. High noon.”

That earns the smallest crack of a smile.

“I’m serious,” you add. “I’m fully within my spousal rights to go feral.”

“Pretty sure that’s not in the HR manual.”

“Pretty sure it’s in the vows.”

He huffs out a reluctant laugh, and you feel the air between you shift. Lighter. Less taut. The corner of his mouth tilts in that way you’ve learned to love—subtle, fleeting, like warmth in a place that rarely allows it.

“Dana probably already has a memo drafted,” he mutters. “Something official—‘Effective immediately, all consults will refer to Dr. Robinavitch as Fruitcake.’”

You grin. “She has. It’s laminated. I signed off on it.”

He shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’m married to you. I take my entertainment where I can get it.”

He finally leans back, posture loosening. “One of these days, I’m torching this whole department.”

“You won’t,” you say. “You love this place too much.”

“I love you. Everything else is negotiable.”

You fall quiet at that, the kind of quiet that makes room for a hand to reach across the table. Yours. His. You’re not even sure. But they find each other easily, like always.

“You were good today,” you say. “The way you handled her. All of it. You didn’t give her the chaos she wanted.”

“She got under my skin.”

“But she didn’t get a reaction. That’s power. That’s control. I'm proud of you.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a moment, it’s quiet in a way this place rarely is.

“You’re always proud of me,” he says, voice softer now.

You smile, just a little. “Not always. Just when you deserve it.”

A pause. He huffs, but it’s fond. “You should put that on a sticker.”

“Already did.” You nudge his elbow. “Slapped it on your locker right under the one that says ‘Fruitcake of the Month.’”

He groans. “I married a menace.”

“You married smart.”

“You tricked me.”

You squeeze his hand. “And I’d do it again.”

The silence that settles next isn’t heavy. It’s married silence. Full of the things you don’t need to say because you’ve already said them a hundred different ways over coffee cups and night shifts and shared exhaustion.

You glance toward the hallway, then back to him, voice lower now. “Sometimes I wonder how we’re still standing in all this. You, me. This place.”

He watches you for a long moment, then says, “Because you make it worth it.”

A pause.

Then—

“I’m not kissing you in the breakroom,” he says eventually, eyes still on yours.

“I know.”

“But I want to.”

“I know that too.”

Another small smile. “You’re trouble.”

“And you’re mine.”

The moment hangs there—warm and quiet and stupidly rare. It's the kind of silence that only happens when two people know each other too well to need more words.

His pager buzzes on the table. You both glance at it but don’t move right away. Then, like muscle memory, he stands and grabs his clipboard. You collect the two half-finished coffees and toss them without comment.

When you step toward the door, your hand brushes his—not by accident. He doesn’t take it, not here, not with the door just about to swing open. But he squeezes your fingers once, fast and familiar. It’s not affection, exactly. It’s reassurance. A habit. A promise.

You exit the breakroom together.

The hallway feels colder by comparison. Brighter. Louder. Someone’s calling out discharge instructions. A gurney wheel shrieks as it sticks on the threshold. The ER is alive again, like it never paused.

He walks ahead of you, falling back into his role like pulling on a second skin—focused, efficient, slightly intimidating. But you know that look. You know the weight he’s carrying.

When his hand grazes yours again at the hallway bend, he doesn’t pull away right away.

You don’t hold hands. You don’t need to.

But the warmth lingers.

That’s the thing about marriage in a place like this : there’s never time. So you take the seconds. And when you find each other in them, you hold on.

#filler post #dr robby #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt 2025 #the pitt hbo #noah wyle #dr robby x reader #fluff

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formulaonecrumbs · 3 months ago

Text

making space for you 🧡

Lando Norris x gf!reader (though gender isn’t specified and reader is set as a model idk)

summary: Lando Norris wants his girlfriend to move in but doesn’t have the nerve to ask directly, so he starts dropping subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints. She starts catching on.

warnings: none that i can think of. it’s just pure tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: FIRST WRITTEN FIIICC RAAHHH!!! i’ve had this in my drafts (off tumblr) for weeks. i don’t put my writing many places so this is special 😇 i hope y’all don’t hate it because i kind of love it errmmmm ANYWAYS enjoy! happy reading 🫶 p.s. can one of y’all give me prompts, i’m so lost rn. my asks are always open ♡︎ LOVE U BABIES MWAH 💋

Lando was acting suspicious again.

Not in a cheating way. No—he was still very much the golden retriever boyfriend who texted goodnight with a heart and a photo of his feet hanging off the hotel bed. But suspicious in the “I’m clearly hiding something but I think I’m being slick about it” kind of way.

You first noticed it when you came back from Milan. You’d just wrapped a runway show and all you wanted was to crawl into Lando’s ridiculously oversized bed and not speak to another human for at least twelve hours.

Instead, you walked into his closet to steal one his hoodies, as you usually did, and found your clothes—folded. Color-coded. Already in there.

“You reorganize now?” you asked, raising a brow as he leaned against the doorframe, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grinned. “It’s practical.”

“Is it?”

“You’re here, like, half the time,” he shrugged. “Makes sense.”

“Except I have a place five minutes from here.”

“Which you barely use.”

He wasn’t wrong. Still. Weird.

—————————————————————————

The next time, it was the bathroom.

A whole drawer. Toothbrush, hairbrush, your favorite moisturizer, that one serum you can never find in the UK—he’d somehow gotten it shipped from Paris. Though, he was Lando Norris, you should’ve expected it.

You squinted at him when you found it.

He shrugged again. “I know your skin freaks out if you switch products. Thought I’d help.”

“I could’ve brought it myself.”

“Yeah, but this way, you don’t have to.” His grin widened. “Aren’t I the best boyfriend ever?”

“You’re something,” you muttered, though your cheeks flushed all the same.

—————————————————————————

But then there were his socks in your designated drawer. Your shampoo replaced by full-sized bottles of his favorites. His phone charger always “accidentally” ending up in your purse. A second key to his flat mysteriously showing up in your handbag, like it walked there itself.

You weren’t dumb. He was doing something. Slowly. Subtly.

But he wouldn’t say it.

Not once did the words “move in” pass his lips. You knew because you’d started counting how many days he danced around it.

Seventeen.

Seventeen days of hints and nudges and one very suspicious IKEA receipt.

So naturally, you decided to make him squirm.

—————————————————————————

“Baby,” you called one afternoon, holding up a pair of his boxers from your laundry basket. “Why is your underwear here?”

Lando peeked up from his phone, lying on the sofa with his feet draped over the armrest. “We share laundry now. Efficient, no?”

“You’re not even here half the week.”

He smirked. “Yet my socks keep ending up in your drawer. Funny, that.”

“Funny…” You narrowed your eyes. “You planning on invading more drawers, Mr. Norris?”

“Just testing the waters,” he said smoothly, like it wasn’t a completely weird thing to say.

You sat beside him, kicking his legs off so you could steal his spot. “You know, normal people ask their girlfriends to move in with them.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. It’s this crazy concept called communication. You should try it.”

Lando turned his head, giving you that boyish smile—the one that got him out of trouble and into most people’s hearts. “And if I were to ask you… what would you say?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I get full control of the bathroom cabinet or not.”

“You already have it!”

“Then maybe I’d say yes.”

He grinned, looking relieved. “So, hypothetically… if I didn’t want to ask because it’s terrifying and what if you say no and break my poor fragile heart—”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“—hypothetically, would it be okay if I just kept sneakily merging our lives until one day you wake up and realize we already live together?”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “That’s literally what you’re doing.”

“Subtlety is a skill.”

“No, it’s avoidance.”

He poked your knee. “It’s a love language.”

“Yours is physical touch and being annoying.”

“And yours is pretending you don’t like when I’m annoying.”

You smiled then, small and soft. The look in your eyes not less amused, but now accompanied by complete fondness and love. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” he said, full of himself.

You nudged his shoulder. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

He blinked. “Do what?”

“Move in.”

His mouth dropped open for a second. “Wait—you’re serious?”

You shrugged. “You said it, didn’t you? I already basically live here. Might as well make it official.”

Lando stared, like he didn’t believe you. “You want to move in with me? Like… permanently?”

“I’ve tolerated your snoring for over a year. I think I can handle the rest.”

He laughed, pulling you into his arms, half crushing you in a hug, peppering every inch of your face with kisses. “You have no idea how happy you just made me.”

“I think I do,” you said against his chest. “You’ve been plotting this since December.”

“Okay, maybe I’ve had a Pinterest board since November—don’t judge.”

You groaned. “Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.”

“I just wanted it to feel like home. Like ours. Not just mine.”

You pulled back to look at him, my expression softened. It always seemed soften with him. “It already does, Lando.”

His eyes softened, voice gentler. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because I already ordered us a matching towel set.”

You laughed into his hoodie, shaking your head.

Of course he did.

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #he’s asking without asking #pure fluff #lando norris domestic era #boy is whipped #my fic #f1 imagine

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jaesblogstuff · 9 days ago

Text

The Lines I Crossed For You

Happy (early) father’s day i guess LOL. I might write something a little better, best fit for the occasion.

Simon’s been divorced six years.

She left without a fight — just said she was tired of a man who worked too much and smiled too little.

He didn’t beg. Didn’t chase. Just stood in the kitchen while the door shut behind her. Since then he’s been steady. Alone.

Liam —his only continuation of Riley blood, his son — moved in after burning through money and excuses. Said he was trying. Said he’d “try and get back on his feet” Simon didn’t ask. Just gave him a room. A second chance.

But he knew the truth. Liam wasn’t trying. He was coasting. Still a boy in a man’s world.

And then you came along.

At first, just weekends. Then overnights, shifts too long, Liam too distracted to show up. You were always moving. Always tired. Always giving.

Simon saw it all. Quietly. Every forgotten pickup. Every brushed-off look. And the way you stayed anyway. He knew that lingering in the doorway, cooking for you, waiting up even when you didn’t ask. It was too much. But there was a point where watching became unbearable.

He told himself to stay out of it.

But tonight? He can’t, He wouldn’t.

⸻

It’s almost 11 p.m. when you show up. No text. No call.

You hadn’t planned to really. You’d finished a 14-hour shift, head splitting, feet throbbing, too exhausted to go home. You’d asked Liam to pick you up — just this once — and when he didn’t answer, you sat in your car with your keys in your hand and your chest tight with something between shame and fury. Simon’s house was closer than your apartment. That’s the only reason you came. At least… that’s what you told yourself.

He opens the door in sweatpants, barefoot, hair a mess, face unreadable — and the moment his eyes land on yours, something in you buckles. You’re not okay. And he sees it. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you murmur. “Just… need a quick crash.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just steps aside. “You’re here,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”

You walk in. He doesn’t ask questions. Just takes the bags and load from your hands, sets them gently on the counter, and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you. You swallow and glance toward the hallway. “Is Liam here?”

Simon’s jaw shifts, barely, but you catch it. “He left a few hours ago,” he says. “Went out with friends, I think. Didn’t say much.” A pause. Then quieter, “Haven’t seen him since before dinner.”

You nod once, like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t sting.

“I called him… three times,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Guess he forgot.” You rub your hands over your face, the fatigue crashing down all at once. “I can go… if this is weird. I don’t want to—”

“Stop.” Simon’s voice is low, firm. “You’re staying. Sit down.”

You do. Not because you’re told, but because for once, it feels like someone means it.

He places a warm mug in front of you — tea from the pot he made not long ago. You wrap your hands around it like it’s the only heat you have left. He sits across from you, watching you sip. “Rough day?”

You nod. “I don’t even know what happened. Just… non-stop. Four admits. One code. Everyone short-staffed again.”

You shrug lightly, stare into your cup. “It’s whatever.”

Simon watches you a long moment, his eyes careful, searching. “And Liam?”

You let out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh — hollow. “Didn’t show. Again. I waited outside the hospital like a fucking idiot for fifteen minutes before I gave up.”

The silence that follows is thick — not awkward, just loaded. Something in Simon snaps. Not loudly. Not violently. Just… breaks.

“I’ve watched you give him everything,” Simon murmurs, voice low and sharp. “And I’ve watched him give you nothing. That’s not fair. That’s not love.”

You blink hard. Swallow. “I don’t want pity.”

“You think this is pity?” he says, eyes locked to yours.

Then, softer, steadier. “I don’t look at you and see someone weak. I see someone who’s been strong for too long.”

His hand finds your knee. His thumb moves in slow, grounding circles.

“I’d give you everything if you let me. Every minute. Every drop. Just to watch you breathe easier.”

Your throat tightens. Something inside you splinters. You’re tired. Spent. But right now — right here — you’re also seen. Not just as someone who’s holding it together. But someone worth being held.

And Simon? He’s still waiting. Still giving you room.

“I don’t want to think,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I will.”

Then you nod, barely a movement, and say, “Yes.”

⸻

He fucks you like someone who’s had years to imagine it.

Because he has.

Celibacy might as well have been stitched into the collar of his shirts — not by choice, but by the kind of quiet, aching resignation that comes from too many years of going untouched. No one since his wife.

And not once does he rush.

He undresses you slowly, reverently. Like your body is something to earn. His hands are warm and a little rough from yardwork and tools, but his touch is gentle. Intentional. His lips brush the inside of your wrist. Your collarbone. The skin just beneath your navel.

He doesn’t move to tease. He worships. When his mouth finds your thighs, you’re already trembling.

His tongue circles your clit. Soft, controlled, devastating, and the moan that leaves your throat is so quiet it startles you. It’s the kind of sound you don’t mean to make. The kind that lives deep in your chest and only comes out when someone really knows what they’re doing.

“Please,” you whisper, hips twitching, too gone to be embarrassed.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you first.”

Two fingers slide into you — slow, deep — and the groan he lets out is nearly broken. Like he’s mourning all the days he didn’t get to touch you like this.

His mouth doesn’t stop. And neither does your unraveling. You writhe under him, hand fisting the sheets, tears pricking at your lashes from how tender it all is. He doesn’t stop until you break — gasping, breathless, your back arching and legs shaking as you come hard against his mouth.

Only then does he rise, chest heaving, and kiss you like he’s starved. And then, just before he sinks inside you, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, voice rough and trembling

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Simon says, his voice low and raw against your shoulder. “To have someone like you. Someone so strong, so fucking hardworking, and beautiful, and kind — and just… look away. To not show up for you.”

“If you were mine—”

He stops himself. Shakes his head again like he’s trying to clear it. Like the thought hurts too much to say out loud.

But you feel it. You need it.

“No,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Say it.”

His throat works around the words. And when they come, they’re not smooth — they’re wrecked.

“I’d never stop touching you,” he says, voice cracking. “I’d never stop showing you. Every day. That you’re wanted. That you’re seen. That you’re safe. That you deserve it. All of it.”

You let out a broken sound, a breath that turns into a moan because the way he says it is what finishes you.

Not the touch. Not the friction. Him.

When he finally pushes in — slow, thick, achingly deep — the sound that leaves your mouth is a strangled cry.

“Oh my god—Simon—”

He groans, low and guttural. His hands grip your hips, firm but careful. “That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Let me give it to you. Let me fucking have you.”

You nod wildly, mouth open, no words left. Your moans are quiet, breathy, raw. Real. They spill out of you like confessions. Like relief.

Simon moves slow — deliberate — each stroke heavy and deep, angled just right to drag a new gasp from your throat. His eyes never leave your face. His hands never stop touching.

It’s not just sex. It’s reverence. It’s grief. It’s a man making up for all the years he didn’t believe he’d ever get to feel this again.

It’s a man giving you everything his son never even thought to.

“You’re so full,” you whimper.

“You deserve it,” he breathes against your mouth. “Deserve to be filled until you can’t think.”

And when you come again, harder this time, your whole body clenched and trembling, he fucks you through it with nothing but praise:

“Good girl.”

“So fucking perfect.”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

When he comes, he doesn’t pull out. He stays there — still buried inside — holding you like he’s terrified the moment might vanish if he lets go.

Later, when your breathing slows and the room fades to a quiet hum, Simon wraps his arms around you from behind. Anchors you to him. Then softer, at your temple: “Sleep.”

And for the first time in a long, long time — you do.

(i don’t know what i was thinking oh my goodness i’m sorry)

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kingdomvel · 5 months ago

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Steddie | 3.4k | ao3

five times people don't believe Steve and Eddie are dating + one time they have to

Made the silly post, decided to actually write it

Eddie stops his van in front of Dustin’s house. His was the last stop of the drop off after the dnd session at Gareth’s house. Dustin turns towards Eddie. He is drumming his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the DIO song playing, never still. When Dustin doesn’t move, he turns to look at him with his eyebrows raised.

“Anything wrong, Henderson?”

He is looking at him with his big eyes and Dustin gulps. Even after everything they have been through, Dustin can’t help but feel nervous. There is still this feeling that tells him he has to try to impress Eddie, to be cool enough to be his friend.

“Will you teach me how to play guitar?” Dustin blurts before he chickens out.

Eddie looks at him with surprise, blinking a few times. He was clearly not expecting that question.

“Sure.”

“Wait- really?” Dustin is genuinely surprised. A part of him knew that Eddie wouldn’t say no, but he fully expected some teasing, some ‘what, Henderson, you wanna be like me?’ which. Yes. But he didn’t want Eddie to say it.

“Yeah dude, why not?”

Dustin lets out a delighted laugh and slaps the dashboard. “Yes! Thank you! When are we starting? Any time is good for me-“

“Calm down,” Eddie says with a chuckle.

“What about tomorrow? I can do tomorrow. I will bike to your house after school and you can teach me the basics or-“

“Calm down Henderson,” Eddie repeats louder. Dustin shuts up. “I can’t do tomorrow.”

Dustin’s heart breaks a little. “Why?”

“Because this humble bard has a date with Steve Harrington.” He has a stupid smile on his face when he says it.

There are a couple of seconds of silence and Dustin knows that he is pulling a face.

“Dude, don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” Eddie looks baffled, almost offended, but there is a shiver going down Dustin’s spine.

“Like that! A date? Just say you are hanging out like a normal person.”

He is used to Eddie’s way of saying things, rarely in a normal way, but that was weird. Don’t get him wrong, he is very happy that Steve and Eddie have stopped acting like idiots every time Dustin mentioned the other and that they are hanging out now. But it’s still strange, seeing them actually getting along so well.

“If I’m going to have the King all to myself I am calling it a date.”

“STOOOP! It’s weird.”

“What is it Henderson?” Eddie says in a teasing tone as he leans towards Dustin. “Jealous that me and Steve are giving each other a bit of love?”

“Stop saying it like that!” Dustin screams. This would be so much weirder if Dustin didn’t know he is just teasing him. Maybe it was better when they were not friends.

The front door to his house opens, and Dustin scrambles to get out of the van before his mother can come and embarrass him more. The last thing he hears is Eddie’s crackling laugh.

“Okay, what is happening?” Robin asks as soon as the door closes after the girl that had just rented Back to the Future.

“Something’s happening?” Steve sends a brief look around with a confused frown on his face before he looks at Robin.

“That girl.” Robin gestures to the door for emphasis.

Steve snorts, “yeah. Back to the Future? That’s funny.” He says as he crosses his arms in front of himself.

“That is not what this is about.”

“It’s not?”

“No! She was a babe!”

“Was she?” Steve looks at the door again, like he had not even seen the girl, like it had not even occurred to him to look at the girl. Robin could kill him.

“Yes! She was!”

“Did you want me to set you up with her? Because I will, you know that. Maybe we can have a code for that, you say- I don’t know- ‘have you watched Fast Times?’ and I will put my best wingman skills to use. I will get you a date in no time.”

Steve is the best friend Robin could ask for. He is also incredibly dumb and she is going to strangle him.

“I didn’t want you to set me up with her.”

“What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is that you are Steve Harrington and you didn’t even try to flirt with her! You should have been all over her, trying to get a date or her number. You haven’t been on a date in weeks! And it’s not even that you are striking out like in scoops, you are not even trying Steve. What is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean I haven’t been on a date in weeks, I was with Eddie just yesterday, I told you.” He has this confused frown on his face, like he seriously doesn’t understand where Robin is coming from.

“Steve, hanging out with Eddie doesn’t count as a date. Also, ew, don’t put that image in my head, I know he is our friend now or whatever and that you like hanging out with him but I would hope for you to have better taste than that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Eddie? Seriously? Did you see the stains on his mattress?”

Steve pulls a face, like had not thought about it before. “We’ll buy a new mattress.”

Robin looks at him, trying her best to communicate how gross she finds Eddie with her mind. Steve looks back at her with his eyebrows raised, daring her to say something else about Eddie.

The bell at the door interrupts them. It’s not a babe this time, just a normal guy, returning a tape. They act like the professionals they are until he is out of the door again.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I didn’t flirt with him?” Steve asks, his hand gesturing to the door in that annoying way of his.

“No,” Robin says, but Steve doesn’t really wait for her answer before he continues talking.

“I didn’t because I am dating Eddie!”

“No you are not,” Robin answers with a snort.

“Yes I am.” Steve looks completely betrayed. “I am with him almost every day.”

“Oh, I know what is happening.” It’s so clear, so easy to understand now that Steve has said that. She puts her hands on Steve’s shoulders. He looks at her with a frown, a tilt of his head as he uncrosses his arms in confusion. “Steve.” She tries to convey as much seriousness as she can, just so Steve understands what is happening too. “Just because you have realised you like boys and he is gay and you two are hanging out, it doesn’t mean you two are dating.”

“Oh fu-“ he tries to move away from her but she clutches his shoulders tightly.

“You have to learn how to have friends your age, Steve. Remember when you though you liked me? I got away because I don’t like boys, and Eddie does! But that doesn’t mean he is into you!”

Steve rolls her eyes at her. The audacity. He bats her arms away with more easiness than Robin would like to admit. “Whatever.” He just says.

“Steve”

“Mike” Steve answers in the same serious tone. If not a bit confused. Mike had followed him inside when he had come to get some drinks. He can still hear the others in the pool outside.

