#Visible Silence (trope)

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Two of the Kuttekahs, in their human guises, go about an act of courting, when Emerald stumbles upon them.

Both Kuttekahs react to her presence due to the fact that her being there changes the very air around them, plus she made barely audible noises that alerted the invaders.

[darkmatilda]

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

*

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

 JJ couldn't help but snort.

 “Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition. 

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

*

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice.  “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?” 

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

[cherrixpie]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part one of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it

↬ sfw; only fluff this chapter; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor!reader

( masterlist )

The chill of the night air bit at your exposed cheeks as you climbed the final steps to the astronomy tower, your breath visible in faint puffs. Winter had arrived particularly early this year, chilling your bones even now, on the last weekend of october. The school lay quiet below, the golden glow of the countless windows no longer having given in to the darkness of a cold autnumm night.

You pulled your robe tighter around you, wincing at the faint creak of the wooden door as it swung open by the push of your hand. You knew you shouldn't be out after curfew- your brother was usually the one breaking rules and making trouble- but the pull of him was irrestible. He, who’s voice cut through the haunting silence like a knife.

“I was starting to think you wouldn't show.”

You froze mid-step, your heart leaping to your throat at the familiar voice. Even though you had been expecting it. Theodore Nott was was leaning casually against the stone railing, his pale face bathed in the cold light of the moon that sharpened every dip and curve in the prettiest way. A light smirk was curling at the corner of his lips, his usual cigarette dangling from his pink lips. His green slytherin tie was loosened, his robes slightly crumpled, as if he’d wandered here on a whim rather than planned this meeting. But you knew better. Theo rarely did anything without careful thought.

“I had to make sure the coast was clear,” you replied, trying to copy his nonchalance. His dark eyes followed you closely as you crossed the space between you, coming to a halt a few feet away from the railing to keep some distance between you and the abyss. It was funny how you could ride a stick of wood regularly, tens of meters in the air, but looking down a great height with steady floor under you feet had nausea creep up your chest.

You tried not to shift under his prying eyes. Being eyed up by Theodore Nott was a rather particular feeling. Every time you met his eyes, you felt like he was staring right through you, blowing through every cover, every mask, every wall you had ever shielded your true self with and assessing it with disarming precision. As you returned his stare, his smile widened a little and he puffed on his cigarette. “You’ve gotten better at sneaking around, though. Tell me, do the Potter genes include an innate sense of rule-breaking?”

“And here I was, thinking I was your ‘good girl’,” you replied, quoting his teasing nickname. A rare laugh escaped his throat, more of a huff, really, that he hid in his hand holding the cigarette. You eyed it reproachfully.

“You’re going to die at a very young age, Theo.”

Slightly puzzled, he looked down at you, blowing smoke into the air and holding out an arm to beckon you closer. Answering the silent invitation, you let him nudge you towards him gently, the cigarette-free hand pulling you closer by the waist. “Is that a threat, cara? Because I could think of no better way to die than by your gentle hands.”

The charming bastard got a hold of said hands that were shivering slightly from the cold as you had forgotten to put gloves on, and pressed a gentle kiss onto your palm, carefully watching your reaction. You could only pray he took the flush on your cheeks as a symptom of the cold rather than your flustered reaction to his Italian.

“That's not what I meant,” you frowned, indicating the cigarette between his slender fingers. “What I meant was that you’re going to smoke yourself into an early grave.”

God, the way his eyelashes caught the few too-early snowflakes melting hopelessly on the ground. You gave a high-pitched tone of surprise when suddenly, he surged forward, pulling you even closer and trailing kisses up your jaw to your ear. “Tell me you’d hate that,” he whispered and you gave him an incredulous look he couldn't see.

“Of course I’d hate that!”

Before you could say anything else, Theo discarded the cigarette over the railing. Though you had no time to follow the tiny glowing ember on its way down, because just a fraction of a second later, his lips crashed into yours and you let out a startled squeak. Feeling him smile against your lips, you kissed him back in a weak attempt to take the initiative. He allowed you to play, but the movement of his hands, the caging of his arms and the way he beckoned your mouth open so easily proved his underlying dominance. Theo just wasn't beatable at kissing.

This was what you had been looking forward to all day, sitting through transfiguration, charms and defense against the dark arts, all subjects you had without him, stealing longing glances over dinner and quickly looking back as to avoid drawing the attention of your friends or brother to the silent exchange.

As the kiss got more heated, Theo’s fingers curled into your sides, spinning you around so you were with your back to the railing. Miraculously, you couldn't bring yourself to care. All there was in this microcosm of the two of you was him, you and the feeling of his lips on yours. One hand of his cupped your jaw, angling it slightly back to gain best access to your throat. As his lips trailed down the expanse of it, nipping, kissing and sucking, you found yourself snapping out of your theo-kiss-induced haze and pulled away aprubtly.

Panting, you covered Theo’s lips with one hand and he raised his eyebrow at you. He did that well, his eyes alone could make your stomach flutter. But you didn't give in. “Theo, what if someone sees marks on my-” You're were a little embarrassed about the subject matter, breaking off mid-sentence, and glared at his shit-eating grin, invisible behind your hand. “Well, I mean-” You were blushing. Oh god, you were blushing like crazy.

“Did you not enjoy that, cara?” Theo whispered seductively, carefully prying your hand from his mouth and kissing it gently. His eyes glinting with mirth, he looked at you challengingly.

“Of course I did!” you said, exasperated and embarrassed at the same time. You hated it when Theo took advantage of your unfamiliarity with intimacy and relationships. “But nobody can see!”

You expected him to tease you some more, so you were surprised when he merely breathed a long sigh and pulled you into his chest. Immediately, you buried your nose in his robes that smelled of him so deliciously. Smoke, old wood, a hint of mint, bookshelves. You felt him breathe your scent in as well, nose buried in your hair, and laughed lightly, but he didn't join in. His voice was a whisper, hard to make out.

“How long do you think we can keep this up before someone finds out?”

You didn't want to answer the question.

Something picking at the back of your hand snapped you out of your drowsy state. Still tired from last night, you had dozed off a little in history of magic, but as soon as you caught the culprit of the picking at your hands, a hardly suppressed smile pulled at your lips. It was a little paper bird, and the fancy handwriting clearly indicated it as a note from Theo.

You waited until Professor Binns turned his back to the class to write on the blackboard, before carefully slipping the note into your lap, shielding it from Hermoine who sat next to you, taking notes. When you carefully folded the note open, you were greeted by Theo’s elegant handwriting.

If you keep chewing on your quill like that, I might lose my ability to concentrate.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you glanced sideways at him, where he sat a few rows behind your brother who had his head buried in his folded arms, fast asleep. Theo was leaning back in his chair, his quill poised lazily over his parchment as though he had been diligently taking notes, instead of composing witty distractions. His lips curved into a light smirk when your eyes met, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Well?

You hastily scribbled back, your handwriting looking sloppy and slanted next to his. Maybe I'm trying to distract you. Someone’s got to keep you on your toes, Nott. With a flick of your wand, the note floated subtly back to his desk, and you could barely contain a smile as his brows lifted in amused surprise before he began to write again.

Turning to the blackboard to copy the notes, you felt Hermoine's eyes on you and looked up from your parchment. She was eyeing you suspiciously. “What are you smiling about?” she whispered, sparing a nervous glance at the professor. “Nothing,” you answered, hastily grabbing the next messenger pigeon out of the air before it could enter your friend's vision. You could practically feel Theo chuckling at your unlucky predicament.

But Hermoine turned back to Binns once more to listen to his sermon and you stuffed the bird into your back subtly to read it after class and away from prying eyes.

“You’d be a half-decent Chaser if you didn't spend half the match showboating,” Theo drawled, his tone so casual it was clearly meant to provoke.

He leaned against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed as he regarded you with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. You, meanwhile, were sprawled across the emerald-green bedspread of his four-poster, arms tucked behind your head like you owned the place. At his words, you shot up immediately, propping yourself up on one elbow. “That's rich coming from the guy who winks at the crowd every time he scores- what’s that, part of your technique?”

The slytherin dormitory was quiet, except for crackling of the enchanted fire in the corner and the endless string of your playful teasing. Theo and you had the room for yourselves today as his mates were in Hogsmeade and Theo had stayed behind with the excuse of homework. As if he hadn't already finished all his work like the flawless O-grader he was.

“And anyway, I don’t see you scoring against Gryffindor’s defense without half your team clearing the way for you.” you teased, attempting to get a rise out of your ever calm and collected boyfriend.

But Theo’s smile only deepened, and he leaned forward just slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Jealous of my stats, are we, Potter? It’s not my fault you lot rely on your Seeker for every win.”

“You-” you started, your eyes narrowing, but his soft chuckle cut you off. You tossed one of his pillows at him instead, grinning when he caught it effortlessly. “Just keep laughing, Nott. You’ll regret it next match when I leave you in the dust.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand close around your ankle and shrieked as you were pulled towards him with alarming force. Before you could comprehend the shift in his behavior, he jolted forward as well, hovering over your body, sprawled out defenselessly underneath him. A light smile played around his lips as he took in your shocked expression with satisfaction and he brought a gentle hand up to your chin to tilt it upward, giving him access to your neck.

Theo dipped his head down to trail ghostly kisses down to your shoulder, muttering against your skin: “Are you sure about that, tesoro? Because I think you’ll have to work on your reaction time a bit before you can beat me.”

“Sneaky bastard,” you said, but couldn't suppress a high-pitched moan when Theo suddenly buried his teeth in your shoulder. Embarrassed by the sound that had slipped from your lips, you threw your hand over your mouth and blushed when he chuckled darkly into your neck.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he teased, looking up at you through his long dark lashes. Your pointed glare and flushed cheeks were answer enough.

When Theo broke out into a hearty laugh, you attempted to scowl at him, but it was hard when you were half in wonder by the sound of his laughter you got to hear so rarely. All the years you hadn't known Theo except for that one slytherin boy, you thought he couldn't laugh. When he did it for the first time with you, talking in the library over a muggle book you both had read and neither of you could talk to anyone else about, that was the first time you felt a flutter of butterflies rummaging in your stomach in his presence.

Awestruck by the sound of his laughter, you realized you had spaced out for a moment. Theo’s cackle had faded into a soft smile you could only reciprocate. His handsome features were painted with a gentle brush by the light of the fire. “You should laugh more often,” you said, not for the first time. “It’s beautiful.”

Theo hummed amused and leaned on his elbows to hover only a few inches above you. At this angle, his dark curls fell into his eyes, obstructing the view somewhat, so you reached up to run a hand through them. Savoring your touch, he closed his eyes and when he opened them, they held an implicit hunger that made you gulp. “I like your laugh too, tesoro. Love it, in fact,” he murmured, lips barely an inch from yours and you were itching to close the space in between. “And what I also love is y-”

Something banged at the door and both of you shot up, startled. As you stared at it unmovingly, the chatter of boy’s voices now unmistakably being heard through the closed door, Theo, the ever-quick thinker, jumped off the bed and beckoned you to follow. You shot up, heart thrumming with horror, scrambling onto your belly and rolling under Theo’s bed as far back as possible. With one quick glance to check if you were okay, that you answered with a silent thumbs-up, Theo got to his feet and walked over to the door, opening it.

“Theo, you bloke! Why did you lock the fucking door?” you heard a voice that sounded very much like Mattheo Riddle's shout. Several heavy steps resounded against the wooden floor and from under the bed, you could make out four pairs of shoes, undoubtedly belonging to Riddle, Malfoy, Berkshire and Zabini.

“I was studying,” Theo said, annoyance shimmering through his voice. “I prefer to do that undisturbed.”

You silently thanked the heavens that you and Theo had actually been studying before and therefore supplanted convincing evidence consisting of books and parchment. But suddenly, another realization dawned on you and your stomach curled with dread. Your parchment was up there too, with your handwriting and your name on it!

Theo’s eyes had also fallen on your parchment and he casually strolled over to his bed to collect it, concealing it with his and setting it aside. He felt annoyance rise within him and tried to keep it at bay. Of course his mates would barge in unexpectedly early in the exact moment he was about to confess his love to you. Clearing his face of any resemblance of emotion, he turned back around, leaning against his bedpost and trying his best not to worry about you, squeezed under his bed.

“You’re early,” he remarked, raising one brow. A memory almost made his lips twitch, of you trying to imitate the way he was able to raise one brow.

The boys threw glances at each other, some wary, but Blaise laughed. Only now did Theo notice his bleeding lip, and the others didn't look better of. Damn. He was really distracted when he hadn't even noticed it until now, when he always counted on his flawless perceptional ability.

“Who did you brawl with?” he sighed, though amused, looking directly at Mattheo who raised his hands in defense.

Draco nodded his way, dapping at a cut above his eyebrow with his shirt. “Mattheo picked a fight with Potter and some of his mates and we had to flee the scene before the old McGonagall caught us. Potter and Weasley got detention though.” He laughed in malicious joy and Theo's lips twitched slightly at the thought of you rolling your eyes under the bed.

“Potter’s sister wasn't with them though,” Enzo pondered, swapping out his slightly bloody hoodie for a clean one. When his head ascended from his collar, hair slightly disheveled, he was met with four pairs of raised brows. Well, three pairs plus one.

“What do you care about Potter’s sister?” Mattheo grinned wolfishly and Enzo rolled his eyes, chucking his bloody hoodie at him that got Mattheo right in the laughing face. Over that, he thankfully missed the subtle clench of Theo’s jaw at hearing him say ‘Potter’s sister’ in such an invidous tone.

Enzo, evidently, didn't like it either, which didn't help Theo’s irritation that he hid behind a mask of indifference. “She’s actually quite nice,” Enzo retorted, rolling his eyes at Mattheo’s and Blaise’s teasing whistles.

“Where’d you talk to her?” Theo asked, making his words sound so utterly indifferent nobody picked up on his sudden focus on the subject.

Under the bed, your heart did a little leap when you realized why he was asking. Though Theo was no outright jealous person, you sometimes caught him stealing glances at your male friends, voice tightening subtly when he talked about them. Anytime you teased him for it, he denied it, of course, saying jealousy was irrational and for fools because he knew you would never even glance at them. Hearing his inquire, you made a mental note to taunt him with it when this was all over.

“The library,” Enzo said, sitting down on his bed and taking one of his novels off the shelve. “I’m lousy in Arithmetic, as you know, and she isn't.”

“I’m surprised she even talked to you,” Blaise said as he magically fixed his lip in the mirror, making sure it looked flawless and untainted. “From what I gather, she’s the biggest goody-two-shoes in school, and a Griffindor ontop of that, why would she associate with a Slytherin?”

Enzo only shrugged, and Mattheo let out a loud groan as he longed himself at his bed that creaked under his impact. “Merlin, why are we still talking about Potters? There is so much more interesting stuff to talk about. Like what Theo has been doing today. Or who.”

He threw a teasing smile Theo’s way who raised his brow nonchalantly. “I told you, I was studying.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mattheo yawned, but kept his gaze fixed in his friends indecipherable expression. “You’re already five steps ahead in class, every assignment this year you got back with an O, what would you need to study for? Not to mention, you’ve been sneaking out more lately, and I bet it’s not ‘cause you’re dating Filch.”

Theo returned his stare unblinkingly, keenly aware of the fact that you were listening to every word. “So what if I am?” A slight smile graced his lips as he leaned his head against the bedpost. “Can't I fuck who I want?”

“Sure,” grinned Mattheo, unrelenting. “But you haven't done a lot of sleeping around for the last few months, from what I can gather. Seems to me like your man-whore-heart finally rests in the hands of only one unlucky girl.”

“Your audacity calling me fickle when you’ve slept your way through every willing girl in our grade is obnoxious,” Theo sneered, making the other boys laugh and directing the conversation towards the ravenclaw girl who’s heart Mattheo had broken just yesterday. With the other boys distracted, Theo dared kneeling down, pretending to tie his shoelaces while at the same time peering into the dark under his bed.

His eyes met yours in an instant as you raised your brows teasingly, and as he rose to his feet, Theo could hardly suppress a little smile that dared creep upon his face.

[deadsetobsessions]

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPT BY @out-of-jams

ACCIDENTALLY KIDNAPPING A MAFIA BOSS

In Tucker's defense, he thought he was doing someone a favor. A life saving favor, in fact.

"What the fuck-!” The red helmeted guy yelped as a deceptively strong Tucker yanked him onto the bike and sped away. Before Tucker could explain, the GIW agents behind them got in a lucky shot and hit the helmeted liminal with a strong blast to the head.

Clearly, his gear wasn’t equipped with anti-ecto protections, because the guy slumped over on Tucker’s arms. This was bad, because Tucker now had to maneuver about 230 pounds of Gotham muscle while speeding away from government agents. He flicked on the jammer so they couldn’t track his and red helmets’s ecto signature.

