#th: wrap hell

[aquamanandfriends]

It was nice to see Brandy smile like this, they'd all been pretty drained on the show because it had run months over what they'd been told. Everyone felt twenty pounds lighter now that it was finally over. Tyler smirked at Lena then rolled his eyes, "You guys are too much, I like being home."

"So do I," Brandy insisted, "But we fucking earned this wrap party after the hell production put us through," she turned to Lena, "Don't even get me started on the field of flowers day." Tyler groaned loudly, "Yeah I didn't even dare go up that hill." "Spiders the size of my fucking hand it was horrible," Brandy shook her head, "Wait, where's it at, I feel like it might be close to my parents place." She grinned at the idea of maybe seeing Lena again. She was gorgeous. "I uh, I'm going to get another drink but you don't let him leave yet," Brandy told Lena with a smirk.

She laughed softly, brushing her hair back gently as she watched the newcomer. Already entertained and happy to see Ty have such an exuberant person around. "It's my turn to babysit," she joked. Tyler and she had often gotten into arguments about him keeping an eye on her. It had lessened the more she had stopped doing stupid things, but it was still a funny joke for the two.

"I'm a server," she answered easily. And honestly, too, for once. It was nice to not have to lie around Tyler anymore. Back in the day she was selling on the streets, fighting in rings, and taking odd jobs. Now Lena often found herself taking restaurant jobs wherever she planted a home. It was easy money, and nobody really batted an eye if you couldn't come into work. "Cute little surfside pizza place."

[banj0possum]

My Lovely Melody

Yandere!Rockstar x GN!Reader

CW: yandere is a playboy before he meets reader, suggestive (creepy) thoughts, minor obsessive behaviour

🎸 Axel's been in many relationships with both men and women alike, but all of his little flings felt nothing more than that, just flings.

🎸 And he was content with it, I mean being a famous rockstar meant lots of people wanting a chance with you and he indulged in that fact.

🎸 He could sleep with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he wouldn't have to deal with the commitment that comes with dating or any of that messy stuff.

🎸 So why the hell can't stop thinking about you ?!?!?!!

🎸 He scratched his head trying to make sense of it, his messy hair getting even more ruffled as he tries to get the image of your smile out of his head.

🎸 You were in a miscellaneous store full of alt clothing, trinkets and various other stuff when he walked in with his bandmates.

🎸 It was fairly normal when he came in the store. It was dim with some random punk song playing faintly in the background. His friends started exploring, looking at the graphic t-shirts and mugs shaped like skulls and the like.

🎸 He got a bit bored and wandered to the other side of the store. It had posters, candles and..who's that?

🎸 There you were, staring longingly at a plush toy sitting on one of the shelves, just standing there.

🎸 He didn't think much of it, probably just some person baked out of their mind. "Hey buddy, you doin' good?"

🎸 You snap out of your gaze and look at the big hulking man in front of you. You stutter out an apology and explain your little misfortune.

🎸 "So you want this..toy...but you can't afford it..?" He raises a brow at you as you nod, making him chuckle.

🎸 He thought for a moment, looking at the stuffed creature, well it wouldn't hurt to buy it for you, he's pretty well off from all the gigs and concerts he's been in so...

🎸 "How 'bout I buy this thing for ya then? But you owe me~" He winks, thinking he could score some quick sex for being such a 'gentleman'

🎸 But no, instead of a blush or a knowing smirk, you just looked at him with the widest, most innocent eyes he's ever seen, you were practically shaking with joy as he said it.

🎸 You thanked him profusely before listing off things you could do in return, treating him to some food, buying something for him in return, plain paying him back..he was a bit surprised.

🎸 "O-oh...uhm that was a joke heheh, y-you don't have to do all that babe..." He blushes.

🎸 The two of you head to the cashier, his friends spying from behind the aisles as his gaze is locked on the little ball of cuteness beside him.

🎸 Seriously? Did you even know who he was? This has never happened before...most of the time, he would pay for someone's drink or something and they'd be on his dick in seconds, but you, you were so..different...it felt nice..

🎸 You didn't even get it in a bag, you immediately took the plush after it was paid and hugged it close.

🎸 so cute so cute so cute so cute so cute!!!

🎸 "Hey uh..so me and my buds are in a band and uhm..wanna maybe..watch our next gig?" He asks nervously, he's never been so shy towards anyone!!

🎸 You agree, thinking it's the least you could do for what he did for you.

🎸 You take out your phone, Axel can't help but grin at the case, it was cute, like you~..

🎸 "Here's my number if..you need it.." You smile at him, that smile..that damn cute smile...you had his heart wrapped around your finger at this point.

🎸 "Th-thanks sugar..I'll see you there.." He smiles back as you part ways, he heads back to his friends who were bombarding him with questions as he watches you skip out of the store with your new little soft friend.

🎸 That night, he was getting ready for the show when he got a message notification and sees that you sent a picture of the show from one of the seats with some text "Good luck out there!"

🎸 His face was on fire as he realized you were there, he peeks out in the crowd and there you were, your little plush toy in tow.

🎸 You look so out of place from the people in spiky jewelry and dark outfits, you were just in a hoodie and baggy pants, albeit the hoodie had a MCR design on it, but you can tell it was very soft compared to the rest of the audience.

🎸 Finally it was time for the show to begin and it was the most passionate he's been in a while, it seemed as if the words he was singing were dedicated to you and you alone.

🎸 The little glances at you made you giddy, like a friend seeing their bestie perform, you were cheering excitedly for him, not in a fangirly way, but one of genuine support and amazement.

🎸 After the performance, Axel tried finding you, but the crowd was too big and he assumed you must have left already.

🎸 Wait..why is he being so buddy buddy with you? You just met today! It's not like you two were best friends or anything!

🎸 He tried dismissing the thought of you, tried distracting himself by flirting with other people, but he could only think about you, and making you smile like that again..

🎸 no no no! get out of my head!

🎸 Maybe a little fling can ease his mind?

🎸 Even on his bed with some random girl after show, he can still think of you.

🎸 Would your skin be as soft? or maybe softer? How would your hair smell? He bets your moans would sound delicious..

🎸 shit FUCK!!

🎸 Even after his one night stand, he kept thinking of you

🎸 He stares at your messages, you sent a lot of pictures of your plush toy doing goofy things to him, so cute..so silly...he can't help but smile.

🎸 He decides to look you up on social media and..

🎸 Wait a minute...you make music too?

yep this was a bit short but idk man i love making you guys suffer <3 stay tuned for part 2 (i am actually out of ideas guys please request me please please ple-)

[starkeysbunny]

awards season

pairing - drew starkey x interviewer!reader

summary - just bc drew is so fuckin flirty with everyone he talks to including interviewers.. like it looks like he falls in love w them every time. #whenisitmyturn. anyway. so drew being flirty as hell with a sweet interviewer on the oscar’s carpet <33 also i’m a film major and just love film so i got this idea in honor of awards seasonnn

warnings - flirting, lots of innuendoes 😝

“three, two, one.. and action.” the camera man says as he starts rolling. i smile brightly in my baby pink silk gown, my hair cascading down my shoulders, makeup perfectly done for the big night.

“hi vanity fair, i’m y/n and i’m your host tonight for the biggest night in film. welcome to the oscar’s! we had an amazing year in film, leading to a memorable awards season. we saw babygirl, wicked, nosferatu, queer, a complete unknown, the substance, and so many more.” i continue my introduction as the stars start to arrive.

i had been doing publicity and journalism in the film industry for about two years now and i got my first big gig tonight. the oscar’s with vanity fair. i mean, i couldn’t believe it. all the connections i could make tonight, it could be my big break.

but what was really in the back of my mind? the fact that my celebrity crush had been at the forefront of award season this year among many new break out actors.

drew starkey.

and i was scheduled to interview him in just a few minutes. safe to say, i was trying not to freak out.

i start off with an interview with nicole kidman, talking about babygirl. as it wraps up, she walks off to the next interviewer and i turn to the camera.

“okay, now that we just interviewed mother i’m not sure if anything will live up to it!” i gush with a smile. i look down the carpet and see who’s arriving next.

daniel craig and luca gaudagnino.

was i sweating? i think im sweating. shit.

this meant drew wasn’t far behind.

i turn to the camera, plastering a grin on my face. “okay, next we have drew starkey. he started with college student films, leading into small roles in feature films like love simon, then to his breakout netflix debut with the hit show outer banks. and now, he’s here for his first awards season run for his A24 film queer!” i introduce, as the camera pans over to him.

my jaw nearly drops.

he was wearing a navy blue loewe suit with a white button up under, and a navy blue bow tie. his hair was messy, his grown out—almost mullet—style complimented by the scruff on his jaw. he had sunglasses on, and as he approached the paparazzi, he pushed them up into his hair.

fans scream behind the barricade, as he smirks with a menacing grin, waving at a few of them.

he takes photos with the paparazzi, even flirting with a few of them.

i’ve seen his past interviews and you can tell he’s a bit of a flirt. which just makes my nerves peak even more.

i watch as he finishes with the paparazzi. his publicist comes to his side, pointing out me and the camera man next to me.

he grins, nodding slightly at us as he walks over.

“hey.” he says softly, sticking his hand out for me to shake. “i’m drew.” his blue eyes pierce into mine. he didn’t even glance at the camera yet, his focus purely on me.

“h-hi, drew. i’m y/n, and we’re with vanity fair.” i introduce, reaching my hand out to shake his. his much bigger hand enveloped mine, shaking lightly.

he lets go and glances at the camera, quirking a brow. “hey, vanity fair.” he chuckles lowly. he looks back at me, his tongue licking over his lips as he looks over my silk dress, then back up to my eyes.

god.

“so. drew, your first oscar’s!” i begin with a grin as i hand him a microphone for him to speak into. “are you nervous?”

he chuckles lightly as he looks down at the mic. it’s usually the microphone i would use, but we had a malfunction before the carpet and had to switch up the microphones.

“yeah, microphone malfunction, ignore it.” i chuckle softly. “yours is bigger than mine.”

he grins, his tongue poking to the inside of his cheek. “oh yeah?”

my eyes widen and i swallow roughly. a small, nervous chuckle escapes me. i should’ve worded that differently. shit.

he licks his lips and his eyes slightly squint as he notices my nerves at the slip up. “i am nervous. about all this.” he says softly. “terrified actually i- uh..” he trailed off, grinning almost like he was holding back.

i raise my eyebrows. “what is it?” i ask softly.

he looks back at me, “i’m just not sure if i should admit to a pretty girl like you that i called my mom in the hotel to talk me down before i got here.”

my cheeks tinge pink as he calls me pretty. focus. i chuckle softly. “no, hey we all need a little mom encouragement sometimes. it’s my first oscar’s too, so we’ll get through it together.”

he grins. “yeah, i hope so. sounds fun.”

i press my lips together in a giddy smile as i glance down at my cards. “so, you’ve just taken on your first big art house type film, queer. the tabloids have said that many directors had their eyes on you for the 2024 film run. what stuck out to you about this script?”

he smiles softly, his eyes focused in on mine like i hung the stars and moon as i asked the question. “great question, yeah, i mean.. luca.” he chuckles. “luca is someone i’ve wanted to work with as long as i could remember. so, i guess that was definitely the surface level..” he moves his hands as he explains. “.. attraction, i suppose. but, i also love the book, william s burroughs, i just fell in love with the story. playing eugene is something i’ll always remember.”

i grin softly, watching as his eyes light up as he explains. “that’s beautiful.” my hand comes to his bicep over his suit jacket sweetly. “i’m glad that your first big film was such a memorable experience. how has the awards season been, press and everything? was it different from press tours you’ve done in the past?”

it felt like we were having our own conversation. the camera wasn’t right next to us. microphones weren’t right below our lips. flashes and shouts weren’t heard in the background.

“oh yeah,” he nods. “for sure. film festivals were obviously something i’d never done before so that was a big adjustment. then of course, big nights like these. the emmy’s, oscar’s, and so on.. it’s been a journey, for sure.” he chuckles. “but daniel and luca have been so guiding and helpful through my uncertainties, i guess.” he smiles.

his publicist taps him on the shoulder and nods her head forward, signaling it was time to move on to the next interview. he politely smiles and turns to me, handing me the mic. he reaches in and hugs me—which i was not expecting.

i grin as he embraces me and pulls back, his hands resting on my forearm, near my elbow. “hey, i hope to see you inside, yeah? it was really great talking to you, y/n.”

i smile softly. “yeah, you too, drew. good luck tonight!” i wave as he walks off.

he turns over his shoulder and winks as he slips into his next interview. i let out a huff of breath, turning back to the camera. “wow. did anyone else just fall in love with him?” i joke.

not joking, actually.

“next we have..”

the red carpet went on for the next hour, interviewing actors and actresses, directors, and other talent walking the carpet. once the carpet concluded, my camera crew of two and i, were escorted inside the ceremony.

vanity fair was among the few only press outlets allowed inside the actual ceremony of the oscar’s.

we were escorted to the press section of the theatre, a small boxed off area by the stage, to the side of all the seats where the stars sat. we set up our little corner, the cameras arranging themselves as i fix my hair, adjusting my mic.

i look over at the audience as we wait for the show to begin, spotting drew almost immediately. and he was already looking at me.

he grins, standing from his seat and gingerly excusing himself past through the rows of actors. and he walks toward the press box.

our press box.

—

part 2 w… smut possibly ??? 😝😝

[lazy-ahh]

TROUBLE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU

pairing mark grayson x (vigilante) male reader

you’re a disaster wrapped in kevlar and bad decisions. mark grayson? he’s sunshine in spandex. you shouldn’t work. you don’t work—except when it’s 2 am and the city’s quiet, except when his hands find the cracks in your armor like they were made to fit there. except when he looks at you like you’re something worth loving, and for once, you don’t have the heart to tell him he’s wrong.

the crumpled hood of the villains’ getaway van makes a decent chair, if you ignore the broken glass. you’re sprawled across it like it’s your personal throne, watching mark hover nearby like an overprotective shadow. the would-be thieves are zip-tied in a groaning pile, one of them still half-stuck in the dumpster you gracefully introduced him to earlier.

"wow," you drawl, kicking your boots up on the shattered windshield. "you guys really thought this plan would work? even i have higher standards, and i once fought a telekinetic badger with a crowbar."

mark continues to hover near you, arms crossed. "you drop-kicked a guy into a dumpster," he says, like it’s some kind of crime.

"correction: i tactically repositioned him into a dumpster," you counter, grinning as he rolls his eyes. "and hey—" you gesture to the defeated goons. "—no guns, no hostages, just a little creative problem-solving. admit it, vincible. you love having a partner who keeps things interesting."

he opens his mouth—probably to whine about "excessive force" or whatever—but stops when you flick a crumpled soda can at his chest. the way his frown fights a smile? priceless.

mark sighs, defeated, before finally floating down, landing with a stupidly heroic thud. he offers you a hand, and you take it, if only to mock his gentlemanly gesture. except he doesn’t let go. and—weirdly—you don’t pull away either. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and you have to fight the urge to yank your hand back just to spite him. (who does he think he is, melting your edges like this?)

"you wanna come to my house for dinner?" he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts over your ear. "mom says she’s cooking your favorite dish to entice you. her words, not mine."

you can hear the smirk in his voice. bastard. "wow, bribing me with food now? you’re getting desperate, vincible," you shoot back, but your traitorous fingers tighten around his anyway.

he huffs a laugh, warm and close. "is it working?"

(yes.)

"depends," you lie. "what’s she making?"

"pork sisig."

"sisig?" you deadpan, raising an eyebrow. "damn, aunt debbie’s playing dirty. she knows i’d crawl through hell for that crispy pork."

mark’s grin is obnoxiously smug. "yep. she also said if you say no, she’ll save the leftovers for me instead—"

"over my dead body," you snap, already dragging him toward the street. his laugh is stupidly bright for someone who just witnessed you yeet a man into a dumpster ten minutes ago.

(and okay, fine—maybe you like that sound. maybe you’ve memorized the exact way his nose scrunches when he’s trying not to cackle at your bullshit. maybe you’ve even stopped "accidentally" stealing his hoodies because his scent clinging to you is… whatever. not the point.)

"knew you’d cave," mark sing-songs, swinging your joined hands like an overexcited golden retriever. the sidewalk crowd parts around you two—not out of fear (though your rep should warrant it), but because invincible is practically skipping down the street with a guy who once put a batarang through a drug lord’s windshield as a warning shot. the stares burn into your back. great. tomorrow’s headlines will be invincible’s mysterious boyfriend revealed! with some paparazzi shot of mark grinning like an idiot while you glare at the camera like it personally offended you. you think it's funny (and endearing) that mark doesn't seem to care.

you shove him with your free hand. "shut up. i’m tolerating you for the food."

"uh-huh," he says, voice dripping with the kind of smugness that makes you want to strangle him. or kiss him. annoying. "that’s why you also agreed to movie night after. and let my dad teach you viltrumite chess last week—which, by the way, you cheated at—"

"vincible," you growl, "i swear to god—"

he kisses your gloved knuckles, slow and deliberate, just to watch your brain bluescreen. asshole.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"aunt debbie, i don’t think i can eat anyone else’s cooking of sisig anymore," you say around a mouthful of rice, already reaching for your third serving. "this is illegal. you’re gonna ruin all other food for me."

debbie beams, refilling your plate before you can even ask. "good. that means you’ll keep coming back," she says, flicking your forehead lightly. "mark said you punched a guy through a wall today. again."

"he deserved it," you mutter, shooting a glare at mark—who’s too busy laughing into his soda to defend you. his knee knocks against yours under the table, warm and steady, and fuck, you hate how your body betrays you by leaning into it. like some pathetic magnet. like you’re not the guy who once made one of the most notorious villains flinch.

nolan leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "you know, when mark said he was dating someone ‘intense,’ i didn’t realize he meant ‘frequently commits property damage.’"

"oh please," you scoff, pointing your fork at him. "you literally leveled a city once. i’m tame compared to you."

the table goes quiet. mark chokes on his drink.

then nolan laughs—deep and booming—while debbie shakes her head like she’s already drafting your apology to the mayor. "he’s got you there, honey," she says, patting nolan’s arm.

mark kicks your shin under the table, grinning. "stop impressing my dad. it’s weird."

"make me, vincible," you shoot back—just as debbie slides another heap of sisig onto your plate.

you don’t miss the way mark’s fingers brush yours when he steals your spoon to eat your food, though. or how his thumb lingers on your wrist for half a second too long, calloused and sure. bastard. he knows what he’s doing. knows the way your pulse jumps under his touch, knows you’ll let him take whatever he wants from you—food, space, the last shreds of your reputation as chicago’s most unshakeable bastard.

and the worst part? he gives it all right back. in the way he leans into your space like he’s trying to fuse your skeletons together. in the way his laugh softens to something private when you grumble "fine, take it," pushing the plate toward him. in the way he tugs you into the couch later, his nose buried in your hair like he’s trying to memorize the scent of gunpowder and cheap shampoo.