“I saw you speaking with Nancy.” Mike states. They had been speaking, close, too close. “And Dustin told me you were making eyes at her during the Vecna thing.”

“What?” Steve whispers as he shakes his head while he takes the drinks out of the fridge.

“Anything to say to defend yourself?” Mike asks him. He crosses his arms, tries to put on a serious pose. Intimidating, as much as he can.

“Listen,” Steve starts, he turns towards Mike him and leans back on the counter. He crosses his arms, and it makes Mike shift, conscious of his own crossed arms. He doesn’t like his tone, as if he is talking to a kid. “I know you are still pissy about me dating your sister, for some reason,” he uncrosses one of his arms to say it. “But she is with Jonathan now and I am totally over her.” Mike just squints at him. He doesn’t believe him. Everyone knows that Steve is not over Nancy. “Totally! I mean it. I’m dating Eddie now.” He says it like it’s a question.

Mike snorts. That is the stupidest lie Steve could have come up with to try to get out of this. “As if.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie is too cool to date you.”

“He is too- I’ve saved your life,” he points to Mike.

“Eddie is still cooler.”

Steve takes a deep breath and Mike doesn’t really want to hear what Steve is going to say to defend himself. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything, his mouth closing as his eyes drift someplace behind Mike.

“I was promised beer,” Eddie’s voice comes from behind Mike.

“You’d have it if Mike here hadn’t decided to give me shit,” Steve answers as he moves to open a can of beer and hands it to Eddie when he gets to him.

“Just-“ Mike huffs. “Don’t get any ideas with my sister.” He says it as he points to Steve while he walks back outside.

Mike doesn’t stay to see Steve’s reaction, but he hears Eddie say “anything I should be worried about?” before the noise of the others drowns everything else.

Max and Eleven giggle as the stand outside of the window to Eddie’s room. He is inside, they can see the lump inside the sheets and the mess of curls on the pillow. They look at each other and nod with a grin before they start banging on the window and shouting his name.

Eddie starts on the bed, Max could swear he lifts a few centimetres from the bed she can hear him scream ‘jesus christ’ through the window before he turns towards them with a squint. He sits up on the bed and reaches across to open the window, he is not wearing a shirt, so they have a full view of all his tattoos. It’s not like Max ever wants to see them so close, but she knows El likes them.

“What the FUCK Mayfield,” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. Then, after a second of him squinting and them more. “Mini Hopper.”

Max doesn’t answer, because behind Eddie another lump is raising from the bed and looking at them with a squint. “Max? Is anything wrong?” Steve asks as he rubs his face and hair with the hand that is not currently propping him up.

“I…” Max starts, but she doesn’t continue. Sure, she had seen Steve shirtless at the boat that one time when they were going after Vecna, but it was nighttime and she had to look through some shitty binoculars.

Eddie reaches a hand back to try to push Steve back down, but it doesn’t really work. He just pushes his face, and Steve lets himself be pushed, just for a bit, before he is straightening again.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says as he snaps his fingers in front of Max. It works on bringing her attention back to him. “Anything wrong?”

Max shakes her head.

“Are you having a sleepover? I also sleep with Max when we have a sleepover,” El asks.

Eddie looks between them for a couple of seconds before he says, “sure we are.”

It just sounds like he just wants to get rid of them.

“You boys are gross, can’t you put a shirt on?” Max asks. Billy was always walking around shirtless too.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Eddie just replies.

“Did anything happen?” Steve insists.

“We had a sleepover,” El says.

“Yeah, gathered that,” Eddie deadpans.

“We came so you will take us out for pancakes.”

Eddie groans as he lets himself fall back on the bed and looks up at Steve.

“I totally blame you for this being my life now, just so you know.”

Steve just laughs and pushes his face to the side. Max pulls a face, their friendship must be one of the weirdest things that has come out of the whole Vecna thing. Steve turns towards them with a stupid smile on his face.

“Go get your things, we will be out in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?!” Eddie protests, but Max and El don’t pay attention to him, already celebrating and running back to Max’s.

The last thing she sees is Steve leaning down towards Eddie with a hand on his face out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t really put much thought to it.

Lucas loves having Steve to play with. After all the Vecna stuff, he didn’t really want to hang out with the guys from basketball all that much, so Steve had stepped up. He had bought a hoop for his big driveway for them to practise and everything.

The day is hot, and they have been going at it for hours, so they are both sweaty and tired. They are at Steve’s driveway. It’s just them, sweaty under the sun, and Eddie sitting on a folding chair on the side, for some reason. He was already here when Lucas had arrived, and he had refused to leave. He is on the shade, reading a book, looking way more comfortable than them.

“Pause for drinks?” Steve asks, and Lucas is very happy to agree with him. “Hey!” he yells towards Eddie, he jumps as he looks up. “Don’t think I don’t see you looking at me like a creep. You should be getting us drinks.”

“Sorry sweetheart.” Eddie shouts back as he waves his book.

“Drinks, now.” Steve says with a jerk of his head towards the house.

Eddie drops the book in his haste to stand up and follow Steve inside. They are weird, they act so weird all the time. They should get girlfriends, that way they would maybe stop being weird with each other.

“You want anything, Lucas?” Steve asks as he walks away.

“Just a soda!” Lucas calls out after them.

Steve gives him a thumbs up as he goes through the door.

It’s ten minutes later that Lucas starts to wonder what’s taking them so long. He got tired of practising shoots, and also of sitting down on the grass waiting for them.

The house is blessedly chilly and dark when he comes in.

“Steve?” he calls out.

He walks towards the kitchen. There is sound coming from it, shuffling. When he gets close enough to the kitchen he hears Eddie speak quietly.

“Were you afraid your neighbours might see, big boy?”

“Shut up,” Steve answers. Then there are some wet sounds and when Lucas comes into the kitchen Steve is all over Eddie and-

“DUDE!” Lucas screams. Steve jumps away from Eddie. “What are you doing? What if Robin had seen you?”

Steve looks around. “What?”

“Dustin said you like Robin, what if she was here and she saw you…” he can’t even describe what they were doing, he just knows that if some girl saw that, she would never consider dating Steve.

“I don’t want to date Robin, why does everyone think I want to date Robin?” Steve says.

Lucas doesn’t answer. He just looks at Steve. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nancy, for sure. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her, or anyone.”

Eddie laughs like a maniac, Lucas just squints at him and goes to grab his soda.

Robin is not sure how they have ended up here. At the Hideout. On a Tuesday. With all the kids and Eddie’s band helping them get ready before even the freaking owner has arrived. She doesn’t know what about Eddie he thought was reliable enough to give him the keys to the bar, but she guesses it’s ‘I don’t want to go work early because some teenagers want to set up their instruments to play their shitty music’. It works for them though, because the kids had been saying how much they wanted to see them play, but they are not allowed to come into the bar when it’s open, so they have come extra early so they can listen to a couple of songs before people start arriving.

“Hey lovebirds!” A voice shouts. It’s one of Eddie’s bandmates. Gareth, Robin thinks he is called. “Stop being disgusting and come here so we can start?”

Robin turns to look for who he could be calling out for. Nancy and Jonathan have not come today, and everyone is in the stage area, everyone except…

“Did you just call Steve and Eddie lovebirds?”

“Yeah, since they started dating they’ve been unbearable.”

“DATING?” Dustin shrieks beside them.

“Shit, sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?” Gareth asks, and he sounds genuinely scared. Robin would normally appreciate it but-

“Oh, you think they are actually dating?” Dustin asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question, more like a realisation.

“Aren’t they?” Jeff asks.

“No, no, it’s just Eddie saying weird things.” Dustin dismisses, but Robin is frozen in place, the cogs in her mind turning.

“You are not dating?” Gareth asks to the side and yep, there Eddie and Steve are, now close to them. Eddie has his arm around Steve’s shoulder and they are leaning against each other.

Shit.

“We are,” Steve says easily. “They just don’t believe us.” Eddie bumps his head against Steve’s and he moves his head slightly away with an annoyed look that looks more fond than anything else.

Robin and Dustin are gaping at them and, from the sudden quiet around them she guesses the rest are too.

“Wait you two are actually dating?!” Lucas voice comes from behind them. “But Dustin said you weren’t going out with anyone because you liked Robin?”

That shakes Robin out of it, if only to turn around and say, “Ew, no.” Doesn’t matter who he is talking to.

“And I told Mike and Robin I was dating Eddie,” Steve says. “And you saw us kissing.”

“Yeah but- I don’t know.”

Eddie’s bandmates are now dying of laughter, Robin can’t even blame them.

“How was I supposed to believe you were telling the truth!” Robin exclaims. That provokes more laughs.

“Wait,” Max intervenes. “So that day you were sleeping together without a shirt…” She trails off, but they all see in her face what she just realised. “Gross!”

“Oh shut up Mayfield,” Eddie says. “I saw you looking at my boyfriend’s tits.”

That shuts Max up.

“You really are dating Steve?” Mike asks.

“Yes, and no stupid comments or your character is dead Wheeler.” Eddie states, pointing to Mike with the arm that is not around Steve.

And that shuts Mike up with a huff and a shake of his head.

“So you two are boyfriends?” El asks. “I think that’s cute.”

“Thanks El,” Steve says.

“I can’t believe you got with a boy before I got with a girl!” Robin exclaims. “And I didn’t know!”

“You would have known if you had believed me!” Steve exclaims back.

“Well sorry for thinking about your dating record and drawing conclusions.”

“Okay, okay,” Gareth interrupts them. “As funny as this is, we need to start now if we want to play anything before the owner arrives.”

“Let’s get this party going,” Eddie exclaims. He moves away from Steve to grab his guitar, and then goes back to Steve and kisses him on the lips. Actually kisses him on the lips in front of everyone, and Steve doesn’t really react except from a smile because why would he? They have been boyfriends for weeks apparently. “Be back in a minute sweetheart.”

Robin fake gags.

Steve moves to stand next to Robin. He has this shit eating grin on his face that Robin can’t stand.

“Shut up,” she says.

Eddie is on the stage now, looking at them with a stupid smile on his face. She should have known they were dating.

“Told you so,” Steve just says.

#i... i fuvken forgot about will i'm so sorry #i'm not used to writing so many characters #anyway #maybe i'll fix that in teh future with now i cant think of where to introduce him #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writings #my steddie

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bemusedlybespectacled · 11 months ago

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proposing what I'm going to call Gaylor's Razor, which is: never explain normal shit as being part of a secret message that can only be decoded by over-analysis.

"These Taylor Swift lyrics are actually coded messages saying that she's a lesbian and is forced to stay in the closet! Any lyrics that are clearly about being attracted to a man are just to throw us off the scent!" Sometimes people, like Taylor Swift, are straight and write about being straight, because they are straight.

"The fourth series of Sherlock was deliberately bad because it was actually a coded message to us fans that there is a secret fourth episode that will make Johnlock canon and will actually be good!" Sometimes writers (even experienced writers who are normally good at their jobs) will write something that's not good, because no one is perfect. They're not going to waste everyone's time and money and energy creating something terrible on purpose as part of a grand master plan.

"Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, the Canadian Olympic ice dancers, are secretly married (with kids)! Their public relationships with people who are not each other and them repeatedly saying 'we dated as kids and now we're just friends' are just to hide the truth! Which they need to hide for some reason! Their relationship is obvious just from their physical chemistry when competing! JUST LOOK AT THIS TWO SECOND CLIP OF HIM BLINKING AT HER!" It seems counterproductive to put all that thought into hiding a relationship that doesn't need to be hidden but then also telegraph that same relationship in front of millions of people through planned choreography.

"But BB, what about times that people really are speaking in code or hiding something due to outside influences?"

If it requires huge leaps in logic, like adding all the letters in a sentence together and dividing by seventeen and that number matches the binary sequence for the color yellow so YELLOW MUST BE SIGNIFICANT, it's not a secret code.

If it requires focusing on teeny tiny details but discards huge ones, like analyzing someone's micro-expressions but handwaving away what the person is actually saying out loud with their mouth, or focusing on one specific line instead of the entire scene or song or whatever, it's not a secret code.

If both supporting and contradictory evidence are used to come to the same conclusion (ex: when Taylor says something that I interpret as gay, that means she's gay, and when she says something that I interpret as straight, that still means she's gay and just hiding it), it's not a secret code.

Trying to apply fandom meta analysis techniques to real life is a really good way of fall into conspiratorial thinking that can be easily exploited. You can totally try to predict what's going to happen in a story or choose to interpret a scene in a specific way; you can't do that in real life with real people. That way lies the kind of nonsense that leads to shit like "this image of pizza on a children's toy is actually subliminal messaging by The Cabal™ that proves that Pizzagate is real."

#personal #conspiracy theories

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steddiehyperfixation · 2 months ago

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@steddiebingo prompts: college au + crush + bandana | 1.1k words | T |

“Steeeveennnn,” Robin complains, poking Steve's shoulder with her pencil. “This was not the deal.”

Steve blinks and startles as if shaken out of a trance and grudgingly drags his glance over to Robin. “What?”

“You're only supposed to zone out when I'm paying attention and I can only zone out when you're paying attention.” That's their standard deal for any class they share that they're both only taking to knock out some credits and isn't relevant to either of their majors.

“Okay,” he says, “so pay attention.”

“I have been, dingus,” she argues. While this semester's History of Rock course is actually kind of interesting, Robin would still appreciate being able to use some of the precious daydreaming time she’d been promised. “I've been giving you my notes for the last month, at least! It's my turn to zone out now, slacker.”

“Alright, alright. I'm paying attention.” Steve makes a big show of picking up his pencil and writing down what's on the lecture slides, even leaning forward a little to emphasize his focus. “You're free to zone out to your heart’s content.”

Robin doesn't trust him in the slightest.

She enjoys about five whole minutes of spacing out before one Eddie Munson inevitably interrupts the professor to challenge some point and any hope of Steve's ability to continue taking notes for her is lost completely. His attention is stolen the second that ringed hand goes up, focus returning undividedly to the loud, scraggly man who is now standing up in his vehemence to counter the teacher. Steve instantly becomes enraptured by this argument, though Robin doubts he’s really comprehending a single word of it. He even gets this dopey little smile on his face as he watches.

“Oh my god,” Robin groans, rolling her eyes and dropping her chin into her palm in resignation to her fate. Steve is utterly useless when he has a crush. It would be pointless, Sisyphean even, for her to keep trying to snap him out of it; no matter how many times she diverts his attention, it always rolls right back to Eddie.

Robin doesn't know what Steve sees in him. Personally, she finds Eddie kind of obnoxious and thinks he looks a bit like a stray dog that's been left outside in a thunderstorm. But for some reason he has her best friend totally captivated. Even when Eddie sits back down, conceding the tangential debate and letting the professor continue, Steve's gaze still lingers as it always does for the remainder of class, his eyes all dreamy and far away and the very epitome of yearning.

“This is getting pathetic,” Robin tells him when class is dismissed and she looks over to find him still staring. “Just go talk to him already. Make a move. I’m sick of watching you sit here and pine.”

“He might not even be queer, Rob.”

“He wears a black bandana in his back pocket.”

“So? He's all metal and shit, it could just be, like, a style thing. Doesn't mean it's hanky code.”

“Okay, so ask him.”

Steve looks at her like she's gone insane. “I can't just go up to him and ask him if he's flagging.”

“Fine, then I will.”

“What- No, Robin-!”

But Robin is already standing up and marching through the crowd of students leaving the classroom to catch up to Eddie. “Hey, are you flagging?”

Eddie stops short and turns sharply around to face her. “Excuse me?”

“That bandana you've always got in your pocket - is that just a fashion statement or are you flagging?” she repeats bluntly.

Eddie's eyes narrow, halfway between distrustful confusion and a sneer. “What's it to you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Robin says. “I couldn't care less. I'm asking for my friend, Steve.” She points a thumb over her shoulder, fairly certain Steve isn't too far behind her. “He's the one who's been staring at you like an idiot all semester, and he's just dying to know if-”

“Oh my god-” Steve interrupts, shoulder checking her as he comes up beside her, his face flushed and slightly out of breath like he fought his way here desperately. “I’m so sorry about her.” He gives Eddie an apologetic smile and cuts Robin a sideways glare. “She was dropped on the head a few too many times as a baby and it left her incapable of comprehending boundaries.”

Robin scoffs. “Oh, like watching creepily from afar is so much more respectful,” she retorts.

“I’m not a creep-” Steve rushes to protest, looking hastily back to Eddie. “I’m not a creep. She's making it sound like I'm some sort of stalker or something. I’m not, I swear.”

Eddie laughs, and Steve looks whipped. “It's alright, I don't mind.”

Eddie's wary hostility seems to have faded into something more amused and definitely not uninterested, if the way he's looking Steve over is any indication. Robin subtly nudges Steve with her arm. Time to turn on the charm, dingus, he likes you.

“You just catch my eye, is all,” Steve recovers, regaining his composure and quickly attempting to school his flustered, lovesick expression into a smoother, more intentional smile. “You stand out, you know - in a good way. I like your style, how outspoken you are. You seem really passionate about this music stuff; it's cool to watch.”

Eddie's interest only sharpens, slow grin growing. He considers him for another moment. “Your friend says you're curious about my bandana.”

“Yeah, uh-” A little bit of that flusteredness slips out again, just enough that it could possibly be intentional (or maybe not; Robin’s really not giving him that much credit). Steve chews at his lip, eyes flicking Eddie up and down. “That too.”

Eddie's about to say something in response, but he's cut off by someone shouting his name. There's some blond guy at the end of the hall gesturing impatiently at him.

“Shit, sorry, I gotta run, my band’s got practice right now. But, um.” Eddie searches his pockets and grabs a pen out of his leather jacket. “Here.” He takes Steve's arm, scribbling a phone number onto his skin. “Why don't you call me later and we can talk more, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He looks mildly starstruck, smiling stupidly at the number on his arm like it's a celebrity autograph or something. “Yeah, for sure.”

Robin snickers. “Oh, he's never washing that arm again.”

“Shut up, Robin,” Steve hisses, his cheeks tingeing pink again. Eddie laughs and Steve manages a sheepish smile. “I-I’ll call you,” he confirms again as he turns to leave, grabbing Robin by the arm and dragging her with him before she can embarrass him any further.

“You better,” Eddie calls after him, and Steve looks over his shoulder just in time to catch his smirk and farewell salute before he too turns and bounds off in the opposite direction.

Robin digs her elbow into Steve’s ribs, grinning smugly at him. “You're fucking welcome,” she says.

#anyways. steve's moony-eyed staring only gets worse after he and eddie actually get together and robin regrets everything btw #steddiebingo2025 #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stranger things #ficlet #mine #1k

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asxgard · 2 months ago

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Be. | one shot

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!MedStudent!reader

Requested

Summary: You had no intentions of falling for the sad-eyed attending on one of your rotations. And yet, here you are.

[ Masterlist ]

Request: I know your requests are closed so this can be when you’re back because this idea is eating me alive. I was wondering if you could do a Dr. Robby x reader in their early 20s if you are comfortable with that. No one knows about them until either Abbott or Dana come to check on him at his apartment after Pitt Fest and they open the door in his sweatshirt. They talk to Robby and make jokes like “so do you have to pick her up from school?” But in the end they see his face with them and they understand why they are together. Love your writing! It’s been fueling my Pitt brain rot.

Note: Thank you for your request, @im-not-okay-i-promise1452 ! I hope you enjoy it💜

Word Count: 2.8k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap (reader is 23, Robby is late 40s), hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, implied smut, foul language, death of a patient, canon-typical gore, Pittfest mentions, Robby having a hard time with feelings, reader has parents (slightly older than Robby)

not beta read

It had started on med school rotation, after meeting the chief attending. You were fresh-eyed and eager, just coming off an internal medicine rotation. The ED had been a mess you were not quite expecting. You knew almost immediately that it was not the place for you, but you had every intention of finishing the rotation just to prove to yourself that you could.

You flustered in his company, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings and you felt just as delicate. A crush on your attending felt like a break in protocol, a break in your carefully curated plan of med school, residency, attending or physician in a clinic. You were hung up on his age, which helped you keep your distance, and eventually you just tried to avoid him unless he was showing you something.

Sticking closer to Langdon or Collins felt like a safer bet until the rotation was through.

It was impossible to avoid him forever, it seemed, especially in the chaos of the Pitt. Two patients had been rushed in after an MVA — and you raced behind Langdon as he got the vitals of the first patient.

Seven month pregnant woman, awake and alert, with abrasions along her arms and legs, but a bruise already forming from the seatbelt. She grabbed your hand while Langdon was rattling off her vitals as she was rolled into Trauma-1.

“You’ve got to save my baby,” she cried, face scrunched in pain. “Please, it’s too soon.”

It squeezed your heart and you wordlessly nodded at her. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Robby walked into the room with an air of confidence, and it seemed to reassure you. Until her blood pressure crashed and the code blue began — L&D had been called, but they had yet to make it. You each took turns with compressions, and you felt as if you had completely stopped breathing.

The main focus had been to bring back the woman, even as the fetal heartbeat stuttered to a stop. A L&D attending rushed in the assess the situation, and you moved out of the way until your back hit the wall, stuck frozen as the scene played out.

The attending and Robby argued back and forth over something, but everything sounded like a high pitched whine. Langdon resumed compressions and you eventually got control of your limbs again, only to run out of the room.

Your breathing had come in shallow pants, like your lungs could not take in the air you desperately needed. You vaguely heard Dana call out to you, but perhaps it had been in your head. Everything felt like it was closing in on you, like despite any efforts made, it still would never be enough.

You found the stairwell without meaning to and collapsed on the stairs. Seconds blurred into minutes as you sat there, head between your knees so you didn’t throw up or pass out. Just hours before, you had been stone faced and helpful when a man had come in holding his intestines in his hands. The blood or the gore had not phased you — but this woman? Her baby?

It rattled something to your core.