“STOP!”

“Ah, shit.” Tucker cursed as he somehow managed to gather up red-helmet’s body and stabilize the bike. “C’mon, Tuck, you can do this.”

Blasts of anti-ecto tech slammed into buildings around him. Luckily, Gotham was used to this kind of shit so people just moved out of the way before going back to their day. Tucker wove around traffic, trying to lure the agents into slamming face first into some signposts.

“Stop damaging the local infrastructure!” Tucker yelled back at them, speeding up.

“WELL REIMBURSE THE PEOPLE AND THE CITY LATER! TELL US WHERE PHANTOM IS!!”

“Over my dead body, you jerks!” Tucker took a sharp right, catching red helmet before the man could slip off. He sped up and took the ramp downwards, heart beating loudly in his ears as he strained his senses to figure out- ah, they took the ramp upwards. Good. Now, all he has to do is bring red helmet back to home base.

“Oh my god. I kidnapped him,” Tucker groaned, slapping at his face before quickly placing his hands back on the handle bar once the bike teetered over with red helmet’s weight. “I’m a criminal. Oh my god.”

Then, as he found his way back, “…Well, it’s not like I wasn’t a criminal before, with the whole resisting arrest thing.”

——

Tucker dumped the red helmet liminal onto the couch of their shared apartment and went to take a shower. When he got out ten minutes later, he found Danny and Sam staring at the helmet guy. Tucker pushed up his glasses (after letting them defog from the shower) and greeted them.

“Hey, guys! I found him while I was running away from Agent L and J.”

“You okay?” Danny asked, eyes immediately flicking over Tucker for injuries.

“Yeah, I’m good. They’re horrible shots.”

“I thought Danny was the one who brought home strays but you…?” Sam commented, arms crossed and a purple painted nail tapping at her arm. “Wait. Isn’t this… that crime lord? What was his name?”

“Red Hood?” Danny offered, turning back to look at the guy on their couch.

Tucker paled. “Oh, no.”

Guns? Check.

Red Helmet? Check.

Bat-Symbol? Check.

Shit.

They collectively stared at the guy in silence.

“…Tucker,” Sam slowly said. “Did you accidentally kidnap a crime lord?”

“Hey, I didn’t want him to get killed! He’s liminal! Even more than us, except for Danny.” Tucker grumbled. “Man, this is why I leave the hero-ing to Danny. I do one good thing and suddenly I have a crime lord on my couch.”

“My couch,” Sam corrected, as she was the one that furnished their apartment.

“What do we do now?”

“Eat dinner,” Tucker said. “I’m famished.”

Sam nodded. “Wait for him to wake up and hope he doesn’t shoot us the moment he wakes up. Then, we explain.”

Danny grabbed all the visible guns he could see. Tucker went to start dinner. Sam supervised, because her boys were idiots and now she had a crime lord in her apartment.

——

Jason groaned, head swimming in a sea of dull throbbing pain as his eyes fluttered open.

Then he remembered he was abducted, and bolted up right. He paused as a series of quick observations made its way to his consciousness.

One. He’s not tied up. Weird, because everyone knows that he’s a weapon even without his weapons.

Two. His weapons were right there, just in reach.

Three. He was surrounded by teenagers and/or young adults who were all scrolling along on their phones.

“Oh, hey, he’s awake! Hi!” The Wayne bait said, electric blue eyes fixing itself on Jason. “Were you aware you died?”

Jason went rigid, hundreds of way to-

“Danny!” A scolding tone cut of Jason’s immediate panic. Two couch pillows slammed into Danny’s face, courtesy of goth girl and nerdy but strong.

“Dude, why do you start with that? Why are you like this?” His… possible kidnapper? asked, exasperatedly flinging his hands into the air as he rolled his eyes.

Goth girl scowled. “Boys. Crime lord, couch, remember?”

“Hey, in my defense, I died too!”

And that- as Jason remained dumbfounded in this circle of tomfoolery- was what snapped Jason out of his daze.

“You what?” He rasped out.

And when he saw them open their mouths at the same time, Jason just knew his headache was going worse.

——

Tucker, effortlessly plucking the actual red hood from the streets: and I whoop-

Jason, whose type is strong, nerdy, and tall: *heart eyes* *but not really because he’s unconscious*

——

Sam: “this is my boyfriend Danny and our other boyfriend Tucker.”

Jason enters chat:

Sam: “this is my boyfriend Danny and our other boyfriend Tucker and his boyfriend, the Red Hood.”

——

[takes1]

PLEASE I NEED MATSUKAWA OR KUNUMI OR EVEN MADDOG PLEASE IM BEGGING 🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🙏

thankz ::3 -🩻

clingy!kentarou x reader (taming maddog)

heyyyy :) finally getting to this hope it's aight

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / riding maddog / 69 / obsessive!maddog / clingy!needy!maddog / possessive!maddog / loneliness theme / 'i can fix him' trope / libero!reader / johsai girls' team reader / maddog being canonically mean / implied virginity / experienced!reader / emotionally intelligent reader / emotionally stunted maddog / 3.6k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3

"(Y/n), like, I know you've got a type and all..."

"Mhmm," You follow absentmindedly, tracking your latest obsession like a hawk.

Number 16 was different- not just attractive, but he had a threatening, intense, sharp presence about him. He was just about the only member of the guys' team who didn't subscribe to a cheerful, cooperative environment. His little outburst earlier caught your attention, and he was currently benched for pushing Oikawa.

He sure was aggressive. You bit your lip and watched him stretch from the bleachers.

"But I heard he's actually crazy."

The other girls on your team would never understand what possessed you to put yourself in danger, going after the most deviant of guys you could find. It was an endearing joke amongst the team, at this point, but they did worry for your safety.

"What's his name?" You looked to them for the first time, mind already made up.

Whispers of Kentarou, Kyoutani, Maddog, were shared as you settled back to watching him. Lots of horror stories of him getting in trouble, getting into fights, yelling at teachers, other students, getting suspended for a time all encouraged you. The nickname he earned made you significantly more fascinated.

You could fix him. It would at least be fun to try.

You couldn't help but ponder where his true fault lied, how it twisted into so much unwarranted aggression.

Was he not held as a baby? Did he have a bad home life? Had it manifested into some kind of sexual dysfunction? You wondered if he was this big of a presence in the bedroom. You smiled at the strong possibility that he wasn't.

Maybe that was a bit Freudian of you to assume, but your previous diagnoses hadn't steered you wrong yet. The guys you slept with were all weirdos- losers- psychos- and yet, they were all a step closer to normal after a little love.

They couldn't stop you from approaching, especially when nobody had the guts to go anywhere near him.

"Hi," You tapped his shoulder after a bout of hesitation.

He looked to the side, then behind, and realized you were referring to him.

His brow fell from its subtle version of surprise, making all his features look heavier, meaner-- you shuddered.

"Yo." Was all he said.

Though dismissive and already uncomfortable, it was enough to work with.

You smoothed out your uniform with a nervous sigh, "Um- I'm sorry if this is forward, but,"

"I think you're really cute. I'd like to go on a date, sometime."

Kentarou looked angry even when he was shocked. The dark around his eyes made it impossible to look soft, and it seemed he didn't have the capacity to smile yet.

The only way you could deduce that he was embarrassed was the way his hands balled into fists at his sides, how he looked around your face over, over, and over again for an ounce of insincerity.

It was adorable. You giggled at his long silence.

Laughing shut him down. His mouth curled in a sneer, positive you were laughing at him.

The gaggle of girls, filling the entrance to the gym, all clad in your uniform, wasn't great for optics. It looked like you were playing a prank on him.

"Are you kiddin' me?" He rolled his eyes before you could even try to explain, "Go fuck yourself."

It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Though you loved your team, visible swarms of women never put the guys you went after at ease.

That rejection was still tame for what you had seen before from him.

He put his back to you and crossed his arms, watching the game, instead. Getting benched and made fun of couldn't have been a great feeling.

Determined now, you shook out your nerves and tapped his shoulder again.

"Tch-! I said fuck off!" He scowled down at you, but you knew it was misguided. So it didn't hurt as bad.

You purposefully didn't mirror his body language- you didn't want him to cut him off even more. You stood facing him at an angle, trying to catch his eye and take his attention again.

Voice quiet, sweeter, genuine, "I'm serious."

Even if this was a joke, you were the most persistent he had ever seen. Nobody usually got this far. If he told somebody to leave, they did. Especially after the second time, and a girl, at that.

"I mean- I get it if you're not into short girls, that's totally fine," You fixed your hair, glancing away from his overwhelmed, slow expression, "But, please, just... think about it. Here's my number."

For a moment, you were unsure if he would take the paper in your hand. He gave you zero indication that he believed your story, but after just enough time to make you doubt, he took it.

Kentarou held it tight, confused, as you joined your team to leave the gym. He watched them look over and preen you like birds to make sure you weren't hurt.

It could've been a real confession. The gravity of it didn't truly land until he was back home, looking up the girls' team Instagram to find your personal handle. You were following the page and even had a few features in their posts.

Doubts began to grow that it was your real number. He decided he didn't want to use it.

Instead, he lay on his bed, palming himself to the poses of your greatest receives- you were such a pretty girl, with a nice body, cute face--reminded of those things now, it only made him more skeptical at your choice to speak to him.

Luck was on his side once again, because your own profile was public. You even had a few beach posts. Lots of likes, lots of followers. You wouldn't notice if he liked a few of them, unless you were being honest about your interest.

You were all over his signals in a flash.

A follow, a bit of page-stalking that got you nowhere (because he had 0 online presence, other than a couple blank accounts), and a long string of messages that went deep into the night, all earned you a date.

Now that the game had officially begun, you needed to curate each move carefully. If you waited too long to take advantage of any clear signs of interest, he wouldn't find you worth the trouble. You needed some dick.

Kentarou was lonely, too.

It was as you suspected, monitoring him during that practice match. People who had a good support system didn't act that way he did.

He wasn't wistful, or desperate, and didn't invite friendship. Shit, he barely let you court him, and the only way you could convince him to meet you for coffee was if you sent a few pictures 'to prove it was just you.' And yet, after the one misunderstanding, he didn't deny you any opportunity to get close.

His experiences shaped him to be incredibly firm, mistrusting, and overly cautious, yes; It all fell short though, when it came to the very simple, universal longing for companionship.

The cafe wasn't too quiet, thankfully.

You were most worried about the possibility of him causing some sort of commotion and being asked to leave, but other patrons were lively enough to drown him out, if he did raise his voice.

To your surprise, that also wasn't much of an issue.

He ordered for the two of you, even -begrudgingly- accepting that you wanted a more intricate drink, too. He didn't let you do much for yourself. When he told you to go find a seat while he waited at the counter, you stayed with him so you could be close. He still didn't argue.

Though he wasn't polite, he wasn't a monster. He was just brimming with attitude, and that rubbed people the wrong way. When unprovoked, he was mean-looking, sure, but docile.

A predatory gaze watched the skirt of your casual dress flutter up- just a little, not quite enough- as you sat down next to him with your elaborate drink in hand. He set his cup down and you felt his leg flex as you closed the distance to snuggle up to him.

"You're taking this joke pretty far."

Insecurity filled the quiet between his words, and it took a sensitive ear to detect under all the venom. Was he testing you? Probably. Was he still trying to protect himself? Absolutely.

"Mm," You considered how to respond while sipping on your coffee, staring forward, not really minding his intensity, "I don't have the kind of time to go on fake dates, you know."

It was an argument less emotional in nature, but due to its legitimacy, it left him stumped enough to drop the subject.

In its wake remained discomfort. Mostly at your thigh, busy rubbing against him as you pretended to be more invested in the ambience of the cafe, or the flavor of the drink in your hands.

"What're you doing it for?" He pressed, different, but still carried with a grumbly, shitty attitude he always spoke in.

That took some getting used to, but once you understood he just talked that way, you were able to take his words at face value and waste less time miscommunicating.

A warm hand, palming the squish of your bare thigh encouraged your desire to be honest.

You waited for him to stop scanning the cafe, for the right moment to tell him.

His eyes dipped first to your pretty thighs, all soft and warm and new in his hand. Then he was taken by the all the sweetness in the way you looked at him.

"I wanna sleep with you."

You expected him to not believe you, like the first time, but his surprise was now pretty conventional.

His mouth hung open, just a little, and you noticed a tongue piercing. How did you miss it before? Did he not wear it at school? Your thighs tightened and he met it with a firm squeeze as he took a sobering drink of his coffee.

It was obvious he wanted to know why. But he was looking for something better to say, instead.

"The fuck are we doing here?"

That was a good question. Such a good question, in fact, that after a bit of conversation about where to go to fuck, you landed on going back to your place.

He made himself comfortable on your bed as you shut the door and locked it, just in case. Your room didn't have a whole lot of conversation starters, so he took a while to really examine it.

He wasn't witty, or spontaneous, or chatty.

There was no value in sitting around, acting like you wanted to delve into a discussion about each other's families, or grades, or volleyball.

His brow softened as you dropped the straps of your dress down.

There was a small attempt to look you in the eye, which you appreciated in a very limited context, but once you kept going, he might as well have been wearing a collar.

A half-sigh, half-laugh pushed out of his open mouth, brow furrowed again, as he tried to speak a few times while you posed for him, drunk on such a cute, endearing reaction.

There were a lot of things for him to think about. You could almost smell the smoke of grinding gears when you stood in front him and rubbed your hands against his shoulders.

He kept getting his fill, eyes unable to stay in one place too long, practically trying to back up so he could keep looking at all of you.

You giggled, "Kentarou?"

His breath stopped. You couldn't feel it, tingling across your skin, anymore.

You took some fingers to his curly hair, playing with it, "Aren't you gonna touch me?"

"I-," He didn't know what to do with himself for a moment, "Where?"

Your charmed, bitten back smile made his ears bright, bright red. Instead of telling him, you settled onto his lap and felt for his hands, gently guiding them towards your hips.

It was slow, natural, and gentle how you decided to kiss him.

You could feel how heated he was, with one hand on the back of his neck, the other cooling off the side of his face. One second to part for some breath, which he needed, badly- you waited for him to say something.

But he was forcing his mouth back onto yours quicker than you thought he would- his fingers dug into your flesh, and he brought you down onto his hard-on with a sudden loss of reservation.

It didn't take long to start catching that little tongue piercing against your lip- you groaned against his mouth, "Fuck, I really like that."

He was a fast, eager, and very rough learner. Kentarou was also laughably easy to please, because it was obvious he had no preferences built up yet. Everything you did left him stunned and hungry.

You reveled in your private victory and helped him undress. He wasn't shy about his own body, but you made it clear that he had a nice figure by taking the time to kiss along his muscular arm, then shoulder, and up to his neck.

His quickness to mirror you, kissing the same places on your body, was cute. He never once smiled, but he showed his investment in other ways.

When you offered to 69, he immediately fell onto his back from his upright position, rubbing his warm face.

A weak, "Yes," from under his palms was all you got, but it was so sweet from a guy like him. He sounded broken in, in a way.

You pressed a deserving kiss to his jaw and turned around.

His cock looked just as angry as he was, normally. Twitchy, leaking a bit of precum on his toned tummy, tinged dark with the all the time it had been waiting.

"You're- so fuckin' wet," He sounded stunned to say that aloud, understand what it actually meant, and that he was obsessed with it.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to the base of his cock as you settled into a good position.

How long had it been since you got laid? Apparently too long, because you were dripping with anticipation at the salty taste of his tip sliding past your teeth.

That was the downside of having such a specific type. Not many options.

He was still figuring out how to use his own mouth when you took the breath out of him- a strangled gasp at the sound, the sensation of your lips and tongue sucking off the slickness there. You held him by the base, briefly.

"You should let me know if you like it," You teased, just before bobbing your head back down.

"Mm-mmnh-! Fuck! Do I-ahh, have to?"

With that whiny tone?

You slowly came back up, careful to leave no spit behind. He was flexing in your jaw, his stomach twitching against your chest. Poor thing wouldn't last very long, he was so sensitive.

"Uhh, yes," You grinned, tongue darting out to lick him all the way down his shaft.

"Fuuuck- whatever- augh, just keep doin' that," His groan broke into a murmur of sorts, against your pussy.

From there, he was starting to find what worked with you. It was curious, and not great, but you didn't need it to be; something about the clingy way he held you, the shift in his attitude, was making you feel like you could take him already.

It made your nails dig, deep into his thighs, your already sparse breath grow a bit shorter.

Though his desperate tone and slow, gentle tongue made some parts of you tighten, it helped your throat relax and take more of him.

He started to come apart long before you wanted to be done.

