#I will not be engaging with any asks or replies about this

[missimaginx]

CELEBRITY CRUSH | KM12

pairing: kimi antonelli x f!brazilian!tennis player!reader

plot: where kimi needs to introduce the paddock to you, his celebrity crush.

warnings: narrated in first person (kimi's pov); female reader; italian-brazilian female reader (but you can just ignore that); female tennis player reader; kimi being a nervous and lovesick mess around the reader; possible grammatical errors; english is not my first language :).

a/n: images taken from pinterest. this is my first time writing a one shot 🥹, hope you like it (wc: 3k)

remembering that this is just fiction, all the people portrayed here have their own personalities and their own relationships.

MIAMI GRAN PRIX — 2025

I’m sweating.

Like, a lot.

And I’m not even wearing the race suit yet.

“…and it would be great if you could show her around the paddock, Kimi. She’s Mercedes’ special guest because of the shared Adidas sponsorship, so be nice. Engaged. Natural.” The Mercedes PR finishes with that professional smile that, at this point, feels like the devil’s grin.

I nod. That’s all I can do. Because, honestly? I’m speechless. In shock.

Y/N L/N is going to be here.

THE Y/N L/N.

The girl who lives in my head like she pays rent. The tennis prodigy. The one I watched playing at the Australian Open when I was sixteen and became absolutely certain she’s the love of my life—even though she doesn’t even know I exist.

I’ve seen her on TV. On Instagram. On TikTok. In interview replays. I’ve read articles from Brazilian sites in Brazilian Portuguese and tossed them into Google Translate. I know what brand of racket she uses. I know she likes passion fruit juice and has a superstition about a red hair tie.

And now she’s going to be here.

With me.

Getting a paddock tour.

And I HAVE TO BE NATURAL.

“You’re pacing.” Ollie says, sitting on the press room couch with the most bored expression in the world. “Again. You’ve literally circled the table three times.”

“I’M SHOWING HER AROUND THE PADDOCK, OLLIE.”

“Yeah, you said that. Three times. In different volumes.”

“She’s going to look at me and think ‘who is this idiot?’ And then I’ll stutter and trip over myself and maybe even throw up! Ollie, I MIGHT PUKE IN FRONT OF HER!”

“You’ve raced in torrential rain with zero visibility. You can handle a girl.”

“She’s not just any girl! She’s Y/N L/N!”

“Right. The love of your life you’ve never said ‘hi’ to. Got it.”

“You don’t get it! She’s incredible. She’s focused, determined, elegant, funny—she laughs with her head tilted to the side, and when she’s concentrating on a match she wrinkles her nose in this way that—”

“Okay. That’s it.” Ollie throws his head back, laughing. “Kimi, for the love of God, breathe. You’re just going to show her around, and if it all goes terribly wrong, you’ll never see her again.”

“NOT HELPING!”

“But… what if it goes right?”

I freeze. What would ‘going right’ even mean? She noticing me? Laughing with me? Following me back on Instagram? Calling me ‘Kimi’ with that cute Italian-Brazilian accent?

“You should ask her out,” Ollie says.

I turn to him like he just suggested I break into the FIA president’s office.

“Are you insane?”

“Why not? You’re the same age. She’s an athlete, you’re an athlete. She’s Italian, you’re Italian. You’re both young, rich, good-looking… basically an Adidas commercial couple.”

“I won’t even be able to say ‘hi’! You want me to ask her out?”

“Get ice cream. Ask her out for ice cream.”

“I’M NOT ASKING Y/N L/N OUT FOR ICE CREAM!”

“Why not?” he crosses his arms, laughing. “You think she’ll say no? That she’ll laugh in your face?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!”

The door opens and Gabriel walks in, energy drink in hand and looking like he was dragged out of bed.

“Good morning to you too,” he says, flopping into the chair next to me. “Everything okay? Kimi looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

“He has,” Ollie replies before I can defend myself. “Or, well, he’s about to. The love of his life.”

Gabi frowns. “Huh?”

“Kimi’s had a crush on a girl for like three years and just found out she’s gonna be here today. In the paddock. As a Mercedes guest. And he has to give her the tour.”

Gabriel blinks, processing. “For real?”

“Totally. He’s already planning his escape through the Williams garage.”

“Who is it?”

“Y/N L/N,” Ollie says.

“Y/N?”

My stomach drops.

“You know her?” I ask, trying to sound casual. (Failing completely.)

“Of course. We’ve known each other since we were twelve. Her parents are friends with my uncles. And she’s INSANE on the court. Just won the Miami Open, did you see?”

“I DID,” I answer with something close to religious fervor. “I watched the whole match. Twice.”

My world tilts.

Gabriel Bortoleto knows Y/N L/N.

GABRIEL. KNOWS. HER.

“What’s she like?” I ask before I can stop myself. “I mean, off the court. Does she like music? Movies? What’s her favorite ice cream flavor? Is she talkative? Quiet? What’s her favorite color? Has she ever dated? Does she—”

“Mate,” Gabi laughs, slow. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Ollie laughs out loud. “Told you it was serious. He’s had a dossier on her since 2022.”

“I just want to be prepared!” I protest.

Gabi looks at me like he’s finally getting the full picture.

“Mate. You’re in love with her, even though you’ve never met?”

“Not in love in love. Just… maybe. A lot. Since forever.”

Ollie grins, the smug smile of someone enjoying someone else’s drama way too much.

“And you still think you shouldn’t ask her out?”

I sink into the chair.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

And Ollie, beside me, pats my shoulder. “Or it’s going to be the beginning of a story we’ll laugh about at your wedding.”

“Not helping.”

“But it’s true.”

And, for the first time, I let that wild thought creep into my brain.

What if… it’s not a disaster?

I’ve only been waiting for two minutes.

But it feels like forty-seven years.

The Mercedes hospitality is quieter now… or maybe it just feels that way. There are still people around. An engineer leaving a meeting room, a kitchen staff member switching trays at the buffet, a couple of marketing folks talking quietly on a corner sofa. But to me, everything seems in slow motion. Like the whole world has faded into background noise while my thoughts race faster than my W16.

I’ve done all the interviews. Talked to more journalists than I can count, answered the same questions so many times the words lost all meaning, and even smiled genuinely when asked about the race. Now there’s just one thing left…

Her. Y/N L/N.

I shift in my seat for the fifth time in two minutes. Run my hand through my hair. Zip and unzip my jacket. Try not to sweat. Fail miserably.

The PR said she’d go get her and bring her here. Told me I just need to be polite. “Natural.” As if that’s possible when I’m about to meet the girl who’s lived rent-free in 90% of my brain since I was sixteen.

I rest my elbow on the armrest, trying to look casual, but my knee’s bouncing. I force myself to breathe—and that’s when I hear it.

A laugh.

Light, crystal clear. With an accent. That kind of laugh someone gives when they’re being polite but genuinely kind.

And I know it’s her.

It’s ridiculous, but I know. The sound hits different. Like the universe has been waiting for her to show up so it could finally be in color.

I hear the PR’s voice along with hers, getting closer every second, and something inside me switches on. I straighten up. Run my hand through my hair again. Try to remember how to say “hi.”

And then she walks in.

And nothing—absolutely nothing—could’ve prepared me for it.

She steps in beside the PR, eyes wandering curiously around the room, and my brain shuts down. Like, literally. Total blackout. Blue screen.

Y/N L/N walks through the door like the universe hit pause so she could have time to exist. The mint green dress—yes, mint green, because she once said in an interview that it’s her favorite shade of green—looks like it was made for this soft lighting. It matches her white sneakers and the dark green lanyard hanging around her neck. It brings out the warm tone of her skin, the insane green of her eyes, the waves of dark brown hair I’ve seen in so many videos—but live, it’s different. It’s better. Everything is better. Every detail.

She smiles, a bit shyly, and glances around like she’s still adjusting to the new environment.

And me? I’m frozen.

She’s… smaller than I imagined. For some reason, in pictures and videos, she looked taller. But now, standing a few steps away from me, her shoulders slightly hunched like she’s shielding herself from the attention, she looks… real. Human. Beautiful in an almost unreal way.

“Y/N, this is Kimi Antonelli. Our driver, and your official tour guide today,” says the PR, lightheartedly. “Kimi, this is Y/N L/N, who you probably already know, but just to remind everyone—she just won the Miami Open.”

But I don’t hear any of that. Or, I do, but it’s all background noise behind her image. I’m too busy… existing in a trance.

She extends her hand, smiling.

“Hi,” she says, with that adorable Italian-Brazilian accent that makes me want to write poetry. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for having me here.”

I look at her hand. Then her face. Then her hand again. Then—

Do something, Kimi.

I shake her hand like it’s made of porcelain. The touch is light, but it feels like a shock. Not the bad kind. The kind that wakes you up.

“It’s… it’s a pleasure,” I say, voice slightly higher than usual. “Like. Really. A lot. I mean—welcome.”

Y/N smiles. God help me, she smiles.

“Thank you,” she says again, with a tiny laugh that makes her nose scrunch up. Just like I love. “I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I’ve never been in a paddock before. Everything looks so… serious.”

“It’s… yeah. It is. But not always. I mean, yes. But also no. It’s fun. Sometimes.”

STOP TALKING, KIMI.

She laughs again, and by some miracle, she doesn’t seem to think I’m completely insane.

The PR chimes in, all cheerful:

“I’ll leave you two to walk around and get familiar with the place. Y/N, anything you want to know or see, Kimi can show you. He knows every corner of this paddock with his eyes closed.”

I nod. Maybe too quickly. Y/N smiles again. And for one whole second, there’s just this.

Her.

And me.

And the suicidal mission of not falling even harder.

The PR leaves us there and vanishes before I can beg her to teach me how to be a functional human being.

Y/N looks at me expectantly, a slight smile on her lips, like she’s silently asking, “So… what now?” I try to remember what the PR said. Show her around the paddock. Right. Easy. I know this place like the back of my hand. I’ve walked through here half-asleep thanks to jet lag more times than I can count. But now, with Y/N by my side, everything feels different. Bigger. Brighter. More… paralyzing.

“So… uh, welcome to the paddock,” I begin, trying to sound casual while gesturing like a school trip tour guide. “This is the Mercedes hospitality. It’s where we eat, have meetings, drink bad coffee, and try to pretend we’ve got our lives under control.”

She laughs. She laughs. And I feel like I’ve gained +10 confidence points… and -15 coordination points because I almost trip over one of the couches.

“It’s a lot calmer than I expected,” she says, looking around. “I thought it’d be, like… chaos. Loud. People running around with tires on fire.”

“Oh, that’s more outside, in the garages. In here we only lose it mentally.”

She giggles again, and I decide I could listen to that sound on loop for the rest of my life.

We start walking slowly, and I steer the tour toward the one place where I feel safer: the team garage. My territory. Maybe here I’ll seem less like a clumsy idiot.

“This is the team’s garage,” I explain, pointing like I’m showing her a sacred temple. “That’s where the cars are, over there’s the tires, back there’s the engineers’ station, and in the far back is where I pretend to understand everything Toto says when he starts throwing quantum physics terms around.”

Y/N watches everything with genuine curiosity. Not the polite kind of interest people fake just to be nice — she actually wants to understand. It’s real. And that somehow makes her even more perfect… and me even more in love.

“Wow… so this is where it all happens,” she says, almost reverently.

“Yeah. And also where it all goes wrong sometimes,” I add with a crooked smile.

“What’s the top speed again?”

“Depends on the track… but in Monza, for example, we can hit 350 km/h.”

“Three hundred and…?” She blinks, stunned. “You’re kidding.”

“I swear.”

“What’s it like?” she asks, her big green eyes—bright, locked on my very average brown ones.

The question catches me off guard — not because it’s rare, but because of the way she asks it. Like it’s magic. Like, for a second, I’m not just the Mercedes driver… but someone she truly admires. Someone she wants to understand.

“It’s…” I take a breath, searching for words that do it justice. “It’s like flying, but with the ground really close. Everything becomes instinct. You feel every movement of the car, every curve in your body. The adrenaline is insane, but at the same time… there’s a weird calm in the middle of the madness. Like time slows down for a few seconds.”

She stares at me, fascinated. A small smile forming.

“That’s… beautiful. And kinda crazy.”

I shrug, unsure what to do with the heat rising in my ears. She thinks it’s beautiful. This. Me. Help.

We keep walking, passing behind the garages. Some teams are organizing equipment, others just killing time. The sounds of tools and conversations blend into a kind of soundtrack.

At one point, we turn a corner and — of course, obviously — we run straight into them. Ollie and Gabriel, standing by the dividing wall between the Haas and Sauber garages, chatting, until their attention shifts to us.

“Look who finally showed up,” Ollie says, flashing that smug teen villain smile. “Our very own Romeo.”

Gabriel takes a bite of the sandwich he’s holding and raises his eyebrows when he sees Y/N.

“Y/N!” he says casually. “Long time! You good?”

She smiles—warmly. “Hey, Gabi! I’m good. You? Still cheating at Uno?”

Gabriel gasps in mock outrage. “I never cheated!”

Ollie laughs. “He cheats at rock-paper-scissors too, Y/N. Watch your back.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, and I smile… but there’s that tiny twist in my stomach. That annoying little reminder: they’re friends. She and Gabi have a kind of closeness I don’t have. Yet.

“Well, we don’t wanna interrupt the date,” Ollie throws out, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not a date,” I say—way too fast.

“Of course not,” Gabriel says, smiling. “But if it were, you’d be killing it.”

Y/N glances sideways at me with that knowing smirk that makes me trip over my own thoughts.

We keep walking.

“Sorry about them,” I mutter, slightly embarrassed.

“Don’t be. They’re funny.”

“They’re insufferable.”

She laughs again. And this time, it’s freer. Unrestrained. That’s when I realize: she’s relaxed. The Y/N who was tense and reserved when she got here isn’t here anymore. Now it’s just her — and me, desperately trying to look functional next to the girl of my dreams.

We reach a more open part of the paddock, with a side view of the track. The sounds of drivers rushing between interviews, photographers clicking away — it all hums in the background, a reminder that the world out there keeps spinning.

“Tired?” I ask.

“No. I’m enjoying this.” She looks ahead, then at me. “It’s cooler than I expected.”

“You seem more relaxed now.”

“I am. You made it feel… lighter.”

And that’s when the moment shifts. It turns quiet. Intense—in a good way. In a way I’ll remember forever.

We stop near a low wall. The wind plays with her hair, and she tucks a few strands behind her ear, absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I feel kind of lost,” she says softly. “Like… everything happens so fast I forget I’m still just an eighteen-year-old girl.”

I get it. More than I should.

“Yeah… I feel like that too. Like I have to be a grown-up all the time. Responsible. Flawless. Representing the team, Italy… and deep down, I just want to be playing video games. Or… having time to figure out what I feel. To fall in love. Without it feeling like weakness.”

She turns to me. Her green eyes — beautiful in a way that doesn’t feel real — lock onto mine with something careful. Something interested. Something I don’t want to name yet, because maybe it’ll hurt if it’s not real.

And that’s when it hits me: this? This walk, this moment, this smile?

It might be the only chance I get to be like this with her.

I remember what Ollie said earlier. Ask her out.

It’s crazy… but what if?

If it’s a disaster, at least I’ll have a reason to drive like a maniac on Sunday and forget this ever happened.

Y/N’s phone buzzes. She checks the screen.

“My agent. I’ve got to go shoot with Adidas.”

No. Wait. I still—

“Ice cream,” I blurt out, stumbling over the words. “I mean, like… maybe… you… get ice cream with me, I mean, go out— we could— if you want, of course…”

She blinks. Then laughs. Tilting her head slightly, just like I’ve seen her do a thousand times on my phone screen. And for a second I consider quitting F1 and becoming a stand-up comedian if it means making her laugh like that more often.

“Are you asking me out or ordering dessert?” she teases.

“Asking you out,” I manage to say, finally like a functioning human being. “With me. Ice cream. Later. Someday.”

Her smile grows. Slowly. Beautifully.

“I’d love to.”

My brain reboots. Three times.

When my soul finally stops spinning at the speed of my heartbeat, I realize Y/N is pulling a pen out of her purse—one of those permanent markers fans bring for autographs.

“You got any paper?” she asks, uncapping the pen, looking at me.

I get lost in her eyes for a second. Here, in the golden light of sunset, they look more hazel than green. Gorgeous.

“I…” I blink a few times, trying to return to the realm of functional humans, patting my jeans for paper. “No… but…”

Her phone buzzes again, and from the way she groans, I know it’s her agent texting again.

“You can write it here,” I say quickly, holding out my hand.

Y/N blinks, looking at me. I blink back, looking at her. I feel the tips of my ears burning—and I see her cheeks turn pink.

She blinks once more and smiles before stepping closer and touching my hand. The lightness of her touch is already familiar since I shook her hand earlier. And it sends the same electric shiver up my arm, straight to my heart, making it pound even faster.

I watch as Y/N writes her number on my palm with the black permanent marker. And this is one of the rare times I thank the universe for my good memory—because I know I’ll remember how the wind kept tousling her hair, how the orange sunset lit up her focused face, and how her brows furrowed slightly as she tried to make the numbers as clear as possible.

When she finishes writing, I don’t know if it’s my lovesick mind playing tricks on me, but I swear her fingers linger on mine a little longer than necessary before letting go.

“Text me,” she says, smiling and blushing again. “And don’t take forever.”

Before I can come up with a reply, she leans in and presses a quick, warm, perfect kiss to my cheek.

“I honestly thought you weren’t gonna ask me,” she whispers, like it’s a secret.

Then she turns with a soft “see you soon” and disappears down the corridor.

And I just stand there. Frozen. Dazed. Touching the spot where her kiss landed like I’m trying to save it forever.

And for the first time all day, I think:

Maybe Ollie was right.

Because this… definitely wasn’t a disaster.

[blakeswritingimagines]

My Love Mine All Mine

Summary: You've watched. You've stalked, and now... You get your dream come true with Logan.

Warnings: One-sided pining, Stalking, Threats, Yandere Reader, Sub Logan and Dom Reader, Bondage, Dub-Con, Handjob, Oral (Fem Receiving), Face sitting, Dirty talk, No protection, If your name is Sarah no it's not.

Word Count: 8.2k

Logan Howlett was a normal man who lived a quiet life in a small town. He had no idea that his life was about to take a dark turn. One day, he noticed you who seemed to be following him everywhere he went. One day, you encountered him at a local coffee shop. You played it cool, acting like you had just happened to run into him. "Oh, hi there," you said with a friendly smile. "I didn't expect to see you here." Logan looked at you, slightly intrigued by the coincidental meeting. "Yeah, I come here every now and then," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

You decided to take advantage of the situation and engage him in conversation. "So, what are you doing here all by yourself?" you asked, feigning curiosity. Logan shrugged. "Just came to grab a cup of coffee and do some reading." He lifted the book he had in his hand to show you. You couldn't help but take a quick glance at the cover of the book, noting the title for future reference. "Interesting," you said, pretending to be interested in the book. "So, any plans for the rest of the day?" Logan shook his head. "Not really," he replied. "Just going to head back home and relax, probably watch some TV." You nodded, making a mental note of this information. "Sounds like a quiet day," you commented.

You paused for a moment, pretending to be in thought. "You know, it's a bit lonely drinking coffee by yourself," you said, giving him a flirtatious smile. "Mind if I join you for a bit?" Logan seemed a bit taken aback by your forwardness, but he shrugged and motioned for you to sit down across from him. "Sure, why not," he replied. You couldn't help but feel excited at his acquiescence, your heart racing with anticipation. As you sat down, you made sure to maintain a friendly and casual demeanor, even though your mind was racing with the thought of having him all to yourself. "So, do you come here often?" you asked, leaning forward slightly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," Logan replied, taking another sip of his coffee. "It's a nice place to unwind." You nodded, pretending to be interested in the conversation, even though you already knew all about his habits and routines. You leaned a bit closer, your eyes fixed on him. "You know, you're pretty easy on the eyes," you said, biting your lip slightly. Logan blushed at the compliment, but tried to maintain his composure. "Thanks," he muttered, taking another sip of his coffee.