Someone sat beside you, not speaking, simply just sitting. It made your hairs stand on end, and when you pulled your head up to look at them, you realized your vision had gone blurry. You frantically wiped away your tears to see Robby sitting there, elbows on his knees, hands together, looking down at the tile like it had personally offended him.

“Dr. Robby,” you said, sticking the heels of your hands into your eyes to try to stop the tears. “I’m sorry—I won’t—it—that won’t happen again.”

He glanced over at you, “First one is always the hardest.”

You sucked in a breath, “So she’s—”

He nodded solemnly, “Fischer thinks the baby might make it.”

You swallowed thickly, “That’s good.”

Silence encased you, but the rush of anxiety being alone with him did not flush through your system. While it was a painful silence, it was one being shared.

The way his eyes swept over your face made you blush, “You’re doing good, kid.”

“I don’t think emergency medicine is for me.” You told him, like it was some moral failing.

He blinked, “Your options are always open. Your next rotation, you might find something you love.”

“When I got placed here, I guess I just wanted to prove that I could do it, you know?”

“And aren’t you?” He asked, “One patient doesn’t change the fact that you’re still doing well. Hard worker, dedicated, eager to learn and you’re excellent with patients. I can clearly see that you care.”

Heat warmed your cheeks.

He stood slowly and extended his hand, “Let’s get back out there so you can kick this rotation’s ass.”

You barked a laugh before covering your mouth with your hand. You grabbed his hand and stood, ignoring your burning cheeks.

“Thank you, Dr. Robby.”

He let go of your hand and nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate, yeah?”

You smiled at him.

—

The end of your rotation came with a bit more sadness than you had expected. Not so much to be leaving the Pitt — you were quite happy about that — but the fact that you were not likely to see Robby again.

On your last day, Robby tried to have you in as many complicated cases as he could — even when only a few came through the door. He wanted for you to take as much knowledge from your time in the Pitt as possible, and you found it incredibly endearing. You shadowed him for a majority of the day, rather than Langdon or Collins.

Though, the evening came without fanfare — only people wishing you luck on your next rotation and you bid them goodbye. Robby walked with you outside.

He rubbed the back of his neck when you stopped on the sidewalk, and he looked away from you. He pulled a yellow sticky note out of his pocket, before handing it over to you. His name was scrawled at the top in his messy script, and underneath laid a seven digit number preceded by the Pittsburgh area code.

Robby’s phone number.

Your breath caught in your throat and you looked him in the eyes.

“In case you ever need anything. School. Rotations. Life. Just uh…give me a call. Or a text.”

You looked back down at it as your heart thundered nervously in your chest. After a few frantic beats, you finally got yourself to smile at him. “Thank you, Dr. Robby.

“Uh, just Robby’s fine. Or Mike—Michael, works too.”

“Thank you,�� you repeated, “Robby.”

You ended up reaching out to him a lot sooner than you were expecting, asking if he was free to meet over coffee to discuss your upcoming COMAT exam. Despite having zero time to study, you truly just wanted to be able to see him again, perhaps pick his brain about some of the specialties you were thinking of, but certainly not the exam.

When you met up, it was easy to talk about what you had been up to, how you were liking family medicine, and how he had been since you had last seen him.

You were thankful that it didn’t feel awkward or forced. The attraction you had felt for him back in the Pitt had come crawling back into your chest and made it as if it had never left. His warm brown eyes on yours made it obvious it never had.

Talking over coffee became a weekly occurrence after that. Part of it felt inappropriate as the conversations ebbed away from school and his advice, and closer to something a touch more intimate and mature.

You wondered if he was just placating you, or perhaps even pitying you, until several weeks later. He had sat down red cheeked and flustered, though you were quick to see it was not from the biting Pittsburgh wind.

“You alright, Robby?”

He met your eyes quickly, before glancing away again. “I don’t know if this is forward—I was hoping you might want to grab dinner sometime?”

You stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded. “Are you asking me out?”

“That would be…” He sighed, before rushing out, “Yeah, yeah I am.”

Your smile seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders.

“Dinner sounds good.”

—

It had been difficult to figure out, to say the least. While your age gap was controversial to many, it only reared its head to you when Robby mentioned an old movie quote that had you raising a questioning eyebrow at him. He would look mildly dumbfounded that you hadn’t seen it, or hadn’t heard the song he was humming, before resorting to show it to you.

You hadn’t enjoyed the judgment at first, but you knew his intentions were not bad — he was not looking to just have sex with you, which was refreshing. None of the guys in your program were particularly interested in anything serious, and most of the men you had met outside med school were too intimidated to seek much else. Like you, Robby was looking for something serious.

You were just surprised to find it before residency in the sad-eyed attending from your last rotation. But it was good, and no one could take that from you.

Robby wasn’t looking to rush or pressure you, and you weren’t looking to fool around and break his heart. Boundaries were easily set, and expectations laid out, and soon enough, he was calling you his girlfriend.

Your parents would likely have an aneurysm once they found out his age — they had already made a fuss to find out you were dating, “don’t let this impact your grades, young lady!” — but you had decided to wait until graduation, over a year away. Robby had respected your decision, knowing how focused you were on studying. You knew he had been nervous to meet them, and you would be lying to yourself if you weren’t nervous, too.

Robby was nearly your father’s age, which had bridged some uncomfortable conversations early on about daddy issues.

Your nose scrunched up, “I really don’t think that’s what it is. I’m not seeing you to get under his skin, or get his attention, or resolve some trauma about my father. It’s a lot less complicated than that.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I like you. I enjoy talking with you. I enjoy watching those stupid old movies,” part of your lip quirked up, “but more importantly, I like how you make me feel. I like who I am when I’m with you. I don’t feel like I have to hide or pretend, or try to be something I’m not.”

“You just get to be.” Robby said, finishing your thought.

You lit up at the way he seemed to immediately understand.

“And for the record, 80’s movies aren’t old.” His frown was playful.

You laughed, “Whatever you say, old man.”

You ended up paying for that comment all night long, more-so to prove a point, but you could hardly complain. At least not until the following morning when you woke with a soreness that should have been a crime and an ache for more that was completely impure.

A few months rolled into a year and eventually you started the fall semester with a rotation in pediatrics as an MS4. It was hard not to venture down in the Pitt to visit Robby, but after about a week, you got up the nerve to go and say hello.

You spoke with Dana, and Collins, waving at Princess and Perlah as they passed. Dana was happy to see you, and asked how you were faring upstairs.

“A lot better than I was down in here.” You chuckled.

Dana waved it off, “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid. I know you’ll find something.”

You bid a goodbye with a promise to stop by again — subtly looking for Robby, and now having an excuse to see him during this rotation. He looked surprised to see you, and played up the pleasantries as to not look obvious.

“What a surprise. You wanna come back to the Pitt?”

You laughed, “No.”

Robby liked to keep his private life out of prying eyes, and certainly away from the gossiping nurses, and you respected that. You let him walk you out, exchanging small talk. Once outside, he snuck a quick kiss.

“Meet you at mine tonight?”

“Me and my textbooks will be there.” You said with a smile.

—

Pittfest had been a nightmare made real, and finding Robby on that roof after only twelve hours since Jack had been in the same spot had made him worry. Robby had looked so broken, and after the day Dana had, Jack had volunteered to be the one to go check on him.

Knocking on Robby’s apartment door, a six pack in hand to have an excuse to show up, the last thing Jack had expected was a pretty young thing to answer his door. Jack blinked dumbly, looking back to the apartment number, thinking perhaps he had knocked on the wrong door.

Looking back to you, Jack noticed you were dressed in a hoodie he knew was Robby’s — hems frayed and collar worn out, the university lettering fading with use. Your eyes moved from his face to the case of beer in his hand then back to his face.

Jack finally got his lips to move, “Is Robby home?”

You only blinked, and then smiled softly. You called for him over your shoulder, and Robby came from around the corner with his eyebrows drawn close in confusion. He still looked completely worn down, but he was in new clothes.

“Hey, brother,” Jack ventured, glancing at you in the corner of his eye.

Robby’s head moved just a hair in the slightest nod. It was a movement Jack barely registered, but you had.

You introduced yourself quickly, and Jack shook your hand before coming inside. You disappeared into the kitchen, out of eyesight.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, setting the beer on the coffee table.

“I didn’t realize you were…seeing someone.”

Robby rubbed the back of his neck, sighing, “Yeah.”

Jack sat on one of the L-shaped couch, cracking open one of the beers. He handed one over and Robby took it.

“Wanted to check in…finding you on that rooftop, I didn’t want you to be alone.” Jack looked toward the kitchen. “Didn’t realize you wouldn’t be.”

Robby only shrugged, “Told her to stay home, meet me here.”

Jack absorbed the information, “She a…resident?”

It was easy to see the rose color tinting at his cheeks, “Med student.”

Jack let out a low whistle, “How the hell did you manage that?”

“She passed through the Pitt on rotation.” Robby offered, looking at the beer in his hand. “Started seeing each other after that.”

“So you’ve got game.” Jack nodded, smirking slightly.

Robby chuckled, sipping his beer.

“Can she even drink one of these?”

Robby choked on the liquid, coughing a few times before looking at Jack wildly. “She’s twenty-three.”

Jack raised his hands in defense, “Had to ask.”

Robby’s nose scrunched up, “I’m not a—”

“I know, I know.” Jack said, “So you drop off at school?”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Robby shook his head, rubbing a hand on his face.

“Alright, she drop you off at the old folks—”

“You done?” Robby deadpanned.

“Okay, okay. That was the last one.” Jack chuckled.

Robby laughed, so many pent up emotions clearly overflowing. He took a few deep breaths and shook his head.

“What a day. Thought I had a few more months before I broke the news to everyone slowly.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, “You were gonna tell us?”

“Eventually. We wanted to take our time — knew how people were likely going to respond.”

Jack frowned.

You appeared again, sweatpants now joining the oversized sweatshirt — Robby’s sweatshirt. You smiled sheepishly, taking a seat beside Robby. The sleeves were just a bit too long for you, but you looked at home in it.

Jack’s mind was swimming — looking to just check in on his friend and instead finding a relationship Robby had kept secret from everyone. His mind kept jumping to you using his friend, or his friend seeking companionship in problematic places — until your hands intertwined and Robby’s entire body relaxed.

The way your eyes swept over Robby’s face with affection dripping with love and care, or the way he kissed the back of your hand like it was holding him together. The way Robby looked at you like Jack was not even there, and you smiled back at him with a soft adoration, quiet and tired, but deliberate. Deliberate in the way someone chose to care about someone else, a decision made every day, even when it got hard.

Jack settled deeper into the couch, no longer on guard, no longer concerned his friend would fall flat on his face after falling in too deep.

“I’m happy for you.” Jack told you both, and Robby smiled at him genuinely. Jack took a quick swing of his beer, smiling to himself.

Dana was going to love Jack’s update in the morning.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08 @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @diasnohibng @qardasngan @looneylooomis @happyfestpanda-blog

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69 @moonlightmvrvel @andabuttonnose @boldlyherdream @cosmosnkaz @brnesblogposts @concentratedconcrete @satanxklaus @gardeniarose13

All: @nixandtonic

This feels like it might inspire something longer👀a reader this young might be problematic, but damn it’s fun! And fictional!

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #the pitt x reader #asxgard writes #requested

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babybluebex · 17 days ago

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drink the honey | erik campbell x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in visiting your friends' bar, you happen to meet his older brother, aka the guy who pierced your ears forever ago. cue a lesson in grief and exactly what can be pierced and where, as well as a night you won't soon be forgetting. wc 9.7k (i am. so sorry.) title stolen from closer by nine inch nails. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: erik campbell (final destination: bloodlines, 2025) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: semi-canon compliance (howard has gone to his great reward, the shop fire happened, but none of the death hitlist stuff), drinking, one single mention of jerry fuckin fenbury, mild descriptions of burn injuries/scars, lots of innuendos, smut (minors dni)(holy shit there's a lot here, bear with me yall): p in v, creampie city baby (but then mention of intention to use morning-after pill), oral (f!receiving), genital piercings (like... we all watched the same movie, we know what's going down), lots of teasing, hittin it from the back + spanking (i know yall saw what he did to that garbage truck), biting/hickies, one tiny quick slap to a cheek, panty thief erik, look-in-the-mirror type shenanigans, light choking, halfway decent aftercare considering the circumstances, nicknames such as: sweetheart, baby, babygirl, princess/prince 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: soooo like after a year-long writing hiatus, i am back. it's been. a lot. and as far as this fic goes, i cannot explain myself, i knew i needed erik carnally even before the garbage truck thing so like. idk, dick piercing goes brrrr. anyway. follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!

You had only seen him once before. He had been the guy at the sketchy tattoo shop downtown that had done your second lobe piercings, and he was totally fine. It hardly hurt, probably because he was able to distract you long enough for the needle to pierce your skin by getting you talking about your own job, and he was pretty good about reminding you how to clean the piercings and everything. You didn’t exactly remember his name— something with an E, or an A? It was a little while ago, and you had been a walk-in— but you acutely remember his big, blue eyes and the stink of cigarettes that lingered on the leather jacket he wore while piercing you. That, actually, was the same jacket he was wearing right now, sitting directly across the bar from you.

He was by himself, bottle of Hice in hand, seemingly off in his own world as he gazed at the bartop. Every so often, every time the cute blond bartender passed by him, he would lift his head and give him a curt nod or a flick of his eyebrows, but he didn’t talk to anyone else or look in any one direction other than down. You were totally intrigued by him, even though he was not your usual type— as your friend beside you had joked as you walked into the bar earlier that night, maybe your “boyfriend” would be working, AKA Bobby, the cute blond bartender. Bobby was an absolute sweetheart, greeting you with a grin and asking how your night was every single time you came in, but he was a sweetie with everyone that walked into the bar, so, even though it wasn’t necessarily special treatment, it made you like him a whole lot.

Speaking of your friend… You looked one way and the other, trying to catch sight of her, and you frowned mildly as you tugged your phone from your purse. Just as you suspected, she had texted you about ten minutes before, telling you that she had absconded to go smoke, which was code for “I’m going on an adventure and it’ll be your job in two hours to track me down and get me back home”. You sighed, clicking off your phone screen, and sucked down the last of your liquor from your plastic cup.

“Lookin’ pretty glum there, friend,” a voice said, and you gazed up to see Bobby. There was a relative lull in the crowd, although the rap music playing over the speakers still shook the walls, and Bobby’s kind smile softened you. “What’s got you down?”

“Ah, shit,” you chuckled. “Not sad or anything. Just tired.”

“Tired?” Bobby repeated. “You want a vodka Redbull?”

You shook your head. “Just a long day at work,” you informed him. “Didn’t really even wanna come out, but Anna convinced me, and then immediately…” You trailed off, gesturing around you and the obvious lack of Anna. Even though you had never seen Bobby outside the bar, you had been going for years and knew him well, and Bobby had a good memory of the regulars, so he nodded, familiar with Anna’s disappearing act. “Probably one more of these, then close up my tab.”

“You got it,” Bobby said. “Single or double?”

You twisted your mouth as you thought about it. Obviously, you wanted a double, but a single would probably be better for you and your poor wallet. Bobby tilted his head towards you with a smile, almost as if to say C’mon, you know you wanna, and you sighed. “Just a single,” you told him.

“Heard,” Bobby nodded. As he made your drink, you watched him walk to the opposite end of the bar and sharply say something to the brooding piercer, and he looked up from the bartop again to say something equally sharp back at him. A weary smile passed over his face, and he pulled at the glass bottle of beer.

“Hey, so,” you started as Bobby handed you your cup. “Who’s that at the end you keep talking to?”

Bobby scoffed. “Who’s asking?” he started, popping a small black cocktail straw in your drink.

“He pierced my seconds for me a few months ago,” you explained. “Was thinking about getting my nose done, and wanted to go back to him, but I couldn’t remember his name.” A total lie; you liked your nose the way it was, with the appropriate number of holes. You just wanted to know more about him; he had a pull, like a magnet, and you needed more.

“You let that motherfucker stick needles in you?” Bobby chuckled. “And you want more? Ill-advised.”

“Okay, well, who is he?” you asked, a flash of fear running cold down your body.

“Erik,” Bobby said, and your brain flashed with recognition. Erik; that’s right. Something with an E.

“And it’s bad that Erik pierced my ears because…?” you asked. “Did he, like, get his license taken away or something?”

“No, no,” Bobby sighed. “Ah, I shouldn’t talk shit about him. He’s my older brother, though, I can’t help it. Genetically predisposed to give him hell… Maybe not genetically, but y’know, half-genetically, or whatever…”

Oh. Throughout the years, you could recall Bobby making passing mentions of his siblings— his older sister graduating college last year, his older brother flunking out of college prior to you ever meeting Bobby, his sister being “back in town”, his brother “traveling for work”, yada yada yada. “This the same brother that flunked outta college?” you asked, and Bobby laughed loudly.

“Yes!” he wheezed. “Yep, that’s him! Fuck, how do you remember that?”

“Because I’m a nice person, Bobby!” you smiled. “I remember things that people tell me!”

“Shit, that’s funny,” Bobby said. “Yeah, one and the same. Went for one semester, decided he didn’t like it, grades went downhill, dropped out before they could boot him out… Probably for the best, honestly, he never really was into the whole ‘establishment’ thing. Think he only ever went there to get our mom off his back.”

“Dad didn’t care?” you started, and a twinge flashed over Bobby’s face.

“Well,” he started. “Not necessarily, but y’know… But Dad passed away about a year ago. It sorta sucked for all of us, obviously, and that’s when Ma got intense about… Well, everything. But he had been out of college for… Shit, more than ten years, and when Dad died, Erik just… I don’t know, he had a break or something. You find out, in the wake of your dad’s death, that your dad isn’t actually your dad and that your mom’s friend is actually your dad, and that fucks with you, so I get it, but he got super withdrawn from all of us after that. I mean, shit, this is the first time I’ve seen him in months.”

“Wow,” you sighed. “That’s… Um…”

“Sorry,” Bobby said, clearing his throat. “Airing out my half-brother’s dirty laundry, I shouldn’t have… I just worry about him, y’know? He’s my big bro. He used to be so… He lit up whatever room he walked into. He’d come over to grill for family barbecues and to play video games and just to, like, hang out, but ever since that fiasco last year, he’s just… Tattoo shop, his apartment, over and over. Getting him to even stop by tonight was like pulling teeth. Truly, I think he needs a girlfriend. Boyfriend. Cat. Whatever. Something to get him out of his head.”

The man across the bar certainly did not fit the shining description that Bobby gave of the old Erik. By now, he had his phone in his hand, lighting up his face, and the light glinted off a large silver ring hanging from his nose. You remembered the same jewelry from when you met him, and you absentmindedly tugged on your earlobe. “Well, shit,” you said finally. “First of all, sorry for all of that. My dad isn’t really in my life, so I can’t sympathize exactly, but… Y’know. Still sucks. I’m sorry about that. And additionally… Jesus Christ, Bobby, you need to learn to keep your mouth shut!”

Bobby smiled. “You wanted to close your tab, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Sure thing.”

You handed Bobby your card, and your gaze drifted to Erik one more. Still on his phone, but now with furrowed eyebrows, concentrating on something. The POS system was right next to where Erik sat, and you watched Bobby say something to his brother as he ran your card. You couldn’t read lips, so you were at a loss as to the conversation, but you watched Erik roll his eyes and swig at his beer, saying something in response to Bobby. Bobby froze up for a single second, then said something that you could obviously tell was “Really?”, and Erik nodded. Bobby seemed like he was malfunctioning, still for a moment, then turning back to the computer, then back to Erik once more, repeating “Really?”

Erik was obviously annoyed, cocking his head towards his little brother, and he went into the pocket of his leather jacket, extracting his wallet and passing his card to Bobby. Bobby pushed your own card into his empty hand and poked at the computer for a moment, and he ran Erik’s card through the computer. In a second, the POS churned out a receipt, and Bobby shoved it towards his brother as he turned back towards you and came your way. “Um,” Bobby started, a red flush hitting his cheeks. “So, Erik picked up your tab for you.”

“Huh?” you asked as Bobby slid you your card back. “Why?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Bobby shrugged. “Maybe he thinks you’re my friend or something… Well, I mean, you are, kinda, we’re friendly…”

“Or maybe,” you started. “He’s getting a move-on with that ‘girlfriend’ thing you mentioned.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bobby mumbled.

“Or, and consider this,” you began, sliding your card back into your purse and grabbing your drink as you edged yourself off the barstool. “I’m a pretty girl who just gets drinks bought for her from time to time.”

“I mean, obviously,” Bobby said with a smile. “It’s just never my brother doing the buying.”

Erik looked up from his phone as you approached him, and your heart slammed up against your ribcage with anxiety. His hair, all shaggy and a little too long, hung in his eyes, and a careful smile touched at his mouth. “Saw you talking to Bobby,” he said. He shifted slightly, opening his body towards you and not solely at the bar, and you saw Bobby give a sort-of pained smile, almost a “What the fuck?!” type of face. “Figured you were one of his little girlfriends or something.”

“No, not me,” you said. “I’m just a regular, nothing more.”

“Ah, well,” Erik shrugged. “Bobby can use as many friends as he can get.” He cast a look at his brother, who swiftly threw up a double bird, and Erik rolled his eyes. “So, does my baby brother’s regular friend have a name?”

“Yes,” you said, and a smile came across his face when you told him your name. He repeated it back to you, gentle and sweet, like he was committing it to memory. You liked the way he said your name, and the closer proximity allowed you to see his pink mouth, the skin of his lips a little dry and bitten.

“That’s pretty,” he told you. “I’m Erik, if Bobby didn’t already tell you.”

“I already knew,” you told him. A flash of confusion wiped across his face, and you put a hand up to your ear, almost as if you were showing them off. “You did my seconds a little while ago.”