Breathy, incomplete "Stopstop-sta-aah," every twenty seconds flattered you, letting you take more frequent breaks to ride his face and break in that little metal ball.

You thought about his nickname during one of these breaks. It was one of those instances where it seemed fitting, but for more than just surface-level aggression.

Nothing about him scared you. Not after you showed him that you had no ill-intention. He was like a dog. He wasn't vicious because it was in his nature; he just had a thorn in his paw.

He 'bit' people because they didn't give him a chance.

All of these chances you were giving him proved that he was worth all the effort to get close. It wasn't even much work, in hindsight.

You showed him the mechanics of the condom you brought for the occasion, and managed to talk him through some important sex-centered courtesies.

"So, y'know, you'll want to yield to whatever she's ready for--,"

Kentarou kept you from sitting on his cock, for just a second-- his eyes grew narrow, darting around your face.

"You mean: 'you.'" He corrected.

He looked like he was about to bite through your face.

"Right!" You smiled, growing a bit warm at your inconsiderate slip in language, "Yeah, of course."

Your apologetic kisses, smattered all along his sensitive face and neck, calmed him. His grip softened, slowly, as he became convinced that this was sacred again.

As you started to take him, he forgot all about it.

"Aughh- my go-d," He couldn't stop watching where you came together with a knotted brow, at how slick, and tight, and hot you were.

Your confidence read in the form of slow, rolling motions of your hips, the cloudy look in your eyes as you were finally getting filled up again after such a dry spell of no dick. You put your hands over his, already on your hips, and encouraged him to squeeze harder.

"Mmn-ah-h," You placed your hands on his chest, to keep yourself upright.

It hurt, how much he reciprocated that squeeze, but you quickly learned to like the sting.

Like most everything else, he replicated what you showed him. He started fucking you back, his hips able to take you faster, harder--

The pretty little pout on your lips was enough to make him screw his eyes shut, just to try to settle down.

He was getting so worked up at your tight little cunt that he was forced to let you keep your slower pace, contribute a little less, for fear he'd finish too soon.

His breath was like a stutter- so shallow and huffy that you rubbed your hand across his cheek, to check if he was okay. As you did this, the look in his eyes burned into the back of your skull.

You had seen that somewhere before. Not in someone you knew personally.

"Mm-mnh-!"

You were careful not to look away from it, and you only closed your eyes when it was too intense, too good to see straight.

The way he gripped you was like a lifeline, clawing, leaving rough and raised lines across you-- It wasn't intended to hurt, but more or less to make sure he left you with some lasting impression. He didn't understand that he didn't need to do it.

He couldn't take the concern on your face. Not as you fucked him so close, not with that perfect body taking his cock so well. Nobody ever looked at him with so much warmth.

"Ah! Just- just like that," You gasped, shaky all of a sudden.

"Fuck-," He sighed, suddenly having to remember what exactly he was doing.

He grimaced, face twisted in the pain of trying not to cum, head thrown back so he didn't have to look at you.

But your hand left his chest to grasp him by the jaw- it wasn't hard, but it was enough to move him. You begged him to look at you. You wanted him to watch you, and it looked like he was just short of a confessing something sinful.

Worship.

That's what you saw. In those narrowed eyes were praise, an exaltation of the love you had spared for him.

It filled you with a dizzying, raw confidence- you took in a breath through your nose, getting railed so hard, so close that your eyes started watering.

"Fuck- I'm-Ah--!" You couldn't quite finish your sentence before you crashed over, your body seized up, firm, grabbing and gripping him like you needed, wanted him so bad.

It left him a groveling, panting mess underneath you. He was watching in awe just like you told him to, only allowed to cum after you were done.

He fucked it all out of you, thanks to the timing. Your slow wave-riding kept you pleasant and buzzed as he fucked you hard for his own orgasm.

You even egged him on, breathless, a little smirk only interrupted by a pleasurable wince a couple of times.

"You wanna cum for me?"

"Yeah? Yeah?"

After finishing so loud and performative, nothing could have prepared you for how cuddly and silent he got.

You shouldn't have given into the desire to hug him, because he wouldn't let you move to pull him out.

"Mm-mm," Was pressed in a sloppy kiss against your neck.

Those muscular arms were shaking a little, just barely, around your waist.

"I'm- not going anywhere," You laughed, returning a few light kisses against his temple, "But we need to clean up."

He made it difficult, almost impossible, to separate and throw the condom away. You opted to just tie in a knot and throw it closer to the trash can so you didn't have to get up.

The way he watched you was careful, intense, looking for any opening to get closer to you again.

You finally sighed, smiling, "Okay."

Kentarou pulled you back down to lay next to him at the soonest opportunity. He kept an arm heavy over your chest, his leg kicked between yours, his eyes never leaving the side of your face.

His intensity was what you signed up for, but now, warm under his persistent and acute attention, you realized: maybe you hadn't thought this through the whole way.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Aegon is the best big brother to his sweet sister, who is in third trimester of pregnancy; not only does he help her relieve the feeling of her heavy breasts by sucking on her tits greedily like a babe, he sometimes helps the aching feeling between her legs by sticking his cock, tongue or fingers in her cunny

Such a good brother, especially when she’s not even his wife

Blood of my Blood.

PAIRING: Older!Brother!Aegon ii Targaryen x Little!Sister!Fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,715.

WARNINGS: incest to the max, implied affair [Aegon is the father of the child], age gap [reader is of mature/consensual age], lactation kink, pregnancy kink, slight reference to breeding kink, p in v sexual intercourse, possessive!Aegon, swearing.

A/N - now I NEVER write brother x sister tropes even in the ASOIAF universe just because it’s not really my cup of tea, but this ask sparked something very very feral in me. I might make a neice x uncle version of this or a Daddy Aeg x daughter!reader version.

credit to the owners of the images.

Curse the Gods who afflicted the journey of motherhood, for it could be such a gruelling thing... Heading into the final few moons of your first pregnancy, you had never felt such intense discomfort in your life. Your beloved mother, Queen Alicent, had informed you of such grievances, although with little empathy for her pregnancies had been quite embracing and facile. Your eldest sister, Helaena, having already given birth to a set of twins, now in the early stages of her current pregnancy with your elder brother, Aemond, could somewhat console you, becoming an anchor of support.

It was Aegon, your eldest of the siblings, that you seemed most attached to, for it was Aegon that granted you bliss in your pregnancy, more so than your absent husband, some delinquent lord of the Vale. You had argued your way with your mother, and batted your eyes to your father, begging you to stay in King's Landing, in familiar territory with the finest maesters at hand. More so, it was Aegon who had plotted with you this essential plan.

"Do you truly think that the maesters of the Vale and that imbecile you call husband will keep you safe and satisfied, dear sister? Not in the least... But I can."

Aegon's temptress of a tongue was convincing alone, although it had been his merciful gestures of chivalry that kept you sane and grounded. Easing your aches and pains of expecting, Aegon became your sole beacon of ease, like the formidable arms of a warrior and you, the damsel he heroically carries.

"Do they ache again, sweet sister?"

The softness in his husky, drowsy voice breaking the silence of the chamber, woke you whole from your half-hearted daze. You had both succumbed to slumber [often Aegon insisted that you remain closely by his side, even in bed] what felt like hours long ago, and yet through the ginger firelight, by the open window, night remained swallowing the sky.

"Mhmm-" You uneasily stir: weakly trying to muster enough strength to sit yourself upright: however, with the sheer, bulging mass of your grown belly you visibly struggled until Aegon's efforts of pulling you effortlessly upright ended your dilemma.

"Want me to help, princess?"

His calloused, thick hands began to rub small, soothing circles against your lower back, knowing the babe inside exerted much pressure on your lower spine: its weight growing more rigid with each passing month.

"You've helped me enough, Aegon. I mustn't ask more from you... If this state is any indication of me being a mother, consider me a terrible one," You defeatedly utter, one hand stretched from behind supporting your upright position, whilst the other softly caressed at the protruding temple of your clothed belly.

"Don't speak like that, Y/N, dearest. This is your first babe, you must understand your body is adjusting. Hel suffered a great deal with the twins also, and now, look at her... You are going to be a beautiful mother, indeed. I have no doubt...C'me here."

Lightly tapping at your exposed thigh, your night gown had been pulled up just below your way with all the commotion and movement. Obeying, Aegon summoned you onto his lap, shirtless he had entered the bed, however before you could even gather motion to straddle yourself atop: he'd managed to tear away his undergarments, leaving his exposed girth, reddened at the tip with excitement. Modestly covering himself with the sheer, ivory linen.

"Right now?" Your snappy tone vicious, however Aegon remained unfazed.

"Well, little sister, if I'm being quite frank it seems you've been dreaming quite vividly... Do you not hear the moans and pleas that escape your lips in sleep, crying out for me, begging... Want your elder to sate you, is it? Was that babe growing inside of you not enough, you wish me to spoil you some more, hmm?"

"A-Aeg- We shouldn't..." You meekly whimper, a surge of heat coursing through your face, certain your cheeks had grown scarlet with shame.

"All you had to do was ask."

His dark voice a low growl, like some concealed predator eager to ambush. Aegon's motions remained in contrast, tender and cautious, easing your delicate and sensitive frame over his wide, gelatinous thighs. A scorching sensational painfully heightened sent lightning bolts in waves throughout the entirety of your body, shuddering with excitement as your aching cunt eased itself over his pulsating cock. It had been a while since you had been intimate with Aegon like this, prior to the pregnancy in fact: the changes your body had undergone since were bracing and raw.

Feeling the tensity beneath and the heat as you began to bob ever so slowly and sensually over Aegon's tense, fat cock: feeling its hard tip hitting at your cervix [you had hoped rather than the babe]. Your tight walls overstretched, desperate to adjust to his girthy width, you swore to yourself it had never felt this stimulating ever before: every primal sense in your body, every fibre of your being resisting the urge to collapse into a faint against Aegon's soft chest, gripping onto the bare, pale skin of his broad shoulders for dear life.

"That's it, rūs [baby], doing so-so well. It hurts I know, but Daddy's gonna make you feel so much better. Keep going, princess."

Head rolling back in admiration, you felt the intensity from between your inner thighs beginning to lessen, a wetness pooling between, coating the friction to ease the motions. Your hands release their strong hold over him, as your eyes began to wonder over his body, you had immediately noticed the raw, reddened marks lashed across his ivory skin. To avoid any more damage, you guide your relaxed hands up towards Aegon's short strands.

Tugging and playfully pulling at the loose, platinum locks, whilst Aegon's face remained buried, eagerly lapping at your petal-like skin on the base of your neck. One strong arm snaked around your back, gripping you firmly by the neck providing some lumbar support, whilst the other strategically untied the knots of lace at the front of your night gown, exposing your voluptuously full tits. Hardened nipples raw and perky, even as Aegon teasingly flicked at your tit with this thumb, a grimace forming across his handsome face you felt against your skin: kneading the swollen, plump flesh with his palm, you instinctively squirmed and moaned with such debility.

"Seven Hells, you are so fucking full, dārilaros [princess]. This babe is going to be so spoiled. Such a good Mumma, already eager with milk for the bub... Could feed the an entire realm, Mumma."

"J-Just you A-Aeg. Only you get to taste this sweet m-milk before the babe. T-Tell me how good I taste," Stuttering whimpers mottled between mouthful of moans echoed between the dense walls of Aegon's royal chambers. His fat cock still buried and plunging itself deeply inside of you, penetrating against your already tainted and filled womb, Aegon's hand cupped at your breast from beneath. Lifting your tit upwards, latching his mouth tightly against its curvature peak.

"Mhmm- Keep going big boy... M-Making me feel s-so good, A-Aeg. H-Have your full."

The imminent relief your occupied tit began to succumb to, felt like a blissful dream. You felt your breath could finally release, not hitched against your throat from the sheer agony of feeling it was about to burst. The milk you intently sensed, lusciously pouring into Aegon's ravenous mouth, his plump, moist lips suckling at your skin, totally encompassing the nipple in its entirety. His teeth lightly gnawed at your flesh, however, it was a pleasant sensation nonetheless.

"So w-warm and fresh- Gonna f-fill me up so fucking much. P-Poor princess... The weight of these, the copious a-amount- I-I'm greedy for you. Sh-Should've fucked you earlier in your womanhood... Drenching your w-womb of my seed, till we fill the keep i-if need be. M-Mother would rather enjoy it."

Aegon, famished like a destitute of the realm, bathed his taste-buds of your milk from one breast and onto the other: regaining his breath between each as he felt inclined to credit your production. Descending his face down once more, he spared no further second wasting away, as he continued to fervently feed, like a man starved of pure water.

"Th-The el-eldest you may b-be, such a b-big baby y-you are. S-So needy for me, huh? A-Always needing t-to take me, m-make me yours. Every bit of me... Is devout t-to you, A-Aegon."

As if your breathless, sensual words had struck a chord in him, a man gone mad with a fever. His hold on you had tightened, his mouth suckled deeper, tugging at the flesh of your bosom, whilst his cock felt it had grown a size more inside of you. The wet mess coating between your inner thighs now glazed all over Aegon's plump lap, expressed no denial of his power over you, the purpose he gave to you. In theory and practice, you felt your body collapsing into a bliss, a shudder of ecstasy waved through your feeble body as you screamed for Aegon, a gush of your wetness coating all over his stiff cock buried inside. Only to be met with Aegon's mutual appreciation of your vulnerability and submission towards him.

"That's it, baby. Such a beautiful woman... Gevives [beauty]. You honour me with this holy act. You privilege me to your womb, your body and your life... Skorkydoso kostagon nyke mirre deny ao mirros? [How can I ever deny you anything?]."

Easing yourself off of Aegon, your limp, frail body tiresome and relieved of such exploits endured. Aegon knew better than to leave you to your own strength, as absent as it was: carrying you over towards your empty side of the bed, still laying you closely against his natural warmth.

"Continue to serve me, brother. And I shall pay it back 100 times over... And besides, if it had not been for your mischief many moons ago, I would not be in such a state. Although, I wouldn't have it any other way, Aegon... I love you."

"Avy jorrāelan [I love you], my dearest, sweet little sister. Continue as you are and I might have to fuck another babe in you once more to teach you a lesson or two."

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @zaldritzosrose

Aegon ii taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11 @bucknastysbabe @callsignwidow

credit for divider - @/saradika-graphics

[wonryllis]

daddy issues, my little girl (m) | park jongseong.

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹,

preview. you had always had daddy issues, for as long as you could remember. so when jay came along with his caring nature, how could you possibly keep your feelings at bay? not to forget, your roses of love have wilted long before you even knew what love meant but jay, he’s here at your doorstep with a watering can. will you be able to refuse?

or where, new neighbor dr jay park is asked to babysit you over the week. ironically the only man you have ever had a crush on. you are so determined to put aside the feelings but jay makes things so much harder. he is way too sweet and caring and you are way too pessimistic and insecure. how is it going to work with you gravitating towards him in inadvertence and jay welcoming your presence with candor radiance? especially with all of your buried issues coming to life more than ever. false hopes and reserved secrets, reluctant truths and feelings that linger deep. he is right there, two doors away to reach. so why is it that love still feels so far?

meet the cast. daddy park jongseong(jay) with his doll fem!reader

genre. neighbour to lovers, age gap (like 7 years), romance, SMUT MDNI!!, comfort angst, fluff, happy ending, doctor(might change that)!jay with his precious girl. jay literally always at his girl's beck and call, he cares about you a lottttt trope. the "i know you can do it, but let me do it for you" trope. kinda ddlg concept idk? he's like your pillar, comfort person and just everything you have ever needed. practically your dream man come to life. subject to additions later on.

word count. 18-19k so far, est around 35k revamp + second installment.

warnings. DARK THEMES: hints of: daddy issues, attachment anxiety, inferiority complex, abandonment issues, depression, childhood emotional neglect, philophobia, insomnia, social anxiety, hints at emotional/psychological abuse, gaslighting, hints at being suicidal, people pleaser syndrome, mommy issues, thantophobia, atelophobia, atychiphobia, pistanthrophobia, avoidant personality disorder, body dysmorphia. more could be added on release and nsfw warnings will be mentioned in full fic.

theme song. daddy issues by the neighborhood and future by red velvet. on the side you can listen to: love letter by bolbbalgan4, adore you by harry styles, pacify her by melanie martinez, cool kids by echosmith, your existence by wonstein, teenage dreams by katy perry ..