You could tell that he was a little flustered, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of satisfaction at the sight of him getting a bit flustered. "I don't mean to be nosy," you said sweetly, "but are you single?" Logan looked surprised by the question, but he nodded. "Yeah, I am," he replied. You couldn't help but feel a sense of elation at this revelation. "Well, that's good to know," you said with a smirk. You decided to flirt more heavily now that it was confirmed that he was single. "Oh, really?" you said, tilting your head to the side. "And here I thought someone as good-looking as you must already have a girlfriend." Logan laughed nervously, unsure of how to handle your compliments. "Uh, nope, no girlfriend," he replied, taking another sip of his coffee. You leaned a bit forward, your eyes fixed on him. "And why is that? A handsome man like you, surely the ladies must be all over you." Logan shrugged, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Well, there's this one girl I see occasionally to relieve stress, but it's just a casual thing," he said nonchalantly. Your heart sunk at his words, an irrational anger and jealousy swelling within you. How could he talk about her so casually? You clenched your fists in your lap, trying to maintain your composure. "Oh, really?" you said, feigning nonchalance. "And who is she, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Just a friend," Logan replied, sipping his coffee. "We meet up, we hook up, no strings attached. It's been going on for quite some time now." Your jealousy and anger grew even stronger at his casual tone, your fists clenching even tighter. You couldn't believe he was talking about her so nonchalantly in front of you. "I see…" you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "And how long have you two been…?" You couldn't bring yourself to finish the sentence, the thought of him with anyone else making your blood boil. "Oh, about a year now," Logan replied, seemingly oblivious to your inner turmoil. "It's nothing serious, just a way to let off some steam." As he spoke, you felt a wave of jealousy and possessiveness wash over you, and it took all your willpower to keep yourself from lashing out. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but inside, you were seething. A year? He had been hooking up with this girl for a whole year? It was driving you crazy, the thought of him being with her, touching her, making her feel things that you wanted to be the one to make him feel.

"Must be convenient," you said, your voice tense. "Having someone to, you know, relieve stress with, whenever you want." You knew it was a passive-aggressive remark, but you couldn't help it. Logan raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension in your voice. "Yeah, it is," he replied, casually sipping his coffee. "She's great at helping me unwind, if that's what you're asking." Your jealousy and anger flared even stronger at his words. She was great at helping him unwind? How could he describe her like that so carelessly? It should be you, you thought. You should be the one helping him unwind, not some random girl he hooked up with to relieve stress. You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your emotions in check. "Well, I'm glad you have someone to help you unwind," you said, forcing a smile. "It's important to have a release in life." Logan nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. "Yeah, it really is," he agreed. "It's all just casual though. It's not like I have feelings for her or anything." You felt a mix of relief and jealousy at his words. Relief that he didn't have feelings for her, but jealousy that he felt the need to hook up with her regularly.

You tried to keep your voice nonchalant as you asked, "So... when do you see her next?" Your heart was pounding in your chest as you waited for his response, hoping it wasn't anytime soon. "Actually, I'm seeing her tonight," Logan replied, finishing the last of his coffee. "She usually comes over to my apartment after work." Your heart sank at his words, and you had to struggle to keep your expression neutral. Tonight? He was seeing her tonight? You felt a mixture of anger and frustration, knowing that he was going to spend time with her tonight, while you were left on the sidelines. You wanted to say something, to express your anger and jealousy, but you knew you couldn't show your true emotions. You took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying to act happy for him. "Oh, that's great," you said, forcing the words out cheerily. "You must really enjoy her company." Inside, you were boiling with jealousy and frustration, but you kept it hidden behind a mask of cheerfulness. "Do you mind telling me what you like about her so much?"

Logan smiled, clearly unaware of your inner turmoil. "Well, she's fun, for starters," he said. "We always have a good time together, and she's great in bed." Your heart sunk at his words, but you tried to keep your expression neutral. Jealousy and curiosity filled you as you forced a casual tone, asking, "So, what does she look like?" The thought of her appearance only fueled your jealousy, but you couldn't help but want to know more about the woman who had caught Logan's interest. Logan leaned back in his chair, thinking for a moment. "She's got long brown hair, and these really pretty eyes. And she's, uh… very curvy," he said, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, she's definitely a knockout." You pretended like you had somewhere to be, but insisted on asking one last question before leaving. "Hey, one more thing," you said, feigning nonchalance. "You didn't mention her name earlier. What was it again?" Logan looked at you, confused for a moment, but then smiled. "Oh, her name's Sarah," he replied. Sarah, you repeated the name in your mind, committing it to memory.

You smiled, pretending that you didn't have any ulterior motive for asking. "Alright, thanks," you said, standing up. "I should probably get going. I have some errands to run." Logan nodded, seeming distracted by his thoughts of Sarah. "Yeah, no problem," he replied. "It was nice talking to you." You couldn't help but feel a pang of anger as you saw the look of anticipation on his face, knowing he was looking forward to seeing Sarah later that night. With a forced smile, you bid farewell and left the coffee shop, your mind consumed by thoughts of Sarah and your plan to find her. You couldn't shake the feelings of jealousy and possessive that threatened to overwhelm you. With a single-minded determination, you set your sights on finding Sarah. Using the information Logan had told you earlier, you searched through social media and other sources, determined to locate her. After some digging, you finally found her online presence and discovered her address. With anger and jealousy fueling your every move, you set off to her apartment. As you stood outside her door, your heart raced with anticipation.

You took a deep breath to steady your nerves, then knocked on her door. After a few moments, the door opened, and there she was, Sarah, the woman who had captured Logan's attention. She looked at you with surprise and curiosity, unsure of why you were there. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice polite but cautious. You plastered on a fake smile, trying to hide the anger and jealousy coursing through your veins. "Hi, I'm a friend of Logan's," you said, your voice as sweet as honey. "May I come in for just a moment?" Sarah looked at you for a moment, her expression cautious, before nodding and stepping aside to let you in. "Sure, come on in," she said, gesturing for you to enter. You walked into her apartment, your eyes darting around, taking in your surroundings. It was cozy, with a lived-in feel. Sarah closed the door behind you, and you turned to face her, maintaining your fake smile. Sarah looked at you with curiosity, as she had let a complete stranger into her home. "So, what brings you here?" she asked, her voice polite but tinged with wariness.

You had to remind yourself to maintain your composure as you prepared to answer her question. "Ah, well, I just wanted to have a little chat with you," you said, still keeping your voice sweet. "About Logan." Sarah raised an eyebrow, and her expression turned more guarded. "What about Logan?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. As Sarah stood before you with crossed arms and a guarded expression, you let out a sigh and leaned against the wall. "Well, I was just wondering about your opinion on him, since you two are... close," you said, your voice laced with a hint of jealousy. Sarah's expression softened slightly, and she relaxed her arms. "Logan is a great guy," she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "He's charming, handsome, and very fun to be around." Your jealousy flared at her words, and you had to restrain yourself from lashing out. "I see," you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. "So, you like spending time with him, huh?" Sarah nodded, her smile growing bigger. "Yeah, I do," she replied. "He's always up for a good time, and he knows how to make me laugh. Plus, he's insanely attractive, which doesn't hurt."

You could feel your blood boiling at her words, picturing her and Logan together, laughing and having a good time. "Right," you said, biting back your anger. "I hear he enjoys your… 'company' a lot." Sarah's cheeks turned a slight shade of pink at your words, and she looked away for a moment. "Uh, yes… he does," she admitted, fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves. "He doesn't want anything too serious… yet." You felt a pang of anger at her words. "Yet?" you repeated, your voice harsh. "What do you mean, 'yet'? You think you have a future with him or something?" Sarah looked at you, her expression growing defensive. "Well, I mean, we have a good time together, and we get along really well. Who's to say we wouldn't have a future together one day?" Your jealousy boiled over, and you couldn't hold back anymore. "You think you have a chance with him?" you said, your voice rising. "You think you're the one who's going to end up with him?!" Sarah looked at you, alarmed by the sudden change in your tone. "What are you...?" she began, but you interrupted her, your voice low and threatening. "You really think Logan would choose you over me?" you said, taking a step towards her.

Sarah took a step back, her eyes widening with fear. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, her voice shaking. "We're just casual… we have fun together, that's all." You stepped closer to her, closing the distance between you. "Oh, really?" you said, your voice laced with sarcasm. "You think he's just using you for fun and then he'll eventually wake up and suddenly want you all to himself?" Sarah shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. "No, I don't think that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But… I like spending time with him, and I don't want to just give up on it because-" You interrupted her, your tone sharp. "Because you think you're special?" you said, a cruel smile spreading across your face. "You think you're special enough for him to want more than just fun with you?" Sarah was shaking now, her body trembling with fear. "I-I don't know… I just like him a lot, and I-" she faltered, her words stuck in her throat. You loomed over her, your voice cold. "You're nothing to him," you said, your words like a knife. "You're just a casual fling to him. He'll get bored of you eventually, and then where will you be?" You lowered your voice further, your words coming out as a venomous hiss. "You need to stay away from him, got it?" you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. "He's mine, not yours. And if I find out you're still seeing him, making moves on him, or even looking at him, I'll make you regret it. Do you understand?"

Sarah looked up at you with wide, terrified eyes, nodding vigorously. "Y-yes, I understand," she said, her voice quavering. "I won't… won't see him again. I promise." You stepped back, satisfied with her agreement. "Good," you said, your voice still hard. "And you better not tell him about this little visit. If you do, I'll find out, and I'll make good on my threat. Understand?" Sarah nodded frantically, her eyes still wide with fear. "I understand. I won't tell him, I promise," she said, her voice trembling. You forced a smile, your previous demeanor returning. "Good," you said, your tone deceptively cheerful. "I'm glad we had this little chat." You walked towards the door, feigning nonchalance. "Oh, and one last thing." Sarah looked up at you, her eyes wary. "Y-yes?" she asked, her voice still shaking. You turned back to face her, your smile growing even wider. "Don't ever forget what happened here today," you said, your voice sweet but with a hint of warning. "You stay away from Logan from now on, and you keep your mouth shut. Understand?" Sarah nodded frantically, her expression still terrified. "Yes, I understand," she said, her voice shaky. "I won't do anything, I promise." You smirked, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Excellent. Thanks for having me over," you said, your tone pleasant again. "Have a nice day, Sarah." With that, you turned and walked out the door, leaving a stunned and frightened Sarah behind.

A few days had passed since your visit to Sarah's apartment, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction every time you thought about it. You had seen Logan, and he hadn't mentioned Sarah once. It seemed like she was keeping her distance, just as you had told her to. You had a spring in your step, feeling more confident and in control than ever before. You knew that you had effectively scared Sarah away from Logan, and that thought brought a smirk to your face. Logan looked up as you approached, a smile spreading across his face when he saw you. "Hey, what's up?" he said, motioning for you to sit down across from him. You took a seat, still wearing a sly smirk. "Oh, nothing much," you said, nonchalantly. "Just enjoying the day. How about you?" You leaned back in your chair, studying his face. Logan shrugged, sipping his coffee. "Same old, same old," he said. "Just trying to get through the week." He set his cup down and looked at you, his gaze curious. "You seem unusually happy today." You leaned forward, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, you noticed?" you said, feigning nonchalance. "Well, there is something I wanted to ask you."

Logan raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really? And what's that?" he asked, seemingly intrigued. You paused for a moment, enjoying the anticipation building in the air. You leaned back in your chair, studying his face. "Well, I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight," you said, your voice casual but with a hint of suggestion. Logan looked at you, clearly interested but trying to play it cool. "Tonight?" he repeated, a small smile creeping across his face. "Nothing planned as of yet. Why do you ask?" You feigned nonchalance, shrugging with a smirk. "Oh, no particular reason," you said, your tone deceptively innocent. "Just thought maybe you'd want to do something together, that's all." Logan's eyebrows shot up, a surprised but pleased look crossing his face. "Together, huh?" he said, a hint of intrigue in his voice. "What did you have in mind?" You pretended to think for a moment, as if deciding on the spot. "Well, I was thinking maybe we could have dinner at my place?" you suggested, your voice sweet and innocent.

Logan's expression turned thoughtful for a moment, and he took a moment to consider your proposal. "Dinner at your place, huh?" he repeated, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "That definitely sounds like a plan. Count me in." You tried to hide the giddy feeling that overcame you at his agreement, but a small smile escaped your lips. "Great," you said, your voice betraying your excitement. "How does 7 o'clock sound?" Logan checked his watch, mentally calculating his schedule. "Seven o'clock works for me," he said, nodding in agreement. "So it's a date then, huh?" You nodded, the smug grin returning to your face. "It's a date," you confirmed, feeling a sense of triumph wash over you. This was all going even better than you could have hoped for. You leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to seem casual and nonchalant again. "By the way," you said, trying to sound unconcerned as you write an address down for him. "Have you seen Sarah lately, by any chance?" Logan furrowed his brow for a moment, surprised by your question. "Sarah?" he repeated, his expression turning curious. "No, actually, I haven't seen her in a while. Why do you ask?"

You shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "Oh, no reason," you said, waving a hand dismissively. You leaned forward and handed him the piece of paper with the address you had written down. "Here's my address, by the way. See you later tonight." As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood, Logan arrived at the address you had given him. He double-checked the piece of paper with the address to make sure he was in the right place, his expression growing more and more confused as he realized he was standing in front of an abandoned house. The neighborhood was eerily still, and it didn't take long for him to notice that something was amiss. The windows of the house were boarded up, and the yard was overgrown with weeds. It was clear that no one had lived there in years. Logan looked around, a puzzled expression on his face. "What the hell…" he muttered to himself, checking the address on the paper once more just to be sure. Logan walked up to the front door and tested the doorknob. It was locked. He tried the windows, but they were all boarded up from the outside. He was beginning to feel a sense of unease growing in his chest. Just as he was about to pull out his phone to call you, the front door suddenly creaked open slowly.

As the creaking door slowly opened, a sense of dread crept over Logan. The interior of the house was dark and quiet, the only sound being the slow creaking of the door as it swung fully open. Logan hesitated, his instincts telling him that something wasn't right. But curiosity got the better of him, and he took a tentative step into the abandoned house, his eyes straining to see in the dim light. "Hello?" he called out cautiously, the sound of his voice echoing in the empty space. There was no answer, only the soft echo of his own voice bouncing off the walls. Logan cautiously took a few more steps inside, the floorboards creaking under his footsteps. He could feel a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach as he looked around the dusty and dilapidated interior. "Is someone there?" he called out again, his voice a bit louder this time. "This isn't funny." There was still no answer, but Logan could sense that something was off. He could feel eyes watching him from the shadows, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. "Alright, that's enough," he said, his voice stern. "Whoever's in here, show yourself."

There was a moment of silence, and then suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows. It was you. You were leaning against the wall, watching him with a smug smile on your face. Your eyes gleamed in the dim light, and Logan could see a hint of darkness behind them. "Well, well, well," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Look who finally showed up." Logan's expression shifted to a mix of confusion and anger. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked, taking a few steps towards you. "Why did you bring me to an abandoned house?" You smirked, pushing yourself off the wall and stepping closer to him. "Why do you think?" you said, a mocking tone in your voice. "I wanted to spend time alone with you, obviously." "But why here?" Logan asked, his voice tinged with suspicion. "Why an abandoned house? You could have just invited me to your place." Your smirk widened, and you took a few more steps towards him, closing the distance between you. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?" you said, your tone dark and sinister. "I thought it would be much more entertaining to bring you here, to this quiet and deserted place, where no one would hear us."

He could sense the darkness behind your smile and the sinister tone in your voice. He took a step back, his instincts telling him to be wary of you. "What are you planning?" he asked, his voice wary. You took another step towards him, cornering him against the wall. You reached out and placed a hand on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath your fingers. "Just think of it as a little surprise," you said, your voice low and taunting. "Didn't you enjoy the thrill of not knowing where you were going? Not knowing what would happen next?" Logan could feel the wall against his back, trapping him in place. He tried to hide his unease, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. "No, not really," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I just want to know what the hell is going on here. You're acting strange." You let out a soft chuckle, your hand still resting on his chest. "Strange, am I?" you said, leaning in closer. "You could say that." Your voice dropped to a soft, almost seductive tone. "But I prefer to think of myself as unique." You pressed yourself closer still, trapping him even further against the wall. Logan could feel your body against his, and he could smell the faint scent of perfume on your skin. He tried to push you away, but your grip was surprisingly strong. "Let me go," he said, his voice firm. "This isn't fun or charming."

Your playful demeanor shifted in an instant, and your expression darkened. "Oh, I don't think so," you said, your voice turning ice cold. Your grip on his chest tightened, and you pushed him harder against the wall, pinning him in place. "I'm the one in control here, and you're going to stay right where you are." Logan's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden change in your demeanor, and he could feel the blood rushing through his veins as adrenaline kicked in. He tried to struggle against your grip, but you were much stronger than he had thought. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. In a last-ditch effort to escape, Logan summoned all his strength and pushed you away, breaking free from your grip. He stumbled backward, panting heavily as he looked at you with a mixture of fear and anger. "I've had enough of this," he said, clenching his fists. "I'm leaving." You reacted quickly, your anger and frustration at his defiance pushing you to take drastic action. Before he could make another move, you lunged at him, lashing out with a swift blow to his head. The impact was strong enough to leave him dazed and reeling, and a moment later, he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

You watched him fall to the floor, unconscious and vulnerable, a satisfied smirk creeping across your face. You leaned down and rolled him over onto his back, your gaze lingering on his unconscious form for a moment. Then you stood up and started dragging him down the hallway, heading towards a small room that you had already prepared for him. Once you arrived at the room, you wasted no time in maneuvering him onto the bed, tying him down tightly with the rope you had prepared. His body was limp, his arms and legs immobile as you secured him to the bed frame. You stepped back, admiring your handiwork, a sense of power and dominance coursing through you. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, taking a moment for his vision to focus. He tried to move, but the ropes held him in place, leaving him completely vulnerable to your whims. As he finally came to his senses, Logan tried to make sense of his situation, desperately pulling at the restraints. His eyes widened in shock as he realized that he was trapped, unable to move or escape. He looked up at you, his expression a mix of confusion and horror.

"What the hell-" he started, his voice hoarse and panicked, but you cut him off with a cold laugh. "Shhh," you said, placing a finger gently over his lips. "No need to be alarmed. You're right where I want you." He recoiled at your touch, trying to jerk his head away, but your grip on his chin was strong. He stared up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of fear and anger. "Let me go," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I'll do anything." You chuckled softly at his pleading, your fingers trailing down his jawline. "Oh, I know you will," you said, a sadistic gleam in your eyes. "But right now, I want you helpless and compliant, completely at my mercy." You leaned over him, your face just inches away from his. He could feel your hot breath on his skin, and a shiver ran down his spine as you spoke. "Now, tell me, do you want this?" you said, your voice low and commanding. "Do you want me to control you and do with you as I please?" He tried to resist, to defiantly deny your words, but he couldn't help the way his body reacted to your dominant tone. His heart pounded in his chest, and a mixture of fear and excitement washed over him. He was powerless and at your mercy, and part of him, however small, wanted to surrender to your demands. He opened his mouth to protest, but the commanding tone in your voice sent a jolt of both fear and arousal through him. He struggled to find words, his mind conflicted between his desire to resist and a growing curiosity. "I… I-" he tried to say, his voice catching in his throat. He tried to remain defiant, his pride telling him to resist, but the words came out before he could stop them. "No," he said, his voice trembling. "I don't want this. I want to go free."

