#ME WHEN I JUST LET MY BRAIN THINK FOR A LITTLE BIT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jinjoohaa · 2 days ago

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PROFESSOR TOJI X READER !!

Private Lessons

He said he wouldn’t tolerate distractions in his class—but you became his favorite one to fail, punish, and keep after hours.

You weren’t late on purpose — not really. Maybe just a little.

The last thing you expected was a new tutor. Let alone him.

You burst into the classroom, breath caught in your throat, winded from your sprint up the stairs. You hadn’t even fixed your hair before walking in, muttering an apology as you brushed past rows of chairs.

And that’s when your eyes landed on him.

He stood at the front — tall, broad-shouldered, built like a man who did more than just lift pens and scold students. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal thick forearms, veins like wires under taut skin. His shirt, fitted and black, clung to his chest in a way that felt unfair to existence. A hint of tattoo ink teased from beneath the cuff. And his eyes… cold, sharp, unforgiving.

You nearly tripped.

He didn’t flinch. “Seat. Now.”

You obeyed faster than your pride allowed.

“I’m Toji Fushiguro,” he said, not bothering with a smile.

“Newly assigned to handle criminology until the board finds someone better. You’re all in final year, so I don’t expect to babysit. You’re adults. Act like it.”

Silence.

One boy cleared his throat. Toji turned to him. “Got something to say?”

The boy shrank.

Toji’s gaze swept across the room. “I don’t tolerate cheating, laziness, or idiotic questions. Don’t waste my time — and I won’t waste yours.”

He didn’t look at you again. But you were already hooked.

Something about him — the deep voice, the no-nonsense glare, the sheer dominance of his presence — settled into your skin like a fever.

You were old enough, a college girl who’d dated enough men to know none of them ever made you feel. Not like this. Not even close.

The rest of the class? They hated him by week two.

He was harsh, brutal with his words, and didn’t hesitate to call people out for late submissions or low marks. But you? You adored it.

You found excuses to stay back after class. Asked questions that didn’t even relate to criminology. You leaned over his desk too often. Let your hand linger too long when handing in assignments. You knew what you were doing — and you didn’t care.

Toji barely acknowledged it. Sometimes he’d sigh and mutter, “Try harder,” like he wasn’t noticing how your skirt rode up just a little too high when you crossed your legs.

But behind that indifference, you saw it — the flicker in his eyes. The strain in his jaw.

You were testing him. And you were going to win.

You failed the mock test on purpose.

Every answer you bubbled in was deliberate — not completely wrong, but just enough to tank your grade. Everyone else passed.

Toji’s expression when he flipped through your paper was priceless — a mix of fury and disbelief. You caught it from your seat near the back. His eyes flicked up, locking on yours. You smirked. He didn’t.

The next day, right as class started, he tossed the graded papers onto the desk.

“Everyone passed,” he said, tone sharp. “Except one.”

The room went silent. You didn’t flinch.

“To the one who thinks this is funny — who thinks playing games is cute — congratulations.” His voice boomed across the classroom like a slap. “You just bought yourself extra time with me.”

He picked up your test, red circles and question marks bleeding over the paper.

“Y/N,” he called. “Front. Now.”

You stood, hips swinging just a little too much as you walked down the aisle. Toji didn't bother hiding the disdain in his face.

He held up your paper between two fingers like it was something foul.

“This? This isn’t a joke. You want to fail in front of your father, your future employers, and anyone with half a brain? Go ahead. But not under my watch.”

You bit your lip, eyes gleaming.

“Are you done scolding me, sir?” you said, voice just shy of mocking. “Or should I get on my knees too?”

The classroom gasped. A few students looked away.

Toji’s jaw clenched.

“Library,” he said coldly. “Tomorrow. Six PM. You’re retaking this in front of me. Don’t show up dressed like you’re going to a party.”

He walked back to the board, dismissing the room with a wave of his hand.

You’d never felt more alive than when you put on that little black crop top. Thin, clingy, low-cut. The skirt barely covered your thighs. But you wore a jacket over it — modest enough to pass the day unnoticed.

Evening fell. You walked into the library with your books in hand, your jacket zipped high.

Toji was already seated at the far end of a long wooden table, a mock test in front of him and a single pen beside it.

He didn’t look up when you entered.

“Sit.”

You obeyed, heart pounding.

He passed you the paper. “You have an hour. No bullshit.”

You clicked your pen. “Of course, sir.”

Thirty minutes in, the library had thinned out. Students packed up and filtered out as the evening darkened.

You kept writing — and slowly, slowly, you reached up and unzipped your jacket.

Toji didn’t react at first. But when the fabric slipped off your shoulders, revealing your tight top, bare arms, and the deep swell of your cleavage…

He stilled.

You shifted in your seat, chest rising as you leaned forward to write. The bounce was deliberate. So was the way you tilted your head just enough to let your lips part.

Toji’s eyes darkened.

You kept writing, pretending not to notice the way his hand dropped beneath the table — slow, rough — palming the hard bulge in his pants.

Minutes passed. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

“Sir,” you finally said, voice saccharine, “I’m done with the test. You can finish playing with yourself at home.”

His hand froze.

He stood abruptly, slamming your paper shut. You barely had time to smirk before he grabbed your wrist.

“Sir—?”

He dragged you between the towering library shelves, deeper, darker — where the cameras couldn’t see.

He turned on you, eyes blazing. “You think this is a game?”

“I think,” you said breathlessly, “you’ve been waiting to fuck me since the moment I walked into class.”

Toji’s nostrils flared. “You little—”

His hand slammed above your head against the shelf. “You’ve been teasing me all semester. Dressing like that. Talking like that.”

“I just wanted your attention, sir.”

“Well,” he growled, “now you’ve got it.”

His body towered over you, heat pouring off him like smoke. You could barely breathe with how close he stood — the scent of musk, the sharpness of cologne, the raw fury in his eyes as his arm caged you in against the shelf.

“You’ve got my attention now?” he echoed, voice low and rough, like gravel grinding between teeth.

“You think flashing your tits and failing tests makes you special?”

You swallowed, lips parted, trying to speak — but your throat was tight, your breath shallow. His hand dropped from the shelf and caught your jaw instead, thumb pressing into your cheek just hard enough to make your eyes sting.

“I should make you kneel right here,” he muttered, dragging your face up so your eyes locked.

“Let every fucking book in this place witness what a desperate little brat you are.”

Your thighs clenched. “Then do it.”

Something snapped.

His hand flew down, grabbing the back of your neck, and spun you around so fast your jacket slid off your arms. He bent you forward over the shelf, the hard edge biting into your ribs as your cheek met the wood.

“You don’t get to give me orders,” he snarled into your ear.

“You gave up that right the second you walked into class with those fuck-me eyes.”

You moaned — softly, involuntarily — and he laughed, dark and dangerous.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand slid under your skirt, fingers trailing up your thigh, rough palms dragging goosebumps in their wake. You gasped when his thumb brushed your soaked panties.

“So fucking wet already?” he mocked. “Whoring for your professor now, huh?”

“Only for you,” you whispered, pushing your hips back, begging for more.

“Say it louder.”

“Only for you, Sir,” you said again, voice trembling.

That earned you a slap — not to your ass, but to your cunt, right through the fabric. Your knees nearly buckled.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” he hissed.

He yanked your panties down to your knees and ran two fingers along your folds, spreading your slick across your entrance. He leaned in again, pressing his chest to your back.

“I could ruin you,” he said, lips brushing your ear.

“Use you. Fill you so deep you won’t stop dripping me for days.”

Your mouth dropped open, a moan escaping.

“Please—”

“Please what?”

“Please do it.”

His fingers stilled at your entrance. You were shaking now — with anticipation, with heat, with the ache of being so close to something you’d craved for weeks.

Toji chuckled darkly. “Beg for it.”

You whimpered. “Sir—please.”

“That’s not begging.”

His fingers slipped just barely inside you — a tease, a ghost of what you needed — then disappeared completely. You almost sobbed.

“I want your cock,” you said shakily.

“I want you to use me, right here, right now. I want you to fuck me--- please.”

He hissed through his teeth.

“Good girl.”

He unbuckled his belt with one hand, the sound sharp and final in the quiet of the library. You heard the zipper next — felt the thud of something heavy against the back of your thigh. Then his fingers returned, this time rougher, pushing deep inside you without warning.

You gasped, hands clawing at the shelf.

“Fuck,” he muttered, curling his fingers, watching your body twitch.

“Tight. Of course you are.”

He pumped them in and out, quick and deep, until your thighs shook and your knees went weak. Then, without a word, he pulled them out — and replaced them with his cock.

You cried out. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Just bottomed out, one long, ruthless thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.

“That what you wanted, slut?” he growled into your ear, pulling back to slam into you again.

“Me fucking you like a toy? Is that it?"

“Yes,” you breathed, tears prickling at your lashes from the intensity. “God, yes—!”

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back as he fucked into you, hard and fast, the sounds of skin slapping echoing between the bookshelves.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” he said.

“Acting innocent in front of your friends, but all it takes is one cock to make you fall apart.”

You could barely respond. The way he filled you — thick and unrelenting — made it impossible to think. He angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside that made your whole body jolt.

You clawed at the shelf. "Sir—gonna—!”

He slapped your ass, hard. “Not yet.”

Your moan broke off into a gasp.

“You don’t get to come,” he said through clenched teeth, still pounding into you. “Not until I say so.”

Your legs trembled, thighs soaked and shaking under the force of each thrust. The shelf rattled with every movement, your cheek pressed to the cool wood as you whimpered for him, breath fogging against the books you’d long forgotten.

“Sir—please,” you sobbed. “Please let me—”

He yanked your head back again, forcing you to look over your shoulder at him. His expression was furious — not with anger, but restraint. His jaw tight, eyes darker than you’d ever seen, chest rising like a man barely hanging on.

“Beg like you mean it.”

You swallowed hard, voice cracking. “I need to come, sir. Please. I’ll do anything, just—please. I can’t take it—”

He groaned low, like your desperation hit him somewhere deep. “Fucking brat.”

Then he flipped you.

In one swift motion, he pulled out and spun you around, hoisting you up by your thighs and pressing your back to the shelf. Books toppled behind you, forgotten. He entered you again — deeper, somehow rougher in this new angle, forcing you to wrap your legs around him as he filled you to the hilt.

You cried out, hands flying to his shoulders.

“I should ruin you for this,” he growled, thrusting up into you with a pace that made your mind blur.

“I should fuck you so hard you forget your goddamn name.”

“I already have,” you whispered.

His head dropped to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “Fuck.”

His hand found your throat, squeezing just enough to remind you who was in control. Not hard — not cruel — but commanding. Possessive.

“This cock,” he muttered against your ear. “This what you wanted, doll?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, sweat at his brow, lip curled. “Then take it. Take all of it.”

And he fucked you like he meant it — brutal, deep, possessive. You bounced in his arms, moaning into the crook of his neck, nails digging into his back as your orgasm coiled like fire in your belly.

“I’m gonna come,” you whispered brokenly. “Please—please, Sir—”

“Come for me.”

That was all it took.

Your whole body tensed, then shattered around him — wave after wave of pleasure crashing down. Your vision blurred, mouth open in a silent cry as you clenched around his cock.

He cursed loudly, slamming into you once, twice more before spilling inside with a growl, his whole body seizing with release.

Silence.

Only your ragged breaths filled the air, your limbs shaking, your forehead resting against his.

Then Toji pulled out slowly, setting you down on shaky legs.

His eyes lingered on your ruined expression, the mess between your thighs, the flush on your chest.

“Library’s closed,” he muttered, tucking himself back into his pants.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before someone catches us.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s it?”

He smirked. “Oh no, doll. That was just the first lesson. And i'mma teach you a whole semester."

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harringtonfeels · 2 days ago

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teach (part ii of touch)

3.9k | New relationship (friends to lovers) | Shy, inexperienced Reader | Smut with undertones of fluff

Notes: This is a continuation of my one shot touch. You don't have to read touch first, but I do think it's more fun that way.

Reader just wants to blow Steve, if he'll just let her already.

Dating Steve is so natural it's like breathing. It's never awkward the way new relationships tend to be. There are none of those growing pains like you've experienced in past relationships. And if you should say so yourself, you make a pretty good team. You segue easily from holding hands at the diner, to making fun of each other over stupid stuff, to abandoning the movie on the TV screen to make out on your couch.

A big part of it is how thoughtful you both are, and how intimately you already know each other. Steve always double-checks your boundaries, always makes sure you know you can tell him if there's something bothering you, or if you've changed your mind. He's so gentle with you, sometimes so gentle you feel the need to remind him that it's okay to be a little assertive.

Steve is a lot of things. Your goofy best friend, a charming boyfriend, and an enthusiastic lover. He's never selfish, and he's certainly never cruel. Sometimes, you have to focus really hard to remind yourself of that. Especially in moments like these. Because, if you didn't know better, you'd say he's driving you crazy on purpose.

You lean up into a sitting position, your tee shirt falling back down and covering your abdomen. "Steve," you all but whine, reaching out for him. He's shirtless, and his skin is damp with sweat, but you don't mind.

"What?" he laughs. He cups your cheek with his hand as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, then your nose.

Rolling your eyes, you press your free hand to his chest and push him back, firmly but carefully. His lips are too distracting - you'll have to keep him off of you if you want to accomplish anything.

"Why won't you let me?" You've been learning recently how to do the girlfriend thing with a little more… finesse. That includes pouting - at least, when there's something you want. And you're also learning that Steve is a little bit of a sucker for some puppy dog eyes.

"Let you what?" He sounds distracted, and maybe a bit amused, while diving in for another kiss.

Your hand moves swiftly and with purpose down his chest, dropping straight to the button of his Levi's and tugging him in closer. You're still new to this - much newer to it than Steve is. But that doesn't mean you aren't sure of yourself, and it certainly doesn't mean you don't know what you want.

However, while you're angling for something new, he appears to be on a bit of a mission himself.

"Don't worry about that, honey." His tone is chipper, and then his mouth is on yours, and his hands are on your thighs, and your brain is empty.

Steve is a very generous boyfriend, in more ways than one. For your first time, he makes sure everything's just right. The music, the mood, the venue - even the lighting.

He's more prepared than you've ever seen him before. He's bought a pack of condoms to keep in your nightstand, and a bottle of lube as well. You're not exactly old-fashioned, but it's nice that you didn't have to look the lady in the pharmacy checkout line in the eye while buying it yourself.

He makes you cum on his fingers and his mouth first, reddened lips glistening with your slick, and if you were excited to have sex before, now you're aching for it. He never has a hard time getting you interested, but you weren't expecting to feel so satisfied before you've even gotten started.

When he asks if you're ready, you are - absolutely. You palm him through his briefs and moan into his mouth at the feel of him, hard and heavy in your hand.

"Oh, honey," he groans, easing you back down into the pillows, and you can't help but whine a little as he slides his briefs down, freeing his cock.

It's not the first time you've ever seen a penis, but it's the first time you've ever seen Steve's, and with him, everything feels like the first time. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, the shaft hard and ready, tip flushed a dark pink.

"Steve," you sigh, and he kisses you firmly, lovingly, cradling the back of your neck with his big hand.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease, and then his free hand descends on you, rubbing slick circles around your swollen clit. You know there's something you wanted to ask for, but when your hips buck against his hand, still sensitive from your orgasm, you can't remember what you wanted until he swipes the head of his cock through your folds. You feel him twitch against you, and it's intoxicating, the thought that you drive him as crazy as he does you, that you can feel how hard he's working to exercise some restraint. How hard he's trying to make this perfect.

Your grip on his bicep tightens, and by then, you're so worked up, you're not about to ask him to stop just so you can blow him.

The line between emotional intimacy and sexual intimacy becomes blurrier over time. It's only been three weeks since he touched you the first time, but he's gotten really good at making you feel comfortable. You're also becoming more confident asking for what you need, slowly but surely.

Sometimes you don't know how to say what you mean without it sounding overly crass, and if you can't look him in the eye when you make certain requests, or if your cheeks burn with mild embarrassment - well, it's not like you can help it. But each time, he's so encouraging, helps you through it and never makes you feel ashamed to express yourself. As a matter of fact, you're starting to get the idea that he gets a little bit of a thrill from prompting you to be more direct, hearing you say things you never, ever would have said to him before you were dating.

You're getting a lot of practice asking him to modify his technique, or suggesting a new position. You're also getting better at communicating nonverbally, reading his body language and refining your own. For years, you've felt like you could read Steve like the back of your hand, and it felt like there was nothing left to learn. Oh, how wrong you were. There are so many things to want or need now that were never on the table before, and a million more questions to ask, so sometimes you can't imply the things you want to with your hands or your mouth, with a sigh or a moan. And it's moments like that where Steve seems to have the most fun.

The cheesy slasher flick Steve brought home from Family Video is frozen on the screen of his TV, and you're straddling his lap. Your camisole is abandoned on the floor, and a half-empty popcorn bucket and a couple of wine glasses are strewn across the coffee table. Steve's hand is tangled in your hair, his mouth parted with a sigh as you kiss him, nipping and sucking gently at the junction of his jaw and his neck.

"Oh, honey," he groans, other hand gripping your hip, pulling you a little more firmly against him.

The moan that spills from your lips would be embarrassing with anyone else, but the hard press of his erection between your thighs, separated only by a few layers of clothing, has you feeling so needy it's hard to care about much else. You fist the front of his shirt in your hand and yank him closer, kissing him so clumsily your teeth knock against his. Your hands graze the familiar landscape of his lower stomach, desperately working your way under his shirt, and then to the waistband of his jeans.

Breathlessly, you ask, "Can I?"

Steve's hips rut against yours, and his hand leaves your hair, cupping your cheek. He pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against yours, and his eyes are dark with desire. "Can you what?"

You hesitate, mouth feeling a little dry. How are you supposed to ask this without sounding like a frat boy? Steve has gone down on you like ten times now. Why is it so hard to work up the nerve to just tell him what you want when it comes to this?

Maybe it's because all the girls you went to school with talked about blowjobs like they were inconvenient - or worse, an obligation. Maybe you're afraid it'll make you look like a nymphomaniac if you admit you actually want to. Maybe it's because all the pressure is on you to perform properly, whereas with sex, you're working together. Or maybe it's just because you really, really want it to be good for him.

A couple beats pass, and you tell yourself it's just Steve. Why would it bother Steve for you to act like you want him? Finally, you sit back on your heels and bite your lip, fingers poised at the button of his jeans, and you ask, "Can I suck your dick?"

The first time you offered, he seemed to have gotten the memo, but he'd dismissed your request. The second time, you'd been too wrapped up in how good you felt to get the words out. You're not sure what you're expecting when you finally ask again. Part of you irrationally wonders if maybe that's something he doesn't like, or if he specifically doesn't want you to do it.

He hesitates, and you brace yourself for rejection as you take in the uncertainty in his eyes. Instead, he asks, "Are you sure you want to? You don't have to."

Brow furrowing, you say, "Why would I ask if I didn't want to?"

The way he's looking at you, it's like he's trying to decipher what's going on in your head. You haven't seen him so unsure in years, if ever. After a pause that lingers just slightly too long, he replies. "I just don't want you to think you have to do that to make me happy. I wouldn't be upset if you didn't."

You're starting to put it together what this is about. "Steve, I know you don't want me to feel obligated, but I want to. I want to make you feel good. I think about it a lot, actually."

He shifts his hips underneath you, and you gasp quietly at the sensation, the zipper of his jeans rubbing against you through your shorts. His lips tug upward at the corner. "Yeah?"

Nodding, you kiss him slowly, like you mean it. Your hands shake slightly as you begin undoing the button of his jeans.

He lifts you slightly where you perch on his knees as he raises his hips, allowing you to help him shimmy off his jeans. His hand finds your breast through your bra, and you arch slightly into his touch. "Have you done this before?"

You shake your head, a tinge of self-consciousness blooming in your belly. You're determined not to let that stop you. Eyes meeting his, eyelashes fluttering slightly, you murmur, "Can you teach me?"

Licking his lips, he nods and leans back in, pressing a kiss to your lips. Your gaze drops to the briefs still clinging to his hips, and your breath stutters at the sight of the thick outline of him pressing through the cotton. "I've got you, honey," he says, clearly mistaking your interest for intimidation. You smile at the softness of his voice. Sometimes, you still can't believe Steve is yours, that you have the privilege of having your first sexual relationship with someone who cares so deeply for you, who always puts you first.

You climb off of him and settle between his legs, shag carpet pressing into your knees. It's not exactly comfortable, and Steve must anticipate that, because he hands you one of the pillows beside him on the couch and helps you position it between your knees and the floor. Your heart is racing now; you can feel it throbbing in your pulse point.

