#<- shes in the corner of the image on a pillow but shes still there

[glazedmcguffin]

I may have an AU where Miyamoto Usagi, Tomoe Ame and (comic) Murakami Gennosuke get transported to the present (aka Samurai Rabbit times) and have to deal with the culture shock and other such things (Rhogen - comic Gen's nickname - looking at his descendants and wondering how that happened, Tomoe realising she is a ronin because her Lord is dead in this time and Miyamoto having a very enthusiastic descendant following him around while he tries to adapt to modern times and culture). Also Jei might be there at some point :o) (P.S I won't be doing a lot of (if any) ship content to do with that one really popular ship in the fandom so if you're here for that, you unfortunately won't find it, sorry !!)

[hameesstuff]

“Marriage on Paper”

Title: “Marriage on Paper”

Pairing: Husband Doctor!Jaehyun x Wife CEO!Reader | Single dad! Jaehyun

Preview: Jaehyun hated her. Why does he need a wife when he's happy with his daughter? Another nuisance, just like his first wife. And she hated everything about him. But they clearly can't stay away.

Genre: Arranged marriage, Slow Burn, Single dad! Jaehyun | Enemies to Lovers | Humor | Domestic | Smut, Tension

Word Count: ~9.3k

___________________________________________

PART 1: THE MARRIAGE THAT LOOKED GOOD ON PAPER

Your lawyer had said it was a “mutually beneficial merger.”

You said nothing, mostly because you were too busy fixing your lipstick before the press conference that announced your arranged marriage to Seoul’s most annoyingly attractive surgeon—Dr. Jeong Jaehyun.

He, on the other hand, stood beside you like you were a mild inconvenience. Like he had better places to be—like an OR table or a luxury car headed away from this mess.

“Smile,” you hissed through your teeth as cameras clicked.

“I am,” he replied, deadpan.

You glanced sideways. “You look dead.”

He looked back. “That’s still a smile compared to you.”

The flashbulbs exploded. You two were golden. On paper, of course.

The marriage was arranged for reasons that made sense to your board of directors and his hospital’s board of trustees. Power couple image. Medical research grants. Business sponsorships. Tax benefits.

You? You were Seoul’s youngest and most intimidating CEO, known for firing underperformers in stilettos. You didn’t need a husband.

He? He was a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon with a God-complex, a tendency to ghost family events, and a four-year-old daughter named Jiyeon who looked like a doll and talked like a drill sergeant.

The man was cold. Distant. But unfortunately, stupidly good-looking. Which made it worse.

The wedding was private, clinical. A few papers signed. A few photos taken. Your designer dress was stunning, and so was his smug silence.

The next day, you moved into the penthouse apartment you were now legally required to share.

You saw the child before you saw him.

Jiyeon sat at the kitchen island, eating Cheerios from a pink bowl.

She looked up at you with big round eyes and said, “You’re the lady who married my Dad. ”

You blinked. “Yes.”

She nodded like a CEO. “Okay. I’m not allowed to watch horror movies. I like strawberries. And don’t touch Mr. Bubbles.”

“Mr. Bubbles?”

“My bear” she said, pointing to a stuffed animal on the counter.

Right then, Jaehyun walked in—hair messy from post-call exhaustion, in scrubs, rubbing his eyes.

He looked at you like the flu.

You looked back like antibiotics.

“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly.

“Afternoon,” you corrected. “It’s 2 p.m.”

He gave a faint smirk. “You really don’t know how to rest, do you?”

You ignored him, turned to Jiyeon. “I brought you strawberry jam.”

She grinned. “Okay, nevermimd I like you now"

At work, you crushed negotiations and led meetings like a queen. At home, your mornings began with accidental run-ins and arguments about kitchen cabinets.

He liked silence. You liked music.

He liked Jiyeon’s toys in one corner. You let her play wherever she wanted.

He liked routine. You liked control.

You both hated each other.

But Jiyeon?

She made it hard to stay angry.

One night, you came home late from a board dinner, heels in hand, headache pounding—and found her asleep in your bed, Mr. Bubbles’ tucked beside her.

A sticky note on your pillow read:

“You looked sad this morning. I saved you a place. — Jiyeon”

You didn’t cry.

You just laid down beside her and let her tiny hand wrap around your finger.

And somewhere around night fourteen, Jaehyun came home early, leaned against the kitchen counter while you reheated soup.

“You work too late,” he muttered.

“You don’t say much.”

Silence.

Then he added, “She likes you.”

You turned, surprised. “She’s easy to like.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze unreadable.

“She didn’t like my ex.”

You blinked. “Was she her mother?”

A long pause.

“No. Her mother left before Jiyeon turned two.”

A strange ache stirred in your chest.

And that was the first time Jaehyun ever told you something personal.

No sarcasm. No sharp wit. Just the truth.

Later that night, you passed each other in the hallway.

He didn’t say anything.

But his hand brushed yours.

And he didn’t pull away.

PART 2: TENSION BETWEEN WALLS

You’d thought it was easier—pretending.

Pretending the apartment wasn’t too quiet. That you didn’t hear Jiyeon’s tiny feet running to greet him. That your heart didn’t shift, uninvited, at the sight of Jaehyun brushing her hair back like he’d done it a thousand times.

You weren’t looking for softness.

But somehow, it kept slipping through the cracks he never meant to open.

He came home late that Tuesday.

Jiyeon was asleep on the couch, curled up with Mr Bubbles. You were in the kitchen, pacing, still wearing your pencil skirt, blazer flung over a chair.

Jaehyun entered silently, a gym bag over one shoulder, shirt clinging damp to his skin from a post-op workout.

You stared at him. “You forgot to text.”

He blinked. “Didn’t know I had to.”

“You didn’t. But Jiyeon waited by the door for two hours.”

That silenced him.

He exhaled, dropped the bag, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice quieter than you expected. “There was a code blue. I couldn’t leave.”

Your jaw locked, arms crossed. “I’m not asking for explanations. I’m just—”

“Worried?” he cut in, gaze sharpening. “Or mad because it disrupted your schedule?”

You bit your cheek. “Do you always push away people who care?”

He didn’t answer.

Just looked at you.

And for a second, neither of you breathed.

The tension in the room pulsed like a heartbeat. You could see it in his eyes—that restrained edge, that wall he kept up even when he wasn’t trying to.

Then he said, “She listens to you more than me.”

You blinked. “She’s four. She likes strawberry jam and picture books. That doesn’t make me her mother.”

“No,” he agreed. “But she smiles when you come home.”

Your heart stuttered. “That’s not love.”

“No,” he murmured. “But it’s the beginning of something.”

The next night, you found him asleep on the couch, Jiyeon curled against his chest. His arm wrapped protectively around her, lips parted slightly, brow relaxed. It was the only time he ever looked peaceful.

You brought him a blanket.

You didn’t wake him.

You just stood there for too long—watching the man who was supposed to be your husband feel like the stranger you were starting to understand.

At breakfast, he poured your coffee without asking.

“You drink it black,” he said, not looking up.

You stared. “How did you—?”

“You mutter in the mornings.”

You blinked again, flustered.

He finally looked at you, and it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t guarded. It was… warm.

You looked away.

This wasn’t in the plan.

PART 3: FRACTURES AND FLAME

The event was meant to be formal—clinical, even.

Your company’s healthcare merger dinner, filled with glass clinks and conversations too polished to mean anything real. You wore navy silk backless, sharp heels, and a CEO’s smile. Controlled. Charming. Unshakable.

You hadn’t expected Jaehyun to come.

But there he was—tall, poised in black, medical charm polished with just enough distance to draw eyes without asking for them.

He stood out like a mistake you wanted to make twice.

Your assistant whispered, “Is that your husband?”

You gave a tight smile. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Jaehyun, on cue, raised a brow from across the room. Heard it.

You stood beside each other for the first half hour, exchanging polite pleasantries with investors. He only spoke when needed. Let you lead.

But his eyes?

They didn’t leave your face.

Not once.

Enter David Seo—your firm’s latest clinical advisor and an old college flirtation turned slightly unhinged admirer. Handsome. Wealthy. Dangerous in that loud, performative way Jaehyun never was.

David leaned too close as he spoke to you, fingertips brushing your lower bare back once. Twice.

Jaehyun’s glass tapped the table with a soft clink. Not loud. But pointed.

When David asked, “Are you happy, though?”—Jaehyun was no longer beside you.

He was behind you.

Shoulders squared.

Voice calm. “She is. But thanks for checking.”

David blinked. “Doctor Jung, I presume?”

Jaehyun’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I don’t recall you being relevant in her life.”

“Jaehyun —please.”

David scoffed and walked off with a muttered “territorial.”

You glared. “Was that necessary?”

Jaehyun’s gaze was hard. “He was touching you.”

“I can handle it.”

He stepped closer. “I know. But you shouldn’t have to.”

That silenced you.

Because it was… sincere.

And it rattled you more than his jealousy.

Later, in the town car home, silence sat thick between you.

You looked out the window. “You don’t get to be jealous.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then, softly: “I’m not jealous.”

You turned to him.

He added, “I’m angry. That someone thinks he can touch you like you’re available.”

You scoffed. “I am available. Our marriage is fake, remember?”

His voice dropped to a low murmur.

“Don’t say that in past tense. Not when you look at me like that.”

You turned your head quickly.

But you didn’t deny it.

PART 4: FRACTURE

The hospital walls blurred around him.

All he heard was the voice on the phone.

“Dr. Jung, your daughter’s been in an accident—hit by a distracted driver near the school exit. She’s stable. But she’s asking for you.”

He didn’t remember how he got there.

He barely remembered throwing off his white coat, running through traffic, or leaving his car at the ER entrance with the keys still inside.

His chest cracked open the moment he saw the door labeled Pediatric Trauma – 407.

And then—

Her voice.

Soft. Frayed.

“Sweetheart, you’re so brave. I’m right here, okay? It’s gonna be okay.”

He stepped in like the air wasn’t heavy with fear.

You sat on the bed beside Jiyeon, her tiny hand gripped in yours, your blouse torn at the shoulder, a gash on your forehead bleeding down the temple. Your blazer draped over her legs. You looked wrecked—but calm. Like you’d been crying for hours and were holding it in just for Jiyeon.

Jaehyun stopped in the doorway.

You turned.

And for the first time—there was no sarcasm. No teasing. Just you. Holding his daughter like she was yours.

“She wanted ice cream..” you said softly. “The cab drove through a red light. I protected her the best I could Jaehyun. I'm sorry.”

His knees almost buckled.

He knelt beside the bed and brushed Jiyeon’s bandaged forehead. Her eyes fluttered.

“Dad…”

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

Her fingers loosened from yours—and slowly found his. She fell back asleep.

Later that night, the nurse gave them clearance to leave.

But Jaehyun didn’t drive home.

He booked a nearby hotel. For Jiyeon’s comfort, he told himself. For rest.

But truthfully—it was because his hands were still shaking.

You stood by the window, changed into one of his spare shirts, hair damp from the hospital shower, bruised and tired and more beautiful than he ever remembered.

“You could’ve died,” he said, quietly.

You looked at him. “So could she.”

“She asked for you before me.”

“She was scared.”

“I’m scared.”

The confession was quiet. Raw. And terrifying.

You didn’t reply. Just walked over.

“I thought I lost her,” he murmured. “And then I saw you with her—and it hit me. She’s not the only one I’ve been afraid of losing.”

You looked up.

And in one moment, every wall shattered.

He stepped forward, cupped your face gently—brushed his thumb over the cut at your temple like it hurt him to see you hurt.

And then—

His lips found yours.

Not gently.

Not softly.

But like he was making up for every second he hadn’t.

You reached up and cupped his jaw. “You don’t have to be afraid. Not with me.”

His breath hitched at that, and then he kissed you — slowly, reverently, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted in case this was all a dream.

He lifted you onto the counter gently, standing between your knees as he kissed you again, slower this time — not with urgency, but with weight. Your fingers slid into his hair, his hands resting on your thighs, thumbs rubbing soft circles against your skin like he was grounding himself in the reality of you.

“I want you,” he whispered back. “But not just like this.”

“Then how?”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Like I’ve finally found my home.”

Your eyes stung, but you smiled.

“I want you too,” you breathed. “Like that.”

The world faded around you as he lifted you from the counter and carried you, lips brushing your temple, your shoulder, your hand. He laid you down in bed like you were something fragile — not weak, but precious. His shirt fell away, yours followed. No rush. No tension. Just layers falling away until only skin and breath remained.

His touch was slow. He kissed down your collarbone, between your breasts, over your stomach — pausing at every place his fingers had once only brushed. He whispered soft praises, nothing crude, just tender confessions: You’re so soft. I’ve never wanted anyone this way. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make you feel safe.

When he finally entered you, it wasn’t the stretch you noticed first — it was the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, not even for a second.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as he moved inside you with the kind of patience you didn’t know existed. Every roll of his hips felt like a promise. Every brush of his lips, a vow.

It built slowly — heat pooling low in your stomach, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes because it wasn’t just pleasure anymore. It was release. It was love.

You whispered his name like a prayer.

And he whispered yours back like it was the answer to everything he’d been missing.

When you came, it was soft and trembling, your breath catching in his mouth as you kissed him through it. He followed, moaning low and deep into your neck, his arms tightening around you like he was terrified to let go.

But he didn’t move away after.

He stayed on top of you, inside you, his fingers tracing your face like he was trying to remember this version of you forever.

“I love you,” he finally whispered, voice breaking.

You touched his lips with your fingers.

“I know. I feel it.”

And in that bed — skin to skin, heart to heart — you weren’t just lovers, or husband and wife.

You were something softer. Something sacred.

You were his again.

And for the first time… he let you be.

Final Epilogue – “Moonlight & Laughter”

The birthday dinner had ended with cake crumbs on everyone’s clothes and frosting in Jiyeon’s hair, but none of you wanted to go home just yet.

So Jaehyun had driven the four of you to the quiet park near the hospital, the one that stayed open late — the one with the soft lanterns that hung from the trees like sleepy fireflies.

Now the air was crisp and cool, the sky navy and full of stars. And you sat on a picnic blanket in the middle of the park, the soft hush of grass beneath you, your newborn cradled against your chest.

Jiyeon was running in wild little circles nearby, her pink dress now stained with ice cream, her laughter rising into the trees like music.

“Dad! Look!” she shouted, pointing to the stroller where Jaehyun had tucked the baby’s diaper bag. “He smiled at me! Baby smiled!”

Jaehyun, sitting beside you, chuckled and called back, “That’s because you’re his favorite.”

“I know!”

She bent down and kissed her baby brother’s forehead — all sticky fingers and warm cheeks — and whispered, “You were my birthday wish”

The End.

Feedback is welcome :)

___________________________________________

[whore4mattsturniolo]

IFHY2 - Dealer!Chris x Stoner!Reader

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

"Fuck!" Chris threw his back against the headboard, breathing hard as he dug his fingertips into the hips of the girl bouncing on top of him, both of their moans loud and exaggerated. The obnoxious creaking of the bed echoed behind the slamming of the headboard with each rough thrust. "C'mon...know you can do better than that," His hips buck up to meet her slowing movements as his irritation grew. God, he couldn't wait for this to be over

"Take it. Fuckin' take it," he almost growled, his grip harsh in her skin as he chased his high. The girl suddenly throws her head back in pleasure, her legs shaking around him as a borderline pornographic moan is ripped from her throat. "Shiit...There you go..." He shudders as he spills his seed into the condom. His eyes flutter shut, slumping deeper against the soft pillows.

The girl giggles, cuddling close next to Chris, much to his dismay. He clicks his tongue, sighing heavily as she lays against his arm. "How was that?" She traces patterns along his chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Normally, Chris would've immediately smacked her hand away from him. But he was just too out of it, his pupils dilated, his eyes red and dry. He could barely bring himself to turn his head to look her in the eyes.

He lets out a dry laugh, running his tongue over his straight teeth. "It was a'ight," he watches as her expression shifts from cocky to pouty, her brows furring and her lips pursing together. "Nothin' to write home about," he continues as he shifts to sit up straight.

"Alright?" She asks, her voice growing softer. She looks up at Chris with widened eyes. She was practically begging for reassurance. From Chris of all people.

"What d'you want, a fuckin' Yelp review or somethin'?" He scoffs. He pulls up his boxers and moves off the bed, the girl still following him with her eyes. He reaches to grab his jacket, discarded on her desk chair with the rest of his clothes as rummages around the pockets. Finally, he pulls out a lighter and a preroll, gripping the lighter tight in his hand. In his search, another joint fell to the ground, this one wrapped in Hello Kitty print. His heart dropped. A soft sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head, almost in disappointment, as memories of you start to surge through his head.

"What's that?" The girl points down at his feet, barely able to see the figure of the fallen object. She starts to put her own shirt and underwear back on, still keeping a watchful eye on Chris.

Her voice breaks his thoughts, his head shooting up to look at her. "Don't fuckin' worry about it," his voice is harsh, growing defensive as he tries to get the thought of you out of his head. He shoves the joint deep in the jacket pocket, burying it and any thoughts of you into its dark depths. "Shit's not f'you. So it's nothin' for you to worry about," he runs his fingers through his hair and sits back on the bed. The girl huffs, but she knows Chris well enough to not press the issue. Until she sees the lighter in his hand.

There was a girl on it. The most beautiful girl either of them had ever seen. Not just any girl, though. It was you.

She looks down at Chris' hand, unable to take her eyes away from the image. She watches his emotionless expression, his blue eyes once so magnetic, now a dull grey. He flicks the lighter a few times until the small flame begins to illuminate his face, highlighting the stubble he had began to grow along his cheeks and jawline. The girl swallows, "Who...Who's that? On the light?" She asks gently, watching him take a puff of the joint. His slumps back down into the bed, blowing out a thick cloud into the quiet bedroom. He looks down at the lighter in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the picture over and over.

"Nobody," Chris shakes his head, throwing the lighter to the side of him, taking another hit from the joint, his eyes growing heavier with each inhale. "Don't worry about it," He says as the girl huffs in annoyance, crossing her arms. He holds the joint up to her lips, watching her take a deep breath. As she exhales, she begins to cough, immediately reaching for the can of Whiteclaw on her nightstand.

"Don't look like nobody," she retorts once she leaves her coughing fit. Her cheeks are flushed red, her eyes already bloodshot as the marijuana surges through her system, growing higher with each cough.

"Told you s'nobody. Means it's fuckin' nobody," he says flatly, his voice rough and mean. Inside, though, he was a mess. He was begging the girl to leave it alone. Leave you alone. He wished he could forget about you altogether, but he couldn't. It was impossible.