RELEASING. TBD, progress ! 57%

"i’m home!” slipping off your converse, you put the pair inside the shoe cabinet near the entrance and close the wooden door in a sigh before trudging in. the lights in the living room are dimmed, something your parents would never do. it catches you a tad bit off guard but nevertheless you try not to think too much. considering the silence surrounding you they most definitely are out for work and as usual forgot to turn off the lights. with cautious steps you walk futher inside, with all intention to sneak in a pack of chips from the kitchen like a thief even though at this point you’ve practically come to the conclusion you’re home alone, but one can never be too careful.

a cat like shriek leaves you when your eyes land on the back of a figure sitting on the couch, your phone almost slipping through the grasp of your fingers as your eyes widen in shock. startled, your heart more or less stopping in a screeching brake for a split second.

the man visibly flinches at the sound of your voice,“who are you?!-” standing up and turning around to face you,“jay?”

“god y/n, you’re gonna make me deaf,” he complains, face contorting into a tender, teasing expression; a small smile gracing his lips as he walks around the couch and leans against the top of the backrest. you watch as he looks at you, so softly that it makes you wonder, has anyone ever in your entire life looked at you like that? a look radiating such gentleness. maybe not, not until now that is.

“you got home early today, i thought you’d be out for two more hours?” his brows raise in a questioning manner as his gaze shifts to go over the time showing on your living room clock.

“uh, well i was working on a project the last few days but i finished it yesterday so,” you speak unsure if you should even be telling him this instead of asking what he’s doing in here.

“oh okay, that’s good,” taking off his overcoat he walks into the kitchen, folding up his dress shirt’s sleeves on the way,“what do you want for lunch then? do you want to eat takeout? or should i cook you something? you must be hungry,” he takes out a bottle of cold water from the fridge and pours in a glass for you, sliding the cup on the countertop towards you as you approach the space in hesitant and confused steps.

his questions dumbfound you, leaving your brain at a loss, still dazed from his presence before you,“what? why are you asking me that? and what are you doing in my house?” you ask, looking completely clueless when jay turns to look at you expecting it to be some kind of a sarcastic remark. but the lost look in your eyes has him surrendering even if it does turn out to be some joke.

“taking care of you,” jay smiles, straightening his posture in an upright position and moving closer to the counter across which you stand,“technically, babysitting,”

“babysitting? me? but,” it baffles you, is this some prank or are you supposed to know something you don’t? your mind’s mechanical gears slow down, friction arising in between them. you don’t remember anything regarding or relating to the term babysitting. there’s no way he’s serious.. right?

“doll, didn’t your parents tell you they’re gonna be out on a business trip for a week? they asked me to look after you while they’re gone,” what.

yes these past few days when you couldn’t catch a hidden, one-sided glimpse of him in the elevator you did feel weird. and you definitely did subconsciously wish to run across him again, even though you were on a mission to avoid him, but this; this is not what you would’ve liked, this is not what you wanted. this is far from what you can handle, what your messed up self can accept.

“no?” the look on your face has jay almost spilling a laugh, the way your features contort to a whiny crying expression. how cute. he thinks.

“that’s okay, now you know,” trying to imitate you, he scrushes up his nose in a slight pout, reaching out to pat your head twice. and there goes your heart. you never thought you’d like head pats this much, you only remember getting them twice from your father but it felt different. it used to annoy you because he would mess up your hair but the way jay caressed your head it felt you had accomplished something, so gentle and careful yet still close to a ruffle.

taglist ( open. ) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @lheebra @boyfhee @defnotfertilizedtoesw @brownsugarbaybee @skylaly @sparklovespink @luvyouchuu @ming-h0e @cha0thicpisces @butterflywonie @kgneptun @haechansbbg @m3chigo @wonsbaer @woncine @eneiyri @siyen @wonyoungsvirus @heesquared @enhafim22 @velvtcherie @ineedsomezzz @simjyunnie @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @wonkifangirl @sweetwonieee @luvnicho @fakeuwus @sunpov @notevenheretbh1 @kaykay11sworld @saurxcream @shawnyle @monstaxdirtywonk @wannieepisod @woozixo @sophi-ee @rikiwaify-blog @fluerz @iselltulips @belowbun @yunjinsbbg @enhasnuggles @enhaswirlds @enhastolemyheart @jooniesbears-blog

[kiwriteswords]

for the prompt: 16. or one deep kiss that just lights your world and fulfills your soul and heart.

Aaron Hotchner x Bold!Female!Reader

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: >>1k||TW/Tags: Fluff, bold!female!reader

Specific Romance Trope Prompt List

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The local precinct was unusually quiet for that hour, the weight of an unsolved case pressing down on every agent. 

It was late, or rather, early in the morning, and the remnants of caffeine from too many cups of coffee were barely keeping the team awake. 

Hotch sat at the head of the table, papers strewn about, his brow permanently furrowed as he reviewed the evidence for what felt like the hundredth time.

Every lead felt like it was slipping through their fingers, and his usual stoic demeanor had shifted into visible frustration.

He didn’t like this loss of control feeling. He liked to be two steps ahead, not behind.

"Come on, Hotch, it’s not that bad. We've been in tougher jams," you chimed in, trying to lighten the mood as you leaned back in your chair, tossing a pen up and down in the air. 

You always had a way of breaking the tension or at least shifting it. It was obnoxious to some, but to Hotch? It was secretly a relief--though he'd never admit it.

"Not now," Hotch muttered your name without looking up, his voice tight. He was on edge, more so than usual, the strain of sleepless nights and the weight of responsibility clouding his judgment.

But you weren’t deterred.

You never were.

Getting up, you sauntered over to his side, peering over his shoulder at the case files. "You know, a change of scenery might help. Ever thought about taking us somewhere with a view for once?" you teased, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, searching for a spark of humor, anything.

Hotch didn’t budge, his gaze fixed on the documents in front of him. "This isn’t the time for jokes. We need to focus."

The rest of the team watched the familiar dance, a mix of amusement and weariness in their eyes. It was a routine they had grown accustomed to: you pushing, Hotch pulling away. But tonight? The air felt different, charged with an unspoken tension.

Maybe he was becoming delirious, Hotch wondered about himself. 

Ignoring his protests, you leaned down closer, your voice dropping to a whisper, "Come on, Aaron, when was the last time you smiled?" Your breath tickled the back of his neck, causing a shiver he hoped no one noticed.

"That’s enough," Hotch snapped, a little louder than he intended. He finally turned to look at you, his expression stern. The room fell silent, all eyes on the two of you. It was a look that would have sent anyone else retreating but not you.

Instead, you smiled, stepping even closer, your presence enveloping him. "You’re too serious," you murmured, your hand reaching to gently touch his face, a bold move in front of the team.

Hotch’s eyes widened slightly, not from anger but from a sudden surge of something else—something he kept buried deep under layers of professionalism and restraint.

Before he could protest, you leaned in further and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t just any kiss--it was deep, meaningful, a kiss filled with all the unsaid things, all the tension that had been building between you two.. The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, everything else melted away.

The kiss broke just as suddenly as it began, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. You stepped back, your cheeks flushed, but your eyes shining with a mixture of defiance and something softer…warmer.

Pride filled your expression as well. A sense of mission accomplishment, the same look shared when you solve a case.

Hotch was speechless, his heart racing. The entire team was staring, some with their mouths agape, others trying to hide smiles. It was unprofessional, unexpected, and utterly transformative. 

And only you could pull it off. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Aaron Hotchner felt alive, his usually guarded heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

As he looked at you, something shifted within him. The stern reprimand he had planned dissolved on his tongue, replaced by a reluctant admiration. He couldn’t help but let out a small, incredulous laugh, the tension breaking like a dam.

It was a damn good kiss. 

The rest of the team slowly went back to their work, the atmosphere lighter. He’s sure he’d hear their not-so-quiet comments about this later. Or, in true Rossi-fashion, he’d probably wander into his office after the case was wrapped and corner him on the subject. 

Hotch cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Alright, let’s get back to it," he said, his voice softer, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You nodded a triumphant gleam in your eye, returning to your seat. Hotch watched you for a moment longer, something like gratitude mixed with wonder flickering through his stern facade.

[formulawolff]

iii. objects in the mirror - t.w. + m.v.

pairing -> reserve fem driver!reader x toto wolff x max verstappen

word count -> 2.8k

warnings -> morally gray individuals, slow burn, sexual content (intercourse), allusions to sexual content, cursing, lots of power imbalance, questionable boss x employee dynamics, light toxicity, slight controlling tendencies from toto, miscommunication trope (only for this chapter!!!)

a/n -> she’s baaaaaacckkkk! i hope y’all enjoy the messiness that is about to unfold! i missed you all so much! <3 p.s., give objects in the mirror by mac miller a listen while reading this chapter!

prev. | next.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

he stands at the barriers, fingers curling around the cool surface. his jaw clenches as the press begins to cluster around, their cameras poised, eager to capture every word. every movement.

the blinking red lights are beady and unforgiving as the reporters raise their phones and mics, nearly shoving them toward his face.

"max, what did you make of qualifying?"

"max! over here! how does it feel to be outperformed by a reserve driver?"

"max! max! is she a threat to your pursuit of a perfect start?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the dutch driver shakes his head, suppressing the chuckle rumbling in the base of his throat.

what kinds of questions were these? how was he supposed to answer of them? who hired these people to represent the press?

yet, he knew he had to answer their burning questions. it was a requirement set forth by the fia. a term and condition in his contract. a duty of the job.

"well," max coughs, shifting slightly as all eyes fall on him, "i-i didn't perform to the best of my abilities. the car is good, the strategy was good, and we had a great game plan. i was the one who didn't do my part. i could have done some things differently, especially on some of the turns.

but this is only the first race. we have so much ahead this season, it's difficult to really tell how it will all play out. we will just have to take it weekend by weekend. session by session. race by race. that's about all i can really say right now. did that answer your questions?"

"all but one," a journalist waves her hand, "you avoided the question regarding the reserve driver. how did it feel to be outperformed by someone who has not competed in a single formula one race? she was a second and a half faster than you on the track. is that sort of concerning to you or red bull? or do you believe that it was the car that won her pole?"

the dutch driver puckers his lips, tongue gliding along his teeth a pause settles over the crowd, consuming them with silence. his gaze scans over the reporters, taking in how they glance uneasily at one another, cautious not to speak any further.

he was well aware of why they were nervous.

well, rather who they were wary of.

mad max.

he cocks his head, lips curling into a smug smirk, "you all witness one subpar performance and think that--"

however, something moves in his peripheral, the words trailing off as he's pulled away.

not something, but someone.

her.

absolutely and uttered swarmed by other outlets, their journalists hounding her like some damn dogs. the lights from the cameras are almost blinding, his eyes squinting from the harsh light. on her face, sweat lingers, illuminating her skin with a soft, dewy glow. she's still in her suit but it's half unzipped, the material bunching perfectly around her hips, almost hugging them.

there's an itching sensation in his fingers and toes, almost like his body was urging him to move. almost as if he needed to be in close proximity to her.

to orbit around her like a planet, just so that he could be in her space.

he can't make out what they're asking, but it's clear that she's visibly uncomfortable. her eyes dart back and forth, unable to maintain steady eye contact with a single reporter. she's swaying slightly, a desperate attempt to self-soothe as all of their voices blend together.

fuck, did she execute a brilliant drive. the pace she held on the car was incredible, every turn and chicane flawless. somehow, she was able to push that w15 to its full potential.

she was like lighting. if you blinked, you would have missed her soaring down that track.

it was almost like she was destined for formula one. like she belonged in one of those twenty seats from the very beginning. if only he could have talked some sense into christian.

if only.

the image of her on top of the car, pumping her fists in the air would forever be engrained in his memory. the way strands of hair clung to her forehead as she pulled that balaclava off. the way her grin was brighter than the lights of the grandstands. the way stars shone in her eyes, the adrenaline pumping through her veins as the team swept her up into their arms.

god, he had never seen her so happy. so full of life. so ethereal in that moment, radiating nothing but pure, holy light.

a goddess walking the earth, brightening the world with her angelic presence.

not any world, but his world.

there was that feeling creeping in. that stinging sensation.

the one feeling that always lingered, no matter how desperately he pushed it away.

that one fucking feeling.

"max," a voice cuts in, "are you going to answer?"

"u-uhm," the dutch driver blinks, a hand instinctively cupping the base of his neck, "i have no comment, really. we will just have to see how tomorrow unfolds. as far as the rest of the season, we will just have to wait and see. that's all i have to say."

forming a tight-lipped smile, max gives a final nod, swiveling on his heel. the journalists call out his name, in vain attempts to flag him down. to capture one last statement. to get one more clip.

they wouldn't though.

not when his mind was clouded.

clouded by her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"i'm so proud of you."

the words are quiet, laced with a softness you couldn't quite put your finger on.

your chin tilts upward, a giggle bubbling up in your throat, "oh yeah?"

he nods fervently, fingers drifting to your face. they roam along your cheekbone, tracing down your jawline, "baby, i'm so proud of you. so fucking proud."

"i didn't really know what was happening until i heard them over the radio," heat billows into your cheeks as max's mouth curves into a quaint smile, a glimmer in his gaze as you continue, "i was just in the zone, you know?"

"mhmmm," he hums, carefully brushing a loose strand from your forehead, "i know exactly what you're talking about."

a hazy bliss hangs in the air, your bodies intertwined, shrouded by the warmth of the comforter. heated skin presses against yours, your head nuzzled against his collarbone. an arm hangs lazily around your waist, thumb massaging along your hip.

if only you could just stay here. cozied up with max verstappen, high off the thrill of racing and oxytocin. basking in his affection and admiration, kisses peppering your forehead and temple.

"are you ready to get your ass kicked tomorrow?"

max arches a brow, and you catch a flicker in his eye.

the flicker of fire.

"you sure about that one, love?"

"i think it'll be a good race," propping yourself up with your elbow, you lean in, the tip of your nose brushing against his, "you know what i think we should do?"

you inch closer, a rosy pink hue tinging his cheeks, "what's that?"

"i think that whoever loses tomorrow, has to give the winner head."

"oh?" the corners of max's mouth curve, forming a wide smile, "you know what i think? i think that's simply lovely."

shaking your head, you roll your eyes as max bursts into a fit of laughter, his chest vibrating against yours. you huff, rolling away from him. the laugh is hearty, deep from his diaphragm. it's a rare laugh, one reserved for those closest to him.

a sound only heard by the people he loved.

"come here," his breath fans against your ear as his forearm tightens around your waist, "don't hide from me."

the words are breathy, almost needy.

as if he couldn't bear a second longer without you in his arms.

you shift, puckering your lips as a shiver runs down your spine, "where did this max come from?"

"he's always been here," a hand glides along your neck, grasping it oh so slightly as his mouth ghosts over yours, "d-do you have any idea of what you do to me?"

your lashes flutter as your heart skips a beat, "i-i don't know if i--"

a shrill noise floods the space, earning a flinch from you as max exhales, turning over. he reaches for the nightstand, squinting from the brightness of his phone. your lower lip juts out, forming a pout as his focus on you completely crumbles.

as he types away, there's this gnawing in your gut, the temperature of the room dropping a few degrees. when it came to you, max provided nothing but his complete and utter attention. he never answered his phone unless it was a call. and usually, it wasn't anyone other than his mom, gianpiero, checo, or christian calling.

he always affirmed to you that texts, emails, and other notifications could wait.

so, what suddenly captivated his attention?

or rather, who?

peering over his shoulder, your eyes narrow.

he's on instagram, scrolling through a conversation thread in his direct messages. at first, it looks like a fan, which was not uncommon. max received all sorts of messages from fans, from all ages and genders. more than half of the time, they were women, but it didn't bother you.

if you were his fan, you would dm him too.

however, as you make out the username, your heart sinks.

it was none other than kelly piquet. daughter of nelson piquet. a name well-known in the world of motorsports.

a name that left an awful, putrid taste in your mouth.

you did a great job this weekend! i can't wait to watch you race tomorrow! you're gonna win, i just know it. 😘

your lower lip trembles, your chest tightening as you notice more and more messages. photos too. anything from seflies to photos of her in workout sets or bikinis. tons and tons of emojis, ranging from hearts to kissy faces.

tears well up, the initial disbelief dissolving into fiery rage.

"w-when did you start talking to kelly piquet?"

your voice is so low max can't pick out the words. hitting the lock screen button, he rolls back, facing you. two hands cup your cheeks, eyes locking with yours.

"baby, i'm not talking to her."

"obviously you are!" a sob escapes your throat, the tears trickling down, "why are you fucking entertaining that? you were responding to her message! i saw it!"

"do you want to see my phone?" max pleads, "i'll let you look at my phone. you can go through everything--"

"i don't want to see any more," you jaw clenches, "just get the fuck out. please."

"don't make me go," his voice falters, "please, just let me explain."

carefully, you begin to sit up. wiping away your tears, you raise your arm, pointing at the door, "j-just go. i don't want to hear another word from you. just get the fuck out of here."