"You'll let me know if you start feeling uncomfortable, yeah?" he asks, and his tone is serious and soft as he strokes your hair with one hand.

When you nod, he takes your hands in his gently and pulls them to his lap. You lean forward a little, hands settling on the tops of his thighs. Thinking back on how Steve touches you when he's trying to help get you in the mood, you rub his legs lightly, across the tops of his thighs, along the more sensitive skin on the insides of each of his legs. You try to acquaint yourself with every inch of his exposed skin before moving forward, and it might feel a little silly if you couldn't feel him getting more and more relaxed under your touch.

On a whim, you close your eyes and lower your head to press a chaste kiss to the inside of his knee, and you look up at him, hooking your fingers into the band of his boxers.

He inhales sharply, lips parting slightly, and he lifts his hips again, allowing you to remove his boxers. Once they're down to his ankles with his jeans, you slide both garments all the way off his body and dump them in a heap beside you. His cock is hard and flushed, nearly brushing his stomach, and while you're nervous, you can't help but sigh a little at the sight of it. You've spent weeks daydreaming about this, and you don't know why. You don't know why you've wanted this so badly, just that you do, and now you're finally here, and you don't even know where to start.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve takes one of your hands in his and guides it to his shaft, curling your fingers and palm ever so gently around the base of it. Your fingers almost wrap all the way around him, and you feel yourself growing wetter at the sight. You're not sure if his size is average, or if he's a little on the bigger side, but you know you think he looks really good, and you know he feels really good, too. The weight of him in your hand feels natural.

You start to move your hand over him, and he hisses, then closes his hand over yours, stilling your hand. "Not so firm." His voice is low and gentle, not chastising you but guiding you instead.

Cheeks burning, you loosen your grip a little and look up at him for confirmation.

"There you go," he hums. "It's sensitive, so you have to be gentle, especially since your hand is dry." You think back on the times you've tried to masturbate when you weren't wet enough yet, and that makes sense. "Try again."

You cock your head slightly to the side and watch as he lets go of your hand, and you slowly move your fist up and down his shaft. He twitches in your hand, growing a harder from your touch, and it makes you feel something like pride. Your motion is straight up and down, which feels a little uncomfortable with the position of your elbow and wrist, so you loosen your wrist and watch his eyes as you stroke him rhythmically, tugging him slightly to the side.

He groans and leans his head back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. "That's it, baby." His breath stutters, and he asks, "Doesn't that feel a better for your wrist?"

You hum your agreement and focus on maintaining your rhythm, leaning in a little closer. "Is it okay if I…?"

You're sure he'll make you say it out loud, but he doesn't, just nods, locking his eyes with yours. "Go ahead, honey, whenever you're ready."

After another few beats, you use your free hand to steady yourself, pressing it to his thigh and leaning your full weight into the cushion beneath your knees. Hesitantly, you lick a stripe up from the bottom of the head to the very tip, and he tenses, fingers finding the back of your head again. He's gentle, not pushing you closer but offering reassurance.

Feeling a little more confident, you take the head of him into your mouth. You read your friends' issues of Cosmo when you were younger, so you've retained some information on various blowjob techniques, but you're not sure if they're any good. When you wrap your lips around him, you attempt to hollow your cheeks and bob your head slightly, straining to look up at his face.

The hardest part seems to be the multitasking. You're still trying to work his shaft with your hand as you suck on the head, and when you try too hard to look at his face, too, you can feel your mouth filling with saliva. You try to swallow around him but struggle a bit, so you pull your mouth off of him with a pop and then swallow.

"Is that okay?" you ask, voice small, leaning back just a little to see him better.

His lips are red from biting them, and he nods, voice hoarse when he says, "Yeah, baby, you're doing so good."

Once you feel ready, you lean back in and wrap your lips around him again, and he inhales sharply when your back teeth graze the head. You pull away quickly. "I'm so sorry," you say quickly, mortified. You don't know much, but you do know you probably weren't supposed to do that.

"It's okay, it's okay," he insists. "Just gotta be careful with the teeth. You'll get it."

You frown a little and look at the head of him again, steeling yourself. When you take him into your mouth again, you take extra care to suck in your cheeks and open wide enough to keep from touching him with your teeth. After a few moments of practicing with the head, you swirl your tongue around the tip, and his hips stutter. You feel rather than see him grip the edge of the cushion, and his brow furrows.

"Oh, honey," he groans. "That feels so good."

After a few moments of licking different patterns on the tip, noting the reactions they draw from him, you begin bobbing your head a little further down, taking more and more of him with each movement. Soon, your lips are connecting with your hand, where you're stroking his shaft, and you focus on trying to get low enough that your fist only covers the base.

The first time he touches the back of your throat, you gag and pull away abruptly. Steve laughs lightly while you catch your breath, and he strokes your cheek, smiling sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you."

"It's okay," you reply, sounding a little strangled.

While you're looking up at him, you realize he's not looking at you like someone who just choked on his cock, or even like someone who's blowing him at all. Steve looks at you like you're the most important thing in the world.

Like he's in love with you.

"You don't have to take it all," he says encouragingly. "It's hard to do if you have a sensitive gag reflex."

"No, I'm doing it."

He laughs at your stubborn attitude, watching as you wrap your hand around him again. His eyes crinkle in the corners, and your heart swells with fondness.

"If you insist, baby, just don't hurt yourself. If you can't, you can still use your hand to cover the rest. Try to focus on breathing slow and deep through your nose. That should help."

You nod and roll your shoulders and neck, preparing to get back in the saddle. When you take him into your mouth again, you do like he said, and you focus more on your breathing than on fisting his cock with your hand. You'd like to do it all, but you remind yourself that you're just learning and maybe it's better to start with the basics and then do the extra stuff.

This time, when he nudges the back of your throat, you feel the urge to gag, but you stop yourself just in time, gripping his thigh with your hand.

"Oh my god," he groans, hand weaving into the hair at the nape of your neck. "That's it, baby. Keep going."

Before long, your nose is pressing into his pubic bone, and you're taking all of him in your mouth, all the way to the base. Your jaw is sore, but you don't care, because he's making such pretty sounds. When it becomes too much to handle, you pull back to just the tip and swirl your tongue around him, and his hips jerk forward at the sensation. He murmurs sweet nothings, tells you how well you're doing, how good you feel. And when you work your way back to taking him to the hilt, he whimpers.

Pressing your thighs together to alleviate the ache, you begin bobbing your head with more fervor. You're not sure you've ever been so wet in your life, and you want him so badly it feels like you might die. You want to make him cum with your mouth, but you want him inside you, too, and you're overwhelmed by a resounding chorus of need need need inside your mind.

"Baby, babe," he babbles, and when you meet his eyes, he looks like overtaken by pleasure. You can feel the desperation behind his gaze. "I'm - I'm so close."

You moan around his cock, squeezing your thighs together again. You're absolutely soaked. He's never sounded so good as he does right now, and then he says your name like it's both a plea and a prayer.

You can't take it anymore. You pick up the pace, and it hurts - oh, God, your jaw aches - but you don't care.

"I'm gonna cum," he warns, and you've never heard some sound so feverish. "Baby, I'm—Please. Need to feel you."

Your head swims with desire. You've never heard Steve beg before. How are you supposed to cope with that?

You pull off of him, panting, eyes watering with exertion, and Steve hauls you to your feet, looking to you for permission to remove your shorts. When he unzips them, they drop to your ankles, and you step out of them easily. He pulls you onto his lap, and you're on his mouth just as quickly, kissing him breathless.

His cock nudges against your underwear, and you sigh, rolling your hips against his.

"Can I—" He licks his lips, and when you look into his eyes, you can see he's feeling just as self-conscious as you did earlier. Butterflies explode in your stomach, and you take his face in your hands. You don't know what he's asking, and you wait for him to try again. Finally, he chokes out, "I wanna show you how much I love you - please."

You don't need to hear anymore. You don't know exactly what he wants, but you don't think you need to. There are a lot of things left for Steve to teach you, but trust isn't one of them. You know Steve will take care of you, will be gentle where he needs to be. So you kiss him softly, nod against his forehead. And when he stands, panting, you wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to bed.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut

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captain-huggy-bear · 1 day ago

Note

girl omg i am EATING your celly pieces up, you truly never miss. you’re gonna be at 2k SOON i know it

could i request “Bet you they don’t make you sound like that, do they?” with Clayton Keller? since my brain has been locked in on that man since i found your blog smh

This wrecked me in the best sort of way to write. 18+ NSFW Smut: Clay realising that friends with benefits/casual maybe isn't for him anymore, Clay being a little bit of a possessive twat but in a hot way. I hope this is okay and not rubbish! I think it's okay??

1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

He's being stupid and he knows he is. You're not flirting with Jack. He knows you're not deep down, but fuck...it feels like you are. The way you smile at the guy, how you laugh at some stupid fucking joke and touch his bicep for a touch to long (in Clay's opinion anyway), the way you have to tilt your head to look up at him, how Jack seems to brighten at that touch, eyes twinkling...it's fucking stupid. It makes him want to tear you away from Jack, makes he want to tell Jack to fuck off...as if Bainer isn't one of his friends, his team mates, his found family.

You're not flirting with Jack...and even if you are he hasn't got a right to say shit, not when Clay's been refusing to put a label on what the two of you are for months, not when he's been keeping things casual, 'easy' while you beg him for more, for a crumb of exclusivity. While he's been acting like it's all physical...like he doesn't really care that much. You have every right to flirt with who you want, every right to fuck who you want, but the idea of you with anyone else has him feeling sick to the stomach, seeing red as his nostrils flare and his jaw locks.

When you look over at him, mid-laugh at something Jack has said, you freeze. Eyes locking as you notice the way his jaw tenses, how his lips purse, that dimple in his right cheek clear. Clay's fists are clenched at his side for a moment before he crooks a finger at you in a 'come hither' motion. You should ignore him, should keep talking to Jack but he has you wrapped around his finger, always has done...so you excuse yourself politely from Jack who just looks between you and Clay knowingly, before shuffling your way towards Clayton.

You feel unsure, a little nervous, it's obvious Clay's not happy about something and yet you know he'd never be anything but good to you. Clay, for all his protests that things were just casual, that you were just friends who sometimes fucked, had always, always been gentle with you, good to you. He never raised his voice. He never touched you in away that didn't bring pleasure. The only way he'd ever hurt you was his refusal to become something more, his inability to commit. Something you couldn't truly be upset about when you'd agreed to casual in the first place, even knowing you couldn't do casual, even knowing you were going to fall irrevocably in love.

The moment you're within arms reach of him Clay's arm is sliding around your waist, hand resting there as he pulls you to his side and walks. You go along with it, feeling the way his fingers flex, tips digging into the fat on your waist with each movement.

"Clay?"

"Just give me a minute." His voice is short, tense, jaw only moving enough to get the words out and it's obvious he's processing something, trying to keep composure.

You let him lead you out of his living area where the entire team and then some had gathered for the evening, down a corridor until you're gently ushered into his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, the lock turns.

"Clay, what's wrong?"

He doesn't answer you, not a word is shared, instead the look that lands on you is heated, so heated your own skin begins to burn as his eyes trail you slowly. He starts at your own, baby blues meeting yours, until they scan you, trailing down your neck, lingering on the way your dress clings to your breasts, to your waist, the curve of your hips and down the expanse of your thighs.

It's the sort of gaze that feels like a touch, that feels like Clay's hands are sliding over your skin as goosebumps rise up and hairs stand on end, breath hitching and catching in your throat.

You watch, feeling rather helpless in the sort of way that only comes from wanting someone so badly who has made it clear he doesn't want you the same, as he loosens his tie, throws it off to the side. Each button on his shirt is loosened in the sort of intense silence as he watches you that has your thighs clenching, hips shifting in place.

It's like he's bewitched you, the way you can barely breathe, chest tight, lip bitten between your teeth, eyes unable to look away as Clay strips himself of his shirt. Broad shoulders, tan skin, that goddamn cross, coming into view. He looks like a daydream, like something unattainable, untouchable and yet he's the one who dragged you into his room. He's the one slowly unbuckling his belt, long fingers threading the leather through the loops of his trousers with a slow deftness that feels like he's stalking towards you.

There's no fighting it really, the way your panties dampen between your thighs, the flush to your skin, the impossible need to have him even if a fuck is all he'll give you...even if you'll never get anything more substantial. Any crumbs are enough for you right now as he strips down to just his boxers, cock pressing against the fabric like he's already thinking of what he's going to do to you. Heavy, thick, all for you.

"You think it's funny? Flirting with Jack like that, sweet girl?" The distance between you takes barely a couple of strides before he's on you, you stumbling a step backwards at how intensely he comes upon you. Your knees hitting the edge of his bed while he crowds you, so close your chests are touching.

"Cla-" You want to explain because you weren't flirting with Jack...because you hadn't even thought of another man like that since this whole thing started with Clay...because it was impossible to think of another man touching you, kissing you, loving you when you were so in love with Clayton.

"No, I get it...he's taller, he probably gives you the attention someone as needy as you needs, right?" He's being a little mean, mean in a way he never usually is, is a huff to his words like he's frustrated with you. Like he has a right to be.

"Clay, it-" The way he grips your cheeks between his fingers isn't painful, but it is firm, squishing until your mouth is a perfect pout, eyes widening, thighs rubbing together as your clit aches at the sudden show of dominance, of possession...because God, all you've ever wanted was for Clay to want you just as much as you want him.

"Shhh, baby, it's okay, i'm going fuck every single thought of Jack out of your head and remind you why I'm the only one you should be flirting with." The smirk he sends your way, teeth peeking out just a touch, brows lowered, it's evil, it's downright sinful and only deepens at the way you shudder against him. You're so utterly weak for him that he could ask anything of you in that moment and you'd do it, you'd say yes 1000 times over.

Clay's mouth captures yours, teeth tugging and nipping at your bottom lip almost meanly as his fingers release your cheeks, hand grazing down your neck until it wraps around your throat gently. There's a tenderness to the way he holds your neck, a gentleness that belies the heat in his kiss, the roughness as he tries to devour you and your taste.

You gasp against his mouth, lips opening up for his tongue when his hands leave you to grip your thighs pulling until you fall backwards against the bed in a mockery of a trust fall. Clay's on you immediately, weight pressed heavy into you, cock grinding against your cunt through his boxers, through your dress, your panties.

Your soaking through them, slick gathering between your thighs as his fingers trail down to hem of your dress, tugging it up past your hips. His kiss doesn't stop, a relentless pressure of his lips against yours, his tongue dancing with your own until you can barely breathe, nostrils flaring and working overtime to get any oxygen.

"You think he could make you feel like this, baby? Huh?"

"No, no, only you, Clay..." You're a babbling mess as his fingers push the gusset of your panties aside, rough tips gathering your wetness, trailing from slit to clit in a lazy sort of rhythm that has your hips stuttering, unsure if you want to move closer or pull away.

"You sure about that, sweet girl? Cause you were awfully fucking close to him out there." It's torturous, the way he just glides his fingers through your slick, not pushing into you, not circling your clit, not doing anything of substance as he leans over you, lips finding the hollow beneath your jaw, sucking harshly, tongue laving the skin until it comes up bruised, purpling. It looks fucking good on you, makes his cock throb in his boxers because shit, he's fucking yours and everyone, Jack included, should know about it. He's been yours from the first time he kissed you like that was just something friends were supposed to do, like he wasn't an idiot trying to resist falling in love, not realising he was already on his knees.

"Meant nothing, 'm sorry, fuck, 'm sorry, Clay..." You're babbling, voice breathy and light like you can barely breathe.

"That's right, baby, it meant nothing, cause you're mine, right?"

"Yours, all yours, Clay, please..." Clay likes to think he has restraint, control, willpower...but there's nothing like restraint, nothing like discipline as he tugs your panties down and out of the way. There's nothing like control as he pulls himself from his boxers, rock hard, throbbing, purple at the tip. There's no willpower, nothing that can stop him as he presses the head against your cunt and pushes in, head dropping to your shoulder at the way your warm walls grip him, at the scrabble of your nails digging into his back as he punctures a gasp from your chest.

"Clay, Clay, Clay..." His name is a mantra, a fucking prayer as he slides each inch in until he bottoms out, hips meeting flush with yours, lip dripping spit onto your skin as he breathes open mouthed and heavy against your skin.

Even like this, even as Clay's hips pull back and slam back against yours, thrusts hard, forceful, even then there's a gentleness to it, a tenderness to the way his hips cradle yours, how his tongue laves over your skin, pressing purple marks across every inch of available flesh. There's a sort of reverence to each touch of his fingers on your thighs that bracket his hips, a worship in the way he mumbles against your skin as sweat drips from his skin to yours, as strands of that brunet hair cling to his skin like he's just gotten off the ice.

He's so beautiful that you can't close your eyes, forcing them to stay open, even if heavy lidded as he thrusts into you over and over again. Each press of his cock into you getting deeper, until the head of his dick presses against the spongy spot inside you. A spot that has the most debauched moan falling from your lips before you can stop it, before you can hide the noise.

“Bet you Jack doesn't make you sound like that, does he?” It's spat out, frustrated and gives it all away, gives the jealousy a voice that's possessive and frustrated.

Your hand coming to your mouth to cover it, to hide each moan, each groan, each whimper as he presses into you at a hard pace that has skin smacking against skin. Your wrist is taken in Clay's hand and pressed into the mattress, tender even as it's firm.

"Wanna hear you, baby, want Jack to hear how good I make you feel, yeah? Show him that you're mine, not his, never fucking his, fuck..." You're clamping down around him, so fucking tight that it has his stomach tightening as you get closer to your end. Clay's fingers trail down your stomach, brushing over your clit in slow, practiced circles. In the way that makes you clench down on him, in the way that has your head dropping back, eyes finally closing, a guttural sort of moan falling from your throat as it stretches taut. The perfect canvas for his lips as he continues to turn you purple and red, until your chest and neck are a Jackson Pollock of hickeys and love bites.

"Fuck, 'm so close, baby, c'mon, sweet girl, cum for me, yeah? Wanna hear you let go, baby..." It's the tenderness in his voice, the devastation like you've utterly ruined him combined with his fingers on your clit that finally does it, that has you clenching around him as you cum.

He's not long after, whine falling from his throat, neck arching back, chain swinging as he spills inside you, hips continuing to rock on instinct through it until he's spent, sweat gliding down his neck and splattering on your collarbone like tear drops.

There's an extra level of gentleness when Clay pulls out of you, shushing you gently, soothingly when you wince before he walks off for a wash cloth.

It's cool and soft against your skin as Clay trails it over your face, wiping away the sweat there before trailing down your neck, over the constellation of his marks.

He's gentle as he does it, tender, eyes locking with yours as his voice comes out soft, almost shy, "I love you... you know that? I...I know I've been putting it off, labelling us..." The cloth stops at the junction of your thighs, a slower, softer touch as Clay becomes hyper aware of how sensitive you are, every twitch as he tries to clean you up.

"You told me you didn't want anything serious..." Your voice is just as small, scared that one wrong word, one loud exclamation might change his mind, might change what you think he's about to say.

Clay sighs out heavy, throwing the cloth towards the laundry basket as he leans over you, fingers reaching out for your hips but hesitating to touch, like he's not sure you'll let him.

"I know...but seeing you laughing with Bainer...I felt fucking sick...the idea of you with someone else...of not loving you openly...it makes me wanna die, so...maybe I'm an idiot but...but I want to be your idiot?" His smile is bashful, honest, sincere and God, it's all you've been waiting for for months. How many times had Clay said it was just casual? That he wasn't prepared for commitment? How many times had you let him into your bed anyway? How many times had you kissed him hoping that would be the moment he came to his senses? The moment he stopped running? God, you'd been so patient, but that smile? That look directed at you? It was worth it. Worth the tears. The nights wondering if he'd ever change his mind. Worth the patience. Worth every single moment.

"Is there a question in that?" You laugh at him giddy and joyous, a sort of lightness taking over you at the realisation that Clay's finally stopped running, finally stopped hiding from you.

"Can I be your boyfriend?" Not be my girlfriend, not be mine...but can he be yours?

Your silence feels like an eternity to him, unnecessarily cruel as your eyes glimmer, as your fingers grasp at his chain and tug him closer until your noses are brushing and his eyelashes are fluttering. There's a desperate urge to kiss you again even without your answer.

And then it comes, so soft, so quiet, a hairsbreadth away from his lips, so close it's like he can feel every single syllable, "I'd like that..."

"Thank fuck." Clay groans out in relief, forehead pressing against yours, grin so wide it's blinding. You're both laughing, giddy, overjoyed even as your dress, still half rolled up your body, clings to your skin. Even as sweat dries sticky on his own.