(you’ll never admit it, but you’d raze cities for this guy. and he knows. he knows.)

you lay there, ear pressed to his chest like it’s the only compass you’ve ever needed, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. it’s too much. it’s not enough. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid the universe will yank this away any second—because it always does. because you’re the kid who crawled out of a battlefield that could've been his grave, the soldier cecil left behind, the ghost who burns too bright to keep. you don’t get this. not soft blankets on your back, not warm hands in your hair, not mark’s stupidly perfect ribs rising and falling beneath your cheek like some kind of prayer.

but for someone who’s never stayed in one place longer than a mission briefing, this feels like home. and that’s the most terrifying part.

the two of you stay like that for what feels like forever, mark combing his fingers through your hair like you’re something precious instead of something broken. your arms lock around his sinfully thin waist, pulling him closer with a quiet huff of contentment. you, who’ve bitten off threats with bloodied teeth and called it a smile, who wear your scars like armor—you melt against him. your usual sharp edges (the furrowed brow, the tension in your jaw, the always-ready-to-bite smirk) smooth out into something peaceful. something safe.

mark’s chest rumbles with a silent laugh beneath you. ha. knew you were a softie. he doesn’t say it out loud, but you feel it in the way his fingertips trace your scalp, in the way he presses his lips to your forehead like he’s sealing a promise.

and damn him for it, because he’s right. damn him for the way his hands fit against the notches of your spine like they were carved to hold ruin. damn him for how easy he makes it—to breathe, to stay, to believe the impossible truth that a heart as shattered as yours could still be something worth kissing.

damn him for the way his stupidly perfect smile slots between your ribs and into your heart every time he looks at you. those soft brown eyes that don’t just see you, but keep seeing you—past the bloodstains and the body count, through every lie you’ve ever worn like armor. his dark hair spills across the pillow like a piece of the night sky you’re allowed to touch, and isn’t that the cruelest joke? that someone made of starlight and second chances would choose to orbit a black hole like you?

damn him most of all for how he loves you. reckless and relentless, like his heart didn’t get the memo that yours is a crime scene. he pours love into you like it’s something you could deserve—overflowing and endless, while all you can give back are jagged pieces and residues of warmth and love, scraped raw from the ruins of you and in-between the cracks of your broken heart.

and the worst part? you’d let him ruin you like this forever.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

it’s 2 AM, that cursed hour your body insists on waking to like clockwork, some leftover survival instinct from a life that demanded you sleep with one eye open. but tonight, the reason you’re awake is softer. warmer. mark’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his breath steady as a metronome. you push up on one elbow, slow and careful, just enough to see his face in the blue-dark of the living room—all the daylight tension smoothed out of his features, his lips slightly parted, his stupidly long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

you stay like that, frozen in the quiet, staring with the kind of naked devotion that would’ve made your younger self sneer. pathetic, he’d have said. weak. but here, now, with no one to witness except the moon through the curtains, you let yourself look. let yourself want. your fingers itch to touch, so you do—trailing through his hair like you’re mapping the shape of something holy. his strands are stupidly soft between your calloused fingers, and when he sighs in his sleep, nuzzling unconsciously into your palm, your chest does something embarrassing.

you’re so fucked.

you should stop. you don’t. minutes stretch like taffy, sticky-sweet and endless, your thumb brushing his temple, the shell of his ear, the dip behind his jaw. you’re a thief memorizing the contours of a treasure you’ll never deserve. mark shifts, and for a heartbeat you think you’ve woken him—but no, he just turns his face into your wrist, his lips grazing your pulse point like an accidental kiss.

then his eyes flutter open.

and god, the way he looks at you—like you’re the first thing he wants to see every morning for the rest of his life, like he’s already dreaming and you’re the best part. his groggy smile is a knife between your ribs.

"morning, sleeping beauty," you murmur, your voice rough with something too close to worship. your fingers don’t stop moving through his hair, even as his arms tighten around you, pulling you down until your foreheads touch.

"what time is it?" he slurs, already half-asleep again.

you press a silent kiss to the corner of his mouth. "you don’t need to know." your hand slides down to cover his eyes, playful. "just... go back to sleep."

"no, no... it’s fine." mark’s voice is still thick with sleep, but his grip on your wrist is sure as he pulls your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the scar that cuts across it—the one you got the night you two met, back when you still pretended you weren’t impressed by him. he pushes up onto his elbows, his hair sticking up in every direction, and kisses your forehead like it’s a habit. "i know you wanna go for a ride. i’ll come with you."

and fuck. you’ve spent your whole life being looked at, not seen—except by him. your breath stutters, eyes wide as you stare at him like he’s just peeled back your ribs and counted every broken piece. what did i ever do to deserve you? you don’t say it, but your face must scream it, because mark just laughs softly, already tugging you off the couch with that stupidly chivalrous "up you go" grip he’s had since day one.

a year together, and it still hits you like a sucker punch: how easy this is for him. how he knows you better than you know yourself—knows that when the nightmares or the restlessness claw at you, your first instinct isn’t to talk, or fight, or drink. it’s to vanish into the city’s veins on your bike, let the wind rip the thoughts right out of your skull. and mark? he doesn’t ask. doesn’t lecture. just straps on his helmet like it’s the most natural thing in the world to chase your demons at 2 am.

"you’re buying the coffee after," you grumble, shoving his shoulder as you grab your keys off the counter.

mark grins, already toeing on his sneakers like a man who’s done this a hundred times. (he has.) "uh-huh. and you’re not gonna speed just to feel me cling to you like a scared koala."

"no promises, grayson."

wow. 2.3k words of pure sleep-deprived brainrot (are you sure?) at 2 am and somehow... it worked? i was absolutely COOKING while listening to "soft spot" by keshi on repeat - that song basically soundtracks the whole couch scene so please go give it a listen! we all deserve this exact brand of tender love in our lives (manifesting it right now for all of us) cause we know we all need that inVINCIDIH-

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration 'Choose your own adventure' story

Bunny Hybrid x fem!reader— fingering, light choking, ear play, scratching, marking, teasing

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

Your body is aching, needy, and nearly buzzing with built up tension. Despite literally just having hardcore fucked your Dragon Headhunter. God, what was this place doing to you? And what did you like it so much? You didn’t have to worry about anything here.

Everyone was just so casually sexually expressive. Somehow that only turns you on even further. The way that all these people could just fuck whenever they felt the need. You wonder how they aren’t constantly going as crazy as you have been since coming here. It’s as if you’re gorging yourself on a buffet while everyone else has nearly had their fill.

Looking around the office it’s like everyone’s basically finished fucking, all of them seemingly going back to work. Though you swear you see some people shuffled under a desk or two. IT Robot being one in particular. His head is thrown back in pleasure and his hips jerk toward the mysterious figure underneath his desk. His eyes meet your own and they gleam brightly with lust. He moans, putting on a show for you, and unintentionally motivating you in the process.

In a place like this, going up to someone and seeing if they need to fuck as badly as you do is all you have to do. The thought has delicious embarrassment coursing through you and you shiver, your pussy spasming and pushing out Dragon Headhunters cum in order to make room for another load. You can totally do this…

Your eyes catch onto Bunny Secretary still conveniently sitting at his desk. His eyes strangely very focused on the file in front of him. But in a flash of a moment they shoot to you before jumping back down and relief floods through your system. It would probably be best to make sure your first attempt at the purest form of casual sex to be a sure thing. Plus he was fucking hot as hell too.

With every step you take you can feel cum dribble down your thighs, your pussy practically begging to be filled again. It makes you walk a little faster toward Bunny Secretary’s desk. Though you do try to not look too much like the desperate slut you are in the process.

If it wasn’t already obvious that Bunny Secretary was watching you, waiting for this moment. It definitely was as the following words tumbled from his plump lips.

“Look who’s finally come crawling back for a taste. And what do you think you want exactly?”

Bunny Secretary stares up at you through his long lashes, the cutest pout on his face as his little nose twitches. He leans back in his chair, somehow trying to act aloof even as he hungrily rakes over your form. For a flash of a moment he glances over your shoulder. Following his gaze you see Minotaur Boss.

You raise a brow, seeing the man sitting behind his desk, brow raised. Clearly waiting for the show to start. You remember Bunny Secretary saying how much he always liked to watch. An idea pops into your head and the corner of your lips quirk up. No, no, if you’re gonna do this, it’s gonna be on your terms. Just you and him. You whirl back around to Bunny Secretary, leaning on his desk.

“I think you know what I want,” you say seductively, your expression clearly suggestive.

Bunny Secretary’s pout gets impossibly bigger. He lets out a small huff, his bunny ears twitching as he shrugs and looks away from you. Acting like he couldn’t care less. But by the impressive tent in his slacks you know he’s burning with just as much need as you are.

“Yeah, well who says I even want you anymore? I’ve been spurned once, I won’t get hurt again,” he says dramatically, placing a hand on his chest that you can’t help but imagine wrapping around your throat. The veins bulging and tensing as he grips you.

His small sniff snaps you out of your thoughts and you meet his eye at the same moment he situates himself at his desk.

“Besides, some of us have work to do. I have to leave the office,” he says, voice clipped. Trying to act as if he isn’t affected by your presence.

“Let me help you. Let me make it up to you,” you purr, leaning even more heavily against his desk. Your full figure so tantalizingly on display for him.

Bunny Secretary raises a brow though his eyes flash with heightened lust. He clears his throat, shifting his hips as if trying to adjust himself before quickly standing. You gaze up at him, a hopeful flutter rushing through your heart and your pussy.

“Oh? You’re gonna have to work hard to make it up it up to me, I need time to heal…” Bunny Secretary whispers, his voice taunting yet seductive.

He leans in closer and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t stop yourself from matching the distance. Both of you leaning in more and more. Your lips only a hairsbreadth a part and it causes the hair on your neck to stand on end.

“But you can start by helping me take these down to the archive,” he says, breaking the spell of the moment, and flashing a charming smile as he dumps a stack of folders into your arms.

You yelp as a sudden weight is dropped into your arms, your shoulders nearly jerking out of their socks at the force of it. Your eyes go wide, never leaving his, and you can see the smug satisfaction swirl in his irises. His laugh rings out throughout the office as he grabs the other pile of folders and your pussy clenches around nothing at the sound. Fuck, how is he so damn fine? Everything he does sends your body tingling with raw need.

Bunny Secretary rounds his desk, sending one last look toward Minotaur Boss with a small nod, a silent communication running between them. You follow his lead in more ways than one as you both head to the elevators. Glancing over your shoulder you send your own look to Minotaur Boss, a wide smirk on your lips. You send him a wink, letting him know that he’ll be missing this one but maybe next time.

Minotaur Boss jerks up from his desk. You can tell he’s huffing with anger as his expression twists and cinches. His tail whips around behind him as if preparing to charge. You don’t waste another second, turning back forward and walking a little faster toward the elevator.

Bunny Secretary glances at you, noticing your pace and matches it with ease. His long legs carrying him in a way that makes it appear like he’s gliding through the office. The elevator opens up for you almost instantly and it has relief filling you as you catch a flash of Minotaur Boss heading your way.

But then you’re completely zeroed in on the fact that you and Bunny Secretary are all alone in this elevator. Confined to four very short walls. The air stills, silence overtaking the small space. Yet tension crackles within the short distance between you. You’re nearly waiting on the edge of your seat for something to happen, anything to happen. It seems like both of you are waiting for something but you don’t know what.

The ding of the elevator door closing is like a gun firing and the second the doors snap shut, you and Bunny Secretary drop the files into a heaping mess on the floor. You practically pounce on each other, arms wrapping around the other as your lips crash together. A lewd moan falls past your lips as you melt into the kiss, the feeling of his hard body against your soft frame as your mind short circuiting.

Bunny Secretary whirls you around and slams you against the elevator wall. His hand comes up to protect the back of your head and he pulls you in deeper, his tongue flicking along the seam of your lips. You open up and immediately gasp as his hand dives down the front of your pants. He groans, the vibrations shooting through your tongue, as he feels how drenched you are for him.

“Still so wet after being such a naughty slut. Have we not satisfied you here in our humble little city, darling? What will sate your hunger, sweet one? Show me,” Bunny Secretary breathes against your lips as his fingers tease along your messy slit.

Your jaw drops, a low moan leaving her as his digits delve into your sopping cunt. He swallows your moans, kissing you again as if he can’t get enough. You squirm against his fingers, needing so desperately to be filled to the brim. Stretched beyond belief as you have since you got to this city. Bunny Secretary chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers.

His fingers slip from your pussy and you whimper at the loss of stimulation, even though you know you need more. Need him. His hand catches onto your clothes and jerks them down, revealing yourself to him. It all happens in a blur, Bunny Secretary moving faster than you can keep up with. He wraps your leg around his waist and before you know it, the thick crown of his cock is nudging against your entrance.

“Hah, we better get started before someone decides they need to use the elevator,” Bunny Secretary pants heavily in your ear.

An electrical charge shocks through your system and your mind quickly jumps to Minotaur Boss. The need and determination on his face as you denied him. But the risk of getting caught only makes you even more wet. Bunny Secretary can feel your slick dribble onto his cock and he almost can’t resist sinking into your wet heat for another second.

“You know, you still haven’t said you’re sorry for making me wait so long…” Bunny Secretary pauses, his aching tip stopping just inside your cunt.

He leans back, raising a brow at you in wait. Your mind is all fuzzy and you can register his words let alone think. But right now you’ll probably say anything to have him. To have this for yourself. Your hips twitch, trying to suck his cock deeper inside your walls.

“I’m so—“

Bunny Secretary jerks his cock inside of you with one rough snap of his hips. Cutting off your words as they collapse into a strangled moan. He smirks wickedly, leaning in to nose at your cheek, rubbing his scent all over you.

“There it is,” he purrs into your ear, his body molding itself to yours as his hips rock into you at a fast pace. You wouldn’t have it any other way as his hard cock ignites your nerves with every smooth solid stroke.

Small whimpers leave you with each thrust, the force of it knocking your body back against the elevator wall. Bunny Secretary’s hand returns to the back of your head as he nuzzles into you, smelling how your scents slowly begin to mix together. Your hands slip underneath his shirt, nails desperately clawing at his back. Marking him briefly in your own way.

One of Bunny Secretary’s fluffy bunny ears dangles close to your face. The hard sway of it every time he ruts back up into you has your body buzzing. You can’t resist the urge to lean forward and nip at his ear. Bunny grunts, his cock twitching inside of you, and he follows it up by sinking his teeth into your neck and picking up speed.

Cries of pleasure freely fall out of your mouth. You don’t even bother trying to hide what’s happening in the elevator. And that’s ok. Because you don’t have to hide anything in this place. You’re just as free as everyone else in the city is and the feeling is… wonderful.

“Oh— nngh— fuck! Just as good as I imagined. Tell me, darling, was this worth the wait?” Bunny Secretary asks, his words muffled by your flesh.

Bunny Secretary pounds his length into your weeping pussy, every bit of stimulation building together into a deep pressure at the bottom of your belly. The ding of the elevator as it reaches each floor heightens your arousal, bringing your body closer and closer to the edge. Wondering if someone will decide to get on at any given moment.

“Y-y-yes!” You scream, letting all the pleasure wash over you for the first time without any hesitance.

Your orgasm overwhelms you and as the elevator dings again, it finally snaps and you cum hard and fast on Bunny Secretary’s throbbing cock. You writhe between the wall and his body as yours trembles with the sheer force wracking its way through you. Bunny Secretary helps work you through it, his thrusts turning sloppy before he grunts loudly and jerks forward, spilling spurt after spurt of hot cum straight into your womb.

He seems to go on forever, his cum filling you up even more, his hips slowing down and rocking into you until his deep pumps start pushing out his own cum. He helps situate you and your clothes as he slips out and releases your leg. You two barely get a moment to breathe before the elevator dings again, the sound slightly off.

You both look toward the door just as it opens. Revealing a very disgruntled Minotaur Boss. His wild eyes look around the elevator and you swear you see steam coming out of his ears. It was clear by your messy appearances that he had missed the show and he was not pleased. He pants heavily and you can only imagine how he looked trying to rush down all those stairs. A scowl quickly overtakes his features.

“What the hell do you think you two are doing? Get back to work!” He shouts, turning away and storming off before either of you could respond. Mostly likely trying to hide the faint blush on his cheeks.

As soon as the elevator doors close again you and Bunny Secretary burst out laughing. You’re in awe by the fact that despite just having such intense sex, there wasn’t a moment you felt awkward or uncomfortable. It felt almost natural and you’re sure as you continue to live and thrive here in Free Use City it will feel even more so. It was nice.

The rest of your work day was thankfully uneventful for the most part. You and Bunny Secretary spent the rest of the day down in the archives which remained otherwise empty. Bunny Secretary was chivalrous enough to offer you a ride home and it was only after you got off his scooter that exhaustion hit you like a train. The ache spreading through your body in an instant. You start trudging your way to your front door when a familiar voice rings out.

“Busy day?” Your Hot Wolf Hybrid Neighbor calls out, a knowing smirk on his face. You laugh a pitiful laugh, shaking your head at him.

“You could say that…”

Hot Wolf Hybrid Neighbor walks up his porch, leaning on the structure and staring out toward you in your yard. He crosses his arms, muscles bulging in his button up. His smile turns gentle and full of understanding. Your traitorous body tingles with awareness and you curse under your breath.

“Wanna come in?”

His invitation makes you pause. On one hand, your body yearns for your bed. It’s tempting to just decline your hot neighbors offer and go inside, set up your room so that you can relax. You have a whole box of toys under your bed you can scratch this tiny itch with if you wanted. But on the other hand… you know what’ll happen if you accept your neighbors offer. You know what he’ll do and you sigh dreamily imagining someone taking care of you for a change. So will you accept his offer?

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 1 ┃ The Wrong Door

Male reader x Giselle

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing

I didn’t even want to be here.

Concerts aren’t my thing. Screaming fans? Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder, sweating, pulsing to the bass of some pop anthem? No thanks. I like silence. I like my own space. And I sure as hell don’t like being herded like livestock through a stadium entrance just to watch people I’ve never even heard of pretend to sing over backing tracks.

But Jackson insisted. And Dev had already bought the tickets. “It’s not about the music,” they said. “It’s about the experience.”

The experience. Right.