He left the girl's house as soon as they killed off the joint. She was practically knocked out on his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his chest. He had to move stealthily just to get her off of him. He threw on the rest of his clothes, turned her dim lamp off and left as quick as he had arrived.

He stood outside for a moment, the cold Boston air sending a chill down his spine and raising the goosebumps on his pale skin. He couldn't get you out of his head. No matter what or who he did, you were the only thing he could think of. How you'd laugh at his jokes like they were the funniest thing in the world. God, how he'd do anything just to hear your voice again. See you happy. He could only hear your cries of frustration echoing in his head each time he thought of you, and it made his heart ache.

Chris was never the one to care about a fling after the fact. Sure, he had girls he'd hooked up with more than once, maybe even on a regular basis. But never enough to actually care about them. He didn't know what they did for work, their favorite color, or how they liked the temperature of the car. He simply didn't care to know.

So why did he care about you?

He sucks his teeth, bitterly pressing at the buttons on his phone, his fingers hardening in the freezing air. The night is quiet. Too quiet. No chirping of crickets, no cars driving by, no dogs barking. He breathes out, the cloud of vapor escaping out his mouth as he enters his Audi. As he sits in the car, his leg starts to bounce up and down, though he wasn't sure if it was from the chill of being outside or from the sheer anxiety brewing inside him. Sighing, he finally presses the call button.

It rings, and rings, and rings, before going to voicemail. He wasn't expecting you to answer anyway. You said it yourself: you fucking hated him. He groans, debating on if he should call again, or leave a message, or give up.

At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or press 1 for more options

"H-hey, Angel," he says. The hum of the car engine almost drowns out his low voice as he sits in the parking lot of some run-down apartments. "S'been a minute. Um...look, kid...I know we—fuck this is so stupid—" Chris mutters to himself, but he can't stop talking. His voice is gravely and his words are slurred, effortlessly falling off his tongue. "Fuck...I know we had a...a lil' disagreement or whatever...but...I wanna see you again."

He runs his hand through his hair, twirling a strand in between his fingers and curling it. "Swear you did some witch shit on me or somethin'...been the only thing on my mind..." He lets out a breathy laugh. "Almost wanna say 'I miss you' or some shit..." His voice trails off, leaning back further against the headrest, tugging at a loose thread in his jacket. He wants to stop himself from talking, before he says something he regrets. But he can't. He needs to talk to you, even if you're not talking back. "Fuck...M'really fucked up right now, angel...mixed—mixed some shit together earlier...but don't worry...m'not gonna drive. Just gonna sit here...Sit here n'talk to you..."

Chris examines his surroundings, always alert for anything, at all times of night. But there's nothing. Not at this hour. Nothing to distract him from his vulnerability. "Mmm...M'sorry angel. M'sorry for makin' y'cry...Don't ever want y'to cry...I'll getcha the flowers...Better than the ones we knocked over on Valentine's," he laughs softly at the memory, remembering the face you made seeing them shatter on the floor. "Just hit me back when you get this, a'ight? Wanna see you...I'mma...I'mma make it right...'kay?" And with that, he hangs up, running his hands over his face after throwing his phone in the cupholder next to him.

sorry for edging, pt 3 coming soon

[paxaz535]

CONTROL - (5)

last part

it’s nika’s turn to get punished. She’s stubborn as hell.

overstim - strap usage - toys

——

You’d only been gone for twenty seven minutes.

Just enough time to grab snacks and reload at the gas station.

When your phone lit up, you expected something chill.

Instead?

fantastic four (4/4)

Nika

don’t rush.

the bed misses you tho.

*Attached Image*

Nika. Laying on her stomach.

Panties down.

Fingers between her legs, spreading herself wide open.

Tongue out. Middle finger up.

Paige spoke. “this girl is crazy.”

Azzi added on, “i’m gonna ruin her.”

You just smiled.

“I got her.”

—

She was still in the same position—on your bed, phone in hand, one AirPod in.

Didn’t even look up.

“Oh, y’all back? Took long enough.”

You said nothing. Paige locked the door behind you. Azzi set the bags down.

You walked up to the bed slowly.

Nika looked up and grinned. “I was just—”

You grabbed her ankle, yanked her down to the edge.

She gasped.

“I dare you to say one more thing,” you said low.

She blinked up at you, flushed but still grinning. “Someone’s mad I had a little fun?”

Wrong answer.

—

You shoved her legs apart.

Ripped the panties the rest of the way off.

Pulled out the bullet vibrator and pressed it straight to her clit.

“Fuck—!” she jerked.

You leaned over her, one hand around her throat.

“You don’t come. You don’t speak. You don’t look at me unless I tell you.”

She smirked. “But you missed me, huh?”

You gritted your teeth and turned the vibe up a level.

She squirmed under your grip, her body arching off the bed.

But she still smiled.

“You’re so dramatic,” she breathed.

Click—up another level.

Now she was moaning, thighs twitching.

You pulled her chin up. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

She met your eyes.

“…make me.”

—

You flipped her over.

Ass in the air. Legs spread wide.

You grabbed the lube and coated the strap—thick, wide, heavy. No mercy.

She looked back at you, hair a mess.

“You’re gonna hit the spot or waste my time?”

You shoved in deep.

One long stroke. No warm-up.

She screamed into the sheets.

“Still feel like talking?” you asked.

She just moaned.

You grabbed her hips and started pounding.

Relentless.

Your hips smacked into hers over and over, her back arching hard. She gripped the sheets like they were the only thing saving her.

Her voice cracked. “F-fuck, wait—slow down—”

“Oh, now you wanna ask for something?” Paige taunted from the couch.

You reached forward, pulled her head back by her hair.

“Don’t run,” you growled.

She was drooling now.

Body shaking, thighs clapping loud.

You could have let her come.

But instead, you pulled out.

And walked away.

—

She was whining.

On the bed, hands tied now—wrists to the headboard, ankles spread and strapped wide open with Azzi’s belt.

Vibrator back on her clit.

Level 3.

Level 4.

She was gasping, squirming, tears starting to slip down her face.

“PLEASE,” she cried. “Please—please let me—fuck—!”

“Let you what?” Azzi asked, circling the bed. “You wanna come?”

“Yes—yes, I need it—”

You kneeled between her legs and slapped her inner thigh once.

“Say sorry.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry I sent the pic—”

“No,” you snapped. “Say it right.”

She looked at you, shaking. “I’m sorry for acting like a dumb slut… for thinking I could play with you.”

“And?”

“…and I’ll be good now.”

You smiled.

“You’re not even close to done.”

—

You climbed back on top, strap slick and glistening.

Pressed it against her.

She whimpered.

“You’re gonna take it,” you said. “All of it.”

You slid in slow, watching her eyes roll back.

Then—

You. Wrecked. Her.

Thrusts deep, steady, precise. You angled it just right—hit her g-spot with every movement.

She was crying now.

Back arched. Body shaking violently. Screaming into the pillows.

Paige watched with a smirk, filming casually from the corner.

Azzi walked over and whispered something in her ear—made her moan louder.

And when you leaned down, biting her shoulder, she finally cracked.

“PLEASE—m’gonna—please let me come—”

You kept fucking her through it. Harder. Deeper.

“Cum.”

She exploded.

Legs spasmed. Squirt shot out, soaking the sheets. She sobbed through the orgasm, voice hoarse, body twitching.

You pulled out and watched her collapse.

—

You untied her wrists gently.

Wiped her face.

She didn’t move—just curled into your lap, cheek on your thigh, body shaking in aftershocks.

“Still feel like being stubborn?” you whispered.

“…no…” she mumbled.

“You gonna show off again?”

“…only if you want me to.”

You laughed softly and kissed her forehead.

Azzi brought her water.

Paige handed her a blanket.

You rubbed slow circles on her back.

She whispered something before falling asleep:

“…worth it.”

this is the end of the series, now i’m gonna start writing the one shots that you all suggested so don’t worry!

[lushleona]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 1st. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; being an animagus comes with its perks, and its unexpected challenges. especially when you’re sick, stubborn, and your brother’s best friend is trying his best to take care of you. words ; 1.8k warnings ; fluff, bunny animagus!reader, brother’s best friend!mattheo, illness

navigation masterlist

“Damn it. They’re out of stock,” Mattheo muttered, a scowl darkening his sharp features as his gaze swept over the empty display in front of him. The faint hum of activity in Honeydukes buzzed around him, but it was all background noise to his singular mission: finding your favorite treat.

The rich scent of melted caramel and powdered sugar clung to the warm air, but it did nothing to soothe his disappointment. He’d ventured out with Theo, braving the frost-bitten path to Hogsmeade, bundled against the chill of the late December wind, determined to bring a spark of joy to you after a week spent curled up under blankets, your feverish state stealing the light from your eyes.

“She’ll survive, Mattheo,” Theo drawled, arms crossed lazily as he leaned against a wall beside a towering stack of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

Mattheo’s fingers raked through the unruly mess of dark curls that framed his face, eyes narrowing in frustration as he muttered, “She loves Cauldron Cakes too, doesn’t she? Maybe I could grab one of those…” But even as the words left his mouth, doubt clouded his expression. “No, those give her stomach aches.”

“Careful,” Theo’s smirk broke through his stoic demeanor, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “One wrong bite, and she might turn into a rabbit for a week.”

Mattheo’s lips quirked, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that managed to soften the sharp edges of his expression. The image of you sitting on a pillow, fur fluffy as clouds, with wide, quivering eyes and twitching ears, filled his mind. It was a sight he’d seen a lot more than once, and the thought warmed him more than the heavy wool of his coat. “That would be adorable,” he murmured, more to himself than to Theo.

His gaze drifted back to the shelves, fingers brushing past jars of fizzing whizbees and licorice wands, seeking any trace of the sweets you loved. He knew every preference, every quirk—the way your nose crinkled when you were trying not to laugh, how you always saved the last bite of chocolate for him, even if he pretended not to notice.

Theo’s playful scoff drew him back to the present, breaking the spell. “Right, lover boy, grab what you can so we can move on. The Weasley twins’ shop won’t raid itself.”

Mattheo’s smirk deepened as he reached for a small box tucked at the back of the shelf, its golden wrapping gleaming under the enchanted lights. If he couldn’t find the chocolate frogs, he’d settle for something close enough, something to make your eyes light up when he returned.

The sharp knock at the front door broke through the haze of your lethargy, and you groaned, rolling your eyes at the interruption. Each subsequent rap grew louder and more insistent, a persistent reminder of your brother’s tendency to forget his keys.

With a reluctant sigh, you dragged your aching body off the couch and trudged to the door, your irritation simmering just beneath the surface. When you swung the door open, your expression was a mix of annoyance and fatigue, only to be met by the amused snort of Mattheo, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“I was resting, you asshole,” you snapped, the heat of annoyance still lingering in your voice as you shot a glare at your brother.

“Be grateful I got you to walk around a bit,” he replied, a playful grin spreading across his face as he ruffled your hair affectionately. “Your legs are gonna freeze in place if you lay around any longer.”

You didn’t bother to respond, instead heading back to the couch and flopping down onto your stomach, your focus returning to the flickering images on the screen. The warmth of the blankets cocooned you, a small comfort in your weakened state.

“I got you something, but I’ll only give it to you if you promise to stop being so grumpy,” Mattheo teased, settling beside you, his presence radiating warmth.

Your heart quickened at the thought that he had been thinking of you while out with Theo. Maybe your crush-blinded mind was reading into it too much, but the notion sent a thrill through you. You’d always harbored a secret crush on him, and while you were sure he cared for you, it was a different kind of love—one that you longed to bridge.

“Depends on what it is, Matty,” you replied, attempting to mask the fluttering hope in your chest.

He leaned in slightly, his tone playful. “Well, I got you Fizzing Whizbees because they didn’t have any chocolate frogs, but I’m a little scared they’ll—”

“I’m not gonna change into a bunny,” you interrupted, your voice sharper than intended as you raised a hand in protest. The memory of yesterday flooded back—seven embarrassing transformations triggered by the slightest discomfort had left you feeling humiliated.

“But—”

“Just give it to me,” you cut him off again, rolling your eyes dramatically. Yet, as you snatched the colorful box from his hands, you paused, a genuine smile breaking through your irritation. “Thank you.”

The way you clutched the chocolates tightly in your hands made it clear you had no intention of sharing, and a chuckle escaped Mattheo’s lips. He leaned back, clearly pleased to see a hint of happiness in your tired demeanor.

But the second you popped the first piece into your mouth, a familiar pang of regret bloomed in your stomach, a sensation you had come to dread. It was an all-too-familiar feeling that washed over you with alarming speed.

In an instant, your body transformed, and where you had been, there now sat a tiny, fluffy rabbit, complete with floppy ears and wide, embarrassed eyes.

The boys burst into laughter, their mirth echoing in the cozy living room as you thumped a paw against the floor in frustration.

“I fucking told you! You’re an idiot, Y/N/N,” Mattheo teased, his laughter infectious.

Your tiny heart raced as you glared up at Mattheo, your expressive little eyes narrowing in annoyance. The warmth of the room felt overwhelming now, each laugh echoing like a distant thundering noise. The sensation of soft fabric beneath you—the couch cushions—was comforting, but the sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over you. Here you were, reduced to a fluffy little creature, while the two boys stood there, delighting in your misfortune.

You hopped over to Mattheo, your little teeth nipping at his ankle in a show of defiance.

Mattheo yelped as your teeth grazed his skin, the surprise of the nip sending a jolt through him. He glanced down at you, his smirk widening as he took in the fierce determination in your beady little eyes.

He knelt down, curiosity gleaming in his chocolate brown eyes as he reached out a hand. “Aw, don’t be mad, little bun,” he said, his voice dropping to a hushed, gentle tone that contrasted sharply with the raucous laughter. “You’re adorable like this. You’ve got the perfect little nose.”

He reached out, scooping you up gently in his large hands.

His fingers gently stroked along your soft fur, a soothing motion that seemed to calm your restless spirit. “Maybe we should keep you like this for a while,” he mused, his tone teasing yet tinged with a hint of sincerity. “Might be easier to handle.”

Your small body wriggled within Mattheo's grasp, the soft fur tickling his palms as you squirmed. The warmth of his touch was comforting, yet the confined space felt stifling. With a sudden burst of energy, you leapt from his hands, landing gracefully on the plush cushions of the couch.

The sensation of the cotton beneath your paws was a relief and you found yourself nestling deeper into the folds of the blanket, your small form disappearing into the sea of fabric.

Mattheo chuckled at the sight of you buried under the blankets, only your tiny twitching nose visible above the soft pile. "Huh, looks like someone wants to stay cozy," he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. “But seriously, are you planning on staying like this forever?"

A sudden sneeze shook your tiny frame, causing you to reflexively scrunch up your nose and shut your eyes tight. As the sneeze subsided, a strange sensation washed over you—a tingling, shifting feeling that spread throughout your body.

Your vision blurred for a moment, and then, just as quickly, cleared. When your eyes focused once more, you found yourself no longer a bunny, but rather your human self again, nestled among the blankets. You blinked slowly, taking in your surroundings anew.

Mattheo let out a teasing whistle as he took in the sight of you, now returned to your human form. His eyes roamed appreciatively over your features, lingering on the flushed cheeks and tousled hair. "Well, well," he murmured, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Looks like someone's feeling a bit warm."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You know, I think you might be even prettier like this." His fingers trailed lightly along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your cheeks burned at Mattheo's words, and you felt a flutter in your chest as his fingers brushed against your skin. But before you could respond, you caught yourself pushing his hand away, the action both instinctive and deliberate.

"I-I'm cold," you stammered, trying to hide the embarrassment that colored your voice.

Mattheo's chuckle was soft and indulgent as he pulled his hand back, a twinkle in his eye. "No more candy for you, bun," he teased gently, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Maybe some soup will do."

With that, he rose to his feet, towering over you as he made his way to the kitchen. You watched him go, your heart warming at the simple act of care. It wasn't every day that someone looked after you so tenderly, especially not someone as reckless as Mattheo.

As the sounds of pots clanging and liquid simmering drifted from the kitchen, you found yourself smiling, despite the lingering flush on your cheeks. Maybe being sick wasn't so bad after all, if it meant having Mattheo fuss over you like this.

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101

© lushleona 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[alwaysurvalentine]

marry me (if I ever get the nerve) - st fic

Based on a prompt from my @steddiebingo 12 Days of Christmas card: 'proposal'

wc: 2.4k | cw: none

enjoy! 💛

~

One.

A crowd is blocking the pathway when Eddie and Steve round the corner. Steve cranes his neck to see around the crowd and then scoffs. 

“What, what is it?” Eddie’s trying to see through the people in front of him, but every time he shifts, they do too. 

“Someone’s proposing in the middle of the park. Can’t even imagine how embarrassed she feels right now. Can you imagine?” 

Steve continues to rant, one hand waving in the air while he vents and the other one tugging Eddie along the edges of the crowd to get past. 

Marriage has been brought up between them before, an idea that seemed nice but somehow far away. Even without saying it, Eddie knew it was something that Steve wanted. It’d been an easy plan from there: save up money for a ring, pop the question, and then marry the fuck out of Steve Harrington. So far all Eddie had done was start saving for a ring. 

He stumbled upon the perfect ring just last month, a simple gold band with the option to engrave the inside. Right now he can’t decide what he wants to put there, but he figures he’s still got some time to think about it.

“Like what if she wants to say no? He’s basically put her in a situation where she has to say yes and then go back on that answer later.”

There’s genuine distress in Steve’s voice at this stranger having to deal with this. Eddie squeezes his hand and offers a placating smile. Up ahead is the cafe they’d been heading towards in the first place. For once there isn’t a line and Eddie lets go of Steve’s hand just to open the door and bow. 

“My love.”

All of the tension building up in Steve leaves him with a roll of his eyes and he smiles when he steps in before Eddie. Even though Steve wasn’t a fan of the couple they saw, Eddie sends a quick thanks because now he knows. 

Absolutely no proposing in a crowded public place.

~

Two.

Light always finds Steve. No matter the time of day, if there’s a ray of sunshine, it’s shining on his boyfriend. It’s one of the first things Eddie noticed about him when they started dating. Now is no exception, sun peeking through their blinds to shine on Steve’s face. 

Steve has barely moved from where he left him this morning, mouth slack with a line of drool leading to a small spot on his pillow. Eddie sets the tray holding their breakfast down for a moment, leaning over to swipe the drool away with his thumb. He rubs his hand on his pants and then rests a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Steve’s eyebrows furrow when he wakes, eyes blinking open just to squint shut at the light. 

“C’mon, I made breakfast.” 

Steve yawns and smiles softly, rubbing at his eyes. Eddie grabs the breakfast tray again, orange juice sloshing in the glass but not spilling with the movement. The small smile on Steve’s face turns into a full blown grin and he smooths over the blanket when he sits up. 