"You two done fucking like rabbits or should we go and leave you to it?" Jack's voice laughs from the other side of the door, booming, too loud, embarrassingly so. Your cheeks heating, warmth filling your face, roiling under your skin

"Fuck you, Bainer!"

"Think someone already did that, Kells!"

But, nothing...absolutely nothing can wipe that smile from Clay's face because you're his and he's yours and God, why the fuck did he wait this long to make that a reality?

#18+ mdni #Huggy's 1000 celly #huggy bear writes #clayton keller x reader #clayton keller/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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bloomzone · 2 days ago

Text

sooo y’all, let me tell you… these past 10 days I've been locking in and i reallyyy achieved a lot, and honestly i learned even more. i was still in my lil reflection era overthinking, analyzing, you know the usual but i also caught myself before i made some big mistakes. like i literally saved myself right before things could’ve gone bad and i wanna share this with y’all because i know someone needs to hear it too, especially if you’re stressed about exams right now.

lesson 1: please don’t change your study method last minute.

y’all, please, if you have finals or big exams coming up, do not start experimenting with new study methods. i made that mistake, fr. i saw this "easier" method on YouTube and was like omg this sounds perfect, maybe this is my new main way to study. but nooo, babe. that’s a trap. because when you change things up right before exams, you’re gonna end up confused, stressed, and behind. you'll start thinking like “omg time is running out and i still don’t get this” or “i haven’t memorized anything yet.” and that spiral is so real. so pls, stick to your main method the one that has worked for you so far. yeah, you can try adding small things or testing new tricks lightly on the side, but don’t fully switch everything right before big exams. keep your foundation strong, okay? trust me on this.

lesson 2: take meaningful breaks.

this one hit me hard. so when you’re taking breaks while studying, make them useful breaks, y’all. not the kind where you scroll on your phone for an hour and then feel worse. not the breaks where you just lay there thinking “what if i fail” because omg we’ve all done that and it never helps.

instead, do something that actually resets your brain. like cook yourself a meal, go out for a walk, change your environment, tidy your space a bit, or even journal your thoughts. for me, cooking during my breaks literally saves me i get food and i feel productive cuz like sometimes my brain hurt and when I get up to take a break and eat something THE FIRST BITE and I'm like "damn bro I was hungry" and then I eat and I feel better again but honestly, the best kind of break is stepping outside, grabbing a little snack or coffee, and breathing fresh air. just doing something small but active that makes you feel human again before you go back to your books.

lesson 3: slowly build your study stamina.

i used to be someone who could never study more than 3 hours a day, max. but these past 10 days? i actually pushed myself to study 5 to even 7 hours a day. which is crazy for me, honestly. and no, i’m not saying you have to study for hours nonstop because same, my usual safe goal is 3 hours too. but when you’ve got a pile of exams and subjects waiting, sometimes you really do need to go for those longer sessions.what helped me a lot is the pomodoro technique. and let me say this pomodoro is a technique, not a study method so you can still study your way but use pomodoro to manage your time.there’s this YouTube channel i found that reallyyyy helps. the videos are so cozy and calming they have these little lo-fi vibes with cats moving on the screen, and even tho i don’t really listen to music when i study, i just let those videos play for the background sound aside in my laptop. it kinda makes me feel like i’m studying with someone else and i stay productive for longer. usually it’s like 3-hour study sessions with three 5-minute breaks, and that structure really helped me go from my usual short sessions to longer, more focused study days. and let’s be honest, the cute cats motivate me more than they should lol. [The link of the channel ]

lesson 4: don’t panic (even if everything feels overwhelming).

and this is coming from someone who still panics before every exam lol. but sometimes, you just gotta tell yourself: enough. like, i will study, i will do my part, and the results will come how they come.especially if you’re someone like me who has 8+ subjects to juggle it can feel impossible to manage everything. i even tried that method i saw on YouTube where you study 3 subjects a day. thought it would save me, but honestly it didn’t work. i just ended up feeling like i was tripping around, lost and stressed.so now, i kinda made my own little method. i call it the 80/20 rule where you focus 80% of your day on your main subject, and 20% on a side subject. idk but 80/20 rule exist but I change it lmao like, let’s say you wake up at 8am and study till sunset. you spend the whole day focusing on your main subject (like history or math or whatever’s urgent). then in the evening, maybe from like 6pm to 8pm, you switch and study a different subject for a bit. and the next day, you make that second subject your new main focus. so you’re rotating, but still giving serious time to each one. i don’t even know if this is an actual a method, but it works for me, and that’s what matters.and again, please don’t try completely new study methods when you’re close to exams. you will only stress yourself out more. stick to what you know works, trust the process, and stay consistent. i promise, you got this.

lesson 5: please please please… don’t go on a diet during school season.

like i swear i should’ve put this one first, because it’s that serious. and no i didn’t make this mistake myself (and i never will), but i just need to say this to you right now. like please don’t go on a diet during school or exam season. i beg you.i don’t know who needs to hear this today, but you are a student. your brain, your body, needs food. you need fuel to even survive school days, let alone study and pass exams. so whatever you’re doing right now whether it's weight loss, calorie counting, fasting please, stop and pause . if you wanna follow a diet, i get it, but wait until a time when you’re not under this much stress. because dieting during school will only make things worse. no summer body is worth feeling dizzy, tired, and unfocused during your exams babe. like, i promise you you will literally feel like you’re dying if you try to diet hard right now.

i know some people started their diets months ago and maybe they’re used to it by now, and that’s fine. but please if you’re thinking of starting, or if you’re already cutting down too much don’t be harsh on yourself. like, please don’t fall into that mindset where you think eating one egg and drinking black coffee is enough for the day. bro, that won’t help you focus. food is also focus. food is energy. food is survival.you’re not a robot who can just skip meals and still function at 100%. you’re a human, and your body needs real nutrition to help your brain stay sharp and your body stay strong during this season.especially if you’re in the middle of exams, or have big deadlines coming please don’t starve yourself. eat, babe. and no ofc i’m not saying go eat just anything. like, don’t only munch on junk food either because that won’t make you feel fresh and alive eat meals that actually fuel you something that makes your body feel clean, your mind clear, and your energy steady.

and omg, don’t forget water. like, i’m so serious about this always, always, keep a water bottle next to you while studying. sometimes you think you’re tired, but your body is just dehydrated. water helps your brain focus, helps you avoid headaches, and just keeps everything running smoothly. trust me on this.

so please, please…

don’t go into diet culture mode while you’re in your student grind season. your body and brain are already under enough stress. don’t add more. eat, stay hydrated, fuel yourself right and you’ll actually perform better. save the weight loss plans for days when you can do it gently, without risking your health . i love you and i just wanna see you win not collapse. so please, eat food and drink your water and don't be harsh on yourself

@bloomzone

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jisung-shine · 2 days ago

Note

can you please do nct reaction to you flirting with them? I hope your having a nice day <33

I love love LOVE this request...hopefully doing it three years later is okay LMAO I am so sorry

Please enjoy everyone!! <3

Mark💥

-OKAY LET'S GO!!

-Doesn't realize you're flirting, thinks you're just being friendly

-One of the other members literally has to smack him upside the head for him to realize

-Once he's aware he has a chance though

-Prepare yourself

-Corny jokes left and right

-His face is bright red, and he keeps cracking up every two seconds

-Please give this man some love

Renjun♟️

-Renjun would be very calm and collected (could never be Mark-)

-He's surprised when he realizes you're flirting with him

-But it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside

-The way you're complimenting him, slightly brushing his arm, it makes him giddy, even if he doesn't outright show it

-Renjun blushes ever so slightly, and won't stop smiling

-He's soft spoken to begin with, but becomes even more so when you start flirting with him

-He then starts dropping small hints to let you know that he feels the same

Jeno🐻‍❄

-LEE JENO RAHHH

-Anyways

-Jeno grins like a fool when you flirt with him

-He will kind of mirror your movements, like if you brush his arm, he will then brush yours in conversation

-Freezes up a few times mid conversation, remembering “oh yeah y/n is literally flirting with me”

-Will offer you his hoodie most likely

Haechan🐻

-Please take it (please) it would mean the world to him

-Oh man

-Haechan

-Immediately dials things up to 100

-When you start flirting with him, he immediately flirts back

-But like…a million times stronger than you

-Veryyyy touchy (if you're into that)

-"Guys oh my God y/n flirted with me today”

-Literally blowing up the Dreamies group chat

-"Guys y/n made eye contact with me for 3.5 seconds today!”

Jaemin🎀

-Will take every opportunity to hold your hand from there on out once he realizes you've been flirting with him

-NA JAEMIN

-Jaemin LOVES when you flirt with him

-He will simply melt

-Like for real, Jaemin will become a giggly mess

-He's all smiles

-You compliment him? Bro is literally butter

-Will flirt back guaranteed

-"You think I'm pretty? My face must be reflecting your own beauty, love.”

-Winks a LOT

Chenle🗣

-PLEASE JUST ASK HIM OUT ALREADY

-IT IS TIME

-THE MAN THE MYTH THE LEGEND

-MY FAVOROTE GOOBER, ZHONG CHENLE

-ahem sorry anyways

-Chenle, will not know what to do at first when you flirt with him

-Accidentally makes a disgusted face at you, catching you off guard

-He's not actually disgusted, just processing what's happening

-:Wait what the hell…is Y/n flirting with me?”

-His heart beats a little faster, but he would be DAMNED if he ever let you know that

-Chenle try not to be competitive challenge: level impossible

-Once he's done processing…

-...Chenle immediately makes it into a flirting competition

-"You think I look good in this outfit? Oh yeah? Well YOU look good in every outfit so—”

-He comes off slightly aggressive in tone? But his words are super sweet??

-God I love Chenle

Jisung🎮

-Just…if you flirt with him, expect banter. Always.

-Park Jisung

-Lord

-This man

-Okay so he legit doesn't process that you're flirting with him at first

-Another one that doesn't realize what's happening

-He's just looking at you for a second before his brain registers that the way you're joking with him is, in fact, because you're interested in him

-Once he realizes, he flirts back

-Well, attempts to, that is

-Stutters a LOT

-Will pause and cover his face and smirk a little bit

-He kind of just…starts yapping?

-PLEASE JUST LISTEN TO HIM OKAY

OKAY EVERYONE

I hope you enjoyed that HEHRJQHFKSDJ

Have an amazing day, and remember, you are amazing and so so special!! 🎀💗

#nct #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream reactions

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iwantmyprizepet · 1 day ago

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𝒱𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽 ℐ𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒴𝑜𝓊 - 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 7/?

Summary: You don’t miss Agatha at all while she’s away on her business trip. Not at all. She probably didn’t miss you either…unless.

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: This was supposed to be 9k but my brain could not handle editing it. My side gardening job is starting up for the summer so I am working long hours six days a week. I am also in a cover band and we have a bunch of local gigs that are popping up. AND I’m in a wedding next month. I am drowning lol. If my updates become a little more spaced out and shorter please pleaseeee bear with me and don’t lose interest. I BEG. I appreciate all of you who show love for this. Hope you’re all doing good.

- Mich :) (If I made any mistakes please forgive me)

AO3 Previous Part

My Royal Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @ahintofchaos @morgananyx @coffeemelko @xblinkx2

/////

Sunday was an eventful day of bringing home my parents Christmas tree.

As predicted, it was it’s usual near disaster getting into the house.

My dad only had a little bit of height on me. Us fighting a ten foot tree every year was comical to say the least.

I’d beg for them to get a shorter one every time, but it never worked.

By the time we finished with lights and ornaments I was drained. Pine needles in every pocket and sap sticking everywhere.

When I got home with my own tree it was all I had to get it up the stairs and in the stand.

I lay awake thinking of Agatha, of course.

I’d obsessively checked every flight leaving airports nearby for Chicago to make sure she landed safely.

It crossed my mind to ring luxury hotels in the Chicago area. See if there was an Agatha Harkness on their guest list. The word stalker rang through my head stopping me.

I could not get the damned woman out of my head.

Monday was a cloud covered morning that brought a few inches of snow.

I decorated my tree and the small one I had got for the cafe.

I admired them for a few minutes outside after the sun set. The whole street was like a Christmas wonderland. All the holiday lights bright against the snow.

I tried not to think about how nice it would be with Agatha by my side. Huddled close in the cold outside. Her wavy hair collecting specks of snow. I thought about it too hard before I went back inside.

I was used to not seeing Agatha on my day off so it wasn’t as nagging and slow.

Tuesday on the other hand was like a snails crawl.

The snow had let up Monday night, but what fell still deterred customers. That mixed with knowing I would’t be seeing Agatha had the clock ticking backwards.

I didn’t even know when she’d be back. I didn’t think to ask. No, instead I just said okay over and over again.

It was so easy to remember our last encounter while at work.

My chest felt near caving in at the memory of our hug. How tight she held to me, every time her breath fell on my neck and god that perfume.

The shirt I had on that day still lay dirty on top of my washer. Her perfume lingered on the chest of it. I knew it was insane, but I couldn’t stop myself from smelling it since that day.

Tuesday bled into Wednesday in a dull way.

Sally tore in with her usual vigor mid day.

“Hello crew!” She jovially threw our way.

All three of us sent her a greeting back. I held up an empty cup to her as a silent question, she nodded.

“Listen, about the holiday party. Would any of you be opposed to pushing it up to next week instead of the week of Christmas? Rachel surprised us with a trip to the mountains and we leave next weekend.”

I turned to Chloe and Janice. Chloe gave a head shake and Janice shrugged unbothered.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. What day?” I replied fixing her usual drink.

“I don’t know maybe Thursday or Friday next week? Up to you guys.”  “I’d prefer Thursday if that’s okay.” Chloe chimed in absently while on her phone.

“That’s good for me.” Janice said from the window.

I turned to Sally and handed her the drink. “Thursday then?”  She gave two thumbs up with a wide smile. I laughed leaning on the counter.

We always had an annual Christmas party on the strip. Chloe brought Brooks, Janice sometimes would have her husband or kids come. Sally’s husband and daughter, Ben and Rachel usually came too.

We invited Dennis every year, but he never showed up.

Then there was Edgar and his crew, Anne and Greg from the antique shop and Lilly with her employees from the little trinket store.

We did a yankee swap, fifty dollar limit and everyone brought a food dish.

It was the easiest to do it in the cafe so that’s where it ended up every year.

“Alright, we’ll do it after closing how’s around five sound?” I suggested.

“I’ll get the word out.” Sally said sliding over a five. “You should invite your new friend.”

She seemed to try to ease it out casually. A giddiness lingered behind her words that gave her away.

“Sorry?” I asked playing dumb even though I knew who she was talking about.

“Miss. Maserati, she’s here quite often lately.” Sally said nearly bubbling over with each word.

I rolled my eyes and turned a glare to Chloe. Her face also gave her away instantly.

“By any chance has this one aided in your knowledge of, as you put it Miss Maserati?” I turned my glare on Chloe back to Sally.

Chloe snorted and Sally held her hands up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just an observation.” Sally played innocent picking up her coffee cup.

“Lies.” Broke out from Janice. “These two are like gossip girls about you when you’re not around.”

I gasped deepening my glare on the two.

“Janice!” Chloe scolded earning a chuckle from her.

“That’s my cue, bye ladies.” Sally called already out the door.

It was all a playful exchange, though I was a tad annoyed at it.

“At least I know someone tells me the truth around here.” I said shooting a wink to Janice who in turn gave me thumbs up.

“Oh, shut up.” Chloe laughed shoving my shoulder. “You should invite her though.”

I shook my head as I turned to walk away. “We’ll see about that. I’m taking five.”

“Yeah, yeah just walk away.” A towel hit my back right before I made it to the door.

——————————————————————————

I found myself plagued by the idea of inviting her now.

It wasn’t like it was some serious thing. Just a casual party with friends.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that everyone else always had someone to invite but I never did.

I decided by Thursday night I’d invite her. If she said no it would be fine. If she came it would be fine. No big deal either way.

I really had hope she’d come breezing in on Friday. When I flicked the open sign off, I felt a bit dejected.

All week every time the bell chimed my head shot to the door. It was never her.

It was my own fault. If I had just asked when she’d be back specifically, this wouldn’t be a problem. On the edge of my seat like a schoolgirl waiting to see their crush.

I set off for the grocery store after work. It wasn’t too busy surprisingly. I took the long way home to drive around and see the Christmas lights around town.

When the cafe came back into view, my heart nearly leapt into my throat.

Parked right in front was the owner of my thoughts. Agatha Harkness.

I pulled into my parking spot on the side of the building.

She still sat in her car as I got out of mine. I wondered if she’d even seen me pull up.

I was second guessing if it was even her, even though I had memorized her license plate.

I heard her door shut behind me as I pulled the groceries from my trunk.

My heart and stomach were fluttering something awful.

I closed my trunk and placed the two paper bags on top.

Turning around, she was already halfway up the drive smiling. She wore a loose cream suit, slightly darker turtleneck underneath. A big gold earring stood out in front of the hair tucked behind her left ear, which as usual, was perfect and wavy. A gold necklace lay against the collar of her shirt.

I on the other hand wore jeans and a t shirt under a jacket. Dreadfully dull next to her.

“Hey, you.” I greeted leaning back on my car, arms crossed.

I was trying extremely hard to play it cool.

“Hey, yourself.” She greeted back in that low voice of hers.

I had to stop myself from letting out a groan. I wanted to climb into her arms and not let go. I missed her so much. Again, I found myself holding back saying it.

She stopped just a foot in front of me. 

“I was ready to leave. I wasn’t sure if or when you’d be back.”  I wanted to reply, well if you’d asked for my number this wouldn’t be a problem would it, but I didn’t.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” A much easier statement.

Her smirk sharpened her eyes. “I landed late last night, but I had a dreadful meeting that lasted far too long today.”

I nodded shifting on my feet. “I was just about to start dinner. Would you like to stay?”

Her smile grew and she nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Why don’t you pull in behind me. People drive like ass holes after dark on the street. Wouldn’t want you to lose a mirror.” I suggested it casually.

Really I just wanted a minute to make sure my place wasn’t too out of shape. It wasn’t a lie though. Kids treated it like a drag strip at night.

“Okay.”

Something in the look she shot me had me thinking she knew.

“I’ll leave the door open.” I called to her after she turned.

I made my way upstairs as calmly as I could.

Luckily I had just done a good clean Monday. I spritzed a room spray and folded the blanket at the bottom of my bed.

The sound of her car door closing jolted me.

Shooting to the bathroom I looked over myself, my hair felt messy from the wind. I felt incredibly bland looking today. I did the best I could to straighten out my hair and popped back out just as she walked in.

It felt just as surreal as the first time seeing her in my house.

“Hi.” I breathed out on a smile.

“Hi.” She laughed lightly dropping her purse on the table near the door.

It was so effortless. Like she’d done it a thousand times.

I started taking the groceries out of the bags.

“What’s on the menu tonight, chef?” Agatha asked stepping into the open kitchen.

“Oh, just a quick gnocchi dish. I hope that’s okay.” I replied walking an armful of groceries to the fridge.

“Perfect.”

My nerves started to grow by the second. She eyed me the entire time I put everything away.

Her scent seemed extra potent today. I wanted to float on it into her arms.

After placing everything I’d need for the recipe near the stove I turned and walked to her.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?”

I stopped myself just a few inches from her. I almost didn’t stop.

She nodded on top of one of her dangerous Agatha looks. Dangerous in the way it had me in danger of doing something stupid like kissing her.

“Red or white?” I asked walking over to the bottles.

“White.”

I turned the record player on and placed the needle to the vinyl that already lay there.

Hozier’s Wasteland, Baby.

I realized upon looking at my wine selection, most of it was probably below par for what she was used to.

I decided on the forty dollar bottle I picked up a few months ago. I’d been saving it for a special occasion and well, it certainly was.

I popped the cork and grabbed two glasses pouring a good amount in both.   I turned with both glasses and nearly bumped into her. I don’t even know how she’d gotten right behind me so quietly.

My chest ached to fall into her. I was starting to lose track of how often that was happening.

I held her glass up and she took it, warm hand sliding over my own.

“Cheers.” I said quietly holding my glass up.

“Cheers.”

Our glasses clinked, eyes locked as we took a sip. I broke away walking past her back to the kitchen.

It didn’t take long to finish cooking.

Agatha sat on a stool at the island after I told her three times I didn’t need help. Her being close while I cooked wouldn’t help us eat any faster.

Conversation flowed so easily. Anytime there was a silence it was comfortable.

Agatha poured us another glass of wine while I plated the food.