Now here I was, drowning in noise and neon and perfume and sweat, trying to keep my breathing steady while Korean girls I didn't care about danced like their lives depended on it. The crowd—mostly teenage girls and a few dangerously enthusiastic fanboys—screamed every time one of them so much as flipped their hair. Phones were everywhere. Lights blinked like strobes. It was a full-on sensory assault.

And I? I wasn't interested. I was one wrong beat away from walking out.

I got lucky. The screen overhead blinked INTERMISSION — 15:00 and the music stopped. The crowd didn’t exactly calm down, but they started shifting, standing, stretching, running for merch and bathrooms and selfies. I used the opportunity to slip out the side aisle and into the nearest hallway marked RESTROOMS + VIP SUITES.

It was quiet almost immediately. Blessedly so.

The noise of the stadium dropped behind me like a curtain, replaced by sterile lighting and the low thrum of vents overhead. I passed the bathrooms but kept walking. I needed a breather more than anything, a second to think, to feel like myself again. I checked my phone—no signal—and kept walking down the hall.

That’s when I saw it: a door left ajar. Soft light spilled out.

I should’ve turned around. I should’ve thought, Maybe this is someone’s private space. But something about the glow—the hush, the mystery of it—pulled at me. I was curious. And when I get curious, I don’t stop.

So I pushed it open.

It took me a second to realize I wasn’t alone. The room was dim, expensive, quiet. Everything in soft gold tones and warm leather. A mirrored vanity glowed along one wall, surrounded by bulbs. The scent hit me next—perfume, heady and rich, wrapped around the chill of champagne. I was halfway through processing the velvet couch and the untouched strawberries on crystal glassware when I saw HER.

She was standing barefoot in front of the mirror, half-turned, her back to me. Her outfit was more lingerie than clothing—black mesh, sequins, leather straps. Her pink hair was up but imperfectly, pieces falling like silk down her neck. She was in the middle of unclasping something at the back of her neck, unaware of—or ignoring—me.

And then she spoke.

“You’re early.”

Her voice was smooth, low. American accent. A little amused.

I froze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, instinctively. “I think I’m—uh, lost.”

She didn’t turn right away. Just paused with her fingers on the clasp. Then she looked at me over her shoulder—one eye catching the light, sharp as a blade.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think you are.”

I blinked. “I really am. I was looking for the bathroom and I guess I just—”

“You opened a marked door.”

“I didn’t see any signs—”

“There were signs,” she said, finally facing me.

She was beautiful. I’m not saying that in the way people do when they meet a celebrity. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t recognize her. I wasn’t starstruck. I was just... caught.

She had presence. Poise. Her body was slim but curved in all the places that made it impossible not to look. Her eyes didn’t smile, but they weren’t cold. They were calculating. Like she was building a character around me, testing how I’d react.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mylo.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Is that real?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You don’t look like a Mylo.”

I smirked despite myself. “What do I look like?”

She thought for a bit. “Like someone who doesn’t belong here.”

“Believe me, I don’t. I was just leaving—”

“No,” she said again, softly. “Stay.”

That word—that tone—should’ve sent me walking. But it didn’t. I stayed.

She moved toward me slowly, a kind of predatory grace in her bare feet and parted lips. Her body language was relaxed, but deliberate. Every step said she was in charge. Not of the room. Of me.

And I let her.

I couldn’t explain why, not then. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not like I was a stranger, but like I was hers. Like she already knew what she wanted to do with me and was just deciding whether I’d be worth the effort.

“You’re not one of the staff,” she said, mostly to herself.

“No.”

“You’re not with the crew. And you didn’t come with security.”

“No.”

She smiled. “Then what are you doing here, Mylo?”

“Wrong door,” I said again, but it sounded less convincing this time.

She took one more step, close enough now for me to feel the heat of her skin. Her eyes traveled down my body, not shy, not rushed. She lingered on my chest, my hips, the tension in my fingers.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

“No.” I hesitated. “Should I?”

That amused her. I could see the moment her mask cracked and something real flickered beneath it—surprise, maybe. Or interest. Or something darker.

“No,” she said finally as if she didn't believe me. “That makes this easier.”

She didn’t move for a long time.

Just stood there in front of me, arms loose at her sides, one foot slightly forward like she was deciding whether to get closer or make me come to her. She didn’t blink much. She watched me like she was reading, not listening. And somehow, I was the one who felt exposed, even though I still had all my clothes on and she… didn’t, really.

There was a quiet sort of violence in the air. Not danger exactly. More like potential. She hadn’t said what she wanted. But I knew she wanted something.

She turned back to the mirror without another word and picked up a square of folded tissue, wiping under one eye with careful precision. Glitter dusted onto her collarbone like something expensive and accidental. The strap of her outfit was still hanging loose, but she made no move to fix it.

I wasn’t sure if I should speak. So I didn’t.

“You said your name’s Mylo,” she said, her voice low again, casual. “Where are you from?”

“Long Beach.”

“Not local, then.”

“Close enough.”

She nodded, then looked at me in the mirror.

“What are you doing now?”

“Wrong turn.”

“No.” She tilted her head. “Now. In life.”

I let out a breath, almost a laugh. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“I’m serious.”

“Right now I’m… working freelance. Web development. Bit of UX. It’s not exciting.”

She turned. “Then why did you say it like it’s a secret?”

I didn’t have an answer.

She stepped closer, slowly, like she was making sure I didn’t spook. And I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was.

Her perfume hit me again—soft, floral, expensive. I still didn’t recognize her, but that was starting to feel irrelevant. She could’ve been an actress, a singer, a rich girl playing pretend. None of it would have changed the way she looked at me.

Like she was curious about how far she could push me before I’d say no.

“You’re nervous,” she said.

“I’m not.”

She smiled. “That’s cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

Her hand brushed the front of her thigh, fingers trailing slowly along her skin, just shy of deliberate. My brain scrambled for something to say, something to anchor me to reality. I was in a stadium. There was a concert happening. There were fifteen thousand people and a very real possibility that someone would walk in and see this.

I didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“You’ll find out when you’ve earned it.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“No.” She tilted her head. “But you’re fun to play with.”

Her foot arched slightly against the rug as she took another step forward. Close now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, could see the light sheen of sweat at the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch her. Just one fingertip. Just to know she was real.

“Don’t,” she said softly, like she’d read my mind.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Liar.”

A pause.

She looked down at the front of my shirt, then up again. “You don’t look like the type who follows orders.”

“I’m not.”

Her smile was slow and private. “Good.”

She reached for the strap still hanging loose on her shoulder. Slid it back into place. Not to hide. Just to reset the board.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the velvet loveseat.

I hesitated.

“I said sit.”

So I did.

She crossed the room without looking at me again, poured a fresh glass of champagne, dropped a single strawberry in like a garnish. Then she sat on the couch—opposite to me, one leg tucked under the other, facing me directly. Like we were equals. Like this wasn’t her room and I wasn’t the one trespassing.

“You ever break into places, Mylo?”

“No.”

“Shame. You’re good at it.”

I watched her run a finger down the side of her glass. Slow. Rhythmic.

“You think this is a mistake?” I asked.

She looked up. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

Neither of us moved.

She didn’t touch me.

Not at first.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

“You’re being... a lot.”

Her smile curled slightly. “Too much?”

“No.” I shifted. “Not enough.”

She tilted her head, pleased. Her eyes dropped to my hands. I didn’t realize I’d been clenching them. She noticed everything.

“You like following orders,” she said.

I shook my head. “No. Not usually.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “But you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I guess I want to see what happens next,” I said.

That seemed to satisfy her. She leaned back into the couch, legs crossed, and looked me over like I was both trespasser and specimen.

“Take off your jacket,” she said.

I didn’t move.

She gave me a look—subtle, expectant.

I took off my jacket.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was intentional. Like she was seeing how comfortable I could get under pressure.

“You ever think about what it would be like,” she said, “to be told what to do?”

“I’ve had bosses before.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

A pause.

She stood. Walked over to me—slow, barefoot, measured—and knelt in front of the chair I was sitting in. Her knees brushed mine. She didn’t reach for me. Just looked up, eyes steady, close enough that I could see the darker ring around her irises.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I am going to take you apart.”

My breath caught.

“And when I do,” she added, brushing her fingers just barely against the inside of my thigh, “I’ll expect you to say thank you.”

Still, I didn’t move.

Her eyes stayed on me.

She watched the way I exhaled. The way I shifted in my seat. She could feel the tension building, and she didn’t need to do a damn thing to feed it.

“You like restraint,” she said, almost to herself.

“You’ve seen me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t need more.”

I smirked. “And what do you like?”

“Control.”

“That’s obvious.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Not power. Not winning. Just control.”

“Is there a difference?”

“One makes you loud. The other makes you patient.”

She stood again and walked past me toward the mirrored vanity to admire herself. This time, she didn’t check to see if I was watching.

She knew I was.

“I don’t usually let people in here,” she said.

“I don’t usually wander into strangers’ rooms.”

“Yet here we are.”

She turned, walking back—slow, sure, calculated. There was nothing casual about it. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug, but she moved with the intention of heels. Stopping just in front of me, she leaned in and placed both palms on the arms of the chair. She didn’t touch me. Not quite.

But her body was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. Her breath was just below my mouth. Her perfume wrapped around me like a second atmosphere.

“You want to kiss me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

I hesitated.

And she smiled—knowing, satisfied.

“Thought so,” she whispered, and pulled back before I could say anything at all.

She sat on the edge of the couch again, back straight, watching me like a tiger lounging just out of reach.

“What do you do,” I asked, voice a little hoarse, “when you get bored?”

Her smile was a slow burn. “Get un-bored.”

She tapped the empty cushion beside her.

“Come here.”

I did.

She turned to face me fully, legs folding under her again, this time closer. Her thigh touched mine. Her hand landed on my knee.

“You’ve been good so far,” she said. “I think I’ll keep going.”

The air in the room tightened.

She moved slowly—her hand trailing up my thigh, featherlight. Her nails grazed the fabric of my pants. Her fingers reached the crease at my hip and paused.

“You can stop me at any time,” she said.

I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t want to.

She leaned in. Her lips were glossy and full and tasted like strawberries and something darker. The kiss was slow. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Commanding.

She kissed me like she was showing me how. Like I’d do it wrong if she didn’t teach me.

Her hand kept moving—along the inside of my thigh, up, then over. She didn’t grip me yet. Just touched. Just explored. The anticipation was maddening.

And then she whispered it, low against my mouth:

“Undo your pants.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be. It threaded into me like static. I looked at her—half disbelieving, half burning.

She arched one eyebrow, still calm. Still collected. Like we were discussing dinner options, not sex.

My fingers moved before I could overthink it.

Button. Zipper. The sound was deafening in the quiet. Her eyes never left my hands. She watched the reveal like it was a gift she already knew she’d earned.

“Good,” she murmured.

Her hand slid under my waistband, nails grazing skin, and that was the first real contact that made my breath catch. Her fingers were warm, deliberate. She wasn’t shy. She wrapped them around me like she’d done it a thousand times—but wanted to relearn this exact shape.

She exhaled softly, pleased. “You’re hard.”

“Of course I am.”

“Because I told you to be?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Liar.”

Her thumb dragged slowly over the head of my cock. I flinched—too much, too sensitive, too not-in-control—and that just made her smile widen. She leaned in again, kissed me with that same slow, claiming heat, and her hand stroked lazily, like she had all the time in the world and knew exactly how fast not to go.

I kissed her harder.

Tried to take some ground back. Hands moving to her hips, her waist, her lower back. But she broke the kiss and pulled back an inch.

“No hands.”

I froze.

She held my gaze, waiting.

And I let go.

Her smile told me exactly what that gave her.

She leaned in again and bit my bottom lip—just enough to leave a sting.

“You’ll touch me when I say you can.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

My breath left me all at once. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Her hands slid my pants down further, then my boxers, freeing me completely. Her eyes stayed locked on mine as she lowered her head and pressed the flat of her tongue against the base of my shaft.

Slow.

Upward.

Warm, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt through my whole body.

She didn’t rush. She licked. She tasted. She dragged her mouth along me like she was memorizing the shape of my shaft. Then, with the faintest hum of satisfaction, she took me into her mouth—just the head, just enough to make me want to shove my hips forward, just enough to make me hold still.

She knew.

She was watching for the twitch of my thigh. The clench of my jaw. Her hand stroked in time with her mouth, lazy, devastating, a rhythm designed to drive a man out of his body without ever letting him finish.

And she wasn't letting me finish.

Every time my breath caught, she stopped. Pulled back. Let her tongue flick once, twice, too lightly to give me relief. She kissed the tip like she was thanking me for the privilege. Then started again.

And again.

And again.

Until I was panting, fists clenched at my sides, every part of me straining not to move. Not to grab her. Not to fuck her mouth the way I wanted to.

She pulled back completely.

Wiped her mouth with her thumb.

Then looked up at me with those sharp, unfazed eyes and said, “Good boy.”

She stayed on her knees.

Not because she had to. Because she liked the angle. She liked the view. She liked that I was still sitting there, pants around my thighs, chest rising like I’d just finished a workout—and she wasn't letting me cum.

She dragged the back of her fingers up the length of my thigh, the touch so light it barely existed, like she was testing whether I was ticklish. I wasn’t. But I was sensitive. Every nerve tuned to her. Every inch of me vibrating from her touch.

She looked pleased with herself. No—she looked composed. Like she could’ve done that to anyone and stayed perfectly unaffected.

That bothered me.

Not enough to stop. Not yet.

“Still with me?” she asked, smiling like we were just chatting over coffee.

“Barely.”

“Good.” She stood. Slow again. Unbothered. She stepped out of the loose arc of my pants on the floor, hands smoothing down her sides as she crossed the room.

She didn’t go far. Just to the mirror again. Touched up her lips. Adjusted a strap. Like this was an intermission in her show.

She glanced at me through the mirror. “You’ve got a nice mouth when you’re quiet.”

“Thought you liked control.”

“I do.”

“Don't get used to it.” I said with a slight smile

That earned me a sharper look. But no protest. She let the tension sit.

Then she walked back to me, bent over, and kissed me again—harder this time. Her tongue pushed into my mouth with zero hesitation, and she moaned softly when I kissed her back like I meant it.

She tasted like strawberries.

Her body moved against mine—shoulders, chest, hips—grinding down slow as she pushed me back into the cushions. She swung a leg over and straddled me, her outfit brushing bare skin in all the right ways and none of the convenient ones.

She reached behind her, grabbed both my wrists, and pulled them up over my head.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

Her hips rolled against me once, then again. Her breath caught—just slightly—and I caught it, too. Her control wasn’t an act. But it had cracks. Beautiful ones. And I liked finding them.

She leaned down, mouth at my ear.

“You’re going to fuck me.”

I swallowed. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll wait.”

Her hips shifted again—slow, deep grind, no friction where I needed it, just enough heat to scramble every thought in my skull.

“I’m going to ride you,” she said, like it was a lecture. “Until I’m done with you.”

I met her eyes.

“And what happens after that?”

She smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She reached between us, tugging the crotch of her bodysuit to the side with practiced ease. I heard the slick stretch of fabric, the shift in her breath as her fingers slid down—coating her inner thighs, spreading herself open right above me.

She was wet.

Not fake-moaning wet. Not porn-scene wet.

Dripping.

She held me in place, pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, and then—

She sank down, inch by inch.

No rush. No pause. Just steady descent, her heat swallowing me whole, her breath catching, then stuttering out in a quiet, barely-there gasp. My hands gripped the sides of the chair so hard I thought the frame might crack. Her walls clenched around me like velvet and vice, her thighs tightening at my hips, her nails raking lightly over my chest as she adjusted to the full stretch.

She didn’t move right away. She stayed seated on me, full and still, like the moment itself was enough.

And then she whispered:

“There.”

Her hips began to move—smooth, controlled rolls, grinding down into me like she wanted to leave a bruise. Every time she shifted, I could feel how deep I was inside her. I could see the concentration on her face. This wasn’t for me. Not yet. This was her rhythm, her pressure, her high.

And god, watching her take it was better than any porn I’d ever seen.

Her hair came loose as she moved. Her head tilted back. She bit her bottom lip hard, and I wanted to suck it out from between her teeth. Her body flexed, sweat starting to bead at her chest, and I couldn’t decide where to look—her tits, bouncing just under the thin mesh of her bodysuit, or her face as she came closer and closer to the edge.

I held still. Let her use me.

And then she started talking.

“Harder,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Faster—fuck—just like that.”

Her hands slid up my chest, to my shoulders, and she grabbed tight. Used me for leverage. Started bouncing, not gently now—driven, messy, beautiful. She moaned, cursed, clenched tighter with every bounce, until—

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, over and over. “Don’t fucking stop—”

She was riding me like she owned me.

And in that moment, I let her. I fucking loved it.

Her pussy was unreal—tight, soaked, gripping me like she wanted to wring every drop out of my body. Her thighs slapped down against me with each stroke, and the sound of it—wet, hot, shameless—made it impossible to think. I was deep inside her, over and over, my cock pulsing every time she ground down and stayed there just long enough to clench.

I looked up at her—body arching, lips parted, eyes half-shut—and I swear I could’ve come just watching her move.

She was into it.

Head thrown back. Moaning with every bounce. Fingernails dragging across my chest. Riding like she needed it, like she was getting off on the fact that I wasn’t allowed to move.

And I wasn’t. I didn’t grab her hips. I didn’t flip her. I held still and let her take it.

Because watching her unravel like this?

Fucking addicting.

Her hands found the back of the chair, bracing. She leaned forward and the change in angle made me groan—deeper now, tighter. Her tits bounced right in front of me, barely covered by her bodysuit. I leaned up, took a nipple in my mouth through the mesh, sucked hard.

She gasped. Bucked.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop,” she begged, riding harder, fucking me like her orgasm was right on the edge and I was the last thing holding it in.

I bit her. Just a little.

She lost it.

“Ahh! O.. Oh!... Aghh! AAAH!”

Her body locked down around me—tight, hot, pulsing as she came. Her moan was sharp, sudden, desperate. She grinded through it, wringing herself out on my cock until she was panting against my neck, shaking.

And then, breathless—still straddling me—she laughed.

Low. Lazy. Satisfied.

“God,” she murmured, “you fuck like you’re broke.”

That word hit different.

I blinked.

“What?”

She looked at me, smiling. Still high off it. “I mean it as a compliment,” she said. “You fuck like you need it.”

The air shifted.

She leaned in, playful, mouth against my ear. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

No answer.

“I could,” she purred. “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You could just do this—stay hard, stay pretty—let me keep you. I have a lot of mon-” 

My hand shot up, wrapping around her throat—not hard, not dangerous, just enough to shock her system.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.

“Ah—!”

I shoved her back, flat on the couch, my grip still snug around her throat, and she gasped again, this time sharper. Her legs twitched around me. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something clever—but no words came.