“Oh!” Erik laughed. “Well, shit, I did, didn’t I? I remember you now; I knew I’d seen your pretty face before.”

“God,” you chuckled. “Are you always such a flirt?”

“Not always,” Erik said. “Only when it can make my baby brother uncomfortable.” He gestured towards Bobby with the end of his beer bottle, and Bobby gave him another “What the fuck?” type look before rolling his eyes and going to serve other people at the bar, away from you and Erik.

“Well, you’re certainly brothers, based on attitude alone,” you said, and watched as Erik hooked the toe of his boot in the barstool opposite him and tugged it out, giving you a place to sit.

“What, the blindingly good looks didn’t give it away first?” Erik asked.

“You two look nothing alike,” you told him. After a momentary beat, you added, “I like your look better than his.”

“Oh yeah?” Erik asked. “You into the brooding, mysterious types?”

You shrugged. “I could be,” you said. “I think it’s the whole, like, ‘tortured artist’ thing you’ve got going on.”

“So, that answer is yes, the brooding and mysterious type,” Erik nodded. “Tortured artists are, in my experience, inherently brooding and mysterious. Can’t claim the title if you aren’t.”

“Damn, today I learned,” you replied, and Erik gave a little laugh. You examined his face as he looked to the side, towards Bobby, to flag him down for another beer; soft skin, a little pale with a rosy flush, rough facial hair that showed a little ginger in the blue neon signage behind the bar, with thick, dark eyelashes around his almond eyes, piercing blue. A silver ring inside his nose, to match the ones in his ears; it looked like a thicker metal than you thought piercings typically were. “So, here, you can teach me something else. How did you get your nose ring in?”

“Like, how you pierce a septum?” Erik asked.

“No, like, that’s way… I don’t know…” you started, already regretting the question, knowing your next choice of words. “Way bigger and thicker than my earrings. How?” Your face burned hot at having to look him in the eyes and say the phrase “big and thick” to him, but he either didn’t catch the unintentional innuendo or actively chose not to acknowledge it.

“Oh, I see,” Erik nodded. “Yeah, so, it’s a little complicated, a lot of terminology and shit, but the short of it is that you gotta stretch it out. Like, it wasn’t this big when I first did it, I’ve had to size up the hole over the years so I could get bigger and thicker things in there.”

You bit your bottom lip to hold in your laughter, and Erik scoffed. “Okay, that was too much eye contact on my part for saying all of that, that’s my bad,” he said and shook his head. “I could have said that way differently.”

“I-It’s fine,” you told him. He exchanged the empty bottle for another one from his brother, and Bobby passed him the bent-up bottle cap, which he put into an inside pocket of his jacket. “I mean, I started it.”

“That you did,” Erik said. “But, yeah, it’s a whole thing, sizing up, it takes a while.”

“Neat,” you said. “I don’t know too much about, like, tattoos or piercings or whatever, that’s not really my style.”

“Well, I’m an open book,” Erik shrugged. “You got questions, I’ve got answers. And I won’t even charge ya for it.” He gave you a playful wink, and the heat returned to your face.

“Cool,” you nodded. “Do you have any tattoos?”

“Oh, yeah,” Erik nodded quickly. “Got more ink than skin at this point, I’m pretty sure.” With that, he shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in just the black t-shirt for some band that you didn’t know, with that weird scratchy font that metal bands usually used. You could hardly focus on the t-shirt, though; all along his now-exposed arms, he had different pieces of artwork, all varying sizes, some colorful and some not, none of them remotely similar. You felt your eyes widen as Erik held out his arms to you, and you examined the spiderwebs, serpents, and roses that he had embedded in his skin forever. “You can touch ‘em, if you want,” he offered, then winced. “I promise I’m not trying to say everything as obscenely as possible.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled. Gently, as if you were worried you’d hurt him, you brushed your fingers along the large spiderweb that encompassed the majority of his lower right arm. “I mean, it’s just skin. Skin is skin, ink or not.”

“I know,” Erik said. “But that’s a sorta cheat code with people like me— let the cute girl touch your tattoos and she might give you her number. A high success rate, you’d be surprised.”

You gently turned his arm over to get a look at the softer, paler skin on the inside of his arm, and you sighed. In large script, the word DAD was inked in, along with a pale scar in the shape of a heart towards the end. “Oh,” Erik started. “So, the heart was, um, sorta an accident. Not sorta, it was an accident, but, like, I don’t know, it’s a long story. The night after my father died, I was closing up shop by myself, and some freak fire got started. Through a series of unfortunate events, I ended up on the floor, but a jewelry case had busted in the fire and I didn’t realize it, and my arm—” He made an exaggerated splat noise that made you giggle despite the horror of the story. “Landed straight on top of it. Worst pain I’ve ever been in that I didn’t enjoy.”

“Wow,” you mumbled. “I’m glad you’re alright… I remember last year, hearing from some friends that there was a fire there, but… And I’m sorry ‘bout your dad.” You only added the last part to try to banish the thoughts that his last remark had ignited, but he did nothing to mitigate it.

“Yeah, it’s coming up on a full year,” Erik said. “And I was thinking about it recently, and I’m tired of… I don’t know. When he died, I felt like I lost a part of myself. I mean, he’s my dad, y’know, I kinda did lose a part of myself. But one day a few weeks ago, I looked down at the tat and the burn scar, and saw that everything had healed up as nice as possible, like nothing bad happened at all, and I figured that it was Pops, taking care of me one last time. I realized I was tired of being a sad little recluse, especially if he was going to make sure I was okay.”

There’s the explanation that Bobby was looking for on why Erik changed. And, it seemed, like the old Erik was starting to rise from the grave. “That’s a nice thought,” you told him. You let go of his arm and cleared your throat, going after a sip of your drink, and you added, “Do you have any more?”

“Thoughts?” Erik joked, and you smiled.

“No, tattoos,” you told him. “I’m assuming it’s not just your arms.”

“Oh,” Erik said, shaking his head. “Nah, got ‘em all over. You can sorta see this one…” He hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged slightly, showing off the corner of what looked vaguely like a bird’s wing— “And my stomach piece, and the bullshit on my sides… And more.”

You could tell he was fishing for you to ask what “more” meant, and you gave him a soft smile. You could read his energy as easily as a book, and the words that his soul and body gave to you were telling you some things that you’d rather hear his voice say and his lips move around. “More?” you repeated. His hands weren’t all full of ink, and you carefully let your finger trace the lines of his palm as you lowered your voice as quiet as you could. “My, my, Erik. That almost sounds like an invitation.”

The hand of his that you weren’t tracing touched your knee, moving slowly to give you time to retreat if you wanted to. “An invitation to do what, exactly?” he asked, and you slotted your bottom lip between your teeth. “Oh, don’t you go getting shy on me now, baby. You’re almost there. All you gotta do is ask.”

A shiver ran down your back at the sweet little name he bestowed upon you, and you battled it with venom. “What if I don’t wanna ask?” you countered. “What if I’m content just looking at the tattoos on your arms, and have no interest whatsoever at seeing what’s under— and inside— your pants?”

Erik laughed the way that only incredibly hot guys could get away with, his lip between his teeth as his laughter rumbled low in his chest. “Who said anything about getting in my pants?” he asked. Moving slowly, once again giving you time to move if you so wanted, he got up from the stool he was sat on, instead leaning up on the bar on his elbow. He was taller standing than sitting, and having to look just so slightly upward made your mouth run dry. He wasn’t a big guy, but definitely not some twig, but the energy radiating from his chest made you feel so tiny in comparison. You didn’t hate it, though. Now, as close as you were, you could smell the mentholated smoke on him, and it made you dizzy. What the fuck was wrong with you? You had never been so unashamedly turned on by someone before.

“I did,” you said boldly.

“Now, that’s mixed signals,” Erik chuckled. “You don’t wanna see the tattoos or piercings I’ve got under my jeans, and yet you wanna get inside ‘em?”

You paused, replaying what he said in your head as your eyes widened, and quietly replied, “Piercings?”

He smiled slow, biting the edge of his lip, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “It’s like I told you, babygirl,” he said. “All you gotta do is ask.”

He took a half-step closer to you, his hand landing on your waist, and he angled his head down so that his mouth was right next to your ear. To an innocent passerby, it could have looked like he was just talking to you so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music, but the words that spilled from his lips were anything but innocent: “If you knew how fucking hard I was right now, you wouldn’t be wasting any more time out here. You’d take me into the bathroom and lock the door, and you’d open your legs and let me stretch your pussy open and do whatever I want to you. Right?” You nodded quickly, your own hand reaching out and hooking a finger in his belt loop to draw him closer. His tongue slowly wet his bottom lip as he took in your reaction, and he added, “And I bet you’d just love to be split open on my cock, wouldn’t you? Take me in your mouth, in your sopping wet little cunt. I bet you’re such a slut that you’d let me… Nah, you wouldn’t let me, you would beg me… To cum inside you, breed that filthy little cunt of yours until you’re absolutely full of me.”

You nodded quickly and grunted out a meek “Mhm.”

“You ever had a pierced cock before, baby?” Erik asked softly, almost turning sweet for a moment. But you knew it wasn’t sweetness; it was condescension, he was making fun of how mild-mannered you had turned. It only made the fire under your dress burn hotter. If he could have bent you over that bar that very second, you would have let him. But then his words sank into your skin— Sank maybe isn’t the right word. It hit you like a truck, slammed under your skin like all the ink on his body, needled in with a satisfied pain. Did he say pierced?

“N-No,” you stammered. “I didn’t even know you could… That anyone would wanna…”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “You wanna know a secret?” You looked at him with widened eyes, nodding, and his big blues softened at your doe-in-headlights look. “Only just got it last year. You’ll be the first to know what it feels like.”

“Oh my God,” you gasped. “I’m flattered.”

“How ‘bout you go check out that bathroom?” he asked, and you nodded again. Your head was spinning at the notion, and Erik’s eyebrows creased for a moment. “If you don’t, that’s alright. Let me know if I’m coming on too strong, I can back off or fuck off completely, if you want.”

“I like my men strong,” you told him, and you did. Forthright, assertive, commandeering; he was ticking all your boxes. “I was just thinking about it.”

“About what?” Erik asked. “I need words, sweetheart. I can’t do what you don’t tell me about. I’ll do anything for you. Just ask.”

You cast your gaze to the side, to your forgotten drink and his beer, and you whispered, “How many of those have you had?”

“That’s only my second one,” Erik told you. “I’m not drunk. Not even a little bit. And you?”

“Just the one,” you said. “And this has been collecting melted ice since I came over. But you know that, you paid for them.”

“Fuck, am I glad I did,” Erik smiled. “I wasn’t sure how else to get your attention. You were having such a good conversation with Bobby, I was almost worried the wrong Campbell brother might get a hold of you.”

“Easy, tiger,” you told him. “You don’t have a hold of me yet.”

Erik nodded slowly, the hand on your waist carefully sliding upwards to flatten against the small of your back, his pinkie edging oh-so-slightly under the waistband of your skirt. “M’getting there,” he told you. “I like to take my time, y’know?”

“Slow and steady?” you asked.

“Something like that,” Erik replied. Then, gently, a shift to a much softer side, he nestled his lips into your neck, just below your ear, and he gave it a gentle kiss. “Go to the bathroom, get all nice and ready for me while I finish up here. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” you told him, squeezing his arm.

In turn, his hand abandoned your leg and snatched your wrist. His grip wasn’t painfully tight, just enough to let you know that he meant business, and he said, “If I walk in there and catch you touching yourself, you’re gonna be in huge trouble. Okay? None of that shit, I’m the only one who makes you cum tonight.” Your eyes stuck on his mouth as he talked, the way his pink lips pulled and puckered as he talked, and that dizzy, hypnotized feeling came back. You wanted to kiss him, taste his mouth and tongue and feel his pretty lips against yours, but you were nearly certain that a quick fuck in the bathroom of a bar wasn’t exactly a “kiss” sort of situation.

Luckily, Erik read your mind. His own eyes flicked down to look at your mouth, and he sighed softly. “Lemme…” he whispered, and he surged into you, pressing his lips to yours for just long enough for you to get a head full of his scent. If he had stayed put for one second more, you would have kissed him back (again, if he decided to spread you open on that bar right then and there, you would have let him without question, so a simple kiss felt relatively lowkey), and, as he pulled away, you felt like it was a painful parting. “Just wanted a little taste,” he told you, swiping his thumb along the corner of his bottom lip. “God, if your pussy tastes half as good as your mouth, I might have to really pick my battles ‘bout what I want to do to you.”

As you departed towards the restroom, Erik sent a quick swat to your ass, and you bit your lip as you smiled at him. The restroom was towards the back, down a corridor about halfway until the room with the sign on the door, and you slowly opened it, expecting the resistance of someone in there shouting, but nothing came. A single-room situation, the counter for the sink painted shitty black with stickers for local bands and Sharpie graffiti littering the walls, and, thankfully, a functioning lock. You set your purse on the hook on the door, tugging out your phone to make sure Anna hadn’t texted you back, and you frowned at a new message from her. r u ok?? She had asked, sent less than 20 minutes ago. u haven’t come and found me and begged to go home yet!! :P

You quickly pecked out a message that was light on details, a simple got to talking to a friend, i’ll be done soon, and you turned towards the mirror, swiping at your lips with your finger to tidy up your lipstick. Erik didn’t seem all too concerned with the state of your makeup, but you still wanted it to look nice, and your concentration on cleaning up lipstick made you jump in shock when the doorknob to the bathroom started to jostle. You took a deep, steadying breath— you had never hooked up with a stranger in the bathroom before, and your chest felt full of nervous energy— and flipped the lock back on the door, then turned back to the mirror, trying to act unaffected and nonchalant.

Erik was quiet as a ghost as he entered, deliberately shutting the door behind him and locking it once more, and he came to stand behind you, looking in the cracked and dirty mirror as well. You could trace his eyeline, though, and he was only looking at you as he moved his arms to brace against the counter, trapping you against his chest. He seemed almost contemplative as he tilted his head, shifting his eyeline to your neck and the sliver of shoulder coming out of the collar, and he pressed his mouth to your bit of shoulder. He left soft, slow kisses on your skin, traveling up to your neck, then pressing another kiss below your ear. “Did you do what I asked?” he whispered in your ear. “Got yourself ready for me?”

“Not yet,” you admitted. “Was sorta hopin’ you’d do it for me.”

Quick as a flash, one of his hands was up off the counter, slithering around down your front to go up your skirt. His thick bicep pressed up against your body, pulling you closer into him, and you hummed with satisfaction as his big hand roughly cupped your pussy. He hadn’t done anything yet, hardly even touched you, really, but you were already wet, dampening your panties. “Fuck,” he groaned, pressing his cheek into your neck. “I can feel you, sweetheart, you’re soaked. Surely that can’t all be for me.”

“Who else would it be for?” you asked, and a wicked smile crossed his face.

Erik moved with confidence, like he had done it a thousand times, his fingers stroking the wetness of your panties with rough pressure, almost like he was threatening to penetrate you through the thin fabric. You realized he seemed to be mapping you out, memorizing the way you felt, and his fingers moved upwards just a bit to grind against your throbbing clit. A choked moan involuntarily left your lips, and he carefully nibbled at your soft neck. You had a feeling that he would have sank his teeth in if you would let him, and you hated to admit that you would have. Something about him made you feel dangerous for even knowing his name, and your blood felt like fire in your veins.

“You want ‘em?” Erik asked.

You panted, pressing your ass back into him like some pathetic bitch in heat, and your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of him right against your ass, stiff inside his pants. You felt like you could have drooled as Erik laughed, rumbling low in his chest, and your voice came out as a high-pitched whine: “Want your cock, Erik, please!”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “No prep, nothing? You like it when it hurts, huh? Fuck, what a woman…” He bit his bottom lip as he smiled and shook his head, seemingly impressed with you, and, as fast as lightning, his hand cracked against your ass, palm open, echoing around the tin bathroom. The sting and flame of pain made the headrush increase tenfold, and the burn of tears pricked at your eyes. You loved it, though. The dudes you fucked before were pretty easy and vanilla, and even though this wasn’t exactly the kinkiest hook-up to ever take place, even just spanking you was the most wild thing a guy had ever done. Something told you, though, that spanking and hitting it from the back (also something new for you) were part and parcel of Erik’s routine.

His hand bunched up in the fabric of your panties, pulling it tight for just a moment, before inching it down your legs. He greedily took in the sight through the mirror as you dug your fingernails into your palms, and his free hand moved to grasp your chin, making you look in the mirror with him. “You see that?” he whispered, capturing the soft flesh of your ear in his teeth. You nodded quickly, whimpering, and the quietest growl purred at his throat. “What do you see? Tell me.”

“I-I see…” you started, and you shuffled a bit to get your panties off completely. Erik balled them up in his fist and slipped them into the front pocket of his jeans, and your whole body pulsed and throbbed. “Am I gettin’ those back?”

“Debatable,” Erik said swiftly, and he let go of your jaw to land a not-exactly gentle hit on your cheek before grabbing your face once more. “Eyes on the prize, sweetheart, tell me what you’re lookin’ at.”

“You,” you choked out.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “What am I doing?”

The skin-to-skin contact of his rough fingers with your clit made you think you would cum from that alone. His middle fingers circled your bud, putting the perfect amount of pressure to have your legs shake, and you keened high in your throat, squirming to press your back fully against his front. You could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blade, dampened through your clothes but still quick, fast— he was excited, nervous, on-the-edge-of-his-seat, like you, and then you remembered the secret he had told you. He had never had sex with his piercing before. He was probably as wigged out of his mind about it as you were. “Touchin’ me,” you gasped. “Touching my clit, making me feel so good.”

“Good girl,” he whispered. His hand on your jaw slunk down, repositioning to grip your throat, and you watched his face tense as he faltered. “If I do something you don’t like, please tell me. Don’t be quiet just ‘cause I like it, okay? I wanna get my rocks off, sure, but, at the end of the day, I’m only satisfied if you are. So, if I’m too rough or say something weird or you wanna do something else, just say the word and I’ll do it.”

“You’re okay,” you assured him. “I’ve, umm… Never done anything like this before.”

His hands jumped away from your body like your skin had burned him. “Like what?” he asked. “‘Like this’, what is ‘this’?”

The ceasing of his rubbings on your clit made you sigh, and the shaking in your legs got worse. “The-the slapping,” you started, but a genuine laugh bubbled from your chest. “Looking in the mirror, choking, all of that, it’s new for me.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just assumed, that’s totally on me.”

“I never told you to stop,” you offered lightly, raising your eyes to look at him in the mirror. “I never said I didn’t like it. I mean, if you hadn’t stopped rubbing my clit, I probably would’ve cum.”

Those big blue eyes of his blinked once with surprise, and he said, “Fuck. You were that close?” With your nod, Erik laughed. “Damn. Shame on me, sweetheart.”

“I do think that I want you to fuck me from the front,” you told him, easily turning to face him. “I mean, I can’t very well watch your cock sink into me if you’re fucking me from the back, can I?”

“Where have you been all my life?” Erik asked, all breathy like he couldn’t believe what you were saying to him, and you smiled. Your minds seemed to think the same thing at the same time, because his hands went under your ass to help you as you perched on the edge of the counter, opening your legs for him to see all the slick and wet he had left you with. His chest heaved as he drank in the sight of your pussy, his hands skimming up your thighs, and you reached out to grab at his belt buckle, undoing it with much more deft fingers than you were used to having. He let you get as far as pulling down his zipper before he dug his blunt nails into your soft skin, making that growling purr again.

“I just need a taste of you,” he told you, and before your brain could catch up with what he meant, he was getting down on his knees and he was getting to work, licking a broad, fat stripe up your glistening cunt. The wet warmth of his tongue made a broken moan rip from your mouth, and your head tilted back as he landed a messy kiss on your hole, throbbing and clenching around nothing. “Just like I thought, sweetheart: sweet as candy. I oughta start calling you sugar, huh?”

He shifted, standing back to his full height, and the fire in your veins grew hotter at the sight of his mouth, shining in the light with your wet. You reached out for him and drew him into a messy kiss, and you let out your first true, full-chested moan of the night as you let yourself sink fully into him, into his smell and taste and energy, and Erik’s hips bucked forward. “Fuck,” he hissed, and drew in a tight breath. “I knew it was sensitive, they told me it would be, but fuck me, that’s intense.”

“What is?” you asked, chasing him back into another kiss.

“My stupid dick,” Erik chuckled against your mouth. “Rubbing against my pants, it’s, like, holy shit. You’d think I’d never had my dick touched before, the way it feels.”

You resumed the job that you had abandoned before as you kissed him, and his hands joined you to help tug down his jeans just enough to shove down the band of his boxers, his belt buckle jingling as it moved. He had a nice dick, decently long and deliciously thick— now you understood what his whole “stretching you out” thing was about, because oh my God— but you couldn’t focus on the whole thing for too long. Extending from his beautiful rosy tip was the silver metal ball, indicative of the end of a piercing, and your stomach pitched. That was going inside of you, and you had never thought something could be so arousing. Quickly, before he could push your hand away, you wrapped your fingers around his length, pulling on his bottom lip with your teeth as you stroked his cock.

His cock jumped in your hand as he groaned, his eyebrows furrowing with the pleasure of it. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Holy shit, sweetheart, I think you’re gonna kill me if you make me wait any longer.”

“We wouldn't want that,” you told him. You shuffled a bit, opening your legs wider for him, and his strong hands angled your legs to wrap around his waist. He was quick, obviously rather skilled with it, as he grasped his cock and guided it to your hole, pressing just the smallest bit in before he raised his eyes up to meet yours. A shiver ran down your back at the eye contact, and he seemed to notice the effect he had on you, because he put a hand on your face, keeping you from moving.

“If it hurts,” he started. “Don’t tell me. Just scream for me.”