The plate of breakfast smiles back at him, bacon curving up towards two eyes made of eggs. A gentle hand takes his wrist and Eddie’s tugged down close enough for Steve to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Thanks, baby.” Sleep still paints Steve’s words, a roughness there only because of their activities from the night before. An image of Steve on his knees, eyes half lidded and tongue hanging out of his mouth flashes into Eddie’s mind. He’s quick to dismiss it though, trying to stay on task. 

Afterall, this breakfast is serving a purpose. Today is going to be the day that Eddie proposes to Steve. All he’s got to do now is pull the ring out of his bedside table and ask the question. Just a small, intimate setting for his Stevie. 

He leans toward his dresser drawer right as the phone starts to ring. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh, hi Eddie. Is Steve there?” Max is on the other end of the line, voice tight.

“One sec.” Eddie passes the phone over easily and mouths that it’s Max on the other end. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

Judging by the face Steve makes at something Max says, this proposal is about to be pushed to another day. When Steve shifts the tray off of his lap and scoots out of bed, Eddie knows he’s right. 

“Woah, hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you called. Give me fifteen and we’ll be there.” Another pause and Steve flashes a grimace in Eddie’s direction. 

“You know he would understand. Okay, okay, yeah, it’ll just be me. See you soon Mayfield.” 

Guilt covers Steve’s face when he turns to Eddie. He tosses the phone back onto the bed and pulls jeans over his boxers. 

“Sorry, Max needs me to help her with something real quick, but I’ll be right back after that. Rain check on breakfast in bed?” 

Disappointment curls in Eddie’s stomach but he nods anyway. “Of course, no worries. Is Red okay?” 

Just as much as the kids are Steve’s in all the ways that matter, Eddie’s adopted them too. If one of them is in trouble, he wants to know. 

“Yeah, just something going on with her mom.”

“Why don’t you bring her back here? I can make some more breakfast and we can all do brunch and watch trash TV.” 

Steve closes the distance between them with a few quick strides, pressing a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. His hands come to rest on Steve’s hips, keeping him close so he can steal a couple close mouthed kisses before Steve leaves.

“That would be great, I love you.” Another kiss and then Eddie lets him go so Steve can brush his teeth before heading over.

Might need to recruit Robin to help make sure proposing doesn’t get interrupted.

~

Three. 

Tuesdays are date nights.

Eddie doesn’t know if it was on purpose, but the first date he and Steve went on was a Tuesday and now it’s just become tradition. It’s the one day of the week that the gremlins know to let them have their night. 

Tonight, Eddie’s even got Robin helping to run interference. Obviously he had to run this plan by her. They both figured while he’ll be popping the question, doing so over a candlelit dinner without getting on his knee was still lowkey enough for Steve to let it pass. 

(Robin also tried to argue that Steve would be fine with a massive proposal because the only answer he’d have for Eddie would be yes. Her puppy dog eyes aren’t nearly as lethal as Steve’s, so he hadn’t caved.)

Eddie had asked Steve to dress up for dinner tonight for a reservation made at The Grillhouse. They don’t always do fancier dinners, more than happy to dance around the kitchen together instead. Steve had asked what the occasion was and squinted skeptically when Eddie stuttered that he had big news he was excited to share. Despite all of his practice as a DM, he still can’t lie to save his life. Luckily, Steve had dropped it and shifted the focus to a story from work. 

Now Eddie finds his palms sweaty, empty plates sitting between them. This is his window.

“Stevie?”

His boyfriend tilts his head to the side, humming quietly to show he’s listening.

“I brought you to dinner saying I had some big news to share. But really, that news couldn’t be possible without you.” 

Steve’s face softens and he reaches across the table to take one of Eddie’s hands. They sit like that for a moment, Eddie swallowing before reaching into his coat pocket to grab the ring. 

The pocket is kind of deep and all he feels is fabric so he digs in a little further. Still, all he feels is the cotton lining against his fingers. 

And then he realizes. 

He forgot the ring.

He forgot the ring. What is he supposed to tell Steve now?

“I’ve decided to send some of me and the guys’ tapes to some producers.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is bright enough to challenge the sun and Eddie knows he’ll be sending out those tapes this week just so that he hasn’t lied to the man in front of him.

“Holy shit!” A couple of people swivel their heads at the sudden exclamation but Steve doesn’t pay them any mind, raising his glass to Eddie. Never one to leave Steve hanging, he’s quick to lift his own glass for Steve’s toast.

“Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you!”

Hot tip: don’t forget the ring.

~

Four.

Steve’s bopping his head as he walks through the kitchen. Everyone’s just cleared out of the apartment after spending the night. He hasn’t been able to convince Steve to play D&D, but it doesn’t mean his boyfriend doesn’t love any opportunity to host. Every couple of weeks their apartment is flooded with the full group, pizza for dinner and then Steve pulls out all of the stops for brunch the next day. 

There’s a pile of dishes waiting to be washed in the sink and a couple of pans left to cool on top of the stove, but like always - Steve’s turned on the radio first. Which works perfectly with Eddie’s plan. 

He’d called the radio station earlier in the week and asked them to play their song so he could propose to the love of his life. The girl on the other end had squealed at the request and let Eddie know she’d email with the time they’d be able to put it into the show. 

When he glances over to check the time, he’s surprised to see that there’s only a a couple of minutes to wait until their song is queued up. He’s got just enough time to run upstairs to grab the ring and then he’ll finally be able to ask. Steve’s just grabbing the pans off of the stove to move them towards the sink when Eddie steps out of the kitchen. 

It seems oddly quiet when Eddie makes it downstairs. Maybe it’s just because of how loud it was last night and this morning.Mumbled cursing welcomes him back into the kitchen and Eddie sees the reason behind the quiet. Their radio is currently cradled in Steve’s hands, eyes locked in on the different dials like it’ll suddenly start working if he looks disappointed enough. 

“Steve?” 

The look of horror on Steve’s face has Eddie chuckling as he walks over.

“I broke the radio.” Genuine heartbreak colors Steve’s words and Eddie takes the radio from his hands with a smile.

“That’s okay, looks like it got some water on it. Did something splash out of the sink?” Steve nods, eyes focused on the radio in Eddie’s hands. 

From what Eddie can tell, they might have to just replace the whole thing, somehow Steve’s managed to get the entirety of the speakers wet. His proposal might’ve been foiled again, but at least he gets a huff of a laugh when he rolls up his invisible sleeves to wash the dishes, bumping Steve out of the way. 

Alright, maybe the radio thing was a little complicated, time to regroup.

~

Plus One.

“Wayne, I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

His uncle just laughs from his side of the table, coffee cup lifted to his mouth despite the steam rising above it. 

“No, I mean it. I’ve tried proposing to him so many times but I keep messing it up!” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and has to stop for a moment when a ring tugs on his curls. The chipped mug in Wayne’s hand gets set down and he leans back, eyes squinted in a smile while he looks Eddie over.

“Alright, let me get this straight. You wanna propose to your boy?” Eddie nods. “Why don’t you just ask him, plain and simple?” 

“Oh, yeah, just ask him plain and simple. Because that’s totally easy. Have you met him?”

Wayne raises a brow, unimpressed at Eddie’s dramatics. 

“I just want it to be perfect, Uncle Wayne. What if this is like the universe telling me not to do it? Everything keeps going wrong…”

Another sip of coffee and then Wayne leans forward, elbows on the table. “Listen here, you love him?”

“Of course I do.”

“And he loves you?”

Eddie can feel the blush when it spreads across his cheeks. 

“He tells me all the time.” 

“Then I think no matter how you ask him, the only answer he’s going to say is yes. Knowing you two, you could just slide the ring on his finger and Steve would have the wedding planned in a week. What’s really holding you back?” 

Damn Wayne for knowing him so well. 

This answer doesn’t come as easy, dread building in Eddie’s gut while he tries to figure out the best answer. If he voices this and Wayne agrees, he’ll probably never recover.

“C’mon, spit it out.” 

“Whatifhedoesn’tthinkI’mworthbeingstuckwithfortherestofourlives?”

Another unimpressed stare, lips pursed at Eddie’s quick speech.

“Just, what if he doesn’t think it’s worth it? Being stuck with me forever?”

“Eddie, listen up, and listen good. No such thing as being stuck with you. I can tell that he adores you, knew as soon as I saw the two of you together. Just because your old man,” and Wayne pauses when Eddie’s head snaps up, “chose to ignore the gift you are, doesn’t mean other people will. I’ve been lucky enough to see you grow from that scrawny kid angry at the world to the man I see now. You’ve got your own family now, one you built all on your own, and not a single one of them feels like they’re stuck with you. Y’hear me?” 

Eddie wants to feel embarrassed at the tears in his eyes, but instead all he feels is warmth all over - loved. He jumps up and scoots into Wayne’s side of the booth, throwing his arms around the older man’s neck just like he did as a kid. When he backs up, Wayne’s eyes look a little teary themselves.

“Alright, let’s go, I gotta get ready for work.”

(When they get back to the trailer, Eddie opens the door to his own makeshift family crowded around the living room. It takes a moment to take it all in, streamers hanging from the ceiling, balloons all over the floor, and then Steve on one knee with a ring held out. 

It’s an easy yes.)

[you-know-honey]

omggg i see you are taking viktor x reader requests and i am in desperate need of something relatively cute and fluffy after act 3 🥲

i’ve had this idea for ages where once viktor and the reader starts dating, viktor just generally starts being healthier and a little better? even though his leg is still the same he is stronger and in less pain (he really deserves this come onnn).because he is totally smitten by the reader he is spending loads of time with them which ends up to him getting more rest, eating better, etc. the reader maybe does subtle things to encourage that but in some ways it happens naturally. (although i’ve seen some scenarios where the reader helps viktor with massages/physio and that is so wholesome too)

maybe he is talking to the reader after some months of dating, sharing how he feels better in his body and how he wants to actively try to be better? like, before his work was his whole life and he had kinda given up on his health - he just wanted to make the most progress in whatever time he had. but now he wants to spend the rest of his life with the reader and is willing to fight for it (and come on that will also help him work more anyway)

thought it was a cute idea and i love your work so i’d love to see your take on this!!! ❤️

Hanging in Your Hands

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5K

2/2→→→

Viktor finds in you a love that subtly transforms him: without realizing it, he begins to take better care of himself, rest better and relieve his pain, all thanks to the peace you bring him. Finding a way to show you what he could never do with words.

N/A: English is not my native language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update it. Remember to share and comment if you liked it. Endnotes.

The cold of the early morning began to creep in through the window, giving your body chills from head to toe. You didn't want to wake up, you felt like you had barely slept a second after so much work.

You couldn't get anything more than a superficial sleep that ended even with the walking of an ant on your neighbor's floor. The bed felt too big for some reason and there was no pillow to hug that didn't make you feel terribly alone. You sighed, knowing it would be another long night, you went down to the kitchen to get some tea to sleep, if getting high was the only way to fall asleep so be it. While you watched the steam come out of your cup you leaned against the wall of the hallway, looking at your empty room. You couldn't help but let your imagination fly to a corner where you didn't want it to be, the darkness emulated with the shadows a sleeping figure on one side of the bed and your mind quickly gave it shape and name...Viktor.

NO.

You shook your head to get that image out of your mind, being in love with your boss was already a silly thing, you shouldn't even think about something like that. But... you couldn't help it, you liked to imagine him around the apartment, like your own homely fantasy.

The violent knocking from the other side of the front door brought you out of your little daydream. You pulled the blankets tighter around you, it wasn't time for visitors.

“Y/N!” Sky’s voice called from the other side of the door, she seemed agitated and in total panic.

You quickly rushed to open the door, finding your friend and coworker in tears and as pale as a sheet of paper.

“Sky? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You rushed to take her inside and sit her on the couch as she tried to catch her breath.

“It’s Viktor, he’s in the hospital, he fainted and… and he started bleeding! He won’t wake up!”

Sky said something else, but your mind refused to continue listening. You could feel your entire body turning into glass and shattering, your heart had stopped suddenly before beating desperately again.

That night was the worst night of your life. You don’t remember what happened exactly, you just remember dressing up in one of your long work jackets to hide your pajamas, not even bothering to put on shoes, arriving at the hospital and searching every room in desperation only to find him intubated and still unconscious on a stretcher, he looked so pale, so feverish, his hands were cold and stiff as a stone, his hair was wet with sweat and the nurses hadn’t cleaned the stain of dried blood that spread across his cheek and lips like a crimson river. You don’t know how long you cried that night. You only remember clinging to his body until the nurses basically ripped you from his side. It was the first time you truly thought you would lose him, the first time you saw what his illness could do to him.

Time passed, a lot of time indeed. Viktor had a long recovery process after such a hard relapse and was prescribed, in his opinion, the worst of medications. Rest. Instructions that he clearly hadn't intended to follow, but you didn't think the same. He didn't know when or how but you simply kicked the chained door of his heart and like a spoiled child you refused to leave. But he liked it that way. During his long stay in the hospital he hadn't stopped working and the doctors were really considering tying him to the bed, like a guardian angel there you were, reading his books for him and writing in his notebook by the side of his stretcher, making sure he took his medications and vitamins until he was ready to get back in the ring. So, gods! It would have been impossible not to fall in love with you.

You made him feel alive, seeing you filled his face with color, he couldn't help but smile and ignore everything that wasn't you, he loved being able to hold your hand, he delighted in the dropped jaws that left when they walked together through the academy. His mind was an unstoppable machine of chaos that only found peace when you were near.

How did he get to that point? He never imagined that someone like him, with his proud attitude and busy mind could attract the attention of someone like you. You... you simply shined. Everything about you seems so simple, so natural. Your laugh, your words, even the way you look at him as he always wanted to be seen, as something more than a man with a cane and too many ideas in his head.

He couldn't help but wonder what you saw in him. Is it his mind that interests you? Or did you just see something he couldn't see in the mirror? Maybe, just maybe, you've seen beyond the walls he built around himself. Beyond the weight of his ambitions.

And yet, for the first time, he feared something more than failure. He doesn't want to lose you.

When he's with you, when his hands touch yours, when you smile after one of his sarcastic comments, everything seems to fit together. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he's not a stranger in his own skin. He feels like, maybe, there's something more to him than just work.

You give him something he can't explain, something that isn't in any formula or prototype. Maybe, for once in his life, it's enough to just feel.

…Wow, he was a genius in love.

Months Later...

The sound of the lab door slamming open loudly caught Jayce's attention as he stretched out in his chair. They had been working all morning.

You walked in with a tray of breakfast and books under your arm.

“You need to grease that door,” you said, as you walked over to his desk. Jayce held the books you asked for and took one of the steaming cups on the tray.

“I'll write it down,” Jayce said, burying his face in the cup, inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He looked really exhausted. They would have a conference soon and they had to be prepared, even you and Sky had a lot of work to do.

“Have he eaten anything today?” you asked, nodding at the one you can now proudly call your partner, sitting across the lab without even noticing your presence.

“What do you think?” You sighed, it's common for your boyfriend to forget to eat, if breathing wasn't essential you're sure he would forget too.

“Viktor…” you exclaim as you walk up to his desk, his posture in front of it is terrible, a shrimp would be proud of his posture.

He doesn’t seem to hear you, he mutters things as usual while he quickly writes down in his notebook and fiddles around a bit with a design that releases sparks and steam. You can see the inner mechanism, it’s so complex that it makes your head hurt just thinking about having to fix it like he does. There’s something about that stoic concentration he has that really attracts you, you could watch him work all day. You place the tray in one of your hands, balancing it so as not to spill anything and you use the fingers of your free hand to lightly tickle Viktor’s neck, he quickly adjusts his posture, you’re sure you could hear a joint or two creak, letting out a half-gasp. Which you take advantage of by uncovering the delicious breakfast on the tray.

You know he smiles and his gaze softens when the smell of food reaches him, he stops his work and looks at you.

“Good morning” you murmur only for his ears.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, turning his chair to face you, letting go of his design so easily that even Jayce couldn’t believe it.

“Can’t I take care of my favorite genius?” You shrug, leaving the tray with breakfast on the small mound of leaves on his desk. Changing his empty cup of coffee for a cup of hot tea.

Viktor smiles barely, but there’s something warm in his gaze as he takes the first sip of tea. You’re surprised when he stands up without even making a move to look for his cane, only using his good leg for help. He rests his forehead on your shoulder, you can feel his breath so close that it makes the hairs on your neck stand up. He’s been working since before the sun came up, it’s something you can’t change about him, but seeing you is a huge relief that he doesn’t know he needs until he has you in front of him and can’t help but put everything aside for you. His hands slide under your arms until they grip your back, wrinkling your perfectly ironed shirt and you can feel him finally sigh and let his shoulders slump as if he were carrying lead on them.

That gesture is all he needs to tell you, he is not a man of words and even less so when Jayce is present because he knows that Jayce will use everything he says against him as soon as you walk out the door. He can feel you, the heat emanating from your body makes him feel warm, breathing your perfume is the breeze of fresh air he needs to keep going. If they were alone he would probably kiss you, it is the only motivation he has to make it to the end of the day.

“What? He is your favorite genius? Y/N how do you break my heart like that” Jayce dramatizes from the other side of the room with a huge smile on his face. He loves watching how Viktor basically melts for you but he can’t help but feel like a bad third between the two of you.

You can't help but giggle at the comment. “There's enough room in my heart for both of us.”

Viktor gives a small shake of his head and snorts at your shoulder, it's obvious that he doesn't like the idea.

“Will you have breakfast with me?” he asks as he pulls away from you and drops his weight back into the chair.

You've both had this habit since the hospital, when he barely had the strength to blink and refused to be fed with a g-tube. It was a hard blow to his pride that you had to feed him, but you handled the situation with a lot of respect, and at the end of the day you both always ended up eating all your meals together, it was a moment that you both could enjoy and secretly for you it was a way to make sure he gets something more than caffeine.

You sighed and shook your head. “Not this time.” The look he gave you was as painful as that of a newly abandoned puppy.

“Why not?” he asked, making a colorful gesture with his hands, quite offended.

“Sky and I are still clearing their schedules and getting everything ready for this afternoon’s conference.” You felt guilty and even more so when he gave you that look but if you lied to him it would only make his mind wander to very dark places. “I promise we’ll have dinner together. Will you forgive me this time?” you said, caressing his cheek subtly.

Schedules were something Viktor had very established, something out of that routine irritated him in ways he didn’t understand. Normally and if you were anyone else he would have pushed your hand away and ignored you for the rest of the day but… you weren’t just anyone, he couldn’t get mad at you, he couldn’t even think of a reason that was strong enough to not even look at you with annoyance.