“You think you can buy me?” I said, voice low, rough.

She shook her head slightly, lips parted.

“I was just teasing—”

“Bullshit.”

“Mylo…” Her voice cracked, breathy and high. “Wait—”

“No,” I growled. “You don’t get to lead anymore.”

Her pupils blew wide. Her chest rose faster.

But she didn’t push me off. Didn’t tell me to stop.

She wanted to know what it felt like when I wasn’t pretending.

I grabbed her wrists, pressed them hard above her head, and crashed my mouth down onto hers—biting, taking, tasting the gloss off her lips like punishment.

She moaned against me.

“Mmnh—fuck—!”

My hips slammed forward. She gasped again, eyes flying wide as I pushed back into her in one deep, hard stroke.

“Oh! Ohhh—f-fuck—!”

Her body jerked. Her legs reflexively wrapped around my waist, but I wasn’t gentle. I slammed into her again, holding her down, making her feel it.

“AHH—ah—Mylo!”

“You wanted this,” I snarled. “So take it.”

She whimpered.

“Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—!”

I gripped her hips and rolled them up, shifting the angle, and slammed in again, deeper this time. Her back arched and she screamed.

“OHHH! GOD—AAAH!”

Her whole body was starting to fall apart. Her voice was shaky, her hands scrambling for anything to hold. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. Her tits bounced wildly beneath me with every thrust.

She bit her lip. Hard.

“Don’t hold back,” I growled. “I want to hear it.”

Her eyes fluttered.

And then she let go.

“…more…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, like it had to claw its way up from deep inside her.

But I heard it.

And I fucking delivered.

I grabbed her by the thighs, yanked her body to the edge of the couch, and stood up just enough to drive into her with my full weight.

“AHHH—!”

Her scream echoed.

She clawed at the cushions, gasping, moaning, totally undone.

Her pussy was soaked—wrecked—from her orgasm, still fluttering around my cock, begging for mercy it wasn’t going to get. I pounded into her, fast and deep, hips snapping against her ass, and the sound of it was obscene—wet and hot and perfect.

“FUCK—! Mylo—ohmygod—ohmygod!”

“You’re still talking?” I growled. “I thought you gave that up.”

“Ah—ahh—! I—I can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You’re taking every inch,” I said. “Don’t pretend you can’t.”

I pinned her thighs wide with one arm and leaned down, dragging my teeth across her chest before I sucked one of her nipples deep into my mouth. Her body arched.

“OHHH—oh fuck! Fuck—Mylo—yes!”

Her hands flew to my hair, pulling, scratching, grounding herself while I sucked hard, my hips never stopping. I bit down—just enough to make her cry out again—and switched sides, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, wet and relentless.

She was panting. Moaning. Whimpering.

Completely gone.

“Ahh! Oh—ohh fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—”

“Good,” I grunted. “Give it to me.”

I reached down, thumb circling her clit, tight and fast, no mercy.

“No—no no no—fuuuck!”

Her thighs clenched around me, hips bucking wildly, and then her whole body snapped. She screamed—

“AHHH—AAAHHH—OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”

Her pussy clamped down on me like a vice, her second orgasm crashing through her like it caught her off guard. She sobbed my name, twisting underneath me, heels pounding the couch, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body convulsed.

I didn’t stop.

I grinned.

“You’re not done.”

She whimpered—shaky, broken, breathless. “M-Mylo—please—!”

I pulled out.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness.

But I didn’t give her time to think. I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, and shoved her onto her knees.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders. Her back arched. Her ass was round, high, perfect—and dripping.

I lined up behind her.

“You’re gonna remember this,” I said.

And I slammed back inside her.

“AAAHHH! OH FUCK!”

Her hands clawed at the couch, knuckles white.

I gripped her hips and drove into her like I wanted to split her in half. Her pussy was tighter like this, deeper, hotter—perfect. She was shaking already, moaning like she couldn’t stop.

“F-fuck—yes—yes! HARDER—!”

“Like this?” I growled, slamming in faster.

“AHHH! FUCK YES—!”

Her ass slapped against my hips with every thrust, her breath coming in broken gasps, her cries bouncing off the walls.

“You love being used,” I said.

“YES—!”

“You love when I fuck you like this.”

“YES! YES—fuck—I’m yours—!”

My hand tangled in her hair, yanked her head back. I leaned over, chest against her back, lips at her ear.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Fuck—Mylo—I’m yours!”

And then she broke.

Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking, pussy clenching so tight I nearly lost it.

“Ohhh—oh fuck—I’m gonna—gonna—AAAHHHH!”

She came again, louder than before, her voice hoarse from screaming, tears in her eyes, body jerking against mine like she couldn’t control it anymore.

I wrapped my arms around her and kept thrusting.

Long.

Deep.

Cruel.

She sobbed my name like a prayer. Like she meant it.

“Ahh… Mylo… ohhh—fuck—fuck—”

And I was still inside her.

Still pounding her. Still filling her. Still using her.

But slower now.

Crueler.

Each thrust was long, deep, deliberate. Dragging along every inch of her, making her whimper and gasp as her whole body melted forward against the cushions.

Her thighs were twitching. Her hands limp. She was trying to stay upright, trying to catch her breath—but I didn’t stop.

I wanted her at the edge. I wanted to fuck her into something wordless.

So I grabbed her hips and slammed into her again, harder than before.

“AHHH! Aghh—ohmygod—Mylo!”

She nearly collapsed. Her forehead hit the cushion. Her ass quivered with the shock of it. Her pussy clenched like she was trying to hold me in.

“You hear that?” I growled, pulling almost all the way out—then driving back in, fast, loud, wet.

Slap.

“F-fuck! Ahhh—yes—yes—!”

I kept going. Hard. Brutal.

My balls slapped against her with every thrust, heavy and obscene. Her moans pitched higher and higher—raw now, broken, no rhythm or performance left.

“AHH! AH! I-I can’t—! Mylo—I—”

“You can,” I snapped.

She tried to shake her head but her body betrayed her.

And then she started crying out.

Short, fast, choked cries between gasps.

“Ahh! Oh! O.. Oh! M-Mylo—I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking—AAAHHH!”

I leaned forward, wrapped my arm around her waist, and hauled her up to her knees.

“Not yet.”

She sobbed. Literally sobbed.

“Mylo—I c-can’t—please—I’m gonna—”

I reached down and rubbed her clit. Just once.

That’s all it took.

She exploded.

Her whole body locked. Her mouth dropped open and a noise came out that wasn’t even human.

“AHHH! OHH! AAAHH—MYLO—FUCK—FUCK—FUUUCK!”

Her pussy milked my cock, hard. Over and over. Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, twisting her body into mine, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. She was panting, trembling, completely wrecked.

I didn’t stop.

I pulled out—slowly, watching her body shake.

Then I flipped her over and dragged her down onto the rug in front of me.

On her knees.

Her face was red, glowing, dazed. Her lips were parted, shining with spit. Her chest rose and fell fast, tits marked from where I’d sucked them raw. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably.

I grabbed my cock—wet, slick, twitching—and jerked it in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“I want you to see it,” I said.

She nodded. Barely.

I stroked. Hard. Fast.

She stuck her tongue out. Just a little. Just enough.

I groaned—fuck—I was close.

“Touch yourself,” I ordered.

Her hand slid between her legs instantly.

She moaned.

“Ahh… ah—fuck…”

Her fingers rubbed frantically against her clit, still sensitive, still soaked. She didn’t even try to play it cool anymore. She moaned like a whore—desperate, breathy, begging for it.

“Cum with me,” I said.

And we did.

I growled, jerked hard—and exploded.

Hot ropes splattered her lips, her chin, her tongue. She gasped, eyes closing, moaning as her own orgasm took her again—so raw she didn’t even scream this time, just shook, body twitching as I painted her skin.

She came without a word. Just noise.

“Mmhh… ahh… ahhh…”

She swallowed. Licked her lips. Eyes glazed, face ruined.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

She leaned into my chest, breath hitching, heartbeat stuttering.

And for the first time that night—

She was quiet.

Curled up against me, silent, skin hot and flushed, her breath still uneven. I could feel her heartbeat through her chest, fast and light, ticking against my ribs like a metronome that hadn’t slowed down yet.

Neither of us spoke.

She didn’t need to.

Her body was saying everything.

The way she clung to me—legs tangled with mine, face tucked into the curve of my shoulder, one arm draped across my stomach like she couldn’t let go even if she wanted to. She felt small like that. Breakable. Even though five minutes ago, she was grinding on top of me like she was trying to kill me.

Now she was soft. Quiet. Bare.

My hand ran lazily up and down her back. Just skin and slow movement. Every few seconds she twitched, her hips jolting just a little—oversensitive, still riding out the shockwaves.

She made a little sound into my chest.

“Mmh…”

“You good?”

She nodded against my skin. “Mhm.”

“You sure?”

She laughed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think my legs work.”

I smiled.

“I can’t feel my face, either,” she added.

I reached up and ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead.

“Cute,” I said.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, nudging me with her nose.

But she smiled. I felt it.

We stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Cooling off. The tension between us had gone slack, melted down into something warmer. Calmer. Her body fit against mine like it was supposed to be there.

I looked down and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted, nuzzling against my chest like a sleepy cat.

“Seriously though,” she said after a while, voice scratchy and small. “That was…”

She didn’t finish.

“That was,” I agreed.

She laughed again, then yawned, and her leg slid between mine.

“God,” she said. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah. You fucked someone you don't even know the name of.”

“I asked. It also didn't seem that important at the time.”

“Still doesn’t?”

I glanced down. “I suppose it does. Your name?”

She looked up at me, half-lidded.

“Giselle.”

We just stared at each other for a second. Neither of us smiling now. Just… seeing each other.

“I liked when you didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I liked it too.”

She rested her cheek on my chest again. Slower now. Breathing deeper.

“Just… don’t get weird about it.”

I blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Like…” Her voice softened. “Don’t start acting different now that you know.”

I hesitated. “Know what?”

She lifted her head, squinting slightly. “You know… that I’m… in Aespa?”

I blinked. “What’s Aespa?”

She stared at me. Silent. Waiting for the punchline.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

She blinked. Twice.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, half-laughing. “You really don't know!”

“Nope.”

“You came to our concert.”

“My friends dragged me.”

“Jesus.” She flopped back down on my chest, stunned. “I think I just came harder.”

We stayed like that for another few minutes. Her body pressed against mine, skin warm, lips still curled in that breathless little smirk. Every so often, she’d hum, or shift slightly, or let out this content, melted sigh like she still hadn’t landed yet.

“You’re insane, you know,” she murmured, tracing a lazy circle on my chest.

“Because I don't know who you were?”

“Because you don't care.”

I smiled, eyes closed. “Still don’t.”

Her fingers stopped moving. For a second I thought I’d said the wrong thing.

But then she whispered, “That’s probably the hottest thing you’ve said all night.”

I cracked one eye open. “That’s saying something.”

“Oh, I know. I was there.”

She leaned up and kissed me, slow and unhurried. I kissed her back, brushing my thumb along her jaw, letting her taste linger. She pulled back just an inch.

“So what happens now?” she asked, voice small.

I paused.

“Whatever you want.”

Her lips pressed together. Not uncertain. Just… thoughtful.

But then—

Knock knock knock.

Her entire body froze.

I lifted my head.

There it was again—three clean knocks, firm and casual.

“Giselle?” a voice called through the door. Female. Confident. “They’re waiting on us for the group shot.”

She swore under her breath and rolled off me, grabbing at the nearest sheet.

“Shit, shit—fuck, that’s Karina.”

“Karina?”

She gave me a wild look. “One of the girls. From the group.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

She scrambled for her phone and grabbed a tissue box off the vanity. I watched her wipe her inner thighs, dab under her eyes, fix her lips in the mirror. She still looked flushed. Hair tangled. But some of the damage was masked.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “I can’t walk out there looking like I just got wrecked.”

“You did,” I said.

“Don’t be proud of that.”

She shoved me toward the closet. “Hide. Please.”

I hesitated. She pushed again.

“Unless you want to get recognized and tossed off the balcony.”

That was enough.

I ducked into the small walk-in just as she called out, “Be right there!”

From inside, I heard the door unlock. Hinges creaking. Light footsteps.

“Everything okay?” Karina asked. Closer now. Her voice smooth. A little suspicious.

“Yeah,” Giselle replied, now perfectly calm. “Just needed a minute.”

A pause.

“You look like a mess.”

Giselle laughed, and it was almost too good. “Tried a new lash glue. Bad idea.”

Karina snorted. “It looks like you cried in a club bathroom.”

“I kind of did.”

“You want me to stall them?”

“No. I’m good now.”

Silence.

And then, just as the door started to close—

“You sure you were alone in here?”

My heart stopped.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “Of course I was,” she said, smooth as ever. “Why?”

Karina didn’t answer right away.

Then: “No reason.”

The door shut.

A lock clicked.

A few seconds later, the closet opened.

Giselle stood there—still glowing, still breathless, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she whispered.

I pulled her in for a kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 2

[ofstarsandvibranium]

The Leg Bet

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Jack Abbot x GN!Reader

Summary: As a gag gift, you give Jack a prosthetic leg that also doubles as a flask. He ends up actually using it.

A/N: twas a shit post and @baezen ended up liking the idea so here it is. THIS IS A CRACK FIC. NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

The Pitt Masterlist

Jack didn't care much for his birthday. After all the shit he's been through, he's just lucky to wake up every day with you by his side. He may not care for his birthday, but that doesn't mean you don't give him a present every year.

He's gotten various things from you. A new watch, a new radio, tickets to a game, etc. This year was...different.

He tears off the wrapping paper and then lifts the lid of the gift box. His brows furrow and he lifts the item out of the box, "Baby, what's this?"

"A prosthetic leg."

His mouth twitches in a smirk, "Yeah, I see that, but why did you get me one if the one I have is just fine?" he gestures to his current prosthetic.

You giggle mischievously, "This leg is special."

Jack observes it, "How?"

"It can hold liquid inside."

He cocks a brow at you, "Excuse me?"

You scoot closer to him, "This here," you point to the top, "It twists off," you demonstrate, "Voila! It can hold any beverage you like. Can keep your ice water cold or hot drinks warm all day!"

Jack can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of your gift to him, "Honey, I love you, you're very sweet....but why?"

You shrug, "I ran out of ideas for birthday gifts and I came across this! So I said 'fuck it' and bought it!" You watch Jack observe the leg and its sturdiness, "Honestly, it was mainly just a joke. I did buy us tickets to watch that band you like. So I can return this-" you reach for the leg but Jack pulls it back, "Nope. I wanna keep it."

It's your turn to look at Jack in surprise, "Seriously?"

He nods, "Yeah, I'm actually curious how well this'll work. I'm gonna try it on my next shift."

You snicker, "Okay, but you need to give me updates throughout the day about it!"

"I will, baby. Thank you," his kisses your lips and places the prosthetic back into the box.

_____________________________

Unexpectedly, the prosthetic leg flask ended up being a staple in Jack's every day life.

The first time he brought it to work, he put some coffee in it. During his lunch, he pulled off the leg and poured some coffee out into a disposable cup. His colleagues in the break room were frozen in confusion.

"Abbot, what the fuck is that?" Dr. Ellis asked.

He smirks, "Y/N got me a prosthetic leg flask for my birthday. Trying it out for the first time. I put hot coffee in it hours ago and it's still hot!"

Ellis shakes her head, "I'm so confused but so intrigued. Where did they buy it?"

"Internet," he senior attending replies nonchalantly, sipping on his still hot coffee from his prosthetic leg flask.

After the first few times, his colleagues were used to seeing Abbot pouring liquids out of his leg. It's become a frequent occurrence that now most the of the department has daily bets on what contents he has inside.

It's become this whole thing that neither you or Jack anticipated, but it's all in good fun. Fun that many didn't expect from the super serious senior attending.

Every day, on the white board hidden, What Does Abbot Have in His Leg Today? is written. Many say coffee, others say alcohol or water. Some have even said soup and, on some rare occasions, those people would be right.

Before Jack exits the ED, he'd reveal the contents and a collective groan or cheer would erupt, depending on who bet on what.

_________________________

The new residents peek at the white board that's hidden away from patients.

"'What does Abbot have in his leg today?' What the hell does that even mean?" Santos asks her fellow residents, Javadi and Whitaker.

"...I honestly have no clue," Whitaker says and Javadi.

As Dr. McKay walks by, Javadi stops her, "Oh! Dr. McKay?"

"Yeah?"

"What does that mean on the board?" the young resident points to the white board and McKay peers at it.

She snorts, "Oh, you'll find out. Wait until Doctor Abbot clocks out and then you'll see. He should be coming out any minute now."

Right on cue, Jack emerges from the locker room with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Those who aren't currently with a patient wait at central for him.

He stands there waiting for some to come by and then he holds a cup up, "Water," and places it in front of Dana.

Some of the nurses groan and some of the doctors pump their fist in the air.

The residents, still look absolutely confused. McKay fills them in, "Doctor Abbot's partner got him a prosthetic leg that also doubles as a flask. We all like to take bets on what he puts in it on a day to day basis."

Javadi speaks, "Well that's-"

"Interesting." Whitacker says.

"Fucking hilarious." Santos adds.

"-different."

McKay shrugs, "Gives us something fun to look forward to." The residents just nod and then proceed to their assignments.

Who'd have thought such fun would come from Jack's birthday gag gift?

[1999hiru]

requesting for dark!pervy!Ellie who is friends with fem!reader

at first, Ellie is being the sweet and caring friend (holding reader’s bags when going out shopping, paying for things, taking care of reader, girlfriendy behavior without being gfs)

then slowly overstepping boundaries b/c Ellie is slowly revealing her true colors (becoming touchy and clingy, acting jealous, being controlling, degrade&belittle reader to hurt her feelings)

hopefully this could spark some ideas if you’re comfy with writing this <3 can be sfw and nsfw hehe ^3^

oh my god YUUMMMMYYYY thank you for this anon i actually just went dizzy at the thought of this mmmmm so yum ……… THANK YOU !!!!!!! <3<3<3 enjoy !!! (✿◠‿◠)

cw. dubcon, manipulative & controlling behavior, ellie being a massive creep!