She even made eating look elegant. I had to keep reminding myself to eat my own food and not stare at her. Agatha complimented the dish up and down heating my face slightly.

She tried to clean the dishes but I scolded her away.

“I’ll do them later go sit down.” I said nudging her.

She held her hands up with a laugh and made her way over to sit on the couch.

I followed behind her contemplating my move. Should I sit on the opposite end? Maybe just sit on the chair instead.

Her bold decision to sit on the middle cushion of the couch made up my mind for me.

As I sat to the side of her, she turned towards me tucking her knees up just on the edge of my lap. Her elbow fell to the back of the couch propping her head up.   We eyed each other, Shrike softly playing in the background. Her eyelids seemed to be growing heavier.

I reached out running my finger under her necklace. It felt like I had permission to do it now after the last time.

“You look tired.”

She made a soft hum in response between a smile and closed her eyes.

“I do need to go. I’m stalling.” She admitted quietly, eyes opening again.

I let out a low sigh and mirrored her resting my head on my hand.

“Oh, that reminds me.” She stood suddenly walking to the door. “The souvenir I promised you.”

I laughed watching her rifle through her purse. She turned holding a long black box causing my face to drop. She remained smirking walking back to me.

After sitting down she held it out for me to take. It took me a second, but I eventually did.

Slowly, I opened the box and was met with the sight of a silver chain. I wasn’t positive on the price, but I knew it was more than every piece of jewelry I’d ever owned put together. It looked diamond cut, shimmering and fucking gorgeous.

“I noticed the rings you always wear are silver. I figured you’d prefer this to gold.” She broke the long silence. “Well, technically it’s white gold but all the same.”  I shook my head and closed the box.

“Agatha.” I looked up to her feeling uneasy. “Souvenirs are supposed to be tacky little things from an airport. This is not a souvenir. I can’t take this.”

I was exasperated trying to get her to take it back.

She let out a loud laugh throwing her head back. “That’s just what people do last minute when they haven’t thought about you for a minute while away.”

I swallowed hard under her blue gaze.

She continued on my silence. “I in fact did think of you, often.”

The buzzing in my chest felt near explosive.

“It’s too much. I can’t take it. I don’t even wear jewelry often. Just the rings.” I held it back to her. “Resell it or keep it or give it to someone else maybe I don’t know.” 

It was all rushed out a stutter coming out here and there.

I had a hard time accepting gifts in general from anyone. Never mind a random gift like this from her.

She let out a long sigh and grabbed the box

“Listen.” She said it softly but it was very much so a command. “I got this specifically for you.” A pause as she opened the box and removed the chain. “I won’t be reselling it or giving it away and I don’t need it.”

She stood unclasping the chain.

“Agatha.” It came out in a pathetic way.

Her hand touched the side of my neck to brush my hair to one side.

I could barely breath, still as stone.

She slid the chain around, both hands at the back of my neck fastening it. A chill shot down my neck dispersing electric through out.

“There we go.” She said just above a whisper moving my hair back.

She shuffled, standing right in front of and above me looking down. Her hand reached out, fingers snaking under the front of the chain. Just like I’d done to her a handful of times now. Her fingers moved back and forth, knuckles pressing to my chest.

My heart was hammering as I looked up at her. Her lips pursed with a smile as she pulled away.

God, it was like I was being forced to think of nothing but kissing her.

“I should go.” She turned on her heel.

I shot up, jewelry box falling to the ground as I moved quickly causing her to turn back.

I slammed into her wrapping my arms around her shoulders tight. She followed suit arms wrapping around my waist just as hard.

“I missed you.” The words I’d been wanting to say since she left, finally slipping out in a whisper.

Her voice was just shy of my ear. “It’s quite mutual, darling.”

My heart pounded under my chest. A few moments passed around our warm embrace before she pulled back.

“I really should go.” She said under hooded eyes.

I placed my hands on either shoulder and nodded.

Slowly she dragged her hands from my back, to the sides of my waist and let go. I forced mine from her shoulders and she turned towards the door.

“Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.” She said as she slipped her purse on.

I nodded with a smile as I walked over to her. “My pleasure. Thank you for the as you call it, souvenir.” I added a bit of sarcasm on the last word.

She laughed head tilting down.

I clasped my hands behind my back, halting them from tugging her in for another hug.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

I wanted to say here take my number and let me know when you get home safe, but I didn’t.

She pushed through the door and disappeared down the stairs.

I watched on from above until her tail lights disappeared.

The voice in my head still nagged that there was no way she felt something for me. Me of all people in the world.

For the first time though, there was a little glimmer in the corner that thought…maybe.

——————————————————————————

Saturday came and again I was left wondering if or when I’d see her. She really did have all the power in so many ways.

I clipped the chain around my neck this morning as I got ready. I stared in the mirror debating how to wear it. I’d never liked the way I looked in a necklace.

I ultimately decided to tuck it under my shirt. Despite it being visibly hidden, the weight of it was on my mind all day.

I planned to ask her to come to the holiday party today if I saw her. My nerves were haywire thinking about it.

First order of business would be another hug. It was becoming addictive being wrapped in her arms. Which was concerning considering it’d only happened twice.

She pulled up minutes before closing.

Instead of staying on the street, she backed up into the empty space behind my car. I tried to tame the smile it left on my face with no avail.

I figured she was waiting outside after a few minutes passed.

After closing up I locked the door, turned and rounded the building.

Her car still ran as she sat in it on the phone. The annoyance she wore on her face melted away into a smile when she saw me. My own instantly chased after hers.

She rolled her window down as I approached the car.

“Hold for a minute.” She barked at whoever was on the phone.

She silenced her end of the line before turning to me.

“Sorry, this is just going to be a few minutes more.” Her arm lay on the open window as she leaned out of it slightly to meet my gaze.

Smiling down to her I gathered up some confidence.

Reaching my hand out, I placed it gently over her arm and ran my thumb back and forth. I could feel the muscles tense underneath my palm. Her fingers applied a pressure to the door, veins showing clearer.

“No worries. Doors unlocked.”

I turned on my heel and walked away heading for the stairs not waiting for an answer. She was silent for a few seconds before her window began rolling up and she continued her phone call.

I quickly lit my favorite candle when I got inside. I freshened up and threw on a new shirt. With a quick swipe of deodorant and a small spritz of perfume, I sat on the couch.

I was going for laid back and chill. Not at all excited for her to walk through the door.

When she did I instantly ruined it by standing and walking over to her.

She stood at the door after shutting it behind her as I walked over.

“I didn’t know if you were busy tonight. I can leave if you have plans.”

There was no possibility she was nervous. The idea that I could make someone like her nervous was just not possible.

If it was at all plausible though, she certainly seemed like she could be a touch nervous.

I felt a smirk of my own fall on her as I stopped just a foot ahead of her.

“No plans.” I held myself back from yelling about phone numbers again. All of this guessing and not knowing was such a waste of time.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. I don’t know why.

“Good.” Her usual control slipped back as she placed her purse on the table. Just as she had last night.

Her gentle eyes lured me in to tick off the list in my head. Hug and invite in that order.

I changed it up this time around and did something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

Finally, I let my head fall into the top of her chest and wrapped my arms under her own.

Her arms responded instantly wrapping around me firmly. Her cheek fell against the top of my head and I couldn’t help the way I nuzzled closer to her with a content sigh.

It could have been a shiver I felt ripple down the back of her neck, but I doubt it was.

The fingers that held a special place in my head started skating softly across my back.

I swallowed a noise that almost rushed out. An indecent noise.

“How was your day, darling?” She asked softly, fingers still running against my back.

“Just another day. Nothing bad, nothing worth doing a backflip over.”   I was careful of every syllable that came out, worried I’d let a groan slip from the feelings she was tracing into me.

She laughed lightly.

“How was yours?”

“Annoying.” Her sharp tone changed for the next two words. “Better now.”

It felt unhealthy the flips she was regularly making my heart do.

Reluctantly I pulled away and walked to the couch gesturing her to follow.

I sat in the same spot as last night hoping she’d do the same. She did.

“I’m buying dinner.” She turned to me after the statement. “What are you in the mood for?”

I shrugged as she pressed her leg further into mine.   “I’m up for whatever.”

 “So, escargot and caviar?”

I figured it was just to tease, but I couldn’t help the disgust it scrunched on my face.

Agatha laughed and got up walking over to her purse. When she turned back I nearly flatlined.

A pair of glasses rest on the bridge of her nose now as she scrolled on her phone. I forced my jaw to close as she walked over.

She sat back down next to me completely unaware of the toll it was taking on me.

Her left leg crossed over her right, the back of her calf now resting across my knees. My eyes traveled down her leg and back up to her face.

Her gaze remained on her phone.

I found myself struggling to breathe. My fingers flexed and tensed wanting to reach out and touch her. I felt trapped behind her leg and I didn’t mind.

I knew it was probably likely she could see me staring out of her peripheral. At the very least she could certainly feel my fiery gaze on her.

The glasses were all I could focus on. They were plain and simply, so fucking hot.

“There.” She said locking her phone.

Her eyes dragged up to mine as I was trying to reel it in. She stilled upon meeting my eyes, head dropping as her fingers pushed the glasses farther down her nose.

It was perfectly evil the grin that took over her face.

She knew.

There was no way she didn’t know.

She brushed her leg against my knees. “Everything okay?” 

Oh my god she definitely knew. The way she asked the question sealed it. Still I had to try and pull myself out of it.

I cleared my throat still unable to take my eyes off of her dropped gaze.

“Yes. I’m fine.” It was the most unconvincing thing I’ve ever said in my life.

She nodded, smirk unchanging if not deepening.

“Okay.” She removed her glasses, hands tucking the arms in and resting in her lap. “Food will be here shortly.”

My eyebrows pinched in. “Did you actually get snails?”

She laughed again head falling to the back of the couch. The vein on the side of her neck was poking out.

“No, don’t worry.”

She rolled her head on the couch to gaze at me.

She was just fucking perfect.

Her hand reached over to me stilling my heart. Her finger snuck behind my neck and under the back of the chain she gave me. Her pointer rolled underneath the necklace and over my skin untucking it from my shirt.

“Here I was thinking you didn’t have it on.” She said it low, head still on the back of the couch.

I looked down as her hand fell back to her lap.

“Yeah, I just tucked it under. I’ve always thought jewelry looked weird on me.” I admitted honestly with a chuckle.

“It doesn’t.” She looked at me like, well how I imagine I look at her sometimes.

I nodded feeling a blush creep in forcing me to look away.

Her leg still lay over both of mine, pressed into them warmly. After a brain breaking hesitation, I reached out resting my right hand over her knee.

I didn’t look over to her, but she didn’t seem to protest it. I brushed my thumb on the top of her knee cap. Adrenaline rushed so fast underneath my skin it was dizzying.

Wordlessly I felt her shift next to me. In a blink her head fell to my shoulder. It spurred me on to squeeze her knee gently. A sharp breath pushed off her lips across my neck.

We sat in the silent unspoken until the delivery came. She pulled away slowly when the door bell rang.

I stood up as she answered the door. Answered the door at my house, like it was totally normal.

I reminded myself I needed to ask her to the party as I watched her. She had a very perfect way of distracting me.

To my surprise she turned away from the now closed door with a pizza box.

“What can I get you to drink?” I asked her as she carried the takeout to the table.

“I could go for a glass of red tonight, if you have any.”

I puffed out some air and walked over to the wooden hutch I kept my liquor on.

“The bottle from last night was definitely the most expensive I had. Might be a downgrade from that.” I admitted grabbing my personal favorite cabernet.

“I might have mentioned that I’m not picky.” She was closer now. “I’ll even take boxed if that’s all you have.”

I laughed popping the cork. “I’m usually not that bad.”

Her hand pressed to my back, now hovering next to me as I poured two glasses. The wine pour turned a bit sloppy. She didn’t comment on it.

“For you.” I held out her glass turning into her.

“Thank you.” She grabbed it and turned dropping her hand from my back.

“So…pizza.” I said walking over to the table.

She hummed smiling as she sat. “I tried this for the first time a year ago and I’ve been hooked. The ingredients change with the seasons.”

“Cool.” I shook my head. Cool? What the fuck kind of response is that.

I sat down next to her at the table as she held her glass up.

“Cheers.”

I smiled at her and clinked my glass into hers. “Cheers.”

After a sip I took a bite of the pizza and yep. It was easily the best pizza I’d ever had.

The invite to the party nagged in the back of my head as we ate.

We finished up and moved back to the couch. I decided to ask her quick in case she decided to do something like put her leg on mine again.

“Hey.” I fiddled with the throw on the back of the couch. “I have a question.”

“Okay.”

I looked up to her patient eyes.

“So every year we uhm, we have a holiday party. Everyone that has a business on the strip get’s invited.” I cleared my throat trying to stop my leg from bobbing. “It’s just a casual thing. Everyone brings some friends and family. We have it downstairs after closing. Just was wondering if you’d want to come?”

I turned back to her having looked away halfway through my spiel. Her silence and unreadable expression had me spewing words out again.

“You can say no obviously. You won’t like hurt my feelings or anything, it’s okay. It’s also this Thursday which I know is last minute. We do a gift swap. Fifty dollar limit. So if you wanted you’d have to get a gift which I still have to get mine. We’ll have food too. Everyone brings food so you could eat? It’s fine though if you don’t want to go. I know you’re busy and maybe hate the holidays so it’s okay.” 

A shushing sound eased out of her mouth. I froze remembering the dream in which she did exactly that.

“I’d love to go.” Her leg fell over mine again as she said it.

It took far too long for my brain to process what she said. “Oh. Good.” I nodded when I finally caught up.

“What time on Thursday?”

“Five, an hour after closing.”

She pushed in a little closer, head leaning on the back of the couch again. Her scent and warmth tucking around my senses.

“Maybe I’ll have to come early. Help get everything ready.”

I smiled, heart hammering as I nodded.

Reaching her hand up towards me, she rested her hand to my cheek. My eyes fluttered for just a second as I pushed into it. Her thumb brushed back and forth.

I tried to remain calm as she watched me. I knew I looked completely swept away to her touch.

Her eyelids blinked heavy and slow as she held my gaze. She pulled away, swiping the side of her pointer finger down the bridge of my nose.

I felt on fire.

“I should go.”

I nodded afraid my words would betray me. I wanted to beg her to stay just a little longer.

She stood and I followed. She surprised me at the door and pulled me in for another hug.

Her right arm strapped across my shoulders as her left hand held the back of my head. I let her hold me up as I sunk into and round her.

“I’ve got a bit of a busy week. I might not be around that often.” As she said it I held her tighter. She continued. “I might not see you until the party.”

My chest ached at the idea of it.

The hand pressed to the back of my head moved, trailing her nails from the side of my scalp to the back gently.

It was barely there. Almost just an excessive breath, but it pulled some sort of noise out of me. I couldn’t fight it and the both of us paused any movement after it. I was glad my face was hidden in her shoulder from how hot it was getting.

To my relief, after a brief few seconds she did it again pulling me tighter across my shoulders.

Agatha Harkness was going to be the death of me.

Daringly, I dragged my right hand up to the back of her head and trailed my fingers up and down softly through her hair. The hum she let out was long and low. My stomach tensed at the warmth it shot through me.

She pulled back abruptly leaving me chasing her as she backed away.

She reached up and grabbed my chin between her finger and thumb.  The grin she wore was diabolical, shooting right through my entire body. She brushed my chin with her thumb before dropping it and turning to grab her bag.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just watched as she prepared to leave.

My thoughts were clawing to break free as I remained silent. I wanted to kiss her right up against the wall. Drag her to my bed just several feet away. Feel her skin under mine. I held back a noise of protest as she opened the door.

“Goodnight, darling.” She said it over her shoulder.

“Night.” I mumbled out staring foolishly.

A knowing look rest on her face as I fought to try and say something more. She let out a breathy laugh and walked out shutting the door behind her.

I felt a wave of embarrassment letting her see how much she broke my brain.

I watched her as she pulled out of the driveway.

I’d hoped I would see her before the party. If anything just to redeem a little of my dignity.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha x you #soft agatha #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness x reader

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zepskies · 16 minutes ago

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God, I just love these chapter titles! So perfect for each one! 😆💛

Ben’s brow shot up, coughing out a cloud of smoke. “She’s in the furnace?” “Checking my work,” the engineer added with bitterness in his voice. Ben bit back a snort. “Why the fuck would you let her crawl in there?” “Sir, all due respect, but she ain’t listening to me, and I hate arguing with her,” Fred told him bluntly.

lmfao I already love this opening. She too smart to take one iota of shit from men, and it's a joy to watch 😂

For two weeks, Ben had taken you out now every night, playing tour guide around Philadelphia and showing you everything the city (and 1942) had to offer.

This is so cute!! That's the first thing I picture when I think of a 1940s "date." But reading about all of their other dates, big and small, was like getting a deep dive into '40s culture and Philadelphia history, complete with "jitterbugging." 💗

And seeing the progression of how her powers are slowly coming back on line is both so interesting and a great narrative element for the pacing of all this.

The click was your ability to fast forward, backward, pause and play. Like the movie with Adam Sandler! Get it?

Absolutely got this one! 😂 This aspect of her powers matches so well with her mischievous "Puck" nature lolll

(Though she strikes me as too classy for this^, you get my point lmao)

Anyway, you’d frozen Homelander long enough for Soldier Boy to charge up, your nose had started bleeding, your brain had almost exploded, you’d landed in a coma for three days afterward, and that was that. Never had tried doing it again since. That had been some scary shit.

Oooh shit, no wonder she lost her "click" for a while, poor thing. 😰 I wonder how worried Ben was during her coma, since he already remembered her and tried to get her out of the final showdown with Homelander. ❤️‍🩹

Thinking about them made you realize how much they would surely judge you for your actions here. Shit. Honestly, that only made you want to avoid home even more.

lmfaoo honestly so valid. They'd judge her sooooo hard 😅😅 (though I love Frenchie's imagined reaction the most LOL)

On the other hand, you missed parts of your old life – your friends, your own clothes, your own space. Worst of all, your memories of the future began to fade a little more each day.

This is such an interesting side effect of being so long in the past where she "isn't meant to be." I wonder if that resolves once she returns to the future and spends enough time there, or are those memories just gradually wiped like an Etch a Sketch? 🥲

Spread your wings, little butterfly, and cause a hurricane!

Ah yes, the Butterfly Effect! If only we had Jeff Goldblum to explain it to us 😂

JK, the reader needs no man to explain science to her. 😌

“Oh, big mistake, sweetheart.” With a mischievous grin, he placed his hands on your waist and pulled you flush against his strong and firm body, instantly conquering your mouth with a searing kiss. Ben always kissed you like there was no fucking tomorrow. No future, no past, no doubts, no regrets. Just you and him caught in a moment.

And this is right about where my brain fizzed out and melted 🫠🫠🫠

The way Ben kisses (aside from his other talents) is probably why he gets so many women hooked on his charms lol. I absolutely love how you wrote this first really romantic/smutty scene between them. 💛 My favorite smut is the teasing and the banter leading into the sensuous and sexy, which this absolutely nails (pardon the pun lmao) ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

But this part right here is where I malfunctioned, of course on this beautifully poetic line:

You found the magic word, and two perfectly thick and long fingers breached your entrance just like that and delivered you from your misery but added to your sins. You sang his name in fucking relief.

Weren’t you conning him a little? He didn’t know who you were or where you came from despite trying to warn him as much as you could. You didn’t want anything from him – not his money, not his secrets, not his death. You didn’t even know why you were doing this – why the fuck you were still entertaining this charade! Your insides were full of butterflies and bees these days.

Goddamn it, why'd you have to remind me of this??! lmao

"Butterflies and bees" is such a subtle but brilliant way to describe it -- lovely butterflies, warm feelings of falling in love, but the sting of knowing you shouldn't. 😭

But Ben gave you a kind smile in return, his features softening with something deeper than the playful attitude. “That’s okay. There’s no rush, sweetheart. You’re worth waiting for.”

*cryingcryingcrying*

She's losing her memory and living a lie, but it's ok, she built him a projector and gave him his first genuine gift ever. It's ok. 🫠🩵🩵

Also, I really feel bad for Ben on this side of things. He's starting to get clues that there's something off with her, can't figure out why she still doesn't trust him entirely, even though he's giving all he has of his heart to her. ❤️‍🩹

And now with that ominous cliffhanger of the parents arriving, you really get the sense that this is the real point of no return...