You clicked your tongue disapprovingly, your hand gripping his chin tightly. "No, no, no," you said, a hint of mockery in your voice. "Try again." You leaned in even closer, your body almost pressed against his. "Say you want this. Don't lie to me." Your grip on his chin tightened, your fingertips digging into his flesh as you pulled his face towards you. "Wrong answer," you said, your voice dropping to a soft but dangerous tone. "Now, I'll ask you one more time. Tell me you want this." He could feel your power over him, your dominance and control making him feel vulnerable and exposed. He tried to resist, but the words came out again, his voice choked with a strange mixture of fear and desire. "I… I want this…" he whispered, his face burning with shame. You smiled victoriously, your hand releasing his chin and trailing down his throat, your fingers tracing over his skin. "Good boy," you murmured, a hint of approval in your voice. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Just admit that you want me to take control." He hated himself for giving in to your demands, for admitting his desire for submission, but he couldn't deny the rush of excitement that came with it. The knots within his chest tightened, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of surrender as he muttered, "Yes, I want you to take control."

You leaned back, a satisfied smirk on your face as you heard the words you had wanted to hear. "Good," you whispered, your hand moving back up to his chin, tilting his face to look at you. "You have such strong pride," you murmured, almost mockingly. "But I'm going to break it until all that's left is obedience and submission." He winced slightly as your fingers dug deeper into his skin, but he didn't protest. He was at your mercy, bound and helpless, and he couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through his veins at the thought of surrendering to your every whim. You were in charge now, and he was your toy to play with as you pleased. He shuddered at your words, a mix of fear and anticipation running through his body. He knew he should resist, should fight against your control, but something inside him craved the release that complete submission might bring. "Please," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Be gentle with me." Even as he said it, he knew it was futile. He was completely at your mercy, and whatever happened next was entirely up to you. You laughed softly, a cruel, mirthless sound. "Gentle?" you repeated, shaking your head. "Oh, sweetie, we're just getting started. And I assure you, I won't be holding back." Your hand slid down his chest, fingers splaying over his abdomen as you leaned in close. "But first, let's get comfortable, shall we?"

He tensed as your hand roamed over his body, a wave of trepidation washing over him. Yet, despite the fear, he found himself leaning into your touch, craving the sensation of your warmth against his skin. "Comfortable?" he echoed, his voice barely audible. "How can this be comfortable?" Even as he spoke, he couldn't deny the strange allure of submitting to your desires, of allowing himself to be consumed by the darkness that lurked within you. You chuckled darkly, your hand continuing its exploration of his body. "Oh, trust me," you purred, your breath hot against his ear. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for more." Your fingers traced the waistband of his pants, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. "First things first, though. We need to remove these." He gasped as your fingers grazed the fabric of his pants, the intimate contact sending a shiver down his spine. He knew he should resist, should try to push you away, but his body betrayed him, arching subtly into your touch. "Wait," he whispered, his voice strained. "Don't…" But the words died on his lips as your hand slipped beneath the waistband, your fingers brushing against the heated skin of his abdomen. He closed his eyes, a moan escaping him as he surrendered to the sensations, his pride crumbling under the onslaught of pleasure and fear.

Your fingers danced along the edge of his boxers, teasing the sensitive skin of his groin. "Shh, don't worry," you cooed, your voice dripping with false reassurance. "This will feel good, I promise." With a swift tug, you freed his erection from the confines of his underwear, wrapping your hand around it firmly. "Mmm, nice and hard, and big," you praised, stroking him slowly. "Looks like someone's enjoying this after all." He whimpered as your hand wrapped around his throbbing member, the sensation of your warm skin against his own driving him wild with need. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction, more pressure, as if desperate to lose himself in the pleasure you were providing. "No, stop," he protested weakly, even as his body betrayed him, responding eagerly to your touch. "It's not right…" But the words sounded hollow, a feeble attempt to cling to his fading dignity in the face of overwhelming desire. You increased the pace of your strokes, your grip tightening around his shaft. "Oh, but it feels so right," you breathed, your voice husky with lust. "Look how hard you are for me. You want this, don't you?" Your other hand slid up his chest, pinching a nipple through the fabric of his shirt. "Admit it. You crave my touch, my control and yet… you made me wait for so long."

He cried out, his back arching as you teased his sensitive nipples, the dual stimulation of your hands driving him to the brink of madness. His cock throbbed in your grasp, leaking precum in response to your relentless stroking. "Y-yes," he admitted, his voice ragged with need. "I want it… I want you…" The words spilled from his lips like a confession, a surrender to the dark desires that had been simmering beneath the surface. He was lost, consumed by the fire of his own lust, and he knew there was no turning back now. "Such a good boy," you praised, your voice dripping with approval. "Now, let's see how well you can take it." With that, you released his straining erection and moved to pull his clothes out of the way as far as you could with him bound down to the bed, revealing his naked form to your hungry gaze. Once he was fully exposed, you climbed onto him, straddling his torso as you leaned down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. Your tongue invaded his mouth, claiming him thoroughly as your hands roamed over his body, exploring every inch of skin with a possessive intensity. He returned your kiss with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours as he surrendered to the primal hunger that drove you both. Your weight on top of him, your hands roaming his body, it all served to heighten his arousal, his cock twitching with need against his belly. When you broke the kiss, he was panting, his chest heaving as he gazed up at you with glazed, lust-filled eyes. "More," he begged, his voice hoarse with desire. "Please, give me more." He arched his hips, seeking friction against your clothed sex, desperate for any contact that would ease the ache building inside him.

You grinned wickedly, your eyes glinting with sadistic delight at his desperation. "Patience, handsome," you cooed, grinding your hips against his in slow, deliberate circles. "I'll give you everything you need… when I decide you've earned it." Your hands reached behind you, unfastening your pants and shimmying them down your thighs. You tossed them aside carelessly, then hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down just enough to expose your dripping sex to his eager gaze. "Look at what you do to me," you hissed, rubbing yourself against him with increasing urgency. "You're going to make me feel good, aren't you?" He groaned, his eyes widening as he caught sight of your exposed sex, slick with arousal. The musky scent of your desire filled his nostrils, making his head spin with lust. "Yes, yes, I'll make you feel good," he promised, his voice thick with need. He rocked his hips upward, seeking more contact, more friction against your wet folds. His own cock throbbed in response, leaking precum onto his stomach as he strained against the ropes binding him. "Please, let me taste you," he pleaded, his gaze locked on your pussy. "I want to make you come undone."

You laughed, a high-pitched, almost manic sound, as you continued to grind against him. "Oh, you want to taste me, do you?" you purred, reaching down to spread your slickness over your own clit. "Well, since you asked so nicely…" With a sudden movement, you shifted your position, straddling his face instead of his body. You grabbed his hair, yanking his head up to meet your dripping cunt. "Open wide, baby," you commanded, pushing your sex against his parted lips. "Show me how much you want it." He obeyed without hesitation, his mouth opening wide to accept you. The first taste of your essence was like a drug, flooding his senses with your unique flavor. He moaned around your pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through your core as he began to lap at your folds, his tongue delving deep to gather every drop of your arousal. He sucked gently on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, determined to drive you wild with pleasure. His arms twitched against the ropes bounding him down as his hands flexed as if wanting to reach out and hold you.

You threw your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as he devoured you. His eagerness, his hunger for your taste, it only fueled your own desire. You ground your hips against his face, riding his tongue with abandon. "Fuck, yeah, just like that," you gasped, your nails digging into his scalp. "Take it all. Show me how much you love sucking my cunt." Your climax built quickly, the coil of tension in your belly winding tighter and tighter until suddenly, you came undone. Your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure rippling through your body as you cried out, your juices flooding his mouth. "Swallow it all," you demanded, still quivering from the aftershocks. "Drink down every last drop." He drank deeply, his mouth working to swallow every spurt of your release. The taste of your cum mingled with your natural flavors, intoxicating him further as he savored each drop. He didn't stop until you were spent, until your trembling subsided and your grip on his hair loosened. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening with your essence, his chest heaving with exertion and desire. "More," he rasped, his gaze locked on yours, pleading and demanding. "I need more." His cock throbbed urgently against his belly, aching for relief, for the pleasure only you could provide.

You gazed down at him, a wicked grin spreading across your face as you took in his desperate state. "Patience," you purred, standing up and stepping back to admire the view of his bound and nearly naked form. "You've had your fun tasting me. Now it's my turn to play with you." You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small bottle of lube and unscrewing the cap. "Get ready, because I'm about to fuck you senseless." With that, you knelt between his legs, slicking your fingers with the clear gel before reaching for his straining erection. A shudder ran through him at your words, his cock twitching in anticipation. He bit his lip, trying to stifle a whimper as you coated your fingers with lube, knowing what was to come. When your hand closed around his aching length, he groaned, his hips jerking upwards instinctively. "Please," he begged, his voice strained with need. "Use me." He was completely at your mercy, his body open and vulnerable, ready to receive whatever pleasure or pain you chose to inflict upon him. You chuckled darkly, pumping your fingers up and down his slick shaft, feeling him throb in your grip. "So eager," you taunted, leaning in to nip at his earlobe. "I love it when you beg for it." Withdrawing your hand, you replaced it with your mouth, taking him deep and sucking hard. Your tongue swirled around the head, lapping at the precum that leaked from his slit. As you bobbed your head, you reached down to fondle his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. You wanted him to feel every inch of your attention, to be overwhelmed by the sensation of your mouth and hands worshipping his cock.

He cried out, his back arching off the bed as you engulfed him in the heat of your mouth. The combination of your skilled tongue and the suction of your lips was almost too much to bear, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through his body. His hips bucked wildly, fucking your face as he chased his impending climax. "Ah, fuck! Yes, just like that!" he shouted, his voice raw with pleasure. "Suck my cock, just like that" The degradation only heightened his arousal, his balls drawing up tight as he teetered on the edge. With a final, brutal suck, he came undone, spurting thick ropes of cum directly down your throat. He trembled and spasmed, lost in the haze of his orgasm as you milked him dry. You swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of his release as you slowly withdrew your mouth from his softening cock. You sat back on your heels, admiring the sight of him - flushed, panting, and utterly spent. "Mmm, delicious," you purred, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "You taste even better than I imagined." Rising to your feet, you loomed over him, your expression dark and predatory. "But we're not quite done yet, are we?" You reached for the lube once more, squirting a generous amount into your palm. "I think it's time we really fucked, don't you?" Without waiting for a response, you pulled yourself onto his lap once more and teased your slit with his cock like it was a toy, letting the tip barely sink into your warmth before you coldly spoke as you looked down at him again. "This better than that bitch Sarah?"

He winced at the mention of Sarah's name, a flash of anger and resentment crossing his features before he pushed it aside, focusing on the present moment. His cock, still sensitive from his recent orgasm, twitched at the feel of your heat enveloping it, even if only briefly. "Sarah was never like this," he admitted grudgingly, his voice tinged with a mix of shame and arousal. "She could never make me feel so… so completely owned." He looked up at you, his eyes dark with a hunger that went beyond physical desire. "Only you can do this to me. Make me submit, make me crave your domination." He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, desperate to feel your skin against his. "Fuck me," he urged, his voice low and needy. "Claim me, make me yours." You smiled, a cold, triumphant curl of your lips as you felt his arms tighten around you. "That's right," you purred, grinding your hips against his in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "You're mine now, completely and irrevocably. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it." With that, you sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion, taking him to the hilt. You paused for a moment, savoring the feel of being so deeply filled, before beginning to move. Your hips rolled in a steady, punishing pace, each thrust driving you further up his shaft. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a brutal kiss as you rode him, swallowing his moans and whimpers. Your hands roamed his body, pinching and squeezing, marking him as yours in every way possible.

He screamed into the kiss, his body wracked with pleasure as you claimed him so thoroughly. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through his veins, his cock already starting to stir again within the confines of your slick heat. He clung to you desperately, his fingers digging into your back as he struggled to keep up with your relentless pace. "Yes, oh god, yes!" he chanted, his voice muffled by your lips. "Harder, fuck me harder!" The pain from your rough handling only added to the intensity of his pleasure, his mind fogging over with lust and submission. He was nothing more than a vessel for your desires, a toy for you to use and abuse as you saw fit. And he loved it, craved it, and needed it like air. "You're mine to break and remake as I please." Your grip on his hips tightened, using him as a tool for your own pleasure as you chased your own climax. Sweat dripped down your face, mixing with the saliva from your frenzied kisses, as you rutted onto him like an animal. The room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, your moans and his cries echoing off the walls. Finally, with a scream of triumph, you came, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. You collapsed on top of him, your weight pressing him into the mattress as you rode out the aftershocks. Your pussy spasming around him due to being hypersensitive from your last orgasm.

He lay there, suffocating under your weight, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Your pussy clenched around his softening cock, the lingering contractions sending jolts of pleasure through him. He felt used, claimed, possessed in a way he'd never experienced before. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. As the haze of lust began to clear, a flicker of unease crept into his thoughts. What had he gotten himself into? Had he truly surrendered so completely to your whims? But even as those doubts surfaced, he knew they were pointless. He was yours now, body and soul, and he wouldn't have it any other way. "Thank you," he whispered, the words foreign on his lips. You lifted your head, looking down at him with a satisfied smirk. "For what, exactly?" you asked, your tone dripping with amusement and a hint of menace. "Giving in to my deepest, darkest desires? Letting me use you however I pleased?" You traced a finger along his jawline, tilting his chin up to force eye contact. "Don't thank me yet. We're just getting started." With that, you disengaged from his spent cock and stood, leaving him lying there, exposed and vulnerable. You straightened your clothes, running a hand through your disheveled hair as you regarded him coolly. "Rest up, handsome. You'll need your energy for the real fun to begin." Then, with a final, condescending smile, you turned and walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the echoes of the depraved and animalistic sex that just unwillingly took place.

[blue-willow-tree]

Hi Willow! I haven’t sent you anons or interacted before I don’t think, but I was wondering if you could perhaps give me some advice please because you seem like a fairly reliable source for this sort of thing?

Basically, my girlfriend is really into kink stuff (I’m not particularly but I don’t know a lot about it) and she’s been encouraging me to try it. Anyway, a couple days ago she asked if she could degrade me during and I said okay because I guess I assumed it wouldn’t be that bad… it was. She was so mean, like heartbreakingly mean, I feel like such a baby because afterwards I literally cried and I tried to talk to her about it but she said that “you’re not supposed to talk about a scene afterwards because it’s not real.”

Basically, I just want to know if this is like a common thing for people who are into kink stuff to refuse to talk about it afterwards? I’ve heard of aftercare but she didn’t like hurt me or anything so I can understand why there was none of that but when I tried to talk about what she’d said she just said I was being stupid because I don’t know anything about kink like she does.

You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to, I just don’t want to talk to my friends about it because it’s humiliating and you seem to know a lot about this sort of thing

TLDR: is it normal for people to refuse to talk about what happened during, it didn’t feel right when she said that but I’m not sure

Oh love, there's quite a bit here that I feel I need to unpack, but I first want to say thank you for trusting me with this. I am in no way perfect, I won't have all the answers, but I promise to do my best here for you 🩷

1. Degradation should be properly discussed beforehand, and should not be taken to its full proportion when it's your first time exploring it.

Degradation is a kink that should be handled with care, trust, and a hint of formality. This is not a kink that you simply agree to and get thrown into the deep end with it. You are not a baby for how you felt afterward, you are human. This is a kink that your partner felt drawn to explore, and if she's somebody "really into kink stuff", she should know the guidelines of kinkplay along with the importance of discussions and trust. Prior to exploring a kink such as degradation, you should have been asked for your limits and boundaries regarding that kink. And since kinkplay is something new to you, perhaps you didn't even know what that kink entailed. I'm so sorry, love. Please know that if you're with somebody and they want to try out something new, it's incredibly important that you two discuss things prior to engaging in it. And with all of that being said, even if you didn't have many limits or boundaries with regards to degradation, it's still a kink that should be explored with baby steps.

2. Aftercare is necessary, no matter what.

Oh darling, whether or not there are marks left on your skin, you need aftercare. You need to be told how well you did, you need to be cleaned up and softly kissed in all the places that might ache, and you need to be cared for in any way that you need. This goes both ways. I'm so sorry that you didn't get this, love. Especially after exploring a kink for the first time, especially while feeling vulnerable and emotional after being mentally scarred, and especially after exploring degradation. If your partner wants to partake in kink, they need to take on the responsibility of everything that comes with it, and that includes aftercare. No matter what.

3. Yes, we absolutely talk about what happened during a scene.

Whether it's during aftercare or perhaps a few hours later, or even the next day, it's important to discuss the scene so that you and your partner can remain on the same level of understanding with regards to your likes and dislikes. She might have not meant every word she said during that scene, but that doesn't mean it wasn't all real. Some would say that it was all merely engaging in a fantasy, but that scene was real. All scenes are real. Her touch was real. The words spoken to you were real. The room around you was real. It wasn't all in your head. Everything was real. What happened hurt you, and you made it clear that it did, and that means it was essential for you to bring your thoughts and feelings up so that things can be better and healthier. That isn't something someone can avoid just because their partner didn't enjoy it as much as they thought it would. There needs to be a space filled with safety, openness, and ownership to ones mistakes.

Love, you and your partner have a lot to talk about, I won't sugarcoat that. What she did to you is something that cannot be reversed from your mind and it cannot be removed from the way you view that kink, a kink that can be guiding and wonderful when used correctly. You deserve apologies, and not just one. Kink is something that you are new to, and if your partner wishes to engage in scenes with you, they need to take on the responsibility, maturity, and research that comes with it. I hope that this is something she is willing to do so that your relationship, sex life, and trust with one another can thrive to be better and healthier. However, if she refuses to acknowledge her errors, if she refuses to do better and give you the things you need, that I feel the need to advise you to get out of that relationship as fast as you can. You deserve the best, and if someone is willing to hurt you, with full knowledge that they are doing so, that isn't the best. But as I said, I hope she's willing to do better for you 🩷

I know my answer might have some things you don't want to hear, and I apologize if I crossed a line at any point, but I've seen these things before and I've gone through some of them myself as well. Have a discussion, stand strong within your limits and boundaries, and see if this is something that you two can nurture and grow together in <3 I'm so proud of you for seeking out advice and help. I'm so incredibly proud of you.