─────────────────────────

♡ . — ꒰ sfw ꒱

ellie who always makes sure you’re fed. your messages from her mostly consist of her asking if you ate, and if you even tried to step around it, “i did! had a little snack <3 thanks els” you’d still receive a knock at your door—your favorite meal and drink in ellie’s hands. she gets a little cranky when you say “snack,” she knows for a fact that you didn’t eat properly. there’s no way around it! ellie just wants you to be full and energized for the day.

ellie who immediately takes out her card when you complain about not having enough money for something. whether it’s something as small as a cute keychain, a sweater, or hell, even a $200 purse, she’s faster than you are. you already hear the loud beep! of it going through, ellie grabbing your shopping bags before she lets you drag her to the next store over. your arms are wrapped around her bicep tightly, repeating a sweet “thank you!” over and over again.

ellie who’s at your apartment as soon as she hears your nasally voice over the phone. she has a plastic bag full of medicine and spends her time in your kitchen making you a nice warm meal, spoon-feeding you and sitting right by your side as she hands you a water bottle with a pill to take for your illness. she’s patting your head and telling you “good job,” before she tucks you in, cleaning up your apartment while you sleep. she doesn’t even think about leaving until you’re better!

ellie who looks at you with something indescribable when you tell her that you met someone while you were working, and planned on hanging out with them at the local cafe. she asks you a lot of questions, who? where do they live? what do they look like? it’s not long before it slowly progresses into questions like what’d they say to you? is that them texting you right now? why are they bothering you so much? you often catch a glimpse of ellie’s head whipping towards your phone when it dings, her eyes glued onto your screen.

ellie who sits right behind you at said local cafe, on the day that you and that “friend” planned to go out. a black hoodie on and funny-looking sunglasses to pair, she’s stirring a cup of coffee (she didn’t even like coffee) while she listens to you laugh and giggle like you did with her. what the fuck was so funny? she thinks, she feels something boiling beneath her skin. it didn’t sit right with her that you were spending your precious time with someone so undeserving. she should’ve been sat across you, watching your eyes crinkle and your pretty lips sip at your beloved drink. you and ellie had been to this cafe a hundred times by now, and it grew something dangerous in her stomach knowing that someone else had taken her place.

ellie who blankly stares at you when you show her your outfit for the next hangout, you’re leaving in a few minutes, smiling and twirling in front of the mirror. you’re wearing a cute little skirt, a nice frilly blouse for your top. your makeup is done perfectly and you gush about how you’ve made a good friend, that they enjoy the same things as you, and the fact that they think you’re pretty. ellie finally snaps at that, a mean scoff leaving her lips. you flinch at the sound—ellie had never done that with you. “i wouldn’t be so happy, honestly, i mean..” ellie comes up behind you, her hand trailing down to the end of your skirt. it’s short, and ellie lifts it just enough, exposing bits of your bare thigh. “i love it, but, what if they think you’re a whore? dressed like that?” she continues, letting go of the fabric.

ellie who feels pure satisfaction blooming in her chest when your smile fades away, you nod in response, not saying anything. a whore? you didn’t want that. your eyes are teary at the insult, lip trembling, before you make your way to your dresser. you fish out a pair of jeans, pulling your skirt off in front of ellie. she quickly snaps a picture of you before you’re all dressed up again. you keep facing your old wooden dresser, looking at the chips and dents. you’re afraid of ellie seeing you cry. but she knows you are, and she’s suddenly pulling you into her arms and rubbing your back, soft cries pulled from your throat. she hums into your hair, “awh, c’mon, don’t cry. y’know i’m just looking out for you, right?” you can’t feel the grin pressed against you, ellie cooing when you hiccup. “don’t wanna ruin your pretty makeup, so stop crying.”

ellie who is more than pleased to know that you haven’t been wearing your skirts around them anymore, and she feels even better when you suddenly receive a photo from an unknown number—a picture of you, asleep in only your panties and a tank top, your leg over a pillow exposing your ass and legs. you feel bile rise in your throat when you open it. who? but ellie always has an answer to your problems, and she advises you not to speak to your “good” friend anymore. your head is in ellie’s lap, pink cheeks stained with tears while she gently runs her fingers through your hair. “it’s really weird that this happened when you met, i don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to them anymore..” you didn’t question how they had found your apartment, or even how they got in. but you’d never know that ellie had been the one to sneak into your apartment. you had given her an emergency key if anything had happened since you lived alone, and ellie had never used it before. but ellie was getting tired of hearing about this loser, and she quietly walked into your room late at night, pulled out her phone and took a picture of you. unconscious and vulnerable. the best part was that you would never accuse her of something like that. you trusted ellie, she wouldn’t do that to you.

♡ . — ꒰ nsfw ꒱

ellie who asks for your phone from time to time, looking through your messages and buying you ice cream when she doesn’t see anyone new lingering in your inbox. she waits till you’re distracted doing something else, cleaning your living room, your kitchen, organizing clothes, before she looks through your gallery and sends herself your selfies and other… pictures you’ve taken. she quickly opens up her phone to save them before deleting them on your end. they weren’t nudes, but some of them made ellie sticky in her boxers, a particular photo of you with your tongue out and wearing your favorite pajama set. she thinks about using your mouth to get herself off, groaning at the thought of your lips covered in her arousal.

ellie who uses the secret pictures she’s taken of you to masturbate, the one of you asleep her favorite one by far. she’s cumming at the thought of your pretty face crying when she called you a whore, your glossy eyes when you received that picture of you unconscious, she doesn’t even really need the picture at this point—but it makes her even hornier that you’re so naive. she likes the reminder of her influence on you, how easy you believed her. she’s gritting out your name when she makes a mess all over her pillow, imagining it as your body.

ellie who takes you out for another mall date as usual, she lets you wear anything you want around her—but you’ve noticed that every time you’re wearing a skirt, ellie’s hands brush against your ass for a second, and it seems to be happening more and more. she gives you a sheepish smile and apologizes, “i’m walking too close, i wasn’t paying attention,” but you can’t see her behind you, you can’t see her eyes fixated on your plump ass peaking from beneath the fabric, calculated touches on ellie’s end. you start ignoring it when you realize it just keeps happening, maybe she really is just doing it by accident. she’s holding a lot of bags, and there’s a lot of people. it gets distracting inside of a packed mall!

ellie who gets a little too touchy one night. she’s staying over at your apartment again since you felt paranoid about someone sneaking in, and you’re fast asleep in her arms almost immediately. ellie tucks a stray loose of hair behind your ear, your warm breaths against her tattooed arm. she doesn’t realize her hand is already slowly drifting down your chest, a finger gently tugging down your top to reveal your nipple. she brushes over it, carefully, the bud hardening at her touch. ellie lets out a small noise seeing it, wanting nothing more than to lick at it, bite until it’s all sore. she quickly fixes your clothing when you shuffle in her grasp, her heart pounding against her chest. she hopes it doesn’t wake you up.

ellie who peeks into your bathroom while you’re showering. you’ve recently kept the door open while you did your business because you were anxious, and ellie needed to get to you in time if something happened. ellie does her best to see you through the glass, your blurry naked figure moving around as you rinse yourself off. she can’t make out your face at all, but she can see the outline of you, your perky tits, the dips of your hip, she can faintly see your ass as you grab and smooth over it with soap. ellie’s slipping a hand down her pants while she stares, playing with herself as she continues looking at you. she’s moaning softly against the edge of the door, circling her clit in fast circles. she didn’t have the time to drag it out like she usually did, edging herself to pictures of you or your sleeping face next to her. you were going to be done soon—and ellie cums as soon as you’re groping your tits, washing innocently.

ellie who tells you to quit your job. she can’t risk you meeting someone else, and she’d have to go through that same process all over again. you were stupid to believe her the first time, but a second? you’d obviously pick up on something. ellie couldn’t have that. she tells you “i’ve already been paying for everything, i might as well move in since i’m here all the time.” initially, you’re a bit worried. rent was expensive! your full time job wasn’t even cutting it, how would you both pay for rent if you couldn’t? but ellie quickly shushes you with her usual excuses, and eventually, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. ellie could protect you if something were to happen again. you quit your job and with a short notice to joel, ellie moves in the next week.

ellie who can’t help but kiss you when you’re sleeping. it’s only the third night of you both living together, but your lips are right there, right in front of her, and all the restraint in her body had left a long time ago—she’s pressing wet kisses to your mouth, her tongue licking at your lips. all over it, disgustingly so, but you’re so sweet. ellie can’t get enough. she’s eventually pulling down your panties, her face buried in between your legs, licking feverishly at your pussy. you wake up to the stickiness between you, your eyes widening when you see your best friend below you. she’s staring up at you without shame, like she was waiting for you to wake up. there’s something dark swimming in her eyes, and she doesn’t stop even when you’re thrashing under her hold. her hands are pinning your thighs to your bed, her tongue making it’s way into your hole. you’re far too deep to fight back, the drowsiness of sleep and the unbearable heat in your cunt hard to push away. “come for me first, i’ll stop then—please, i need it,” you try to respond, but her fingers find your clit and she’s rubbing you so good that it makes you squirt all over her tongue, your slick coating her slender fingers. you’re panting heavily, chest aching with how desperately you’re trying to catch air, and ellie is suddenly hovering right above you. she presses a kiss to your forehead, gentle and loving, unlike her a few moments ago. “i’m all you need, okay? just me, say it, please.” you gulp, the familiar feeling of fear spreading in your chest. you stare back up at her with those teary eyes she loved, “you’re all i need, els.”

[spidersoulss]

"Wheres My Shirt?!"

Pairings: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Summary: Dean can't find his favorite shirt, he's ripped apart his whole room. Until he finds you wearing it. 

Warnings: Smut (fingering, P in V, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it BITCHES)) dean unlocks a new turn on, me still not knowing how to write decent smut (guys i'm trying my best i swear)

Word Count: 1,236

Dean grumbled in frustration as he pulled out every single shirt from his dresser. He couldn't find that one single shirt. I mean he wore it practically every day for fuck sake, how did he lose track of it?

He dug through his dirty laundry, went deep into his closet, but still no luck. “What the hell!” he shouted, ready to rip his own hair out. His room was torn inside out from looking for this shirt, his favorite shirt. “Sammy!” he yelled, storming down the bunker halls to Sam's room.

Sam looked up at his older brother, his brows furrowing when he practically sees steam emitting from Dean's ears. “What? What's wrong-” 

“Did you take my shirt?” Dean interrupted, Sam gave him a look of annoyance, the look that said ‘are you really asking me that right now?’. Dean gestured with his hands, waiting for an answer. “No dude, I did not steal your shirt” Dean grumbled angry words under his breath. “I can't find it anywhere!” he threw his hands up exasperatedly. 

“I don't know, dean, maybe y/n did the laundry and it's in there” Sam suggested, going back to doing whatever Sam does. “Yeah that better be it” Dean said, already making his way towards your room. 

You had done the laundry, everyone's laundry for today. Unbeknownst to Dean, you had washed his favorite shirt and decided to wear it fresh out of the dryer. You were laying on your freshly made bed, phone in hand, and cozy in Dean’s favorite shirt. Which was the perfect amount of baggy on you; Making it your favorite as well. 

He says your name as he barges into your room, not bothering to knock, “please tell me you have seen my fav-” he pauses when he sees you. His eyes raking over your body. His breath catches in his throat. 

Apparently wearing his clothes does something to him. “Your what?” you tilt your head to the side, clueless of his manic frustration to find this goddamn shirt. “My…uhh” he clears his throat, “my shirt” dean points to the shirt on your body. “Oh, yeah I did laundry today, I threw this on after I took my shower,” you explained casually. Dean couldn't stop staring, literally ogling you. “You good?” you raise a brow, “huh? Me? Yeah im- im so good right now” you notice how his voice got huskier, he stalked towards you. “Okaayyy, do you want it back or something?” he crawls over you, nestling his head in the crook of your neck and kissing lightly.

You inhale a soft breath. “Not anymore” he mumbles against your skin, “it looks better on you anyway” he kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Your breathing becomes heavier as he leaves faint marks on your skin. “Dean-” he shushes you with his lips, you moan softly into them. 

“I just showered” you fein complaint and he huffs a laugh, “hope you want another one, because you're gonna need it after this” he smirks. 

His hands snake down your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He didn't expect you wearing his shirt, his favorite shirt, to turn him on so much. But alas, here we are, and neither of you are complaining. 

A shaky sigh escapes your lips as his fingers thread the waistband of your panties, because of course you're not wearing pants right now. “You fuckin tease” he grumbles against your lips, “not wearin any pants, and look at that-” he dips his hand under and drags a slow torturous finger through your slick folds. 

You whimper against him, “so wet for me already, huh? Was this your plan all along, rile me up and get me to fuck you senseless?” he asks tauntingly as he continues to tease at your entrance. 

That was not your plan at all but it sounds like a great one right about now. “It should've been my plan if I knew this was gonna happen” you grin, your lips turning into a soft ‘O’ shortly after as Dean sinks his two fingers into you. “Oh fuck..” you groan.

“So gorgeous baby” he praises as he sets a steady hard pace with his fingers pumping in and out, his mouth attaches to your neck. You arch into him, hands threading through his dirty blonde locks. He groans lowly against your skin when you give a little tug, hinting at your approaching orgasm.

“Oh my god, Dean please I need you” you moan, pleading breathlessly. “This aint enough for you babygirl? Need my cock inside you huh? Wanna cum around my cock?” he teases, kissing up your jaw and on your lips. You nod fervently, “yes, god yes please” you look at him through your lashes, he folds immediately. 

“I can't deny my girl what she needs now can i?” he grins as he pulls his cock out from his boxers, his sweats discarded long ago. You almost drool as you look at it, glistening red tip leaking with pre-cum. 

It's something you'll never get used to, the size of him. No matter how many times the two of you do it, it's always the same when he pulls it out for you. 

You lick your lips and Dean chuckles, “greedy girl” he tuts. He drags the tip through your folds and you both moan. Dean kisses you deeply as he pushes inside of you, inch by inch. “Relax, i got you” he can feel you tense up but you let go at his words, he pins your hand down on the sheets. 

“Dean you better move or i'm gonna-” you can't even finish your thought before he pulls out almost completely and slams back inside you. You cry out his name and squeeze his hand. He sets a brutal pace with his hips, leaving you a cursing, moaning, sweaty mess. 

“Thought you could just wear my shirt and get away with it? Huh? Thought I wouldn't do anything about it?” he grunts, his hips slapping against your thighs. The sound echoes throughout your room. 

“N-no, i didn't kno-ow” you manage to say between moans. “Shh shh babygirl i’m not mad, just.. extremely turned on” he kisses you more, drowning out your lewd, explicit noises and thrusting harder at his last words.

“Dean im, oh my god i'm so close” you whimper, clenching your walls around him. He takes in a sharp breath. “I know, i know” he reaches a hand down in between your bodies and circles his thumb over your very sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Cum for me, cum around my cock, please baby I need to feel you” he almost whimpers, your stomach twists and the knot in your core bursts and you flutter hard over Dean, sucking him in deeper as your orgasm hits, his hitting not long after. (a second orgasm has hit the tower (again, not sorry, i had to)) 

“That's it baby, let go for me, i love how you clench around me, feels so good” he moans, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he sings your praise. 

Your breathing is labored and dean pulls out, you whine at the loss of him. leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing. You break the silence after a long moment, “I should wear your clothes more often” he laughs into your neck, wrapping his arms around you.

“Yes you should” 

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

[leiyanzyves]

— ARCANE WOMAN STRAP HCS

Warning: smut, use of strap on, etc.

Sevika—

She’s all power. Sevika doesn’t ask—she takes. She’ll smoke her cigar, eye you down like you’re tonight’s main course, then strap in like it’s just another weapon in her arsenal.

She wears it low and heavy. You feel the weight of it between her thighs when she steps close, and she makes damn sure you see it too—just to watch your face go hot.

Loves bending you over. No sweet missionary. Sevika grabs your hips, growls your name into your shoulder, and pounds into you like she owns you. And let’s be honest, she kind of does.

Dirty talk is rough and relentless. "Look at you takin’ me so good, baby." Or "Didn’t think you could handle this, huh?" And she says it right into your ear, voice low, smoky, and dripping with cocky pleasure.

She grinds into you when you moan. Loves dragging it in slow, then slamming deep until your knees give out. That wicked grin of hers only grows the messier you get.

Hand around your throat. Not tight—just enough to remind you who’s in charge. It’s never scary, but it is hot as hell.

Aftercare is lowkey but real. She’ll wipe you down with a towel, light another smoke, and pull you onto her lap—metal arm around your waist, lips on your neck, murmuring, “You’re mine, y’know that?”

Caitlyn—

She’s composed—but filthy in bed. Caitlyn acts like the perfect noblewoman… until the strap comes out. Then she becomes cold, in control, and devastatingly good at what she does.

She takes her time. She preps you with fingers, praise, and soft kisses first. Because when she finally straps in? She wants you trembling from anticipation, not just from pleasure.

Prefers eye contact and missionary. She loves watching your face—loves hearing every broken moan. She’ll cup your cheek with her gloved hand and ask, “You’re taking me so well, darling.”

Precision, always. Her thrusts are clean, deep, and deliberate. She knows exactly how to angle her hips to make you lose your mind—and she takes notes on your reactions like a damn detective.

Whispers in your ear like a proper lady. Except what she’s whispering is absolutely not proper. “Do you want more? Say please.” And if you’re stubborn? She’ll edge you until you break.

Uses elegant, custom toys. You know hers are top-tier—sleek, perfectly designed, maybe even engraved. She likes quality, and it shows.

Aftercare is soft and spoiled. She wraps you in silk sheets, brings you water and a warm cloth, and curls up beside you like she didn’t just destroy your soul ten minutes ago.

Vi—

She’s cocky with it. Vi puts that harness on like she was born to wear it. Walks around like it’s just another extension of her confidence—and she loves the way your eyes drop every time you see it.

Teasing is her foreplay. She’ll grind against you through your clothes, whispering filthy things in your ear, making you beg before she even touches you properly.

Rough but playful. She pounds you into the mattress, but she’s smiling through it—laughing when your legs shake, kissing your nose between thrusts, saying “What’s the matter, cupcake? Can’t take it?”

She lives to make you scream. Vi’s competitive. She’ll go hard just to see how many times she can make you come before you’re a mess in her hands.

Aftercare is sweet chaos. Sweaty cuddles, dumb jokes, kisses all over your face while you recover. She lives to wreck you and then hold you.

Ambessa Medarda—

She’s pure domineering energy. Ambessa doesn’t ask. She commands. You kneel when she tells you to. You open your mouth when she says so. And when she straps in? You obey.

Luxury and leather. She uses the finest toys—custom-fitted, heavy, designed to ruin you. That strap doesn’t just look intimidating—it feels like sin.

Her size? Devastating. Ambessa is big, strong, and she uses that to make you feel small beneath her. She likes seeing you fold under her weight, crushed into the bed, absolutely wrecked.

Dirty talk like a goddess. “You exist to be fucked by me.” “You were made for this, weren’t you?” Her voice alone could break you—and she knows it.