Your breaths timed in tandem as he bullied his way inside you, going slowly to savor your tight resistance, and you gasped. His dick felt so good inside you, that funny little electrical charge working overtime with every bit he gave you, but the hard ball of the piercing in you nearly made tears fall. Not because it hurt— it didn’t; it was noticeable, of course, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why it felt so damn good, it just did. His cock was stiff and hard and hot, heated steel under warm velvet, and you cried out a wrecked little noise as he bottomed out, his thick balls nestled against your ass.

Thankfully, you somehow managed to keep your head on straight and look at his face, and you saw a man possessed. His cheeks pink, his spit-slick rosebud mouth open, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows pitched, messy hair falling over his forehead. God, the man was in heaven inside you, and his moan came as he opened his eyes. “Fuck,” he laughed. “Look at that— fits like a glove. A really tight, really… Really warm, super wet… Glove— Fuck.” He abandoned the joke almost immediately, instead moving to pull his hips back, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of himself. You watched as well, seeing his softest skin all slick and shiny with your wetness, and he pulled himself out fully, watching as your hole throbbed in his absence.

“God,” you whined, a pit opening in your stomach. “Erik, baby, put it back in, please.”

“I like the way you say my name,” he told you. “You say it like… I don’t know. Like you love the way it tastes.”

“I do,” you told him. Your chest heaved as you waited for him to take pity on you, and he quickly shoved your shirt up your chest, exposing your tits and the pushup bra you had worn, and he gave a wolfish grin.

“Good,” he said. “I’m so glad. Now, sweetheart, you said you wanted my cock back inside you?”

“Yes!” you yelped. He leaned down and kissed the swell of your tits as you writhed, and you added, “Please, Erik, please, put your cock inside me again, I feel so empty without you in my pussy.”

“Such a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” Erik smiled, and he shook his head. “Nah, Bobby wouldn’t have been able to handle you, you would’ve knocked him out, you’re too much for him.”

“Y’know,” you started. “I came here tonight to see Bobby. My friend always jokes that he’s my boyfriend.”

Erik’s eyebrows furrowed, this time in confusion. “Have you fucked him?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“No,” you told him quickly. “Just— I don’t know. Had a little crush on him, that’s all. It’s those blue eyes, makes it hard to keep a girl away. Same as you, actually.”

“Past tense ‘had’ a crush on baby brother,” Erik repeated. “Not present tense?”

“Not as of… About half an hour ago,” you told him. “Found another somebody to focus on.”

“Someone caught your attention over Bobby?” Erik laughed. “Whoever that guy is, he is one lucky bastard. I bet you’d let him lick your pussy, wouldn’t you?” He rolled his eyes at his own joke, and you giggled softly.

“I’d even let him fuck me in this gross-ass bar bathroom,” you said. “If only he would shut his stupid mouth and put his dick back inside me.”

Erik made a big show of closing his mouth, looking a little like a gaping fish, and you held back a snort of laughter. This time, you watched him, slapping your pussy with the head of his cock a few times, hearing the wet sound echo around the bathroom, and his dick twitched as he ran his thumb across his sensitive head, smearing his pearly pre-cum around. “Jesus,” he gasped. “Gotta quit doing that, s’gonna make me bust before I’ve even really fucked you.”

You watched as he situated his pierced head back at your entrance, and you felt like all the breath in your chest got knocked out in one punch as he pushed inside, a little quicker and rougher than before. He didn’t waste time to start up a rhythm, wrinkling his nose as he gripped your hips and fucked you, and your arms circled around his neck, hiding in his shoulder and attempting to muffle your noises. It wasn’t quiet exactly in the bathroom, the music from the bar proper still very clearly audible, the walls still sorta rattling with the heavy bass, and you weren’t worried that anyone out there would hear you, but you were also hesitant to risk it. “D-Does anyone know?” you stammered.

“Know what?” Erik asked. His belt rattled again as he snapped his hips forward into you, and you let out a wrecked moan into the dip of his neck.

“That we’re in here together,” you said. “Th-That you’re fucking me within an inch of my life.”

“I don’t think so,” Erik said. “Told Bobby I was heading back here, then was gonna split, but I don’t know if he saw you come back, so who knows what he knows. Why, are you worried your little boyfriend is gonna get jealous?”

“No,” you told him with a shaky voice. He was so close to that spot inside you with every drag of his cock, and you could almost taste the incoming pop of electricity that would snap on your tongue when he did.

“You want people to know I’m fucking you back here?” Erik asked. “Let the whole damn bar know that a pretty thing like you would let someone like me violate you? Damn, girl, you might be kinkier than me.”

“Not likely,” you countered. “I mean, who here has the pierced genitals?”

“Fair point,” Erik said. “Ya like it?”

“I might never go back to regular dicks after this,” you chuckled, and Erik nodded in satisfaction. “But I don’t know if it’s the piercing, or if you’re just an absolute godlike fuck, even without that thing.”

“Mix of both?” Erik offered. “I’m sure my sparkling personality has something to do with it too.”

Before you could think of a snappy comeback, he fucked into you, and that electricity popped in your mouth as white flashed in your vision. “Fuck!” you squealed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Erik, oh my God!”

“Right there?” he asked, and you nodded quickly. His grip on your waist tightened, and you could almost feel the capillaries bursting under your skin to bruise up all tender by tomorrow morning as he fucked into that spot once more. Your whole body jostled with the feeling, and you squeezed your thighs hard around his body, urging him on. He was quick with it now, hammering into you and forcing out uh-uh-uh! moans from you, and you dug your fingernails into his scalp. He wasn’t quiet either, hissing in tight breaths and groaning as you throbbed around him, and a properly loud moan tumbled from his lips when your mouth attached to his neck, sucking at the sensitive pulse point. “Fuck, you gonna mark me up?” he panted, and you looked up at his face. His forehead under his hair was shiny with sweat, his eyes blown way the fuck out, lips bitten all red and raw— he was just about the most handsome guy you’d ever seen.

“S’that so bad?” you asked, leaning back and biting at a different part of his skin. You intended to leave many bruises, in as many places as possible, and one of his strong hands lifted from your hip to cradle your head against his neck. Your tongue soothed the sting of your bites, and you could feel his throat and chest rumble as he pitched his head towards the ceiling and moaned.

“Not at all,” he whispered. “‘Specially if you leave your pretty lipstick all over my neck.”

“Wanna leave it everywhere,” you told him. That telltale knot was tightening at the bottom of your tummy, and, based on his shaky breathing and the slow increase in volume, he didn’t have much longer left either. “E, baby,” you whispered, and he touched his forehead to yours, stealing a kiss to your mouth. “Wanna see us. Turn me around.”

The brief few seconds where he pulled out of you felt like torture, but he guided you off the counter and around, back in the position you started with. You steadied yourself on your hands, and hardly had time to even think again before he was back inside you, anchoring on your hips. It was louder now too, the hits of his skin on yours coming faster with the angle shift, and his dick (and the associated piercing) rubbed against your tender spot with every single thrust. Your legs felt like jelly and you dug your nails into the countertop as you looked up to the mirror, and you jumped with shock.

Who the absolute fuck were you looking at? By all accounts, the girl in the mirror was you— she had your eyes, your pretty face, the same outfit you wore. But her eyes were blown wide like she was rolling, her lipstick smeared across her face with her mascara gathered and running under her eyes. Her fingers moved when yours did, her chest heaved when yours did, she even moaned when you did. This was you; or, at least, this is what Erik did to you. You didn’t hate the fucked-out look on yourself.

You cast your gaze to Erik in the mirror and found him studying your reflection as well, his bottom lip firmly between his teeth. He had pulled his shirt up with the position change, and your mouth watered at the collection of tattoos on his chest and stomach, the focal point being the large, dark skull in the middle of his torso. His stomach tensed and flexed as he fucked you, and you only managed to catch a momentary silver glint of nipple rings (what the fuck was with this guy?) before the knot in your stomach began to loosen, threatening the last shreds of your sanity.

“Erik!” you squealed. Skillfully, he molded his front to your back and placed his arms over top of yours, threading your fingers together as he bit at your shoulder.

“You gonna cum?” he asked, and you sobbed as his rhythm changed, from quick and hurried, to one hard slam after the other, a decidedly slower flow but all the more serving to get you to your end. “You gonna scream when you cream all over my cock?”

“Yes!” you cried. “Fuck, I’m so close, E, please!”

“Aw, you poor thing,” he said, all condescending once more. “Little sweetheart, can’t take it anymore, huh?” One of his hands started to inch away from yours, and you knew exactly what he was on his way to do.

You weren’t sure if his rough fingers actually made contact with your clit when you came. True to your word, you sobbed and moaned through your climax, drawn from so deep within your chest that it almost hurt, your head dropping forward as your whole body shook in the aftermath of the absolute assault on your nervous system. Erik’s strength was on full show now, because he used the little bit of it that he still had harnessed to keep you upright, his arm around your waist as he roughly buried himself up to the hilt in you, and it didn’t take long for you to feel the warmth of his cum inside you. You hadn’t even thought about a condom until right that second, when it was decidedly too late for one.

And then it was quiet. Not completely, of course; his breathing was rattly and hard from exertion, and you were sniffling and whimpering, but it was much less noise than it had previously been. He cleared his throat and sniffed, and he carefully stood back to his full height with a sigh. “Goddamn…” he whispered. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“M’good,” you whispered. “Just… Holy shit.”

Erik chuckled raspily. “I know,” he said. “Think you can stand, or do you need me to hold onto ya?”

“I can stand,” you assured him, and he slowly withdrew from you, earning himself one last, pathetic moan as his piercing rubbed against the spot inside you that felt raw and ultra-sensitive. The emptiness inside you was a strange feeling that you weren’t used to, and you tried to even out your breathing as he reached around you, grabbing at the stack of paper towels next to the sink. Before you really knew what was happening, he was on you again, turning you and lifting you back onto the counter, and you started, “Erik, I can’t, not again, give me a minute before—”

He shushed you, soft and gentle. “Not what I’m doing, sweetheart,” he told you, lifting your head up to look at him with a finger under your chin. He ran the tap against a few of the paper towels, soaking them with cold water, and he carefully wiped at your cheeks, trying to cool you down and help you settle. “There you go, that’s good, we’re calming down, we’re okay. What’s the shaking for? You alright, is it just the adrenaline? Or is something wrong?”

You hadn’t even noticed the quivering that had started in your hands until he said something, and you frowned. “I’m alright,” you whispered. “Just… Oh my God.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, then went to wipe down the sides of your mouth, cleaning up your makeup. “I know,” he said. “That was… I’ve never been like that before. I don’t know what happened to me. S’like I got inside you and, like, Hulked out or something. That was super fucked up, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You couldn’t help your laughter. “See that?” you repeated. “Erik, I’m the one you were fucking, I lived through that. Don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, let alone out of here tonight.”

Erik pouted at you. “Poor little princess,” he joked. “Need your prince to carry you into your Uber home?”

“I don’t need saving,” you smiled. “But I might need your number.”

Erik shared your smile, and he swooped in to land a kiss on your mouth. “See? I told you; we let cute girls touch our tattoos, and we get their numbers.”

When you woke up the next morning, in your own apartment, Anna already puking her hungover guts out in the bathroom, the first thing you thought about was Erik. You both managed to escape the bathroom unnoticed, even if you were walking like you had just ridden a bike across the country nonstop, and you found Anna out front, sharing a cigarette with some frat-dude-looking motherfucker. She hadn’t seen you and Erik together, so she didn’t try to pry into what you had been doing, but you caught Bobby’s eye, and he absolutely knew. Erik went back to his seat at the end of the bar, and you heard him ask his brother for a shot of tequila, and Bobby asked about what had happened just then, but Anna was whisking you away before you heard Erik’s response. It didn’t occur to you until you were already in the Uber home with a much-more-drunk-than-you Anna that you didn’t actually give Erik your phone number, and you could have hit yourself. How stupid did you have to be? Dude fucks you dumb and cums inside you, and you don’t even get his fucking number? What a fail.

Your whole body was sore and raw as you shifted in bed, grabbing at your phone tangled in your blankets. It was on 2% battery, having been forgotten the moment you got home, but it wasn’t the battery percentage that you were focused on. You had two texts, both about an hour old and from the same unsaved phone number, a local area code. The first text was a payment to you for $50, and the second said I’m an idiot. Get some breakfast and a Plan B. Take care of yourself. :)

Just as you were unlocking your phone to text Erik back, asking how exactly he got your phone number (probably Bobby), your phone vibrated with a third text; you could envision, for the past hour, him pacing around and debating whether to text you again. You had certainly done it before, and then promptly thrown your phone across the room when you finally hit send. So when will I get to see you again?

You hit the call button, and the phone trilled for just a few seconds before the call picked up. Erik’s raspy voice, half-morning voice and half an obvious hangover from time spent at the bar after you left, said your name, as sweet as honey, like the first time he said it, but it wasn’t a question, like he was surprised you called. No, he was even and prepared, calm, cool, and collected. The memory of him last night, eyes blown out like he was on molly and his hair in his face, flashed in your mind’s eye, such a contrast from him right now, and you smiled. “If I sent you my address, would you come pick me up?” you asked. “We can get breakfast together, and you can see me again.”

“Only if you also wanna see me,” Erik said.

You could hear his smile from across the phone, and it made you smile even wider, like some lovesick teenager. “I would love nothing more.”

#erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #erik campbell smut #erik campbell x you #final destination bloodlines #richard harmon #i uh don't look at me i'm blushing #if i missed any tags or like the format is fucked up lmk plsnthx #missed yall! love yall!

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lyssakinzzz · 1 month ago

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I was wondering if you could write an absolute pervert Remmick x poc reader where he lures her (or them) into the woods in the middle of night and has a fucked up makeshift wedding reception set up for her with absolutely disgusting, feral, raw cream pie-ing (if you're comfortable with it)

WARNING: Dark remmick, dub con if you squint oral (f!receiving), breeding kink, thigh biting, mind control, forced into marriage, gentle to ROUGH sex, degradation with A DROP of praise. Remmick being a bully, squirting, hair pulling, spiting.

Paring: Remmick x Witch POC reader.

You didnt know how he managed to stay in your mind. You did everything, cleansing spells, rituals, even blood sacrifices. Nothing.

You were a powerful witch. You helped people with their love lives, spiritual lives, helped them let go of loved ones, you even managed to cleanse evil spirits. Sometimes, you'd feel spirits lingering after but that was normal! You were cleansing yourself of their energies, you were bound to feel it.

But this, this was different he was one with you. One day, you met with a women, a man had been stalking her, but she wasn't too sure it was a man. So, you consulted with her, it was your job! You did everything you could but you couldn't quite crack the code on him, but he did end up leaving her alone, so your job here was complete you moved on to the next client! It was fine until it wasn't.

You felt his presence with you always, but tonight you had enough with him playing games with you. So, you brought anything to kill any sort of monster, anything you can find that you knew was deadly.

You stalked outside to the woods of your house where the creature had been calling you, you felt the connection most strongest at this beautiful little lake outside, it looked like an ethereal wedding to be honest, you heard steps behind you and saw a white couple.

"Hi, dearie!" The women smiled. She looked...odd. Her husband smiled at you too, the both looked crazy, but they weren't the man.

"What yall doing out here." You breathlessly questioned, that mother fucker tricked you.

"Well were just assistin' a friend. He's gettin' hitched tonight!" She whooped, and her husband chuckled.

"Oh...well I best be in my way, ma'am, sir." You drop your head and walk off. Of course this motherfucker was playing with you and lead you in to some werido wedding reception in your nightgown and Bonnet looking like a crazy women. You groaned as you paced to your house but the second you did he grabbed you by the back you screamed and kicked, you felt his claws graze you, and saw his glowing eyes in the reflection of the screen door.

Vampire.

You thought as you grabbed you stake and tried to attack him.

"Mmm, baby were connected, I know your every move." He rasped in your ears, his breath smelling like cigarettes and coppery blood.

You kick and struggle, but it didn't phase him.

"Mm...now, I gotta surprise for you, I'd think you'd love." he declared as he shushed you and took you to the wedding sight. You saw the couple from earlier playing music, and remmick smiled.

"See, baby...all for you." He smiled as he let you go.

"Now Joan's gonna help you get all pretty for me, right Joan?" She nodded as she ushered you inside of another house on the property.

"Now you go wash up! It's your wedding night, darling!" She exclaimed as she handed you a washcloth and soap.

You ran to the bathroom looking for any kind of window. Of course there'd barely be any vampires hide out here! You groaned as you started to wash your body.

-----‐------♡-----‐-----

You walked down the aisle with some other members of his cult grinning at your beauty. Remmick alike, you reached your "husband"

You didn't even know what to think, he was in your mind, you couldn't think of staking him and watching his body became lifeless once more, you couldn't think of an escape route without him stopping it. You lost all free will.

He smiled. "Oh you look so pretty in blue, angel" he grinned as he took your hand and they started the ceremony, you internally screamed at the uncomfortable sixpence in your shoes as the officiator started.

----------

You took off your shoe and let out a sigh of relief as put your feet up on the bed, Remmick sat at the foot and like a seesaw the weight distributed there, he rubbed your feet and kissed your calfs as he inhaled your scent and moaned.

"Look, what ever sick fantasy you wanted. It happened, let me go" You demand as his lips lingered before he gazed up at you.

"Oh, mo chroi. I'm far from done, but I doubt you wanna leave until I'm satisfied." He grinned as he kissed up your thighs and slowly parted them. He was surprisingly gentle. For now. He bit down on your inner thighs with his sharp canines, you arched you back and groaned as you felt hot liquid seep out, he sucked the ruby liquid and moaned.

"You taste amazing..." He declared as he inched up to your cunt and gave you kitten licks, you let out an involuntary moan as you sunk down onto the head board. You've had sex before, you've been tasted before, but he knew his way around even though it was his first time touching you. You let out breathy moans as he licked at your folds, and a sharp audible one once he sunk his fingers inside you.

"Oh yeah, love. Let me hear you." He grinned, prideful as you started to get more into it, your body shoots up as he uses a different kind of speed. You felt your realase coming as you gripped the headboard and saw your vision blur. You heard water trickle out on the bed and he looked like he just struck oil in a foreign land.

He grinned as he finally started lapping at your overstimulated folds, you whined as he tugged at your neck a clear sign for you to keep your head up and maintain eye contact. You accepted his non verbal challenge and lost horribly as you felt your head thud against a pillow as you felt you second realase coming as you creamed in his mouth.

You moaned as your head hit the pillow in satisfaction, he was done with you, he had to be. You were sadly mistaken as he flipped you over and pulled your hair to face him.

"Ahhh..." He teased you to open your mouth. He spat in your mouth and lightly smacked your cheek, an order for you to swallow. You mindlessly obeyed as he pushed your face down into the pillow, and just sunk into you.

"Sh- s'too big!" You exclaimed as you tried to wiggle him out of you.

"Well when you're out here moaning like a little bitch, I expect you to take this fucking cock, understand, cum rag?" He rasped in your ear and you nodded as he pushed your head back down.

"Atta girl..." He smirked as he started fucking you. Hard. The bed was creeking as he kept slamming your hips into his huge cock, you cried out his name like it was the only thing you knew in all these years of vibrant life. He wasn't doing to well too, he was moaning in your ear which just made you tighter which caused him to moan more.

"Fuck, pretty girl tryna snap my dick off." He grunted as he kept thrusting and breaking in your cervix. You babbled in response and he was coming up with something witty but you tightened around him.

He finally regained composure.

"Ah...you'd love it if I painted your walls with my cum, hm. You wanna get filled with my babies, don't you fuck, girl?" He questioned, growing impossibly faster. You had no thought through your head. He pulled your hair back so you would face him.

"A question deserves an answer, cumslut" he groaned as you nodded his head. You nodded mindlessly.

"Verbally."

"Y-yes, yes, gosh!" You whined as his balls drew up and he came inside you. He saw your eyes flutter and you involuntarily sink down

"Atta girl" he smirked proudly before flipping you on your back.

#remmick x reader smut #sinners #ryan coogler #remmick #remmick x black!reader #remmick x reader #black reader #remmick smut #remmick x fem!reader #remmick x witch reader #lawddddd

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hi! i just remembered a scene from friends where chandler says to monica it's ok she's high maintenance cause he likes maintaining her and i think this is soooo spencer and bombshell!reader coded. you're ok with writing this as a request? love u jadey

ty (ily)!! fem!reader

Spencer’s feet ache dully with each step he takes, but you have your hand in his, and you’re pulling him along with a smile. Your smile could cure anything, he thinks stupidly. It’s completely outside of his beliefs, goes against every book on medicine he’s ever read.

“Why are you frowning?” you ask, swinging his hand as you turn the corner together.

“I’m not.”

You step closer, arm stuck to his arm, nearly one body walking together against the summer breeze. “You’re frowning, Spence. You have a very obvious pout. It is so so cute.” You lean in to kiss him quickly, his heart turning to a pitter-patter under his ribs.

“I’m tired,” he explains, not wanting you to think his bad mood has anything to do with you.

“You’ve had a long day, that’s why. When we get back to your place I’ll give you an incredible foot massage and everything will be okay again.”

“I don’t want a foot massage. My feet don’t even hurt,” he lies.

“Don’t bother.” You untangle your fingers from his and wave him away. “I know all your tells, baby boy,” —he laughs through a wrinkled nose— “nothing gets past me.”

“Why’d you choose a dry cleaners so far from your apartment?” he asks. You could’ve picked the one beside work, which has a yellow pages worth of fantastic reviews. The one second closest to his place is new but raved about at length. This dry cleaners is nearly twenty-five blocks away.

“They do things exactly how I like it, I guess. I never have to worry about it when I give them my best clothes, and it’s kind of expensive if they were to accidentally ruin something, right?” You have expensive taste; you like things sturdy, fitted, and fashionable.

“Do you think I should get someone to do my laundry?” he asks.

“You can afford it. But maybe not. There’s nothing wrong with your own washing machine and a steamer.” You side eye him carefully. “Maybe I’m over the top.”