[lakesbian]

@girlstare-too-close-to-the-sun 7m Wow I haven't been on Tumblr for a bit but I forgot how exhausting you are. with most people id consider this argument a cope to dissuade analysis but your interpretations really are poisoned by your hatred of the author. You can think I'm stupid or too generous to wildbow but I think you're jumping at shadows and I gotta say I don't envy the experience of loving individual parts of what is clearly a hate read so much 5m Like there's no way it isn't, if you're going this far with ignoring characterization and making unflattering assumptions of authorial intent

i didn't say i think you're stupid or even imply it, as far as i'm concerned you asked what i'm talking about with regards to my opinion on twig and i was having a fun and enriching time answering that question. my Autistic Attempt at parsing why you're suddenly getting insulting is that i missed that you didn't genuinely want to know my thoughts/engage in the conversation, and then i misunderstood that you saying "maybe i have lower standards/maybe it's my toxic trait" wasn't actually a social indicator that it was permissible to agree that we have different standards for what makes a good book?

aside from how you saying that i'm "poisoned by hatred of the author" & am "making unflattering assumptions of authorial intent" is you trying to dismiss my analysis as emotionally motivated and thus irrational (<- note: this user does not believe that feeling strong emotion about a subject reduces your ability to be correct about it), it. doesn't really make sense. unless i missed an instance of it, i actually have not mentioned wildbow once in any of these posts--i've only talked about things in terms of "the narrative's opinion on xyz" or "twig's perspective," which is to say, i have solely commented on how the text itself presents things, with no attribution of any particular beliefs or intentions to the author.

that was a choice i made partially because i wanted to be generous/good-faith in describing twig's decisions in isolation from patterns in any of his other works or authorial posts, and partially because i don't think there is a coherent pattern with regards to misogyny. i was actually coincidentally posting earlier today about how awesome wildbow is at writing female characters/why worm's handling of women is so good (ironically, in defense of worm & wildbow from someone who was being haterly about it). i have no idea why twig does what it does in that department, and it's certainly not visible in any of his other works that i know about. but i digress.

it also, for the record, was not a hate-read. it was a "i'm in bed due to surgery and id like to finally meet the horror children ive been told about, so let's check twig out" read. i Do do "witnessing something i know will suck for fun so i can hate on it" activities for other forms of media, but i don't do it for books specifically. oh and then around, like, arc 16 it turned into a "jesuschrist this isnt even bad in a fun way when am i out of here" read for the sake of completion. sad times

you're on the account of someone who likes reading books and analyzing them for fun. i'm a frequently long-winded poster because i have many things to say & i type really fast so it doesnt take that much time or effort. literally every reblog in this chain was me going "whee! i am having fun posting my thoughts on a book in my free time!" if you don't enjoy that, then you can just walk away. you do not have to read the posts or keep replying to them, and you especially do not have to call me an exhausting person like a giant jackass because my Autism Funtimes Posting is not personally for you. the "bad faith actor who hates wildbow" banner in my bio is a riff on things exactly like this, where i'm literally just posting analysis of part of a story, but because it's not a positive review, someone decides to come announce that i'm like. paranoid and full of malice. believe it or not some people can and do enjoy writing critical analysis or negative reviews without needing to personally hate someone's guts as inspiration first.

something evil about twig is that one of sylvester's most endearing, redeeming traits is his complete and utter love for and obsession with his aborted twin evette, but the monkeys paw curls in on that and it becomes one of The Worst Bits Of The Book

[wardensantoineandevka]

not to be like this but all of the posts (and there are many across multiple platforms) right now going "I mean obviously I'm not mad or whining or anything but it sucks that there's all these three week breaks, how am I going to survive, this is awful, I cannot believe this is happening to me" like, it does in fact come off as entitled no matter how many qualifiers are put onto it

and the a smaller subset of THAT going "CLEARLY C3 isn't a priority for the studio" or "they're obviously trying to kill C3" or even posting stuff that comes off as "um, don't they know that if they keep doing this I won't shop here watch anymore", like, come on

as a tangent, genuinely, I feel like a lot of people have trouble admitting that they don't actually like C3 so they get existentially worried about them losing interest over a slightly longer break because it'll force them to acknowledge that they aren't actually interested, but it's fine not to be interested!

[hipsternumbertwo]

Try Not To Laugh Challenge #163 ft. Syd & Olivia

[famewolf]

https://www.tumblr.com/famewolf/717956178790039552 the argument “you’re trans friends / jewish friends etc etc wont trust you” is so silly like i’ve never even met a trans or jewish person why does everyone assume we have them as friends :/

I'm baffled. The answer is simply, 'not everything ever said is about you'. No one assumed anything, but you sure did assume that this post was about you, despite you saying to yourself 'hey, I don't relate to this, why is this about me? Why are people talking about me?' This comment was towards "allies" who still put their friends and loved ones at risk because they lack basic fortitude. If you aren't friends with folks different from you, if you lack the ability to accept or understand people different from you, then I hope that one day you gain Empathy as an ability. Life without it is barely life at all.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

i’ve never made a request before so sorry if this is bad but if you could write something about matt murdock with a fake dating trope like that would be so cute, especially if there’s feelings realized during/after it :)

a/n: i swear, i tried to just keep this short and sweet like how i usually keep requests, but then the fantasy i came up with was just too fun and too much like a fucking romcom not to just let myself go ham and turn it into a full-on long fic

word count: 3778

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Leaning your weight against the bar, you waited for Josie to return with another round of beers for you and your friends, who still remained exactly where you’d left them, all clustered around the pool table further into the space. 

Absentmindedly, you fiddled with the ring so often glued to your fingers, passing the heirloom from each digit and sliding it onto the next. It had been your grandmother’s, and ever since her passing, the simple golden circle with a little jade embedded at the cusp of it, rarely stayed in your jewellery box as the act of simply glancing down at it on your finger somehow offered you a drop of comfort in moments of mundane gloom. 

As the heirloom arrived at your left ring finger and slid down over the knuckle, a familiar voice suddenly emanated like an echo after the bar’s front door had swung open. 

“Y/n?” your whole body froze up at the unexpected timbre. 

Slowly, you twisted around to discover none other than your ex, wide eyes trained on you as he clutched the hand of a leggy blonde. 

“Henry!” you gasped, hoping they mistook the horrified look on your face for innocent shock, “oh my god…” 

Without any warning, the next thing you knew, he’d yanked your stunned form into a hug, “how the hell are you?” he clapped your shoulder as if you were old school chums, “it’s been so long.”

“I’m–, uhm, fine,” you managed to reply. 

“Yeah?” he smiled, the insincerity in your tone completely flying over his head, “that’s great.” 

Simply to be polite, you awkwardly asked, “…how are you?” even though you truly didn’t wish to know the answer.  

“I’m good, yeah, life’s been kinda crazy lately because–, oh,” he suddenly paused to glance back at the girl by his side, “Y/n, you remember Rebecca, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed and offered her a glance, fearing steam might billow out of your ears at any moment, “hi.”

“Hey,” she smiled brightly as she tossed her luscious locks over her shoulder, “and please don’t mind him,” she clapped a palm over Henry’s chest, “he’s just freaking out, you know, usual guy stuff before finally getting tied down.”

“I’m sorry,” you blinked, nearly pinching yourself to test if this was a nightmare or not, “before what?”

Rebecca then held up her left hand to flash you the massive rock nestled on her fourth finger. 

“I finally popped the question!” Henry grinned and draped an arm around his fiancé.

“Wow, oh wow, that’s–…” you sputtered as the blonde promptly shoved her hand in your face for you to get a better look, “that’s a really big rock, right there, on your finger…” your touch floated up and tilted her palm slightly, the light from the neon sign close by glinting in the diamond, “congratulations…”

“Thanks!” she smiled down at the ring herself before her fingers suddenly captured your own and twisted your hand around, “oh wait, congrats to you too!” 

“What?” you still simply tried to keep breathing through this agonising gut-punch of an encounter. 

“I know they say that size doesn’t matter,” Rebecca eyed the tiny green stone that adorned your grandmother’s ring, “and it doesn’t! I mean, that’s so pretty,” she uttered in a sugary sweet and insincere tone that made you feel as if you were back in high school again, “understated, simple.” 

“Ah, no way,” Henry peeked down at your hand, “you’re engaged too?”

“Uh…” you let out a shaky breath, “yep,” the lie then suddenly flew out past your lips before you had a chance to stop it, “that’s me! I’m getting married.” 

“That’s amazing,” your ex let out an airy chuckle, “who’s the lucky guy?”

But before your lips could part and let out another lie, Josie returned, “here you go, hon,” and slid four beer bottles across the bar to you before adding, “and would you tell Foggy to stop sitting on the edge of the pool table? It’s old and I can’t be responsible if it breaks on him.”

“Sure thing,” you promised and snatched up the drinks. 

“Is that your man?” Henry cast a glance to the lawyer Josie had gestured to, “Foggy, was it?”

“Foggy?” a soft giggle couldn’t help but bubble out of your lungs, “no! Don’t get me wrong, he’s great, but no, sadly, he’s already taken.” 

“Then who is it?” 

“Is it the other guy over there?” Rebecca chimed in as they both sent their glances towards your friends, “the one in the light blue shirt and tinted glasses?”

“Uh, yeah…” you squeaked as you slowly turned to look at Matt as well, “that’s–, uh, that’s him,” you watched as he readjusted his grip on the cue stick in his hand, “that’s my future husband…”

“Hm,” a sliver of judgment slipped out of Henry, “wouldn’t have pegged him to be your type.”

“Well, maybe my type has changed,” you stated, letting your lingering resentment show before you noticed how harsh it had come out and your stomach immediately began to twist and knot in regret, “I–…” you swiftly winched, “sorry,” and averted your gaze, “have a nice evening, uh–, I’m gonna go back to my friends,” you stumbled as you tried to escape. 

Though as you turned to walk away, Henry’s voice found your ears one last time, “bye!” before you heard his fiancé turn to him. 

“Pookie? Would you order me a cosmo?” her voice began to fade into the background, “I’ll go find us a table…” 

You simultaneously felt as if a truck had just run you over as your feet carried you back towards your friends, yet also completely numb, as if you’d been turned into a floating ghost of the person you used to be. 

“Who the hell was that and why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” Foggy asked cautiously as he grabbed two of the bottles in your grasp and handed one off to Matt. 

Passing one of the remaining drinks off to Karen, you then lifted your own up to your lips before tipping it back and downing around half of its contents. Once you tilted the dark green bottle back down, you were out of breath as you began to explain, “that,” you wiped your bottom lip with one of your knuckles, “was my ex,” you used that same finger to hazily point back over your shoulder, “and his fiancé,” your eyes stayed fuzzy as you added, “who happen to be the girl that he cheated on me with for a year before I one day finally caught them together.”

“Oh my god…” Karen breathed, her bottle frozen halfway on its journey up towards her lips. 

“It was on easter,” you shared, “he thought I had gone back home to see my family, but I’d actually decided to secretly do this whole big surprise, like I thought I was in fucking rom-com or something,” you sighed at your past self, “but then when he got home from work, and I was all decked out, waiting on the bed, in bunny ears and everything,” you heatedly gestured to the top of your own head, “he wasn’t alone.”

“Wow…” Foggy stared. 

“Yep…” you exhaled heavily, taking another swig before you made the mistake of glancing back over your shoulder just as Rebecca shrugged off her coat and slinked onto a stool at one of the small tables, “fuck!” you exclaimed as if you’d just stubbed your toe, “she’s even hotter than I remembered. How is that possible?” 

“Oh, she’s not that pretty,” Karen tried, but you swiftly cut her off. 

“You shut your face, she’s basically a human-sized Barbie,” your glare roamed one last time from the top of her platinum locks to the bottoms of her high stilettos, “god…” you sighed as you finally averted your gaze and lifted your bottle to drown your sorrows, “I was such an idiot back there. It was like my brain just stopped working and–, oh my god!” your palm shot up to cover your mouth as you then suddenly recalled the lie that had slipped out. Slowly, your wide eyes drifted to Matt, who still remained silent, “oh no…” 

“What is it?” Foggy chimed in. 

“Matt…” you uttered tensely, knowing your friend well enough to be aware of just how much of the interaction with your ex he had overheard, “I am so sorry…”

“What?” Karen’s glance darted between you both, “what’s going on?”

Paralysing embarrassment churned your stomach and choked out any attempt you made to share the truth. But luckily, as your erratic heartbeat thumped and found Matt’s sharp ears, he eventually filled in instead, “…they thought that she was engaged as well and then assumed that I was the guy.” 

“I am so, so sorry,” you gasped, “I don’t know why I didn’t correct them.”

But to your amazement, Matthew simply shrugged and offered you a reassuring smile, “it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“I was just fiddling with my ring and then they just–…” you then snuffed out your frantic explanation and instead repeated once again, “I’m sorry…”

Saddling up beside you, Karen planted a palm on your shoulder, “hey, if that was my ex, then I’d wanna give him some of his own medicine as well,” she stated, “if not just straight up cut off his balls, which is what he really deserves.” 

A faint smile then began to soften your expression as you glanced around at your supportive friends, Foggy briefly reaching out to pat your other shoulder. 

But as you averted your eyes to the nearly empty bottle in your grasp, a thought suddenly struck you like a bolt of lightning, “wait, I have an idea…” your gaze slowly lifted to lock on Matt, “I mean, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I totally get it, but would you mind, just while they are here, to–, uhm…”

Cocking his eyebrow, he finished your sentence, “…to pretend to be your fiancé?” 

“I know, it’s stupid, and I should probably just go home right now instead of playing some weird and immature game of revenge or whatever,” you uttered as you made the decision to lie in the grave you’d dug for yourself, “but I would forever be in your debt, I'm serious.” 

Sucking in a breath, he barely had to think about it before he murmured, “sure.”

“Really?” you gasped, your brows shooting up, “you’ll do it?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Matt shrugged, “it’s the very least he deserves for treating you like that.”

“Oh,” you crossed the short distance between you two and threw your arms around him. It took a second before you felt him hug you back, but when the alcohol got to your head and made you mutter, “I love you,” into his shoulder, a low chuckle rumbled in the lawyer's chest before you parted ways. 

“So,” Karen then began to fish out the colourful spheres and roll them back into the green felt, “do we still wanna play another game?”

“Hell yeah,” Foggy picked a cue stick back up before adding a playful threat, “you’re not beating me again this time, Page.”

Once the table was set up for another round of pool and you were a few turns in, your gaze couldn’t help but wander back towards the other end of the bar too often to keep track of. Though, soon on one of the fleeting looks, your eyes grew wide as you discovered you weren’t the only one sneaking glances.

Discreetly, you shifted closer to Matthew and leaned in to whisper, “he’s looking over,” however, when he then draped an arm around your frame, you couldn’t help but stiffen up, as you hadn’t thought that far in the plan yet, “what are you–”

“Shh,” Matt hushed your squeak, “just lean into me,” he shifted to stand tall behind you, arms enveloped around your form as he slowly drew you back against his chest, “smile,” his low voice tickled the shell of your ear and caused goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “and don’t look at him.” 

Redirecting your vision back towards the game before you, you narrowly managed to catch sight of the silent slut-shaming the other lawyer flashed his friend with but a glance, before he went back to the mischievous mission he was on. 

“Foggy, would you quit it?” Karen grumbled at the man beside her as he wildly waved both of his hands in her periphery, successfully knocking off her concentration as she tried to line up her shot. 

“No way,” he kept up his flapping, even causing Karen’s golden locks to get picked up by the breeze he produced. 

“You’re cheating.”

“Nope, I am not touching you nor the table,” he stated as if he was in court, “distracting you doesn’t break any rules.”

And as she finally made her attempt, the ball didn’t go in, causing her to explode in a roar, “damn it, Fog!”

“Ha, ha, yes!” he jumped as she straightened back up, “you know, I taste something right now, what could that be? Oh yeah, victory. And it tastes sweet as candy store.” 

“Urgh,” Karen rolled her eyes at him before her glare landed upon the both of you, “Matt, your turn. Would you please set him in his place?”

“Gladly,” Matt chuckled, and as he shifted closer to the pool table, he nudged your side and asked, “hey, would you give me a hand?”

Swallowing a chuckle as you already knew he very much didn’t need it, you cocked an eyebrow, “you want my help?”  

“Yeah,” he uttered clearly and let his real message seep through his tone, guiding your gaze to flicker back toward Henry, who’s stare was still locked upon you both, “so come help me.” 

“Oh!” it finally clicked in your brain, “right,” and you swiftly slid in beside him. 

With bated breath, you grabbed Matt’s hand that wasn’t clutching the pole, and guided it over the ivory ball that rested close to one of the corners. As you began to map out and tell him where each of the other spheres were, your eyes flicked over to notice just how close you now stood, as your nose nearly grazed against his stubbly cheek as you murmured guidingly. When you retracted your touch, you barely noticed how a few of Matt’s fingers reacted, faintly following your fading palm for but a second before it floated back down to the white orb below it. 

Once he’d made his shot, you lingered in the proximity and whispered, “do you think they’re buying it?” 

“Hm?” 

“This,” your eyes momentarily flickered back towards your ex across the bar, “us.”

Matthew’s brows then floated up as you reeled him back in to the matter at hand, “oh, I–, probably.” 

“Or should we do something else?” your mind kept on spinning, “I don’t know, I feel like I’ve completely forgotten how all of that works,” you shared, “kinda just numbed and cut off that part of myself after he broke my heart, it was just how I had to get through it, shut down a little bit because suddenly romance was terrifying…”

“...can I ask you something?” he asked quietly after a breath, and when you offered him a hum in confirmation, he uttered, “are you still in love with him?” 

Time stretched out before you finally replied, “I was, for a very long time…” your voice stayed small, “…but no, not anymore… I kind of thought I was, but then seeing him again cleared it all up. All I feel when I look at him now is rage,” you exhaled, “and pity, just because I know him too well, know everything that’s messed up about him…” silence encumbered you both for a moment before you then opened your mouth once more and said, “so, should we hold hands or something?” you asked plainly, though when a genuine laugh then began to billow out of Matthew, your eyes blinked up at him as your brows swiftly knit together, “what?”

“You know,” he tried to snuff out his chuckle, “if I was actually your fiancé, I wouldn’t just stand around and hold your hand all night,” he then leaned in the short distance till his lips nearly tickled the shell of your ear, “I would have dragged you into the bathroom by now and forced the whole bar to hear us fuck.” 

“I–, u-uhm,” you flusteredly stammered as your face began to heat up, “y-yeah, yeah, that’s good too,” you barely registered your own words as they slipped out past your lips, “if that’s what you wanna do–, I mean! Shut up!” you squeezed your eyes shut as soon as you regained your own senses, “just hold my hand, you dick,” you cursed over his laughter as he swiftly slipped his palm into your own.

“Cut it out, Karen,” Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and caught your attention. 

Glancing over, you spotted as Karen was giving him some of his own medicine, pettily leaning into his eye line, “what? You were the one saying that distractions weren’t against the rules,” she continued to glare in hopes of throwing him off his game, “why? Is this not working? Do you need me to scream directly in your ear instead?”

“Oh, would you?” he sarcastically looked to her, his pitch climbing up high at his words, “going deaf in one ear is exactly what I need to beat you.”

As your wandering gaze then flickered back towards the opposite end of the bar, your eyes grew wide as you spotted only Rebecca still seated at the small table, pink cocktail in her grasp. 

“Shit,” you spotted Henry as he crossed the room, confidently walking precisely in your direction, “he’s coming over,” you hissed, and in your muppet-like panic, your hands clasped each side of Matt’s face and yanked him in for a kiss. 

At first, he froze up as you continued to freak out, but then, as his broad palms slowly slid over your waist, all of your alarm began to melt away. It felt as if you were drifting off to sleep as you relaxed into the kiss. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that kissing Matt would feel like this, not that such a fantasy was something you pondered often or even at all, but as you felt his tongue flicker out to dance softly against your own, your knees beneath you wobbled as you lost yourself completely. How long the peck drew out remained a mystery, as when you eventually parted, the reasoning behind it wouldn’t emerge in your memory no matter how hard you tried. 

Though as you stood there, blinking back at Matt, still utterly spellbound by the unexpected feelings currently bubbling and bursting inside of you, the man now standing off to the side cleared his throat and brought you back down to earth. 

“Bunny–, I mean, Y/n,” you whipped your head around to catch sight of your ex, “just thought it would have been awkward if I didn’t come over here to introduce myself before me and Becca took off,” he muttered before his gaze fell to Matt, his arms slowly fading from your form, “I'm Henry, nice to meet you,” your ex then offered his hand, though the lawyer by your side didn’t grasp it, even if his heightened senses had lent him to pick up on the gesture. 