Time After Time – Chapter 6

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language and smut, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, FLUFF, a bit of an angsty cliffhanger

Word Count: 6.8k

Posted on Patreon April 4, 2025

A/N: And here comes the smut (at least the beginning stages of it). Ben might not know a lot about economics, but he clearly knows his way around the ladies 😜 ✨ Chapter title comes from The Maltese Falcon (1941)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 6: I Don't Mind a Reasonable Amount of Trouble

Ben checked the big clock on the wall of his office and sighed. Of course you were late again, probably lost somewhere between math equations and arguing with Fred.

He treaded down to the factory floor, finding Fred with his hands on his hips and a grim expression on his face, standing idly by the furnace they were currently upgrading. Ben’s brow knitted when he couldn’t find you anywhere near, however. He told Fred to fucking watch you. What was so hard about that?

“Where’s our little physicist?” Ben prompted, glaring the engineer down as he lit a cigarette.

Fred swallowed nervously and nodded toward the furnace. “In there, sir.”

Ben’s brow shot up, coughing out a cloud of smoke. “She’s in the furnace?”

“Checking my work,” the engineer added with bitterness in his voice.

Ben bit back a snort. “Why the fuck would you let her crawl in there?”

“Sir, all due respect, but she ain’t listening to me, and I hate arguing with her,” Fred told him bluntly.

Fair enough, Ben thought. He hated arguing with you, too. There was never any winning. He was still wondering how you fucking did that.

“I can hear you guys, by the way! This thing isn’t soundproof,” your amused voice echoed out of the furnace in sing-song.

“Sweetheart, you okay in there?” Ben checked, leaning a little closer to the opening to peek inside.

But you jumped out at that very same second, letting Ben help you out when he offered you his hand. You dusted off your clothes with a smile, your skin covered slightly with ash.

Ben eyed your outfit, tilting his head. “Why are you wearing overalls?”

“Oh, Fred lent them to me. Didn’t want Ms. Vivian to yell at me for getting my dress dirty,” you replied, giggling.

Ben chuckled and then gestured toward the furnace. “How’s it coming along?”

“Good! I think we can throw it on tomorrow and test it before we move onto the next one. Fred has done a great job these last two weeks,” you reported happily, and Ben could audibly hear the engineer pass a breath of relief upon your praise.

“Perfect!” Ben smiled warmly and tucked a strand of wild hair behind your ear. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me change and wash up first,” you told him, returning his smile with blushing cheeks.

“Where are you taking her this evening, sir?” Fred asked curiously.

“Oh, he’s taking me to the pictures tonight.” You grinned excitedly.

For two weeks, Ben had taken you out now every night, playing tour guide around Philadelphia and showing you everything the city (and 1942) had to offer.

For your first date, he’d chosen an intimate and charming French restaurant, which had led you to chat with the waiters in French all night. Ben hadn’t minded as much since you’d been smiling brightly the whole time and everything you’d said had sounded incredibly sexy.

The next night, he’d taken you to the restaurant at the top of the Six Towers Building, offering the most stunning views of the city. When the two of you had watched the starry night sky, you’d told him all about planets and universal theories that he couldn’t possibly understand, either. But again, you’d been smiling all the way through, and so had he.

The following nights, the two of you then had explored Philadelphia’s vibrant nightlife, which definitely had been more Ben’s area of expertise. He’d taken you to two night clubs and two jazz clubs, enjoying live music the whole night before Ray had to pick the two of you up in the early morning hours.

Ben had also taught you how to swing dance and explained jitterbugging in great detail to you. As far as you’d understood it, it was the twerking of the 1940s.

Another night, he’d taken you to the Philadelphia Opera House for a musical (Gershwin’s Of Thee I Sing) before the two of you had gone ice-skating together.

Then there had been the daylight dates: He’d taken you to the Philadelphia zoo, to something called a soda fountain (and no, to your disappointment, there hadn’t been a giant fountain spewing soda), and to the Museum of Art.

Some days, you’d come to work with him and annoy Fred, while others you’d stay home and either tinker in the shed or play piano in the drawing room. You hadn’t played properly in ages and were getting really good. So far, you’d perfected Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Want to Have Fun to air out your frustrations about this period’s blatant sexism and some All Through the Night to calm yourself again.

Moreover, you did a little more than just tinkering in George’s shed and were trying to overcome your blockage and get your powers working again.

And you’d even made some progress. Eureka!

While the memory bank, which was what you called the weird part of your ability that let you see little glimpses throughout time, worked just fine (much to your dismay), you hadn’t been able to click since that night you all took down Homelander.

The click was your ability to fast forward, backward, pause and play. Like the movie with Adam Sandler! Get it?

Yup, Homelander had fought tooth and nail against your little spell, and you still had no fucking clue how he’d done it. You’d easily done it to Be–

Soldier Boy! Fuck. You’d easily done it to Soldier Boy all the time till he had started watching clocks around you like an eagle and be pissed as fuck whenever he’d realize an hour had suddenly passed (and then you’d started to pause the clocks in whatever room he was in, too).

To be fair, most of those times had been due to the relentless begging of Butcher and Hughie.

Butcher with a “Oi, can you make the cunt shut up for a second? I’m trying to bloody think ‘ere.” And Hughie with a “Please, make him stop. I need-, like, I just need a ten minute break from this gross piece of shit.”

Thinking about them made you realize how much they would surely judge you for your actions here. Shit. Honestly, that only made you want to avoid home even more.

You hated facing consequences, which was a bummer with an ability like yours.

Butcher would probably tell you he was disappointed in you, mostly for not killing Ben in the most brutal and messiest way possible. Then, he’d tease you for the rest of his cancer-ridden life about you throwing out your morals for good cock (which you hadn’t even done!).

Both Hughie and MM would look at you full of disgust and confusion, repeatedly asking why. Frenchie would say something along the lines of: “Mon cœur, pourquoi n'as-tu pas dit que tu avais besoin d'une bite ? Je te l'aurais proposée. C'est ce que font les amis.”

Why didn’t you say you needed some dick? I would’ve offered. That’s what friends do.

Then there would’ve been the girls. Annie and Maeve would’ve questioned your sanity and, after more wine, asked you if it had been the huge cock that eventually convinced you, to which Kimiko would’ve leaned in and proceeded to gesture different length variations with her hands till you would’ve picked one.

And no, you hadn’t slept with Ben yet.

He kissed you and touched you and held your hand, but he never pressured you or pushed you to do more. It was all PG-13 and above the waist. Ben was the perfect gentleman.

Honestly, no one was more baffled by that than you.

The problem was, however, Ben could be the nicest, sweetest, and kindest person on the planet, more innocent than little Hughie, and you’d still have a hard time fully trusting him with your heart.

But you tried not to let it affect you, to judge him preemptively, although the nightmarish memories of his dirty deeds were still plaguing you every goddamn night. They never stopped, and you weren’t sure they ever could, considering the sheer body count Soldier Boy had left in his wake during his reign of terror.

On one hand, you loved your somewhat quiet time in Philadelphia. People were different and life was different. No one was stuck to their phone all day, no one really had a fear of missing out or cared about their social media following, no one was obsessed with binge-watching trashy reality TV shows, and the extensive consumerism took a backseat altogether.

Even with a war going on, life ran at a more peaceful, unhurried pace. You sort of even began to understand some of Soldier Boy’s grievances with the 21st century. You’d always thought he had exaggerated, but he really hadn’t.

On the other hand, you missed parts of your old life – your friends, your own clothes, your own space. Worst of all, your memories of the future began to fade a little more each day.

You couldn’t remember Annie’s birthday, Hughie’s last name, Butcher’s first name, Fenchie’s face… What the fuck does MM stand for? Kimiko was from… You wanna say Vietnam? Japan? No… Fuck!

This wasn’t good by any means. You should start writing down what you could remember to read it whenever you’d forget.

Your theory regarding this particular problem was that the timeline was starting to reshape and rewrite itself. The longer you stayed in the past, the bigger the changes in the future had to be.

Spread your wings, little butterfly, and cause a hurricane!

Your fading memories were the reason why you still were trying to get yourself fully powered up again. You at least needed a Plan B, an exit strategy, a goddamn insurance policy in case things went south.

So far, you could throw an object into the air and pause it and freeze staff members around the house, even two at a time.

The click was back.

It was your remote control, while the memory bank was your Google (although a lot more graphic – memory-searching someone’s birthday brought you right to a baby’s head crowning through a vagina).

But hey, everyone’s superpower had its downsides. At least you didn’t have to time travel butt-naked.

You had the memory bank, you had the click, and now all there was left for you to find were your ruby slippers.

While you didn’t necessarily hate your life here – far from it even – a part of you missed your independence and despised the societal norms of the time. Feminism was basically considered sailor talk.

But Ben tried to never make you feel like less, even when he’d slip from time to time. You couldn’t really fault him for that. He was just doing and saying what he was raised to do – what everyone around you was raised to do.

However, he slowly began to respect you and your opinions, taking your advice more often than not. He fucking tried, and you could tell, even when he never said too much. He also never missed a beat to back you up whenever Fred or anyone else dared to doubt you.

“Oh, how nice! What are you two going to watch?” Fred asked, and you knew he was only all too eager to get rid of you again. He probably cursed Ben in his sleep for ever bringing you to the mill.

“We’re doing a double feature at the Boyd,” Ben replied.

“Yes! We’re seeing The Lady Eve first and then The Maltese Falcon,” you added with a big grin. You’d really been looking forward to visiting an old school movie theater. Who wouldn’t be?

Ben chuckled warmly and rubbed your back. “And as you can see, she’s apparently very excited. It’s almost like she’s never been to a theater before.”

Recently, Ben had started to tease you whenever you got too exuberant about a 1940s thing (not that he was aware you called them that). But it was sometimes hard to fully hide your enthusiasm once your geek brain lit up like a Christmas tree.

1942 had its pros and cons, its ups and downs, but you tried to adjust as best as you could, getting used to the idea of staying here for good.

So did Ben.

After washing off the dirt and slipping back into your clothes – an emerald green silk dress with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves – you strolled cheerily into Ben’s office, where he was already waiting for you.

“Alright, I’m ready. We can leave,” you told him, the excitement swinging in both your voice and smile.

“You sure about that? Aren’t you missing something?” With an amused smile, Ben then held your pair of shoes into the air. “Found them in the furnace.”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice! However did they get there?” you feigned your innocence, shifting around on your bare feet.

Ben chuckled and sauntered over to you. “I’m sure you have not the faintest clue, sweetheart.”

“Well, cut me some slack, okay? Ms. Vivian isn’t making you wear pantyhose all day long,” you sassed, grimacing.

Ben only smirked. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t wear them.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, but I think I am.” Ben’s smirk rose higher with a devilish gleam in his green eyes.

“Fine,” you huffed playfully, accepting the challenge. “They’re coming off!”

Your fingers worked eagerly to unfasten the clips of your garter belt – and oh God, how much you hated that fucking thing – and then rolled each stocking down your legs, finally tossing them on the leather chair.

Ben always kissed you like there was no fucking tomorrow.

No future, no past, no doubts, no regrets. Just you and him caught in a moment.

He twirled you once and spun you backwards into his embrace like he’d shown you during your dance lessons, causing an eruption of giggles to spill from your throat. His breath ghosted along your skin in the nape of your neck, his broad chest pressing against your back, strong arms around you, holding you tight. His mouth trailed wet kisses along the exposed parts of your shoulder. His hands smoothed up and down your curves.

And then, they became a little more daring, a little more adventurous.

His right hand palmed a gracious amount of your ass over your dress while his left hand lingered dangerously close below your breast on your ribcage.

“And what exactly is your plan here, huh?” you incited, causing him to chuckle against your throat. It wasn’t like he’d never tried to test the boundaries before with you.

“You know, I’ve been thinking–“

“Uh-oh, that can’t be a good sign,” you quipped with a bubble of giggles.

“Are you teasing me, hm?” Ben pinched your sides where you were ticklish, laughing puckishly when you squealed and squirmed in his hold.

Needless to say, Soldier Boy wouldn’t have reacted with a tickle attack upon that comment.

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” you swore between your infectious laughter till he stopped and welcomed you back into his arms. You let yourself fall back against him. “So, what were you thinking, huh?”

“Well, I know we’re not sleeping together yet–“

“Yet? Wow, that’s some confidence you got there,” you continued to tease him.

“Yes, and completely your loss, by the way,” he retorted, spreading kisses down your neck to prove his point.

“Obviously.” You laughed softly to indulge him, but you couldn’t deny or ignore the little electric shockwaves traveling to your throbbing core. You clenched slightly, pressing your thighs a little tighter together, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But he did and smirked triumphantly against your skin.

“As I was saying,” he continued, still carrying a smirk, but his voice dropping seductively low as he nibbled a path down your throat. His hand slid from your ass to the front of your thigh – slow, deliberate, knowing – rising higher and higher with each sinful syllable that left his plump lips. “Just because we’re not doing that yet–,” you felt the sharp smugness against your pulse point, “–doesn’t mean there aren’t… other ways I can make you feel good if you want me to, sweetheart.”

You laughed it off – barely, weakly, unconvincingly. “Ben…”

But there was no ‘I can’t,’ no ‘please,’ no ‘stop.’

“Yeah?” Amused, he kissed each vertebra down your neck, your little shivers pleasing him, his knuckles dragging along your ribs over silky fabric. “Need me to convince you a little?”

His perfect fingers tiptoed up your inner thigh – a brush, soft and fleeting. You bit your lips hard, close to tasting iron. Then, those five little sins traced up under your skirt, tugged teasingly at your garter straps, and ghosted along the hem of your panties.

And you fucking whimpered.

He smiled against the back of your head. It was like an invitation. A celebration! He’d finally won an argument.

“Yeah? You want me to touch you… there, sweetheart?” he tantalized raspily into your ear, your lobe caught between sharp teeth. His fingers teased along the cotton material, never going beyond where you wanted them.

Needed them.

His other hand then slid up your ribs, up and up and up, till he palmed your tit with the same ferocious grip he’d shown your ass.

“Or here?” His knuckles only lightly rubbed over your nipple, but it peaked underneath the thin material of your dress.

“Ben…” you moaned softly, not noticing how you sunk into him more and more. You were lost.

Pleasure. Bliss. Euphoria.

“Here it is, then.” He chuckled, victorious.

Gently, slowly, tortuously, his fingers ran along the cap sleeve before letting it fall down your shoulder. And as soon as it did, his hand generously cupped your breast. Massaged, groped, and fucking squeezed.

But his thumb and forefinger did the worst damage, tweaking, rubbing, and twisting your pebble between them till you sighed his name.

“Ben…”

“Yeah?” he answered in that same smug tone, enjoying you fall apart at his every touch. “You want more?”

“Yes,” you sighed breathlessly, grinding against him, desperate to find friction goddamn anywhere.

“Beg.” His diabolical chuckle caused your whole body to vibrate and catch fire.

You felt the outlines of his hard cock press against your ass, slotting himself right between your luscious cheeks. Each roll of his hips was deliberate. Teasing. Always teasing.

Fucking bastard…

His teeth sunk into your shoulder. His hand slipped inside your panties, cupped your whole pussy before two fingers stretched out, middle and pointer, and dove between your wet folds. Dragged and rubbed over your fucking clit.

“Well, look at that,” he chuckled into your ear. He palmed your tit roughly, fingers sliding over that little bundle of screaming nerves down low in relentlessly slow and measured strokes, gathering your wetness like it were the last drops on Earth. “And here I thought I never have any effect on you…”

“Ben…”

“Ben, what?”

The heel of his palm pressed against your pelvic bone, pushing you more against the hardness straining his slacks. Each rock, each push, each roll of his against you aimed to make you feel each inch of solid, thick, long mass. Aimed to make you wonder what he’d feel like inside of you.

Aimed to make you crumble enough for him to catch you when you’d finally fall from grace.

“Ben, please…”

You found the magic word, and two perfectly thick and long fingers breached your entrance just like that and delivered you from your misery but added to your sins.

You sang his name in fucking relief.

He curled his fingers in your drenched heat, right against that deliciously throbbing spot, scratching and coaxing every drop of arousal out of you, letting it trickle into his palm as if he were fucking saving it to drink later.

“You know–,” he rasped, breath hot against your cheek, “–this is why Ms. Vivian tells you to wear a fucking bra, sweetheart.” He rolled your aching nipple between his fingertips. “So men like me don’t have easy access and take fucking advantage of it.”

You clenched around his fingers. He grinned against your jaw.

“Although, I wouldn’t have minded if you forwent the panties, sweetheart,” he continued, deep voice thick with filth. “Wouldn’t have minded at all for those guys down there to see you fucking drippin’ for me to touch you.”

A moan bled from your lips as he ploughed his fingers harder through your wrecked pussy with every letter.

He brushed your hair to one side, hand lazily moving from your breast to your throat to your jaw, lifting your gaze to find his lust-laden and filth-filled eyes.

“You’re goddamn perfect,” he murmured, smirk twitching in the corners of his lips, making you chase them but never giving in to your desire. You whimpered, and he chuckled. His thumb pressed against your clit, adding slow circles to his torturous pumps. “Can’t wait to own every little part of yours. Can’t wait to make you mine.”

In 2023, you would’ve wanted him to choke on the possessive vile spewing out of his mouth.

But here, in 1942, with his fingers deep inside you and his voice cursing your mind, you fucking shattered.

You squeezed his fingers hard with a moaning and shuddering fuck, the last part of your resolve focusing even harder on not goddamn breaking them.

Sometimes, you still forgot he wasn’t a supe yet, made out of the same steel that was created below you, and that you could actually hurt him.

With a strangled scream that drowned out the factory noise of hammering steel beams (and red fucking cheeks), you came undone and soaked his goddamn hand.

Your frame shook, muscles trembled, and knees gave in, only to be caught and saved by him.

And then, finally, when your breathless lungs had wrung for enough oxygen, when your wild heartbeats had steadied, he let you catch his lips, perfectly desperate and starved and needy.

Your hand reached to cup his face, pulling him closer, fingers tangling in his hair, tongue down his throat. Ben groaned into the kiss, wrecked and just as desperate as you.

You twisted in his embrace as his fingers dropped from your heat. You faced him, kissing him with the sole intent to rob him of air. Your lips trailed down his jaw, his throat, and the little bit of exposed skin on his chest that was visible through the first opened buttoned of his dress shirt.

He growled when your hand reached down and eagerly palmed his rock-hard cock through his pants. Your trembling fingers hurried to unbuckle his belt, wanting to return the favor, but his hands snapped to your wrists, holding them still before gently moving them away.

“Oh no, sweetheart. We’re gonna be late for the pictures.” He smirked that smug smile again and gave you a cheeky wink. Coolly and completely unbothered, he then stepped away from you and grabbed his coat, swinging it over his shoulders and closing the front to hide his massive boner. “C’mon, let’s go!”

With an amused grin, Ben lit a cigarette and waited patiently by the door for you to snap out of your stupor and take his hand.

The crisp February air hit your face, your breath coming out in little swirling clouds as you and Ben emerged from the warmth of the movie theater. The snow-covered streets of Philadelphia were hushed, the city falling asleep as the glow of streetlamps bathed the cobblestone sidewalk in amber hues.

You adjusted the collar of your coat against the chill, tucking your hands into the pockets. Ben, sensing the shiver that ran through you, pulled you a little closer, interlacing your fingers with his.

“How’d you like the movies?” he asked, smiling softly and giving a quick peck to your temple.

“I loved them! Can’t go wrong with Bogart and Fonda,” you replied with a smile that soon turned teasing. You playfully nudged his shoulder. “So, you scared yet I’m gonna pull a fast one on you like Barbara Stanwyck did to Henry Fonda?”

Ben laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “I don’t know. So far, you haven’t really been interested in my money, so I think I’m safe. ‘Sides, I’m not as easy as Fonda.”

“You sure about that? You do look a little naive and fresh-faced to me,” you quipped, grinning.

“Well, just so you know, if you’re really trying to con me… it’s working,” he joked and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling you into his arms with a fond smile and whispering a kiss onto your lips.

Your heart wildly fluttered for a beat but was swiftly slain by a sting in the same breath. Weren’t you conning him a little? He didn’t know who you were or where you came from despite trying to warn him as much as you could. You didn’t want anything from him – not his money, not his secrets, not his death. You didn’t even know why you were doing this – why the fuck you were still entertaining this charade!

Your insides were full of butterflies and bees these days.

“Oh, yeah? Guess I’m the one who’s in trouble then,” you replied with a soft smile as you got lost in the green galaxies of his eyes.

“I don’t think you have any idea how much you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, sweetheart,” Ben said and lifted your chin softly to meet his lips in a sweet, tentative kiss. An affectionate smile grazed his face as his large palm warmed your cold cheek. “But I think I know something else, too.”