She watches you the whole time. Arms braced beside your head, hips rolling deep, eyes locked on your face like you’re hers. And you are.

Aftercare is possessive and regal. Bath drawn. Clothes brought. Your head on her chsst while she pets your hair and calls you “my good girl.”

Katarina—

(I gotta add her, cause she doesn't have any smut fics. And, I love her so much.)

She’s confident as hell—Katarina doesn’t hesitate. The moment she straps it on, she owns the room like it’s a battlefield. That smirk she gives you? Yeah, it means you’re not walking tomorrow.

Leather and black straps all the way. Nothing flashy, just sleek and deadly like her. She’ll wear it low on her hips, confident and commanding, making you feel like prey the second she steps toward you.

Low growls and rough whispers. She’ll curse under her breath when you moan for her, tell you to be louder, tell you “you take me so well, don’t you?”—all while keeping a hand tight around your waist.

Her pace depends on her mood. If she’s had a rough mission? Expect hard, punishing thrusts with her hand tangled in your hair. But if she’s missed you? Slow, deep, intense—she makes sure you feel every second of it.

Eye contact is a must. She loves watching your face twist in pleasure beneath her. If you try to look away, she’ll grab your chin and force your gaze back to hers.

She doesn’t stop at one round. Katarina is tireless. Once she’s got you spread out and shaking under her, she’s going again—and again—until your voice is hoarse and your legs give out.

[mide404]

This is how my family has come to live a life resembling hell in the displacement camps. They live a life filled with misery and suffering after the war destroyed their simple home, which was filled with beautiful memories. Yes, now they live in a tent that you can barely see as a small enclosed spot, a torn life that bears nothing of its name, with continuous sorrow and pain hitting them constantly. The pieces of fabric surrounding the tent speak to narrate a new chapter from a book titled "Tragedy in the Land of Pain and Sorrows..."

Just by looking into my mother's eyes, you can see that all the world's calamities have been placed upon her head. It's as if life's circumstances conspired against my family to take away my father, the beacon of strength and support for them, and cruelly snatched my brother's daughter and my sister's daughter for no reason. Despite all that, these circumstances did not stop there and showed no mercy to what remained of my family but went on to demolish their home, which used to bring us together and held our simple memories.

Until they became homeless in the displacement camps that offer no mercy and do not provide the basic necessities of life, lacking in privacy, their world turned black when they found themselves displaced from their homes, sometimes wrapping themselves in hardship and at other times sipping on misery. They endure the harshness of life, living under the sun's heat, with nothing to protect them but a pile of junk. This has become their daily routine: waking up in the morning to stand in water lines to get the bare minimum of water, then striving to find a morsel of food until night falls, which was supposed to be a time of rest, but it seems life has written suffering upon them. As soon as they close their eyes, they wish they could keep one eye open, fearing the treachery of rodents that might attack them... This is part of the suffering my family endures in the displacement camps under oppressive conditions and an unparalleled tragic situation.

I, Mahmoud Saleh, appeal to you to look upon my torn and displaced family with mercy and grant them the opportunity to continue their lives in peace. I stand now before these compassionate hearts, full of hope to help what remains of my family and provide a better living condition for them, so they can enjoy safety and peace.

[4m0r1m]

Let It Burn

SUMMARY: They were supposed to hate each other. An arranged marriage was the Black family's final game — but neither Sirius nor she were willing players. Until one night beneath the stars, he saw her smile. And everything began to fall apart.

WORD COUNT: 2,776 words

PAIRING: sirius black x slytherin!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, a little angst

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual Friday night energy — students chattering over the remnants of pudding, House banners rippling slightly in the enchanted ceiling's breeze. Sirius Black lounged lazily at the Gryffindor table, laughing too loudly at something James had muttered about McGonagall’s new hat.

But his laughter died on his lips when his eyes, almost against his will, slid towards the Slytherin table.

There she was.

The so-called Princess of Slytherin.

Poised. Perfect. Wrapped in a halo of cold detachment and veiled sneers. Her hair was sleek and immaculate, her posture impeccable, her smile — if she ever deigned to offer one — sharp enough to cut glass. Sirius swore she could curdle milk with a single look.

And he was supposed to marry her.

Betrothed. Promised. Packaged neatly by two families so desperate for control they thought binding him to her would somehow tame him. As if he would ever be tamed.

She caught him looking and arched one elegant eyebrow. A silent, disdainful challenge.

Sirius scowled and jerked his gaze away.

“I’m not bloody doing it,” he muttered under his breath, stabbing his treacle tart viciously.

James, Remus and Peter exchanged looks.

“You don’t really have a choice, mate,” said James with a grimace. “Not unless you fancy disownment.”

Sirius snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time a Black got struck off the bloody tapestry.”

Remus gave him a sidelong glance. “Still. Must be a special kind of hell, being chained to that one.”

Sirius didn't answer. He didn’t need to.

Everyone knew her reputation.

Cold. Ruthless. Uncaring.

And Sirius hated her for it.

It was a week later, late afternoon, when Sirius stumbled across something that would change everything.

He'd taken a detour through the courtyard, avoiding a furious Slughorn who was still smarting from the "accidental" potion explosion Sirius and James had orchestrated earlier.

There, by the old fountain, he froze.

The Slytherin Princess was kneeling — actually kneeling — in front of a tiny, sniffling first-year Hufflepuff. The boy clutched a battered satchel and had a skinned knee visible through torn trousers.

Sirius stood behind a stone pillar, unseen, mouth slightly open.

She was talking to the boy in a low, soothing voice, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at the wound. She conjured a little salve with a flick of her wand, smiling — smiling — as the boy giggled at the cool sensation.

Not a sneer. Not a smirk. A real, genuine, luminous smile that softened every sharp angle of her haughty face.

Sirius felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

Who the hell was that?

He backed away before she could spot him, heart pounding for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely.

That night, unable to sleep, Sirius roamed the castle.

The corridors were silvered with moonlight, empty and echoing. His footsteps were quiet against the stone as he made his way towards the Astronomy Tower — a favourite haunt when he needed to be alone.

He rounded the last staircase and stopped dead.

She was there.

Leaning against the battlements, her cloak pulled tight against the chill, staring out over the sleeping grounds.

For a long moment, he considered turning back.

But something — curiosity, defiance, stubbornness — made him cross the threshold.

She turned slightly at the sound of his approach, pale face unreadable.

“Don’t tell me,” she drawled, voice cutting through the silence. “Caught out past curfew. Again.”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Could say the same for you, Princess.”

She laughed — low and surprisingly soft — and turned back to the view.

Sirius hesitated, then moved to lean on the wall a few feet away from her.

The silence stretched, but for once it wasn’t sharp or hostile. It was... companionable. Almost.

After a minute, she spoke again.

“You're lucky, you know,” she said quietly, not looking at him. “To have friends who love you. Who’d do anything for you.”

Sirius frowned. “Is that what this is? A compliment? I should frame it.”

She smiled faintly, still staring at the stars.

“You laugh, but it's true,” she said. “I watch you lot sometimes. Potter, Lupin, Pettigrew... you’d burn down the world for each other.”

There was something hollow in her voice, something brittle beneath the casual words.

Sirius found himself watching her, really watching her.

“What about you?” he asked, voice rough. “Surely you’ve got your little Slytherin court.”

She snorted. “They don’t love me. They follow me. Big difference.”

There was a bleakness in her tone that hit Sirius harder than he cared to admit.

He shifted, uneasy. “You make it bloody hard for people to like you, you know.”

She laughed again, but it wasn’t cruel this time. Just tired.

“Better to be feared than pitied, Black.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Sirius stared up at the endless, glittering sprawl of the sky, the cold biting through his robes.

“I saw you, earlier,” he said eventually.

She glanced at him, wary. “Saw me what?”

“With the Hufflepuff kid.”

Her cheeks coloured slightly, the first sign of true vulnerability he’d ever seen in her.

“He fell,” she muttered defensively. “It’s not like I could leave him there.”

Sirius smiled crookedly. “Didn’t know you knew how to smile without plotting someone’s murder.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

But the edges of her mouth twitched.

Sirius found himself grinning.

There was a crack in her armour. A glimpse of something real.

And damn it all, he wanted to see more.

The Astronomy Tower became their secret.

Neither of them ever spoke about it during the day. In public, she was still the icy Slytherin Princess and he the reckless Gryffindor rebel. They bickered in corridors, exchanged cold glares across classrooms, and maintained the careful façade expected of them.

But at night, under the silent witness of a thousand stars, they were different.

Real.

Vulnerable.

It terrified Sirius how quickly he started looking forward to those stolen conversations.

It terrified him even more how she smiled when she saw him approach, something shy and genuine flickering across her usual perfect mask.

It was the end of term when everything shattered.

Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place for the summer, and it was like stepping into a grave.

The house reeked of dust, old magic, and simmering hatred. His mother's shrill voice rang through the halls, punctuated by sharp reprimands and endless lectures about loyalty, blood, and duty.

And marriage.

Always marriage.

He could still hear her voice echoing down the corridors: You will marry her, Sirius Orion Black. You will restore this family's honour.

He wondered if she would still say it if she knew about the nights he'd spent talking to his so-called bride-to-be under the stars, trading secrets and stolen laughter.

Maybe.

Maybe she would simply chain them together all the faster.

The breaking point came one evening when Sirius found a set of marriage contracts laid out neatly on the dining room table, alongside his wand and a black quill.

Signed and sealed.

As if he were some prize animal being led to slaughter.

He exploded.

There were shouting, slammed doors, a flash of crimson light as he hexed a portrait in a fit of rage. His mother's howls followed him up the stairs and down the hall, curses in ancient tongues battering at his back.

That night, while the house slept under a heavy, oppressive silence, Sirius packed a bag.

A few sets of robes. His broomstick. His father's old dagger, tucked into his belt.

He didn’t leave a note.

Didn’t look back.

The moment he crossed the threshold of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, he felt something invisible snap inside him — like cutting the last fraying thread tying him to a life he no longer wanted.

By dawn, he was pounding on the door of the Potters’ cottage, soaked from rain and shivering.

James's mother opened the door, took one look at him, and pulled him into a hug so warm and fierce it nearly broke him.

"You’re safe now, love," she whispered. "You're safe."

Sirius sagged into her embrace, rainwater dripping onto the doormat, feeling like, for the first time in his life, maybe he actually was.

When he returned to Hogwarts in September, something was different.

He was lighter. Freer.

But the world hadn’t changed around him — not really.

She was still the Princess of Slytherin.

And he was still the boy she was meant to marry.

But now, when their eyes met across the Great Hall, there was something crackling in the air between them. Something dangerous and electric.

That night, he found her at the Astronomy Tower, waiting.

As if she knew he'd come.

The air was crisp, the first hints of autumn nipping at the castle walls. She stood by the parapet, arms folded, face upturned to the sky.

Sirius approached quietly, heart hammering.

"You ran," she said without turning, as if she could read it in his bones.

He gave a short laugh. "Couldn’t bloody stay."

She finally looked at him then.

Really looked.

There was no contempt in her gaze. No condescension. Only something deep and quiet and unbearably sad.

"I envy you," she whispered. "I don’t have the courage."

Sirius leaned against the wall beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

"You don’t need courage," he said roughly. "You just need someone to stand with you."

She smiled — that soft, secret smile he was coming to crave — and shook her head.

"No one stands with me, Black."

Sirius hesitated, then reached out, covering her hand with his.

"You’re wrong," he said fiercely. "You’ve got me."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, as if she didn’t know how to believe it.

Sirius squeezed her hand gently, feeling her tremble under his touch.

"I know what you really are," he said. "Not what they say. Not the bloody masks you wear."

A long silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken things.

Finally, she pulled her hand away — not harshly, but slowly, like it hurt to do it.

"This can’t happen," she whispered. "You know it can’t."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, voice cracking, "loving you would destroy me."

Sirius stared at her, stunned.

It was the first time either of them had admitted it aloud — that whatever was between them had already taken root, dangerous and wild and inevitable.

He stepped closer, until there was barely an inch of space between them.

"Maybe," he murmured, "it'll save you instead."

And then, without thinking, without planning, without caring about anything except the way she was looking at him — like he was something precious — Sirius kissed her.

It wasn’t a soft kiss.

It was messy and desperate and aching.

She kissed him back like she was drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, she rested her forehead against his chest, trembling.

"We're going to burn the world down," she said against his robes.

Sirius smiled, threading his fingers through her hair.

"Good," he said. "Let it burn."

They kept it secret after that.

Hidden smiles in the corridors. Brushed fingertips under the tables. Midnight meetings in forgotten classrooms and dusty broom cupboards.

To everyone else, they still hated each other.

But beneath the surface, a war was raging — against expectations, against families, against fate itself.

And they were winning, one stolen moment at a time.

A/N: Lovies I don't know how I survived without writing a HP fanfic but here it is for all you lovies that love Sirius Black as much as I do💗💗💗

[soluversworld]

Sweetness Overload? - REDACTED X G.N Reader (SMUT?)

Genre: smut

Summary: —REQUEST COPIED angel and redacted agreed on a challenge that they will be eating a chocolate with aphrodisiac in it and have to hold in their pent up desires for as long as they can. whoever lasts longer wins and whoever loses their shit and tries to relieve themselves loses

( Reader is a g.n!)

EXTRA: This was a request, from discord, They're a good friend!!

This is the first out of 1/50, again request you can request!

Content/Trigger warnings

Explicit Sexual Content (NSFW)

Dom/Sub Dynamics (Teasing, control, and edging)

Praise Kink

Strong Emotional Intimacy

Light Roughness (Biting, marking, possessive touch)

Overstimulation

APHRODISIAC. CHOCOLATE

Did not proof read/Rushed.

The chocolate sat on your tongue like a dare.

It melted slow—rich, dark, spiked with something that coiled heat low in your stomach. You didn't even blink as you swallowed it, leaning back with a hum like you’d just tasted something divine. Across from you, REDACTED mirrored you with that practiced calm, expression unreadable… but that twitch in his jaw? That wasn’t nothing.

He licked the corner of his mouth, lazy. “Sweet, huh?” “Like sin,” you said. And he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Too dangerous. Too hot. Too interested.

His sledgehammer was in the corner, still flecked with red from a few nights ago. You’d teased him for not cleaning it. He said he liked the color. Now, his attention was all on you.

You crossed your legs just to mess with him. His gaze flicked down. Not subtle.

“You good?” you asked, feigning innocence. “You're awfully quiet.” He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. “M’fine. Are you?”

“Peachy.”

“Mmh.” He leaned forward. Just a little. “Y’sure that chocolate didn’t hit you too hard, Angel?”

You didn't answer just looked away, Now it was already 20 minutes

It looked like a curse wrapped in silver foil. Deep, glossy brown—infused with something unspoken and forbidden. A custom aphrodisiac designed to test every ounce of restraint. You and REDACTED had agreed to the challenge half-jokingly, sometime after midnight, legs tangled from a movie neither of you finished watching. One piece each. No touching. No relieving. Whoever broke first, lost.

You’d thought it might even the playing field.

Redacted leaned back against the headboard, long legs stretched, hands on his thighs like this was a Sunday nap instead of the literal edge of hell. There was that usual lazy calm in the way he moved, like he had nothing to prove. But you knew better. You knew him. That softness in his grin? That wasn’t detachment. That was devotion.

You, on the other hand, felt like your skin didn’t fit. The chocolate hit like a whisper at first—sweet, heady, rich—but then it wound its way through your nerves like silk on a razor. Your clothes were too close. The air was too warm. Every heartbeat throbbed somewhere low and aching.

You shifted, biting the inside of your cheek.

“You alright over there, angel?” he asked, voice thick and sweet, like he wasn’t the real problem.

Your glare didn’t even have the heat to land. "fine.” He hummed. Not smug. Just fond. “You don’t look fine. Y’look like a match waitin’ to be struck.”

The worst part? He was completely unaffected. Not cold. Just... steady. The chocolate might as well’ve been a breath mint to him. He wasn’t sweating. He wasn’t squirming. You were halfway to melting, and he was watching you like a man in love at a funeral—silent, reverent, and a little bit ruined.

“You sure you wanna keep goin’?” he murmured, head tilting slightly. “I won’t tease if it’s too much. Jus’ say the word.” It was soft. Gentle. Genuine. And it made it so much worse.

Because he meant it. Because he always meant it.

Because he was always like this. Down bad. Horny. Obsessed. He didn’t need some fancy chocolate. You could sneeze in his direction and he’d be halfway to planning your wedding. This wasn’t a challenge to him—it was foreplay for a game he’d already lost the moment he laid eyes on you.

“I’m good,” you mumbled, even though your whole body felt like live wire.

He nodded like he believed you. “Brave thing.”

You groaned into your hands. “How are you so calm?”

He blinked, confused like you’d asked why the sky was blue. Then that soft grin pulled at his lips, lazy and loving. “Angel. M’hard all the time.” Your breath caught. “Anything you do—anything—you could eat soup and I’d be fightin’ for my life. This? Chocolate? Please. You’re just givin’ me permission to watch you come apart. Ain’t no punishment in that.”

Your jaw dropped. “So you’re—what? Not struggling at all?”

“Oh, I’m strugglin’,” he drawled, adjusting where he sat. “Just not from the chocolate.” He looked you over—slowly, deliberately. “M’strugglin’ because you’re sittin’ there all flushed and breathin’ hard and makin’ them soft little noises, and I gotta pretend I ain’t already in love with every twitch of your pretty mouth.”

You stared at him, heat licking up your spine.

He leaned in slightly—not close enough to touch, but just enough that you could feel it. The tension. The devotion. The ache.

“I don’t need help wantin’ you, angel,” he murmured, voice dipping low. “I wake up wantin’ you. I go to sleep wantin’ you. I breathe wantin’ you. Chocolate ain’t got shit on that.”

You made a strangled sound.

Redacted grinned.

“Still wanna win?” You glared. “I was winning.” “Oh? You sure? ‘Cause you’re lookin’ awful twitchy over there…” “You’re cheating. You’re always like this.” “Mmh,” he said, all smug affection. “Then maybe you should stop givin’ me reasons to be.”

You were panting now. Shallow. Soft. Embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the room. And him? That bastard looked normal. Effortless. Like he hadn’t just dragged you into the devil’s personal endurance trial.

It wasn’t fair.

He could control their desires—hold them tight in that iron vice grip of his while you sat here melting like wax under a steady flame. He could talk like that, touch like that, and look like that, all without breaking a sweat.

And now?

Now you were in his lap.

Somehow—when did that happen?—he’d pulled you in close, casual as breathing. You were facing forward, back against his chest, and his arms were draped around your waist like you were just settling in for a nap, not squirming in a hell of your own making. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck.

And the way he spoke?