“Matt Murdock,” he uttered on a cold exhale. 

Stuffing his rejected palm into his pocket, Henry then asked, “what do you do?” 

“Matthew’s a lawyer,” you took over, slotting yourself into Matt’s side before you dramatically clasped a hand over his chest, “saves people for a living. That’s actually why we’re out celebrating tonight, he just won yet another case.” 

“Oh, well congratulations then,” Henry offered in well-forged petty politeness. 

“Yeah, I was there, watching him do his thing,” you uttered as some bitter goblin of resentment then took over your soul and caused you to say, “and oh boy, I tell you, if only it would have been socially acceptable for me to interrupt the trial just to rip his clothes off, because wow.”

A scoff then rippled in Henry’s chest, “okay, sure,” his stare upon you narrowed as he then grumbled, “we both know you’re not exactly the groupie type of girlfriend.” 

“Well, maybe your sorry ass was never worth her supporting you in that way,” Matt suddenly cut in, “maybe because you never bothered treated her that way in return,” his guess hit the bullseye, “and maybe that has a little something to do with why I was the one to put a ring on her finger and not you,” your heart thumped in your chest as Matt’s touch returned to the small of your back, protectively sliding over your waist as he continued to speak in a low and chillingly stern tone, “that or you really are as terrible of a lay as she told me you were, during those very first nights when she finally learned what it was like to be with someone who wasn’t a complete fucking idiot.” 

Utterly stunned, you watched Henry’s expression as he scrambled his brain for a way to crawl back from that, but eventually, when no suitable words came to his pea-sized brain, his feet slowly began to shuffle back till his hand had snatched up his fiancé’s and he’d yanked her with him out of the bar. 

As the door swung closed behind the pair, a celebratory squeal burst from your lungs, “oh my god! Matt, that was incredible!” you jumped in place before throwing your arms around him, “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

Tangling his own arms around you, he uttered, “I’m sure we’ll come up with some way you can make it up to me.” 

And as you withdrew, just enough to smile back at him, your gaze began to drift back down towards his lip just before Foggy’s voice cut through the palpable tension.

“Do I need to remind you guys that you’re not actually engaged?” 

“No,” Matt then murmured as the two of you parted ways, quietly enough for his words to be completely inaudible, “but we could be...” 

“What?” you glanced over at him. 

“What?” he echoed in return, though a bit too quickly. 

“Did you say something?”

“Me? No,” he tried to conceal his lie with a cough, “I-I, uh, think it’s your turn,” he then changed the subject, gesturing to the pool table behind you. 

  © 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[darkmatilda]

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer needs your help examining a crucial piece of evidence...but the moment he sees you, his mind goes blah blah blah...proper name, place name, backstory stuff...

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist! female reader, same reader as in pick your poison but you don’t need to read that first—there aren’t any major references, suggestion that the reader engages in casual hook ups, reader has a belly button piercing and a described outfit, spencer's pov only

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling it was slowly gathering dust in my inbox 😭 sorry!

"I think the threshold of my lab isn't exactly the best place for camping."

A woman's silhouette cast a shadow over Spencer as she appeared right above him in the dimly lit hallway.

Spencer sighed in frustration and hauled himself to his feet. As he brushed off his pants, he kept his eyes off the woman in front of him.

"Well, I didn't think you'd make me wait fifty-eight—"

"Oh, just say the hour. Is rounding numbers really that hard for you?" she scoffed, her voice carrying a trace of genuine curiosity. She swiped her access card, unlocking the door to the lab. With her back turned to him, he took in her appearance—an oversized fur coat draped over her shoulders, a designer handbag hanging from one arm. His gaze drifted downward, and to his surprise, he noticed…pajama pants and slippers?

"You should be grateful I even bothered to show up at this hour," she added.

"This is really important," Spencer replied as she led him inside.

She moved through the space with effortless familiarity, heading straight for the light switch. Well, this was her domain, after all—the place where she spent most of her days.

"I don't care," she replied. "Unless you've found proof that Marilyn Monroe was the Zodiac Killer all along—then, well, I care a little. Honestly, you have no idea how much you owe me for showing up..."

He rolled his eyes.

"Should I be thanking you on my knees, or...?"

"I could have been busy. I could have been out with the girls at a club. I could have been having the night of my life..."

"I get it, you made a huge sacrifice answering my request, but can you now—"

"I could have been in bed already. My own. Or not my own," she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Though in that case, I wouldn’t have picked up."

Spencer simply sighed. By now, he was used to it—the way most of their conversations followed the same pattern. How she always set the pace, steering the direction as she pleased. How she sometimes deliberately ignored his words and didn’t care if it made her seem rude. How, in general, she didn’t care what impression she left on others.

He had witnessed it countless times, found it irritating every single time, and yet—every single time—he kept the conversation going. Funny.

She switched on only one of the lights, leaving the room bathed in a soft twilight. Her handbag landed on the long counter beside one of the microscopes, and she tossed her fur coat next to it, completely unconcerned about knocking something over.

Sometimes, he watched her with quiet fascination—the effortless confidence in her movements—and wondered if she had ever, even once, smacked her hip against a doorframe. Or stubbed her toe on a cabinet. Those small, mundane humiliations and everyday mishaps simply didn’t seem to fit with who she was.

He tightened his grip on the plastic bag he had brought with him, the one containing something that needed to be examined. The team didn’t know about it yet.

The thought, the theory, had quite literally yanked him out of sleep. He couldn’t function without checking this lead immediately. But he knew that if he went through the lab, he’d have to wait until morning for the results…so he decided to ask for a friendly favor.

Okay friendly was a big word.

They had known each other for a few months, worked together on several cases, gone on a date, slept together.

Not necessarily in that order.

He was just about to open his mouth, say something, hand her the bag… when, for the first time, he actually saw her in better light than the dim glow—or rather, lack of it—in the hallway. Against his own will, his gaze started its journey over her.

From the slippers on her feet, up the loose pajama pants that ended just below the piercing in her navel, the black camisole with thin straps, to her face—completely free of makeup.

Until now, he had only seen her in two versions. One was her usual, elegant work attire. The other was her evening look—form-fitting, designed to turn heads and keep them there.

On second thought, there was also a third version. Without clothes.

But he had never seen her like this. Casual, comfortable, dressed for nothing more than wandering the walls of her own apartment.

She lifted her arms to tie her hair into a ponytail, and her shirt rode up slightly.

“If my piercing fascinates you that much, I can give you my piercer’s number,” she offered dryly, a fleeting smirk on her lips as she caught his stare. He immediately snapped his gaze back to her face, cursing internally when he realized he probably looked like he had been caught staring. Which, of course, he hadn’t been. “Excellent work. Full professionalism. Experienced hands…”

"I need you to check this stain," he interrupted, raising the bag.

They had been talking too much, and he really needed to know if his suspicions were correct.

She stepped closer to take the bag from him.

“Is this a crucial piece of evidence, or can I touch it?”

“You can touch it…”

She stopped just a step away, shifting her weight onto one hip and tilting her head to get a better look.Spencer instinctively straightened, feeling a strange tension along his spine.Earlier, he had been looking at what she was wearing. Now, what caught his attention was how she looked.

There’s a certain kind of beauty you never quite get used to, no matter how often you see it. The kind that, every time, knocks the air from your lungs for just a second—that fleeting disbelief that someone like this actually walks the earth.

She had it. She radiated it.

And she was just a step away.

She took the garment out of the bag. It was a red turtleneck sweater. She lifted it higher toward the light, furrowing her brow as she examined the stain.

Spencer’s gaze fell on her beautiful face, her eyes shimmering slightly, her lower lip slightly pursed in thought.

Suddenly, she scoffed, snapping him back to reality.

"Mystery solved, and I didn’t even need a microscope," she said, shoving the sweater back into his hands. As he took it, his fingers brushed against hers, catching him slightly off guard. "It’s foundation. I’d recognize that stain anywhere. So, hooray, happy to help, no need to put me in the case report, have a good night, and see you—"

He grabbed her wrist before she could step away, stopping her in place.

"This isn’t a joke," he said, his voice dropping, tinged with sudden irritation.She raised an eyebrow at both his tone and the way he—unintentionally—closed the distance between them. As usual, she looked him straight in the eyes, and as usual, it was hard not to be drawn in. But he tried, because this case was really consuming his thoughts. "Listen, I called you because I need someone to actually test it. Not just glance at it. It'll only take a moment, and then you can go back to crawling into bed with whoever you want. Can you do that?"

The second-to-last sentence made her expression shift slightly.

For a moment, they stood there, unwavering, eyes locked without so much as a blink. Then, the corners of her lips tugged upward—just barely. But it felt more like a forced gesture, an attempt to maintain her carefully practiced expression, rather than a sign of genuine amusement.

"Alright," she replied softly. Not to be mistaken for shyly. There was nothing shy about her, a fact he was reminded of constantly.

"I’ll test it, since it matters so much to you. And then I’m going back to bed." A slow blink before she yanked the sweater from his hands. "With whoever I want."

Why did swallowing suddenly stop being an automatic reflex and turn into something he had to consciously work through?

"That’s great," he said shortly, dryly. He could feel himself slipping into the trap again, letting her toy with him. "Have fun."

"I will."

With that simple assurance, she walked away, and the very particles of air around him seemed to loosen, finally allowing him to breathe again. He turned after her instinctively, the way a swivel chair spins when someone sets it in motion.

She crossed the lab table and leaned over an empty workstation—empty, like all the others. The entire width of the counter separated them now, along with the return of cool detachment to her face. Slowly, Spencer rested his hands on the smooth surface, watching as she got to work. Watching as her hair bounced slightly with the shift in position. Watching as her jaw tensed in concentration. Watching as she leaned over the workstation slightly.

"So," she began flatly, not pausing her work or even looking at him.

Spencer gave his head a small shake, realizing that this time, he really had been staring. At least she hadn’t seen it.

"What exactly am I testing?"

His gaze drifted to her again.

"Something related to the case."

"Wow, I never would've guessed."

He was too distracted to mentally slap himself for how pathetic he was. 

"Uh, it’s not exactly groundbreaking," he began.

He could focus—he just had to try hard enough. He just had to clear the lingering trace of her scent from when she’d stood so close. Had to shake off the echo of her words. With whoever I want, she had said. The more he thought about it, the more accurate it seemed. He firmly believed she could have whoever she wanted. With that confidence. With that face. With that body…

"That’s why I’m checking it after hours. Just, you know…backstory stuff…"

A sound escaped her lips—somewhere between a scoff of disbelief and a startled laugh. She looked at him—no, she pinned him with her gaze.

"Backstory stuff?" she repeated, her lips curling into a smile. Not even a mocking one anymore. She was genuinely amused. "Did you, Doctor Spencer Reid, when asked what the evidence pertains to, actually respond with backstory stuff…?"

“No, I…I mean…”

“Oh God, it’s a good thing they don’t put you in front of cameras. Imagine you, at a press conference. Just casually dropping backstory stuff on national television…”

“I can handle myself in front of cameras,” he clarified, feeling an odd warmth creep up the back of his neck. “But there aren’t any here. And besides, I didn’t realize you wanted me to recite the entire case file from memory…”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said with another amused snort. “Backstory stuff is actually a surprisingly accurate term. You know, very professional.”

He rolled his eyes, feigning irritation, though what he really felt was more akin to embarrassment.

“Speaking of professionalism, maybe you could get back to work?” he suggested.

“I don’t have to,” she replied, flashing him a sweet smile. “I already checked everything. And I was wrong. It’s not foundation—it’s nitroglycerin.”

Spencer’s jaw practically hit the floor.

For the first time since stepping into the lab, his mind was running at full capacity.

"Nitroglycerin? Are you sure?"

"Well, I don’t get these things wrong," she said, almost offended.

"Nitroglycerin," he repeated in a whisper.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Suddenly, everything made sense.

She leaned her elbows on the table, watching him with interest.

He wanted to kiss her.

No—he did not—

"Thank you," he blurted out, her words becoming background noise as his thoughts raced. "Thank you for coming. This…this really helps. I have to tell the team—"

He turned toward the door, dazed by the realization.

Something stopped him.

"Spencer," she called gently.

She didn’t seem angry that he was leaving so abruptly. If anything, there was a certain soft glint in her eyes, a quiet fascination with his sudden revelation. Standing in the doorway, he looked at her one last time, feeling himself freeze in place again. He said nothing, sensing that she wanted to say something instead.

She tilted her head slightly.

"You owe me a favor," she said.

There was something about the way she said it—something that sent a slow, deliberate shiver down his spine. Not even a shiver. More like a careful march of cold fingertips down his vertebrae.

So, naturally, he did what any grown man with an IQ of 187 would do.

He parted his lips slightly and nodded.

[yukioos]

LIKE A TATTOO

SUMMARY: hwang in-ho x wife reader // you came to the island with your husband to help him out with the new games. as you took a moment for yourself, reading a book in your shared bed, a fist knocked on your door. the guard escorted you to the observation room, where in-ho was. the two of you drink bourbon and make out, not paying much attention to the games.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! this is my first squid game oneshot, i hope u like it! i’m still working on arcane ones so dw im not abandoning the requests. i’ll most likely start taking requests for squid game characters as well. might make a part 2 if people like this. this is 1.7k words. here are the links to part 2 part 3

WARNINGS: not proofread, blood, guns, murder (players sabotaging n pushing each other in red light green light), making out, drinking

the frontman sat on a plush, luxurious seat in his private, sound-proof room. a player who won the game three years ago had come back to compete, supposedly to avenge all the people he lost. outside the window, the players were engaging in their first game; red light, green light, the first game.

he hadn’t had much time for himself as he was constantly busy overlooking the games and creating new ones. it was as if his work was perpetual, as if he was meant to be the frontman for the rest of his life. he later considered settling down with you, the love of his life. but he couldn’t leave the games behind, it was part of his life, of course. he was extremely against giving the role of the frontman to anyone, as there was no one he would expect to run the games properly and orderly.

you knew about his feelings about the games, and how he wanted to quit but he was terrified of being caught. of you being caught. it wasn’t that you personally killed any of the players, no, but you knew who was running it, knew him like the back of your hand. that made you an accomplice, and he was scared for your life, he didn’t want you to become too wrapped up in his troubles.

that, of course, was quickly dismissed as soon as you became his spouse. when he told you about his job, and how he needed to leave for a business trip, you asked if you could come with him. he hesitated, and it took him days to decide if it was safe enough for you to spend around two years there, with him. he needed to create new games to entertain the VIPs, so he could use some help from his creative wife, and you had been begging to see what his job was like ever since you married.

so you assisted him in creating designs for the games and a new addition in between games, the possibility to leave the games and split the money. however, this would be the first game you would watch. you were nervous, not sure what to expect, but your husband had secretly hoped you’d be impressed by the first game, and hopefully the next ones as well.

the emptiness on the couch saddened him. he wondered why he felt so uncomfortable alone, in the room where he had idly watched the games he ran. it was too quiet. but he missed your touch, the sound of your breathing, your pulse, and your heartbeat.

he tapped his finger against the armrest before slightly grinning. he clicked and held down a button on a stand, marked with a small, white square. he commanded, “bring my wife to the observation room.” he then grinned once he gained a reply, knowing someone had gotten the message.

you, on the other hand, were reading a book in your bedroom, bored out of your mind, as you didn’t know where your husband was. suddenly, a fist knocked hard on your door, three times. must’ve been a guard, as in-ho normally just walks into the room, as you both shared it.

you tilted your head slightly to the right, staring at the door before you placed a bookmark in between two pages. you wondered what it could be about. nothing important was happening today, right?

once you placed your hand on the cold doorknob and twisted it, you saw a tall worker in a pink jumpsuit standing in front of you. the square guard stated, “the frontman asked me to escort you to the observation room.” and stood still, eerily waiting for you to respond.

you mumbled, “um, okay,” then hesitated, as you stepped into your heels, “do you know why he asked me to go there?” he began walking, and you followed after him, heels clicking with every step you took.

the guard shook his head and walked a short distance, until he arrived in front of a bland, pink door. you shook in anticipation, giddy to see your husband again. the guard knocked his fist on the door, then after a couple of seconds, opened it and held the door open for you.

you bowed your head as a thank you and shot him a gentle smile. he bowed back and closed the door, causing you to turn around. you quickly noticed the room was padded, most likely a soundproof room. two doors were lining the sides of the walls, leading to a larger space, where your husband was watching a doll place her hand on something. he sat on the left side of the double seat, next to a coffee stand. a bright chandelier hung above him, lighting up the room.

did he invite you so you could watch the first game together?

he felt your stare on him and smirked to himself. he asked, without turning around, “are you going to come up and sit down, honey? wouldn’t want your legs to hurt from standing for so long.” he smiled once he heard you shudder from feeling nervous. he always knew what you felt like, even if you didn’t know yourself.

you slowly traveled to the spot next to him, looking at him up and down, eyeing his all-black outfit. you sat next to him, thighs touching as you noticed his black mask to conceal his identity. two glasses sat next to one another on the coffee table, a subtle reminder that he was always thinking about you. a bottle of whiskey was placed on the table next to the glasses, which your husband began to pour into the small glasses. he handed you yours first and stared at you for a moment.

you crumbled under his intimidating gaze, rarely having the ability to know what he was feeling. you wiped your lip with your index, asking, “do— do i have something on my face?” your eyebrows furrowed in worry, not wanting to look bad in front of such a handsome man.

he mumbled, “no,” and continued to eye you up and down, as if he wanted to memorize every part of your body. glancing at your lips for a moment too long, he placed his hand on your thigh, caressing the skin uncovered by stockings. he couldn’t help but stare at your plump lips, wanting his on yours for eternity.

in-ho wouldn’t stop staring at your lips, but of course, you noticed. you tried to hold your grin back, heart pumping as his staring made you nervous. maybe catching him off guard would make him stop staring.

so you gently placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into the kiss, eliciting a groan out of the man. even as you heard people talking from the game, he moved his hand down to your ass and placed both of his hands there, picking you up and placing you on his lap, not breaking away from the kiss.

you giggled into the kiss and cradled his face, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. the kiss was slow and passionate, as if both of you were trying to savor how the other felt in your hands, falling apart just for one another.

even as you heard an unfamiliar robot-like girl speaking, and the sounds of many footsteps running, you continued to move your lips against his. he ran his hand along your back, wishing he could feel you more through your soft fur coat. but you slowed your movements down, wanting to watch the game he had worked so hard on.

you slowly pulled away from him, causing him to needily chase your lips, wanting more. he gripped your thigh with want, you let out a small whimper, almost inaudible. as you rubbed his chest, he stared at your soft eyes, looking up at him as if he hung the stars and created the universe. he had never felt more loved than he had with you.

as soon as you sat back down on the couch, in-ho swiftly brought your legs up to his lap, gently taking your black heels off, wanting you to feel comfortable. he smiled at you after he gently placed them on the ground near the coffee table. his touch tickled your thighs, gently rubbing up and down as he watched the games from the window.

you suddenly heard a gunshot, making your eyes go wide as you tucked your knees more into yourself than him. he noticed the small movement and rubbed your calves, attempting to soothe you and your nerves. multiple guns fired, and people laid on the ground, blood pooling around their bodies, trying to run away from the doll.

in-ho clicked a remote, playing the song ‘fly me to the moon,’ which went with a model, containing toy singers that moved on beat. as the doll exclaimed, ‘green light!’ then ‘red light!’ no one dared to move a muscle. a player began to shout out commands, and the whole group quickly formed into lines at the next green light.

as the doll yelled, ‘red light!’ the leader of each line would halt first, and the last person in the line would stop last, however, the doll couldn’t detect their movements. it was a smart idea, you had to give them credit. your husband seemed displeased, however, as his hands halted, keeping his hands steady on your thighs. he sighed in frustration, but now it was time to soothe him. you grabbed his hand and held it, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand. he glanced at you and his eyes spoke for him, he wanted to say thank you, but was too frustrated to speak.

gunshots began to fire, due to players pushing one another, sabotaging each other, as humans were greedy and always wanted more. their own life was important to them, but they didn’t seem to care about taking the life of another, as it wasn’t theirs.

but in-ho unexpectedly turned to you and stated, “i’m participating in the games this time.”

your heart dropped.