“And what’s that?” You bit your lower lip, leaning in closer, your hands sliding up his chest to drape around his neck.

“I think you’re falling for your mark, sweetheart,” he replied with a quiet smile, resting his forehead on yours.

Your heart stopped, his words stunning you into silence, tears beginning to brim in your eyes that you tried to swallow down. Was that what you were doing? What kept you tethered here? Were you falling in love with him?

“Maybe, I am,” you admitted softly, watching a hint of a smile flash alive before he pulled you to his lips in a searing, wanting, claiming kiss.

“You know, if you were the Maltese Falcon–,” he said, voice rough and low, thumb stroking up and down your cheekbone, “–I’d follow you across continents just to keep you safe.”

“Hmm, I can see you as Bogart. You like to brood in the shadows as well,” you teased him, feeling the vibrations of his chuckle against your body as his words sunk in.

Was he–… No. That’s ridiculous.

“Well, I did always want to be an actor when I was younger,” he shared, laughing self-consciously.

“Really? I guess I can see that. You do have a very Hollywood look,” you entertained his idea with a warm smile. You figured it was best to breeze over his actual acting skills altogether. He had looked pretty on screen when Soldier Boy had forced his movies down your throat. “And what would you want in return for saving me, huh?”

“Well–,” he licked his lips, his hands slowly, deliberately, seductively opening your coat and slipping them inside around your waist, “–there’s still a few things I’d like to unravel about you.”

Your cheeks hurt with a smile. Oh, he was a charming devil. It was hard to deny.

“I’m not quite sure I’m ready to be unraveled yet,” you said with a coy giggle, fingers gently carding through the hair in the back of his neck like a nervous tick as your heart hammered in your ribcage.

But Ben gave you a kind smile in return, his features softening with something deeper than the playful attitude. “That’s okay. There’s no rush, sweetheart. You’re worth waiting for.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead as if he was making a vow at that moment. The night felt intimate, like it was just a world for the two of you.

And you realized then that you were truly falling head over heels in love with him, unaware that Ben was already miles ahead of you.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know that, much like the Maltese Falcon, you were only a fake – a mere illusion, too.

“Lying in my bed, I hear–” You adjusted your fingers on the ivory keys.

Em.

“–the clock tick, and I think of you,” you sang softly, holding the note.

Am.

“Caught up in circles, confusion–”

“–is nothing new...”

“Flashback, warm nights. Almost–” your fingers switched back to E minor, “–left behind.” Am. “Suitcases of memories…” F. “Time after–”

You exhaled a soft sigh, your fingers sliding from the keys with a few random notes. How did the chorus go again?

Why were you forgetting the lyrics? You knew that song by heart. Earlier, you couldn’t play Sia’s Elastic Heart either.

“If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me–” Em. “–time after time.” Am. “If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting–” F. “–time after time…”

You expelled a breath of relief. The memory fog was getting worse every day. You wondered how long you still had before not being able to remember anything at all.

“Why are you stopping?”

With a small yelp of surprise, you startled and turned to Ben, leaning against the doorframe and watching you. You didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. You hadn’t even heard him come home.

“Oh, uh, I can’t remember the rest of the song,” you replied, your cheeks blushing as you rose from the little stool to greet him, tiptoeing up to meet his lips for a sweet kiss. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Ben chuckled. “Luckily. Otherwise, I might have missed your little performance.” He winked, caressing your cheek in his palm. “The only proof I had of you actually playing so far were the bedazzling whispers of the staff. Glad I finally got to catch it, too. You have a beautiful voice, sweetheart.”

Your brow quirked unnoticeably at his last sentence. Why the hell did that sound familiar to you? It felt like déjà-vu.

“Thank you.” Your cheeks turned pink under the soft light of the crystal chandelier in the drawing room.

“What song was that? I don’t know it. Did you write that?” Ben asked curiously.

You shook your head quickly, brushing it off. “Oh no, just something I heard once somewhere…”

“Huh. I like it,” he said, and you internally sighed in relief. He then hauled a full bouquet of sunflowers from behind his back, holding them out to you with a smile. “Got something for you.”

You took the bouquet gratefully, burying your nose in the beautiful smelling flowers. You’d told him not too long ago that they were your favorite.

“For me? Thank you, uhm… Where did you even get sunflowers in winter?” You shook your head then suddenly. “You know what? Don’t answer that. It’s probably a rich people trade secret,” you muttered, making Ben snort. “What exactly are those for?”

He offered you a warm smile. “We threw on the second furnace today. The two new ones now produce ten times as much as the others. We’re gonna get that government contract, all thanks to you.”

Should you be concerned you had a hand in helping rich people get even richer?

“I’m glad it worked out,” you said instead, smiling softly.

“Fred seemed a little nervous since you hadn’t checked his work on the second one,” Ben said jokingly.

“I’m sure it was fine.” You laughed with a playful eye roll. “Oh, uhm, I actually have something for you, too!”

You hurried back to the piano and laid the bouquet down on top of it, knowing Florence would pick them up in the next five minutes, already noticing her scurry down the hall upon hearing Benjamin’s voice. Then you walked over to a long, polished side table, gesturing Ben over to you.

His brow knitted a little more with each step he took, jade green eyes focusing on the somewhat big and clunky machine propped up on it. And then, finally, he looked at you, his expression somewhere between completely bewildered and bountifully confused.

“It’s a movie projector,” you told him while Ben kept silently staring at you like you were an alien. “Because you said you liked movies? Now you can watch them at home. You just have to steal a white bedsheet out of Florence’s linen closet. And of course, you’d have to get a movie from somewhere, but I’m sure that won’t be a big problem for you. You just need to make sure it’s 35mm.”

Ben’s eyes widened; lips curled. “Where-, uhm–” He scratched the back of his neck. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, I built it,” you replied.

“‘Course you did…” Ben clicked his tongue.

“George had most of the materials in the shed, and he was nice enough to get the rest of them for me,” you added, barely hiding the excited grin. “Do you like it?”

Ben’s features softened, a smile curving his lips. “Yeah, I like it very much, sweetheart. Thank you.”

There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite place – like your gift was special, which confused you greatly. He could buy himself anything he ever wanted to, including a movie projector, and you were sure he had also received plenty of gifts throughout his life. You didn’t even really want to imagine what kind of spectacle his birthdays probably had been.

“You’re welcome,” you said, and Ben pulled you closer by your hand, kissing you.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked as he withdrew from your lips, your cheeks still safely in his warm palms.

Uh-oh.

Ben had gotten curiouser and curiouser about you the last couple of weeks. It was as if he expected you to open up more, the longer the two of you were going out, which would’ve been a pretty fair assumption to make in a regular relationship. But the problem was nothing was normal about this, and you couldn’t share more with him. Not more than you already had. You’d never be able to tell him the full truth.

“I guess?”

Ben chuckled lightly at your response, caressing your cheek as if to assure you. “Where did you learn how to do all of this? I mean, this seems to go a bit beyond… regular schooling. Not that I’d know for sure.”

Ben’s little self-deprecating laugh was supposed to calm your nerves, but your heart only pounded faster by the second.

Hesitantly, you pursed your lips and exhaled a long breath. “I suppose you have a point. I-, uhm, I learned it in college.”

And downloading instructions from the memory bank.

“College?” Ben’s brow almost met his hairline, green eyes wide in surprise. “You went to college? Where?”

“I-, uhm, I studied physics at McGill. It’s a university in Montreal,” you told him the truth. Luckily, you remembered your college’s long history of co-educational programs, including the sciences.

“French…” was all Ben mumbled, nodding along as if puzzle pieces were falling into place. “Are you from Canada?”

You snorted a giggle, shaking your head. “No, I just studied there.”

“Physics?” Ben checked once more like he couldn’t believe it, his brow intensely furrowed. But it wasn’t doubt that caused the creases – only disbelief.

“Yes,” you confirmed slowly. “I have a… PhD.”

Ben’s brows raised a little higher. “You-, uh, you’re a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re actually… smart-smart,” Ben deduced, causing you to laugh slightly, visibly seeing the gears turning in his head.

“I guess you could say that,” you replied, worrying your lower lip as you watched his various expressions.

“Huh.” Ben hummed and smacked his lips. “Why wouldn’t you have told me that?”

He wasn’t offended but generally baffled why you’d hide an achievement this big, one you should be proud to show off.

Your lips hitched a smile of amusement. “I’m not a man, Ben. Not as easy for someone like me.”

“Right…” He nodded quietly, still thinking. Still considering you.

But he didn’t have more questions afterward. You couldn’t really read the look on his faintly freckled face, and before you could figure it out, he claimed your lips in a deep and long kiss that robbed you of your breath.

However, pulling back, his smile faltered at the corners, brows shaping back into the familiar creases. His gaze trailed down your throat, landing on a particular spot at the slope of your neck. His fingers reached out and tentatively traced along the curve.

“What?” you asked with a small giggle upon his questioning look and the ticklish touch, but your eyes were wary, your heart accelerating its beats again.

“Nothing.” He shook his head as if the thought that had crossed him was silly. An amused smile then curved his lips. “Did you know I’ve been trying to leave my mark on that little spot for weeks now? Doesn’t seem to take.”

Fuck!

You hadn’t even thought about that. He was getting way too observant. How long could you possibly keep this up before he’d burn you on the stake?

“Oh, uh…” Self-consciously, your hand clasped that very spot on your neck, feeling your eyebrows shoot up before you tried to rein them in and keep your composure. “I don’t… bruise easily, you know? Kinda neat…”

Fortunately, Ben seemed to buy your lie, his smile widening in kind. You really had him wrapped around your little finger. And shit, did you feel guilty about it, but you were also fucking relieved.

How long would that last, though? This wouldn’t be the last time he’d ask you questions or take note of oddities.

“Yeah, guess you don’t.” The smile morphed to a smirk. “Guess I have to try harder then, huh?”

The challenge sparkled in the deep green of his eyes before he entangled you in another kiss, tongue breaching past your lips as the hands on your waist dragged you flush against him. His hands slid higher, his embrace tightening as he retreated a few inches from your lips, only to place a gentle kiss on your temple.

“You’re special, sweetheart,” he said against the top of your head as he held you, deep voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I promise I won’t ever forget that, okay? And I’ll make sure everyone else fucking sees it, too.”

Shit.

Your heart dropped. You fought against the flood of tears in your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady. Don’t fucking cry, you reminded yourself.

No one had ever said something like that to you. How did he know? And why on Earth did it have to be him?

And you knew then why you were still here and hadn’t ended this madness yet – because Ben was the one, across the vastness of the universe and the infinity of time, that saw you in a way no one else ever had.

He was the only one.

“Ben, I–”

Before you could form the right words to say, both your heads snapped to the hallway upon hearing the heavy thud of the front door. Who was at the door? Did he finally decide to get Mrs. Helen for you, after all?

But the tension that crept into Ben’s broad shoulders and the deeply creasing brow told you he hadn’t expected the visit either, and your stomach sank as it dawned on you.

“Shit,” Ben muttered, telling you enough with that one little curse word.

“Your parents?” you asked quietly. Ben nodded, but his worried eyes were fixed on the hall that led to the foyer. “I thought they weren’t supposed to come for a few more days?”

Ben had never explicitly said it, but you knew he was nervous about you being here when his father eventually returned. A week ago, he’d subtly introduced the idea of getting an apartment for you in the city, so you’d known Florence’s suspicion had been right all along.

You were not welcome here and were only trouble for Ben.

“Yeah, uhm…” Distraught, he turned to you then, and you swore you could see his heart beating in his throat. “You think you could, uhm–”

You nodded without him needing to say more. “I’ll sneak up to my room through the servants’ quarters and lock myself in there, alright?” you said and quickly kissed his cheek in reassurance, Frances already knowingly holding the door open for you to follow her upstairs.

▶️ Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

Poor girl never stood a chance with him 😅 How did you enjoy their dates (and their little office session)? Are you nervous or excited to get a glimpse of Ben's parents in the next part?

✨ TRIVIA FACTS: The title is a quote from The Maltese Falcon (1941) with Humphrey Bogart. The movie is about a group of people hunting a valuable artifact, the Maltese Falcon, before it is revealed at the end that it was only a fake. The second movie mentioned is The Lady Eve (1941), which is about a female con artist trying to scam a millionaire on a cruise ship before she falls for her mark. I found both of those very fitting for obvious reasons 🤓

Coming Up:

And then, his eyes landed on the bed – on your clothes spread out, half-packed. He froze, demeanor shifting immediately, color draining from his face. “What the hell is going on here? Are you fucking leaving me?” The baritone voice was suddenly sharp now, carrying an edge that cut through the haze of his drunkenness.

“I don’t wanna cause more trouble for you,” you confessed quietly, panic rising in your chest.

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna fucking walk out on me?” His voice was jagged with emotion, gripping a handful of his hair in disbelief.

“No, but I-… I don’t belong here, okay?” you argued, your tone laced with desperation. What else could you say?

“Dammit, you think I don’t fucking know that?” His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, there was an unsettling silence between you two. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck Dottie told you, but this-… this isn’t some game to me. You think I do this with everyone? That I’m using you because I’m bored? That I’m just some spoiled rich kid who gets whatever I want?” He stared at you, disappointment, incredulity, and betrayal swimming in his eyes.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

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theboytatu · 1 day ago

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how was smtown???

it kept raining all throughout the hours previous to the concert starting. we were handed trash bags like katrina victims but luckily it ended right before the show started 👍

the venue was half empty so they relocated almost everyone and luckily it didn't look as empty in the end. i ended up with front row view so yay for smtown flopping ❤️

tvxq and key had THE single best performances of the night. by far. like oh my god. what a show. WHAT A GOOD FUCKING SHOW

the flops of the night were nct 127 and riize. even wish and dream had better performances than them like omfg? 127 were not even trying man. i've seen them before live and this performance was painful to see. they're clearly missing taeyong. plus haechan wasn't even trying he wasn't moving. johnny and jungwoo were a fucking mess. the only ones that sort of tried were yuta and doyoung. like i'm a yuta hater and i ended up thanking him for trying to pick up the pace. maybe it was the altitude but like. they also looked pissed idk there were weird vibes all around

WAYV PERFORMED LOVE TALK AND I PASSED AWAY. sadly i couldn't really see ten that much but honestly. seeing him on the big screen was enough. by god it was enough.

shinee were superb. sadly they had no group songs but minho and key were.... glowing. when they came together to do their ment key shouted in spanish SHINEE IS FOREVER and promised the full group will come back with a world tour!!! 🥺

also lowkey the chemistry between them is. honestly kinda crazy lmfao. minho was glued to key's waist the entire time like he was ON HIM like a man who just told you he wants to go steady and blew off all his side pieces. not to be a delusional motherfucker but i think key let him hit it before the show like jesus dude

SOMEHOW ENDED UP A SUJU STAN....? these men do not play about mexico. like oh god. eunhyuk and leeteuk were insane. kyuhyun is SO loved the entire stadium went BATSHIT every time he was the focus

exo. exo. EXO. 10/10. still can't believe they're real and that i saw them with my own two eyes. chanyeol is INSANE looking live. like he is drop dead gorgeous. and GIGANTIC?

also chanyeol came up to our side of the stage. i was wearing a cherry cap and he might have seen it. i know he pointed to our area and my lizard brain is choosing to believe that means we're destined to be together. best y/n moment of the night 10/10 no notes.

their performance of git it up was also top 3 of the night. like kai added so much flavor to it. they were insane. i did cry a little bit at their mention when they said they really couldn't believe they still had fans here. jesus christ i will petrol bomb sm hq one day i swear to god

we saved ourselves from an nct dream love me right cover and i thank every god above for that. they still managed to put on a better performance than the rest of nct (sans wayv) so like. that tells you where the whole group is at.

sadly the girl groups had little time to shine imo but we got an amazing performance of bad boy and red flavor by rv. i am not an rv stan but it was great to see tbh. im happy they could come here because they have a huge fanbase too

aespa were great!! it's just that i literally saw them already two months ago so it was like yay ❤️ my girls ❤️ they used handheld mics for their performances - thank GOD they sang live this time around instead of lipsyncing... sm doesn't let them sing live for some reason and they looked really happy to be able to actually sing the fucking songs. they gave us whiplash, next level and supernova. 10/10 no notes

also their outfits being miles better than the ones they wore at their own concert stop 😭 ningning looked ETHEREAL. holy fucking shit. her hair and makeup were flawless. people literally gasped when she came on the screen.

everybody looked really happy to be there except for half of nct riize and h2h lol. i think they're obviously pretty overworked and flying here less than 24 hours before the concert was such a shit idea.... like idols were literally saying we're still jetlagged we're still tired jfksjkdkf. the altitude is no joke!! </3

overall this was an AMAZING concert. like if you're any partially an sm group stan you will really enjoy it. they played the full four hour set too. i highly recommend anyone going if they still can. sadly i am in this pink blood shit for life i cannot lie to myself. this impact is different. these idols are simply built different sorry!!!! 💖💖💖

#asks #sm #smtown mexico

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wayward-robin · 3 days ago

Text

1x15 – The Benders rewatch thoughts

It’s funny in the horror genre it’s often the people who are the worst monsters of them all.

Case in point, this wacky hillbilly family!

I remember when I watched this the first time – which shows how memorable this ep is since that was in 2006! – I was wracking my brain trying to work out what took Sam. The fact that it was just ordinary people? Blew my mind.

Silly Sam letting the ordinary people get the drop on him. Dean teasing him for being rusty was funny when he himself was then captured literally minutes later…

Sam at least got a little bit of redemption later on when he was freed and the hunters become the hunted…

Dean’s interactions with the family was pretty funny given the circumstances. No, definitely don’t encourage them to eat you!

“Demons I get. People are crazy” is pretty on the money.

I liked the guest police officer of the week. Always surprised me Dean even went to the police but that just goes to show how freaked out he was.

She did get in the way a bit but she was only doing her job. She did kill the psycho father so kudos to her for that. And she did let Sam and Dean go. Another law-abiding officer looking the other way.

I’d actually forgotten how many run ins with the local law enforcement they had early on. I haven’t seen it as much in the admittedly limited number of later season eps though so this might be a concept that gradually died off?

Dean telling Sam not to vanish on him like that again… Eek! Not Cold Oak foreshadowing at all, is it?! Not noticed that before!

I think this is probably one of the stronger standalone eps of the first season.

#robin watches #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean #the winchester brothers #spn #supernatural rewatch #john winchester #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #jared and jensen #supernatural season 1 #j2

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crepezinhos · 7 hours ago

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Hello! I love your writing by the way and how you interpret Scaramouche/ wanderer is just 🤌🤌🤌

I would like to know your opinion about, what if there was an au where both Scaramouche and reader are in college. Reader takes on medical technology where she studied all about microbiology and all that stuffs and giz. When all of a sudden their professor tasked them that they would need to bring their own sperm cell for this assignment but reader doesn't know where to get some. But then it hit her, she finally knows someone who could help and all she needs is a little persuasion.

You don't have to answer it though or reply to it. It just an idea I had stuck in my brain for awhile huhu. But all in all, your writing is so good and well thought out and I would like to see how this turns out. Anyways love you and hope that you listen to it hihi >🩷🩷

Spurm of the Moment

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is NSFW work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Blindfolding, bondage and overstimulation

— Wanderer x Biomedical Reader

— AU is: Modern

“Are you sure I have to be like this?” Wanderer asked as he tried pulling his arms away from the chair’s arm rests, testing out the ropes’ strength.

“Please, we both know how you are. You barely let me hug you when we’re hanging out already. Do you really think you’d let me do this to you freely? Don’t make me laugh…” You asked while still kneeling down in front of him, tightening the last rope around his left leg.

“What about the blindfold, then? How is that helping you?” But he kept trying to challenge you’d expect from him.

“I don’t want you to… witness.” You cleared your throat as you stood up from your spot.

“Oh? But you can take off my pants and jack my dick off as you wish?” You could still see his eyebrows frowning even if the blindfold covered his purple eyes. “Y’know, why didn’t you just ask me to jack off on my own?” He kept moving his hands in diverse ways as he spoke, enjoying one of the few freedoms he still had.

“I don’t trust you to be cautious with it.” You walked towards your desk, grabbing the other preparatives you needed for this moment such as rubber glover and the pot where you’d keep the semen in.

“You don’t trust me to beat my own meat?” Wanderer wheezed, lowing his head down momentarily.

“I trust you to do that, but not to be cautious and sanitary with the results.” After grabbing the prepartions and dressing the gloves around your hands, you walked back to him, kneeling in front of him ahain. “And, you did consent to this anyway…” You tried teasing him wth the truth, but it didn’t seem to have much effect.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever…” He kept himself broad to pretend he hadn’t lost that little argument.