It wasn’t just teasing anymore.

“Feelin' a little warm, angel?” he murmured, voice low and syrup-slick. “Can feel you breathin’ through your skin.”

You shivered. “You’re the one who pulled me over here.”

“Mm,” he hummed, nuzzling lazily against the crook of your neck. “You were twitchin’ so much. Thought I’d help you settle. Thought bein’ close might calm you down.”

He knew what he was doing. He knew. Every word came out like honey laced with sin, soft and indulgent and wicked in a way that made your stomach curl.

“You know,” he continued, tone thoughtful, hand splayed against your thigh with no movement, “I think I like you like this. All flushed and restless. Tryin’ so hard not to grind down on me.”

Your breath hitched so violently it turned into a whimper.

He smiled against your skin.

“Shh, angel,” he cooed, and that hand—fuck—that hand gripped. Just for a second. Just one, solid squeeze.

You almost squealed.

He chuckled low in his chest, and you felt it rumble against your back. “Sorry, that too much?” he whispered, not sorry at all.

Your face was burning.

“Don’t worry, I’m good,” he said, brushing a kiss behind your ear like it was nothing. “Ain’t even hard, really. Jus’ enjoyin’ myself.”

You gasped, scandalized, twisting halfway in his lap to glare at him—but your body betrayed you, again. The twist pressed your thighs right over his, and now you were grinding down before your brain could stop it.

He sucked in a breath, sharp. His hands flexed.

“Ahah—fuck this,” you breathed, and before you could think twice, you kissed him.

Hard.

Immediate.

Hungry.

You felt him freeze for a split second under you, lips parting in soft shock—and then that slow, smug grin pulled across his mouth like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. He chuckled, low and amused, and it made your heart punch against your ribs.

“Well,” he whispered against your lips, voice rough and way too pleased, “guess that means I win.”

You almost wanted to cry.

But then—his hands cupped your face so gently, and he kissed you again. Not greedy. Not filthy. Sweet. So sweet it tasted wrong against the haze buzzing in your skull.

What the hell? Why was this—why was this sweet?

Your brain was acting like it had been put through a blender full of sugar and sin and you couldn’t stop. You clutched at his hoodie, mouth dragging back to meet his again and again, needy now—messy, frantic, chasing the softness like it’d vanish if you let go.

And he let you.

He matched you.

Groaned softly when your lips moved fast and wet and desperate, and when your tongue slid out to taste him again—oh god, his hands gripped your hips tight, fingers digging in like he needed to ground himself.

But this wasn’t him losing it.

No.

That was you.

Because the chocolate—oh, fuck, the chocolate—this wasn’t just heat anymore. It was need. It was sensation overload. It was everything good and unbearable twisted into one drugged haze that made his every sigh feel like a goddamn prayer.

And then—

“Whoever breaks first, loses,” you whispered against his lips.

He paused.

Then, with zero hesitation, he pushed you back onto the bed.

Soft, slow. Like laying down treasure.

And he followed, crawling over you with that same lazy ease he always carried—but now it was laced with hunger.

"You kissed me first,” he murmured, eyes blown wide and dark with want. “That’s losin’.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to sass, to anything—but then his hand slid up under your shirt and landed against your skin, warm and reverent, and your whole body arched.

"Ah—Redacted—!"

He leaned down, whispering against your ear, “Don’t worry, angel... I’ll help you feel better.”

And when his hand moved again, slow and precise—

“A—AHHH—!”

Challenge? What challenge?

You were done for.

And judging by the groan he let out when you moaned his name, shaky and broken—

So was he.

Your back arched, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt like you could anchor yourself to his body—like he was the only solid thing in the world, and everything else had melted away under the heat flooding your veins.

“Redacted,” you whimpered again, and damn if he didn’t flinch like it physically hit him.

His breath hitched against your neck, his lips brushing there—soft, barely a touch, like he was trying not to go too fast. Trying not to devour you.

"You don't get it, do you?" he whispered, his voice all frayed silk and smoke, dragging down your spine like a kiss. “Ain’t the chocolate makin’ me like this, angel. You walk into a room and I’m already gone. You breathe too pretty and I’m ready to fall apart.”

Your whole body trembled under him. It wasn’t just arousal—it was too much in the best possible way. Every word, every look, every brush of his hand was lightning on your skin.

“Y-you’re already—” you gasped, eyes wide when you felt the pressure of him through his jeans. Holy hell. “You—you’re already hard?!”

He groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, voice muffled but wrecked. “Been like that since you made that first little noise. The one you tried to hide. Thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

He kissed your collarbone, then lower—then lower still. Soft, reverent, starving.

You couldn’t take it.

“Touch me,” you gasped, voice nearly breaking.

Redacted looked up, eyes blown wide, pupils practically swallowing his irises whole. There was worship in that gaze. Like you were something unholy and beautiful all at once. Like he was scared to break you and desperate to try anyway.

“Say it again,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles up the side of your thigh. “Just like that. C’mon, angel, lemme hear you beg for it.”

You swallowed hard. “Please. Please touch me.”

That did it.

His mouth crashed into yours again, fierce and sweet all at once, and his hands were everywhere now—up your sides, over your hips, dragging up under your shirt like he could memorize every inch of you with his palms.

"You're shakin'," he murmured, kissing your jaw, your throat. “Can’t tell if it's the chocolate or just me.”

“It’s you,” you gasped, and his growl vibrated against your skin.

"Yeah? You’re all worked up just 'cause I'm here, huh?" he teased, but there was no cruelty in it—only adoration, thick and hungry.

"Y-you talk so much," you managed, voice trembling.

His grin burned against your skin.

"You love it," he said, just as his hand slid down, finally, finally between your legs—hovering, not yet touching. Teasing. Waiting.

"Angel," he whispered, like a sin and a promise all in one, "I want you to come undone on me. I wanna watch every second of it. I’ll be so good to you, angel, just say the word.”

And when you gasped his name again, all desperate and wrecked and soaked in wanting—

He moved.

And you saw stars.

His fingers slipped past the barrier of your clothes like he’d done it a hundred times in dreams he’d never dared confess to—slow, tender, practiced, knowing. Like he was reading your body like a sacred text. Like he knew exactly what page to kiss.

Your hips jolted at the first touch—warm, soft, deep—and you choked on your breath, whimpering into his throat. It wasn’t just that he was touching you—it was how. Gentle, reverent, maddeningly slow.

“Shhh,” he cooed against your ear, voice thick with affection and something darker. “You’re bein’ so good, baby. So damn pretty for me.”

And then—fuck—his mouth was on your ear. Hot breath ghosting over the shell, and then his tongue. He licked the curve of it, slow and deliberate, and your whole body bucked beneath him like you couldn’t stand the contact.

You whined, openly now, your voice cracking from the sheer pleasure slicing up your spine.

“Sensitive here, huh?” he murmured, then sucked on your earlobe just to make you cry out again. “I’ll remember that.”

His fingers moved in perfect rhythm—each stroke deeper, smoother, more devastating than the last. He never once looked away from you. Eyes hooded, half-lidded, drunk on your reactions. Like every shudder and gasp you gave him was the only thing that mattered.

“You gonna fall apart for me?” he whispered, mouth brushing yours again. “C’mon, angel. Wanna feel you break. Wanna see what you sound like when I make you lose your fuckin' mind.”

You were already close. Too close. Everything felt hot and full and unreal. Like the chocolate, the challenge, the restraint—it had all been a trap, and you’d walked right into it, needy and aching and so ready to lose.

His voice dropped lower, a tease and a vow all in one.

“Let me have you. Let me ruin you soft.”

And stars weren’t enough anymore. You were seeing constellations.

.......................

Pretty sure, You and Him stayed up so late doing yoga poses while clapping

SIKE, OKAY YOU SIMPS I'M CALLING YALL OUT STOP SIMPING.

SAY HOLY AND STAY HOLY.

MISTY OUT!

SEA IF YOU SEE THIS LAUGHS

[hrdenha]

— good guys could never | p.sh

synopsis: It's friday night, the night where people get loose after a hell ass week. As usual, there's a party at your brothers house, the same time you and park sunghoon, one of your brother's friend, have your own little party inside your room or... inside you.

pairings: older brother's friend!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT having sex while there's a party, fucking your brother's friend, bed slamming through the wall, mouth covering, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP!), exhibition, one leg up, two leg up, dirty talk, calling names, sex against the wall (🤭), asshole sunghoon, y/n getting stars and tears in her eyes, y/n getting dumb from cock (sunghoon's cock) so she requested something 😬, this story becomes kind of dark at the last part, ngl. let me know what you think.

It's friday night, people wants to relax and have fun — getting the toxicity of the past week out your system. That's just what the fun people do. But, for you... you prefer a different type of detox just like a tradition for other passing friday nights.

You can clearly hear the loud music and laugh from the people downstairs even though it was muffled from how your room is located at the third floor which is off limits for the outsiders. In addition to that, the only sounds you can hear are the hard pouncing of your bed on the walls and the vibration of groans coming from the man behind who's currently rutting his hardened cock inside you, bareback.

"Fuck... Sunghoon..." You whimpered, eyes glistens trying to look at him over your left shoulder, who just moaned in return. He's hitting it deep, continuously hitting that spot deliciously that made you a moaning mess. He grabs your neck, squeezing it hard enough to put the right pressure before biting your shoulder softly that added to your pleasure causing you to squeeze him tight.

"Roll on your back..." He quietly said that you immediately did without complaining. His cock still inside when you did so.

"Th-there" You whimper when sunghoon thrust again. "You're s-so thick..."

Sunghoon groans, before you feel him whispering in your ears, pace still unweaving. "You're squeezing me... tight" You were about to moan when he put his hands over your mouth, still thrusting inside. "How does it feel to be a dumb slut from a cock? from my cock, huh?"

You whimpered, not even thinking about answering that question. The only thing in your mind right now is how fucking good you feel. How sunghoon's cock got the thickness and length you need to hit all the spots.

"You like this..." He whispered. You felt his hot breath as he chuckled on your ears, still rutting his cock deep inside. "From the moment you caught me having sex with some girls on the guest room, you imagined me fucking you so good with my cock."

"Wishing it was you who will feel my length in here, stuffing your pussy just the way you like..." You felt his hands trace your lower abdomen, pushing it down slightly earning him a scream of pleasure from you.

Sunghoon's pace picked up, "You're such a slut." Your legs automatically opened up more, accommodating his trust even deeper inside you. If you were wet earlier, now, you're practically a waterfalls.

"Poor chan... didn't know his sweet baby sister is just a slut in a good girls clothing." He cooed locking his eyes on your glistening ones. "The one who'll let her brother's friend to have his way on her. One that will do everything just for me to touch her"

And as soon as that words leave out of his mouth, so is the feeling of his cock inside you. "Come here" He demanded standing not far from your bed.

You immediately stand up, walking in front of him as sunghoon welcomed you with a dirty kiss on the lips. You instantly melt from the way his tongue gently explore your cavern. Sunghoon felt that, smirking in between the kiss before pushing you onto the wall, trapping you in between with his body.

"I've never been the good guy, y/n. You should know that" You felt him raising your leg onto his shoulder causing you to hook your arms on his neck, practically doing vertical split as slam his hardened dick inside. "Besides, good guys could never fuck you this good"

"Fuck, so hot" He groaned pulling you into a messy kiss as his thrust got faster, his right hand busy with the cheeks of your ass while the other one playing with your nipples. You moaned into the kiss when sunghoon flicks it. Fuck, feels so good.

"So, perfect huh? Can't believe your pussy still squeezing me tight after having me inside for a long time."

"Su-sunghoon"

"Yes, call my name slut."

He chuckled hooking his arms on your other leg that still supporting you before raising it together with the other one. "Oh, fuck" You cursed, when you felt his tip sliding deeper inside.

"Oh, fu-fuck hoon" Both of your feet on his shoulder, trusting into you his pace unrelenting. The wall behind gives much support that he needed, sunghoon trapped you to where he wanted you to be. Where you belonged.

"Shit, tight as fuck. You're too tight for your own good, y/n."

"I'm close..." You moaned loudly not caring if someone will hear. You don't care at all. The sound of slapping of wet skins filled your room, so is the filthy wet sounds and curses coming from you and sunghoon.

"Don't come untill I told you to." He doesn't need to say it. There's a threat in his tone and you knew better than to try your luck. "Gotta take what I give, darling" Your eyes dart on his which is now doing the same too. His thrusts are still unwavering... deep, hard, and it was making your head spin. But, there's something on his eyes that makes you feel more than what you possibly should have.

It didn't took long when you felt his dick twitch inside. "Come for me" And you gladly do so as his thrust gets erratic, groaning onto your neck as you shivers feeling your walls be painted with thick white lines. Your hands on his neck slowly losing their support from the intensity. But then sunghoon keeps you on your position, but now with your legs safely secured around his waist, his dick still not leaving inside you.

You let him though. It was a good feeling, having him still stuffed inside you. It made you shiver when he walked towards you bed with you still on his waist. His dick thrusting softly inside you as he walk.

Sunghoon laid you to your bed, and was about to pull out when you stopped him silently.

He smirked, "what does my dumb slut want?"

"Fuck me again, please. Fuck me when I do my homeworks, fuck me when I'm in the showers, fuck me on my sleep, overstimulate me... i don't care. Just fuck me again, sunghoon"

Sunghoon's eyes darkened, his black hair falling perfectly on his eyes adding to the shadow that didn't failed to make you shiver not on fear but from being turned on. You can tell he was turned on by your thoughts. He just have to pull your strings. "I don't like the tone of your voice, darling"

"I'm sorry bu—"

"But, who am i to decline that right?"

You exhaled locking your teary eyes on him as his cock slowly thrusting again, stimulating your sensitive whole. Both of you cursed under your breath, "fuck me dumb that the only thing i can think of is your cock, sunghoon."

"But, what if your brother catch us? Don't you care about your brother anymore?"

"I don't care... I don't. The only thing I want is you, please" You whispered trying to keep your eyes open to look straight at sunghoon but the pleasure you're feeling is making it hard to do so.

You need him to swallow you. To possess you. To own you, you don't even care anymore.

"Hmm, let me think about that..." He replied looking down at your fucked up face like a predator having fun with his own prey.

He had you where he needs you. He successfully turn you into what he wants. It's not an accident when you saw him having sex with other girls. That's only one of the many traps sunghoon planted to make you come around. And, you did come around. Oh, you come around so good you didn't even have the idea. Besides, he's never been the good guy.

© hrdenha | 2024

[shouyuus]

rafayel w sensitive nipples… wuhssghahs he’d be a whimpering mess… him tied up while u play w his nipples uwjwneka he’d be so cute >w<

-🎀

+18, mdni, nipple-related hcs

okay but i've been thinking about this for like 3 whole days and here's the ranking of all the lads boys and how sensitive their nips would be, from least to most (in my opinion):

─── 黎深 ZAYNE

definitely the least sensitive -- not to say that he's not sensitive at all, but he'd be kind of curious the first time you brush your fingers against it, a tiny frown creasing his forehead

"trying something new?" he'd ask

you shrug, bending down to mouth at one of his dark nipples, even as he lets out a thin breath -- your eyes flick up, he's definitely not unaffected, but not as much as you'd like

eventually, he grows to like it, enjoy the tiny tingling sensation that shoots up his spine whenever you pinch at his nipples, the way they grew more sensitive the more you teased at them

but he'd always find a way to flip the script on you, to find you beneath him, his lips wrapped around your puffy nipples, because nothing could ever compare to the way you moan into his touch

─── 秦彻 SYLUS

you're kidding urself if you don't think this man is kinky and he definitely owns nipple clamps somewhere in that n19 compound okay

the first time you bring them out, he grins, thinks that you're asking him to try them on you, only to blink when you tell him that "hell' get his turn"

"ah -- so... kitty knows how to play --" but his voice cuts off in a gasp as you gently fasten the clamps to his nipples (you had to cuff down his hands too, just as an additional measure -- not that either of you really thought the cuffs would keep him from anything he really wanted)

he's delightfully responsive, even if it takes a while to get him there, but soon, he's hissing, his face contorted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, his cock kicking whenever you flick at one of the nipple clamps; the sight makes your thighs clamp

you don't manage to make him cum just from his nipples but... well, it's good to set stretch goals, right?

─── 夏以昼 CALEB

this man's sensitive, don't let him fool you -- he might try to be stoic, but just the feeling of your fingers on him will make him moan, let alone if/when you play with his nipples

he wouldn't be shy about it either, after a while, egging you on with quiet little groans, nodding when you glance up to check if he's okay

"f-feels good -- shit -- been dreaming about th-this for so long -- ah --"

"yeah? how long?" you ask, grinning as you tweak at him, mesmerized by the way his cock jumps, leaking against his toned stomach every time you pinch at him a bit harder

when you finally lean down to mouth at his rapidly reddening nipple, he makes a half-choked noise, head tossing back, his hips jumping so much you almost jolt away from him

"hold still --" you chide, and he immediately stiffens, casting you a half-hearted glare, "s-since when do i take orders from you?"; you meet his gaze with a sly smirk, "since i found out this new kink of yours, gege --"

─── 沈星回 XAVIER

definitely more sensitive than he lets on, will absolutely whimper the first time you pinch his nipple and try to hide it immediately, but it's a fruitless endeavor

he'll be panting, cock twitching in your hand, leaking down the length of his shaft after just a few minutes, his cheeks so red you'd be concerned he has a fever were it not for the circumstances

"nnggh -- please --" and it's so rare that he begs like this, truly begs, because he'll allow you the occasional half-exasperated "c'mon, please?" when he's trying to get you to do something but this -- it makes your skin pebble up in goosepimples just hearing him, so broken, so desperate

"yeah? please -- what?" you ask, one hand still teasing at his nipples, the other pumping his drooling cock in leisurely strokes

"need -- want more -- g-god --"; you allow yourself a giggle before leaning up to wrap your lips around his over-sensitive nipple

he cums embaressingly quick after that, though he refuses to verbally acknowledge it for a week before you get him to admit that he enjoyed it and that he wouldn't mind if you did it again... and soon

─── 祁煜 RAFAYEL

hands down the most sensitive nipples ever -- won't even wear super constricting shirts in the summer because of how they chafe at his nipples

the first time you so much as breathe against his chest, it has him squirming, and it doesn't take you long to figure out why -- and within seconds of your teasing, he's hard and oozing precum down his cock, soaking through his slacks

"th-that's not f-fair!" he whines, panting, his eyes unfocused as you continue to twist at his puffy nipples (they get so much softer and bigger when you tease them too), "us l-lemurians are b-built -- fuck -- mnghh -- dif-different than you humans --"

you grin, tugging delicately at his nipple just to hear him keen, watch the way his head tosses back into the mess of silken pillows, his knuckles going white in the tangle of sheets, "yeah? are all lemurians this sensitive?"

he puffs out a breath, shooting you a reproachful look, opening his mouth to retort, but it's cut off by a thick moan as you lean down to lave your tongue over the reddening skin, grinning as he makes a broken sort of whimper

"i wonder if you can cum from just this," you say out loud, to which he makes a doleful sort of pleading mewl, already too stimulated to speak

not five minutes later, you get your answer, and it turns out that yes -- yes he can.