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

pillow talk - spencer reid x fem!reader

a night well spent fizzles out into soft words exchanged in pink sheets.

genre: fluff wc: 1019 warnings: mentioned sex, their first time together, casual nudity, inexperienced reader, insecurities, reassurance

It was soft, comforting even. Of course intense because how else could your first time together be? It was him, after all. As you lay, heavy pants finally returning to normal, steady breaths, a hand comes up to smooth down your hair and a kiss is gently pressed to your head.

"How do you feel?" Spencer asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

It proves to be a difficult question. A response seems counterintuitive, like it would demean the moment into something that has to be assessed. An answer has to come, nonetheless.

"I don't know." And it's the truth.

He hums thoughtfully and nods, running a hand down your shoulder. "Good or bad?"

"Good... like my brain's empty. If that makes sense," you answer.

Your head, on Spencer's bare chest, does, in fact, feel foggy. Before today, you were both too scared of the intimacy. Something changed the moment you felt him move his grip from your hip to your waist, like he was worried that he might make you uncomfortable. You didn't want that. It happened only after convincing him that you wanted to go further than the usual groping and hand stuff. Now you're unsure how you feel. Having someone you've been seeing for a while suddenly inside you is bizarre and always will be. You also can't seem to shake that voice that sounds a lot like your friends, telling you that he'll leave after he gets what he wants. Your mind is simply a flurry of everything that anyone has ever told you about intimacy. With Spencer, it was different, though.

Your hand finds his and you mindlessly toy with his fingers as you murmur, "you've done this more than me, correct?"

"Correct."

"How do people usually feel?" you ask softly.

"Everybody's different. You don't need to feel good." He takes a breath and explains in a matter-of-fact tone, his hand lifting above your shoulder to gesture while he talks, "the rush of serotonin and dopamine into our system can leave some people feeling sad or tired once those neurotransmitters decrease."

You nod, finding yourself understanding. It has been a while since you've engaged in any form of intimacy.

"That makes sense."

He nods as his fingers drop to continue the irregular patterns on your arm. His chin rests on your head. "So? How do you feel?"

Again, there's no correct answer to his question. It's a complicated experience with complicated feelings attached. But one thing is for sure, "I'm happy."

"I'm glad. I am, too," he hums.

A smile floats over your lips before a thought occurs and you have an inkling as to how he'll choose to reply to it. Your head lifts and you turn so you're now partly on your side, giving you a perfect view of his face in the soft glow of the afternoon. With the curtains closed, his skin was basked in pale yellow light, the pink of your sheets contrasting the pink of his cheeks.

"Did I do good?" you grin.

He finds you gorgeous, your sickeningly sweet smile making him gaze down at you in pure awe. It's the complete and utter truth when he responds with, "very."

You can't help but tease, "best you've ever had?"

"Yes. I don't think you could've fumbled that badge of honour if you tried," he smiles, his hand gently cupping your cheek, a rough thumb wiping away invisible tears.

Something about the sentiment gets to you. After all, you're nothing but a hopeful romantic. But you're also just a girl.

"So, even if I was bad, you'd still lie and say I wasn't?" you raise your eyebrows and bat your eyelashes.

His eyes narrow but the smile on his face shows you that he's not really upset. "No... I meant that I think I like you too much to not enjoy everything you do."

"Oh," you flush. Why does he have to be so perfect?

The hand on your cheek moves up to brush some of your hair back. "Yeah, oh."

Spencer's different than the guys you've interacted with. He's everything that little girls everywhere dream of. He's Prince Charming. That's why when your lips meet his and the sheet falls back, his eyes never once glance down. Perhaps he's an agent and an individual with three PhDs but he's a gentleman above all else. He never once wants to make you feel like he's not here for you.

When your lips break apart with happy smiles on both of your faces, you take in just how silly he looks. His hair is messy from your fingers, his cheeks are flushed and—your favourite of all—he's covered up to his stomach in pink sheets. The giggle that leaves you is unnecessary and unasked for.

He can't help the smile that comes from hearing your laugh. "What?" he mutters, brows furrowed.

"You just look... so very silly in my bed," you explain, a lovesick grin on your face.

"Oh. Well, I can't help what you choose as interior design."

You sigh dramatically, shaking your head like a disappointed teacher, "I suppose you can't."

The smile on his lips only grows as you act your ass off to seem sad by his comment.

"Perhaps I should also purchase pink sheets?" he suggests jokingly, tucking yet another stray strand behind your ear.

"I really think you should. It would complement your room and it would make you think of me so that's a bonus," you nod. You're unable to stay serious, though, the corners of your mouth lifting despite your efforts.

Spencer nods back, his bottom lip pushing up as he hums decisively. "I'm sold, let's go to the store," he says with an impressively straight face.

You laugh hard, beaming up at him with nothing but pure joy. You find his commitment to the bit amusing and, honestly, endearing. He points his thumb towards the bedroom door with his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Playfully, your eyes roll and rest your face in the crook of his neck.

"I'll get pink sheets if you want me to," Spencer softly mutters.

[23victoria]

Jealousy, Jealousy

f1 grid x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

warnings: just the guys being jealous, a lil uncomfortable situations ig,

authors note: sorry i took so long with this anon 🥹🤍! also sorry if this is bad for some reason i was struggling 😓 also ignore any typos any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!! if you wanna join my taglist, click HERE!

f1 masterlist

Lewis

You were at a quaint bookstore in London, browsing through the latest bestsellers. Lewis was busy with a media event, so you decided to take some time to yourself. While searching the shelves, a charming young man approached you, striking up a conversation about the book you were holding.

"So, are you a Ana Huang fan?" he asked, flashing a friendly smile.

You smiled back, appreciating the casual conversation. "Yes, I love her Twisted series! Currently reading book 2."

"That's one of the best books!" he said, inching closer. "I can definitely recommend some more books similar to hers! Maybe if I could get-"

Unbeknownst to you, Lewis had wrapped up his event early and decided to surprise you. He walked into the bookstore just as you were chatting with the stranger. He immediately noticed the man's enthusiastic gestures and your engaged expression. His protective instincts kicked in.

He approached with a confident stride, sliding an arm around your waist. "Hey, babe. Who's your friend?" Lewis's tone was polite, but his eyes were intense.

"Oh, Lewis! This is Tom, we were just talking about The Twisted Series!" you said, trying to ease the tension.

Tom extended his hand, but Lewis's grip on your waist tightened slightly. "Nice to meet you, Tom. I'm Lewis."

Tom picked up on the vibe and quickly made his exit. "Nice to meet you too. I'll let you two enjoy your day."

As Tom walked away, you turned to Lewis, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?"

Lewis chuckled, relaxing his hold. "Maybe a little. Can you blame me? He was cleary interested."

You kissed his cheek, reassured by his protectiveness. "You’re cute when you get like this, you know you're the only one for me."

Max 

You were at a trendy bar in Monaco with some friends, celebrating your  movie premiere. Max was racing that weekend, so you hadn't expected to see him. While chatting at the bar, a guy approached you, complimenting your dress.

"That dress looks amazing on you," he said smoothly.

"Thanks," you replied, smiling politely.

Max, who had finished his practice session early, decided to surprise you. He walked into the bar and immediately spotted you talking to the stranger. His mood darkened as he saw the guy leaning in closer to you.

Max wasted no time, walking straight over and placing a possessive hand on your lower back. "Hey, schatje. Who's this?"

You turned, surprised and delighted to see him. "Max! This is Jason. He just complimented me on my dress."

Jason, sensing the tension, took a step back. "Nice to meet you, Max. You look beautiful Y/N, nice talking to you."

Max nodded curtly, watching Jason leave before turning his attention back to you. "What was that about?"

"Just a compliment," you said, smiling. "Why are you jealous?"

Max pulled you into a deep kiss, making sure everyone in the bar knew you were his. "No."

You laughed, hugging him tightly. "Yes you are, but it’s okay, I like when you get jealous. Besides you're the only one I want, Maxie."

Charles 

You were at the university library, studying for an upcoming exam. Charles was away for a race, so you decided to focus on your studies. A fellow classmate approached you, asking if he could join you at your table.

"Sure," you said, moving your books to make space.

The two of you started discussing your coursework, but the conversation soon shifted to more personal topics. Just as the guy was about to ask you out for coffee, Charles walked in. He had flown back earlier than expected to surprise you.

He saw you laughing with the guy and felt a pang of jealousy. Charles walked over, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Hey, love. Mind if I join you?"

You looked up, surprised and thrilled. "Charles! Of course, sit down. This is Peter, we were just studying."

Peter quickly excused himself, sensing the unspoken tension. "I'll see you around, Y/N."

As Peter left, Charles took his seat beside you, his arm draped protectively over your shoulders. "Who was that?"

"Just a classmate," you said, amused by his reaction. "Jealous much?"

Charles sighed, pulling you closer. "Maybe. But I have every right to be, I mean look at you, you're gorgeous. Any person with common sense would want you."

You kissed his cheek, whispering, "You're adorable, Char! You never have to worry about that. Trust me, you're the only one I want."

Oscar 

You were at a cozy café in Melbourne, waiting for your boyfriend. He had a busy schedule, but you managed to find time for a quick coffee date. While waiting, a guy at the next table struck up a conversation.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, clearly interested.

"Not really, just waiting for someone," you replied, hoping he would take the hint. 

He leaned in a bit closer, a confident smile on his face. "Well, maybe while you wait, we could get to know each other better."

Oscar walked in at that moment, his eyes narrowing as he saw the guy leaning in closer to you as he spoke. He walked over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Hey, baby. Ready to go?"

The guy quickly backed off, realizing he was intruding. "Oh, I'll leave you two to it," he said, standing up and walking away.

Oscar watched him go before turning to you. "Who was that?"

"I don’t know, just some random guy," you said, smiling up at him. "You feeling okay? You look a little red?"

Oscar shakes his head, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Looking at him you say, “You sure it’s not because you got a little jealous?”

Oscar chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Maybe a little. I just can't stand the thought of anyone else getting your attention."

You hugged him tightly, giving him a short kiss. "You just have to get used to having a very attractive girlfriend baby."

“I guess I do.” he says cheekily wrapping his arm around your waist as you guys walk out. 

Carlos 

You were in the pit lane, watching the preparations for the upcoming race. Carlos was busy with the team, so you decided to explore the area. A fellow fan, noticing your VIP pass, struck up a conversation.

"Are you here for the race?" he asked, clearly impressed by your pass.

"Yes, I'm here with my boyfriend," you replied, trying to be polite but distant.

"That's great," he said, undeterred by the mention of your boyfriend. "Is this your first time attending, or are you a regular?"

"Regular." you responded, hoping the conversation would end soon.

"Oh, so your boyfriend's rich, huh?" he remarked with a smirk.

"Uh, sure…yeah," you replied, taken aback and uncomfortable with his comment.

Carlos, having finished his briefing, spotted you talking to the guy. His protective instincts flared up as he saw him getting a bit too friendly.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, cariño. Everything okay?"

The guy quickly stepped back, realizing who Carlos was. "Oh, hey, big fan. Just talking about the race."

Carlos nodded curtly, his grip on your waist firm. "Enjoy the race."

As the fan walked away, you turned to Carlos, smiling. "Thanks for the save."

"No problem," he replied, his expression softening.

"You know, I love how protective you are," you said, leaning into him. "And maybe when you get jealous just a little. It's cute."

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Lets go get some food, cariño."

Lando 

You were at a gaming convention, enjoying the various booths and activities. Lando was busy with a panel discussion, so you decided to explore. A fellow gamer struck up a conversation, discussing the latest games.

"Have you tried the new VR game?" he asked, clearly excited.

"Not yet, but it looks amazing," you replied, sharing his enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it's fantastic," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I wouldn't mind showing a beautiful girl like you how to use it sometime. It'd be fun."

Lando, having finished his panel, spotted you chatting with the gamer. Jealousy panned over him as he saw the guy flirting with you. 

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey baby! What are we talking about?"

The gamer quickly felt the energy shift. "Just talking about the new VR game."

Lando nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Cool."

As the gamer walked away, you turned to Lando, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

Lando sighed, pulling you closer. "What?! It’s not my fault he was interested in my girlfriend."

You smiled, kissing his cheek. "Key word in that sentence is “my girlfriend”."

Sebastian 

You were attending a charity event, mingling with various guests. Sebastian was busy with the organizers, so you decided to socialize. A charming gentleman approached you, engaging you in a lively conversation about the event.

"It's great to see so many people supporting this cause," he said, smiling.

"Absolutely," you replied, enjoying the conversation.

He leaned in a little closer, his tone becoming more personal. "Especially when someone as beautiful as you is here."

You smile nervously, not expecting his direct approach. "Oh, thank you," you responded, trying to look around and grab Seb’s attention.

Sebastian, having finished his duties, spotted you talking to the guy, looking around. He saw the man getting too friendly and walked over to you.

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, honey. Would you like a drink? Oh! Who's this?"

The gentleman quickly realized he was intruding. "Just talking about the event."

Sebastian nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Enjoy the evening then."

As the man walked away, you turned to Sebastian, raising an eyebrow. "I love when you get protective, it’s hot, the jealousy too."

Sebastian smirked, pulling you closer. "Jealous? Me?! Don’t know what you’re talking about."

You smiled, kissing his cheek. "Mhmm, yea, yea. Let’s get my drink."

Jenson 

You were attending an award ceremony, mingling with various celebrities. Jenson was busy with interviews, so you decided to socialize. A charming actor approached you, engaging you in a lively conversation about the a.

"It's great to see so many talented people here," he said, smiling.

"Agreed," you replied, engaging in the conversation."All nominees this year were very talented and impressive."

He nodded thoughtfully, then leaned in a little closer, his gaze lingering on you. "Speaking of impressive, I couldn't help but notice how stunning you look tonight."

You chuckled softly, flattered but unsure how to respond. "Thank you, that's very kind of you."

He grinned charmingly. "So, are you here with anyone special tonight?"

Jenson spotted you talking to the guy. And started to walk towards you. 

He walked over, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, baby. Who's this?"

The actor quickly realized you were taken. "Just talking about the event."

Jenson nodded, his grip on your waist firm. "Yea, it’s a nice thing."

As the man walked away, you turned to Jenson, raising an eyebrow. "Nice thing?"

Jenson sighed, pulling you closer so he can squeezing your waist. "Didn’t know what to say without being rude so that's what came to my mind."

You smiled and kissed him gently. "Let’s go check out the catering at this 'nice thing'."

Daniel

You were exploring a quaint art gallery in Paris, enjoying the serene atmosphere and the beauty of the artwork on display. Daniel had left his phone in the car, leaving you to appreciate the art alone. As you admired a painting, a friendly gallery assistant approached, eager to discuss the artist's work.

"This piece here is quite exceptional," he said, gesturing towards a vivid abstract painting. "It really captures the essence of movement and emotion."

"It truly does," you replied, appreciating his enthusiasm. "The color blending and stippling is beautiful."

He smiled warmly. "You have a keen eye for art. Beautiful art for a beautiful girl."

"Oh, thank you," you said, trying to show no interest.

Daniel walked into the gallery, He approached, slipping an arm around your waist. "Hey, baby. Finding any new favorites?"

The gallery assistant reacted quickly to Daniel's presence and backed away. "Just discussing the beautiful artwork," he explained.

Daniel nodded casually. "Thanks for your insights, but we're good here."

As the gallery assistant politely excused himself, you turned to Daniel with a playful smirk. "Oh, someoness jealouss?"

Daniel chuckled softly, pulling you closer. "No, no. Protective, yes. Jealous, could never be me."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Mhm hm, if you say so."

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[w4ndal0ver]

said i'm gonna play with myself (milf!wanda x tutor!reader)

W4NDALOVER'S KINKMAS | 2024

dec 7: said i'm gonna play with myself (milf!wanda x tutor!reader)

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

KINKMAS MASTERLIST | 2024

summary: While tutoring Wanda's children, she invites you to stay for dinner, before giving you a call that you'd never forget when you get home

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, mommy kink, phone sex

said i'm gonna play with myself.

“Let’s wrap up for today, Tommy. I think you’re well on your way to acing this unit,” you say, gathering your notes.

Tommy grins, newfound enthusiasm lighting his face. “Thanks! I might actually read the rest of it now.”

As you gather your things, you take one last glance at Wanda, who is arranging the table. A flutter of excitement stirs in your chest—this tutoring session is just a step into something deeper, something you can’t wait to explore.

Just as you finish packing up, Wanda glances at the clock, then back at you, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “You know, it’s still early, and Vision won’t be home for a while. Would you like to stay for dinner? It’d be nice to have some adult conversation.”

A rush of excitement mingles with nervousness at the invitation. You glance at Tommy, who looks equally surprised.

“Yeah, stay! My mom makes the best food,” Tommy adds, his grin wide and eager, clearly hoping for an excuse to avoid any homework.

Wanda laughs, a melodic sound that fills the kitchen. “It’s true! Plus, I could use some help keeping Tommy on track. We can talk about your studies too.”

You hesitate for a moment, considering the offer. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” you ask, glancing between Wanda and Tommy.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. “Not at all! It’s always more fun to share a meal. And I’d love to hear more about your experiences at Yale, especially your English Literature classes.”

Your heart flutters at the thought of spending more time with Wanda, diving deeper into conversation and sharing stories. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to stay.”

Wanda’s face lights up with happiness. “Great! Just make yourself comfortable. I’ll finish up here.” She moves back to the stove, and you take a seat at the kitchen island, feeling the warmth of her invitation settle around you

“Can I help you with anything?” You ask genuinely, wanting to show her your appreciation for letting you stay. 

“Just sit there and look pretty for me.” She smirks, looking at you over her shoulder as she starts to dish up the food that she’d made. She starts to softly hum to herself as you perch on the side. “This smells amazing,” you say, leaning closer to inhale the rich scent.

“It’s a family recipe for beef stew,” she replies, her eyes lighting up. “Tommy and Billy love it, especially on chilly days like today.”

The kitchen feels warm and inviting, and you admire how effortlessly she creates an atmosphere that feels both homey and elegant. As she plates the stew, you can’t help but appreciate the care she puts into everything she does.

“Dinner is served!” she announces, setting down two bowls, each steaming and inviting. The sight alone makes your mouth water, and you grab a warm roll from the basket nearby, slathering it with butter.

As you dig into the meal, you find yourself drawn into Wanda’s world. She shares anecdotes from her life, her voice soothing and engaging, while Tommy and Billy interject with playful commentary. The laughter that fills the kitchen feels intimate, and you notice how Wanda’s eyes sparkle when she talks about her passions.

Between bites, you steal glances at Wanda, captivated by the way she moves about the kitchen, effortlessly transitioning between tasks. Each moment with her feels charged, as if you’re discovering more than just a talented cook but a woman who radiates warmth and kindness.

As dinner winds down, Wanda leans back in her chair, satisfaction evident on her face. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” she says, and her smile feels like an invitation, a promise of more moments like this.

“Me too,” You reply, a flutter of excitement stirring within you. This cosy kitchen, filled with lingering scents of dinner and the warmth of shared laughter, felt right. 