“Just to make sure you aren’t starting to regret this… What is the safe word we agreed on?” You asked him a bit more seriously, looking up to him despite hs inability to stare back at you.

“Biology.” He answered very bored.

“Yes. Just like the main purpose of this.” You reminded him of that fact before your hands started to move down his chest. “May I?”

He nodded and you soon cupped his crotch with a hand, beginning to gently rub your palms against his organ to get him erect.

“Shit…” Wanderer turned his head to the side while biting his inferior lip to stop himself from making any louder noises compared to the short grunts from the back of his throat. “What kind of lesson is this anyway..?” He fixed his throat, trying to maintain his dignity.

“We have a project to examine sperm cell behavior of different people under certain conditions.” You answered neutrally, focusing more on his slightly-hardened organ rather than his anger.

“Are you the only woman in their class or something?! Why would he not give the cells already?!” Wanderer kept trying to argue with you and distract himself from the pressure you were applying on him.

“Hmmmm… I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to think about less awkward alternatives now that you were getting what you needed.

So, trying to get him to stop protesting, you finally put your whole hand under his underwear and pulled out his dick out of it, finally springing it free. When Wanderer felt your gloved fingers enveloping his pink tip is when he started fighting back again.

“Aren’t there any sperm banks in the school?! O-Or maybe in the city?!” His head was looking down at where the motions were going to happen, trying to somehow have a bit of control and awareness of his situation.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too late to protest about it now?” You spoke a bit ironically, circling those same fingers around him to give him a starter.

“You minx…” You could clearly see his fists gripping around the edges pf the seat as you teased him, taking it all out on it.

“You know you like it.” You blinked to him, finally beginning to occupy his mind with more pleasure.

Your fingers were jerking him gently and slowly, going all the way to the tip of his urethra down to base of his cock. It was a tortuous rhythm that was certainly tensing him up for more. His own fingers would slightly scratch the chair to relieve himself and hope it’d make him more silent around you, feet tapping the floor nervously.

“You know… this would be faster if you told me about anything you like during these moments for me to do.” You suddenly decided to open your mouth to give him that suggestion, deciding to use your other hand to gently get a hold of his testicles to test him out.

Wanderer flinched as soon as he felt you touch that region, skin visibly shivering. A bothered grunt also came out of his throat in response, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks.

“J-Just… stroke me faster.” He fixed his throat again as you smirked at the facade he was trying to pose to you.

But you did as he wished and proceeded to stroke him faster, still trying your best to tease his tip the most so he could ejaculate as soon as possible. It was now a bit harder for Wanderer to jail his noises, meaning he had to try even harder to keep his mouth shut, and those efforts were making this whole moment way more awkward for you too.

“You can moan, y’know? I would expect you to.” You turned your face to him, but seeing his face made you too embarrassed to keep looking at it that bravely, so you abruptly turned away and started looking at the floor instead.

“I don’t want you to listen…” He quickly mumbled before another moan took his vocal chords over and forced him to shut his mouth again.

“Alright, then… But it is going to become worse for you.” You said while making the circle between your middle, ring finger and your thumb tighter, trying to squeeze him more.

“For fuck’s sake…” Wanderer’s hips trying to recoil away from you, but that was impossible due to his legs being tied to the chair’s too, so he had no choice but to relieve himself by stretching his legs and arching his back, his feet facing the roof.

If only he wasn’t wearing shoes… You were pretty sure all his fingers would be spread apart too from that heavy pleasure wave you gave him, but you had no choice but to move on from that and keep focusing on pulling out that orgasm from him.

This moment was as awkward for him as it was for you. You’d never expect someone as reserved as him to let you do this to him, and actually doing it felt bizarre. Now you knew how his dick looked like, and you could probably imagine how it fit and looked under his pants. How would look at him normally again? How would he look at you normally again? Maybe you should’ve been more creative with your problem-solving skills instead of insisting on this. But at the same times you couldn’t blame yourself for him accepting to do this so… easily.

“I know it’s very weird, but… It would be really helpful if you could help me do this faster.” Now it was your turn to fix your throat to pretend you didn’t have an awkwardness in the tip of your tongue.

“… Ok.” He accepted your commission very neutrally, arms crossed as if he was bored and not surprised at all.

Maybe he wasn’t exactly taking you seriously and didn’t realize the gravity of what he put himself into.

“I hope I’m successfully stimulating you and not just… doing this for nothing.” You laughed your embarrassment away, trying to cool the mood between you two.

“Y-You’re good.” He mumbled, a bit too embarrassed to confess his satisfaction with all of this.

“Tell me when you’re close, okay?” You looked at the pot sitting at the floor by your side, wondering when would you finally use it.

“Ok…” Wanderer moaned under his throat again, still holding himself back.

Hearing his confirmation, you kept working your hands in his organ, trying your best to recreate the tips you’ve read in the internet about how to make a guy reach his orgasm quickly. Your right hand was basically twisting itself within every pump to provoke his sized cock while sometimes gripping it a bit harder on purpose to cause a bit of pleasurable pain. Meanwhile, your left hand were still massaging his balls and caressing them with thumb, but way more carefully compared to your other hand. You knew that it was a very sensible and fragile part of the male body and you had no idea if Wanderer would like you to mess with it any harder, so you had no choice but to be gentle despite your want to end this as soon as possible.

“I-I think I’m close…” Wanderer suddenly threw his head back, a high-pitched moan escaping his lips after holding himself back so much.

“Are you? Really?” You asked, turning your eyes back to him, seeing his mouth hanging open from the overstimulation.

“Y-Yeah, yeah… Go faster…” He asked, cheeks growing a bit redder from asking you such an embarrassing question.

You nodded and started pumping him faster, dropping all those techniques you were trying to use to focus on man tuning that growing momentum, including his testicles so you could grab the pot. And it seemed to be working because Wanderer started hissing quite frequently to get rid of his need to groan.

“A-Almost there..!” Wanderer’s feet begun dragging themselves against the floor again, trying to contain his pleasure, his hips trying to jerk upwards to feel more friction and allow himself to free that aching knot in his balls.

Unfortunately, despite his warning, Wanderer was still not ejaculating at all, which worried you a bit.

“A-Are you sure?” You asked, almost laughing in pure nervousness.

“Yes… yes, yes, yes…” His eyebrows kept twitching and frowning as closure suffocated him, his feet still trying to stretch on the wooden floor.

You grabbed the pot sitting in front of you and you put it in his tip, readying yourself for his orgasm. Now all that would come out of him would directly go inside there with no chance of escape. But then Wanderer’s orgasm snapped pretty soon after you did that, making the timing of your placing of the pot perfect.

Wanderer bit his inferior lips again, simply hissing all his way through it instead of just letting those caged moans go for once. All his cum was going to the pot as expected, but you had to do some effort to keep it all together due to how strongly he was cumming. His hips were jerking forwards to the most they could, hand fingers all spread and aggressive with the poor chair.

“Shit!” He also kept insulting the nothing around him out of nowhere for no apparent reason rather than just coping with the high amounts of pleasure being release.

Soon enough, his cock stop twitching inside the pot, signaling you that it was over. So you pulled it out and angled it back to its normal position to make the semen stuck on the walls to drip down to the bottom of the pot. Meanwhile, Wanderer was just completely melted in the chair, breathing in and out heavily to refresh himself.

“Aaaaand…” You voiced as you reached for the jar’s cover and begun spinning around the pot, stopping when it wasn’t possible to do so anymore. “Done!” You cheered excitedly while getting up and moving to your table.

You carefully placed the pot in a corner and grabbed a packet of blank stickers, beginning to rip one off of it to use it, but Wanderer finally recovered his logical thinking.

“Are you not going to untie me?! It was supposed to be the first thing to do!” He complained, sitting his body in the chair normally again.

“Wait.” You said, trying to focus on stick the sticker in the pot in anyway it wouldn’t be curved or off the center in the slightest.

“You better hurry up… It is very uncomfortable to be in this chair…” Wanderer used an ironic tone to complain about you, trying his best to annoy you to get what he wanted.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it at first.” You decided to pause your pot-labeling to give him attention, speaking very snobbishly too.

“Yeah, but now I’m just barely sitting naked here with no moving rights!” He resisted your argument, trying to move his arms and legs again to show you how tight he was against that chair.

“Fine, fine…” You got up from your chair and quickly moved to him, wanting to get that extra task done as soon as possible.

And soon enough, as soon as you took off his blindfold and freed his hands, Wanderer zipped his zipped back to its upper end as soon as possible, a loud high-pitched noise accompanying it. And when you were done freeing his legs, he kicked the hanging ropes around it away and quickly moved away, stretching his limbs apart to taste that sensation of freedom again.

“Holy fuck.” Wanderer moaned as he looked at his hand and tested their flexibility, seeing its fingers bend, his thumb rolling, and his wrists, still aching from the ropes, rotating as he commanded them to do so.

But you ignored him to focus on the sticker in the pot again, finally managing to stick it in the place you wanted it to be. Then, you proceeded to grab one of your many pens and, specifically the black one, and open it just to quickly write “Semen” on the almost-transparent red, straight, middle line of the sticker, and pop the cover back to its place in the pen.

“Gee, I hope I never meet another Biomedicine freak like you again…” He suddenly insulted you, which surprisingly made you turn your chair to him because you had a little twist that you forgot to tell him about.

“Well… It’s with this Biomedicine freak you’re stuck with for the rest of the month.” You tried to keep yourself calm, but you knew that would make him confused.

“What?” He turned to you, with a confused expression in his face you which you could take a picture of.

“Throughout the month I’m probably gonna need some more loads of semen to do the testing…” You watched his eyes widening very entertained, trying your best to not laugh.

“What do you mean?” He asked, in the brim of having a panic attack.

“I forgot to mention to you that little fact, but… I’ll eventually need more semen to compare it to this original sample.” You brought the pot to your hands and lightly shook it, showing Wanderer his own sperm. “Unless you want to cancel this and force me to redo everything I’ve done yet… You’ll have to be my provider this whole month!” You said excitedly, knowing damn well it would make him snap.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?!” He shook his arms around very stressed.

“Oopsies! Forgot!” You turned your chair back to the table. “If you’re that bothered, I’ll just throw this a—”

“NO!” He screamed, slightly surprising you. “I-I mean… I can’t let this whole shit we just did go to waste!” He explained himself, convincing you to turn back to him again.

“Oh? Or maybe you’re jealous with the thought of me doing that same shit with another man?” You decided to keep teasing him with a smirk in your lips.

“O-Of course not! Why would I ever feel jealous for you?!” As soon as he finished talking, Wanderer wheezed and put his hands in his face, trying to control himself. “I-I’m gonna get going…” His calm, cold tone came back as he spoke and walked around your room.

Since he hadn’t brought anything, all he had to do was leave your room. But right before he actually could slam your door shut and run very far from your apartment, he suddenly walking, and froze in his place for a few seconds before turning back to you.

“Don’t you dare think about throwing that away.” He pointed to your pot very aggressively, body visibly hard as he threatened you.

And the door was finally slammed to its closed state.

Taglist: @bigmantiddys @the-stinky-winky @goofy-ego @kindofshyent @sasuri123 @gaboplaydespacito @thegriffinbird @alatusorrow @luminieee @toobytub @wandereryumee @shy-ent

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #smut #wanderer genshin #wanderer #wanderer x reader #genshin wanderer #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x you #scara x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scara #scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #wand

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writeriguess · 3 hours ago

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separate request but eijiro who finds out reader isnt sleeping well due to like unexplainable anxiety but then when he cuddles with her it quells her anxiety and lets her sleep!!

In His Arms, At Last

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind racing a mile a minute. It was like this every night lately—no matter how exhausted you felt, sleep just wouldn’t come. Instead, you lay there with your heart pounding, thoughts looping in endless, anxious spirals. You weren’t even sure why you felt this way. There was no specific reason, nothing actually wrong. But your body refused to relax.

The digital clock on your nightstand glowed red: 2:37 AM.

With a quiet groan, you turned over, hugging your pillow to your chest. You tried counting your breaths, squeezing your eyes shut, even shifting positions a dozen times, but it didn’t help. You were stuck in that awful state of exhaustion and wakefulness, too wired to rest, too drained to do anything else.

A soft vibration buzzed from your phone. You squinted at the screen.

Eijiro ❤️: Still up?

Your heart clenched. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He must’ve noticed your activity online—probably saw you liking posts or scrolling mindlessly. You considered lying, saying you’d just woken up for water or something, but… that felt wrong.

You: Yeah…

Not even a second passed before your phone lit up again.

Eijiro ❤️: Can I call?

You swallowed hard and quickly typed back, Sure.

Your phone rang almost immediately. You answered, pressing it to your ear.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, warm, like a blanket draped over your tired body. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You sighed, rolling onto your back. “I don’t know. I just—” You hesitated. “I can’t sleep.”

“You feeling anxious?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer.

You closed your eyes, nodding even though he couldn’t see. “Yeah.”

“Have you been feeling like this a lot?”

“Lately, yeah. I don’t even know why. It’s just there. My body feels on edge, even though there’s no reason for it.”

You heard rustling on his end, then a deep inhale, like he was thinking carefully before responding. “That sounds really rough, babe. You should’ve told me.”

You bit your lip. “I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You never bother me.” His voice was firm, no room for argument. “I hate thinking of you struggling alone when I want to be there for you.”

Warmth spread through your chest, but it wasn’t enough to push back the tightness in your ribs. You sighed again. “I don’t know what to do, Ei. I’m so tired, but I can’t turn my brain off.”

There was a short silence before he spoke again, a little more serious this time. “Can I come over?”

You blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah. I don’t like knowing you’re lying there feeling like this.” You could already hear him moving around, probably pulling on a hoodie and grabbing his keys. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You opened your mouth to protest—tell him he didn’t have to, that you’d be fine—but deep down, you wanted him here. You wanted his warmth, his steady heartbeat, the way his presence always made you feel safe.

“…Okay,” you whispered.

“Good. Stay comfy, I’ll be right there.”

—

True to his word, ten minutes later, there was a soft knock at your apartment door. You hurried to open it, and there he stood—Eijiro Kirishima, your rock, looking at you with concern in those warm, crimson eyes. His red hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his fingers through it on the way over, and he was wearing his favorite hoodie, the one that was just slightly too big on him.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, stepping inside. “Still feeling bad?”

You nodded, chewing your lip. “Yeah.”

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms. His scent—clean, fresh, a little like cedar—filled your senses as he held you tightly against his broad chest. His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back.

“You’re okay,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

Something in you cracked. The tightness in your chest didn’t disappear, but it loosened just enough for you to take a shaky breath.

Eijiro pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

You nodded again, and he led you back to your room, climbing in beside you like it was second nature. He settled against the pillows, opening his arms in silent invitation. Without hesitation, you curled into his side, resting your head on his chest.

The second you were in his arms, everything felt different. The tension in your body melted away, the constant buzz of anxiety dulling under the steady rise and fall of his breathing. He was so warm, his presence a protective cocoon around you.

His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along your arm. “Better?” he murmured.

You exhaled softly, nuzzling closer. “Yeah.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Told ya I’d fix it.”

You smiled, the first real one you’d had all night. “Cocky.”

“Nah,” he teased, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Just confident in my cuddling skills.”

You laughed softly, a sound that made him squeeze you a little tighter. He kept murmuring soft reassurances—telling you how much he loved you, how safe you were, how he wasn’t going anywhere. Each word was another weight lifted from your shoulders, another layer of peace settling over you.

For the first time in weeks, your eyelids felt heavy. Your body, finally finally at ease, melted into his embrace.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually did.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima

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whumpdoyoumean · 1 day ago

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16, slow horses

xxx "Stay still."

"Cartwright!"

River gasps awake and immediately breaks into a coughing fit. Dust hangs heavy in the air and, evidently, in his lungs judging by the way he's currently hacking them up. When he's finally finished, his head and chest ache (his whole body aches, really) and he just lays there a minute, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

"You didn't pass out again, did you?"

River opens his eyes again and blinks. It takes a minute for them to adjust in the dim light. Shirley is leaning over him. Besides a general griminess, there's blood on the left side of her face from a deep cut above her eyebrow and she's guarding her ribs on the same side. She looks uncharacteristically worried. It makes River nervous.

"What happened?" he asks, the words scraping from his dry throat.

"You don't remember?"

"Obviously not."

"You don't remember the big fucking explosion?" She sounds mildly exasperated, and it's a welcome return to form.

"That does ring a bell," River murmurs, bits of memory flashing across his brain. He lets out a groan. "Fuck."

"Fuck is right," Shirley agrees. "We've got to get out of here. But we need to get that thing off of you, first."

River, still somewhat disoriented, hadn't even noticed the fact that his right leg is pinned under a large piece of debris. He swallows thickly. "Looks heavy."

Shirley rolls her eyes. "You don't say." Then she crouches down and, gripping the edge of the debris with both hands, says, "Ready?"

"Can you move it on your own?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that."

There's a determined set to her jaw and she adjusts her grip and stance before she starts to lift. River barely has time to be impressed at her strength before a sharp, blinding pain tears through his leg and he lets out a scream, stars dancing in his vision. By the time he can see again, the chunk of debris is gone. Shirley, panting, is crouched near River, staring at the newly freed limb with a pale, wide-eyed look that makes River's stomach do a back flip.

"What?" he says, moving his arms to push himself up on his elbows.

"Stay still!" Shirley says sharply, putting a firm hand on his right knee.

"What?" River repeats, making to sit up again, and Shirley glares at him.

"I said, don't fucking move!" she snaps.

"Then tell me what's happening!"

"What's happening is you've got a big fucking piece of metal sticking out of your thigh and if you move, you risk slicing right through your femoral artery! Or you'll knock it loose, and bleed out that way."

Ah. So that's why there's a bright, relentless pain on the inside of his right thigh. Now that he's paying attention, he can feel the wet warmth of blood, too, lazily flowing around the shrapnel sticking out of him. River lets out a shaky breath, trying to stave off the panic that's threatening to overtake him.

"Well, that's not good," he says, voice thin.

"Your constant need to state the obvious is starting to piss me off," Shirley says. She looks at his leg again. "How bad is it bleeding?"

"Not too bad, I think," River says, watching as Shirley stands. "What're you doing?" He thinks he knows the answer, but he hopes he's wrong.

"I can't get you out of here on my own. I need to go get help if you're going to stand any kind of chance."

River blanches, swallowing thickly. "You-you're gonna leave me here? Alone?"

"I don't have much choice, and neither do you. Look, try not to bleed out before I get back, yeah? And don't pass out, either. Just. Stay awake until I get back." She must see the fear on River's face, because her own expression softens a little. "I will be back."

"I know you will," River says, and he really does believe it. Whether it'll be before River slowly bleeds to death, or the precarious remnants of the blown-up building collapse on him, is less of a certainty.

Shirley nods. She starts to walk, picking her way through the ruined building, then hesitates, turning back to look at River. "You can do this."

River isn't certain, but he'll sure as hell try.

xxx

#thank youuu!#it was very fun writing shirley #i haven't written much of her yet and she is a delight #my writing #my fic #whump fic #whump #slow horses #slow horses fic #river cartwright #river cartwright whump #shirley dander

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onegayastronaut · 1 day ago

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Learning Curves

Requested by anon: Can I request an Amelia shepherd x reader when r is a surgeon in another field but is basically an intern for her because they decided to switch fields and they start to become a thing?

Words: 1608

You’d been in the operating room a thousand times before : chest wide open, clamps holding bone and muscle aside, a heart pumping beneath your gloved hands. Thoracic surgery had been your world for years. You knew its rhythm, its chaos, its triumphs. But now, standing stiff in navy scrubs outside the neurosurgery wing of Grey Sloan Memorial, you felt like a first-year intern all over again.

Switching fields had seemed like a bold, invigorating move at the time. Neurosurgery had always fascinated you, and after a few too many days of predictable patterns, you’d finally made the leap. You didn’t expect to feel this... disoriented.

“Y/N,” a voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. Sharp, clear, unmistakably confident.

You turned to face Amelia. The Amelia Shepherd — prodigy, brilliant, intimidatingly fast-talking, and annoyingly attractive.

“Dr. Shepherd,” you greeted, adjusting your mask even though you weren’t scrubbed in yet.

She arched an eyebrow, giving you a once-over. “You don’t have to be so formal. If you’re basically an intern in my department, you might as well call me Amelia.”

The twist in your stomach tightened. It wasn’t nerves. At least, not only nerves. “Okay, Amelia,” you said, her name unfamiliar yet oddly natural on your tongue.