"baby, let me just fucking tell you what's going on--"

squeezing your eyes shut, your shoulders shake as the cries erupt, spilling out, "i-i think i have a g-good idea of w-what's--"

"i love you. do you hear me? i fucking love you. i would rather lose everything. my fucking career. my awards and accolades. everything that i own. i would lose it all if it meant i could have you."

"you d-don't," you spit out, the despair withering away to fury, "if you loved me, you wouldn't be fucking and entertaining other women. get out of my fucking room, max. get the fuck out. i don't want to hear from you or speak to you ever again. get out of my fucking life."

in that moment, you sense his defeat.

max couldn't argue with you any longer. if that's what you wanted, then he would obey. as much as his mind screamed at him to stay, to just hold and comfort you, he knew you were stubborn.

he couldn't blame you, not one bit.

after all, things did look pretty bad. you caught him responding to a woman who was consistently messaging him. and not just any woman.

a woman he had a brief fling with, several years before he met you.

a woman that you knew about, simply because max couldn't help but share the details. not because he wanted you to know, but because he was comfortable with you.

you knew things about him that no one else did. you knew what his favorite toy was when he was only a six year-old boy. you knew what song he listened to before every race, how he liked his tomato soup, and the darkness surrounding his upbringing.

you knew max verstappen in ways no one else did.

which, is why he loved you. he loved that he could be vulnerable with you. you were his safe haven. the sun to his moon. the woman who placed the stars in the sky.

the one person he was completely and utterly himself with.

and now, you were sitting here, dried tears sticking to your heated cheeks, ordering him to go. forcing him out of your life.

he wouldn't blame you for acting this way.

he knew your temper. he was well aware that it would only be a couple of hours before you were calling him, desperate to hear his voice because it was the only way you could fall asleep. you would beg for him to sing that one lullaby, in his native tongue. the one he wanted to sing for you every night until you dozed off in his arms.

yet, if you wanted him gone, then that's what he would do.

after all, max was patient.

he would wait.

even if it took months, he would wait until you were ready to forgive him.

shoving an arm through his coat, he crossed the room, finding the door. glancing over his shoulder, he looked at you one last time.

you were curled up in the bed, wrapped underneath the comforter. your sobs were muffled, but he could hear them. it felt almost as if there was a dagger, tearing his chest open and driving into his heart.

but he had to leave. it was what you wanted.

it's what you needed, as much as it pained him to leave you.

as max verstappen slipped out from the front door of your motorhome, a figure lingered in the shadows, their curiosity piquing as max shouts and curses about, his voice carrying across the night.

toto wolff, team principal of mercedes folds his arms across his chest, clicking his tongue.

"oh sweet girl, what did you get yourself into?"

cautiously, the team principal flicks his head back and forth, ensuring there max was out of sight. after all, it was approximately 1:06 a.m. surely he wouldn't be noticed.

see, it wasn't like toto intended to witness what he just did. he just happened to be taking an evening stroll. and well, part of his stroll just happened to be in front of your motorhome. it was simply part of the route that he took every race weekend.

sucking in a breath, the team principal made his way toward your door.

he knew he shouldn't. he knew the risks involved. he knew how messy this could get.

but toto wolff wanted to build a champion.

and that's what he would do.

no matter what it took.

licking his lips, the team principal raises his hand, gently rapping his knuckles against the door. it only takes about a minute before the door opens. at first, it's merely a crack, your head barely poking out.

there's an uneasy feeling that seeps into his chest as he notices the crimson hue tinging your eyes, the lids puffy from tears. your hair is a little messier than usual, a loose t-shirt hanging from your frame.

when you recognize who it is, you straighten a little, clearing your throat.

"u-uh, hi toto. you know it's late right?"

"i know," he nods, "but i was taking a stroll to clear my head and noticed someone around your motorhome. is everything okay?"

"oh?" your brow furrows, and he picks up the way you shrink slightly, "i didn't know that. i've been asleep."

"oh really?" toto cocks his head, sensing your demeanor shift as he catches you right where he wants you, right in the middle of your lie, "are you telling the truth?"

your sniff, feeling your palms clam up as he studies you, picking you apart, "i-i don't know what you're talking about."

the team principal takes a step forward, a hand darting out. it caresses your cheek, the pad of his thumb catching a tear as it falls.

"tell me, hase. are you having boy troubles?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @sweetjellyfishland @ts1m1kas @bxuzi @racecardilfs @bblouifford @justacornerofmybrain @irishmanwhore @sleutherclaw @marknolee @jeannealicette @allyisalright-blog @omgsuperstarg @okdokeygryssel63 @noooway555

[koiiiji]

it's occasionally, cupcake

author's note ; awfully mediocre trope and ooc, and kinda lovesick Jason Todd. but we all like it sometimes right? 🥹

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

the city was wrapped in its usual blanket of gloom, a frozen, gray morning where every breath turned to mist. Gotham’s skyline disappeared into the low-hanging clouds, and the streets glistened with a thin layer of frost. it was the kind of morning that made leaving the warmth of your bed feel like a cruel punishment.

Jason was no stranger to mornings like this. Gotham’s chill had a way of seeping into your bones, a constant reminder of how harsh and cold this city was. as he pulled the door to his apartment shut, he heard the faint click of your door across the hall. turning, he saw you locking up, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, shielding your face from the bitter air. you offered him a small smile, one he returned with a nod.

“morning,” you said, your breath visible in the cold air.

“morning,” he replied, his voice a little rough from sleep. the two of you stepped into the hallway together, your footsteps echoing faintly on the tiles. Jason’s heart thudded just a little too fast — a reaction he’d never admit to anyone.

the elevator dinged as it arrived, and the two of you stepped inside. it was a small, creaky box that always seemed like it might give out at any moment. the silence between you was comfortable, but Jason couldn’t stop glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. you were scrolling through your phone, seemingly oblivious to his presence, but he was hyper-aware of yours.

“cold out there,” he said, breaking the silence.

you looked up and smiled again. “yeah. makes me wish i could call in sick.”

he grunted nervously. “Gotham doesn’t really do snow days, huh?”

the elevator doors slid open, and you stepped out. “have a good day, Jason” you said over your shoulder,smiling softly at him, as you headed toward the lobby doors.

“you too,” Jason called after you, watching as you disappeared into the gray morning. the warmth you left behind lingered, and he stood there for a moment longer, awkwardly scratching the back of his head and covering his face with his palms, emitting an exhausted moan, before heading right into the cold of the Gotham streets for his own day.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

Jason’s mind wandered as he patrolled the city later that night. he couldn’t help but think about how you occupied his thoughts more and more. he remembered the first time he saw you move into the same building he lived in. your arms were full of boxes, and you were clearly struggling. honestly, he wasn't happy about new neighbors back then, and had offered to help just because he passing by and didn't want to seem rude. and he remembered the way you’d smiled at him — bright and genuine — had stuck with him ever since. over time, you’d settled into a quiet rhythm as neighbors, and Jason can't be more happy about quite neighbor! the last thing he needed is a loud next door neighbor who wouldn't let him sleep after rough night.

he remembered how sometimes, when the elevator in your shitty building was broken, he’d help you carry your groceries up the stairs without a word of complaint. he didn't want to be rude. right? no silly crushes. but each small interaction chipped away at the walls he’d built around himself, and though he’d never admit it, he started looking forward to those moments.

it wasn’t long before he gave up and realized he had a crush. well… Roy wouldnt stop making joking and taunting him. he hated the word crush actually — it sounded too juvenile. what the actual fuck 'crush' even means?

but he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced when you were near, or how he caught himself hoping for an excuse to talk more with you. yet, every time he thought about asking you out — even just for coffee — his courage failed him. what could someone like you see in someone like him? who he even was in everyday life? who he was aside the Red Hood? so, he settled for proximity, for stolen glances and brief conversations in the hallway.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

the sound of gunfire snapped him back to reality. Jason’s jaw clenched as he pushed himself harder, his boots pounding against the icy roof surface. he and Roy had been tracking a gang member that had dare to managed to steal some of Jason’s weapons and percentage from the latest deal with a gang. it was more personal now, and Jason wasn’t going to let him get away.

he rounded a corner and went down into the alley just in time to see the thug veer off, darting toward the residential district.

Jason followed, but his adrenaline spiking when he saw you. you were crossing the street, bundled up against the cold, completely unaware of the chaos barreling toward you. before Jason could warn you, the thug slammed into you, knocking you and him to the ground. the thug quickly came to his senses and cursing under his breath, crawled up to you, pressing your back against his chest and pressing a knife to your throat.

“stay back!” the man shouted, his eyes wild as he tightly held your both hands behind you and pressed knife harder.

Jason froze, his chest tightening. the sight of the blade so close to your skin made his blood boil, but he forced himself to stay calm. he raised his hands slowly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

“let her go,” Red Hood said, his tone low and dangerous.

the thug laughed nervously. “stay back, or i —”

he didn’t get to finish. with one sharp movement, Red Hood pulled a pistol from behind his back and a bullet whistled right by your ear. blood splattered on your face with a thin red drops and the man fell dead behind you. you froze, not daring to move, the shock of having a knife held to your throat a second ago still raging in your blood.

“you okay?” Jason asked, his voice muffled by the helmet as he glanced back at you. you were sitting on the ground, wide-eyed but unharmed.

“y-yeah,” you stammered, your breath hitching as you tried to process what had just happened and who actually stood in front of you.

Red Hood glanced down on you, offering a gloved hand to help you up.

you took his hand, your fingers trembling slightly. “thank you… Red Hood, right?”

“that’s me,” he said, smirking under the helmet. “c’mon. let’s get you home,” trying to sound nonchalant, Jason let go of your hand.

the walk to your apartment was quiet, save for your occasional sniffles as the cold air stung your face. you still were processing what just happened and who accompany you on your way home.

Jason, in his turn, tried to keep his composure, but under the helmet, his face was burning. his heart pounded as he stole glances at you, praying you couldn’t hear how nervous he was.

when you reached your building, you turned to him, offering a nervous small smile despite the night’s events. “thank you… again. i-i don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Jason shrugged, trying to play it cool. “just doing my job.”

you hesitated, then added, unsure and ready to be shooted in same second “isn't you… a criminal…too?.. or s-something.”

Jason’s heart stuttered, but he forced a confident chuckle and said. “it's occasionally, cupcake”

with that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, the cool night air doing little to soothe the heat on his face. under the helmet, Jason was grinning like a fool.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Sunshine - Part 5

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 9

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Plus-size female character (nickname is Sunshine)

Prompt: FREE WEEK | [Optional Prompts: “W” - Wax Play, Watersports, WAM (Wet & Messy), Weapon Play] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (4k) Series Masterlist Bucky’s confession tests the bond of their relationship.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Slow burn. Grumpy/Sunshine trope. Happy Bucky (is that a warning?) - he's a photographer in this AU. Mention of insecurities, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and body image (she's a bit of a mess, okay?). Mention of weed. Internal dialogue. Use of the word fat (as a descriptor).

---------------------------

Bucky never had any intention of blurting out his feelings like this. Even as all the fragments of his plans went to the wayside, the last thing he wanted to do was spring this on her. As easy as it’d be to blame it on the weed, it doesn’t matter either way. The truth is out there now and the only thing he can do is keep moving forward, his soft smile never wavering.

A range of emotions play across Sunshine’s face. The initial look of surprise changing to one that gives him immediate hope for their future, their eyes locked in an understanding, a silent conversation threatening to bloom. And then it’s gone in an instant, replaced by hurt and betrayal, the emotion welling up in her eyes.

“That’s not funny.” 

Her words are like a punch to his gut and before Bucky can process what’s happening, Sunshine’s climbing off the couch, putting distance between them. She doesn’t believe him. 

“Sunshine.” Bucky remains on the couch, his feet flat on the floor, toes digging into the carpet as he keeps a tight grip on his knees, forcing himself to remain calm. As much as it pains him, he can see this for what it is. A way for her to protect herself. “You know me. You know who I am. This isn’t a joke.”

Silence consumes them, the soft dripping of rain and the slight hum of the battery-powered fan the only sound piercing his ears. He feels frozen in place, the dim glow of the candles providing enough light for Bucky to take in her tense shoulders, her head cast up to the ceiling.

It’s not until she lets out a heavy sigh that she finally turns around, the sadness on her face doing nothing to ease the ache inside of him to fix this. Unshed tears breaking his heart and it takes everything in Bucky not to stand up and go to her while he waits for her to say something. Anything.

After Sunshine visibly swallows, her response comes, stuttering as she tries to explain this away. “I wasn’t… I didn’t tell you all that to… I don’t want your pity.” 

With a furrowed brow and a slow steadying breath, Bucky shakes his head at her, taking a second to quiet the urge to become defensive. In a gentle voice, he tells her, “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Her question is immediate, desperate to understand.

This is going all wrong, but Bucky’s unable to stop himself from giving her an expectant look as he exhales, “Sunshine.” She knows what this is. If she’s too scared to meet him halfway though, the only thing he can do is spell it out. “This is me telling you that I have feelings for you. That I want to date you.”

She cuts in before he can keep going, interrupting him with a shake of her head, “Please don’t do that. You don’t need to… to convince me that I’m dateable. I don’t-.”

He can’t stand it anymore. 

The weed no longer enough to keep the frustration from building, he finally rises to his feet, the coffee table separating them as he holds his hands up in surrender, whispering, “Stop.” He doesn’t know if she’s being obstinately obtuse, but he can’t keep going around in circles. “That’s not why I’m telling you. I’m telling you because I want to be with you. I’m telling you because I think you might feel the same way.”

Sunshine’s a deer caught in headlights, staring wide-eyed, open-mouthed, her rapid breaths giving him concern. Either she still doesn’t believe him, or he misread this.

“If I got the signals wrong, please tell me,” he urges, rooted in his spot, his ankles digging into the edge of the couch to steady himself. “I promise I won’t be upset, and I’ll never do anything to make you uncomfortable. I’ll even help you find a new roommate if that’s what you need. I just…” He lets out a soft sigh, emotion threatening to crack his resolve at the thought of causing her any more pain, “I didn’t want you to keep thinking there wasn’t anything between us.”

She stands there for the longest time, her eyes wandering around the room, occasionally settling on him before moving away, unable to hold his gaze. He has no idea what she’s thinking, and he’s at a loss as to what to do, other than stand there, his arms at his sides, refusing to look away, not giving her a chance to doubt what he’s telling her.

The soft clearing of her throat makes his breath catch, trying not to get his hopes up as their eyes connect again. He’ll accept whatever she says, even if it breaks his heart. 

She starts and pauses several times, long enough for Bucky to know what’s about to come, giving him time to steel himself. “I… It’s… We…” Emotion threatens to overwhelm her again and he watches as she fights through it, forcing the words out, “We’re friends, Bucky.”

“Okay.” He tells her, quickly nodding his head, taking the opportunity to return to his seat on the couch, his legs threatening to give out on him. This isn’t at all what he expected tonight, but he intends to keep his promise. “We’re friends, Sunshine. That’s more than enough for me.”

With a soft utterance of, “I need a minute” she’s gone, closing herself off in her bedroom, leaving Bucky to start figuring out how the hell he’s going to make this right.

-------------------

This isn’t what she wanted.

No matter how much Bucky has consumed her thoughts, and her fantasies, and her dreams, she didn’t confess her trauma and her secrets in hopes that he would suddenly see her in a different light. Sharing her past had only meant to bring them closer together, for her to allow him in, to strengthen their friendship.

There were also selfish reasons - to satiate that urge to lay out her past and have him comfort her. To tell her it wasn’t her fault. To reassure her that she made the right decision cutting off her family. 

Bucky’s always been good at that - saying the right thing, especially in a time of need. That’s probably what this is. Tonight, with the storm, and the blackout, and the lit candles - not to mention getting high together - he got confused, wrapped up in the moment, wanting to make her feel better.

That’s all it is.

But what if it’s not?

Everything Bucky said replays in her mind, the conviction in his voice, the urgency, the need for her to understand. Instead of giving her the answers she’s seeking, the doubt grows, convincing her that even if he’s not confused, it’s probably still a spur-of-the-moment thing. Something recent that caused this.

If not tonight, then maybe last night, letting him take her picture? Or, probably last week when she joined him and his friends at the bar. She acted like a completely different person, most likely giving him the wrong impression. Making him believe that she’s someone she’s not. Someone carefree, confident, easygoing. 

That must be what happened. Which means Bucky’s not attracted to her. He’s attracted to a version of her that doesn’t even really exist.

Pacing her room, her spinning thoughts make her dizzy, one jumping to the next, making it impossible to figure out what to do next. The questions building right along with her anxiety. The smartest thing to do would be to walk back out there and ask them, find the clarity she needs, but it feels impossible.

She wouldn’t even know where to start. 