“Just don’t miss it” He replied, enjoying your touch. Forcing you to stay on his cheek a little more for taking your wrist, when it was time for you to leave it was very difficult to let you go.

“Don't forget to take a break, Sabre, if you didn't have lunch.” You walked through the door, giving him one last look before leaving him back in the lab.

“Love is so beautiful,” Jayce mentioned, sighing like a teenager while humming the sound of the newlywed bells.

Viktor rolled his eyes and went back to his table to find his breakfast. The idea of putting it aside and continuing to work crossed his mind, it was what he used to do in the past. Before letting that idea take hold, he stuck his fork in the bacon next to the small bowl of fruit and quickly brought it to his mouth. His taste buds wept with excitement at finally receiving some food after so many hours drowned in coffee, even the breath itself with a certain guilty pleasure. “Shut up, Jayce,” was the only thing he could say before devouring the plate.

“Are you ready? We’re going to be late,” Viktor mentioned, leaning against the outside wall of the lab’s bathroom, with a hanger holding his suit in his hand.

He had been waiting for more than 45 minutes for his lab partner to finish showering and getting dressed. He used to skip all the conferences, especially if they were with the council. It irritated him how certain people with more than limited intellect could have power over his work and what he could and couldn’t do with it. The only reason he started attending was because you were there, both of them could whisper to each other continuously and have a good time being gossips about the other councilors, although of course, there were also times when Jayce called him to the front, when a more raw opinion was needed, without all the flourishes that surrounded Jayce’s speeches.

“Just a second,” Jayce said as he opened the door, in his white and gold suit he finished fixing his hair in the middle of a cloud of masculine perfume.

Viktor just rolled his eyes and made his way into the bathroom, leaving his suit on the rack behind the door, sitting on the closed toilet to wait for Jayce to leave.

“Hurry up,” he said when he saw Jayce smiling at himself in the mirror.

“Someone looks pretty excited to go…” He hummed, “I thought you said conferences were a waste of your precious time…”

“Jayce…” Viktor said in a tone that Jayce understood as a warning accompanied by a stern frown, but the shy blush that crossed his cheeks and the bridge of his nose told him he was right.

“Come on, there’s nothing wrong with saying you like going because your girlfriend is there. If Councilwoman Medarda wasn’t there I wouldn’t want to go either.” Jayce leaned back against the sink. Although it wasn’t exactly the most opportune moment to have a talk.

Girlfriend… Viktor still felt chills when that word was mentioned, he himself wasn’t able to say it yet, it always got stuck in his throat and he blushed like never before, he felt shy just knowing that the one who carried that title was you. When they started dating he was nothing more than a rigid bundle of nerves, holding your hand, hugging you, kissing you or just walking by your side were things he got used to with difficulty, as if he were walking on thin ice, looking for a single rejection reaction from you that would confirm to his anxiety that he had made a false step and should return within his fortified comfort zone. It doesn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy doing those things with you, he did, he loved them, but a part of himself always whispered to him that he didn’t deserve it, that he hadn’t been born for love and that he looked ridiculous pretending he wasn’t like that. It was hard to fight against it, but you never gave up, you knew how to read him like the back of your hand and you knew when he needed time alone and when he needed to melt into you in affection. Now it was clearer than ever that if there was someone who could love him and who he could love back, it was you. Only you.

“Y/N and I know how to separate work from our relationship, our… dating” he savored the words with pride “it doesn’t influence my work.” He couldn’t help but smile silly “Although I admit that her company is always welcome”

Jayce excitedly crossed his arms at his friend and colleague's terrible way of hiding how totally in love he was with you. "Really?" he said raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "So I guess what you've been building for her is part of the 'job'..."

Although Jayce was a little naive he wasn't stupid, of course he had noticed how revitalized Viktor was since he started dating you, he could hardly remember the irritated Viktor who lived all the time in the lab. The night of his relapse he had gone to his mother's house for his birthday, if it weren't for Sky and you he would never have found out what happened and he would never be able to finish thanking you for taking care of him with such love. Jayce knew with total certainty that Viktor was more in love with you than he could ever admit to others or to himself.

“…It’s a gift for her.” There was something of amazement in his words, as if he had never imagined himself saying it. “I read that couples usually give each other gifts sporadically, without reason… I want to do something that does justice to everything she does for me.” He answered as if it were the most logical thing in the world, trying to regain his composure.

“Tell me what it is?” Jayce asked interested, his eyes big like a little boy’s excited to receive a lollipop after the dentist.

“No.” Viktor refused flatly. “I know you, it will come out of your mouth in a some moment.” Jayce felt offended, even more so because it was not a lie.

“But! Come on Victor!” He tried to convince him but the answer was still a constant negative. “Boring.” He sighed giving up. “I’ll wait for you outside, Mr. Romantic.” Jayce managed to escape from the bathroom before Viktor’s sharpness reached him and he walked away laughing.

Viktor sighed when he finally managed to be alone in the bathroom, he put his cane aside, using the sink to support himself and stand up, his leg gave him a small cramp that was reflected on his face and it took him a second to recover and start preparing.

The conference was nothing out of the ordinary, brutally exhausting as always, you felt your feet unbearably tired, avoiding Salo's venomous comments were not for everyone. You should be given a prize for enduring such a thing, you knew that it didn't really matter much to present each project in a thorough manner before the council but according to Councilwoman Medarda, that would make Hextech more trustworthy, being transparent with the creations left no room for doubts or misunderstandings. But that only meant more work for you and Sky, emptying Jayce and Viktor's agendas, planning their speeches and even elaborating the thread of the entire conference, it was definitely the only part you hated about being an attendee.

Jayce had stayed to 'discuss' some matters with Councilwoman Medarda and Sky had taken the first opportunity that presented itself to leave as quickly as he could. That left you and Viktor alone in the hallway heading to the lab for your coats, autumn was already upon the city and the cold was more usual and stronger.

“Is something wrong?” you asked as you saw Viktor’s jaw muttering things to himself, his gaze looking a little lost as you approached the lab.

“Oh, no… I have some things to tidy up in the lab that’s all” He answered trying to lighten the mood. Clearly forgetting that you knew there was nothing to tidy up because… come on… that was your job.

“Can I help you with that?” You said with some disbelief as you reached the door, it was clear from your tone that you didn’t quite believe him.

“No, it’s not necessary. Could you wait for me outside?” Viktor asked, looking a bit nervous, even serious.

“From the door?” you asked, crossing your arms as Viktor left his hand on the door handle. You had never seen him so nervous trying to hide something, especially from you.

“From the academy…” I knew the answer, obviously you would say no.

You sighed heavily, it was late at night and your brain was tired “Viktor if this is a ruse to keep working...”

“No, it’s not that” he interrupted you quickly, his hand moved away from the door handle as if it were a hot iron just to take yours “It will be quick I promise” and there it was, that lazy smile and that sweet look that could convince you to do anything without hesitation, he using his thumb to draw soft circles on the back of your hand. He slowly leaned down to your ear to whisper “I can’t wait to go home with you, this will just be a… slight setback. I won’t take long, I promise.”

The words got stuck in your throat and in your belly millions of butterflies were released and fluttered everywhere, the blush was quick to rise to your cheeks “Fine… But... Don’t take long, okay?”

That act had taken you by complete surprise, but he seemed quite pleased with the way he had completely altered the chemistry inside your brain and he knew it, of course he knew it, behind that look you were sure he was proud of his little misdeed.

Viktor left a small kiss on your forehead before disappearing into the lab. A shiver ran down your spine to help you come back to yourself. The last thing Viktor heard from you was the clicking of your heels at the end of the hallway.

“She didn’t believe it at all,” he said to himself as he leaned back against the door, taking a minute to compose himself, running one of his hands through his hair as if that would work. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face and his brain was still fluttering with your blushing image. What he had done had been a risky act but it felt so good to do it… Viktor shook his head, getting those thoughts out of his mind.

The lab was empty, it felt cold and that didn’t help his leg at all. Holding on to his cane he walked towards his desk, in one of the drawers, the one most full of failed prototypes, the only one you never dared to clean, in the back, wrapped in a somewhat singed piece of curtain, he found what he was looking for. A velvety box, upon opening it he was greeted by the intense glow of a Hextech gem much smaller than the rest, he had worked on it for quite some time, it wasn't the gift itself, but it was the eternal battery that would keep it running, it had already been quite a challenge to get the crystals to stabilize at their original size, he had lost count of how many times he could have died while making it. He quickly closed the box and carefully put it away in his bag, losing it would be a huge disaster. He had kept the rest of your gift in a safe place at home.

Viktor took a moment to look at his desk, years ago doing what he was doing now would have seemed ridiculous and a waste of time. Now there was nothing else he wanted to spend his time on. His hand slid across his desk, feeling papers and the leather of his notebooks under his fingers. His hands wandered until they entered between the swollen pages of one of his old notebooks, opening it he felt a little embarrassed by the content.

The pages were filled with notes and sketches of designs, as the pages turned one had established itself among the others. All around it was filled with details about you, your favorite color, your favorite scent, your favorite sound. Such sweet descriptions of your laugh, your hair… of your essence, there were even small drawings of your face and your unmistakable look, motivating him to continue. There were dates and small appointments that his mind read with your voice while he smiled.

“I really hope you like it…” He sigh longingly.

You hugged your bare arms as you hopped from foot to foot to keep warm, the dress you were wearing worked inside the heated academy but now that you were outside you were freezing, every hair on your body standing on end.

“What are you doing Viktor?” You said into the air.

Since the conference had been a huge success you both had planned to go to his house to hang out. Although well, it wasn’t long before it was your house too, after all half of your closet was in his and you even had matching coffee mugs in his kitchen. Still you didn’t want to push Viktor at all. It had already been a bit difficult for you to get him to dare kiss your cheek in public without making it look like you had a gun on his back.

You panted into your hands, your breath bringing some heat to your fingers that were starting to get cold as an iceberg.

Something brushed against your back, a sudden touch that made you turn around instinctively, almost unnaturally, only to find yourself facing Viktor, who was blinking in surprise at your reaction. His hands were outstretched, holding your coat.

“What were you trying to do?” you ask, your tone more accusatory than you’d like, as you try to calm your racing heart.

“Put your coat on, maybe?” he replies, his tone matching yours, but a sly smile playing on his lips. It’s obvious that your startlement amuses him. “Here, let me put it on you. You’re going to freeze.”

You sigh to release the tension in your body and turn your back to him. You feel his cold hands touch your neck, drawing a gasp from you that you instantly suppress, determined not to give him any more reasons to mock you. There's something about his gesture, the way he gently places the coat over your shoulders and guides your wrists into the sleeves, that disarms you.

When he's done, he gently turns you around to close the buttons, fastening them one by one, while his fingers brush your hair away from the coat. It's a simple gesture, but he does it with such care that you melt a little. Crowning the moment, he puts your bag over your head and lets it rest on your shoulder with elegance.

Your eyes watch him with a tenderness that seems to stop time. Viktor notices it; his hand slides from the strap of your bag to your cheek, caressing it with cautious delicacy before removing it, leaving a cold sensation behind.

A laugh escapes your lips, soft and sweet, filling the frozen air with a warmth that seeps into his bones. He smiles with you.

You take a step closer to him, not expecting it, you see him seek support from his cane, the only thing that stands between him and you really.

His scent envelops you instantly: coffee and honey. It’s such a unique combination that you could identify it among millions.

“Your nose is red,” you comment, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

You can see how his eyes widen at the proximity and your close touch to his face makes the tip of his ears red, his gaze avoids yours nervously.

You barely finish and without waiting for an answer, he began to walk down the stairs of the academy. Leaving you upstairs with a satisfied smile, he seems quite in a hurry to get home.

The icy wind of Piltover forces you to get a little closer to Viktor when you manage to catch up with him while crossing the street. His steps are long and determined, he has barely taken a break since you started walking.

“Why are you so nervous?” you ask, breaking the silence. Normally he takes one or two breaks along the way, excusing himself by looking at the shop windows that you know he has little interest in.

“Nervous? Me?” Viktor arches an eyebrow and looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his tone has a doubtful tone.

“Yeah, even when you’re making fun of me,” you retort, remembering the coat incident earlier. “You seem to have your mind somewhere else.”

He lets out a short, almost dry laugh. “It’s not like that, just, you know… Someone has to keep the calm.”

“Someone? You mean you?”

“Of course. If you’re too busy freaking out over coats.” Viktor looks at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes, “someone has to take charge of looking professional.”

You frown, though you can’t hide the smile that threatens to appear. “If you put it that way it’s okay, I like you like that.” Is it dirty play? Yes, but it’s worth it when you see Viktor’s face.

Heat rises to his cheeks before he can stop it, but he hides it by burying his face deeper into his scarf. You’ve beaten him this time, but like any sore loser, he won’t let things go.

He stops walking abruptly, his body hunched over his knee.

Your triumphant expression leaves your face completely and you don't hesitate to approach him, worried. The weather was cold and that used to increase the pain in his leg, but you didn't expect it to be so strong as to double him over in pain.

“Does it hurt?” you asked somewhat worried, your hand on his back ready to help him stand up if necessary. “Not at all.” He turned his face only to be met with a proud and victorious smile.

The streets are empty, and the shops are beginning to close, Viktor resumes his straight posture while looking from side to side as if he wanted no one to see his next move, you follow his gaze, not quite knowing what to look at or what to look for. You feel the cold handle of his cane touch your chin gently and guide it to make you look up, towards him. He approaches cautiously and you know his pulse is shaking a little from the way the handle of his cane shakes, finally he presses his lips against yours, with an overwhelming softness that at another time would have made you draw him closer, but like all good things, it didn’t last long. The sound of a metal shutter being loudly lowered pushes him away from you like a scared cat before you can properly reciprocate. He tries to compose himself but the blush on his cheeks and the nervous movement of his eyes give him away; even someone as controlled as Viktor isn’t immune to nervousness.

You laugh, like a little child, savoring his kiss at the same time. Giving affection in public is a huge leap of faith for him and you know it, you melt every time he does it.

“Don’t look at me with that eyes.” he says avoiding your gaze, a shy smile forming on his mouth and refusing to disappear no matter how hard he tries.

“What eyes?” You ask, feigning innocence at the subject, searching for his free hand with yours to take it and not let it go.

His eyes meet yours, his pupils dilate quickly like drops of paint in water. That's one of the things you like about him, no matter when he tries to hide his feelings, you know exactly that his gaze will always give you the answer.

“Forgotten” he snorts trying to lighten the subject. This time offering you his arm to walk together.

Both of you walk in silence, just enjoying each other's company for the rest of the way, you look at the shops, some are closing, others still have warm lights on inside and a few people looking through the windows. People from Piltover don't usually go out at night, maybe because for them there isn't much interesting to see when the sun goes down. But you and Viktor are from Zaun, you reject the sun like hermit vampires and the night is the perfect time to go out and to let out certain romantic gestures as you already taste before.

Continue...

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 ᯓ NOVEMBER — ᡣ𐭩

she tried to stop herself, she really did!

the first week passed easily, and she was perfectly fine the week after that, and maybe that was because she was on tour, but she still did well and didn't touch herself! another reason that she was maintaining such a calm, composed personality was because you weren't around to trigger any desperate, needy feelings she had buried deep down a whole week before november came. but when she finally flew into la from denver and you greeted her at the door, wearing a tight tank-top and just panties, those feelings that had almost become foreign came back to bite her.

she kept herself together the first few days of finally being able to see you, touch you, and taste you. just your lips, of course, because you had also become very determined to win, especially since you were the one who brought up the stupid challenge. neither of you had been very touchy those days, either, and billie hated it. she hated it whenever you would push her away when she'd come up behind you to give you a hug, or when you'd press a finger to her lips when she leaned in to kiss you after a long day. it was torture, but she had to endure it because she wasn't gonna lose this dumb little game of yours.

those were her thoughts until you had walked out of the bathroom one morning with nothing covering your body. droplets of water slid down your perfect skin, your damp hair cascading over your shoulders when you tilted your head, and your beautiful tits on full display for her hungry eyes. if she wasn't hard from your teasing earlier that morning, she definitely was now. you played the whole thing off by saying you, 'forgot your towel,' when she knew full well that you never once entered the bathroom without one, always complaining how cold it was when you stepped out from beneath the warm water. billie just rolled back into bed and hid under the covers, stopping herself from screaming out of anger as she fisted the sheets in her hands.

when you had finally left to run errands, though, she really couldn't help herself. the image of your wet, naked body was burned into her mind, something she couldn't forget even if she tried to. she pushed the bedsheets off of her body the second she heard the click of the front door closing, her hands still grabbing at the sheets as she pondered the idea of actually touching herself when december was just around the corner. the consequences didn't pass her mind even for a second when she made up the excuse that it was only once, and you'd never find out. so she slipped her plaid pajama pants off and almost tore her boxers while tugging them down her thighs, not having enough patience to pull them down to her ankles.

her eyes flickered upwards toward the bathroom, biting her plump bottom lip in an effort to stop it from trembling. within only a few seconds, she completely rid herself of the clothes on her lower half and scurried into the bathroom, quickly grabbing the panties you forgot to throw in the laundry bin before running back over to the bed. she spread herself out in the middle of the mattress, back resting against the headboard, one hand grabbing at her exposed thigh and the other holding your panties in a tight grip. there were beads of pre-cum escaping her red, aching tip, dribbling down her dick and making a mess of her thighs. she loosened her grip on your panties before bringing them to her face, your scent making her audibly moan into the quiet room.

she finally wrapped her hand around her length, hips bucking subconsciously in the grip of her own fingers. a whimper was muffled by your panties as she stroked herself softly, getting herself worked up just as you would do if you were here. her eyes fluttered shut as she parted her lips, gulping down the saliva that pooled in her mouth from the anticipation and thrill of it all. she tilted her head back, letting the hand that held your panties move to grip at the pillow beside her shaking body. her thumb rubbed over her leaking tip as she stroked herself again, mouth parting wider as the touch sent shocks through her entire body, making her back arch and her toes curl. the knot in her stomach was already tightening, her teasing touches working herself up to the edge already. only a few seconds, and she was already about to bust. lord knows how long she would've lasted if she hadn't touched herself today.