“You’re high maintenance,” he agrees. “Is it expensive, getting your clothes dry cleaned all the time? I could pay for that.”

“What? Why would you pay for it?”

“‘Cos we’re together?” He’s more worried than dry about it. “I’d like to pay for your manicures and your hair, too, but I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“And I won’t… s’kind of nice you want to though. Really nice, um.” You’re blinking funny. “I think that’s more of a husband thing. You really want to pay for me to get manicures?”

Spencer pays for lots of your stuff because he loves you. Good food mostly, but treats, clothes, anything he might think you’re interested in, actually. He likes to spoil you. You tend to spoil him back, if not with money then affection. “I like maintaining you.”

You curl your arm through his. “That’s a funny way to say it.”

He laughs at your obvious delight. “I like taking care of you,” he admits. “You like being high maintenance, it makes you happy, and I like making you happy.”

“Thank you very much,” you say, softer now as your hand works up his neck and you turn his face to you, the sidewalk and the streetlines melting away under your warm touch. “You make me happier than you know.”

His cheeks turn pink. He doesn’t need to see himself to confirm. It’s a high statistical probability.

“Kiss?” you ask, voice still soft.

Spencer walks you back nearer to the side of a building and out of the way, his hands at your neck and waist as he leans down just a touch to close your gap. He acts selfishly, perhaps, taking your hand from his face in order to hold yours in both of his without anything in the way of it. He kisses, he breathes you in, his head tilting more heavily to the side as the kiss lengthens, lingers. You’re like a flower in his hand, blooming slowly under the effects of a little heat.

“What if you pay for my dry cleaning,” you begin, a smile evident in your voice though Spencer keeps his eyes closed. Tracing the hill of your cheek with his fingers just a moment longer. “And I pay for yours?”

Spencer thumbs along your jaw. “I don’t want anything from you, just you.”

“Well, what if I treat us to some Indian takeout tonight?” you ask. “Would you eat that? Or am I enough to sustain you, my love?”

He could enjoy being taken care of in turn, he thinks.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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twohearts-hs · 2 months ago

Text

Dove & Captain: 3 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 9.2k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

1000

Y/N was standing at the board reading it when she sensed someone next to her. There was a deep glare, but she knew it was out of love.

“You love to stare at me, Dr. Robinavitch,” Y/N said casually. “Are you secretly in love with me or something?” she hummed with a smile as she glanced over.

Robby let out a light chuckle. “You know where I stand on my feelings,” he replied with a smirk.

She nodded slowly. “What did I do now that is making you glare at me like I spiked your coffee…which I didn’t, by the way.”

He chuckled. “You gave our rookie a TED Talk on emotional resilience,” Robby said, straight-faced. “And convinced him that writing letters to corpses is normal coping.”

Y/N raised a brow, staring at him. “It is very normal to use writing as a therapeutic tool to express, work through and understand your feelings, emotions and trauma,” she replied. “I can quote research.”

Robby shook his head. “You want to quote psychological research to me before 10 a.m. You’re dangerous. Is this foreplay?” he hummed.

Y/N chuckled. “Oh, Cowboy, if you want foreplay, I can whip in some astrophysics information in there too.”

He shook his head. “Sometimes your brain scares, and then I question why you’re a nurse and not some world leader,” he replied. “Why is Jack with you again?”

Y/N went back to look at the board. “Because I’m great at head,” she replied coldly.

Robby choked on his sip of coffee, spluttering. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

She didn’t even flinch, still studying the patient board as if she’d just commented on the weather. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, laughing under his breath. “You cannot say that in here.”

She turned to him with a perfectly straight face. “Why not? We’re health professionals. It’s all anatomy. If you can deal with rats in the ER, I bet you can deal with my sexual comments.”

Robby stared at her. “You are unhinged.”

“Possibly,” she said sweetly. “But you do absolutely love me. I ran your trauma code flawlessly this morning, stabilised several patients before I had my second cup of coffee and gave your rookie a breakdown and a life lesson in under fifteen minutes. It’s a great day and I’m on fire.”

He nodded. “You got to him, though. I was worried the kid had no game. Dana and I were making bets.”

“Making bets on the poor children? That’s traumatic for them. Unstable childhood can lead to a lot of mental disorders in the long term,” Y/N replied. “Don’t destroy the future of medicine.”

He chuckled. “He wants to write a letter to the patient’s family. Said you taught him that.”

Y/N raised her brow. “Jack taught me that. So, I relayed the information. He wants to give it to the family?” she asked, chuckling while shaking her head.

“Yup.”

“I said write it. Not send it. Jesus,” she muttered. “I need to be more specific to the kids.”

Robby chuckled. “This is what happens when you monologue at them.”

Y/N shrugged. “Wasn’t monologuing, rather using my psych degree I spent sixty thousand dollars on,” she replied. “Might as well use it for practical use.”

“This isn’t a first-year psych elective,” Robby replied.

“May not be a lecture hall, but psych is very relevant in medical practice. In fact, I have taught several psych classes while an undergrad,” Y/N said with a smile.

Robby chuckled. “Why aren’t you a psych nurse then? Could use both your degrees for practical use.”

Y/N looked over to him. “I prefer the company of gunshots, motor vehicle accidents and stabbings to stabilising someone who is hallucinating,” she replied coldly. “Wait, we do that too,” she whispered the last part. “I use my psych degree here all the time.” Then she smiled at him, wickedly and smugly.

“Well, Dr. Freud–“

“Boy, do not call me that,” Y/N replied. “Do you know a single Freud theory? Because yeah, the main ones are rational, but they get more and more fucked. I would say I am rational and not fucked,” Y/N said. “Now, stop flirting with me and let’s get back to work.” She turned to him and crossed her arms. “You’re very welcome for using therapeutic rapport with your rookie. He will always remember me as the one who listened and responded perfectly.”

He looked at her, leaning in. “Rumour has it we are sleeping together,” Robby whispered as she stared at him. “Kids are talking. They are putting two and two together after you dropped the whole ‘I’m with an attending’ fact.”

“Oh, I bet you love it. Always wanted me to see me naked. Let me tell you, it’s great. Never had complaints,” Y/N hummed, winking as she walked away.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Robby mumbled, shaking his head.

Y/N was in the hallway. She leaned against it as she took a breath. She had too many deaths already this morning. The kid with the OD, the older man with his kids who was on his last legs, Mr. Milton, and she had heard of so many more. Normally, she was not affected by this. Normally, she would shrug it off. Normally, she would just deal with it and lets it be another day.

But right now, her head hit the wall as she stood in the stairway, letting the tears come to her eyes. Pulling her phone out of her pocket for the first time this morning, she turned it on and saw some messages.

One, Jack. There were a few.

First one, “Home now. Granny got meds. Let all the dogs out again. Going to bed. Will text when up.”

Second, an image of the dogs on the bed before he crashed. All four of them on the King size bed. Granny taking most of the bed as she laid on Y/N’s side of the bed. Her snowy face that had seen so much fast asleep. She was deaf in one ear, stubborn, hates fireworks, rides shotgun like she won the car and her bond with Jack…well, that was sacred.

Next to her was Ranger at the end of the bed. A mutt who they believe was a lab, shepherd or even a cattle dog. He was six. They adopted him, a foster fail. He was from the streets locally. Loyal, obedient, always on patrol. But a sweetheart.

Delta was on top of Jack, teeth on display, but in a way of happiness. Just over one, but a little shit yet loved. Found starving near a trailhead on her own. Y/N’s college friend, who was in vet med, told her about her, and Jack came home after a shift to see the German Shepherd, husky mix in their house. Always in trouble, but the baby, they call her Hellspawn constantly.

Then there was Winston, a gift to herself when she graduated. She always imagined owning a dog, and she used the last of her student loans to buy him off a breeder up North. A long-wire-haired dachshund who just hit eight was sleeping against Granny. Best buds. A diva doesn’t like mud, would not walk in anything but shine. Wears bowties on holidays and is the only one that slept in the bed. Sometimes Alaska (Granny) would sneak in if her joints were aching but Jack had a serious “no dogs in bed” policy until they moved in. Therefore, seeing all the dogs in the bed brought a smile to her face.

Then he followed with another text, “I know you, Dove. Something is up. I know you will tell me soon, but please don’t dwell on this alone. I’m always here. When I wake, thinking of getting those steaks you like. Will grill them tonight, and we can pop a bottle of that fancy wine you bought a while ago. I’m in your corner. Also, I will buy more coffee. The good type and not that shit you like. Saw there was a new documentary released on Netflix. However, I’ll budge and rewatch Bridget Jones’ Diary for like the hundredth time. Or throw on Sex and the City, and I’ll listen to you bitch about how Big isn’t right for Carrie because then you’ll go on about how much he needs to be more like me. I think we are on season three…but you might’ve been watching it without me. Not mad, just disappointed due to your betrayal.”

Y/N stared at the screen, thumbs hovering over the keys. A smile graced her features, biting down on her bottom lip as she stared at the phone. He sent these messages around eight-fifteen. He wouldn’t be up around eleven-ish…max twelve-thirty. He’s a man who could run off of three hours of sleep, max five. Rarely sleeps ever, truly.

God, she loved him.

She wanted to grab him by the cheeks and kiss his lips and scream, “I’m pregnant!” but she had her whole day ahead. Her eyes welled up again, but this time it wasn’t because of the death, the codes, or the overwhelming morning. It was him. That voice in her life – calm, constant, hers. Somehow, even his texts felt like they had arms, wrapping around her, telling her to just breathe.

Six years of them together. Basically, nine years of knowing him because she spent her last practicum at the ER. Though no one counts that. However, she officially had been working there for eight years as a nurse. One year of being professional and one year dodging feelings until Robby and Dana locked them in a room and said, “Talk it out”. Y/N stole his heart through therapeutic rapport and active listening. Also, he couldn’t get over her knowledge, critical thinking and quick moves.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her under armour for her scrub top. A cheetah print that blended well with the grey the nurses wore. She looked at the photo again, and tears came to her eyes. Their life was so perfect. So fucking perfect.

Granny with her snowy muzzle and claim over the entire bed, Delta looking like a rabid gremlin despite the grin. Ranger on perimeter duty, even in his sleep and Winston in his curled-up dignity like he’d found the house himself.

He’s the only one who isn’t fully potty trained…normal Dachshund behaviour. Drives Jack fucking insane.

Jack always expressed that their dogs were like a personality test. Between the four of them, they’d collected every part of the spectrum. Though Y/N would shut the conversation down by bringing him psychological facts and research would Jack would joke by saying, “Talk dirty to me.” Which would always bring a smile to Y/N’s lips, and she would relate research to him, which he would actively listen to and ask questions.

Soulmates. Truly were.

He’d be asleep still. He was a light sleeper, and anything would wake him up. Ex-military, indeed, but also a man of the house. He wanted to be on guard constantly…like Ranger.

“Captain,” she began to type out. “You’ve made my morning. You don’t know how much I needed this. It’s been a day already. Steak sounds amazing. Please, could you make that mushroom sauce? I’m craving like potatoes as well, you choose. But I need to get some form of vegetables in me…kale? I can send you my warm kale salad with a vinaigrette recipe. Of course, parm and bacon! Ugh, your cooking gives me mind orgasms just thinking about it. Looking forward to it, Captain. Give several kisses to the babies. But…can we talk about another? Serena sent me a link to a Pitbull named Dolly who needs a home. Rescued from a fighting ring, used for breeding. Lovely, friendly and great with kids. She needs a home. Also, kinda down for something new. Can we watch something serious? Kind of feel like either finally watching the new season of Peaky Blinders or finally starting that crime show we keep talking about – can’t remember the name. However, with the way this shift is going, I might have to throw on something funny. Always with love<3. PS. Robby is on my ass. Send help. But he does it with love. He’s annoying.”

Y/N went back to her phone. Opening another message.

“Ugh, why do you have to be so smart? Mom did pills when pregnant with both of us, but you turned out to be a genius and I’m the fool? Fucking tests made me an idiot,” she read from her brother, Beckett.

Y/N was thirty. Beckett was about to turn twenty. He was in university. He was her half-brother, and Jack, who makes way too much money was paying for his tuition and dorm.

Jack and Y/N never talked about salary. Though, they both kind of know through their bank statements. Jack makes way over 400k – closer to 500k, while Y/N makes just over 100k. According to research, the average salary for a couple in America was 146k. The two of them combined just make around 600k. They bought their house a year ago. Though they could’ve done it with cash, they didn’t. Just a small mortgage. It was due to the two of them being smart, responsible and very them. Some renovations, but not many. Four bedrooms, one made an office for Y/N’s art.

It was good. Comfortable. Enough.

Though Y/N stared at the message from her brother, sighing. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just tired and stressed. Uni is hard. SO hard. Don’t overthink, bet you did fabulous. Take a moment to breathe, drink some water, and eat some food. You’ve got this, Beck. Always here, and if you need somewhere to crash, let me know. Jack is making steak tonight. Love you to Mars. Just Mars. Because I do hate how much you don’t clean up after yourself and date terrible woman. Also, I saw a physics equation that hasn’t been calculated on the university forum yesterday, but I doubt you can solve it as you don’t remember my birthday.”

Beckett’s reply came almost instantly, probably because he was already doom-scrolling after the test on the bus. His quantum physics test was behind him. A man of intelligence like her – physics with a speciality in quantum, while doing a minor in math but debating psychology like his sister.

“OMFG, you’re rude. I always remember your birthday. Maybe not Jack’s but he’s old as fuck. Send me the equation, you bitch. Down for steak. I’ll bus to you unless you want to help the poor, broke college kid ;). Still to Mars, I know all the planets now. Love u to the next universe, whatever it’s called. HAHA didn’t do na astrology major so off the case. Can I crash? Maybe Jack will let me shoot cans in the yard tomorrow. Tell the dogs I say hi, especially Ranger. Kidnap him. I will.”

She smirked. “Fine to everything. Text Jack about can shooting. Ranger can’t go home with you. He needs his raw mix, his stimulation ball, his best friends and the acre to run on. Your dorm room won’t suffice. Have you talked to Mom this week?”

She smiled, then sent another text. “Beck, you and I are intelligent. But don’t compare us. You’re brilliant, so incredibly brilliant in your own messy way. I will let Jack know you’re cashing and eating.” She then screenshotted and sent the equation. Ranger would love to sleep with you tonight. He is mainly a floor boy, sometimes a bed boy, but if Beck is in town, he’s a hot water bottle double. Then she sent the photo that Jack sent of the dogs.

Closing her phone, she placed it back in her back pocket. She needed a moment to think once again. Therefore, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Her feet were heavy, her heart full but sore, and something about those dogs in bed with Jack just grounded her. Moments like this, she needed to hold onto with the world of chaos outside the stairwell.

Finally, she pushed off the wall and pulled her badge out, scanning back into the ER. Back to the trenches. Patients needed her. But her mind flickered back to what held her, the backyard at home, the garden, the little ceramic garden statues she bought from a thrift store that Jack despised, but refused to move and the patio light he swore he’d fix three weeks ago.

And dinner. She was excited for dinner.

However, she had to survive the shift. This whole twelve-hour shift, which she was a few hours in. For Jack. For herself. For Beckett and for that baby inside her.

Once back at her station, she checked her patients and was back administering reports. Her fingers were typing furiously on the keyboard, reading glasses on as always. Her notes were detailed, sharp, but a little chaotic because that was beautiful Y/N her special ways – packed with medical precision and a tiny bit of ranting.

She was writing when someone leaned on the counter in front of her. Nursing a coffee, a female cleared her throat, and Y/N instantly knew who it was. Y/N glanced up to see the woman staring at her.

“That’s the look of someone who wants something,” Y/N muttered.

“No, just curious,” she casually said.

Y/N’s typing paused.

“Curious about?”

Robby arrived next, sliding behind Dana with a knowing smile. “Curious about what, Dana?” he hummed, looking over to the older woman.

“I want to hear what she bet for the ambulance chase. I’m not betting, but I want to hear her logic, calculations and ideas,” Dana told Robby.

Robby hummed, nodding. “I would love to know,” he agreed, smirking and looking over to the younger nurse.

Y/N looked up, raising a brow. “Why?’

The two of them looked at each other before looking at Y/N. “Christ, Ace, I know you, you’ve calculated this. Bet you can count cards,” Robby replied, shrugging.

Y/N looked at him blankly. “How’d you know?”

Robby smirked. “Just a vibe,” he hummed.

Y/N stared at the two of them, raising a brow. “So that’s the rumour,” she muttered before going back to work.

Robby stared at her. “I heard about Atlantic City.”

Y/N’s face fell.

“Subtle remark about Vegas from our favourite ex-military man,” Robby added.

Y/N stared at him but decided to ignore his comment. “Have you bet?” she asked, sending him a small smile.

“I have, but I want hear yours,” he replied.

“Good, don’t want to change your idea,” she muttered, looking back at her computer.

“So can you?” he asked.

“Can I what?” she asked, still focused.

“Count cards?”

“I think you know,” she whispered.

“Would rather hear it from you, Ace.”

Y/N looked up, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “When I was twenty-two, I went to Vegas after my degree before I started here. I spent the three days strategically playing poker and let’s just say, my student loans were paid for afterwards,” she muttered, looking back at her computer.

Robby stared at her. “What about Atlantic City?” he asked.

“What about it?”

“You and Jack went to Atlantic City?” he replied.

“Um, he tagged along. I was there for a concert with some college friends. Loud noises for him are a big no, so it was me and some friends. This was a few years ago,” she replied, focused.

“And gambling?”

She looked up now. “Oh,” she replied, staring for a second before chuckling awkwardly. “We were new in a relationship. Wanted to impress him. So I gambled. Won.”

They both stared at each other. “Won what?” Dana asked.

“Enough,” she replied. “I’m charming,” Y/N added, clicking a few buttons for work. “I wear a sexy outfit, flirt with old, rich men and play the fool. No one suspects the pretty, young, sexy girl at the blackjack table to be counting cards.”

“So, you can count cards?” Robby remarked.

“Did I deny?” she hummed, staring at him and raising a brow.

Dana choked on her coffee. “Jesus.”

“You won?” Robby replied. “Like a lot?”

She shrugged. “I only bet enough to pay what I need to pay, then get out. No greed. No heat. They watch you like a hawk there, so you need to be smart. Me, well, there’s a key to counting cards. Know when to walk, when to halt, when to fold, let go, fool, you know…” she muttered, going back to her screen. “Leave a little dumbfounded, a little disappointed, a little fooled, but overall, chuffed with what you got.”

They just stared at her. “Remind me to go gambling wit her,” Dana replied. “I have to pay for my daughter’s trip to Europe for school.

Y/N looked up. “What are you doing next Friday? We can skip town? Head to our favourite town of gambling and beaches?” Y/n hummed.

Dana stared at her. “I genuinely don’t know if she’s joking or not,” she mumbled.

Robby shook his head. “I don’t know either,” he replied as he stared at her. “So, about this ambulance bet…”

Y/N leaned back in the chair, stretching her arms overhead before she gave them that signature smirk. The one which she outsmarted them.

“Simple,” she shrugged which they rose their brows. “It’s September. This means it initiation month for every frat in North America. This includes our city’s main university. According to my research, this year the invitation isn’t something subtle or simple, rather they want something more daring, idiotic, and more visible…” She looked at them. “Ambulance. Simple. Plus, free drugs, bonus points.”

Dana blinked and Robby just stared at her.

“How do you know this?” Robby asked.

Y/N shrugged. “I dated a frat guy in undergrad. Didn’t last long but had a thing about chaos and beer pong. I learned how the initiation season works. The whole goal is shock value, and for our local university, an ambulance is definitely shock value. So, I bet frat guys and in our zone. Because I secretly want the trauma to come in so I can shame them for ebing an imbecile.”

The two of them stared at her. Shocked. Face wide with curiosity.

“Vegas,” Dana whispered.

“I was twenty-two, broke, pissed off, and fucking brilliant. I had just finished my undergrad in nursing and psych. I needed to pay off it off…Let’s just my mother isn’t one with a healthy 529 Plan.”

“She taught you how to count cards?” Robby asked, intrigued.

Y/N chuckled. “That’s the only thing she taught me. That and how to be a shitty mom. However, it’s just math. It’s called finite mathematics. It’s a bunch of equations about the probability an card can be shown and all,” she hummed, winking. “Thanks, mother for the skill that got me through life.”

Robby just shook his head. “I have so many questions about that trip.”

She shrugged. “Not much to tell. I was alone. I went there to see my mom’s sister to help with something. I was bored, ended up at the casino and played my cards right. All classified. Need-to-know basis”

“Does our military boy know?” Dana asked.

Y/N chuckled. “Yeah. He learnt when we were at Atlantic City for a concert. He watched me. Then he just leaned over and was like, ‘You better split that pot with me, Dove. You’re buying dinner’ and I knew I would be with him forever.”

Robby chuckled, shaking his head. “You two are a goddamn Bonnie and Clyde.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hope not. Rather not be on the run and rather not die. Plus, we didn’t do anything illegal. If a casino finds out you are, you can’t be arrested; rather they ban you from that casino or ask you to leave. So,” she smirked, “I’m not a criminal.” They just stared at her. “We’re soulmates. Jack and I. War wounds, war hero, super hero, etc. And me, just someone with a brain too big to be true.”

They stared at her.

“If I win, let’s make this bet into a triple,” she smirked, winking. Then she got up and went to check on her patients.

1100

Y/N was back to sitting at the nurses’ station after checking in with her patients, administering meds, taking orders and being her normal nurse self. Dana was talking to her about her daughters. Princess asked to put the hijack of the ambulance on TV, which Dana allowed, earning a light chuckle from Y/N.

“Have you thought of names?” Dana asked as she checked her tablet.

Y/N glanced up. “Names?” she repeated.

“For fetus,” Dana nudged, looking over to the younger nurse. Y/N stared at her for a moment trying to register if she heard Dana correctly.