And would it even matter? 

If Bucky doesn’t really have feelings for her, she’d rather not know. And if his feelings are real, nothing good could ever come of it. 

They’re too different. 

They’re barely compatible as roommates and friends, let alone as anything more.

That’s not true.

She ‘blames’ the lingering effects of the weed for the interjecting of positivity - or maybe it’s Bucky slowly rubbing off on her - and flops back on her bed, the flashlight of her phone shining on the ceiling. She’s too high to immediately dismiss how well they mesh, how much fun they have together.

That still doesn’t mean this can lead anywhere. She carries too much baggage, and he deserves a life that he’s constantly striving for. One filled with never-ending enthusiasm and spontaneous adventures and extended family. She can’t offer him any of that.

You can at least offer him the truth.

“Fuck,” she curses, rubbing her hands over her face, distracting herself from the slight tremble rolling through her body. As much as she wants to throw caution to the wind and fall into this with an open mind, she’s too scared. She’s been through too much to think this can lead anywhere except the end of their friendship. 

He’ll eventually come to his senses and she’ll be too heartbroken to get over him.

This is for the best.

-------------------

Bucky hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch, his eyes locked on the flickering candles, lost in a sea of thoughts. Every step that led them here and how to salvage their friendship. There are too many variables, too many uncertainties regarding how she’s going to want to handle this. All he knows is that whatever Sunshine wants, he’ll give her.

He waits patiently, several minutes passing that feel like hours, unable to take a deep breath until she finally opens her door, cautiously joining him back in the living room. She looks so nervous, so worried about what’s going to happen that he has to be the one to break the silence, trying to make this easier for her.

“Are you okay?”

The slight nod of her head turns into a shrug, her shoulders lifting at the same time her eyes do, offering him a soft smile. “Sorry for… running away like that.”

Bucky’s quick to shake his head, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat, telling her, “You don’t need to apologize, I know this is a lot.” Watching her try to dismiss the magnitude of his confession convinces him to see this through. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Sunshine grows quiet again, a moment passing before she takes a few tentative steps into the living room, pausing for a moment before returning to her seat at the opposite end of the couch. He can only take it as a good sign, especially when she assures him, “You don’t need to apologize either… you were just being honest.”

The gnawing panic over fixing this begins to dissipate and he wastes no time in telling her, “If you want to talk about it, I promise to keep being honest.”

The soft exhale of her laugh eases the tension in his own body and he gives her an encouraging grin, grateful to see her starting to relax, even a bit. She still keeps one foot on the floor, her body slightly turned towards him, but it’s more progress than he expected.

“Since you’re being honest, I should be too,” she whispers, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, fingernails picking at a loose thread. 

Mentally preparing himself for whatever she’s about to admit, he shifts in his seat, pulling his feet back under him, his focus steady on her.

“You didn’t get the signals wrong.” Her admission comes slowly, but there’s no hesitation, Sunshine taking her time to convey her thoughts, sending Bucky on a rollercoaster of emotions. “I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

Refusing to live a life of regrets, he asks, “But not because you don’t have feelings for me?”

A hint of amusement crosses her face, a brief pointed look thrown his way before she’s avoiding his gaze again, her attention pulled back to her shirt. “It’d ruin our friendship.”

“Nothing could ruin our friendship,” he counters, without hesitation. If she’s not going to deny their connection, neither will he. 

With another twitch at the corner of her mouth, she tilts her head and narrows her eyes, still refusing to give him more than a brief second of her stare. Bucky doesn’t mind, as long as she keeps trying to talk to him.

With her gaze diverted, he studies her face, his eyes drawn to her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, allowing himself to envision reaching out to soothe it with his thumb. 

Not letting his mind drift, he refocuses, seconds before she finds the courage to confess, “This could. Especially if it’s… Tonight’s been… so much has happened with the blackout, and the trauma bonding, and I don’t… we don’t know what’s going to happen in the light of day.”

Bucky’s own brow furrows in response, memories of their earlier conversation playing in his head, trying to discern what he said that caused her to think this is a hasty decision, an unexpected realization that he hasn’t agonized over every waking moment. 

“The same thing that’s been happening,” he says, offering her a slight shrug and a comforting smile. “I know this might be new for you, but it’s been my reality for a while now.”

“How long?” Her question comes out in a long exhale, the slight furrow of her brow signaling more doubt and accusations.

At least it’s a question he was already prepared to answer, the truth spilling out of him without a second thought. “A couple of months.”

-------------------

A couple of months.

After learning it wasn’t just because of tonight, she was expecting a couple of days, maybe a week. But a couple of months?!

Her head spins again, calculating everything from when her own feelings started to the moment Bucky started calling her Sunshine and fixing her morning coffee. She’s looking for inconsistencies, reasons to stick to her belief that nothing good can come from this.

She can’t find any though - realizing that his feelings started before hers did, but only after he was already making her lunch and leaving her coffee - and all she can wonder is, “Why?” He already thinks this is new for her, the excuse that it’s because she has feelings for him no longer plausible, and she’s trying to figure out what caused the change.

Bucky’s soft laugh cuts through her racing thoughts and he leans in, shifting a bit closer, almost an entire couch cushion still between them. She wants to break the distance and add more all at the same time, his bright smile the only reason she doesn’t move a muscle.

“How could I not, Sunshine?” he shakes his head, as if he never stood a chance. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met and I-.” He pauses to let out another laugh, the smile he’s giving her making her stomach flutter and her heart skip a beat. “My favorite part of the day is when I’m with you.”

Words fail her, as they seem to at the most inopportune time, but Bucky’s patient, giving her a moment to process and respond whenever she’s ready. It allows her time to swallow her fear and ask another question that threatens to overwhelm her, “What if that’s all it is? I mean, we’re friends and-.”

“I don’t think about my friends the way I think about you.” 

He rarely ever interrupts her, but when he does, it’s usually for her benefit, to quiet her worries. This is no exception and she suddenly can’t breathe again, her chest growing tight as air gets trapped in her lungs.

This is actually happening.

Despite the longing look Bucky’s giving her, she still can’t accept it. The trust she has in him doesn’t outweigh the walls she’s built to protect herself. Years of experience teaching her that if something feels too good to be true, it probably is.

Twisting his assurance that nothing could ruin their friendship, she grasps at one last straw, telling him, “I don’t want to be an experiment.” Bucky’s face morphs into one of confusion and shock, her accusation like a slap to his face, but she can’t stop herself from doubling down, shrugging as she asks, “Have you ever even dated anyone fat before?”

He blinks, letting out a sharp exhale, the twitch in his jaw the first sign that she’s crossed a line. Steve’s words of ‘you’ve never given him a reason to be mad’ echoing in her head, but it’s too late to take this back. Even if it was the wrong way to ask, it’s still a fear she needed to express.

She swallows the lump forming in her throat as he gives her a slow shake of his head and says, “Please don’t do that. I know the world can be unkind, but I’ve never treated you with anything but respect.”

There’s no anger in his tone, only pain and frustration, Bucky doing his best to set a boundary with her. She respects him too much to push back, taking a moment to force air into her lungs, breathing several slow deep breaths. And he lets her, even though she accused him of being like all the other assholes who have hurt her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her throat tight with emotion, resisting the urge to remind him she’s not good at this. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Bucky accepts her apology with a grateful smile, telling her, “I don’t mind if you have doubts or insecurities, okay? I never have.” He lifts a hand to his chest, promising her, “ And I’m happy to help quiet them, but I’d rather you ask me, instead of accusing me, that’s all.”

She swiftly nods her head, rendered speechless again, her voice stuck in her throat. He’s managed to avoid all the landmines, pass all her tests, but the doubt lingers. The fear doesn’t ease. It won’t until she has concrete proof. Something she can cling to.

What if he can’t give you any?

The silent questioning gives her pause and she takes the opportunity to announce that she needs another drink, her bottle nearly empty, excusing herself to the kitchen. She wastes time at the fridge, the single candle on the counter the only light as she takes several gulps of water to soothe her dry throat.

Her current thoughts mirror the ones from earlier, her anxiety and insecurities doing their best to convince her of things she knows aren’t true. This isn’t a joke, or a thoughtless confession, or a fetishized curiosity. 

Interrupting the growing silence, Bucky joins her, leaving several feet between them, “What do you need, Sunshine?”

The tender way he asks is almost enough to make her cry, his soft murmur providing her comfort. All he’s ever cared about is her happiness, going out of his way to make her day, even before he ever considered dating her. After all the pain and heartache she’s endured, doesn’t she deserve a chance at happiness?

This is a bad idea.

Her heart’s racing, and she’s not sure if or when she’ll be able to breathe deeply again, but it’s not enough to scare her away anymore. She’ll live the rest of her life with yet another regret if she doesn’t take this chance, deciding to trust his promise that nothing can ruin their friendship.

“What kind of thoughts do you have about me?”

She keeps her back to him, and the words are barely audible, but he doesn’t make her repeat them, his soft footsteps echoing as he moves a bit closer.

“I think about spending more time with you,” he explains softly. “Taking you out on dates, getting to flirt with you, make you blush.”

Her skin grows warmer, a light sweat collecting under her shirt, threatening to overwhelm her. And yet, there’s no wish for the electricity to come back, wanting nothing to interrupt them. Being in the dark, the quiet of night, it makes this just a bit easier. 

“Is that all you think about?” 

Another soft step, and then a whisper of, “No, but that’s where I want to start.”

The water bottle grows heavy in her hands, flashes of her own fantasies and dreams invading her thoughts, doing nothing to help cool her down. No hesitation takes hold of her, refusing to leave it here, refusing to take the out he’s giving her. She can’t.

She needs more. Proof that he wants all of her. That he desires her.

Forcing herself to relax, she asks, “Where do you want it to go?”

-------------------

Bucky should listen to his instinct and tell Sunshine everything - all his hopes and fantasies, even confess that night he listened for her moans of pleasure - but he doesn’t. He treads carefully, barely standing a foot behind her, quick to assure her, “Wherever you want it to.”

The moment he says it, a wave of regret washes over him, watching the tension suddenly return to her shoulders and her hands drop, her bottle swinging at her side. He’s so focused on trying to take this slow, to not push her into anything, that he’s accomplishing the opposite of what he was hoping for. 

He’s reinforcing her insecurities instead of easing them. 

Throwing caution to the wind, he follows his intuition, choosing 100% honesty.

“I think about kissing you.” 

Her shuddering breath has a surge of arousal rushing through him and he lets his eyes drift close, taking a much needed breath to slow his racing heart. All the things he’s imagined doing with her filling his vision, his desire for her reaching new heights.

Trusting Sunshine to tell him to stop if he oversteps, Bucky keeps talking, his voice rough with need.

“I think about touching you.”

The soft, breathless sigh of his name has him reaching out, his fingers dangerously close to her wrist, her inviting warmth sending a bolt of electricity throughout his entire body.

At the last moment he pulls back, refusing to give in to the temptation. He can’t, not without her permission, and he’s not sure she’s ready to give it. She might never be. Not if he can’t show her how much he wants her.

“You’re not just an itch I wanna scratch, Sunshine. You’re not an experiment, and you’re sure as hell not just an occasional fantasy.” Her fingers tighten around her bottle and his eyes follow the bend of her elbow, the slight tension in her arms as she pulls her hands back in front of her.

These aren’t the signs of her wanting to pull away. She’s processing what he’s telling her. Questioning the possibilities. Focusing her energy on not jumping to the worst conclusion.

“You fantasize about me?” Hope. Longing. Desire. Need. It’s all there, evidence of her feelings for him.

Fuck. 

He almost says it outloud, but he purses his lips, breathing heavily through his nose, ignoring the sudden twitching of his cock. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he focuses on a response. On words. Assurance. That’s all he should be offering right now.

“All the time. For months.” He can’t let any of her worries resurface, taking into account every argument she’s had tonight. “You’re in every fantasy. Every dream. You’re all I want.” 

Her reaction feels like slow-motion, her trembling hand reaching out to try to place her water bottle on the counter. Without overthinking, Bucky does it for her, gently taking the bottle from her to set it down, his own hand steady despite the crackle of energy flowing through him.

He won’t let the doubt build, reading all the cues she’s throwing out to cement his hope for their future, watching as she turns around to face him. 

“I want all of you. Your mind and your body. Every single fucking inch of you, if you’ll let me.”

Bucky can’t take it anymore. Her surprise and relief palpable as she meets his gaze, forcing him to make the first move, to finally close the distance between them. Still seeking her permission, he reaches out, hovering near her hand, the slight twitch of her fingers encouraging him to softly ask, “Yes or no, Sunshine?”

If she wants this, he has to hear the words. He can’t move forward without them.

There’s no rush as he watches her swallow and open her mouth, the process repeating on a loop until she’s able to fight through it. To give herself permission to move forward with him, even though there’s still so much fear and uncertainty.

“Yes.”

---------------------------

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[strqwberryscapes]

hiiii! i absolutely love your imagines of Qimir! could I request a fic where you ask him to pretend to be ur boyfriend because there's some sketchy people following you?

kissing to escape with qimir

content warnings -> none

a/n: first of all thank you!! second of all, HELP THIS IS MY FAVOURITE TROPE how did you know...

"qimir!"

she tugged at his sleeve urgently, visibly uncomfortable. she could sense that they were being followed, and even with her force and combat abilities, she didn't think she could just take down twenty men. armed men. in a busy market. well, she might have or might have not just killed a syndicate member, but... well she was tasked with it by her master- whom the pyke wronged.

"i know!"

qimir jabbered, pulling her further into the crowd. but there was no use- the chase was only getting closer and closer.

she wasn't keen on dying, or getting captured. her master wouldn't be so pleased to find her locked in a cell- and besides- she definitely didn't want qimir to get hurt. she scanned the surroundings, looking for a way out, or at least a hiding spot.

"you were in that business not too long ago! think of something, for force's sake!"

she nudged his arm, feeling more surrounded every minute.

"well, i wasn't assassinating pykes! just smuggling weapons!"

qimir huffed, then suddenly lowered his head to not get recognised by one of the guards.

and that gave her an idea... a very desperate one, but they might have just needed desperate measures.

"follow me!"

she urged, yanking him towards a busy alley. the sky was darkening, casting shadows on the narrow area, and that was exactly what she needed.

"hey! what are you-"

qimir protested as she backed up behind stacked crates and pulled him with her, but closed his mouth immediately as he saw just how close they were.

the silence hung heavy in the air, and the angry voices of the guards were heard closer to their location. they needed to hide. now.

"qimir."

she muttered, catching his attention. her hands came up behind his neck, pulling his cloak completely over his head. his eyes darkened, as if he was completely focused.

"kiss me."

these words barely made it through her throat. this could go wrong in so many ways. first of all, they could get caught. second of all, it might ruin the friendship that just started to bloom between them, or qimir might not even comply and-

but her thoughts were completely silenced when suddenly his lips were on hers. she was so surprised that he actually kissed her, that she didn't move and inch. the guards were rummaging through the crowd just inches away from them, and only that made her fist his shirt and pull him closer.

his cloak hid them both well, and they were left unnoticed. qimir was oh so well aware of that, but with how she kissed him he didn't want to pull away either.

her senses were completely dulled for the short moments of closeness. she didn't hear where the enemy went, and frankly, she didn't even care. she never thought about qimir in that way but... there was something about how he held her that she didn't want to let go.

it was him who broke the kiss. his intense gaze and parted lips only made her breath quicken.

"they're gone."

qimir reminded, speaking in a hushed voice.

"yeah- yeah, we should go-"

she replied breathlessly, quickly turning away from him and making her way through the alley. qimir followed her closely, his arm occasionally brushing against hers.

she didn't know where all of this would lead, but as long as he was by her side, she wouldn't complain.

reblogs appreciated!

masterlist

[goose8791]

Child of the storm

Note: SPOILERS, if you have not read the books. If you know the ending of the lightning thief then this will be fine but if you haven't or don’t want to be spoiled for the ending of the show do not read this. ( I’m looking out for you pookie <3) 

pairing: luke castellan x Poseidon Fem!reader

warnings: Arguing, I want you but I can’t have you trope, Angst, kissing 

"Hello?" Her voice came through the phone, accompanied by the crackling of static in Luke's ear.

"It's Luke," he responded, pressing his fingers into his tired eyes. Silence met his ears. "The camp is falling apart," he admitted, frustration evident in his tone. "The cabins are at each other's throats, and I'm lost on what to do."

"I know," she sighed on the other end. "Luke, I'm already being dragged into this mess by my dad. He says my brother is on a quest for the master bolt," she explained, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "I didn't even know I had a brother until this morning," she added with a hiss. 

Luke's stomach twisted with anger “why are you calling me” The words escaped through her gritted teeth. After a prolonged silence on the line, she finally took a breath.