As you sit there, enjoying the warmth of the kitchen and the fading light of the afternoon, your gaze drifts to Wanda. She moves with an effortless grace, her laughter mingling with the aroma of dinner, and you can’t help but admire the way her eyes light up when she engages in conversation. Each glance she steals in your direction feels laden with unspoken intentions, and you find yourself wondering what goes on in her mind. What motivates her to invite you into her home, to share this intimate moment with her family? There’s a softness to her demeanour, a hint of flirtation that suggests she sees more in you than just a tutor for Tommy. The warmth in her gaze ignites a mix of excitement and curiosity within you, making you contemplate the possibilities that lie ahead—possibilities that make your heart race with anticipation.

As Tommy and Billy finish their plates, they exchange playful glances before Tommy pushes his chair back. “Can I be excused? I need to go check something on my phone.”

“Me too! Can we play that new game?” Billy pipes up, bouncing in his seat.

“Alright, just keep it down,” Wanda replies with a smile, waving them off. The moment they scurry from the table, the atmosphere shifts, leaving just you and Wanda.

The air feels charged, almost electric. You lean back, savouring the lingering warmth of the meal and the soft glow of the kitchen light. Wanda glances toward the pantry and then looks back at you, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “How about a little wine to celebrate surviving our first tutoring session?”

You chuckle as she moves toward the cupboard, reaching for a bottle. She holds it up, tilting it slightly as if to gauge your reaction, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do you think? Care to share a glass?”

“Why not?” you reply, intrigued by her casual invitation. Wanda pours two glasses, her movements fluid and graceful. As she hands you a glass, her fingers brush against yours, sending a small thrill through you.

“It’s nice to unwind after a long day, don’t you think?” she says, leaning against the counter, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart flutter.

“It definitely is,” you agree, raising your glass in a mock toast. “To surviving tutoring sessions and small towns.”

She laughs, her eyes lighting up, and you can’t help but admire the way she carries herself, exuding both warmth and confidence. “And to new beginnings.”

You take a sip, enjoying the rich flavours as the conversation flows effortlessly between you. “It’s weird being back in Westview. This town can feel so stifling,” you admit, twirling your fork absently. “I didn’t realise how freeing it would be to go to Yale and finally be able to express myself.”

Wanda tilts her head, her gaze locking onto yours with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “Have you found anyone in Connecticut?” she asks, her voice light but filled with genuine interest.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Oh, there were plenty of people interested, but none that I could be bothered to get to know. Friends, sure, but not a girlfriend.”

“Really?” Wanda leans in slightly, her elbows resting on the table, interest evident in her expression. “Not even a little spark with anyone?”

Her question is playful, and you feel a rush of warmth. “I guess I just didn’t find anyone worth my time.”

Wanda’s smile widens, and she tilts her head slightly, her hair falling to one side. “You’re telling me a beautiful girl like you couldn’t find someone to take a chance on?” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s hard to believe.”

The playful banter makes your heart race. “Believe it or not, I’m not exactly the most sought-after prize.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I find you quite intriguing.”

Feeling emboldened by her flirtation, you decide to take a bolder step, though you tread lightly, your curiosity tinged with an eagerness to learn more about her. “So, I’ve been curious about something,” you say, hesitating just a moment to build anticipation. 

“Hit me.” She says, her eyes twinkling as her finger traces the rim of her wine glass. 

“Your affair with Agatha, what was that like?”

Wanda’s expression shifts, the playful sparkle in her eyes momentarily flickering with surprise. “You’re quite the inquisitive one, aren’t you?” she replies, a mix of intrigue and wariness in her voice, but there’s an underlying thrill in her tone. “How did you even - no it doesn’t even matter.” She laughs, knowing immediately that Agatha wasn’t exactly one for keeping her mouth shut. 

You lean forward slightly, drawn in by her response. “I mean, it seems like it must have been complicated. You two have such a dynamic.” You let the words linger, allowing the weight of the question to settle between you.

Wanda tilts her head, contemplating her answer, her lips parting slightly as if to speak but then closing again. The silence hangs, thick with unspoken thoughts. “Complicated is one way to put it,” she finally admits, her voice softening. “It taught me a lot about myself, about what I wanted.”

“Did you ever think about what might have happened if things had gone differently?” you ask, your tone teasing but sincere, hoping to coax out more from her.

Wanda’s eyes meet yours, the intensity of her gaze making your heart race. “Sometimes,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers brushing against yours on the table. “How come you’re so interested in my love life young lady?”

“You asked about mine first.” It was your turn to wink this time and the reaction that you got from Wanda was completely worth it. Finally her cheeks blushed pink, her lips rolling against each other and her tongue poked against her cheek, something you realised was her tell. 

“You got me there sweetheart.” She hums, taking another sip of her wine, the sip turning into a glug, the wine matching the deep colour of her cheeks, highlighting the blonde highlights of her hair which she tucked behind her ear.

You watch her, captivated by the way she navigates the conversation with both grace and playful candour. Wanda’s demeanour radiates warmth, but there's an underlying intensity in her gaze that pulls you in even closer. She leans back slightly, her fingers swirling the wine glass, the deep red liquid catching the light in a way that mirrors the spark in her eyes.

“You know,” she starts, her voice light but teasing, “I didn’t expect such an insightful conversation over dinner. I usually just get ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ or ‘What’s your favourite drink?’” She laughs softly, a musical sound that echoes in the cosy kitchen, making you smile in response.

“Those questions have their charm, but I’d take a good chat about love lives any day,” you reply, letting your gaze linger on her lips as she speaks. “It’s way more interesting.”

Wanda’s smile widens, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Interesting, huh? So, you’re saying I’m interesting?” Her tone is playful, but there’s a subtle challenge behind it that makes your pulse quicken.

“Absolutely. You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met,” you say, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach. You can’t help but feel drawn to her, a magnetic pull that’s both thrilling and intoxicating.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she responds with a smirk, leaning closer again, her elbow brushing against yours. “But seriously, I’m curious. If you had to pick, what’s your type?”

You pause, considering your answer, but the way she’s looking at you makes it difficult to think clearly. “Honestly? Someone confident, a bit witty, maybe a little mysterious.” Your eyes meet hers, and you see a flicker of intrigue dance across her features. “You know, like someone who can keep me on my toes.”

“Oh really?” Wanda arches an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling into a sly grin. “I think I might know someone who fits that description.” Her gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes, a playful challenge lingering in the air between you.

“Do you now?” you tease, leaning closer, your heart racing as you embrace the flirtation. “Care to share?”

She chuckles softly, a soft sound that wraps around you like a warm blanket. “Maybe. But only if you promise to keep it a secret.”

“Cross my heart,” you reply, a playful seriousness in your tone, your heart thumping in anticipation.

“Alright,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lets just say this person has a soft spot for pretty girls who can hold up their own in a conversation.” She bites her lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief. 

You feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks, and for a moment, you’re both lost in each other's gaze, the air thick with unspoken tension. Just then, you notice the clock on the wall and blink in surprise, realising how much time has passed. “Wow, I really should get going. I can’t believe how late it’s gotten.”

Wanda’s expression shifts slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. “Oh, do you have to?”

“Yeah, I should” you begin, but she interrupts you, standing up and moving toward her purse.

“Wait, let me grab something for you,” she says, her tone light as she rummages through her bag. You take a moment to gather your things, but the atmosphere feels charged, and you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the end.

As you slip on your coat, she turns to you, a hundred-dollar bill in her hand. “Here, take this,” she says, extending it toward you.

You glance at the money, then back at her, unsure. “Wanda, this is way too much. I can’t just take this.”

“Just take it, please,” she insists, her tone soft but firm. “Consider it a thank you for making dinner so enjoyable.”

Her fingers brush against yours as she tries to push the bill into your palm, and you can’t help but notice the warmth of her touch, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “I really can’t”

“Just let me do this,” she interrupts, her eyes locking onto yours, an intensity behind them that leaves you breathless. “I want you to have it.”

With a sigh, you let her close your hand around the bill, the warmth of her touch lingering. “Alright, if you insist.” You grab your stuff and she follows you out towards the front door.

As you stand by the door, the weight of the moment settles around you, electrifying the air. Wanda moves closer, her gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sends your heart racing. You feel a thrill as she reaches up, her fingers gently brushing against your cheek, and then she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The soft caress sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but lean into her touch, savouring the warmth of her hand lingering near your face.

“There,” she says, her voice low and sultry, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Much better.” The way her fingers linger near your ear feels almost intimate, and you find yourself holding your breath, caught in the moment.

Wanda’s eyes search yours, a spark of mischief dancing in their depths. “You always look beautiful,” she adds, her voice dropping just above a whisper, making your heart flutter. The compliment hangs in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities.

“Thanks,” you manage to reply, your voice softer than usual, the closeness between you two making the world outside fade away. You can feel the warmth radiating from her, a magnetism that draws you even closer. All you wanted was to tell her how beautiful you thought she was, pull yourself into a kiss as she slams you up against the door to her suburban house, but instead you can’t get the words out.

As she pulls her hand away, a slight blush creeps up her cheeks, and you notice the way her gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, an unspoken invitation that makes your pulse quicken. The chemistry between you crackles like electricity, and you can’t help but wonder what might happen next, the evening stretching before you with infinite possibilities.

“See you next Tuesday,” she says, a smile playing on her lips as she steps back, watching you with an expression that makes your heart race.

As you step outside, the cool air hits you, but the warmth of the moment lingers, not able to get it out of your head as you walk back home. Everything about her felt so wrong, but you couldn’t ignore the way her eyes gazing into yours made you feel, something so raw and exciting. She was magnetic, all you wanted to do was let your walls fall down and allow her to take you into her grasp, but you knew that you couldn’t, it was too risky. 

.-.

As soon as you reach your house, your thoughts are still tangled in the evening’s events, the warmth of her touches still ghosting over your skin. The immediate heat of the house matches the flush in your cheeks despite the chill of the cool night air. It feels unusually quiet, especially after the buzzing tension you’d just left behind. 

Kicking off your shoes, you move through the motions of getting ready for bed, but your mind keeps circling back to Wanda. The way her stare lingered on you, how she always leaned closer with each exchange, her fingers brushing yours. That last touch, the press of her hand around the money she forced into your palm, everything was making your skin burn uncontrollably. 

You slip into bed, your phone resting on the nightstand, its screen dim but somehow tempting, as if you half expect a message. You close your eyes, but Wanda’s image is imprinted there, her teasing smile, the way she tucked that loose strand of hair behind her ear, the flash of something daring in her eyes every time she glanced at you. There was no more denying it, you’re drawn to her in a way that feels inescapable. The flirting, the touches, she reads your mind without saying a word. 

Just as you’re about to drift off, your phone buzzes softly, the screen lighting up with a name that makes you jump up in excitement. Wanda. 

You pick up without hesitation, “Hey Wanda,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual, as if you hadn’t been thinking about the way she’d look on top of you. 

“Hi,” She replies, her voice warm, a little lower than usual, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” You assure her, shifting slightly under the covers, your thighs squeezing together at nothing but the sound of her voice, “What’s up, it’s late?”

“I was just thinking about our conversation earlier,” She says, her tone deepening with every word she spoke, “I wanted to check in, make sure you got home safe.”

You smiled, touched by her genuine thoughtfulness, “I did, I’m just getting ready for bed.”

“Good, good.” Wanda murmurs. There’s a slight pause, and you hear her inhale deeply, “I, uh, was also thinking about what you said, about finding someone,”

You couldn’t help but feel your breath hitch in the back of your throat, the tension rising over telephone lines. “Yeah? What about it?”

Her voice drops lower, and there's a subtle shift in the air. You can hear her breathing, soft but uneven, something about it was different. “I guess it���s just, surprising, you know?” She whispers, “That someone as pretty as you hasn’t found anyone worth your time.” 

You shift the phone harder against your ear, suddenly hyper aware of the weight of her silence between every word. “Wanda?” You ask gently, her silence deafening. 

“I’m here,” She responds, but there's a catch in her voice, a breathless quality that wasn’t there before, “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about you.”

Your breath catches, her words making your stomach flip and you could almost choke against her words, “About me?”

There's a soft sound on the other end of the line, a barely audible gasp. Wanda’s breathing hitches and you feel your pulse quicken as realisation dawns down on you. Her breaths are shallow, broken by quiet, restrained moans. 

The sudden intimacy of it makes your skin tingle, Wanda was touching herself, while talking to you. The idea sends a rush of heat straight through you, your own breath panting as you process what’s happening. Your mind circling down on the thought of her blowing a blonde strand of hair out of her face as her back arched against the palm of her hand. 

“I-” You don’t even know what to say. 

“You have no idea how much you've been on my mind.” Wanda whispers, her voice thick with pleasure, each word punctuated by the sounds of her breath quickening, “God, I couldn’t stop thinking about you even after you left.”

Her words are laced with heat, and you feel the tension between you spike, your body responding to the quiet sounds of her gasps, to the way her voice curls around each breathless word.

“I can’t stop imagining” She trails off, another soft moan escaping her, and it feels like it’s all for you, every breath, every sound. “What it’d be like if you were here”

The room feels hotter suddenly, your pulse pounding in your ears. You can picture her now, in her own bed, hand sliding against her skin, her body arching with every wave of pleasure. It’s almost overwhelming, how close she feels despite the distance, how intimate this moment has become.

“Wanda” you murmur, your voice betraying your own excitement, your body reacting to the sultry edge in her voice, to the rawness of this unexpected moment.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she teases softly, her voice a delicate thread of desire. “I can tell, I can hear it in your voice.”

You can’t help the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your belly, the thrill of her words sending sparks through your veins. This connection, the electric pull between you and Wanda, feels impossible to ignore now. You could feel your arousal building between your legs, doing everything you could to not join her. 

“Tell me what you’d do,” Wanda whispers, the soft, sensual command in her voice making you shiver. You swallow hard, the intimacy of her question hanging in the air, the weight of what she’s asking leaving you breathless.

Your breath catches at her words, the weight of Wanda’s request settling over you, igniting something deep within. There’s a moment of silence, thick and heavy, as you process the intimacy of what she’s asking. You can practically hear the soft rustle of sheets on her end, her breath laboured but controlled, a steady rhythm that mirrors your own quickened heartbeat.

You close your eyes, sinking further into your bed, the thought of her, so vulnerable and uninhibited—making your skin flush. “I…I don’t know,” you murmur, feeling your own voice falter with nervous excitement. But even as you say it, your mind spins with possibility. You know exactly what you’d want to do but you’d never been with a woman before, you’d never been with anyone like that before. You knew that nobody knew that you were still a virgin, but you weren't ready to admit that. 

Wanda’s voice softens, her tone coaxing but still thick with desire. “Come on,” she whispers, and you can almost see the playful smirk on her lips, feeling the warmth of her breath against your skin. “Oh I see.” She chuckles through breathy gasps. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” You gasp at her words, your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Wanda, I-” You couldn’t help it, no words were coming out. The nerves of your inexperience coming through so obviously  in the waver in your voice. 

“It’s okay sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doing do you?” Her soft moan echoes down the line, a breathless, sensual sound that sends a shiver through you, “You don’t know how to pleasure a woman like you pretend to, do you.” Wanda’s words drip with seductive authority, her voice threading through the phone like a secret. "You don’t have to pretend with me," she purrs, her breath quickening, sending shivers down your spine. "I’ll teach you. All you have to do is listen."

Your heart pounds in your chest, the sheer intimacy of her voice making your body react in ways you hadn’t expected. You shift under the covers, your skin burning with a mixture of desire and nervousness. "I’ve never—" you start, but your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. The admission hangs in the air, your vulnerability on full display.

"I know," Wanda murmurs softly, her tone teasing yet reassuring, as though she had known all along. "But I can show you, if you let me."

You can hear her breathing, now quicker, almost ragged, as if the very thought of guiding you through this is bringing her to the edge. "Do you want me to show you, darling?" she whispers, the question itself a caress. "Do you want me to tell you exactly how I’d fuck you?"

Your breath catches again, your pulse racing, the words sending heat coursing through you. “Yes,” you murmur, barely able to find your voice. "I want you to."

Wanda hums softly, pleased with your surrender, and you can hear the shift of her body, the subtle movements of fabric and skin. "Good girl," she whispers, her words laced with a satisfaction that makes your chest tighten with want. "I want you to close your eyes and imagine me there with you, my hand tracing up your thigh, slipping under your clothes, touching you exactly where you need me."

You can hear the faint sound of Wanda’s breath catching, her own pleasure mounting as she describes it to you. “Can you feel that? My fingers on you?” she asks, her voice breathy and low, pushing you to the edge of your self-control.

“Yes,” you whisper back, your voice shaky, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, her voice deepening, the sensual command impossible to resist. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

You’re trembling now, caught between desire and nervous excitement, but you push past the nerves, your need for her overtaking everything else. “I want you to touch me, to fuck me,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper, the words trembling on your lips.

Wanda’s breath hitches, and you hear the unmistakable sound of her pleasure, a soft gasp escaping her as she touches herself. "Say it again," she demands, her voice thick with lust, desperate to hear your desire.

“Wanda,” you moan softly, giving in to the pull of her words, the fantasy she’s woven around you. “I need you to fuck me. I want you to touch me, make me yours.”

The sound of her gasp on the other end of the phone sends a wave of heat through you, and you can hear her losing control, her breathing turning rugged and uneven. "Mmm, you’re such a good girl," she purrs between breaths, her voice dark with desire. "You’d let me take you, wouldn’t you? Let mommy fuck you until you can’t think straight."

There it was, you let out a moan at the way she titled herself. You knew you’d been into that for years now, but never daring to tell anybody, but of course she knew, she could read you so well. You nod, even though she can’t see you, your entire body aching for her touch. “Yes, please mommy, I want it so badly.”

Wanda moans softly, her pleasure evident, and you can almost picture her, the way her body must be arching under her own touch, lost in the same heat that’s consuming you. "I’d make you beg for it, sweetheart. I’d have you trembling beneath me, begging for more."

You bite your lip, your breath catching at the raw hunger in her voice, your own need reaching a fever pitch. "I’d beg," you admit, barely able to find your voice. "I’d beg for you mommy."

Her breath comes faster now, a soft, breathless moan escaping her lips. "That’s my girl," she whispers, her voice breaking with the weight of her own pleasure. "You’d be mine. All mine.”

Wanda's moan on the other end of the line grows louder, ragged with need, as if your words pushed her even closer to the edge. You can hear the soft rustle of sheets, the unmistakable wet sounds of her fingers moving faster, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The image of her, undone and desperate for release, fills your mind, stoking the fire building within you.

“Say it again,” she demands, her voice thick with desire, trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. “Tell me what you want, tell me you’re mine.”

Your pulse races, each beat louder than the last, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. You grip the phone tighter, biting your lip, but you know she wants more than your silence. “I’m yours, Wanda,” you whisper, breathless, giving her exactly what she needs. “I’ll do anything. Just please, fuck me. Make me yours, mommy.”

The sound she makes in response is guttural, a low, throaty moan that sends shivers down your spine. “Oh, fuck.” she gasps, her control slipping further with every passing second. You can hear her fingers moving faster, the wetness of her arousal audible through the phone, and it’s intoxicating, pulling you under with her.

“Good girl,” Wanda breathes, her voice barely holding together as she edges closer to climax. “You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you? Let me fuck you whenever I want, take you however I want.”

“Yes, yes,” you whimper, your own arousal becoming overwhelming, your body aching for her. “Please, Mommy, I’d be so good for you. I’d let you do anything to me.”

That’s all she needs.