[popcornpoppypop]

I'm Fine

A/N: I don't know what to call this, a companion piece maybe to Butterfly. It is a oneshot with the same OC essentially. I also can't seem to keep things short and sweet, this one got away from me again.

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, vomiting, illness, mentions of death, mentions of cancer. I have no beta so, this is edited by my tired butt. Sorry.

Summary: Callie is sick and stubborn. Jack is doing his best to get her to let him take care of her.

Word Count: 3,563

Callie was dying. Callie felt like she was dying. Day four of a flu that would not let up and she was warming up to the idea of eternal rest. She was currently laying in bed, bucket next to her, silently crying as her head pounded a relentless beat against her sinuses.

She let out a whine when she found her water bottle was empty, knowing getting up would make everything worse. She crawled out of bed and onto her feet and attempted to make her way to the kitchen. She made it to the doorway before she had to stop, the room was spinning too fast and her coordination was already not great.

The door swung open and Jack walked in, putting his bag down. His headphones blaring Sufjan Stevens causing him to not notice the pale, wobbly Callie.

“Jack!!” Callie’s voice broke through the music and made him jump slightly.

“What? Oh hell. You look-“

“Do not finish that sentence.” Callie scolded as she hung onto the door frame for dear life. Jack ran over and helped her sit down at the kitchen table.

“Baby, how long have you been this bad?” Jack said looking her over, pulling his stethoscope from his bag.

“It got worse around 1am I think. That’s when the spins started at least.” Callie groaned as he shown a light in her eyes.

“Any vomiting?”

“Don’t say vomiting.” She groaned. Jack nodded and pulled a thermometer out.

“Put it under your tongue please.” He shoved it in her mouth without hesitation.

“Jack-” Callie tried to mumble but was cut off when Jack shook his head.

“I wish you would have called, I could have come home early.” He sighed as he felt her lymph nodes.

“didn’t want to bother.” Callie mumbled. The thermometer beeped and Jack took it out, letting out a sigh that was more worry than exasperation.

“You have a fever, 102.7. Callie that is a bad fever.” Jack said zipping up his bag.

“I just need some Motrin and fluids.” She said squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to keep herself from getting dizzy.

“No. You need to go to the hospital for IV fluid therapy. You’re massively dehydrated. We gotta get that fever down or bad shit is going to happen.” Jack said massaging the back of her neck.

“I hate going to the hospital.” Callie started crying.

“I know, but I can’t take care of this here.” Jack sighed as he got up. He grabbed her sweatshirt and wrapped it around her. He packed her back with her kiddle and ipad and her now filled water bottle.

“Maybe just urgent care?” Callie shivered.

“They’ll just send you to the ER anyway. Come on. You know they’ll take good care of you.” He said holding out his hand.

“I don’t doubt that. I just hate making people work.” She sighed, taking his hand and slowly standing. Jack wrapped an arm around her waist to help keep her steady.

“What if I told you, all those people worked really hard so they can take care of you and they liked doing it?” He said helping her into his truck.

“I’d call you a fibber.” She said.

“Well, it’s sort of true.” Jack chuckled.

“Can you turn the AC on?” She whined.

“It’s like 50 outside. Sure.” He nodded, knowing the fever was probably getting worse by the minute. Jack drove as smooth as he could, every bump sending a wave of nausea crashing over Callie. When they arrived Callie slowly climbed out of the truck.

“I’ll get you a wheelchair.” Jack said.

“No! Don’t take a chair from someone who needs it.” Callie grumbled.

“Baby. You need it. You’re leaning on the truck right now because you can’t stand up on your own!” Jack threw his hands in the air.

“Here ya go Dr. Abbot.” A cheery young man came up to them with a wheelchair.

“Thank you Jamie. Will you park the truck for me?”

“I’m a valet Jack. That’s my whole job.” He chuckled taking the keys from him.

“You have to get in the wheelchair now or you’ll be impeding Jamie from doing his job.” Jack smiled. Callie scowled as she climbed into the chair.

“You did that on purpose.” She growled.

“I’m just taking care of you, you stubborn woman.” He kissed her temple. They rolled into the ER waiting and were both surprised by the lack of patients.

“Was it this, ya know, when you were here?” Callie asked, superstition preventing her from using the word slow.

“It was dwindling, but no. Robby always gets the good shifts. Lucky bastard.” Jack growled as he rolled forward.

“Dr. Abbot, Callie! What’s going on?” Lupe smiled.

“This one has a raging fever from the flu. Can you get her signed in?” Jack said.

“Lupe, is there a law about forcing a patient to get care against their wishes?” Callie hummed.

“Oh, um…”

“Callie, you’re fever is too high to pull this shit.” Jack barked.

“I’ll just buzz you two in.” Lupe laughed. Jack wheeled Callie through the doors and into the ER.

“Dana what’s open?” Jack asked as they approached the Hub.

“Hey, Sweetheart! Oh man, you look rough. Bay 2” She said walking them over.

“That’s how every girl wants to be greeted.” Callie groaned.

“Who is available right now?” Jack said as he put the brakes on the wheelchair.

“Anyone you want. I was going to grab Robby, assumed you’d want him.” Dana said helping Jack get Callie into the bed.

“I think a flu case is below the chief attending, surely.” Callie scoffed.

“I think the chief attending can make that call himself.” Robby laughed as he came around the corner.

“She’s got the flu, fever, vomiting, sweating, dizziness and severe dehydration. She can’t stand on her feet.” Jack stated.

“Right, let’s get another set of vitals. I want to know what the core temp is and get her started on fluid therapy and get lab work going.” Robby ordered.

“You got it Cap.” Dana disappeared.

“I’m fine.” Callie crossed her arms.

“Oh, I don’t buy that for a second.” Robby laughed.

“Baby, when I came home you were sliding down the damn doorframe.” Jack ran a hand over his face.

“I hate this. I hate being taken care of like this.” She snapped.

“Callie, we’re just going to make sure you’re not in danger. Once we know that and your fluids are set up, we’ll leave you alone. Deal?” Robby asked.

“Okay. Fine.” Callie wiped the frustrated tears from her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll take it. I’ll be back in a bit.” Robby left.

“I’ll be quick, Sweetheart.” Dana said as she came back in.

“You know I wouldn’t make you come in if I could treat you at home.” Jack said as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.  Callie just nodded, not trusting her voice. “I don’t know why I’m being so stubborn.” Callie sighed.

“You’re scared.” Jack said.

“Maybe.” She sighed.

“I’m going to get your blood, ok?” Dana asked. Callie nodded and turned away. Jack took her hand, rubbing soft circles on the space between her thumb and pointer.

“Can you have Robby sign off on some Zofran for her.” Jack ordered.

“Yeah of course. Blood’s all done sweetheart and we got that catheter placed. No more needles. Let me get another temp on ya.” Dana put the thermometer in her mouth and brushed the hair from her face.

“VIP treatment, I don’t remember the last time I saw Dana get blood.” Jack smiled.

“Only for you, Sweetheart.” Dana chuckled. “What was the last temp again?”

“102.7. Is it higher?” Jack asked, his body tensing.

“She’s at 103.” Dana nodded.

“Let’s get the fluids hooked up and bring some cold juice, her blood sugar might be dipping too.” Jack stated.

“I’m going to do all that because I know that needs to happen. You have to remember that you can’t be the one making orders for her.” Dana pointed. “I’ll let Robby know.” Dana ran off to get started.

“Jack…Jack I’m going to throw up.” Callie whined, her breathing becoming rapid and her forehead sweating as she fought the nausea. Jack jumped up, grabbing the emesis bag and holding it up to her face as her body lurched and vomited into it.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Jack held her hair out of her face. She gagged and spit the bile in her mouth.

“Sorry.” Callie coughed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Jack said rubbing the back of her neck.

“That’s so gross.”

“I’ve seen worse. I’ll be back.” He smiled. He tossed the bag into a trash can and went up to Robby.

“Hey, I put in the Zofran order, Princess is getting it ready with her fluids.” Robby said.

“Good, she just vomited. We gotta get that fever down.” Jack sighed leaning on the counter.

“We will. You would not be this worried if it was anyone else. Let me do my job and you just sit with her. Okay? I got her.” Robby patted Jack’s back.

“You suck at pep talks.”  Jack grumbled as he went back to Bay 2.

“You might taste it in the back of your throat, just so you know. Kind of a chemical taste.” Princess warned as she hooked up the IV.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“Did you push the Zofran?” Jack sat next to Callie, a hand rubbing up and down her thigh.

“Yes, did that first so the fluids didn’t upset her stomach. I got this, Dr. Abbot.” Princess smiled.

“Sorry, he’s a worrier when It comes to me. Just ignore him. He’s not here as a doctor.” Callie shot Jack a look.

“It’s okay. We’re used to him.” Princess chuckled. “Do you need anything?” She put a hand on Callie’s shoulder.

“Another blanket would be nice, it’s freezing.” Callie shivered. Princess nodded and scurried off.

“Feeling any better?” Jack asked.

“Not really, the immediate need to vomit has subsided.” Callie sighed as she got comfortable.

“Good. You tell me if anything changes, okay? I mean it.” He scolded.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Callie smiled.

“Here you go, fresh out of the warmer.” Princess said tucking a warm blanket around Callie.

“Thank you, you’re an angel.” Callie smiled as Princess left.

“You want your ipad or something?” Jack asked.

“I want you.”

“Callie. No.”

“Not like that! No, I meant I want you to hold me. Pervert.” She smiled.

“Likely story.” Jack winked as he got up and crawled into the bed with her.

“What would I do without you?” Callie rested her head on his chest.

“Die, probably.” He snorted.

“Yeah, probably.” She chuckled.

The fluids made Callie shiver, cold in her veins. Jack held her close letting his body heat warm her skin. Dana came in to check on things a few times, smirking and winking when she saw him. He was definitely getting shit later. Callie had fallen asleep finally, her head heavy on his shoulder.

“Jack, labs are back.” Robby whispered. Jack carefully unwrapped himself from Callie and went out to the nurses station.

“What’s it look like?”

“Like she’s got an infection. White blood cell count is high, but I’ve seen worse. We’ll get her on some antibiotics and as soon as her temp normalizes she can go home.” Robby said.

“Okay. I’m trying to be hands off.” Jack sighed, his fingers fidgeting with his shirt.

“Yeah, okay.” Robby chuckled. Jack shot him a glare as he went back to the bay.

“Jack..” Callie groaned.

“Hey baby. You got an infection, they’re going to get you on some antibiotics. Once that fever breaks we’ll get you home.” He told her.

“My neck hurts.” She sighed.

“Yeah, these beds suck.” Jack brushed the hair from her face.

“Jack, you’re not one.” Callie mumbled.

“What? What did you say?” Jack looked at her confused.

“You can’t be up and down.” She stumbled over her words.

“Callie, can you tell me where you are?” His brows knitted together in concern.

“Somewhere over there at things.” Her words falling from her lips with haphazard effort.

“Robby!” Jack yelled as he hit the call button.

“I’m not in that…” Callie’s head lolled from side to side.

“Callie, baby, can you focus on me. Can you tell me who I am?”

“What’s going on?” Robby and Dana came running over.

“I’m just…you in down…” Her eye unfocused.

“She’s not making any sense, lost all awareness of her surrounding. Fuck! She said her neck hurt!” Jack ran a hand through his hair.

“Get me the ampicillin and cefotaxime now, I want 50 mg per kg of both. Start the corticosteroid. Whats the core temp?” Robby snapped his gloves on as he examined Callie, shining lights in her eyes.

“Temp is at 104.2, pressure is tanked.” Dana barked.

“Get the cooling blankets out. We have to bring this temp down. I want the lab checking for bacterial meningitis.” Robby shouted.

“Stop, I want…Stop!” Callie whined.

“Callie, it’s Dr. Robby. I know you’re confused, but we’re going to help you.” Robby tried to console. Callie pushed his hands away.

“No! No!” She couldn’t understand what was happening.

“Callie, baby, you gotta let them work! You need to let them help you.” Jack held her face in his hands. Callie looked up at him, confused, before she started crying.

“It’s okay, I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Jack said kissing her forehead.

“Robby, Lab says it’s positive for meningitis.” Princess said.

“Okay, move forward with the antibiotics and steroids. We need to focus on breaking this fever.” He said.

“It’s going to be okay.” Jack kept saying over and over. Callie kept reaching out to him, unaware of herself or who else was there. Jack did his best to keep her calm.

“Jack…” She cried.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.” He said, his voice strained. Her hand fell from his and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her body started to convulse.

“She’s seizing!” Dana shouted.

“No! Callie!” Jack was out of his mind, he couldn’t do this again.

“Donnie! Get him out of here!” Robby barked.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jack growled.

“Brother, we need to work on her, you don’t need to see this okay? I’ve got her! I swear!” Robby said pushing him out of the room.

Donnie dragged Jack to the family room.  Sitting him down and putting a hand on his shoulder. Jack let his head fall into his hands.

“We’ve got her, man. We aren’t going to let you or her down.” Donnie said before running back out to help.

Jack paced back and forth the length of the family room like a lion at the zoo. His body vibrating with adrenaline needing to be released and emotions needing to be felt.

“Will you tell me about her one day?” Callie asked, her head resting on her propped up hand as they finished dinner. Jack looked up at her like she had just turned into a ghost.

“What?” He mumbled, his throat suddenly feeling tight.

“You don’t have to. I just…I would like to know the person I’m sharing you with.” She gave a soft smile.

“You aren’t sharing me with anyone.” He said looking down at his plate.

“Jack. I know better than that and so do you. It’s okay. I signed up for this.” She ran her hand up and down his bicep.

“I don’t want to scare you away.” He whispered.

“You won’t. It doesn’t have to be today or next week. Just, eventually.” Callie rubbed his shoulder where she knew he always held his emotional tension. He let himself lean into the touch as his mind whirled. He looked up at her, those big, bright eyes that made the world seem right. She wouldn’t run, he knew it.

“Her name was Jackie. She was a social worker. We met at the VA when I first got out.” He cleared his throat.

“So you have thing for girls trying to make the world better.” Callie smiled.

“I have a thing for girls that make the world better by being badass and have a smile that melts icebergs.” He snorted.

“What did she look like?”

“She was Mexican. Long, dark brown hair that had hints of red in it if the sun hit it just right. Big doe eyes that always had a hint of mischief in them,” he smiled at the memories he usually tried to ignore bubbling up. “She liked having her nails done, every three weeks like clockwork. Never the same color twice in a row. She said the designs made people open up just enough that she could wedge herself in. She was great at her job.” He didn’t realize the tears were falling down his cheek until Callie carefully wiped them away.

“She sounds amazing.”

“She was. She had the worst jokes, but they made her so happy. She loved telling people even if they groaned at how corny they were. She would play pranks on everyone she liked. That was how you knew you were in, she would lovingly fuck with you.” He laughed.

“How’d she die?” Callie’s voice was tight.

“Oh, ya know, cancer. She was fine and then she got a fever out of nowhere. Went into her regular doctor and they found lymphoma. She fought like hell. But it was just too aggressive. I remember she had been fighting falling asleep and I told her it was okay, just  go to sleep and I’d be there when she woke up. And something in my gut knew and she knew that she wasn’t going to. She didn’t.” Jack rubbed his hands over his face.  “I just can never shake the feeling that I should have noticed sooner. That I could have done something.” He shook his head. Callie leapt from her seat and pulled him to her chest.

“No, Jack. This isn’t your blame to carry. You were there for her, that was what she needed from you.” Callie told him.

“My therapist says that too.” He sighs.

“Weird, the professional who is a specialist on grief and guilt is right about grief and guilt. That never happens.” Callie chuckled.

“I love you.” He murmured as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you too. Thank you.”

The door to the family room opened and Robby walked in. Jack didn’t stop pacing, he felt like he would break if he did.

“Jack she’s stable. Seizing has stopped. Fever is still high but it’s going down, she’s okay.” Robby said, trying to calm his friend down.

“How long was she seizing?”

“just under three minutes.”

“Okay. Okay, her fever is going down?” Jack repeated.

“She’s at 102.8 right now. She’s going to be okay.” Robby stopped him and put his hands on his shoulders.

“Her white cells were elevated-”

“From the meningitis, it’s not cancer Jack.” Robby consoled.

“You don’t fucking know that. We should run more tests, maybe do a PET Scan.” Jack rambled.

“You know I can’t just run invasive tests without her consent. Besides she has no indications that would have us do a PET, that’s too much radiation to be using without cause. She’s young and it would effect her reproductive health.” Robby said.

“But…fuck I can’t do this again. I won’t survive it, I barely did last time.” Jack broke.

“She’s okay! She’s stable, it was just bad luck that she got bacterial meningitis in her thirties. That never happens. She’s going to make a full recovery, you aren’t losing her.” Robby pulled him into a tight hug. They both jumped at the sound of knocking.

“She’s awake. She’s asking for you Dr. Abbot.” Donnie said.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.” Jack took a deep breath, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“I’m putting you in for a few days off.” Robby told him.

“I’m fine.”

“You aren’t. Besides she’s going to need looking after. You’re mind is going to be focused on her and nothing else anyway. As it should be.” Robby gave his shoulder a pat and left.

Jack made a B-line to bay 2. Pulling the curtain back and seeing Callie awake made his chest loosen just a touch.

“Hey, baby. You fucking scared the shit out of me.” Jack smiled.

“Got to keep you on your toes.” Callie croaked, her voice hoarse.

“You’re going to be okay.” He said, brushing the hair from her face.

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me that easy.” She smiled.

“Never leave me. I can’t breathe without you now.” He leaned his forehead against hers.

“As long as it’s up to me, I’m staying right here with you.” She caressed his cheek.

“Sorry to interrupt, but they are coming down to bring you upstairs for overnight monitoring.” Robby smiled.

“Overnight? Oh man.” Callie sighed.

“You had a seizure Callie, we don’t take those lightly. It’s just for one night. Jack can stay with you the whole time. They’ll do repeat labs and if the fever is gone you’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

“Thank you for taking care of me, Robby.” Callie smiled.

“Of course. It’s our pleasure.” He smiled.

“I told you we like this shit.” Jack said.

“Oh please.” Callie chuckled.