"Luke, I've been covering for you for months," she admitted, frustration evident in her voice. "And now, my brother—someone I didn't even know existed—seems to be entangled in your idiocy." There was a pause, and Luke remained silent.

"They think he stole it," she seethed, frustration boiling over. "And we both know that's far from the truth." After taking a breath, Luke listened intently. Over ten months had passed since their last conversation or encounter, and he found solace in just hearing her voice. He wanted to savour every syllable that left her mouth.

"Luke," she sighed, a sense of resignation in her tone. "I can't help you. I can't keep doing this. I can't cover for you anymore. You're on your own." As she moved to end the call, panic filled Luke's voice.

"Wait! Please, just listen to me," he pleaded desperately. "NO, Luke, you listen to me. You've gone too far. I was with you from the beginning, but stealing the master bolt... Luke, I've changed, and you haven't," she declared firmly, leaving a pause. 

"Meet me at the beach in Jersey," he almost whispered, his voice carrying a sense of urgency and vulnerability. "What?" she questioned, confusion in her tone. "Just do it," he snapped, frustration seeping into his tone. "Please," he added, the desperation in his voice seeping into her ears. She took a moment to consider, the static in the phone creating a deafening backdrop to their strained conversation. "Fine," she agreed, the decision made after a brief pause, and then the line went silent on Luke's end.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luke stands on the beach, the gritty sand slipping between his toes as he clutches his shoes in his hands. His gaze remains fixed on the expansive canvas of the ocean, its vastness both humbling and daunting. In the early evening, the ocean undergoes a captivating transformation, evolving into a symphony of rhythmic undulations.

As Luke shifts nervously on his feet, the subdued hues of the setting sun cast a gentle glow upon the water, bestowing an ethereal quality to the scene. The waves, reminiscent of graceful dancers, curl over in a serene ballet, each motion leaving a transient mark on the water's surface.

However, an undercurrent of change is visible. The ocean begins to deepen, the light blues of the day contorting into darker shades of black and navy. The waves, once a tranquil ballet, now adopt a more assertive stance, punching the shore with newfound vigour. Luke feels the shift in the air, the atmosphere charged with an unspoken intensity.

He stands there, caught between the ebb and flow of the changing tides, feeling the cool breeze play with his hair. The salt from the sea hangs in the air, sticking to his lashes. Above him, grey clouds gather, a subtle harbinger of the impending change. As if responding to some unseen force, the sea, with a sudden abruptness, flattens.

Amidst the quiet tension, her arrival becomes a beacon of contrasting serenity. Her hair, the first thing that catches his eye, emerges from the blues—sleek and shining like the ocean itself, capturing the remaining light. With each step, her shoulders appear, water cascading from the light armour she wears. Long strands of her hair, wrapped around her index finger, release droplets as she drains the water from it. The white foam from the now-subdued waves pools at her boots as she makes her way up the beach. 

Once her foot leaves the water, the ocean, as if resentful of her departure, reverts to its rageful intent, thrashing and spitting with renewed fervour. Undeterred, she walks up the beach, her head bowed slightly, and her hair moved to sit over her shoulder. Luke's eyes follow her, never leaving her figure as she almost struts up to him. 

“Look at you," he states, his gaze captivated by the armour that exudes the timeless elegance of Ancient Greek craftsmanship. Her breastplate, a gleaming testament forged from bronze, hosts intricate engravings portraying swirling waves and mythical sea creatures. The craftsmanship, exquisite in every detail, captures the fluidity of the ocean's dance with unparalleled artistry. Adorning her shoulders, the epaulettes, fashioned to resemble the majestic fins of a sea serpent, add an ethereal touch to the ensemble.

Her eyes, a reflection of the depths of her experiences, remain locked onto his. She's not the same 18-year-old girl who left camp a year ago, harbouring resentment toward the gods and grappling with self-doubt. She's transformed into a soldier for her father, and the weight of her newfound strength and purpose makes him feel almost small in her presence. 

"You are really your fathers daughter now, aren't you” he declares, his tone carrying a mixture of disbelief and frustration. She meets his gaze with unwavering intensity "I've changed, Luke," she retorts, her voice firm. "I'm not that naive girl who once questioned everything. I've seen the power, the responsibility that comes with being a part of this world." He scoffs, a bitter edge to his words, crossing his arms over his chest. "Responsibility? Do you hear yourself, More like blind servitude.You've become a pawn in their games, a soldier for a cause that doesn't care about you.”

Her eyes narrow, a spark of defiance igniting within her. "You're still clinging to that rebellious dream of a new age," she counters. “Do you hear yourself?” she mocks. His frustration mounts, and he takes a step closer, the distance between them narrowing. "What happened to forging our own path?” he states with a slight hiss, his eyes looking down onto her examining her face with his brown eyes “free from their whims?” he adds in an almost whisper, pushing back a strand of dark hair behind her ear, she moves her face away from his hand “You've abandoned that for a role that has you dancing to their tune." Luke continues, She squares her shoulders, a steely resolve in her demeanour. "I've embraced my heritage, Luke. I've found purpose and strength in it. Maybe it's time you stop fighting against it and see that." She steps back from him, and he goes to move after her, almost magnetised to her presents, but her eyes worn him. 

"If you wanted to meet me here just to argue, then I'm going because I can't—" Her words are cut short, interrupted by Luke as he reaches out, gently catching her hand. "Because I can't bear the thought of losing you again," he admits, his voice carrying a blend of vulnerability and longing.

His gaze searches hers for a trace of understanding. "We used to dream of a life together," he continues, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I miss that, miss us. And if this is the only way I get to be near you, even if it means arguing, then I'll take it. Because not having you in my life feels like an endless storm." he admits his eyes burning through hers. 

She looks back at him, a realisation dawning in her eyes as if she's just understood the depth of what love truly means. In that moment, she sees everything reflected in his gaze — the longing, the vulnerability, the unwavering devotion. His hands holding hers speak volumes, and the words that escape his lips carry the weight of a love that has weathered storms.

To him, she is everything — a constellation in the vast expanse of his universe. She can feel it in the warmth of his hands, hear it in the soft timbre of his voice. He has been the constant, the anchor in the tumultuous sea of their shared existence.

Yet, as she stands there, she recognizes that love is a complex tapestry, woven with threads of both joy and pain. He was her sun, a source of warmth and brightness, but the sea called to her, and she found herself in its depths and storms. The day she turned eighteen and was claimed by her father, the sea embraced her, and she felt a sense of belonging she had long yearned for. She learned to shine not only for him but also for herself, finding her identity in the ebb and flow of the waves.

"I can lose everything but not you… oh gods, not you," he almost says to himself, his words carried away by the wind and the sound of the waves. Her ears barely catch the sentiment, but her body reacts before her brain can intervene. Her arm slings around his neck, and her lips crash into his. In that moment, the world around them fades into the background.

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer as they share a desperate and breathless kiss. It's a collision of emotions, a manifestation of the tangled feelings that have lingered between them. When they finally break apart, he places his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

"You fix this mess... with the master bolt, with my father and Zeus… and then maybe we could have this," she almost whispers, her voice a tender murmur against the backdrop of the ocean's symphony. "We could have us."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 21: driving home for christmas

— summary: you and jackie decide to go on a road trip for the holidays.

— warnings: friends to lovers. incredibly cliché use of the one-bed trope. inexperienced!reader. fem!reader. implied cheating. nsfw content. so mdni.

the crisp december air nips at your cheeks as you and jackie pack the last of your bags into the car and the engine rumbles softly as you pull out of the college parking lot.

this whole thing had been jackie’s idea; driving back to wiskayok for christmas. you’re both in your first year of college, and the holidays seem like your first chance to escape the chaos of campus.

by some random twist of fate, not only did you end up at the same college, you were assigned as roommates and after all the late-night study sessions and countless cups of coffee together, the idea of spending christmas back home with her felt perfect.

you’d been friends in highschool already, yet ever since you started living together, this friendship had turned into something a little more. at least to you, it had.

it’s comfortable, like so much of your relationship with her. maybe too comfortable, considering you can’t stop thinking about her in ways that friends probably shouldn’t. but it’s there: in the subtle touches, the lingering glances, and the way your heart would leap whenever jackies smiled just for you.

so, that’s how you end up with the car packed full of snacks, blankets, and an overabundance of christmas playlists on burned cds and the two of you hit the road for the five-hour drive to your parents’ places.

the weather is fine at first, and the roads clear. jackie, as usual, is in the passenger seat while you drive, entertaining you with her thoughts or playing with the buttons of the radio. you don’t think much of the way it slowly changes as you drive, the snowflakes gently falling until they hit the windshield, making a soft, rhythmic sound.

jackie’s still humming along to the christmas playlist you put together, the glow of the lights illuminating her face, her breath fogging up the window every now and then as she turns her head to look outside, both of you blissfully unaware of the snow storm rolling in.

“it’s getting colder,” she mumbles as she adjusts her scarf, clearly unsettled by the sudden drop in temperature.

“means we’re getting closer to home” you point out, reaching over to adjust the heat a bit, making sure jackie is comfortable. she gives you a brief smile in return before you turn your eyes back on the road ahead.

as the evening goes on, the sky begins to shift. the further you give, the darker the clouds above grow. before you know it, the snow starts to fall heavily.

the miles to wiskayok seem to stretch on forever, the wind howling outside as the snow picks up, the visibility on the road steadily fading.

you both start joking about how “it probably wouldn’t be a proper christmas if there’s no sudden snow storm in sight”, but as it begins to pile up on the road, it quickly becomes clear to you and jackie that it’s not just the light weather change you’d hoped for.

by the time you reached the halfway point, the roads have become treacherous.

visibility gets worse, the temperature has dropped dangerously low and the snowflakes that seemed sweet and festive at first are now coming down in thick swirling sheets. your cars headlights barely manage to cut through them.

“maybe we should pull over” you finally suggest into the uncomfortable, dawning silence. “just wait the storm out?”

jackie nods in agreement and so you pull off the road at the nearest exit. turns out you’ve got a little luck on your side still: you don’t have to drive around aimlessly for long before you spot the neon sign of a motel.

it certainly looks like it had seen better days, but it’s your only option. so you both unload your bags as quickly as possible and hurry inside, shivering as you finally step into the warmth of the lobby.

the inside, much like the matching exterior, is far from luxurious and jackie -who’s certainly used to better places than this- scrunches up the bridge of her nose in distaste. if she’s got any complaints, she doesn’t verbalize them as you check in for you both.

the clerk behind the counter is nice enough, though it turns out you two aren’t the first people to crash here for the night. matter of fact, you’ll be the last ones: he’s only got one room left. one bed, more precisely. you agree before you can overthink it and take the key from him. it’s not the first time; there were plenty of sleepovers in high school. still, this feels different. everything with jackie feels different these days.

with a few words and payment exchanged, you make your way to the room.

the door creaks open, revealing a small space the two of you will share for the night.

it is exactly what you expected: small, outdated, and cold despite the little wall heater humming loudly in the corner. at least it’s warmer than in your car. jackie steps inside first, flicking on the light to reveal an old armchair, a scratched dresser, and the centerpiece: a bed that looks barely big enough for one person, let alone two. you shut the door behind you, stamping the last remains of snow off your boots.

“well…” she says, her voice as light as jackie can manage, “it’s not exactly...” she trails off, leaving the rest of her sentence unsaid.

“it’s fine,” you reply quickly, rubbing your hands together to warm them up as you glance at the bed. “cozy”

jackie laughs. “if by ‘cozy,’ you mean practically falling off the edge, then sure” she drops her bag by the dresser and kicks off her boots.

you follow suit, peeling off your coat too.

“i’ll take the floor if it’s weird,” you offer, though just the thought of lying on the cold ground makes you wince.

jackie raises a brow. “don’t be silly. it’s fine. we’ve shared a bed before, remember?” she shrugs, already brushing off the idea. “besides, it’s not like we’ll be here long. just until the roads clear”

you nod, desperately trying to ignore the quickened pace of your heartbeat. after all, it’s jackie. your roommate. your friend. “right. just one night”

there’s a long moment of silence as the reality of the situation sinks in. you turn away, focused on digging through your bag for something comfortable to sleep in. jackie does the same, pulling out her pajamas: a set of matching, surprisingly christmassy silky fabric that makes you smile despite the nerves tightening in your chest.

she glances up and catches your amused staring. “what?”

“nothing,” you say quickly, grinning. “i just didn’t know you owned pajamas that…coordinated so well”

jackie rolls her eyes but smiles faintly. “i’ll have you know there’s nothing wrong with being put-together. unlike some people.” she gestures at your mismatched sweats with a teasing smile.

“hey, these are perfectly functional,” you shoot back, shaking your head as you start changing, turning your back to give her some privacy.

even with your back turned to jackie, you feel acutely aware of every sound: her soft sighs, the brush of fabric against skin, the weight of the tension neither of you is acknowledging. or maybe it’s not there at all. maybe you’re imagining it altogether.

you press your eyes shut tightly, trying to make the sounds coming from behind you just background white noise. trying, but failing, to stop imagining her in ways you absolutely should not: her soft skin, the rise and fall of her chest as she pulls her pajama over her head, her…

you have to force yourself to snap out of it, instead focusing on getting into your own pajamas as well.

when you’re both finally changed, jackie tosses her coat over the back of the chair and gestures toward the bed. “go ahead. you look colder!”

you hesitate but finally slip under the covers, sighing as the warmth begins to chase away the lingering chill. jackie slides in next to you (into the little space left there, anyway) her movements deliberate, careful. she stays on her side of the bed, back turned to you, and you do the same, staring at the wall and trying not to notice how the bed dips slightly under her weight.

again, the silence stretches. despite the exhaustion from the long day and the car ride, you can’t seem to settle. you can feel her there, her back impossibly close to you and pressed against your own. the space feels both unbearably small and impossibly wide with neither of you saying another word.

a few minutes pass before you hear jackie shift behind you. her voice is soft, hesitant. “are you awake?”

you turn slightly, craning your neck to glance over your shoulder. “yeah. can’t sleep”

jackie’s quiet for a moment before she exhales sharply. “this bed is too damn small”

you laugh, the sound surprising even you. “it’s not great, no”

she turns then, you can hear the movement until her spine is no longer pressing against yours. when you glance over, her eyes are on you, her expression hard to read in the dark. “this whole trip was a bad idea” she mutters, playing with the small gold charm of her necklace. “we should’ve just flown”

“where’s the fun in that?” you tease, though your voice comes out softer than you intended. “besides, this’ll be a story to tell someday”

jackie lets out a small huff of laughter, her breath ghosting over your skin between your shoulder blades. the little space between you feels even smaller now.

her voice drops, quieter now. “i keep thinking about what it would’ve been like if i’d gone home alone”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just shift onto your side, facing her fully. jackie watches you, her eyes flicking down to your lips for the briefest second before darting away. the room feels much warmer now, and you can’t tell if it’s the heater that has finally decided to do its job or the weight of her gaze.

“you wouldn’t have been alone,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “your parents would’ve been there. jeff-“

jackie winces at the mention of jeff, cutting you off with a quiet, almost sharp, “jeff doesn’t count”

you blink at her sudden reaction, unsure what to make of it. “why doesn’t he count? he’s your boyfriend”

and the reason why you’ve been overthinking every single one of your interactions lately, though you don’t tell her that. you’re not even sure whether or not they’re currently together; it’s a constant on and off between the pair.

jackie lets out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking her head against the pillow. “is he, though?” she doesn’t give you time to answer, rushing on like she’s been holding this in for too long. perhaps the snow storm outside was good for something, after all. “we’ve been together forever because it’s easy, not because it’s…right” she admits.

you frown, your heart clenching a little at the admission. “jackie…”

“he doesn’t see me,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “not really, i mean. he just sees…this idea of me, this perfect version of who i’m supposed to be. and i-” she exhales. “i let him. it’s easier than being honest about what i actually want.”

the admission hangs between you, and before you can second-guess it, you reach out, your fingers brushing hers under the blanket. jackie doesn’t pull away. instead, she turns fully toward you, her face so close now that you can see the faint pink blooming on her cheeks.

“well, what do you want?” you ask softly.

jackie doesn’t answer right away. she stares at you, her eyes searching your face like she’s looking for something that she’ll find in your features. “i-“ her voice falters, “forget it. it doesn’t matter”

she’s about to turn away but you stop her.