"mm—mommy, fuck...!" she whined brokenly, her breathing uneven and her strokes becoming more vigorous, more needy. she needed her release like she needed air, her hips stuttering against her hand as she felt tingles all over her skin. her eyes were closed so tight she saw stars behind them, her movements so rough the bed shook beneath her already shaking body. thoughts of your reaction popped into her head, and it only made her cry out in pleasure, tears brimming at her eyes from how good her own hands felt after almost a month. she knew since the beginning she was gonna be the loser, but she didn't even admit it, and she still wouldn't, even after you came home, "pleasepleaseplease—!" she moaned, voice breaking as her breaths came out in short gasps, her head spinning with the image of your body and your 'clueless' face when you knew damn well what you were doing.

her eyes shot open when she heard a knock at the open bedroom door, a pornographic moan escaping her lips as thick, white ropes of cum came from her tip. she whimpered as she felt your gaze on her needy, trembling body, her sweet juices making a mess on her stomach and her thighs. you gasped in faux surprise as you stepped closer, leaning over the edge of the bed to take a look at what she'd done. you had to stop yourself from giggling, biting your lip and looking up at her as you feigned disappointed, "pretty baby couldn't even wait 2 more days, could she?" you coo, stroking her thigh and feeling as her body jolted just from your touch. she murmurs her apologies, her mind still too fucked-out to even process what she was apologizing for. still, she whined, her hands reaching out for you as she murmured your name shyly, "m'sorry, mama i—!" she cut herself off with a whiny moan when she felt your fingers wrap around her cock, eyes widening as she tensed beneath your hand. fuck, she was in for it.

@mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @devynscomet @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13 @karaeilishh

[baguettesandbows]

3

tw!! talk of sa

I know Arkham Knight happened in one night, but i’m spreading it out slightly for the sake of the story.

You suddenly understood why every woman in Arkham looked numb.

As you walked out of Jefferson’s office, you didn’t flinch at the yelling from the office next door, as you usually would. You walked past the group of patients that would make obscene comments about you.

You found yourself in your room, staring blankly at the white peeling wall.

You wanted Jason. You wanted him to find you, to find out what happened. You wanted him to hurt Jefferson, the same way you’ve watched him in his Robin suit hurt men that have touched you.

You grab your pillow, and scream into it, possibly annoying other patients but you didn’t care. All you wanted was for it to get out.

The small visiting room seemed smaller when Dick Grayson was in it.

You looked at the crayons on the table, breaking them in half as Dick spoke to you.

“He’s being investigated.” Dick says quietly, choosing not to sit on the only couch, not wanting to intrude. “But with the luck people have had with Arkhams staff..”

Dick sighs and leans back against the wall, looking at you. “Until he’s gone, we’ve had them switch out your psychiatrist.”

His words make you look up.

“You mean- this wasn’t enough to get me out of here?” You say stiffly, your hands trembling around the broken crayons. “So what, your just going to trust another fucked up staff member? He fucking assaulted me Dick!” Your voice gets higher throughout the sentence.

“We didn’t know an assistant was taking over, Reader. They didn’t tell anything to us about it. We would have- we would have investigated him before he ever came close to talking to you.”

You snort. “Like that makes a difference for me to know that?”

Dicks fists clench. You knew he wasn’t angry at you, he was angry at himself. Mostly Bruce, who hasn’t spoken to you once since he put you in Arkham. Although, you know he’s still a part of it, as you get sent gift baskets from Alfred weekly.

“This.. this is the best place for you right now.” Dick says, exhaustion seeping into his words. He doesn’t sound like he believes it, either.

“I hate you.” You whisper harshly, rubbing the crayons against the table.

“I know.”

The first sign you realized something was wrong, was when security lessened in Arkham.

Staff members were getting fired left and right. You assume it was Bruce, finally taking charge of Arkham and firing all of the twisted staff.

You walked down one of the catwalks, walking down the stairs to look at the lunch tables, driving where to sit, when you heard the television.

“Man charged with biting someone-“ Normal. “In a laundry unit after victim heard him screaming at himself.”

Zombie apocalypse? Gothams probably already had one.

You shake your head and walk over to one of the corner tables, sliding into the seat and setting your tray on the table. A woman sits down across from you, but pays no attention as she keeps to herself.

You stuff the slop into your mouth, because as much as you hated the food, you wanted to look like yourself when Jason came back.

If.

When.

Fuck.

You slam the tray of slop, on the edge of the table, making it fly off the table and onto the ground. The woman’s cross from you flinches but doesn’t react.

You can’t believe that your losing the idea that Jason’s alive. Maybe Jefferson fucked you up more than you thought.

“Oh shit- look how fucked up the guy looks!”

Your gaze moves to the television, where they show the victim of the biting man. Your eyebrows furrow are the image. *Is that allowed on the news*?

“Fuck- imagine being known as the guy who bit someone.”

“Carol, you used to eat your victims hair.”

You scrunch your nose and focus on the television instead of the patients conversations.

The second time you realized something was different, was when they shut off the news in the rec rooms.

You checked with the male block, and one had informed you that theirs was shut off too.

Gothams news was something people were used to. What was so horrific, that they wouldn’t show Arkhams patients?

With the lessening staff, you noticed more and more fights break out. It felt different than the years you’ve been here. There wasn’t the threat of a nurse with a syringe behind you at every problem.

You’ve started tying your doorknob to your bed frame just in case.

At night, you felt your bed frame jiggling. You bolted upright to see your neighbor trying to open the door, and you quickly walked over.

Visiting has gotten usual with her, since her guard had gotten fired.

You let her in before shutting the door behind her, and turn to face her. “What?”

She, Anna, looks at you with a grin. “They’ve given him a name.”

You look at her weirdly before walking over to your bed and sitting down. “Who?”

“The guy whose been dropping fear gas everywhere. Didn’t you hear Steph talking about it?”

Steph- a patient whose boyfriend works as a journalist.

“No- I barely talk to her.” You mumble, watching as Anna walks over to your dresser and grabs a baked good from the gift basket. “So a guy has been behind these weird attacks?”

Anna nods, her lips pursed together as she chooses form your stash. “Apparently no one can find anything out about him. Only knows he’s working with Scarecrow. Do you like these?” She holds up a blueberry muffin and you wave her off to take it. “So he like- calls himself the Arkham Knight. Or at least, that’s what Stephs boyfriend said.”

You snort. “Wonder who he’s after.”

Anna nods, raising her eyebrows sarcastically. “Yet he’s the first villain to name himself after Batman. If I had the money to become a high class villain, that would’ve been my first idea.”

You watch as she bites into one of the muffins. “No one’s as smart as you, Anna.” You say, sarcastically, but she doesn’t ever notice that.

You look at the barred window in your room, and get up, walking over to it. Only the tips of your fingertips can reach it, so all your able to see is the top of a tree growing next to Arkham.

“Arkham Knight.” You mumble to yourself. “Let’s hope your different than the others.”

[friskalicousbiscuits]

Neglected Santa Clarita Diet (Zombie)!Reader x Yan!Batfam

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two (Here)

TW:

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and at the very beginning it’s “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Two

You were woken up by the sound of an alarm. It wasn’t your own, it sounded different.

Gosh. You were so comfortable. So warm.

You heard a groan and felt the pillow under you shift. That got your eyes to snap open as the alarm suddenly cut off. What greeted you was a face full of titties. They were clothed thankfully.

Ah. Now you remembered. When you both got back to Jill’s apartment you both took a second shower and passed out in Jill’s bed. Together. Wow, you guys hadn’t done this since middle school. When you both turned fourteen, Jill had eventually gotten tired of all your kicking in your sleep. Since then, she just gave you a thick blanket and kicked you to the floor with nothing else but a pillow. To which you’d wrap yourself like a burrito and sleep. It was surprisingly comfortable.

But waking up to titties in your face? Nice. But also it’s Jill? You don’t know how to feel about that.

She sat up, the lovely view disappearing, and rubbed her eyes. “At least it’s a Friday.” She murmured, eyes glancing over to you to see your bright, alarmingly awake eyes staring back. “What’re you staring at?”

“Nothing…!” You sat up too. “But do we really have to go to school?”

“Yes? Just because you’re a zombie, that doesn’t mean you can skip.” She got up off the bed and grabbed a hairbrush on one of the cabinets.

You groaned as she started brushing her hair, focused on the small mirror on the cabinet. “But come on! Like you said, I’m a zombie! Zombies don’t go to school!” You said, rolling your eyes. School had never been good for you. Bullies, bystanders, and teachers expecting too much. (Though that might be your fault. You were the ultimate try hard. Great grades, wonderful performances in the multiple clubs you were in, as kind as you can be. All of that was just to get some attention from your father.) It was all so exhausting.

“Brainless zombies don’t. Y’know, the ones with drool dangling out the corner of their mouth? As far as I can tell, you’re not one of those, [Name].” She then turned around, waving the brush menacingly. “So get your ass u—” She cut herself off, staring at your chest.

“What is it?” You looked down to your chest.

Oh.

There, for the two of you to see, clear as day, was a dark grey splotch on your chest. Right. The bullet wound. You guys never took care of that, did you? It must still be lodged in there.

About a minute later, you were both in the bathroom trying to remove it was a pair of eyebrow tweezers as Jill didn’t have anything else. You were sitting on the toilet, seat down of course, topless, as Jill was one knee, poking and prodding you to get the bullet out.

“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” She asked as she prodded some more.

“Yeah. It just feels weird is all.” You spoke, watching her work. All the prodding had caused more of the black goop in you to ooze out more. It sluggishly ran down your stomach and was dangerously near the pants you had once again borrowed from Jill. Your stomach suddenly grumbled.

“Are you seriously hungry right now?” Jill sounded exasperated as she suddenly started scraping the tweezer in a downwards, pulling motion.

“Yeah. I’m fantasizing about that guy’s gallbladder.”

She had to pause and turn away to gag, leaving the tweezers inside you. “You jackass. Don’t talk like that. Or at least slowly start to talk like that! I need to build up a resistance to the images.” It took her a bit, but she got back to trying to scrape the bullet out. “And besides, how the hell are you still hungry? That guy was at least two hundred and fifty pounds and you ate at least a fifth of him.”

“I know… we honestly shouldn’t have wasted so much, but you can’t deny the body what it needs. And I need to feed, Jill.” You gave yourself a pat on the stomach just to get your point across.

“Oh, my god.” That sentence was finalized with the clatter of the goop-covered bullet against the floor.

You guys ended up stapling your chest together with a literal stapler and stepping over the dried blood puddle that was still there from the night before. You’d both clean it up later, but for now, Jill just wanted to go to school as she probably didn’t want to deal with anymore zombie crap until later.

It was at lunch that she came to you with something.

“I think I know why you’ve been acting weird since you turned into a zombie.” She said as she plopped down in the seat across from you. Her lunch tray, filled with what could be called a delicacy compared to what was sold at the other schools around Gotham, clattered against the table when she set it down.

“And that is…?” You sipped from your sad little water bottle. It’d be a waste to eat school lunch. You couldn’t eat normal food anymore, that was why you’d eaten the raw chicken drumsticks, but now that you’d tried a non-GMO human diet, you couldn’t go back. Therefore it was just you and the sad little water bottle.

“You’re following your id.”

“My what?”

“Your id. It’s a part of your brain that focuses on your desires and wants and all that. The undead are completely driven by it, or at least that’s what I remember from that one documentary.” She muttered that last sentence which didn’t aspire much faith in her theory. Unfortunately, it was the best you would get so you had no choice but to believe it.

“I guess that makes sense.”

“It makes a lot of sense. You’re saying and doing things I never imagined you’d do.

“True. True.” You sipped from your water again. “Say, how’d you come across this?” You asked. It seemed pretty random to bring that up during lunch after all.

“We learned about it during psych.”

“Damn, I knew I should’ve taken that class.” You sipped your water again, staring at her lunch. You were so jealous. You wish you could eat human food still. (Geez, it’s barely been a day and you’ve already committed to the fact you weren’t human.)

“You should’ve. All we do is watch movies about whatever we’re learning about. But noooo old [Name] had to be the best at everything. That includes taking four AP classes and a bunch of honors ones.” She said as she shoved some beans into her mouth with a plastic spoon.

“What can I say? I wanted to impress my shitty family.” You sighed and shrugged. “God knows it never helped, but still. Honestly, now I just want to relax. I think that outweighs the need for their love.”

“Good.” She nodded. “No need to impress assholes.”

You had PE after lunch, which was pretty stupid because who expects teenagers to run on a full stomach? You could count at least three separate vomiting incidences since the start of the semester. One of those incidents had actually been you. A bully made you vomit. Thankfully, you got it all over their shoes and legs though.

That class, you guys played basketball. You were chosen as a captain and so was some other guy. Brandon? You were pretty sure that was his name. You both played soccer and as a result of the PE teacher also coaching the soccer team at Gotham Heights, the two were her favorites in that class. Which meant she picked you and Brandon to be captains or demonstrations for a lot of things.

Such a shame Brandon was one of your bullies. He seemed like a decent guy when he wasn’t making fun of you in hearing distance.

You both picked your teams and played rock-paper-scissor for the last kid since your class had an uneven number of students.

During that entire game, you elbowed Bryan as discreetly as possible whenever you were close together. Even tripped him at some point. You could tell Brody was getting angrier and angrier as the game went on. It eventually got to a head when the coach left for a bit. Like the guy literally threw the ball to the side, which smacked some kid in the ribs by the way, and got all up in your face.

“Wayne, what the fuck are you doing?” His breath smelled like an alpaca’s ass.

“Nothing. What makes you think I’m doing anything?” You rose a brow at him, channeling your inner ‘Tim when you try to talk to him’ to give him to most condescending look you could muster.

“You’ve been—” He went back to talking, but you zoned out, instead focusing on the conversation behind you that was much much more interesting.

“Ugh… God, Blake’s doing that fucking bug-eyed thing again.” You heard a murmur from a girl behind you. Ah, so the asswipe’s name was Blake. Your guesses were close enough.

“The one where he stares into your soul?” Another girl whispered.

“Yeah. The one Linda said he gives during sex. She swore he didn’t blink the entire time and that she even clapped in his face. She said it was like fucking a British guard.” The first girl whispered back.

Woah. Teenagers committing the hanky-panky? You did not need to hear that. But… that actual made you a bit curious…

Blake was still ranting to you as your hands slowly raised before bursting forward to clap in front of his eyes.

Wow.

He actually didn’t blink.

You heard the girls behind you burst into laughter and start muffling said laughs as Blake stared at you confused, wondering why you did that. A whistle then broke through all the activity.

“Hey! What’s the hold up! Get back to playing!” The coach’s scratchy voice demanded.

It was after PE that you made sure to talk to the coach. You also made a note to talk to basketball coach after school too.

“Coach Rhonda?” You walked over as your classmates were filing out of the gym.

“Yes, Wayne?” Coach Rhonda was always so nice. Sure, she worked everyone on both teams, girl and boys, to the bone, but she wanted those wins and so she got them.

“Listen, soccer, it’s just not me. I gotta say adios, y’know?” You felt kinda bad dropping this in the middle of the year, especially after you’d been on the team for so long. You’ve played since middle school, but you’ve never really enjoyed it. Never truly. Soccer has always been just… meh to you. “I’m gonna be honest, I could give less than a rat’s ass about it. The only reason I joined was to get attention from a family that would never give it to me. But now? Now I don’t want it! Isn’t that great, coach?”

“I… uh…” Her eyes darted around, probably extremely confused.

You gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Good talk.” You started to walk backwards, away from her. “By the way, your calves look absolutely delectable, just thought I’d let you know.”

You were both walking to Jill’s apartment, minding your business. After school, let out you went to every single club or team’s leader/coach and dropped them. Goodbye cooking, basketball, knitting, art, and so on.

Jill suddenly stopped walking.

“Wait, why the hell are we walking together?” She asked, looking to you confused.

“What do you mean?” You stopped your own walking to look back at her.

“I mean, why the hell are we walking together? Aren’t you going to go home?”

“Uh… no?”

“No?” She asked.

“No.” You repeated with a nod. “I’m gonna see how long I can stay at your place until someone besides Alfred notices.”

“I… okay then.” She let that go quite easily. It honestly surprised you how much she let you stay around. You weren’t complaining. As you both bounded up the stairs into her apartment complex and then into the apartment, you felt so happy. Jill was the best. You need a repay sometime. Take her out to a Batburger perhaps?

Those thoughts were harshly interrupted by the smell that practically smacked the two of you in the faces. Oh right. The blood.

“Goddamn it…” Jill let out the loudest sigh as she spoke. “We shouldn’t have let it dry. Now it’s all sticky.” She let the toe of her shoe step in it. You both listened to the audible sticking of her shoe to the ground and then her having to pull it off.

“Looks like I might have to go back to the manor after all.” You grumbled under your breath, looking to her. “Alfred has this pressure washer that works wonders on the driveway whenever he cleans it. I can go get it?” You offered, jutting a thumb behind you.

“Can my floors even sustain the force of a pressure washer…?” She asked quietly.

You both looked at the stain and stared at it in silence for about a minute.

“I’ll bring Alfred’s normal cleaning products in case.”

When you got to the manor, you wasted no time looking for Alfred.

Or, well, shouting for him.

“Alfred!” You yelled as you walked through the halls to your room. Earlier, when you were still walking to the manor, you decided that you might as well hit two birds with one stone on this trip. You were going to grab your childhood stuffie. Why? Well, since you’re gonna be staying with Jill as long as you possibly can, you may as well bring it. Plus, the last time you left your stuffie alone for an extended period of time, Jason broke into the manor, trashed your room and ripped off one of its arms. (Then he turned on you when you happened to come home early and beat the shit out you, but that’s a story for another time.) It was also one of the only things you still have from when your mother was still alive, so there’s that too.

With still no sign of Alfred, you quickly ducked into your room and grabbed your stuffie. When you exited your room, you got a face full of titties again. This time though, they were man tits. You backed up and moved around this person before you finally got a good look at his face.

Would you look at that? It was Jason.

Lovely.

“[Name].” The man (because he really was just a man. He was nothing to be afraid of. He may have scared you when you were younger, but once again, he’s a man. You’re a zombie.) … greeted? He always sounded so gruff and grumpy. Like a paragon of anger if you will.

“Todd.” You greeted in return. You’d learned his last name just so you didn’t have to use the first one when you were younger.

“Are you alright?” Todd asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You and your friend looked pretty banged up last night.” He scoffed. Wait, did he see you and Jill moving the body? Or did he see you both covered in blood after?

“We’re fine now.”

A small silence encompassed the both of you. You were waiting for him to either walk off of say something else. He did neither.

“Nice— uh nice room.” A stutter? From the mighty child-beating Jason? Wow.

“Yeah. No thanks to you.” You spoke slowly, looking him in the eyes as you spoke. “You are in danger to everybody in this house. A loose cannon, and honestly, you should’ve died in that fire or explosion or whatever it was.” The words were leaving your mouth without even thinking. You were barely even registering them. “I don’t know what mental illness you gained while you were gone, pit rage was it?” It sounded so fake too. You were 15 when he attacked you, not five. They could’ve just told the truth. “But I wholeheartedly believe you should be locked in Arkham Asylum with all the other crazy people.”