With a sharp, shuddering breath, Wanda moans loud into the phone, the sound of her orgasm raw and uncontrolled. Her breath catches, breaking into uneven gasps, and you can hear the wet sound of her fingers as she rides out the wave of pleasure, her body clearly shaking from the force of it. Each sound she makes is laced with satisfaction, a deep, throaty hum of ecstasy as her release takes over completely.

You can barely breathe, your body reacting to the sheer intimacy of hearing her come undone, your own desire pooling low in your belly, desperate and needy. Wanda’s breathing gradually slows, her soft, contented sighs filling the air between you, and you close your eyes, imagining the flush on her cheeks, the way her body must be lying spent against the sheets.

“Such a good girl,” she whispers, her voice still heavy with satisfaction. “I can’t wait to hear you beg for real.”

“Wanda, I don’t know what to say.” You admit, your brain fuzzy and spaced out at the unexpected nature of her call. You’d only been back home for a few days and you had no idea how much of an impression you’d made on the older woman.

“You don’t have to know what to say honey, that’s my job.” She hums as you hear the click of heels against tiled flooring. You could almost choke on the sound, she wasn’t in her bedroom, she was in the kitchen, the echoing of her words now making sense as each moan had bounced around the emptiness of the room. 

“Are you in the kitchen?” you ask breathlessly, biting your lip as you imagine her there, the scene playing out in your head like a movie. You envision her bending over the kitchen island, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm hue over her skin as she calls you, wanting you to picture every moment of her tantalising routine.

“Maybe,” Wanda teases, her voice dripping with mischief. “Will I see you next Tuesday?” 

You feel a thrill rush through you at her question, the way she asks it, sending your heart racing. "You know I’ll be there," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with eagerness.

“Good,” Wanda replies, a satisfied hum escaping her lips. 

“Goodnight, Wanda,” you murmur, your heart fluttering with excitement as the call ends, leaving you with thoughts of her dancing through your mind. As soon as you heard the line end, you reached down to your underwear, the fabric completely soaked and you threw your head back in frustration. You wanted to touch yourself, but it felt wrong, you wanted to leave yourself in desperate heat, making you want Wanda even more.

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hey! Gosh I love your fics, you are so talented! <3 I have a request after your latest fic haha. The sentences 'It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.' would be the perfect plot, actually. When and how would the Harbingers calls their s/o 'their wife' in front of others first time? If you don't like it, you don't have to do it! i hope you have an awesome day!

(hehe, yes, accidentally… mmm. Enjoy!)

✦ They accidentally call you their spouse 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia

It was a complete and utter accident; just a harmless slip of the tongue. One moment, your beloved was politely introducing you to some of his Fatui subordinates, the other he inadvertently referred to you as “my spouse” in front of others. It would've been a sweet moment of shared laughter, were it not spoken in front of so many people of the Fatui. It’s not like your beloved’s subordinates would start correcting him, he's a Harbinger after all… now how would you navigate this awkward situation? 

✧ The ever-cold and calculating Pierro prevents any mistakes from slipping past him. Yet here he is, standing composed next to you as he gently gestures to you and claims:

“From here on out, my spouse shall reside in the Zapolyarny Palace and I expect all obedience to be directed towards them.” 

You went silent. The servants went silent. Even he went silent. You carefully murmured to him:

“... Pierro, dear. We are not married.” 

Somehow the Jester remained blank, as if the error of his brain eluded him. Or perhaps, he realized it was too late to reprimand his mistake, especially in front of the royal servants of the palace. He simply cleared his throat and nodded woefully: “Indeed, we aren't. My apologies.” 

The hushed murmurs of The Director’s “innocent mistake” spread soundlessly like an inside secret within the Palace's walls. It wasn't news that the Jester adored you, but to witness the typically collected Pierro clear his throat bashfully, while you stood there timidly after correcting his mistake was endearing. 

These rumors, of course, reached the ears of the 3rd of the Fatui Harbingers’ ears, Columbina. Such tales were her delight, a personal pastime, relishing the timid nature of your private relationship with Pierro. She just had to tease you two by reminding him of the incident. Thus, one day, she approached The Jester in his office on an inconspicuous day and asked:

“Oh, cheer up, Director. It's been months since your last mishap. Surely you wouldn't let your composure shatter in front of the one you call beloved so easily?”

“You are correct,” - Pierro replied to the Dove calmly. “It was a mistake. Hence, I amended it and made sure it's no longer an issue.”

That’s when Columbina’s gaze drifted to his hands, where he was not leisurely adjusting his cuffs but subtly displaying an ornament on his ring finger. His engagement ring. If the 3rd Harbinger could open her enigmatic eyes, she would stare absolutely wide-eyed and dumbfounded through her white ribbons. When the hell did he get engaged-?!

“Pierro, dear,” - you suddenly stepped in, that same embarrassed interjection escaping you “Please stop boasting about our engagement. We haven't made it official yet.” 

✧ The poor Fatui soldier under Il Capitano's recruit stood stiffly looking at their Harbinger. Was it dread or the web of discomfort one feels when seeing a couple argue over something entirely beyond their input? Because that's certainly what the current Fatui skirmisher felt when standing between you and Il Capitano. 

“I can't allow this, Capitano,” – you huffed, your head shaking in dismay. “You over-dedicate yourself in battles.” 

“We went over this, my cherished. I have to, it is my duty as the Captain. Not just for the Fatui’s sake, but for your own safety as well!” 

“No, no,” – you clicked your tongue. “Don’t give me that. You know that's not the issue… the issue is that you overwork yourself by beating everyone in a duel and not leaving me anything else to defeat! What am I supposed to do?!”

“But my beloved-!” 

That's how your lover's quarrel underwent, and the Fatui Skirmishers that kept blinking in disbelief, stood helpless as the argument ping-ponged between ‘who gets to defeat more enemies on the battlefield’. Finally, your beloved spoke with an irritated huff at your scolding:

“Well, did you perhaps consider that I do not wish for my spouse to overextend themselves and get recklessly injured over some personal records?”

“Oh, so now you-... What did you just call me?” 

The sudden realization caused a deafening silence between you and Capitano like a blade poised to strike. His pitch-black visage did not help to decipher whether he was grappling with his mistake or masking his shock. You insisted: “Capitano, what did you just call-”

“I did not say anything.” 

“You did, you…Hey-! Don't turn your back on me, come back here!” 

Perhaps The 1st of the Fatui Harbingers does not flee from a challenge like a pathetic coward. However, today was a great chance to use a tactful retreat, to put it softly, all in the hopes of escaping your wrath. How else would he explain his mishaps of calling you his ‘spouse’ so casually? If he confessed that he thought “it sounds so befitting for my one and only” he might as well just reveal every tender plan of a quiet life with you. And he can't have you teasing his affection for a domestic life alongside you. 

For now, fleeing was a wise and honorable choice, especially when you are ready to duel him any moment now.

✧ It was another one of those days in Il Dottore's lab. His fingers tap the surface of the table, chin resting on his palm, while a pen balanced precariously behind his ear. Delegating his final tasks for today, he supervised some final organizational matters in the lab while addressing some lab assistants with his usual air of nonchalant authority.

“Ensure all the surgical sets are properly sanitized and checked in the ultrasonic cleaner. I expect them neatly arranged by day’s end. My spouse prefers the equipment organized this way.”

One of the lab assistants stopped in their tracks, staring at him. 

“And don't inform them how some glassware shattered today. It would be irrelevant for them to worry…”

Mumbling to himself, Dottore only now realized that his lab assistants fell eerily silent, staying motionless as they blinked at him. Humming in confusion, he turned his attention at last, only to realize these unfortunate listeners were not gawing at him, but rather someone behind him.

Lo and behold, you stood there, behind him.

With a hand on your hip, you inquired with deceptive simplicity: “Oh? You have a spouse, dear?”

He pretends he wasn't aware of the conundrum and the absurdity of his slip-up. But even with his eyes covered behind that smooth black mask covering his eyes, you can see the haughty expression on his lips. Thus, he crossed his arms.

“Hm, Perhaps. You could say I do.”

“Then my condolences to your spouse. They must have the patience of a saint.”

The Doctor’s assistant had to repress their little chuckles. The tense atmosphere of the laboratory would always be dismissed with your ease, as you’d knowingly nod to Dottore’s colleagues and allow them to leave you two alone. Not even Dottore’s stern attitude would interfere otherwise, even if he tried to conceal his flustered composure at your mere words: “Well perhaps they are a saint, but also a handful for me to deal with.”

“Well, your hypothetical spouse is telling you it's late already and you should take a break for today.”

Conceding to your playful banter, The harbinger’s shoulders loosened up, a rare smile gracing him as he followed you with a wrapped arm around your shoulder. Your victory is marked by your knowing smile and Dottore would not object or conceal his infatuation by referring to you as his spouse. Even if he denies the marital titles as nothing but superficial formalities, he’d walk with you back to your shared personal quarters mumbling:

“Spouse’s orders it is, then.”

✧ It happened during a busy moment when Pantalone and you were at a tailor shop. After much persuasion that lasted weeks, your beloved succeeded at finally dragging you to a luxurious tailoring workshop, where store attendants welcomed you both and helped take your measurements with utter refinement and class.

You stood still with your arms extended, while the attendants did their swift duty with a measuring tape. In the mirror’s reflection before you, you caught sight of Pantalone standing a few steps away, his hand resting thoughtfully against his chin.

“Perhaps an elegant new blazer, white with golden accents?”

You remained still, looking absent-mindedly at the array of fabrics on display. “Dear, there is no need for every piece of clothing to look like it was made for a soirée. I am perfectly fine with a casual cotton blazer.”

The shop attendant closest to you stepped close with some swatches of fabrics to choose from, offering a polite smile. However, Pantalone had to shake his head and charmingly declare – “Oh, nonsense, my spouse deserves only the highest quality and looks when it comes to tailor-made pieces. Excuse me, may I inspect the catalogs for fabrics?”

With a polite nod, the shop assistant did not question the Harbinger or your baffled expression at the sudden choice of words. She was already moving around: “Most certainly, sir. I am sure you and your partner would love our available options. In fact, we also offer discounts for matching tailored ensembles for betrothed pairs if it's for a wedding or a honeymoon special.”

"Wait, wait… we are not-”

“Ah, wonderful,” Pantalone kept the same polite persona without missing a beat. However, the slight knowing smile did not go unnoticed as he glanced at you. “That will be excellent to keep in mind for the future."

What was promised as a quick visit to the tailor shop turned into Pantalone victoriously dragging you through multiple high-end workshops and analyzing the myriads of ‘honeymoon and wedding’ offers when it came to tailor-made clothes. And you, of course, could only gape at him while he kept that ever-charming grin.

“Pantalone, honey, we are not looking into engagement accessories. We are not married.”

“Oh? We are not?” - He feigned innocence and tilted his head. “Hehe, oops.”

✧ When Tartaglia made his way back with his men to Snezhnaya, the fuzzy white snow provided a stark white contrast to the shedding blood on the ground. Clear ruby red droplets stained the cool white terrain after the Harbinger’s successful expedition. 

“Lord Harbinger Tartaglia,” – a Pyro Agent approached, bowing in recognition. “Our reports are in. The site is clear; all abyssal monstrosities have been eliminated.”

Yet Childe was far from tranquil. The rush of battle was still hot in his blood, his hydro dual blades clutched tightly in his hands. Another mission dispelling any filth at the outskirts of Snezhnaya may be mundane for some Fatui skirmishers, yet for a man like Childe, this was his warm-up. 

“Ha… not bad. We finished much earlier today. And here I suspected this would take a whole day.” 

The Pyro Agent nodded – “Yes, sir, indeed. Judging by estimation, our troop would be back to the city by nightfall.”

“...Hold on, nightfall?” 

Suddenly, Tartaglia froze as if a deep culmination dawned on him. The confirmation from his subordinates did not quell his sudden shock. In mere seconds, all his battle rush and thrill of danger vanished before Tartaglia whipped around and exclaimed loudly to his men: 

“Teucer’s theater performance at school is today! My spouse is gonna kill me!” 

Without further words or thought, the Harbinger literally turned and sprinted as far as the horizon could see, leaving his subordinates baffled. Teucer? Spouse? This young Harbinger was married? 

“What… is he on about? I didn't know our lord Harbinger was married,” - the Pyro Agent mumbled, looking into the distance where the figure of a sprinting young man vanished off comically. An Anemoboxer Vanguard stepped nearby, adjusting his gauntlets. “I am pretty sure he isn't. It could be a family member.”

“Then who is the spouse…?” 

The Fatui colleagues exchanged shrugs before the other remembered – “Ah, could be his partner. Remember, they sometimes come to visit when he's training?”

“Oh, then definitely them.” – the two men stared off in the direction Tartaglia had gone, the bizarre image of their superior, so consumed by his bloodlust moments ago, suddenly halting everything to rush home for some kid’s theater performance. And accidentally calling his sweetheart his spouse would be hard to forget.

“Wanna bet he won't make it in time and his ‘spouse’ would teach him a lesson?” 

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Please could you write more Caitlyn (arcane) x Reader?!? Omg I loved that fic, but Idk if you still wrote for arcane

Social Events

|| Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

|| Warnings; smut, swearing, drunk sex, top Caitlyn & bottom reader, reader receiving, breast play, fingering, praise kink, orgasm, finger sucking, good girl use

|| Summary; when reader and Caitlyn meet at a social event, things get heated pretty quickly. With the help of a few drinks.

Requests closed!

Started; November 11th

Finished; November 11th

~~~

Social events. They were never really your favourite, but you had to represent your family. Being the eldest daughter and all. For the wealthy, it was pretty common for them to have gatherings and socials. Just keeping up to date in each other's business. Because the upper classes of Piltover didn't know how to stay out of each other's shit. You tried your best to keep to yourself, occasionally engaging in conversation when someone would approach you. Or the rare time you found someone interesting enough to talk to.

There was one girl whose eyes you kept meeting. Every time you did, she would send you a smile. God, she was stunning. You couldn't keep your eyes away from her. It wasn't often you found someone interesting enough to just stare at them. Like some weirdo. But you couldn't help it with this girl. You thought you recognized her, Cassandra Kiramman's daughter maybe? That was your guess. Though you weren't 100% sure.

Well, no time like the present. You decided to walk over and try and start conversation. Maybe flirt a bit if you were lucky. "Hey, Cassandra's daughter, right?" You asked, silently praying you weren't wrong in your assumption. Otherwise that would make this incredibly awkward.

The girl nodded," It's Caitlyn. But, yes." Caitlyn held her hand out to you and you gave it a gentle shake. The smile never leaving your lips when you heard her talk. Damn, that accent was going to be the absolute death of you.

"Y/N L/N." You introduced yourself go her and Caitlyn raised a curious eyebrow. You were part of the L/N Household? She's heard many things about your family. Your family was more wealthy than her own, it would've been nearly impossible to have not heard your name before.

"Is that so?" Caitlyn looks at you with new found interest. Before, when your eyes kept meeting hers she thought she'd recognized you. Somewhere, somehow but she couldn't put her finger on it. Now Caitlyn knew why. She's always been rather found of you from a distance, your morals were something she could agree with. That was getting rare in Piltover. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." You replied. After that, conversation between you and her flowed easily. As did the drinks. And before you knew it, Caitlyn was pulling you away from the social event. Not that you had any complaints, of course.

Caitlyn got you to her room, where she then closed the door before pushing you up against it. You grunted as you felt the wood suddenly behind you. Smirking as you met her eyes once more. Caitlyn looked into your own for a brief moment, before her lips were on yours. Hand cupping your cheek and bringing you impossibly closer. You kissed back with ease, as though you'd kissed her a million times before.

When her lips left yours, she bit your bottom lip. Getting a small sound of you. Your hand then intertwined with hers and Caitlyn pulled you over to her bed. Pushing you into the sheets as she got on top of you. Your hands went to her hips, pulling her down until she straddled you. Caitlyn laid herself across your body. Kissing at your neck as she worked to get your top off. You tilted your head to the side, giving her more access to your neck. She placed one hickie, then another before pulling your top over your head.

Caitlyn took a moment to just admire your breasts. Then her lips latched the nipple, sucking and rolling it between her teeth. With every suck, a moan left your lips. Your back arched into her touch as her hand slid down your stomach slowly. Brushing against your abdomen with her thumb while her hand moved aside the rim of your pants. Slipping through and past your underwear. Your breath hitched as you felt her graze your clit, smirking against your skin. Caitlyn let go of your breast with a pop, a small gasp leaving your lips.

"F-fuck-" You muttered when her fingers applied gentle pressure to your clit. Rubbing and rolling it between her fingers in a soft massage. Your head fell back against her pillows and all you could do was moan when she pushed a finger in you.

She certainly didn't go easy on you. The moment Caitlyn knew you'd adjusted, she added in a couple more fingers. Pumping relentlessly until your stomach twisted in knots. Your moans got louder, back arching further into her touch. Trying to get more. Fuck, more.

"You're doing so good," Caitlyn whispered, but loud enough for you to hear her over your moans. Your leg twitched and flicked, nearly kicking her. Your grip on the sheets tightened. She just laughed at that and held your leg down. "Shh, just relax your body."

That was it. The extra touch on you. You were already sensitive as it was with how hard she was fingering you. You cummed on her fingers, practically screaming out.

"Ah- Caitlyn- fuck!" You screamed her name as she helped you through your high. When you finished, she slowly pulled her fingers out and into your mouth. You happily sucked them, looking into her eyes as she gave you an encouraging nod.

"Good girl." She murmured. Fuck, you hoped that wasn't the end of it.

Thankfully, it seemed to only be the beginning.

[historicity-was-already-taken]

At that grad school happy hour (ETA: 13 years ago), where I toasted everyone "l'chaim" and that Trevor jackass smirked at me and toasted "Free Palestine," he didn't see a Jewish woman bringing warmth from her own culture into a social event. He saw a Jew saying something in Hebrew, and therefore declaring her allegiance to the state of Israel. He saw an agent of the Israeli state-building project, and took it as his sacred duty to let me know that he saw through me.

When I posted something here about my research on Jewish resistance during the Holocaust and someone replied AND NOW YOU'RE DOING IT IN GAZA. They didn't see an American Jewish woman posting about her research. They saw an agent of the Israeli state-building project, deftly molding Holocaust memory into an instrument of political repression to be wielded against Levantine Arabs.

When someone posted on the substitute teachers subreddit about a student doodling a swastika on their desk, and Jewish users in the comment started talking about their family's experiences in the Holocaust, someone commented GEE I CAN'T WAIT TIL GAZANS ARE POSTING ABOUT SURVIVING THE CAMPS. I asked them a. why on earth they felt that Gaza was relevant to Jews discussing their generational trauma; and b. what they were hoping to accomplish with said comment. In return I was verbally abused by multiple commenters who clearly felt that they held the obvious moral high ground, subjected to 102-level anti-Jewish speech, downvoted, and banned. Because they didn't see Jews engaging in collective mourning and healing. They saw agents of the Zionist state-building project making up reasons to ignore and speak over Palestinian pain and suffering. In none of those circumstances was I, were we, simply random Jews existing in the world. We were first and foremost, inherently, Zionists. Everything we do or say in English or Hebrew or any language about our family history, or the Holocaust marks us in the minds of these people as simply and completely agents of the Israeli State. Evil, hiveminded Jews, secret Elders of Zion, who will stop at nothing to forge their past into a bomb with which to terrorize Palestinian civilians.

We could never simply be individuals, each with our own unique, complex, multi-faceted understanding of those geopolitics and political appropriations of memory. No. We are Jews. Our existence is inherently political. And in the eyes of most of the world, we are--and always have been--guilty.

all of this said, i would choose the company of these assholes over Christo-Zionist MAGAts who pretend to care about anti-Semitism any day of the week.