“Dana, I just found out yesterday,” Y/N replied. “I was told I could never get pregnant. No, I don’t have names.” She didn’t mean to be rude, but it seemed like Dana and Robby were more excited about this than Y/N. However, Y/N knew her body and knew not to have her hopes up. However, the way Dana looked over to her, she caved. “I’ve always loved Arlo for a boy or Otis. Charlotte for a girl. I’ve always loved the name Charlotte. So many nicknames like Lottie, Charlie, Harley,” Y/N mumbled.

Dana nodded. “Charlotte is pretty. Royalty name,” she replied. “Why are your names so British-based?” she chuckled, smirking.

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. I like regal names, but not something basic. Fuck, my boyfriend’s name is Jack…so unoriginal…so American. I need to be creative. I want something different, something new, but not wild or strange.”

Dana nodded. “Fair.” However, their conversation was soon ended when Santos came up.

“Got a second?” she asked, glancing between the two of them. She was jittery.

Y/N raised a brow. “Sure.”

“It’s never a second, but shoot,” Dana replied, looking at the intern. “Did you two hash it out?” she asked, looking over at Y/N.

Y/N smiled at the intern. “We’re right. All good. Just miscommunication,” she said, looking at Santos, who glanced at her before going back to Dana.

“Uh, yeah,” she muttered. “Anyway, I think there was an issue with a vial of lorazepam used on our last patient, and it should be reported to the drug manufacturer.”

Y/N raised her brow, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in the chair. “What kind of issue?” she asked, curious.

Santos glanced to Y/N before going back to Dana. “The cap was really hard to take off, almost like it was super-sealed shut. I’m worried it could be a bigger issue.” The way she glanced at Y/N answered her question but refused to make eye contact, rather looking at the charge nurse instead.

“Like?” Dana asked, raising a brow.

“Like maybe the temperature wasn’t properly controlled during transportation and the seal on the vial melted shut, which could mean the medication is compromised.”

Y/N slowly nodded. “I doubt that. When transporting medications there is a lot of regulations…rules to follow to ensure that the medication stays at the proper temperature. Additionally, it’s not summer, so the outside heat won’t affect it,” she said with a shrug and her brows furrowed.

Dana glanced at her partner in crime, nodding in agreement with her. “True,” she said. “Are there any other vials affected?”

“Uh, just this one,” Santos replied, holding up the vial of benzodiazepine.

The way Dana stared at the intern, unimpressed mostly but bothered that she would bring something up like this when the chance of it happening was slim. “Ok,” she replied, tone short. “Check the manufacturer’s website, see if there’s been a recall of the lot number.” Then she glanced back down to her work.

“Um, what if this is the first irregular vial?” Santos added.

“Then hold on to the vial in case there are any other issues,” Dana said, hands on her hips.

Just then, a loud voice was heard. Langdon, who spotted Jake, Robby’s basically step-son walked into the ER. Y/N turned the chair to see the young boy, swaggering in like he owned the place. A smile came to her face.

“Jake the Snake! It’s 11 A.M. aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Dana asked, jumping into parent mode as Jake hugged Langdon before walking to Dana.

“Mom let me ditch for Pittfest,” Jake replied, hugging Dana.

Y/N got up, walking over to the boy.

“How’s your mama?” Dana asked, engulfing him.

“Oh, she’s restoring some house in Squirrel Hill, so you know, she’s pretty busy.”

Just then, Jake’s eyes landed on Y/N. “Hey, resident genius,” he grinned as she hugged him.

“Hey, troublemaker,” she hummed back, giving him a short but loving hug. “How’s school? Math fucking you still?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Always, but Beck has been great with the tutoring,” Jake replied. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime. I would do it, but you know me, stuck here day and night,” she hummed back, winking.

“Are you looking for Robby?” Langdon asked, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, he’s got our festival passes,” Jake replied.

“Oh, you going together?” Langdon asked.

“We were supposed to, but, you know, I decided to go with a friend,” Jake replied, trying to be casual, but Dana and Y/N noticed the blush on his cheeks and the light smirk.

“Who’s the girl? What’s her name?” Y/N asked, nudging him. “Tell me about her…” she edged on, winking.

Jake, who became flustered, looked between Dana and Y/N. Not embarrassed, but face written with smitten love.

“Leah,” he muttered, voice low, shy but smirking at the same time.

“Ok, ok, ok, ok…don’t hold out on us,” Dana hummed as Langdon started to bug him.

“We need details. Where’d you meet? How long have you been together?” Dana asked, trying to get information.

“We met at junior lifeguards this summer. And we’ve been dating for two months. Yeah, she’s pretty great,” Jake said, smiling like a fool. The three of them stared at the teenager, smirking.

Young love.

“That’s sweet. I’m gonna go find Robby, let him know you’re here,” Dana replied.

“Young love. Remember young love, Dana?” Y/N hummed looking over to the blonde.

“Boy, do I ever,” Dana hummed, chuckling as she walked away to go find Robby.

Y/N smirked, patting Jake on the back before walking off as well.

Y/N heard her name called and she glanced up from charting to see Robby staring at her. He beckoned her over with his hands.

“Got a post-tonsillectomy haemorrhage,” Robby replied as she grabbed gloves.

“Ooo, messy…bloody, my favourite,” she hummed as she came over.

Robby shook his head, and a chuckle came from him. “Nebulised TXA, quick as you can.”

Y/N nodded as Whitaker came over, wearing morgue-coloured scrubs. She glanced over and rose a brow. “Downgraded?” she joked, smirking.

“This was all that was left,” he replied and Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she grabbed onto the gurney and wheeled into trauma room two. Robby was speaking behind her to Whitaker, asking if he was up to it.

Once in the room, they got to work, transferring the patient from the gurney to a medical bed in the room. Y/N instantly grabbed the device that administers TXA and told the patient to breathe through it.

“Take long, slow, deep breaths on that,” Robby said. “The TXA is gonna help your blood clot.”

“Any medical problems?” Whitaker asked, writing down notes.

“No, just a ton of strep. That’s why I had the surgery,” the patient said.

“You take aspirin? Any other medications?” Whitaker continued to ask.

Y/N was working on getting basic labs and an IV in.

“Lungs are clear bilaterally, no stridor,” Robby said, stethoscope in hand as he pressed it to the patient’s chest.

“Ok, sure. Do you feel like throwing up? Any pain your belly?” Whitaker continued to ask as they all worked.

“No.”

“Labs?” Robby asked, adjusting a light.

“Uh, CBC, BMP, maybe coags?” Whitaker muttered.

“I would add a type and screen, just in case,” Y/N replied, working on the patient.

“Agreed,” Robby said.

“Good stats at 98%. BP is 115 over 80,” Y/N announced, glancing over to the monitor.

“Ok, good,” Robby said. “Four by four on ring forceps. Let’s take a look.” He handed over a pair of forceps to Whitaker.

“Ok,” Whitaker mumbled. “Head back, open wide for me.”

They inserted a device, checking for active bleeding, which was negative, however, there was some white and dark brown residue in his mouth where the tonsils used to be.

“That’s good. That’s a fibrinous clot. That means the TXA is working,” Y/N replied, faster than Robby could respond.

Robby looked over at Y/N, chuckling and shaking his head. They all knew she was a nurse, but had the knowledge like a doctor.

“Parents on their way?” Robby asked.

Y/N handed the patient the device that was administering TXA again. “Keep breathing this in,” she said.

“They’re in Baltimore for a wedding,” the patient said. “I didn’t want to bother them.”

“Trust me, they’re your parents, and you’re in the emergency room. It is never a bother. Write their numbers down, and I will call them.” Robby then looked over to Whitaker. “Call Head and Neck. Stay with him until they get here, ok?

Then he was gone.

Y/N continued working on the patient with Whitaker.

However, once the patient was stabilised, Y/N left. Minutes later, Whitaker was screaming, coming out of the trauma room, asking for help. Instantly, she was on her feet, grabbing gloves again and running over.

“It’s a post-tonsillectomy haemorrhage,” Whitaker said as a team came in. Langdon, the senior resident, jumped in as Y/N went to grab the suction device.

“Uh, Yankauer and sponge stick,” Langdon called out.

“He was stable. Then it just opened,” Whitaker stated, panic in his tone.

“Call the blood bank,” Langdon called out. “Two units, whole blood. Get a second line.”

Instantly, they all got to work. Quick moves, haste motives, they needed to stabilise this patient. Already, too many people have died today.

“Head and neck wouldn’t come down to see him,” Whitaker explained.

“Assholes,” Langdon muttered.

“Tachy to 120. His sats are down to 90%,” Y/N called out.

“Ok, get a high-flow nasal cannula, 100 of ketamine. Set up the GlideScope,” Langdon demanded. “Y/N, hold suction!”

Y/N halted.

“I’m going try for direct pressure,” Langdon explained, holding forceps and gauze, placing them in the patient’s throat. “If Head and Neck still won’t come down, call Garcia.”

“You’re good. You’re good,” Whitaker repeated, looking at the patient in the eyes and muttering the silent reassurance.

Robby came in as they worked. “What happened?”

Langdon looked up to see his attending. “Bleeder opened up. Ketamine on board to intubate.”

Robby rushed to the side.

“Sats holding 97,” Y/N said, looking over to Robby and Langdon.

“Can you get an airway?” Robby asked, leaning into Langdon.

“Come on,” Langdon muttered. “Keep pressure on the scab.”

Y/N continued to work around them, adrenaline kicking in and nothing else mattered that moment. However, the monitor continued to beep rapidly.

“Nothing but blood,” Langdon muttered, looking over to the screen where the camera was set up for intubation. “Can’t see the cords.”

“Sats 94,” Y/N called out.

Just then, Garcia walked in, coming over to the side.

“Not sure we have room for the tub with the sponge stick,” Langdon explained.

“If I pull out, there’s going to be even more blood,” Whitaker explained.

“Doesn’t look like you secured that airway,” Garcia jested.

“He’s working on it,” Robby fired back.

“Open a crike tray and prep the neck,” Garcia said.

Y/N instantly began to gather supplies for a crike.

“Y/N, hold on, I’m going in blind with a bougie,” Langdon called out. “I might be able to feel the tracheal rings.”

Y/N halted, holding the supplies in her hand, looking at the scene.

“And I might have a three-way with Madonna,” Garcia quipped. “Move.”

“Not happening,” Langdon fired back.

“Pressure.”

“Make room for the grown-ups,” Garcia stated, pushing her way in.

They continued to work, and Robby looked up to Y/N, seeing if she had any ideas. He shook his head, and instantly she froze for a moment, thinking hard. Closing her eyes, her brain fired, trying to retrieve information. Things she read, learnt, etc. Usually, she could recite knowledge in seconds, but something hit her now.

“Retrograde intubation,” she whispered, and Robby heard her clear.

Robby nodded. “Yeah, let’s try it.”

“A what?” Garcia asked, confused.

“There’s no obstruction. We just can’t see what we’re doing. So, we take a needle, and we cut it in the cricothyroid. We run a guide wire up and out of the mouth, and we slide the ET tube over the wire,” Robby said, grabbing supplies with Y/N. Both are working like a well-oiled machine.

“Never seen one before.”

“Sats 90,” Y/N called out. “It’s an alternative and considered rare when it comes to modern medicine,” she explained. “But we need to do it.”

“No time to play MacGyver with this kid,” Garcia added. “Time to crike.”

Robby looked over to Garcia. “It’ll be quick,” he hummed with a smile.

“You got one shot, and then I cut,” Garcia replied, serious.

Robby looked to Y/N. “Know what to do?” he asked, smirking.

“Always,” she hummed.

They got to work. Robby accessing the next with the syringe before looking over to Y/N. “Guide wire.”

She nodded, handing it to him. She watched him insert it, carefully, but like a professional, as if this was just habit.

“Let me know if you start to feel it up top,” Robby said, watching carefully his movements.

Y/N nodded. “Nothing,” she whispered. “More suction,” she said, looking over to Whitaker.

“I’m trying,” Whitaker muttered.

“Still can’t find it,” Y/N replied.

“Why are you letting a nurse help perform such a complicated procedure?” Garcia asked, raising a brow.

“Because she is the best of the best and knows a lot more than most people,” Robby replied. “If you worked in the ER, you’d know.” He then chuckled. “She has an IQ of 170–“

“178,” Y/N replied.

“Indeed and a eidetic memory,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean she can preform such a complicated procedure,” Garcia fired back.

Y/N glanced over to the surgical resident. “An MD doesn’t always mean you’re the best at performing medicine,” she snapped. “Sometimes us average folk can preform medicine too.”

“Average folk? You call yourself an average folk?” Langdon quipped, shaking his head with a smirk. “Now you’re making me feel like shit.”

“Enough,” Robby barked quickly.

“Keep going, Robby,” Y/N whispered.

“Sats down to 89,” Langdon said now, taking Y/N’s spot.

“This is not working,” Garcia stated.

“Give us a second,” Y/N replied a little too harshly.

“Until he arrests?” Garcia continued to bug.

“Oh my God, I’m gonna lose another patient,” Whitaker mumbled.

“Shut up, Whitaker. Let’s get on this,” Robby snapped at him lowly.

“Sats down to 87,” Langdon said now.

“Redirect the wire, Robby,” Y/N suggested. “Go at a different angle.”

“Sats still dropping, 86,” Langdon said, voice a little bit more rushed.

“Robby, I believe in you,” Y/N whispered. “You’re the cowboy, and it isn’t your first rodeo,” she whispered.

A few more seconds went by as they tried their best to guide the wire.

“Sats at 84,” Langdon said now. “We need to bag him.”

“Christ,” Y/N muttered. “Fucking Christ. Come on.”

“I’m sanctioning like crazy,” Whitaker said.

“Good job, Whitaker. What a good boy,” she replied, as she focused what’s on hand. “Sorry, that was a little rude. Treating you like one of my dogs,” she muttered. “Excuse my behaviour.”

Whitaker looked at her, but she was focused on the task at hand. “Um, it’s fine.”

Garcia was having enough. “Ok, we’re done playing doctor,” she bit. “Lose the wire. I’m criking this kid,” she barked the orders.

“Y/N, we tried, I’m sorry, but–“

“Shut the fuck up everyone,” Y/N bellowed. “Just shut the fuck up.”

Robby looked at her. “Y/N,” he tried. “We got–“

“Got it!” she hollered. “I got it!” Pulling the wire out through the mouth, smiling.

“You still don’t have an airway,” Garcia explained, brows furrowing.

“Y/N, keep the laryngoscope in place so the tube passes easily,” Robby whispered to her. Then looked up to grab more supplies. “Pass the T, the T tube over the wire.”

“Yup,” she whispered.

“Hand on to that wire,” Robby stated as he worked alongside her. “Do not let go of that wire.”

“Affirmative,” she whispered.

Robby nodded. “I’m going to give you a little slack so you can get past the cords,” Robby said as she continued to work. “Yeah, yeah, feel you at the trachea.”

Y/N nodded, looking at her work for a second, though her hands were in this kid’s mouth. “25 centimetres at the lips,” she said.

“That ought to do it. Pull the wire, bag him,” Robby commanded.

Y/N nodded, following suit, pulling the wire out.

“Balloons up,” Langdon muttered.

Y/N grabbed the bag, bagging the patient.

“Yellow on CO2. That’s good,” Whitaker muttered, smiling.

“That is very good,” Robby replied. He grabbed his stethoscope and checked the breathing pattern of the patient. “Good breath sounds bilaterally.”

“Sats coming up,” Y/N said, looking at the monitor as Langdon took over. “90…92…”

“Guess you’re gonna have to save that scalpel for another day,” Langdon replied, smirking.

“You guys got lucky,” Garcia replied before looking over to Robby. “Though letting a nurse preform a doctor’s duty–“

Y/N looked at her. “I know how to intubate. I was trained in nursing school on how to intubate,” she barked back.

“Not in a complex case like this,” Garcia argued back.

Y/N snickered and shook her head. “What’s the difference between being taught it in nursing school the normal way, compared to an attending doctor teaching you the complex way. Last time I checked, medical students, interns and residents learn from attendings as well. It’s all education. Patient isn’t dead and I saved a slash to his throat,” Y/N replied. “Skills, doll face. Skills,” Y/N smirked as she looked over to the surgeon. “Don’t underestimate nurses.”

It was amazing. She watched as Langdon and Whitaker took over with Jesse the other nurse. She stepped away. Holy shit, she preformed something, and it wasn’t a nurse’s duty. The adrenaline was serious, the flutter in her stomach was there, and a smile so grand, nothing could ruin her mood.

Y/N stepped out of the trauma room, heart still pounding in her chest, gloves and gown stained, hair falling out of the messy bun she had at the base of her neck. She pulled over the gown and gloves, throwing them in a biohazard bin and leaned on the wall next to the doors. She closed her eyes and exhaled like she was trying to release everything she was feeling.

This is why she did what she did. To help. To heal. To save lives. However, she was a doctor at that moment, not a nurse.

Robby followed her out a few seconds later. She didn’t have to look at him, knowing he was standing beside her, hands on his hips, that quiet little grin playing on his lips.

“Not bad,” he muttered.

Y/N smirked, opening her eyes. “Not bad?” she echoed, chuckling. “Yeah, it was grand. Thanks for trusting me.”

He turned slightly, facing her. “Jack taught you that?” he asked.

She looked at him before nodding. “Yeah. One night… a long time ago before we began being us. I think it was within my first or second year being a nurse. We’d had a really complex case, and he performed this. I was curious, questioned him about it and then he sat me down afterwards. Opened a textbook, pulled up videos and then set up a training dummy in an empty room. It’s just Jack being Jack, he taught me,” she replied. Then she shrugged. “Plus, I read about it when I was in nursing school. Well,” she chuckled, “we weren’t taught it. I was just bored one night in the summer before my practicum and decided to do a deep dive into complex medical care for the ER.”

Robby tilted his head as he listened, the corner of his mouth twitching into something half fond, half impressed. “You did a deep dive into emergency airway procedures for fun?”

Y/N smirked. “Hey, I was single, never went out, couldn’t afford a Netflix subscription, so I had to entertain myself somehow. Medical journals are free because I was in university, and YouTube exists for the general public. I always wanted to be in the ER. Needed to rock the boots off you ER cowboys when I eventually came,” she hummed, smirking.

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “You shock me constantly.”

Y/N shrugged. “I’m just abnormal. Quirky. Autistic. Fun.”

Robby’s brows furrowed. “You have ASD?” he asked.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I actually just got diagnosed like a year or two ago. Level one, but yeah, autistic. Got my brother to get tested as well, and he has it too.” He nodded. Though he wasn’t shocked. “It’s not a secret, Robby,” she added. “I’m not purposely hiding it, if you think…”

Robby just shook his head, more in understanding than anything. “It doesn’t’ surprise me,” he replied eventually. “Just never thought about it,” he mumbled.

Y/N shrugged. “Well, like you say a lot, I keep you on your toes and constantly surprise you.” Then smiled. “Helps my reputation as the terrifying, cut throat, blunt, knowledge nurse who’s incredibly sexy,” she hummed, winking.

“And the one who suggests the med students to write death letters–“

“Hey! I can quote research on that!” she hollered, holding her hands up. “Plus, Jack taught me that. So, it’s not the sparkle that adds to my sparkly personality.”

Robby chuckled. They stood in silence for a beat, both caught in the residue of adrenaline and awe. Robby glanced at her again, that softness back in his gaze – the kind that only ever appeared when he was genuinely proud.

“You know, you were a doctor in there,” he said eventually. She looked up from looking down to her blood-stained sneakers. “Straight up. That wasn’t nursing. That was next-level clinical judgment and technical skill.”

She just nodded before shrugging, trying to play it cool. “I’m just good at learning and doing what I do.”

“No,” he replied. “You were good. Excellent. Terrific.”

She smirked. “Going soft on me, Cowboy? Or just flirting with me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. He placed his hands in his pockets and began to rock back and forth on his feet. “I’m going to ignore that,” he hummed, though they all knew he enjoyed her comments. “I am going to suggest something which I know you will swat away, but–“

She knew what he was going to say and instantly, she groaned, throwing her head back. “Don’t.”

“I think you should consider going to med school and becoming a doctor,” he finished his idea, looking at her. Y/N just scoffed. “Why didn’t you?”

Y/N looked back at her feet. “Because I couldn’t,” she said honestly.

He rose a brow. “Because?” “I needed a good paying job, a quick education and something I loved,” she replied. “Nursing made sense.”

“What do you mean?” he continued to ask.

She met his eyes. “You know me–“

“I don’t know you as much as you think,” he interrupted. “I know what you let me know. I know you have a younger brother, and you’re distant with your mom. I know you love Jack with everything in you, but,” he paused, letting out a breath.

“But?” she asked, confused.

“He wants to marry you, you know?” he said. She raised a brow, confused. “But he’s scared to because he knows that you’re scared of things being too much.”

Y/N let out a loud sigh. “He can marry me. I just don’t want it to be a big deal,” she eventually said. “I also don’t want to,” she sighed, licking her bottom lip. “He lost his last wife. I just don’t want to–“

“I know. But back to what I was saying, why didn’t you go to medical school?”

She stared at him for a beat. She trusted him. Everything about him. She loved him like a brother. “What has Jack told you?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing. Says its not his story,” he replied.

She nodded, smiling. What a good man. “Right,” she muttered, looking back down. “Like said, I need a quick degree so that I could get a job quickly, stable, excellent pay. Then there’s my personal needs that I needed something different everyday and I needed something that challenged me.”

“So, nursing?”

She nodded. “I had a brother to raise,” she said. “I became his legal guardian at nineteen. I took care of him. I’m not from money. My childhood was a mess. Mom’s an addict. My dad…I didn’t know him till I was seventeen. Beck’s dad is gone. We believe he’s in prison. I couldn’t let my brother live that life. Then when I graduated at twenty-two, I worked my ass off to give him the life he deserved. Fuck, I worked my ass off in nursing school to provide for him. I worked at the hospital as a mental health worker. My life hasn’t been easy. Fuck, it’s finally easy now and I deserve that,” she whispered.