You both stared at each other for a long while.

It was nice to let that out. You must’ve really wanted to say that to him for a long time if it came out without being prompted.

Also, was it wrong to say the man looked gobsmacked?

You decided to approach this same way you did Coach Rhonda. You gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Good talk.” With that, looking for Alfred and his cleaning supplies again.

You never found Alfred, but you did find his cleaning supply stash so you did nick a few things.

You also rushed out the door when he yelled after you to ask about the gigantic pile of vomit he found dried in the bathroom.

Now, you were back at Jill’s place, scrubbing at the floors with her after you’d called a window repair man to come fix her window. It was where the burglar broke in.

“Maybe we can kill that guy Brandon or Blake or whatever his name was.” You said as you used the sponge to keep scrubbing.

“Does Brandon or Blake go to school with us?” Jill paused her cleaning to look at you with a face that said she knew the answer.

“Yes?”

“Then no.”

You groaned. “Jill, you keep shooting down my ideas for people to kill!”

“Because all the people you wanna kill aren’t bad people. They’re just assholes!”

You huffed. “Fine. But we need to find someone soon. Coach Rhonda‘s calves are getting to me.” You started scrubbing again.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Taglist: @shinning-stars @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @lettucel0ver @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @11queensupreme11 @vanessa-boo @darktrashpoetry

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : the fever

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary : blurb based on this request!!!! or hamzah takes care of reader while she's sick

mickey speaks : i hope u enjoyyyy, more of my hamzah works can be found here <3 also i’m updating my tag list so pls lmk if you’d liked to be tagged in any fics in the future

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

there's no worse way to start your morning than in a pool of your own sweat and reading a thermometer displaying 101.2°F.

without any strength to attempt to leave your bed and no appetite to drive you to perseverance, you're left slumped lazily against your hot pillow.

just as your blinks begin to slow and your eyes droop low, an irritating sequence of vibrations beam from your phone. you pinch your eyes and let out a slightly dramatic but definitely necessary whine that turns into a groan as you stretch your arms far above your head.

you take your time, hoping whoever is waiting on the other line takes the hint by the forth ring that you’re busy drowning in your misery. you open your eyes just a peek before the ringing completely stops.

a relieved sigh comes over you as you lift your plush comforter over your head in hopes of reducing any natural light your windows allow to shine into your cluttered room.

it rings once more.

“fuck!” you let a blip of rage slip out in a seething tone, kicking your feet against your mattress harshly (an immature way of expressing yourself which makes you feel fifteen again; annoyed by your old obnoxious alarm clock).

you pull the oversized covers from your face and lean over to fiddle and grab your phone from its charging dock on your jagged, wooden night stand.

your tight expression is slightly shattered when you see the large text and tiny image in the corner of the facetime call displaying your boyfriend’s name and face.

you swipe to answer, falling back onto your pillow and covering your torso with the comforter once more (after having stripped of any clothing throughout the sleepless night).

your pouty face goes to the corner of the call as hamzah displays largely across your screen. he’s set his phone on top of his dashboard, still focused on actively driving when you answer.

“heyy, whatcha’ doing? haven’t responded to my texts at all, i was gettin’ worried..” his tongue plays with the gum in his mouth, popping multiple tiny bubbles at once.

your voice gives an unexpected voice crack, “i’m doing terrible,” hamzah’s a bit thrown off by your response but you don’t acknowledge his facial expression, instead you rub your eyes, “where are you going?”

“what happened?!” he arrives at a red light and looks at you while he’s stopped, “did you not sleep well? i was on my way to get you- thought we were playin’ pickleball today with martin and mandy.”

“eughhhh, i totally forgot about that- i’ll have to text and tell them i can’t anymore i’m like dyinggg, h. my temperature’s over 100.” you sniffle and groan.

“nah, don’t worry about that i’ll tell ‘em we can’t make it. you just stay put and i’ll be over in like- just a sec, okay?” he keeps glancing over to look at you which you appreciate, though you prefer for him to pay attention- but you don’t necessarily feel like getting into a back in forth with him over his driving habits right now.

“m’kayyyy you’re the best, love you.” you thank him gently, blowing a kiss towards the camera.

“mmm i like hearing that. you’re my favorite.” he smiles to himself, “yeah, um, i’ll see you in a bit- maybe try and get some sleep though, girl?”

“i’ll try,” you whisper.

“okay, be right there, love you.”

✧₊⁺

you’re not sure how long hamzah’s been at your side when you eventually wake up again to him sat next to you, looking through one of your many 2000s magazines.

you tap his knee silently, seemingly in a better mood after some well needed rest and the comfort of waking up in hamzah’s presence.

he displays a faux since of shock, “wow and she’s somehow even prettier when awake!”

you smile and slip your hand under your cheek as you lay and look at him, “hi, when’d you get here?”

he places your magazine down next to him, "got here maybe two hours ago? i stopped by a store and grabbed you some medicine to take and some other essentials like kitkats and iced tea- did you know hilary duff and lindsay lohan had hella back and forth beef??"

you nod, "duh, of course i do! and getting me snacks wowwww you're so perfect, huh?"

hamzah playfully shrugs his arms up and down, "a little somethin' like thattt, just for you."

you laugh but begin to cough uncontrollably, to which hamzah screws his face up in faux disgust; you stare, "thanks."

“nahh i’m playing,” he grabs one of your hands and kisses the back of it, “do you need me to do anything?”

“can you come brush my teeth with me?”

he nods immediately, standing up and picking your body (wrapped delicately in your covers) up and carrying you bridal-style into the bathroom down your skinny hallway.

on the way there you laugh again which leads to another coughing fit which you cover as much as you possibly can. hamzah teasingly stretches you away from him whining out an “eeuuuhhhh!!!” but you are quick to give him a glare that has him giggling and apologizing by curling you back into his broad chest smacking a few million kisses onto your cheek.

you push his face away in warning, “stop it you’re gonna get sick, stupid!!!!”

✧₊⁺

hamzah stands between your legs as you sit on the counter and brush your teeth. he thinks you look like an angel- or maybe a tooth fairy with the suds elegantly surrounding your mouth. despite your runny nose, hot, clammy skin and sleepy eyes, the white comforter manages to compliment your complexion in the most beautiful of ways. the sight in front of him was weirdly so angelic… “so pretty…” he lets his thoughts trickle into the air.

you pause your movements and look up at him starting to grin before scooting to the side and spitting into the sink. he grins and decides to joke with you a bit, scratching the back of his neck and blowing a raspberry into the air next to him, “did i say pretty?? i meant so ….sickly??” he squints his eyes a little trying to figure out where exactly he’s going with this, “because you’ve come down with something…. bad.”

you roll your eyes and shake your head, “it sounds like you want to call me beautiful…” you bat your eyelashes as you quote him through a mouthful of toothpaste and an insane urge to laugh.

hamzah laughs for you and wipes his eyes exclaiming, “enough! let’s wrap this up.”

✧₊⁺

hamzah made you take medicine and eat top ramen with him before you lay back down in bed. now you're lying up against your headboard watching reruns of sabrina the teenage witch with blankets curled up to your chin.

when hamzah finally comes back into your room he knocks twice before stepping into the space; he’s adorned with an arrangement of white tiger lilies in his hand and a small smile on his face.

you’re absolutely shocked, “what the fuck??? h, when’s you have time to get those?!” you prop yourself up and he hands them to you.

“i saw a little shop that was closing up when i was on my way back to my place just now; it’s cute you’d like it,” he moves to lay next to you.

“thank you,” you look at him lovingly, “for everything today; you treat me so well. how were the kitties doin’?”

“mhmm, they’re fine missin’ you though.” hamzah feels a since of pride from your words, taking the flowers from your hand and setting them on your nightstand (next to a roll of toilet paper you’ve used for your runny nose and a few empty water bottles). he turns back to you and brings his hand up to hold your face, “you’re so easy to treat well.” he leans closer to your face and your eyes shift down to his lips before you’re pulling away.

you playfully scoff and shake your head no, “nuh uh, i’m not getting you sick!”

“baby i’ve been around you all day and feel fine!! my immune system is the best there is, ‘promise.” he traces your lips with his thumb gently.

“you’re sooo…” you mumble the scold, turn on your side to move away from him.

he leans over you giggling, “amazing?” he kisses your cheek. “perfect?” another closer to your lips, “you’ve said them all before!” he sets a sweet kiss to your pouty lips before retreating back lie against the pillow next to you.

“i was gonna say needy but those work as well…” you grumble and smile to your self, “hold me?” you ask a bit louder, peeking over your shoulder to see hamzah drop his phone and immediately give you the attention you want from him, nuzzling you close and kissing your neck softly.

✧₊⁺

a few weeks later via Out of Character on YouTube

martin: yeah, and you’ve been freaking sick the past week and a half! how was that?

hamzah: very whimsical and magical. i’m kidding obviously it sucks and y/n was actually the one to give it to me! i’m not blaming but i am.

martin: i think that’s the worst part about having a girlfriend like if she’s sick you’re gonna get sick too- mandy’s like a freaking warrior though she’s never sick. it’s actually really odd.

hamzah: it’s because she’s a nurse, i think

martin: actually dude?

hamzah: yeah i read about it (he’s lying)

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

"Is That My...Shirt!?"

Caleb hated losing things.

It wasn't about inconvenience—it was disruption. A violation of order. He thrived on control, on knowing where everything belonged and why. A place for every object. A reason for every action. So when something went missing, it didn't just disappear. It unsettled the entire structure of his world.

Today, what was missing was his grey shirt.

Not just any shirt. The shirt.

Soft, worn cotton. Sleeves that hugged his biceps just right. Collar frayed from years of devotion. It carried his scent—cedar and clean skin—and fit like a second body. It was familiar, constant, his. And now it was gone.

"Have you seen my grey t-shirt?" he called out, voice pitched just enough to carry down the hall.

Silence.

Weird.

She was home. He'd seen her shoes—the hideous slippers she swore were the epitome of comfort—by the door. Her phone was plugged in on the kitchen counter. Her tea still steamed in a half-empty mug forgotten on the sideboard. Her presence lingered in all the quiet corners of his space, like it always did.

Caleb ran a hand through damp hair, still dripping from the shower. A towel hung low on his hips, barely secured. He frowned, irritation tightening across his jaw, gaze drifting toward her room. The door stood ajar by an inch—just enough to spill a thin slice of amber light into the hallway.

Inviting.

Private.

He knocked once.

No answer.

A second passed. Then another. The silence on the other side of the door felt thick—velvet and smoke. Intimate in a way that made something uneasy twist low in his gut.

"Hello?" he tried again, softer this time. He leaned closer, hand still resting on the doorframe.

Still nothing.

He told himself to let it go. It was a shirt. Not a battle worth starting. But she wasn't supposed to borrow his clothes without asking—not again. And if this was the line she was crossing today, then maybe she deserved to be caught.

So he pushed the door open.

And forgot how to breathe.

She was on the bed.

Bathed in lamplight, limbs tangled in sheets, skin flushed and gleamed with heat. Her back arched in slow waves, one hand fisting the comforter, the other moving between her thighs with devastating purpose. Every movement—measured, desperate—sent ripples through the room like a tremor.

And she was wearing it.

His shirt.

His fucking shirt.

Oversized and rumbled, the hem bunched around her hips, neckline slipping off one shoulder to reveal that delicate chain she never took off. The fabric clung to her curves in places and gaped in others, framing her like a vision he had no right to witness.

Her hair fanned across the pillow like wildfire. Lips parted. Brow furrowed in focused need.

The sounds—God—the sounds.

Soft, breathy gasps. Fragile little whimpers that shattered the silence and stripped him of reason. They cracked through the armor he wore like glass.

Caleb didn't move.

Couldn't.

His mind went white—instinct surging, breath gone. The air between them thrummed with something primal, ancient, feral. Every gasp she gave, every subtle roll of her hips, every quiver in her thighs—he felt it in his spine. In his blood. In his cock, pulsing hard against the restraint of his towel.

She wasn't just beautiful.

She was undone.

Worship. Agony. Rapture.

There was no shame in how she moved—only hunger. The kind that begged, alone in the dark, chasing a high she thought no one could see.

He should've walked away.

He didn't.

His feet rooted to the floor. His breath caught like it had teeth. The towel around his hips was suddenly too tight, too hot, too in the way.

Then she said his name.

Whispered. Broken. Barely audible.

But it detonated in his chest.

"Caleb."

His name—said like sin. Like confession. Like she had only every said it in the privacy of her own ruin.

His control, always iron-clad, cracked beneath the weight of it.

"Fuck—sorry," he rasped, voice wrecked and raw, hands flying up far too late to shield his eyes. But the damage was already done. That image—that moment—was carved into him now. Permanent. Irrevocable.

She gasped, fingers jerking away from herself as she scrambled upright, clutching the hem of his shirt down over the trembling thighs. Her breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. Her eyes were wide, cheeks blooming a fierce red. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

She looked like she wanted to vanish.

But beneath the panic, beneath the flood of shame—

There it was.

Need.

Undeniable.

And oh, she wasn't the only one.

Caleb's gaze locked with hers.

And in that suspended second—so sharp it nearly bled—they both knew.

Knew what had been simmering between them for months. Years, maybe. All the near-touches, the lingering glances, the stifled silence crackling every time they stood too close. It had been real. Always. Palpable. Unspoken.

Unignorable.

He should've said nothing.

Should've turned around, closed the door, spared her the humiliation, pretended this hadn't just torn open the fabric of everything between them.

Instead, his voice came low, rough, velvet-edged and dangerous.

"Is that... my shirt?"

Her eyes widened—not just from shock that he'd spoken, but at what he'd chosen to say. Not a reprimand. Not an apology. A question. One steeped in something deeper. Darker.

A single beat passed. Then another.

She didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

Because the way her thighs pressed tighter together, the way her bottom lip trembled beneath her teeth, the way her chest rose and fell like she was drowning—he saw it all.

And he didn't feel guilty.

Not even a little.

He felt possessive.

Feral.

Like a man who'd found something sacred and secret and had no intention of giving it back.

He should've walked away.

But his body moved without his permission.

Caleb stepped into the room.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Like a man approaching fire and deciding—yes. Let it burn.

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality.

She flinched.

Her hands gripped the hem of the shirt like it could shield her from the way he looked at her now—like she wasn't just something he wanted. She was something he'd already claimed.

She didn't speak.

Didn't move.

Only watched him. Wide-eyed. Bare-legged. Flushed in places he ached to taste.

His shirt clung to her, damp in places, twisted from motion. The collar dipped scandalously, baring her collarbone—and lower. Her skin shimmered under the lamplight like a dream he'd once tried to forget.

And then it hit him again—sharp, visceral.

She'd worn him to touch herself.

Wrapped herself in the closest thing to him and come apart, alone, whispering his name like it meant something.

Like it meant everything.

"You know," he said at last, voice quiet but rough as gravel, "if you wanted my attention... there are easier ways."

Her jaw tightened.

"Get out."

The words sounded brave. But her voice was thin. Shaky. A bluff without conviction.

She didn't mean it.

Couldn't.

Not with the way her thighs pressed together again, not with the way her gaze dropped to his bare chest and darted back up like her body betrayed her.

Caleb took another step forward.

The floor creaked bneath his weight, but neither of them moved. The air between them pulled taut—gold-lit, still, unbearably close. Like the breath before a storm.

"I asked you a question." His mouth curled at one corner, slow and sure. "Is that my shirt?"

Her glare faltered. "Caleb…”

The way she said his name—exasperated, breathless, scorched with humiliation—dug under his skin like a buried hook.

His smirk deepened, laced with something darker now. Something far from amused.

"You could've just said you missed me."

Her lips parted in stunned silence.

"You were thinking about me, weren't you?" he murmured. His voice dipped, velvet-wrapped sin. "Your hands down your panties. My shirt clinging to your skin. What were you imagining, sweetheart?"

"Don't." The word trembled, barely making it out of her throat.

But her eyes—God, the way they flicked to his mouth—said something else entirely.

Please. Don't stop.

He stopped just at the edge of the bed.

Close enough to touch.

But didn't.

Not yet.

The tension between them was electric—thick and wild, humming with restraint just moments from breaking.

"One second I'm looking for a shirt," he said, eyes raking over her like he had every right, "and the next I find you wet, panting, saying my name like a prayer."

He tilted his head, a low, wicked note curling through his tone.

"And I'm the villain for asking?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her throat bobbed, lips trembling.

Caleb crouched slightly, resting one hand on the mattress—close, but not touching her. His voice softened, losing some of its edge. "I'm not mad," he said, quieter now. "Just... surprised."

And beneath the teasing—if she was really listening—there was something else.

Something unsteady.

Wounded. Breathless. Awestruck.

Because this wasn't just arousal burning beneath his skin. This wasn't just lust licking up his spine.

It was need.

Violent. Intimate. All-consuming.

Not the kind he could have with anyone. Not even the kind he understood.

It was hers.

And it was ruining him.

He had never been wanted like this.

Never seen someone fall apart for him, because of him—without so much as a touch.

And something deep inside him, something raw and long-starved, curled around that truth like it was oxygen.

She wanted him. Not just anyone. Not an idea. Him.

He lifted a hand—slowly, carefully—and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek.

Her breath caught.

"You're beautiful when you come undone," he said softly. "Don't hide it from me."

She looked at him then.

Really looked.

Eyes wide. Glassy. Still dazed from being caught, still swimming in leftover shock—but behind it all, something else sparked in her gaze.

Challenge.

And it hit him like a slow, certain truth:

If he kissed her now—if he touched her, tasted her, undid her—

He would not leave this room the same man.

She would ruin him.

And he wanted it.

God help him, he wanted it.

She didn't pull away.

Her skin was warm beneath his fingers. Softer than he remembered. Her breath came in shallow bursts, stuttering against her chest. And he could feel it—how close they were. Not just in inches.

In everything.

The silence stretched between them, thick and golden and impossibly loud. It pulsed with everything unsaid—things they'd buried in passing glances, in almosts, in the ache of wanting what they convinced themselves they couldn't have.

Then, softly—barely above a breath—she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

Just the edge of a question he wasn't brave enought to answer.

He didn't know what she meant.

Maybe she meant this—the crossing of a line neither of them could uncross.

Maybe she meant all of it. The way he looked at her. The way he hadn't left. The way he was shaking with restraint.

Maybe she meant the fact that he'd stepped into the room and let the door shut behind him like he belonged here.

With her.

Caleb's throat worked around something unspoken. His voice came low, raw.

"I don't know," he murmured. "But I can't stop."

Her gaze flicked to his mouth.

And it was like being seen—not just looked at, but seen—by hunger itself.