She smirked like she’d just won a game you hadn’t realized you were playing. “Come on. Let’s see if your thoracic hands can keep up with a brain.”

You followed her into the OR, feeling like you were chasing a storm.

—

The first few weeks were brutal. Amelia pushed you harder than any attending you’d worked under, and you had years of training behind you. It didn’t seem to matter. Every mistake you made, every hesitation, she noticed.

“You’re too cautious,” she said one day, after you’d spent precious seconds deliberating over a delicate cut. “Brains are delicate, sure, but they’re also fast. If you’re slow, you’re dead. Or worse, your patient is.”

You bit back the retort simmering on your tongue. She was right. And, infuriatingly, you admired her for it.

“You know,” you said later that evening as you found her pouring over post-op scans in the lounge, “you don’t have to treat me like a first-year. I have been a surgeon for years.”

She looked up, her gaze softer than you expected. “I know. But you’re not a neurosurgeon. Yet.”

There was no malice in her words. Just truth. And something else. A glimmer of respect? Maybe even something warmer. Your heart did an inconvenient little flip.

—

It started small. A passing brush of her hand over yours as you scrubbed in. A lingering glance over coffee cups at ungodly hours of the night. The way her lips curled when you challenged her. Not with arrogance, but with genuine curiosity.

“You think you know better than me?” she teased once, arms crossed, leaning against the nurse’s station as you debated a case plan.

“Not better,” you replied, unable to suppress your grin. “Just... differently.”

Her smile flickered, a spark of something brighter lighting her eyes. “Good. I hate yes-men.”

The teasing escalated. So did the tension. You caught her watching you during surgeries, her gaze lingering just a fraction too long when you handled the instruments with growing confidence. You watched her, too: the way she moved with controlled chaos, like she could outpace death if she just pushed fast enough. It was magnetic. She was magnetic. And you were in deep trouble.

One late night, after a grueling twelve-hour tumor resection, you found her in the on-call room. She was sitting on the edge of the narrow cot, elbows on her knees, scrubbing her face with her hands.

You hovered in the doorway. “You okay?”

She didn’t look up right away. When she did, her eyes were tired but her voice was steady. “That kid had less than a five percent chance of making it through the surgery.”

“And you gave him a hundred percent,” you said, stepping inside. Silence stretched between you like a live wire.

“You're not terrible at this, you know,” Amelia said finally, her voice quieter, rougher. “Neuro.”

You sat down beside her, close enough that your knees almost touched. “High praise coming from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But there was no real bite in her words. Just the ghost of a smile, softer than you’d ever seen from her.

The exhaustion between you blurred the edges of professional distance. For a moment, you weren’t an attending and her almost-intern: you were just two people, caught in the gravity of each other’s orbit. Her gaze dropped to your lips. Barely a flicker, almost imperceptible. But you saw it. You wanted to close the distance. So badly it ached.

But she stood, running a hand through her dark hair. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”

Her voice was rough, low. You swallowed down your heartbeat and nodded.

Days passed. The rhythm of your work settled into something like familiarity. The initial discomfort of your transition faded, replaced by competence, and undeniable chemistry. It wasn’t just you. You caught Amelia’s eyes tracking you across the OR more than once, saw the slight hitch in her breath when your gloved fingers brushed hers during a handoff.

Still, neither of you crossed the line. Until the night everything changed.

A storm had knocked out half the city’s power grid, and the ER was chaos. You’d been assisting Amelia with a rushed craniotomy when the lights flickered, backup generators kicking in a beat too late.

“Keep going,” Amelia ordered, sweat beading at her temple. “We’ve got this.”

Her trust in you was complete — terrifying and exhilarating all at once. You worked side by side, her hands steady as you assisted without hesitation. When the patient was finally stable and the adrenaline had worn off, you found yourselves alone in the scrub room.

“You were incredible,” you said, your voice still tight with adrenaline.

“So were you,” she admitted, breathless.

You stepped closer. She didn’t move away. The moment stretched, electric.

“Amelia,” you said, her name tasting like something you’d craved for weeks.

She tilted her head, eyes dark and full of unspoken words. “Yeah?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “I know this is... complicated. But if I don’t do this, I’m going to regret it.”

Her lips parted, a sharp inhale.

Then you kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. Weeks of tension and stolen glances ignited between you in a rush of heat and hunger. Her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her, her mouth demanding and soft all at once. When you finally broke apart, breathless, she rested her forehead against yours.

“Well,” she murmured, her lips brushing yours, “it’s about time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, breathless and bright. “You could’ve made a move.”

“I could’ve,” she agreed, kissing you again. “But this was way more fun.”

After that, things didn’t exactly get simpler, but they felt right.

You kept it quiet at first. Late nights in the on-call room, hands tangled in each other’s scrubs, whispered conversations over cooling coffee. Amelia pushed you just as hard in the OR, maybe harder, but now her glances carried heat beneath the sharpness. Her critiques came with teasing edges that made your pulse quicken.

“You’re getting cocky,” she said one morning after you expertly navigated a tricky suture.

“Just confident,” you replied, smirking.

She stepped closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “Good. Confidence looks very good on you.” The heat between you flared, all-consuming.

As the weeks turned to months, your professional respect deepened alongside the personal. You started to see her, really see her, not just the fearless surgeon, but the woman beneath the armor. The way her hands shook, just slightly, after a tough case. The vulnerability she let slip in quiet moments between surgeries.

And she saw you, too. Not as the fledgling neurosurgeon you were becoming, but as an equal. As someone who could challenge her, match her, stand beside her.

It terrified you. It thrilled you. One night, as you lay together in the on-call room, her head on your chest, you ran your fingers through her hair and whispered, “You scare the hell out of me, you know.”

She looked up at you, her eyes soft and shadowed. “Why?”

“Because you make me want things I thought I’d buried under ambition.”

Her lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. “Good.”

You kissed her, slow and deep, as the storm outside faded to quiet.

Eventually, you stopped pretending. The stolen moments turned into shared mornings. The secrecy became quiet confidence. You were still her intern, technically, but that line had blurred long ago.

And Amelia? She stopped holding back. One evening, after a flawless aneurysm repair you’d assisted on, she cornered you in the empty locker room.

“You’re ready,” she said, her eyes bright with something that looked like pride.

“For what?” you asked, breath catching.

“To stop being my intern.”

Your chest tightened, a complex knot of relief and longing. “And what happens after that?”

She stepped closer, close enough that her breath warmed your skin. “Whatever you want.”

Your pulse raced. “I want you,” you admitted, the words stripped of hesitation.

Her smile was radiant. “Good. Because you’ve had me from the start.”

And when she kissed you, it wasn’t frantic or hurried. It was slow, sure, the culmination of every glance, every challenge, every unspoken promise between you. You weren’t an intern anymore. You were her partner — in surgery, in life, in everything that lay ahead. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

#amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepherd imagine #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy x reader

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paperbodiesamongthestars · 1 hour ago

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How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

I am having feelings about that episode, so please enjoy 3k words of fic about it. I told myself yesterday I wasn't going to write anything about it because I didn't think I had much to say, and then this hit me like a truck at like midnight. Exceptional timing, brain, no notes.

Title is from You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift. (The other line I considered was "I know my pain is such an imposition," for obvious reasons, but I made a different call. Hopefully this one is pointed enough. 😂)

Tommy thinks about reaching out. Tommy thinks about reaching out a lot, but he doesn’t do it. The footage from the cameras in the tunnel plays on a loop in his mind, but Evan had been red-eyed but composed by the time he and Athena came out of there, and the last thing Tommy was going to do was blurt it out in front of everyone. That he’d seen something no one else had. That he knew, and the knowledge was lodged in his chest like a knife.

Evan kept it together that night, but Tommy can’t imagine that persisted for long. He was subdued at the funeral—and Tommy was focused on doing his own part as respectfully as possible—but there were times when Evan had seemed…lost. Unmoored somehow. It was understandable given where they were, but it had made Tommy wonder, a little bit, who Evan was leaning on to get through this. He had banished the thought as soon as it had surfaced. The 118 was Evan’s family; of course they were seeing what was going on with him, probably more clearly than Tommy could. No doubt they had it under control. They would never let Evan suffer through a loss like this alone.

So Tommy doesn’t call after the funeral.

He doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he falls asleep almost every night to a vivid memory of the way Evan’s legs had just given out under him. He doesn’t call and the impulse to hold Evan—just briefly, just because he couldn’t then—is almost overwhelming. But that’s not what they are anymore. He’s not sure if they're anything, honestly, and he’s not going to ask. Evan has more important things to worry about right now, and Tommy’s not going to barge in demanding anything at all.

And then a building goes down, of course with half the 118 inside, and Tommy’s still on ground ops until Melton forgives him. Evan and Ravi are finally pulled out—dusty and scraped up, but whole—and Tommy sees them making their slow way toward the 118 engine and Gerrard.

Evan brightens a little and waves when he looks up and sees Tommy, and Tommy really hopes he’s got a handle on his expression, because Evan looks awful. His smile is brittle and the hollowness in his eyes is concerning. Tommy almost looks around for the rest of the 118 because what the fuck are they thinking? They wouldn’t let Evan walk around like this, looking like an open wound. Right? They would do something about it.

For the first time, Tommy considers the possibility that he’s made a few too many assumptions about what the 118 would and wouldn’t do.

He jogs over to where Evan and Ravi have stopped. Ravi is chatting with a firefighter from the 133, but Evan is just…standing. His eyes are blank and unfocused, and Tommy is starting to get a little pissed at all the people who are supposed to have Evan’s back because what are they doing?

“Hey,” he says quietly, but Evan startles anyway.

“Oh! Uh, hey Tommy.” He dredges up a smile that goes nowhere near his eyes. “Ground ops, huh?”

“Yeah, Melton’s still pissed, so…”

Evan frowns. “I’m so—Tommy I’m so sorry.”

Tommy frowns back at him. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have asked…I didn’t think,” Evan says, his shoulders slumping, and Tommy doesn’t like that reaction at all.

“Sure you did. You thought ‘The team is in trouble; I wonder if Tommy can help,’ and the answer was yes.”

Evan gives him a wan smile. “But you love flying.”

“I do,” Tommy says slowly, “and I’ll be doing it again in no time. It’s really not a big deal.” He catches Evan’s eye and says firmly, “Hey, I’m a grown-up. I have a mortgage and everything—I can absolutely deal with the consequences of my own actions.”

Evan stares for a second and then starts blinking faster. His hand starts to come up, like he’s going to wipe his eyes, but stops halfway. He looks around at the clusters of firefighters around them.

“I have to—” he says, and gestures vaguely in a direction, and then he’s gone. Tommy frowns after him, wondering where exactly he went wrong.

He thinks maybe he should call this time.

He doesn’t get the chance.

The day after the building collapse, Tommy drives home from his 48—which was a bitch and a half, and not just because a building came down—and finds a very familiar jeep parked in his driveway. He stares at it for a while, failing to make sense of its presence, and then realizes he’s been sitting there for too long. He gets out of his truck and lets himself into his house. He can hear water running in the kitchen, and the house smells like red sauce, similar to the one his mom used to simmer on the stove on Sunday afternoons. It smells like home, and he buries that thought as soon as it surfaces.

Tommy drifts into the kitchen, uncertain what he’ll find there. Evan has his back to the door, rinsing a cutting board in the sink. He looks over his shoulder as Tommy comes in.

“One sec,” he says, and Tommy nods. He takes the time to go set his bag down in his bedroom, kicking off his shoes and changing into sweatpants. When he makes it back to the kitchen, the board is in the drying rack and Evan is standing at the kitchen island, staring down at his hands on the countertop.

“Hi,” Tommy says as he comes back in. He skirts carefully around Evan to grab a beer from the fridge and opens it, and then he goes back to the other side of the island. Whatever Evan is doing here, Tommy has no desire to spook him. His kitchen is Evan’s kitchen. Hell, if he’s being really honest with himself, his everything is Evan’s everything, to a probably concerning degree.

Whatever. Not the point right now.

“Hey,” Evan says, and takes a swig from the bottle of water in front of him. “Your spare key is still in the same spot.”

“Sure is,” Tommy agrees. There’s a brief silence. “What are you making?” Tommy asks.

“Meat sauce,” Evan says. “I was going to make fresh pasta, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be home and I didn’t know if I’d have time.”

Tommy nods. “It smells great,” he says.

Evan glances at him, and then away. “Sorry for invading your kitchen,” he says, but it sounds likes something he thinks he should say rather than something he really means. Tommy can work with that.

“Don’t be,” Tommy says. “You’re always welcome here.” His tone is warm and probably too fond, but there’s not much he can do about it. He’s just really happy Evan is in his kitchen, looking tentative, but maybe a little less hollow than he looked yesterday.

Evan looks up at that, faint surprise and…something else flitting over his face before he smiles. “Yeah?” he asks, like that’s a real question.

“Of course,” Tommy says, and he’s probably giving himself all the way away, but he’s finding it hard to care. He’s tired. Tired of pretending he didn’t see what he saw, tired of pretending he doesn’t desperately want to hug Evan, just to do it. Because he couldn’t then, but maybe he can now.

As soon as he has the thought, the words come out without him ever deciding to say them. “Could I—do you mind if I hug you?”

Evan glances over his shoulder at the sauce, and then the kitchen timer. There’s a lot of time left on it, and Tommy briefly wonders what it means that Evan came over and let himself into his house to make a dish that has to simmer for hours.

Evan turns back to Tommy, his expression a little rueful. He’s twisting his hands together in front of him. “I think, uh. There—there’s a solid chance I’m going to cry all over you if that happens,” he says, eyes downcast.

“I can live with that,” Tommy says immediately.

Evan’s head comes up, eyes huge in his face, and he drinks in Tommy’s expression. Tommy doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems to find it. He moves, and then Tommy moves, and they crash into each other halfway around the island. Tommy clings because Jesus Christ, he’s been desperate to ever since he watched Evan sink to the ground, face twisted in anguish. He’s so focused on Evan, solid and real in his arms, that it takes a second for him to realize that Evan is clinging just as tightly, his face buried in Tommy’s shoulder. And—yep, there are the tears.

Tommy feels himself tearing up too, for Bobby, for Evan, for Athena--for all of them. For this awful, overwhelming loss, and the horror of how it happened.

Evan’s breaths start to hitch, and he slumps further into Tommy’s hold. Suddenly he’s choking out deep, gasping sobs, sorrow pulled up from so deep it sound like it it’s physically painful. Tommy just tightens his grip, trying to ignore the part of his brain that is loudly demanding to know why, exactly, Evan seems to need this so badly. He can pull on that thread later. For now, he can do this. He can stand here and be as solid as possible so Evan has something to hang onto while he falls apart.

Later, they end up on the couch. They each have a glass of that stupid passion-orange-guava juice Tommy just keeps adding to his cart at the grocery store, even though Evan hasn’t been around to drink it for a while now. Tommy keeps nudging the plate of cookies toward Evan.

“Eddie’s crashing at my—at his—on the couch at the house,” Evan says, and his tone is all wrong. It’s stilted and a little wobbly, and Evan’s eyes stay fixed on his hands. He sighs. “He’s probably wondering where I am.”

Tommy tries to keep the surprise off his face, but something must get through.

Evan grimaces. “We had a disagreement the other night. I know he’s trying to make up for it, in his own way, but…I. I just wanted to be somewhere else for a while.”

Tommy’s not sure what to say to that. “Well,” he finally gets out, “like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

Evan nods a little, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “Do you—” he starts, and then stops. Tommy cocks an encouraging eyebrow. “Do you think…that is…”

Tommy waits. Evan will decide how he wants to say whatever it is—or decide not to—in his own time.

Evan looks back down at his hands. “We did everything we could to save Bobby,” he says. It’s a statement, kind of. He looks up at Tommy. “Right?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, and his expression is full of such naked vulnerability that Tommy is tempted to look away. He doesn’t, because Evan Buckley deserves all the courage Tommy can muster, even if he’s never had quite enough.

Tommy takes a slow breath in, and lets it out, and reminds himself that giving in to the rage igniting in his chest would be neither helpful nor productive. But what the fuck, Eddie?

“Evan,” he says firmly, “of course you did. You all did.”

Evan looks up at that. “We did,”he corrects, and shoots Tommy a tentative little smile.

“Of course we did,” Tommy agrees, unwilling to quibble about his own minor role when there are much more important things he needs to say. “It was an impossible situation, and everyone did their absolute best.” He starts to reach out for Evan’s hand, and then stops himself, and then Evan reaches out and takes his hand anyway. “Unless there was a secret second vial we didn’t account for—which there wasn’t—there was nothing more anyone could have done.” He pauses and thinks about how he wants to say this. “It was horrible, and tragic, and I know that every single person there would have done absolutely anything to prevent it. Which is how I know no one could have.” He smiles, but it’s small and sad. “If the folks who were there that day couldn’t find a way, then there just wasn’t a way to find,” he finishes.

Evan slumps a little in his seat. “Yeah, that’s—” he stops and swallows. “That’s what I thought too, but then Eddie said—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. His shoulders are curled in, making him look small. Tommy hates it.

“Hey,” Tommy says, squeezing Evan’s hand, and Evan looks up at him. “I know everyone is hurting”—he was going to be diplomatic about this if it killed him—“but that is some Grade A bullshit.” Evan blinks at him. “That’s a fucked up thing to say, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry someone said it to you.” The endearment just slips out, and he doesn’t overthink it. He kept himself from saying What the fuck is wrong with your best friend? and I don’t think grief is a good enough explanation for that level of cruelty, so he gives himself a little mental high-five for his restraint.

Evan blinks a little faster and lets go of Tommy’s hand to wipe at his eyes. He laughs a little. “God, I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.”

Tommy’s got a few hunches, but he doesn’t voice any of them. He shrugs. “Grief is a bitch like that.” He smiles at Evan and gestures at the box of Kleenex on the end table. “I buy tissues at Costco, so, you know—cry as much as you need to.”

Evan laughs again, and relaxes back into the couch. Tears continue to slip down his face, and he periodically wipes them away. They sit there for a while, and the silence is comfortable. Tommy doesn’t take his hand back, and Evan makes no move to let it go.

After a while, Tommy gets up to take a real shower, and Evan gets up to stir the sauce. He’s asleep on the couch when Tommy comes back, and Tommy pulls the afghan down from the back of the couch and carefully pulls it over him. He checks on the sauce and then settles into the armchair with his book. The house is quiet, and it smells amazing, and something in Tommy’s chest is settled for the first time in weeks.

Evan wakes up when the kitchen timer goes off. He blinks a few times, and smiles a little when he sees Tommy in the armchair. Tommy smiles back.

They eat pasta—the meat sauce is fantastic—and then Tommy serves them bowls of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. They eat it on the couch while while they watch some nature documentary, and Tommy follows almost none of it because he keeps glancing over at Evan’s profile. He looks soft and relaxed, and that terrible brittleness seems to be gone. He’s still marked by sorrow—he always will be, to some extent—but he doesn’t look empty anymore.

Eventually the ice cream is gone, and the documentary is over. Evan shifts on the couch and glances at the clock in the kitchen.

“I should get back,” he says, with visible reluctance, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate.

“You could stay,” he says.

“You mean for the night?” Evan asks, tentative again the way he was when Tommy first walked in to find him in his kitchen.

“Sure,” Tommy says, “that.” He does not sell it, at all, and a slow smile starts to spread on Evan’s face.

“Yeah?” he asks, and they both know what he’s asking.

“Of course,” Tommy says, soft and sincere. He straightens a little. “I have a guest room,” he says, and Evan’s smile dims. “Not like that,” he says quickly. “Just—you’ve been through a lot, and if you just need a safe place to be for a while…”

Evan’s nodding as he talks, and he shifts closer to Tommy on the couch, meeting Tommy’s eyes. “I do need that,” he says. “I do need a safe place to be right now. And that’s you, Tommy.”

It sits there for a second because Tommy doesn’t know what to say, and Evan’s smile falters. Tommy reaches out for his hand.

“Oh,” he says, and it’s soft and a little awed. “I didn’t”—he clears his throat—“I didn’t know that.”

Evan nods gravely. “I’ll do better this time. At making sure you know.”

Tommy grips his hand tighter. “I—me too. I’ll do better.”

Evan smiles at him, sweet and pleased. “We both will. We’ll do it right this time.”

Tommy can’t argue with that. God knows they have a laundry list of stuff to talk about, to figure out, but…

“We will,” he agrees, and for the first time, he lets himself truly believe it.

#bucktommy #Evan Buckley drives a jeep fight me about it #8x18 spec #is it tho??#tragically this will not be happening in that episode #but we carry on regardless #paper writes #bucktommy fic #fix-it of sorts

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