Robby stood there, quiet for a long moment, the hallway still around them except for the distant hum of machines and the low murmur of voices. For once, no screams. He stared at her. Then nodded slowly. He knew her. He knew her a lot more than she thought, maybe not fact-wise, but behaviour-wise.

“You do deserve it,” he said. “Every inch of what you’ve created for yourself, you’ve deserved. But I think you do deserve more.”

Y/N pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek and nodded, exhaling. “I know,” she whispered, looking up to the Gods above as tears came to her eyes. “I’m praying to the science Gods for this baby, Robby,” she whispered. “But I’m letting life take its course,” she looked back at him, smiling. “Don’t push me to go to med school. For one, it doesn’t make sense if this baby does happen,” she whispered. “Two, I would scare Jack away with school me. Assignments, quizzes, labs, exams, etc. I’d be a stressed out like a motherfucker.” Robby chuckled. “Three, I’m thirty. I’m too old for that shit anyway. I’ll be forty when I’m done with school and residency.”

Robby stared at her. “I would hug you, but there are rumours about us,” he whispered. She rolled her eyes. “Come here,” he muttered, grabbing onto her arm and pulling her into a hug. His arms wrapped around her, comforting, warm and strong, holding her close. “You deserve this baby. No matter what,” he whispered into her ear. “But I’m offended if you think thirty is old, let alone forty. Do you know how old I am?”

She smiled, chuckling. “I’m fucking a forty-nine-year-old and I call him my old man,” she whispered, looking up to his eyes. “But you were my old man first before that one came and stole my heart,” Y/N whispered, smiling. “Now you’re just my cowboy.”

Robby exhaled through a smile, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes – an ache he masked too quickly. Robby loved her. He loved her within weeks of knowing her, but he never pushed himself to pursue that love. Jack stole her in two years, and both would never know the truth.

He pulled back enough to look at her, one hand still resting at her shoulder. Epitome of beauty, but the definition of genius. He stared at her. The way her cheeks had a light blush to them, bright eyes filled with life and hair long but cared for. She was everything he needed, but she was happy with another man. His brother from another mother. His best mate. Old rival. And he was happy that she was happy with him.

“Well,” he said softly, “I was a goner the way you rolled in the ER wearing what was it, turquoise and pink under shirt for your scrubs and told me off on how I was charting.” He chuckled. “What was the word you used?”

“Methodical,” she whispered. “I said you weren’t methodical with your charting.”

“Right,” he nodded. “You didn’t even work here yet. A practicum student. Cocky as hell–”

“Intelligent. Confident. There’s a difference.”

“Say all you want, woman,” he hummed, smirking as she gave him a mock glare. “Jack got to you first, but me, well, I’ll always be proud of you, Ace.”

She smiled, warm and full of depth. “I know,” she whispered. “You’ve always been in my corner and one of my greatest mates.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll always be here,” he replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Whether you’re a nurse, a doctor, or the woman who made me cry with a speech about grief in the supply closet once.’

Y/N looked at him, trying to remember before laughing. “Oh my God, I forgot about that. A long time ago. You were such a wreck.”

��I was going through a breakup!”

She nodded. “I’m good, though. Great therapist, but I prefer blood over tears,” she replied, winking. “Nurse over psychologist.”

“Cheers to that,” he hummed,

Then they stared at one another. “I’m not going to med school,” she whispered, glancing down. “Don’t try to get Jack to convince me…”

He chuckled. “No promises. But if you ever change your mind, I will write you a letter of recommendation so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’ll hold you to that if I do indeed get a midlife crisis,” she teased.

“Already got the dogs and the man. All you need is the convertible and the medical degree.”

She smirked. “I love my Bronco. But degree…mhmm we shall see. But I’m happy with just my vegetable garden and the ability to raise a baby.”

Robby’s face softened again. He wanted to reach out, cup her cheek and rub the tears that were welling under her eyes. She wasn’t a crier, but the hormones… He thought better than to do it. “You’ll be a great mom, Ace.”

“Thank you,” she muttered. “I hope so. Didn’t have the greatest person to look up to, but Jack’s mom…she’s amazing.”

He nodded. “You raised Beckett.”

She scoffed. “Barely. Well, tried my best. I think he turned out ok.”

“Kid’s doing quantum physics,” Robby said with a raised brow. “He’s basically building the future–“

There conversation got short because Robby got called somewhere. He nodded, hummed his response before looking at her again. “I’m always in your corner,” he whispered.

“Likewise, Old Man,” she replied smirking.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t make me move you to triage,” he replied, smirking.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she barked back as he walked away.

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Hope you enjoyed. xoxo

Ava <3

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader

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delulu-julia · 2 months ago

Note

Can I have headcanons for tall reader, and she is very tactile, and when she’s hugging turtles, they always bump to her chest, but she doesn’t care at all (romantic, before any confection) feel free to ignore

How boys hugging you

(romantic, before confession. female reader)

This one was in my box for soo long actually,, I just felt writing this today, so enjoy!

Leonardo

He’s so respectful it’s almost painful. Every time he bumps into your chest, he freezes like someone hit him with something sharp

“Oh—! I-I didn’t mean to— Sorry, I really—!”

He’ll immediately pull back, hands hovering awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Lowkey thinks you’re doing it on purpose at first. But then you stay all casual, smiling so bright, and he gets lost for a moment

“You’re very… affectionate” he says once, awkwardly, after you done this to him a couple of times

He has to meditate longer now. To “clear his mind” (calm down after your hugs.)

The thing is, he loves your hugs. Your warmth calms him down. But he’s hyper- aware of every part of the contact. His honor code is screaming

Eventually he starts preparing himself mentally before a hug. Bracing for impact. Standing straighter. Trying (and failing) to maintain eye contact.

He won’t tell you to stop. He couldn’t. But when you leave? He tries not mention it and hides in the dojo

Keeps wondering what it would feel like to hold you back —on purpose

Raphael

The tough guy who’s not tough at all around you

Instant flustered rage mode.

The first time you hugged him and he got smushed against your chest, he pushed you away like “Tch— watch it!”

But you saw the bright red on his cheeks and the way he wouldn’t look at you for the rest of the day

And if you hug him more… he’ll try to push you again. He will growl, go back slightly — because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know what to do with the explosion in his chest

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close? His cheek is immediately squished into your chest and he just stays quiet for a little

“What the—!? D’you even notice where you’re—”

“Mhm. You’re warm...”

And then continue hugging him. He stops struggling after five seconds. Six seconds in, his arms are around you too.

From then on, every time you go in for a hug, he pretends to protest but leans into it faster every time.

He acts like he’s annoyed, but if you don’t hug him after a mission? He actually gets moody

Donatello

You once hugged him mid-rant about Kraang code. He didn’t speak again for a full 30 seconds

He becomes fully broken every time. You hug him, and his brain reboots. There’s white noise only. Static.

“H-huh? Oh. Uh—um. I—I think we’re—too—close —!”

He dropped his screwdriver three times after that

When you don’t let go, he just… stands there. Stiff as a board. Face burning. Mind racing.

His inner monologue: “This is fine. Just two friends. Hugging. Very tightly. With my face where it absolutely should not be— ”

But you’re always casual. You don’t even comment on it. And that makes it worse

He starts secretly practicing possible things to say next time you hug him. He never actually uses them

Eventually, you hug him and he finally just… melts a little. Doesn’t pull away. Lets himself enjoy it

Your hug habits become his new favorite variable. He might thinks about them a lot. Secretly

He might even rest his chin on you if he’s feeling bold

One day, you hugged him from behind and he let out a little noise. You teased him. He hasn’t recovered since

Michelangelo

He lives for it.

The first time it happened, he blinked… looked up at you… grinned like a devil, and went:

“So THIS is what heaven feels like”

Doesn’t care how flustered he gets. Hugs you back tighter. Smushes his face against you like a cat

You’d think he’d make inappropriate jokes, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. Mikey loves touch, and he knows your hugs are genuine. He just gets really soft about it

That said, he definitely teases the others about it, like:

“You guys get the forehead hugs, but I get the squishy ones”

Or…

“Aww, Raphy, what’s wrong? Didn’t get your daily booba hug?”

*Throws a beanbag at him*

He starts leaning into hugs before you even reach him. Sometimes lifts one leg like he’s being dipped in a rom-com

When you walk into a room and your arms are open, he runs into them like a happy golden retriever

Starts making excuses to get you to hug him “I’m cold” “I stubbed my toe” “I’m emotionally fragile...”

You carry him once just for fun. He let out a high-pitched giggle, practically bouncing in place

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vamplvs · 1 month ago

Note

Could you possibly write something angsty for John Walker where maybe a mission or something goes wrong and he ends up taking out his frustration on reader but apologizes and makes up for it when he notices reader pulling away, I love your writing so much!! Hope you have a good day! 💕

ROUGH NIGHT?

INCLUDES -> john walker x gn!reader WARNINGS -> john is kind of a bitch (predictably) and the reader is kind of a bitch back (which is deserved), hurt/comfort, mentions of blood, injury, and death (missions, yk?), reader is anxious as HELL about john, very vague mentions of sex but nothing explicit WORD COUNT -> 2.8k NOTES -> ugh anon this is EXACTLY the kind of shit i love writing. hurt/comfort is where it's at and this is just so unbearably john-coded in the best way. like yeah! you get it <3 fair warning, this ran away from me REALLY quick. it was supposed to be a short blurb (mostly aftermath and comfort tbh), and then i got carried away. also you can rly see my love-hate relationship w john in this one LMAO. he's my wife but i wanna get into a fist fight with him too, yk?

the tower is always quiet without the team, and bob's presence doesn't do much to keep things lively as he's already a pretty quiet person. they've been gone for nearly two weeks—double the time john told you the mission would take. they're usually radio silent for the duration of their missions, but when a mission takes so long, it's impossible not to worry.

and just as impossible not to wish that john could be safe within the walls of the tower, in your arms at night, or making you dinner.

you spend those weeks with bob going back and forth between checking on him, organizing and reorganizing every corner of your room, and drowning yourself in books and tv—not that it works. john lingers in your mind, images of the worst case scenario dancing in your mind like a taunt. maybe he comes back just fine, or maybe it's in a box. for all you know, he's trapped somewhere between two psychopaths trying to torture him. or maybe the team just can't agree on a course of action.

the silence from them is deafening, only drowned out by the racing of your own heart.

but when they finally come back from some extended mission that john hadn't told you the details of, the usual racket of the tower doesn't return with them. they march pitifully into the floor of the tower that's been dedicated to the living and common spaces. yelena is clutching her side and leaning against bucky for support, whose metal arm is spasming. ava, of course, vanishes immediately upon arrival. in the brief second you lock eyes with her before she disappears for who knows how long, she shoots you a cryptically sympathetic look for someone who looks like they've been through the ringer. alexei limps along, more defeated than you've ever seen him. but john is nowhere to be seen.

"hey, where is he?" you pipe up from where you're sitting on the couch, worry creasing your brow. your book is long forgotten by your side. instead, your eyes keep looking over the group, taking in their injuries and oh, god-

"with the jet," bucky responds, voice worn thin with exhaustion and hint of pain. you watch them leave, alexei's limp worrying you most of all. if he's in bad condition, what does that mean for john?

you bolt upright from the couch, heading off to the jet with a mission of your own. the bleak lighting of these parts of the tower create an endless maze for you to follow. your quick steps echo in the empty hallways—the construction that has been ongoing for the past several months leaving vast parts of the building almost entirely bare.

office rooms, labs, training grounds. all of them are vacant, like the people and equipment meant to be filling them have been stolen from under your nose. even the other living spaces in the tower—entire sections of floors that were once dedicated to an individual team member—are devoid of life. it leaves the building, one that was such an integral symbol of hope and protection, feeling cold.

and it does nothing to help the anxiety that claws at your throat.

by the time you get to the hangar, your pulse is pounding in your ears with enough force that you're sure it's echoing too. you hurtle through the doors of the hangar, desperation coloring every hurried step.

your pace slows when you see him: a lone figure in a wide, vacant room.

john is sitting on a crate by the side of the jet. his helmet in his hands and the shield tossed to the ground. it lies against the ground, discarded and deserted. his suit is covered in dust, debris, and what you think might be blood. with his head down, you can't quite see his face.

"john?" his name is barely above a whisper, and yet it still bounces off each wall. "are you okay?"

john tenses, his hands twitching around the helmet. it takes him a beat too long to respond, and the silence gives you a moment to see him properly. his beard has grown since you last saw him, no longer the neatly trimmed scruff he usually maintains. the bags under his eyes have gotten deeper, too, and there's this haunted look in his eye when he looks up from his helmet. gone is the bright blue you've grown to love. "i'm fine."

"how did the mission go?"

he huffs and stands up abruptly, helmet falling by his side. it rolls away from him, staring at you blankly with its empty sockets. "it was fine." john shoulders past you, his every step pounding against the floor. he hardly looks you in the eye as he leaves.

there's a limp in the way he walks, a favoring of one foot that is more than enough evidence to the contrary—as if you needed anything more.

when bucky finds you later in the kitchen, you're sitting at the table just staring blankly at your laptop. a cruel, steady cursor stares back at you, ever-blinking. bucky works quietly by the stove, apparently unbothered by you until he hands you a lightly steaming mug of hot chocolate—in the very mug john gave you before he left for this mission.

"is he okay?" you ask, staring down at the mug's delicate, flowery pattern.

bucky shrugs. "he's been in the gym for a while." he sits down across from you, running a hand through his hair. "the punching bags are taking a beating, according to ava."

"more than one?"

"apparently." bucky takes a sip from his own mug. in any other situation, the care with which he drinks his hot chocolate would have been endlessly funny. a tiny, delicate mug in the metal hand of a super soldier.

you hum. it's not unusual for john to train after a mission. he takes pride in his skill, after all, drawing all kinds of satisfaction from landing grueling hits against an enemy—and even a place for hits to land, a shield, when needed. but punching bags aren't his go-to, they never have been, especially not to the point of going through several bags. john spars when he wants a fight, but this... this has your worry washing over you in waves once again.

your eyes follow the intertwining swoops of the flowers decorating the mug.

"look, it was rough for us, especially walker," bucky rolls his shoulders back with a sigh. "give him some time, alright? he'll come around." you can't be sure if bucky is trying to convince you or himself. either way, he stays with you. he tells you about the bad intel, about the informant that john had been too rough with, about the regrets that john brought home from the mission. "he'll be okay." and you can only hope that's true.

you don't see john again until hours have passed at that kitchen table with bucky.

when you finally walk into your shared bedroom, you can smell his shampoo lingering in the air even from the doorway. he faces away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting his chin on his hand. and now that he's finally clean of the dirt that he brought home with him from the mission, you can see the bruises littering his back. they range from red to purple to nearly black, and your eyes are glued to them. you're sure that the ones on his chest and stomach must be worse.

"bucky told me what happened," you start, trying to keep your voice gentle. "i- i'm sorry that-"

john whips around, standing from the bed with a stiffness you've only seen in him during the aftermath of the void. his eyes blaze with hurt, backed by a fire built on kerosene and failure. "we aren't talking about this." his hands shake by his sides, knuckles raw and bleeding. bucky's story about the informant swims through your minds sluggishly, lingering. did he punch the scabs back open on the punching bags, or are those new?

"i just wanted to help-" you step forward with your hands out to him in a placating gesture, like he's some kind of wild animal. and with the withering look he gives you, he may as well be.

"yeah, and you never really can, can you?" he laughs bitterly, and his hands twitch again. footsteps pound on the floor, and suddenly, he's close enough to touch, close enough that you feel the adrenaline and shame still pumping through him, "i mean seriously, you sit here in the damn tower, and you hover. you always fucking hover." his voice just gets louder and louder, until you're sure anyone on this floor of the tower can hear him.

"because i care about you, john," you make a strong effort to keep your voice steady, fighting back the thickness wedging itself into your throat with everything in you.

"well, maybe that was your first mistake." his face is inches away from yours when he says it, with nothing but vitriol and venom backing his words.

your eyes burn. "john-"

"just-" he steps back, running a hand over his face, "i just need a fucking break, okay?" as soon as he turns his back to you again, you're out of the room. you swear the slam of the door behind you shakes the entire tower. and if you hear him calling after you, you certainly don't respond.

for the next few days, you avoid john. you spend nights with yelena or bob—thank god for that air mattress you found stashed in a closet months ago. and during the day, you only go back to your room when you know john is going to be out. if it's a break he wants, then it's a break he's going to get.

"he's a brash idiot," yelena tells you when it's her turn to host the movie nights you've been doing with her and bob.

bob, of course, is quick to intercept, "he definitely didn't mean it. right?" he defers to yelena, waiting for her to agree with him. not that she does, but you can appreciate the effort.

john's eyes follow you unwillingly when you're in the same room. they focus on every small movement—the way your eyebrows furrow when you're confused about something alexei says, the dip of you're mouth when you try not to laugh at bucky rolling his eyes at something ava says, the way your hands fidget with the end of your sleeves or your pen when you catch him looking. he feels like a mad man, itching to be by your side as bad as he is. and he can feel yelena laughing silently at him from across the room.

all the while, your heart aches. a break, he said, whatever that means. a break where he stares wistfully at you, eyes heavy with something that you could call sorrow if he hadn't been the one to call for a break.

it isn't until a full four days have passed that he finally works up the courage to apologize to you. it's ironic how he can face the scum of the earth, who do everything in their power to kill him, and yet he starts sweating when he remembers what he said to you. and when he remembers how you took it.

he finds you sitting by one of the windows of the emptier floors, a book in your hand—one of bob's recommendations. this room seems to be some kind of office space, though it's hard to tell with the minimal furniture that's been put in. he lingers in the doorway, taking a moment to watch you sitting peacefully. you don't have your guard up, and god, he misses seeing you like this.

he knocks gently on the doorframe, and you watch him approach with wary eyes. that same guard he was so grateful to see you without returns in full force.

"bob said i could find you here," his voice is hesitant despite how squared his shoulders are, despite how high he holds his head.

you huff. "can't quite keep quiet can he?" the pages of the book flutter when you put it down, the only sound in the room.

silence stretches between the two of you, and john has to look away from your accusing gaze.

"i'm sorry," he starts, shaky and unsure, "you didn't deserve that."

"i know." he winces at the certainty in your statement.

"the mission, it-" john finally looks you in the eyes again, taking a deep breath, "i'm so worried about you, all the time. it just-" his words trail off, like he's still trying to finish the thought. all that planning, and he still can't find a good way to put it all to words.

"yeah."

"i don't want you to get hurt." he flexes one of his hands. the wounds have long scabbed over but are still bruised badly.

"i'll be okay." you shrug, and he almost believes you.

"you can't know that-"

"i'm okay now, aren't i?"

his lips twist into a pitiful half-smile, and you can't help but give him the same look in return.

"when i-" his shoulders fall, "look, i didn't mean-" he curses under his breath, and that nearly gets a smile out of you. "i need a break from this," john gestures vaguely around the room, to the rest of the tower, "not- never from us. i fucked up bad, and i know that."

"okay." every response from you is clipped, tearing his poor attempt at a brave facade to shreds.

"i don't know why-" you give him an icy look that shuts that train of though down immediately. curse you for knowing him so well. "i shouldn't have said it, not like that."

john's heart races in the quiet moments that stretch between you two.

in the blink of an eye, your arms are wrapped around him. he lets out a shaky breath and pulls you close to him. his hands grab for your clothes like he's trying to prove you're really here.

"i'm sorry," he mutters into your shoulder.

"it's okay," you reply gently, threading fingers through his hair.

"you're so perfect, and so- just so close to all of this, and i have nightmares about you getting-" he takes a harsh, shuddering breath, "i don't know what i'd do."

"i know, baby."

you missed him for those days. you missed his hand in yours, you missed his gravely voice in the mornings, you missed his pain in the ass self-assurance. and it's good, so good, to have him back.

you wake the next morning without john in your bed, and if that isn't a rude awakening, you don't know what is. the sheets next to you are cold, and you almost trick yourself into believing that last night was a dream until john walks in with a cup of coffee in that same flowery mug and a tray stacked high with food.

"john?" your voice is still rough from sleep, cracking around the syllable.

"i made you breakfast, baby." with little ceremony, he places the tray of food and the coffee on the bedside table. he does it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like there's nothing else he would rather be doing.

"huh?" your mind is still struggling to catch up. it's too early, and the bed is, quite frankly, far too cold without him.

"i'm making it up to you," he kisses your forehead, and his hand lingers on your cheek for a beat longer than it strictly needs to.

"thought you made it up to me last night," you stretch your legs beneath the blankets, trying to work out some of the soreness. he chuckles at that, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way they do when he laughs.

"oh, that worked, huh?" john sits carefully on the edge of the bed, running a hand over your arm.

"mmm, maybe."

"does breakfast in the bed sweeten the deal?" there's a twinge of uneasiness in his tone matched with a gentle squeeze of your arm.

"only if you get back in bed with me." he smiles at you, all warm and tender.

"i think i can do that."

john finds his way under the blankets with you. his hands are soft when they wrap around you, and warmth bleeds back into the sheets steadily.

"you really should eat that before it gets cold," he mumbles against your neck.

"okay, okay." it's hard not to laugh at where john has situated himself. he's firmly attached to your side, only letting up when you reach for the food. even then, his hold on you shifts just enough to let you move, never quite relenting.

#john walker x reader #thunderbolts x reader #marvel x reader #honestly impressed w how quickly i turned this one out LMAO #usually requests take me a MINUTE (or at least they have in the past on other blogs)#but this scratched an itch ty anon!#john walker headcanons #thunderbolts headcanons #marvel headcanons

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