It stripped him bare.

He swallowed hard. "Do you want me to leave?"

The question was quiet. A whisper. A lifeline he didn't want her to take. He leaned in, slow, careful, like he was afraid the moment might shatter under the weight of breath.

"Because I will," he said, "if you tell me to."

Her lips parted.

One heartbeat.

Then another.

And then—

"No."

The word came out like surrender. Soft. Defiant. Honest in a way that broke him open.

No hesitation.

No second-guessing.

Just truth.

It gutted him.

Like she'd handed him her ribs cracked open, her heart still beating inside, without asking what he planned to do with it.

His breath left him in one long, uneven exhale. "Fuck."

It wasn't elegant. It wasn't romantic.

But it was the only word that came close to the wildfire tearing through him.

He dipped his head.

Slowly.

Giving her time.

Giving himself time to stop.

She didn't.

When their mouths met, it wasn't gentle.

It was inevitable.

Her lips crashed into his like a secret finally confessed—urgent, bruising, real. His groan broke the moment open, deep and wrecked, the kind of sound he didn't know he could make until her hands fisted in his shoulders like she was falling and he was the only thing keeping her tethered.

He kissed her harder.

Slid a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, needing to feel her come apart under his mouth the way she had under her own.

She tasted like tea. Like skin. Like want.

Like a thousand nights of pretending—all going up in smoke.

Her fingers skimmed his waist. Slid lower. Touched skin beneath the towel.

Then they paused.

Caleb stilled.

He pulled away just enough to look at her, chest heaving, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

"We don't have to," he said. His voice was rough but steady, like he'd borrowed strenght from somewhere deeper. "Not tonight."

She swallowed hard. "But what if I want to?"

The words slammed into him like impact.

Not anyone.

Not someone.

Him.

She wanted him.

The rawness of it—the specificity, the ache—unmade him.

He pressed their forheads together, every breath shared between them now. Chest to chest. Heart to fucking heart.

"Say that again," he whispered.

Her voice cracked. "I want you."

Caleb inhaled sharply, like she'd carved it into his chest. Like it hurt in the best way.

But still—he didn't rush.

Instead, he kissed her again.

Slower now.

Deeper.

Like he was memorizing her.

Not claiming.

Not devouring.

Learning.

And somehow, that undid her more than anything else.

Caleb kissed her like she was a secret he'd waited years to learn. Softer, then firmer. Gentle, then edged with hunger. His mouth moved against hers like he was trying to map her. Etched her into memory.

One hand braced his weight beside her, the other drifted—slow, reverent—from the curve of her waist down to the bare stretch of her thigh.

The contrast nearly undid him.

His shirt.

Her skin.

Nothing between them now but breath and the thin thread of restraint fraying by the second.

His fingers traced the inside of her thigh, slow enough to make her hips twitch. She gasped, her teeth catching her bottom lip. And it was worse than any moan he'd imagined—because now he knew how her mouth tasted when she made those sounds.

He could feel her heat radiating up from between her legs—so close.

She was trembling.

So was he.

His thumb made a lazy circle near the edge of the shirt's hem, teasing where it rode high on her hips. "I haven't stopped thinking about it," he murmured.

She blinked, dazed. "About what?"

His gaze darkened. "They way you said my name."

Her breath caught.

He could feel it—the tension curling tight in her body, the way her thighs shifted closer, instinctively searching for friction.

"You sounded like you were praying," he said. "Like you needed me to hear it."

Her hand moved—tentative, then braver—pressing against his chest, sliding lower. Over the ridges of his ribs. Down.

When her fingers reached the knot of his towel, she paused.

He didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Every muscle in his body strained with restraint. If he so much as exhaled wrong, she might stop. Or worse—he might lose the fragile grip he had on control.

Her eyes met his. Searching. Asking.

"Can I?" she whispered.

He nodded.

Just once.

She pulled the knot loose.

The towel fell.

Her breath hitched as her eyes dragged down his body—and the look that bloomed in her gaze wasn't just desire. It was awe.

It stripped him bare in ways skin never could.

Not just lust.

Worship.

"You're..." she whispered, unable to finish.

He leaned down, kissed the corner of jaw. "So are you."

His hand slid higher.

Up her thigh, over soft, trembling skin. His thumb grazed the crease near her hip, dangerously close to where she burned for him.

She was already soaked. He could feel it radiating off her like heat from a fever.

Her breath hitched.

His fingers inched closer, teasing the edge of her panties—what little of them there was beneath the shirt.

And then she moved.

Her legs parted.

Soft. Shy.

But unmistakable.

Offering.

It broke something in him.

Not her body.

Her trust.

She was giving herself to him—no conditions, no demands. Just raw, aching permission.

And it wrecked him more than any scream ever could.

His fingers brushed her center.

She gasped—sharp and sudden—arching beneath his touch.

She was already wet. Warm. Open.

For him.

Only him.

He kissed her. Hard.

And against her mouth, breath stuttering, he whispered:

"Let me ruin you slowly."

Her moan was immediate. Guttural. Like the sound had been waiting in her throat all along.

His fingers found her again, sliding through her slick folds, learning her with reverence. His touch was deliberate—never rushed. He traced, circled, coaxed—watching her fall apart beneath him like it was the only truth he'd ever needed.

When he finally pressed his thumb to that tight bundle of nerves, she whimpered.

Her hips bucked.

Her nails dug into his side.

He kissed her harder, deeper, swallowing every sound she gave him.

He wanted to fall into her.

Sink.

Down.

His fingers moved in slow, aching rhythm, teasing, learning every twitch, every gasp, every desperate shift of her hips. He slid two fingers inside her, slow and deep, feeling the wet heat clamp down in welcome.

"Fuck," he breathed against her cheeck, his voice nearly shaking. "You feel—Jesus."

She writhed beneath him, thighs clenching around his wrist, mouth open, lost.

He watched her—eyes wide, lashes fluttering, skin flushed and slick with need—and felt something primal and tender coil deep inside him.

She was beautiful.

Ruined.

And it was only the beginning.

Caleb pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Then her jaw.

Lower.

His mouth mapped a slow trail down her throat, pausing at the fluttering pulse beneath her skin. Her heartbeat was frantic—wild against his lips—and it made his own stutter to match.

He kissed lower still, lifing the hem of the shirt—his shirt—as he went.

Over her ribs. Her stomach. The soft rise of her breasts.

When he reached her nipple, he didn't hesitate.

He drew it into his mouth, warm and gentle, his tongue flicking lazily over the sensative peak. Her back arched. A cry escaped her throat—half shock, half surrender.

"You wore this," he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against her skin, "and you touched yourself to the thought of me."

Her fingers tangled in his hair.

"Caleb—"

"Say it."

Her voice caught on a moan. "I thought of you."

He groaned low, mouth moving to her other breast, sucking just hard enough to make her whimper.

"Yeah?" His voice rasped against her skin. "Thought about me filling you up? Taking you slow? Making you beg for it?"

She moaned like he'd touched something deeper than flesh. Like he'd cracked open a vault.

And the worst part—he hadn't even given her anything yet. Not really. Just fingers. Mouth. Voice.

All promise.

No relief.

He moved lower, dragging his lips down her stomach, across her hipbone, lower still—settling between her thighs like it was where he belonged.

He kissed the inside of her knee.

Then higher.

Then again.

By the time his mouth finally found her, she was shaking.

He moaned into her heat like it was a goddamn sacrament. Licked a slow striped from her entrance to her clit, then circled it—teasing, worshipful.

She cried out, hips buckling, thighs tightening around his head.

But he didn't stop.

He couldn't.

His mouth moved with purpose—languied and exact, every flick of his tongue a revelation. He slid two fingers back inside her, curling just right, feeling the way her body pulsed and clenched with need.

"Caleb—fuck—I'm gonna—"

"No."

He lifted his head just enough to growl into her skin. "Not yet."

She let out a strangled noise—half sob, half plea.

He pushed his fingers in again, slower now, deeper. Her body writhed, her mouth falling open as she tipped her head back into the pillows.

He kissed her hip, then her thigh, then lower again.

"Not until I'm inside you," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Not until I feel you come on me."

Her gaze met his.

Ruined.

Flushed.

Wide with something that looked too much like love.

"I need you," she whispered.

And just like that—he shattered.

He kissed his way back up her body, slow and desperate, dragging his skin along hers like he needed every inch to survive.

Her thighs opened to cradle his hips, and the way her body welcomed him—soft, instinctive, aching—almost brough him to his knees.

"Pipsqueak..."

He reached down, guided himself to her entrance, and paused.

Just... breathed.

Because even now—after everything—he needed a second.

To feel this.

To remember.

"You're so fucking wet."

Her breath caught. "Please."

He pushed in.

Slowly.

Her body stretched to take him, hot and tight, inch by inch. He gritted his teeth, a groan rumbling low in his throat as he sank deeper. She gasped, her hands fisting the sheets, hips tilting up to meet him.

When he was fully seated inside her—hips flush, chest heaving—he had to stop. Had to press his forehead to hers just to remember how to breathe.

"Look at me," he said, voice ragged.

She did.

And what he saw there—need, trust, something terrifyingly tender—knocked the breath from his lungs.

He began to move.

Not hard.

Not fast.

Slow.

Deep.

Each thrust pulled a whimper from her lips, each roll of his hips a prayer between bodies. Her eyes fluttered shut, head tipping back as she arched into him.

He kissed her—soft, reverent, like he was saying thank you.

Her hands clutched his back. Fingertips digging in. Her moans turned frantic, hips rising to meet every stroke.

"I can't—Caleb—"

He leaned in, forehead to hers again, grounding them both.

"Yes," he whispered. "Now."

And she shattered.

He felt it—her body clenching tight around him, her breath breaking in gasps, her nails scraping down his back. She came with him inside her, just as he'd imagined. Just as he'd needed.

He kept moving, gentler now, until the heat in her pulse dragged him under with her.

His rhythm stuttered.

His grip tightened.

He buried his face in her neck, groaned her name like a confession—

And let go.

Not just release.

Not just control.

Everything.

— © 2025 by Sylus's Little Crow

[livvymd]

"Think Fast". ⋆｡˚ — chrismd x reader

HELP THIS IMAGE IS TOO FUNNY BYE

It was the sort of quiet, golden-lit afternoon that begged for mischief. Chris was sprawled across the living room floor, legs stretched out, editing a thumbnail with his usual furrowed brow and tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. A mug of tea sat untouched beside him, long since gone cold.

You stood in the doorway watching him, love blooming in your chest like a wild thing.

So naturally, you decided to ruin his peace.

Phone in hand, you pressed record.

“Think fast,” you called sweetly, already advancing.

Chris looked up with the vague panic of a man who just realized he’s prey.

“Wait, what — ?”

“I’m a random girl!” you declared dramatically, launching yourself at him with your lips puckered like an exaggerated rom-com heroine.

He yelped — genuinely yelped — and scrambled backward on the hardwood like his life depended on it.

“HELP — SHE’S A STRANGER — ” he cried, flailing with all the coordination of a baby deer, knocking over his mug in the process.

“CHRISTOPHER DIXON,” you said through laughter, crawling after him like a relentless love zombie. “ACCEPT MY AFFECTION.”

“NO — THIS IS AN ATTACK — I’M INNOCENT — , IM GAY, IM AN INNOCENT GAY?”

You latched onto him anyway, letting out a loud and genuine laugh, arms wrapping around his neck as he half-heartedly tried to fight you off with a pillow.

It was ridiculous. It was glorious.

Eventually, breathless from giggling and too tired to resist, he collapsed backward onto the rug with you tangled on top of him, both of you wheezing.

“Was it worth it?” he panted, still blinking like he’d survived a war.

“Every second,” you whispered, before pressing a noisy kiss to his cheek.

He groaned dramatically. “I’m filing a police report.”

“You love me.”

He covered his face with both hands, but you could see the grin trying to break through. “Unfortunately.”

You settled your head on his chest, triumphant and smug, as he wrapped his arms around you with the resigned affection of a man utterly and eternally whipped.

🎥 TikTok (Posted by You): Caption: “Think fast 😚💋 #chaos #thinkfasttrend #chrismd #boyfriendwars #hetriedtorun”

🗨️ Top Comments:

@yesss123111: the way he SCREAMED HELP 😭😭😭😭

@unitedbabyy: she said “I’m a random girl” and he unlocked FLIGHT MODE 💀💀

@lovingchrismdd: im gay is CRAZY HELP 😭

@chaosandcuddles: the pillow defense… the tea sacrifice… 10/10 no notes

@museumdategirl: love is chasing your boyfriend across the floor like a feral beast <3

@chrissgirlypop: you KNOW he cuddled her like a baby koala after this

woo hoo hopefully you liked his one anon

TAGLIST:

@jamiekluivert

@wherethezoes-at

@pretendyoucantseeme

@artvscvntymullet

@chrisolivia4l

@formulaal

@smzyyx

[thesweetestapplepie]

‘heaven’s home’

tags: fluff, girl dad Arthur Morgan <3

authors note: just a really quick one so i can get back to doing some requests..this one has js festered my mind all week.

In 1899, silence was a gift greatly afforded every blue moon. When days were still tarred together in gunpowder residue and the stench of a fresh kill bleeding warm down the side of your horse. The only silence you could be afforded was the head-ringing of a shotgun blast crackling in your ear or the call of buzzards honing in on dead bison in New Hanover. Silence was quick and brief as it was sweet and peaceful. Yet, years later and you found the sound of silence only frightens you from your sheets, white chemise glued to your skin in a cold sweat.

In 1907, silence strung you up from your covers and throwovers. The air was void of that familiar bear snore that shook the four walls of your homely cabin, that disrupted the hanging fixtures of your portraits and pictures. Swimming in your sea of blankets and pillows, your hands scramble to the vacant expanse of Arthur’s side of the bed. With eyelids still glued shut in fatigue and the cold meeting your fingertips, you force your eyes open in lazy fashion when you hear that thick-throated chuckle sound from the corner of the bedroom. It makes your lips twitch up in a smile, opening your eyes with fluttering lashes to the dark silhouette of the lumbering man.

The image of him standing by the window greets you in a sight that is slowly becoming more familiar by the minute. As familiar as it has been since thwarting Dutch and Micah’s ever silver-toothed jaws. His shoulders sit square with the moonlight clinging to the snug fit of his union shirt, highlighting the curvature of his broad frame and tough body. With drawn curtains as sapphire as his eyes, he sways in place with a soft whisper from his throat. Despite his rough voice, he coos a bird’s song into his arms where he cradles the jewels of his endeavors and triumphs in his hands. A baby girl. A baby girl who he holds so close to his chest yet so gently, as if terrified of pulling a hair from her head. You rub your eyes and your vision is blinking stars when you finally hear that thick velvet voice.

“Shh.. Easy, girl.. Easy..” Arthur doubles down his soft cooing and praise, the soft babbling from your daughter quickly waning. Old habits die hard, you suppose. It makes you laugh the amount of times his old, gunslinging tendencies shine in vulnerable moments such as these. Years of pulling on leather reins, stalling down steep, sunrise crested mountains had finally led to those rough and calloused hands to this moment. “Come on, babygirl.. You already woke mama up..” He teases without even glancing at you, yet that crooked smile pulls you from your sheets and you go to grab a thin shawl hanging on your bed frame.

He hears you emerge from your throne of pillows and blankets and shuffles his feet, shifting his back towards you as if trying to keep her all to himself. A sharp exhale escapes you in amusement. “She’s fussy cause she wants her mama..” You say scoldingly, wrapping a soft brown shawl around your shoulders as you pad your way over. He finally gives in, angling your daughter’s head down to your eyes where you’re met with an almost spitting image of Arthur. Well, for the most part. She had his bright, turquoise eyes and his pouty scowl everytime she was awake. Yet, Arthur liked to talk about how much she looked like you when she smiled or babbled laughter. Everytime she wrinkled her nose he’d kiss it with a flowery kiss, gentle as the petals of a flower. He says that also reminds him of you.

It had been 7 years since the two of you had made it on your own. Arthur could’ve sworn he would be closer to a noose around his neck, facing the crowd of the gallows in Valentine or Saint Denis than the days he’d ever see you walking to him in a flowery white gown. Years after the stinging betrayal of Dutch, he had a vivid picture of his impending punishment painted in galleries in his head. Yet, you seem to distract him from that impending, divine punishment. Soon, he had concluded that no punishment will collect its debt, that your hair had gotten longer and your figure fuller as the dewy summer days passed and the howling winter wanes. Scars that webbed your pretty skin slowly faded as did his and grey hairs sprouted from atop of his brown rooted head. He figured he could get used to living without punishment, without fear.

About 7 years ago he had begun to build you your home of blood sweat and love. Arthur feels the years of violence and sin purge from his body in the heat of labor and love, venerating it in a monument to you and only you. Well, now you and your daughter. You wanted a house by the lake, it took quite some time to level the land around Lake Owanjia and yet it was all worth it to be seated in your perfect slice of heaven. Purple and white wildflowers spotted the thickets and forest floor, surrounding your homely cabin in a chamber of color and love. Delicate shades of brown paint a flowery wallpaper across your bedroom, just as you had liked it. You reach to hold your baby girl and he’s hesitant to give her up, you could see it in those guilty dog eyes.

“We didn’t wanna wake you up, mama..” He coos. You stifle back another lovestruck giggle as Arthur finally turns to look at you. Moonlight splits his face into sharp edges and lines, wrinkles deboss his sunlined skin, you catch that lazy crooked smile from his teeth and lean against his bicep. “See, I already got her to sleep fa’ you.” Slowly swaying with him, you look over his shoulder to your daughter who shut her eyes tight and seemed to stir in her father’s arms. You can’t help but laugh at his stubbornness.

“She’s gonna start crying again.” You jut your lip playfully.

“No she aint.” As if the stars knew you were correct, her big blue eyes met his with a glossy acknowledgement and as her mouth opened to whine he moved to adjust her into your arms shakily. He keeps his hand on her head where soft locks matching your hair sprout, calloused palm smoothing the strands back into place where he leans down to press a kiss to her hairline. “Guess we all want mama, don’t we?” His voice comes out in a whisper as you begin to rock her in your arms, shushing her with your honeyed voice and smile. You watch his hands instinctively come to rest on your shoulders, adoration in his eyes as he looks down at his two favorite girls. Arthur Morgan had spent the first half of his life devoted to a senseless cause—he was sure he couldn’t have anything as precious as a daughter. Let alone a wife as perfect as you.

His stubble scratches your cheek when he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek—a longing for your skin as though you weren’t asleep beside him moments ago. Ever devoted to you. Yeah. He could definitely get used to this.

[azzibuckets]

All Fell Down ~Part 6~

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

afd masterlist w/ @imaginespazzi

3 Weeks Ago

Nassau, Bahamas

Paige is a little burnt from spending all day in the sun. They’d gone 3-0 in the Battle 4 Atlantis tournament before an unfortunate but expected loss to South Carolina. As soon as they’d returned to their hotel, she’d changed into her bikini and headed for the beach, eager for the opportunity to finally enjoy the warm Carribean weather instead of being cooped up in the gym.

To say the past few weeks had been stressful was an understatement. Even though it was her sophomore year, she was still adjusting to college ball—both the expectations of UConn legacy and the aggressiveness and consistency expected from her at such a high field of play. It certainly didn’t help that her best friend, who’d been a steady but long distance presence in her life for the past several years, was now constantly around her. It had almost been a comfort when Azzi was hours away, a little secret she could go to when the rest of the world was becoming too much. Even through phone calls, Azzi’s voice always calmed her mind, giving her something to look forward to after a long day. And Paige was by all means generous, but the one thing she hated to share was Azzi - Azzi’s attention, Azzi’s affection, everything she wanted only for herself.

Still, Paige had taken to the habit of knocking on her door at random hours throughout the day under the guise of showing her around her favorite spots in Storrs (not very many, considering it’s Storrs). Paige was even content with just sitting in Azzi’s bed, watching basketball on her iPad as the younger girl studied at her desk. Just being in Azzi’s presence was enough. And Paige had always known her relationship with Azzi was a little special, but this continual close proximity was starting to grow the weird, complicated mess in her heart into something unavoidable that occupied her every waking thought (and even her unawake thoughts — Paige couldn’t tell you how many times she’d woken up in the middle of the night, heart racing and body tensing, to images of Azzi’s pink lips and dark eyes and smooth skin).

Recently they’d taken to just sleeping over in each other’s beds, because somehow they always found themselves talking for hours, and by the time their voices got sleepy and conversation dwindled at 3 AM, Paige refused to let Azzi walk back to her dorm so late at night. The only option was clear. But falling asleep with her best friend and waking up with hands tangled, legs intertwined, sleepy doe eyes blinking at her and mussed curls falling over her pillows, made Paige’s heart throb just a little bit faster and ache a little bit harder.

As if she can read her thoughts, of Azzi Azzi Azzi running perpetually in her brain, the girl in question lifts up her sunglasses from her forehead and squints at Paige for half a second, a small smile tugging imperceptibly at the corner of her mouth.

Paige closes the book she’d been using to shield her eyes and raises an eyebrow at the younger girl, mouth getting dry as it always does whenever Azzi’s attention is fully on her. “What?”

“Nothing.” Azzi pauses for a little bit, a full grin overtaking her face now. “You know books are more than just sun visors?”

Paige throws the paperback at Azzi, who ducks and laughs. Not that Azzi is wrong; the blonde hadn’t even made it through the synopsis on the back before giving up. “It’s getting really hot out here.” Paige brushes sand off her thighs. “Wanna grab a drink?”

“You’re paying.” Azzi scrambles up and lends Paige a hand. When they touch, it almost feels electric—and even though it’s 90 degrees out, Paige shivers at the feel of Azzi’s hand on her wrist, the gentle slide of her fingertips lingering across her palm.

At the bar, Paige watches as Azzi leans across the counter. She’s wearing a green bikini, the neon of the nylon a beautiful contrast to the tan chocolate of her skin. Her small white shorts are tight on her butt, and Paige almost collapses on the spot when Azzi leans further and they start to ride up her thighs.

“This is my friend Paige.” Paige jolts out of her thoughts when Azzi grabs her elbow and motions to the bartender, a pretty ginger with freckles splashed across her cheeks. There’s something in the air, a sort of shimmering tension, and Paige realizes suddenly as Azzi’s cheeks color a light pink that she’s into the girl.

And the girl is into Azzi too.

“Hey.” The ginger nods coolly to Paige without really sparing her a second glance, and Paige is affronted. She wouldn’t call herself cocky, no, but the star basketball player isn’t exactly used to people treating her like she’s not worth their attention. And from someone who’s making Azzi blush and laugh? A familiar ache starts forming in her temples.

“Hey,” Paige repeats back, tone short. “Can I have a Shirley Temple please?”

“Do you have an ID?”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Virgin.”

The ginger sighs irritatedly, giving Azzi one last lingering glance before turning around to prepare her drink. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Paige jostles Azzi’s shoulder a little harder than necessary. “You’re so into her.”

“What?” Azzi blushes even harder, and Paige’s stomach sinks. “No, I’m not.”

“Stop lying.” The blonde rests her elbows on the counter, eyes trailing over the ginger, wondering what this girl has that she doesn’t. “You think she’s cute?” She’s tense as she waits for her best friend’s answer. Paige has never been sure about the younger girl’s sexuality—sure, the two of them have made out a few times, as normal best friends do when they’re drunk or high or lonely or when one of them is deeply and hopelessly in love with the other. But Azzi has never really brought it up after, avoiding the topic whenever Paige has tried to mention it. She’s not one to talk about her crushes either, at least with Paige, and Paige has stopped trying to push it. But now, as Azzi is staring at this ginger with something sparkling in her eyes, Paige feels the question that’s been tumbling through her mind for the past few years slowly start to creep up.

Azzi takes one of the several shots she’d ordered earlier and wipes her mouth, grimacing. Paige has a suspicion that she wasn’t asked for her ID. “She’s okay.”

“It’s okay to admit that you’re attracted to someone,” Paige teases, doing her best to to keep her tone light, casual. After all, that’s all they’ve defined their relationship as - casual, no strings attached, no hard feelings. Or more generally, no feelings at all - period.

“She’s not really my type,” Azzi mutters.

“So..what is your type?” Paige stares intently at the younger girl, but a glass is set down hard between the two of them before Azzi has the chance to respond.

“What’re you interrogating me for?” Azzi shifts uncomfortably.

“I think it’s pretty normal for someone to want to know about her best friend’s romantic life.”

Azzi takes another shot. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about it with you, okay?”

At this point, Paige is getting kinda annoyed. “What’s your problem?” She swirls the straw inside of her Shirley Temple. Some of the Sprite splashes out, which she ignores as the fucking bartender’s problem. “I hear you yapping to Caroline and Amari about all this shit. Is it me you don’t trust?”

“It’s just weird talking to you about it.” And it shouldn’t hurt, the way Azzi emphasizes the word “you”, but Paige is starting to feel like she’s been reading the signals wrong.

“I always tell you about my dating life,” Paige argues.

“Dating life? Your hookups could hardly be called a dating life,” Azzi scoffs off-handedly as she reaches for her third shot.

Paige pretends like the jab doesn’t hurt as she grabs the shot cup before her best friend can. “Bro, how many have you had?”

“Only a few,” Azzi says, her eyes dark and distant. “Give it back!”

“I’m not paying for you to get wasted on a Thursday afternoon.”

“Paige, give it back.”

“Answer my question first.”

“Paige!”

“Azzi!”

“Look, I don’t give a single flying fuck about your romantic life, okay? I don’t care about the girls in your bed or the girls you take on dates or whatever. I. Don’t. Care.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

“Oh my god, you’re insufferable.” Azzi rubs her temples. “Don’t you think it’s weird to discuss who you’re into with your friend with benefits?”

Suddenly it makes sense.

“We’re not just friends who fuck,” Paige says irritatedly. “We’re best friends.”

“Yeah. Best friends who fuck,” Azzi emphasizes.

Paige takes in the dark haired girl. The pout of her full lips, the sharp curve of her cheekbones, the faint outline of her dimple that suddenly turns all of her thoughts to mush. She swallows. “We don’t have to discuss anything.”

Azzi seems to notice the shift in her mood, the slow perusal of Paige’s eyes across her body. She smirks, shifting closer to the blonde, fingertips grazing her elbow ever so lightly. “Yeah?”

Paige nods. And when Azzi bats her lashes and smiles that sweet fucking smile, she knows she’s done for. “Yeah.”

Of course, Paige knows she’s falling into the cycle again, the forever of fighting and fucking and forgetting. But when Azzi steps closer to her, places both hands on her chest and pushes her back a little against the counter, and kisses the tip of her nose, then the corner of her mouth, then the slope of her jawline, Paige really can’t find it in herself to care.

When she wakes up the next morning, Azzi is still asleep, burrowed into soft white sheets, her hand slung loosely around Paige’s waist. The older girl carefully separates their limbs and sits up, watching the younger girl’s chest rise and fall. She traces Azzi’s cheek with the pad of her thumb. The younger girl is always pretty, but in the mornings, when she’s soft and sleepy and warm? Paige swears that it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

But Paige knows she has to end this before it ruins them - before it ruins her. She’d thought that Azzi might feel the same, that the way she’d whispered her name all those the nights, the way she’d rubbed her back to help her fall asleep, the way she’d squeezed her fingers whenever they walked past each other, had meant something. But Paige is very logical, and the logic of last night’s situation seems pretty straightforward. Azzi had flirted with another girl. Azzi had enjoyed it. Azzi didn’t want to tell Paige about all her secret lovers, because Azzi didn’t think it was Paige’s business; Azzi didn’t associate romance with Paige. Azzi likes having sex with Paige. But Azzi doesn’t like Paige. Not in the way that Paige wants her to. Because that’s all they are - friends, sorry, best friends, who fuck.

There’s been very few times Paige has left Azzi to wake up alone. If she’s had to, she’d always left a note, or a text. Today, Paige does none of these things. She grabs her phone, and then her clothes, hurriedly slipping on her sweater without bothering to put on a bra or shirt, frantic in her actions.

Paige is halfway out the door when she hears the rustling of sheets. She swears to herself that she doesn’t hear Azzi call her name. She shuts the door, slipping her phone into her pocket after finalizing her text and pressing send.

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: Hey sorry to cancel so late but I’m not coming home with yall for break after this

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: Think im gonna head to Montana and spend time with family

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: Just venmoed you the cost of the plane ticket

Paige Bueckers to Katie Fudd: can u let Az know?

Present Day

Paige has always considered herself to be strong.

She’d been strong when she’d injured her foot in high school from overuse, having to miss state playoffs in order to recover.

She’s been strong when her grandma had died, and she’d held her little brother while he sobbed for hours.

And she’d been a little too strong in her resolve to ignore Azzi for the past few weeks, until her feelings would hopefully be strangled and smashed and shot to the ground which they haven’t.

But when she’d fallen on the ground, the worry about what exactly her injury was almost as bad as the pain, she’d looked around dazed at the faces around her, and she’d felt so weak. And despite her teammates patting her and offering hands on the court, then piling in after the game to check up on her, she’d felt so fucking alone. As Paige laid in the chair, she’d thought about the vast numbers of players that got injured every game, with something probably even worse than this, and guilt invaded her mind. Here she was, feeling sorry for herself.

Until a mess of curly hair and soft brown eyes had appeared, warm hands hugging her, and reminded her that it was okay to not always feel so strong.

“What’d they say?” Azzi’s voice is gentle.

Paige avoids her best friend’s eyes, knowing it won’t take much for her to start crying again. “They say it’s too early to tell yet. I gotta go in tomorrow for an x-ray.”

At that moment, Evina pops her head back into the room from the hallway, where the entire team had been lingering to give the two of them space. “It’s getting pretty late, P. Wanna go home?”

“I can take her home,” Azzi interrupts quickly, glancing between the two of them. “If—if that’s okay with you?”

Paige nods, and Azzi’s shoulders visibly relax. “I’ll pull the car around,” she decides, promptly leaving the room.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Evina whispers to Paige as soon as the door closes behind Azzi.

“I don’t care,” Paige says simply, wiping at her cheeks. “I need her.” The confession is heavy, but it feels good to admit that to herself for the first time in weeks.

Evina rubs her shoulder sympathetically. “Alright. Don’t do anything stupid, P.”

“I already injured my knee,” Paige laughs humorlessly. “I think I’ve been stupid enough for the day.”

Evina nods, giving her one last comforting hug before ordering the rest of the team to go on home too. Azzi’s back as soon as they leave, breathing heavily as if she’d ran the entire way from the parking lot. “You ready?”

Paige lifts herself off the chair and winces. “Yeah.” immediately, Azzi is by her side, guiding her hips, her touch blazing hot, and Paige closes her eyes.

It’s gonna be one long fucking night.

[gleamingseok]

Hiii girl 🫶🏻 I wanted to tell you that I am in loveee with your writing 🥹 and make a request 🥰

How about Jk coming back home from a night out with his members. He is obviously drunk and all he thinks about is his girl at home and is going crazy. So when he is back she is almost asleep and tired and he is begging and desperate for anything like “please baby just the tip” 🤭 and “I am not gonna put it all in I promise please”. Put your amazing writing into it and make an amazing beggy dirty talk and a hot point of his view and of course a hot toe curling smut (as you always do) 🙏🏻 I know you would master this 🤍 (feel free to change it however you want) I would love for you to write this but of course it’s up to you if it’s not something that you want feel free to ignore 🫶🏻

Hellooo love thaaank you so much for the support and your lovely message💖

drunk needy Jungkook? Hell yes, I tried to add a little bit of ✨spice✨ hope you’ll enjoy it~

Just the tip

One shot: Jungkook x Reader

Tags: Drunk!Jungkook, Breeding Kink, Begging, Raw (wrap it up yall), Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Soft Dom Jungkook, Smut, super needy Jungkook

He should’ve stayed out. Should’ve respected your text when you said you were too tired tonight. But the more he drank, the worse it got. It wasn’t the alcohol, wasn’t the lights or the music it was the thought of you in bed, wearing one of his shirts, half-asleep and soft, thighs barely covered. It was the scent of you clinging to his hoodie. The photo of you on his phone, lips parted, eyes heavy. You looked like you wanted him even when you said no and fuck, that image wrecked him.

His cock had been rock hard under his jeans all night, twitching every time someone bumped into him at the bar. Ignored, aching. All he could think about was your voice whispering “not tonight” and how fucking desperate he was to turn that into a yes.

He nearly tripped coming into the apartment, the silence inside hitting him like a punch to the chest. It was late like really too late. The warm scent of your perfume lingered in the air like you’d just been there, and he noticed the bedroom door was cracked open and his heart raced.

He pushed it open carefully and slowly.

And there you were.

Curled on your side, barely awake. Your face was nestled in the pillow, lips soft, your sleep top slipping off one bare shoulder. The blanket only covered your hips, leaving the curve of your back and the dip of your waist exposed and it was so fucking tempting it almost made him dizzy.

“Baby…”

His voice came out low, rough—wrecked from the alcohol, from his longing. He leaned on the doorframe, just staring at you.

You blinked slowly at him, eyes glassy with sleep. No words, just a soft hum and a roll of your face deeper into the pillow like you were too tired to respond.

“Shit… You look… damn” he groaned, already fumbling to remove his jacket.

And you still didn’t say anything, just that soft teasing little exhale of yours. You were playing it cool, pretending not to care and fuck, that made it worse. So unbearable.

He stumbled over to the bed, tossing clothes off, struggling with his belt like it was the only thing standing between him and bliss. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All fucking night. Everyone was drinking and laughing and I’m just sitting there hard as hell thinking about how warm you would feel wrapped around me.”

And still no reaction, just that barely there smile at the corners of your lips. He hated how much he loved that you were playing with him.

“Please” he breathed, finally free, pants down, cock flushed and leaking, angry red and aching. “You’re not even gonna touch me? You don’t wanna look?”

He stood at the edge of the bed his hand wrapping around himself, stroking slowly and desperately. His hips jerked forward helplessly, like his body was begging for relief.

“Fuck, I’ll do it myself. Just look at me, baby… I’m so hard it hurts. Look what you do to me”

You turned slightly, just enough to glance down at his cock, and he caught the smirk you tried to hide. That look alone was almost enough to break him.

“Mmm… you poor thing” you whispered, voice like silk. “Didn’t I say I was too tired?”

“I know, I know” he whined, pumping faster as his jaw clenched. “But fuck…I just need the tip. Please, baby. I won’t put it all in. Just… let me feel you. I won’t last anyway. Just a little, yeah? Just the tip. Pleasepleaseplease.”

Your hips rolled under the sheets, tilting back just enough to expose the curve of your inner thigh.

He let out a ragged moan and dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed.

“You’re so fucking mean” he muttered, pressing kisses up your thigh, his voice shaky with desire. “So mean, making me beg like this.”

“But you like it” you whispered playfully.

God how you were right.

He pulled the blanket off, breath catching when he saw you bare, glistening, already wet. Waiting for him.

“Baby… You’re dripping” he said, breathless, eyes wide. “Was that for me?”

“Maybe.”

That was all it took. All he wanted to hear.

He lined himself up, tip nudging your entrance, heart racing out of his chest. “I’ll be good,” he promised, voice trembling. “I won’t move. Just let me in”

You then nodded.

He lined himself up and pushed in but just the tip just like how he promised. And still, it sent him over the edge.

“F-Fuck,” he choked, falling forward onto your back resting his forehead against your skin. “Oh my god… You’re so warm. Shit. I can’t—I can’t hold back…”

You whimpered softly when he rocked his hips just a little grinding the tip inside you, barely moving but feeling everything.

“Jungkook…”

“I know” he gasped. “I know I said just the tip but you’re squeezing me in, baby. You feel so fucking good. Want me to fill you up? Want me to fuck a baby into you?”

You gasped, and you clenched tight around him.

He groaned, nipping at your shoulder with a breathless laugh. “Ohh, you like that. You like when I fuck you full of cum, don’t you? When I stuff you so deep it leaks out in the morning? Gonna fill you up baby. Breed you so fucking good”

He started to move slower, deeper, his hips rolling into you with more control this time and power too. You jolted under him, sleepy but overwhelmed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. God… this pussy’s mine. Always mine”

“Yours” you whispered voice shaking.

“You gonna cum for me?” he panted fingers working between your legs. “Gonna let me finish inside you?”

“Yes, yes, please…want it so badly”

And that was all it took.

His pace stuttered, body locking up. “F-Fuck gonna cum..gonna fill you up. Take it, baby. Take all of it…”

And that’s exactly what he did, feeling his hot, thick and messy spurts deep inside you, his cock twitching, buried deep inside as he came with a broken moan in your ear. You clenched around him as your own orgasm hit, and he whimpered fucked out and overwhelmed by how tight you clenched around him.

He collapsed beside you, breathing hard his body damp with sweat, and before either of you could speak he wrapped his arms around you.

“Shit” he murmured, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You’re so fucking good to me”

Too tired to speak you kissed his shoulder, soft and sleepy.

“I’ll clean us up in a minute” he whispered as he sank into the pillow.

“You better” you mumbled smiling.

He smiled, eyes closed “Love you, baby”