“it does,” you say firmly, leaning in just a little. “jackie, it matters. whatever it is, you can tell me.”

if it wasn’t before, your heart is definitely racing now. you think -hope- you already know the answer, but you need to hear her say it. you need to know whether or not all these stolen glances and lingering touches in the shared space of your dorm were more than just your imagination playing tricks on you. that they were something, after all.

she lets out a shaky breath, her fingers twitching against yours. “i keep telling myself it’s nothing, that it’ll go away, but it doesn’t. not when you look at me like that, or when you smile, or when we’re in the car for hours, and i don’t want it to end” jackie blurts.

your breath catches. “jackie…”

“i like you,” she tells you suddenly, her voice breaking on the confession. “more than i should. i shouldn’t feel this way about you,” she whispers. “but…i can’t stop”

you don’t give yourself time to overthink it. instead, you close the distance between you, your lips brushing hers softly at first, testing. jackie’s breath hitches, but then she kisses you back, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as if to steady herself.

her lips are warm, slightly chapped from the frosty air and they part against yours with a barely audible gasp. for a heartbeat, jackie doesn’t move, frozen in surprise, but then she melts into the kiss, tilting her head just slightly to deepen it.

her hand finds your cheek, her touch as hesitant as it is desperate. her fingertips are still cold from earlier, sending a shiver down your spine as they graze your jaw. you shift closer, the blankets rustling as your bodies move under the covers.

jackie sighs softly against your lips, the sound close enough to a moan that you can feel it reverberating between your legs. she exhales against your skin, warm and unsteady, as if she’s been holding her breath for far too long. she pulls back just enough to look at you, her forehead still resting against yours, her eyes fluttering open to meet your gaze. her pupils are wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips are slightly puffy from the kiss.

“i- uhm-“ she starts. jackie bites her bottom lip, glancing away for the briefest moment before her gaze flicks back to yours. “was that…okay?”

you can’t help but smile. “that was more than okay” you assure her.

jackie lets out a shaky laugh, her thumb brushing over your cheek in a gesture so tender it makes your breath catch all over again. “i’ve been thinking about that,” she admits softly. “for way longer than i should have.”

“me too,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t think you’d ever…”

she doesn’t let you finish and cuts you off with another kiss, firmer this time, her lips pressing into yours with an urgency that makes your stomach flip. there’s no hesitation now, just jackie leaning into you. her hand slips from your cheek to your neck, her thumb grazing your jawline, as she maneuvers herself so that half her weight is resting on top of you.

you make out on the crappy, small bed for what could’ve been hours. there goes your plan of getting up early in the morning to get to wiskayok as soon as possible…

it’s not long, however, before she starts moving down, grinding her hips against the length of your thigh shyly. even though you’re helping her move against you by reaching for her hips, you lean back enough to ask: “are you- is this okay?”

jackie, with her lips tugged between her front teeth, nods breathlessly.

“yes” she says. “yes, please”

as enjoyable as it sounds for her to get off on your leg like this, you’re planning on making some better use of the current situation. it takes some effort to maneuver your bodies without falling off the bed together, but you manage. jackie gasps against your mouth when you toss her around until she’s with her back against the mattress and you’re lingering above her.

“still okay?” you ask, breathlessly. jackie just nods and drapes her arm over your shoulder to pull you back down against her.

before either of you knows it, you’re kissing down jackie taylor’s body, unbuttoning her pajamas as your mouth moves downward. she shivers when the top falls open, revealing a seemingly endless, soft expanse of goosebumps that rise to the touch of your cold fingertips.

jackie laughs when she shivers and gently smiles down at where you’re positioned between her legs.

“come on” she tells you, nodding her chin in your direction and putting her hand to the back of your head. softer, when your hands slide down to her hips to push down her pants, she adds: “please”

you let her keep on the pajama top: it’s too cold to take it off and you won’t have her catching a cold on your watch. instead, you toss the pants over your shoulder, leaning her in a lacy pair of panties.

it dawns upon you suddenly that you’ve never actually gone down on anyone before. you pictured yourself eating her out countless of times, in the comfort of your own room, with jackie sleeping next door. but you never actually had the chance to practice.

from what jackie has told you about her and jeff, their sex life had been merely mediocre. there’s no way in hell, you tell yourself to muster up the courage to take off her underwear, that you’ll be worse in bed than jeff fucking sadecki.

jackie spreads her thighs on the bedsheets when you finally pull down the last item of clothing that’s separating you from where you both want you. she lets you take in the sight of her with a faint, rosy flush of her cheeks.

“like what you see?” jackie mumbles, biting the side of her index finger nervously.

"mhm" you hum, not bothering to meet jackie’s eyes with your gaze still fixated on her. your fingertips carefully trace her outer lips and you watch her way she opens up to your touch. she is pretty, endlessly pretty, and wet with arousal. pink and wanting, framed by curls just a shade darker than her dirty blonde hair.

“i’m sorry i didn’t-“

“don’t” you instantly cut her off, this time looking up to meet her eyes. jackie presses her lips together tightly, which you take as your sign to tell her: “i don't really…know what i'm doing, i guess"

jackie smiles down at you softly, lifting the finger from her mouth to cup your cheek. “that’s okay” she assures. “i’ll show you. i promise it'll feel really good”

“okay” you finally agree, eyes darting back to the task at hand. “yeah, okay”

the very first thing you notice when you put your mouth on her is the way jackie sounds. her raspy voice gets all high-pitched and her fingers tighten in your hair as she mutters a quiet "fuck y/n" under her breath.

then, once that realization has sunken in, you notice the way she tastes. it’s unlike everything you’ve ever had before, so unmistakably jackie that your eyes roll to the back of your head as your tongue glides through her.

eager for more and with jackie’s voice whispering words of encouragement from above, you drag your tongue all the way through her, up to her pulsing clit, where you swirl around it in clockwise circles.

“oh my-“ she slams her free hand over her mouth, her hips jumping from the mattress and her head raising so that she’s looking down at you. “that’s- that’s good”

with jackie’s constant praise you grow more confident and flick your tongue against her clit harsher. her legs instantly tremble around your head as she tries to hold them open for you, her ankles crossing over your back to cage you in. as if you’d ever want to be anywhere but here…

“you- you have to- oh! suck it!” she instructs, her cunt bucking against your face. “just- wrap your lips around it and- oh, that’s it. just like that!”

you hum around jackie’s clit, sending vibrations through her whole body.

“god that’s-“ she presses her lips together tightly for the sake of your neighbors. “it’s so good”

you're craving jackie’s praise at this rate, craving her taste and the way she moans and shivers above you.

"oh, right there!" she gasps, back arching over and over again as she attempts to ride your tongue. “that’s- mhm, right there!”

you're eating jackie out with determination now, eager for her to cum and release all over your mouth. over time, her breathing grows ragged, her hips grinding against you impatiently.

cries and instructions of “a little harder” and “you're doing such a good job” and “just like that” are the only coherent words echoing through the small motel room for the next few minutes, only accompanied by the sound of your tongue lapping up her arousal and your own, occasional moans at the taste of jackie’s pussy.

you could stay there forever, you realize. she could suffocate you with her thighs and you’d thank her.

it won’t take forever, though, because eventually, her breathing grows more ragged, and her body tense as she chants out your name and: “i’m- god your mouth- i’m close”

immediately, you double your efforts, eating jackie out like your life depends on it. like you’ll only ever have this stolen moment, snow still falling heavily outside of the window. maybe you will. maybe it’s all you ever have of her. but if it is, you’ll be damned if you don’t make proper use of it.

you feel it before jackie notices herself; the way she throbs.

“oh my god” she cries out warningly. her eyes meet yours, then, the moment you push her over the edge with one last flick of your tongue.

jackie’s legs clamp around your head, trembling. her hand blindly finds yours on her thigh and squeezes it desperately. you’re not even sure if she notices herself, but you gladly take it, anchoring her as her orgasm washes over her.

her face contorts in pleasure and you watch it happen as she rides it out on your broad tongue.

by the time you finally lean back, with a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to her dripping pussy, she looks down at you hazily. contrary to her breathlessness, her lips curl into an almost proud smile.

“see?” she pants. “you’re a fucking natural”

you wipe your chin with the back of your hands and crawl up her body, into her spread, waiting arms. you lay down on her bare chest and jackie kisses the top of your head, mumbling incoherent ‘thank you’s’ against your hairline.

after a long while of her catching her breath, she’s finally able to add: “i’ll end things with jeff” you lift your head to look up at her, her finger still combing through her head. “for real this time. we’re already on somewhat of a break but…i’ll tell him”

and if that’s not the best early christmas present you could ever receive.

“yeah?”

“yeah” jackie grins. it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen anyone over the announcement that they will breakup with their boyfriend. you kiss her smiling mouth.

“then let’s get some sleep so we can go back home tomorrow, yeah?”

“not yet” she lifts her index and you furrow your brows in confusion. jackie laughs and pulls you down against her. “about time to return the favor”

[misshoneyimhome]

What’s up buttercups!

Alrighty, it’s time to turn up the heat for my g @nylwnder 🔥—for the third part of Sexy Christmas ☃︎ we’re slowing things down a bit to really savour a make-out session with none other than sweetheart Joe Woll 💋

Get ready for some tender, steamy moments with one of our favourite goaltenders. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I loved writing it!

As always, your feedback makes my heart melt ❤️ Happy reading, and let the holiday magic (and heat) begin! 🎄✨

➼｡ﾟ

Fireplace Heat - Joseph Woll

After a snowy night game, the hockey player invites OC back to his place to warm up by the fire. As they share hot cocoa and cosy blankets, the heat from the fireplace isn’t the only thing keeping them warm.

Tropes & warnings: 18+ smut, Joseph Woll x reader, friends to lovers, fingering, build up to protected sexual intercourse

Word count: 2.6K

The snow outside had no mercy tonight. It had piled up on the roads, coated the city in white, and slowed the world to a crawl. But none of that mattered when you were in the middle of a packed arena, cheering for Joseph and the Leafs as they battled through the storm both on and off the ice.

By the time the final buzzer rang, victory secured, the adrenaline in your veins was the only thing keeping you warm. That, and the sight of Joseph waving at you from the ice, his grin enough to melt any lingering frost.

_

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Joseph asked, his breath visible in the icy air as you waited outside the arena.

You glanced at the snowflakes swirling in the wind and then back at him, bundled in his coat and beanie. “I think I’d rather freeze than make you drive in this,” you teased.

He chuckled, his head shaking slightly. “I’ve got an idea.” His blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “How about you come back to my place? It’s closer, and I’ve got a fireplace. And hot cocoa.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Tempting me with chocolate? Bold move, Woll.”

His grin widened. “Is it working?”

_

Joseph’s place was warm, inviting, and smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon. A modest Christmas tree stood in the corner, twinkling with white lights, and the fireplace crackled softly, bathing the room in a golden glow.

“You weren’t kidding about the fireplace,” you said, shrugging off your coat. “This is nice.”

“I told you, I’m a man of my word,” he replied, his voice laced with a playful tone. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa, complete with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cocoa powder.

“Fancy,” you teased, accepting the mug.

He plopped down beside you on the couch, draping a plush blanket over both of you. “Only the best for you.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while, sipping your drinks and watching the flames dance. Outside, the wind howled, but it felt a world away in here.

As you lowered your mug, Joseph’s gaze lingered on your lips. “You, uh… you’ve got a little something,” he said, gesturing toward his own mouth.

“What?” You touched your lips self-consciously, missing the spot entirely.

“Here, let me,” he said, leaning in. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, wiping away a dollop of whipped cream. But instead of pulling back right away, he hesitated, his hand still lingering on your face.

You froze, your breath catching as his eyes met yours, the flickering firelight reflecting in his soft blue gaze.

“You’re really beautiful, even with whipped cream on your lip,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though there was something else beneath it—something deeper.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “Thanks.. for the rescue,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Anytime,” he replied, his thumb brushing your cheek lightly before he finally lowered his hand.

In that moment, the air between you shifted slightly, crackling with more than just the fire’s heat.

“You know,” Joseph said softly a few seconds later, his voice breaking the quiet. “I think this is my favourite way to end a game day.”

“Winning and then hosting a freezing guest on your couch?” you joked, nudging him gently.

He smiled, his gaze flickering from the fire to you. “No. Sharing moments like this. With you.”

You felt your cheeks heat again, and it wasn’t from the fire. “Careful, Woll. That almost sounded romantic.”

He gently leaned in slightly, his expression more serious now. “What if I meant it to be?”

Your breath hitched as the tension from earlier built again.

“Joe…” you whispered, unsure of what to say.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmured, his voice low and his eyes a mix of hope and nervousness. 

But you didn’t answer with words. Instead, you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that started soft but deepened quickly, fuelled by the unspoken tension that had been building between you for weeks. Maybe even months.

And when you finally pulled back, both breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand cradling your cheek. “Definitely my favourite way to end a game day,” he whispered, a grin tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, leaning into him as the snow continued to fall outside, forgotten in the warmth of the fire—and each other.

Joseph still held his face close to yours, his breath warm and steady, brushing your lips. Neither of you moved right away, the weight of the moment grounding you. The crackling fire behind you seemed louder now, the only other sound besides your slightly ragged breaths.

“Hmm, so,” you hummed looking into his eyes, running your hand over his forearm, “if this is how you treat a guest, I might have to crash here more often.”

Joseph chuckled softly, his hand tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “You don’t need an excuse to be here. You’re always welcome.”

Something in his voice—earnest, raw—made your chest tighten. You hadn’t expected to feel so exposed, so vulnerable, but instead of pulling away, you found yourself leaning closer, both setting your hot chocolates aside.

“You really mean that?” 

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he continued, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself. “But you make everything feel… different. So much better.”

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, you tugged the blanket tighter around both of you, as though shielding yourselves from the outside world. “You’re good at this,” you whispered, your tone teasing but your expression soft. “Making a girl feel like she’s the only one who matters.”

His gaze darkened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. “That’s because you are. To me.”

Before you could process his words, his lips were on yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you even closer until your legs tangled together under the blanket. The soft fabric of his sweater brushed your fingertips as you clutched at him, your body instinctively seeking more of his warmth.

Joseph shifted, his weight pressing against you as he leaned more into the kiss, deepening it with a quiet, needy sigh. His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, while the other rested on your hip, steady and reassuring.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the kiss turned from sweet to something more urgent. The heat radiating from the fireplace was nothing compared to the fire between you, the way his touch left a trail of warmth along your skin even through the layers of your clothes.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead found yours again, his breathing uneven. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rougher now, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face. “I’m better than okay.”

His lips quirked upward. “Good. Because I don’t think I want to stop.”

You let out a soft laugh, your hands sliding up his chest. “Then don’t.”

Joseph’s lips claimed yours again, deeper this time, the kiss carrying a weight of restrained passion that now began to unfurl. His hands, steady but yearning, slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, and the contrast of his cool fingers against your overheated skin made you shiver. Every touch felt intentional, as if he was savouring the moment as much as you were.

“You’re cold,” you whispered, the words trembling from your lips as his mouth moved to your jaw, then down the curve of your neck.

“And you’re warm,” he murmured, his breath fanning across your skin, teasing and tantalising. “Guess we balance each other perfectly.”

His words, low and rough, sent a spark of heat straight through you, your body instinctively arching closer to his. The fire crackled in the background, its flickering light casting his face in golden hues as his kisses deepened, his lips lingering longer on your skin with every press.

Joseph’s hands roamed more freely now, exploring with reverence and a growing confidence. His touch traced your sides, the curve of your waist, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles that left you trembling beneath him. The world outside—the storm, the cold—disappeared entirely. All you could feel was the heat of his body, the pull of his presence, and the overwhelming desire building between you.

When his hands slid back up to the hem of your sweater, he paused, his gaze meeting yours, silently asking for permission. You answered by lifting your arms, and he carefully pulled the fabric away, his fingers lingering on your bare skin as if reluctant to let go. His eyes swept over you, dark with desire but softened by something deeper, something unspoken.

“Tell me to stop if you change your mind,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was sweet and tender. His hands moved with equal care, tracing the lines of your body as though committing every detail to memory.

But you didn’t want him to stop. Your own hands explored him in return, fingers trailing up his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your touch. And when you tugged at the hem of his shirt, he let you pull it over his head, the lights of the fire illuminating the sharp lines of his torso, the strength beneath his skin. Your breath caught at the sight, your fingers instinctively reaching out to trace the defined muscles, the warmth of him drawing you closer.

Joseph’s kisses deepened again, his tongue exploring yours with a mixture of hunger and devotion. As if compelled by something he couldn’t hold back, his hands slipped to your waist, steadying you. And before you realised his intention, he pulled you gently into his lap. The movement stole your breath, and your knees settled on either side of him, your bodies impossibly close.

His hands anchored you against him, his thumbs brushing the bare skin of your hips as you melted into him. The intimacy of the position heightened everything—the feel of his chest against yours, the heat radiating from his body, the undeniable connection that thrummed between you. You could feel him slowly press against you between your thighs, his hardness making your core clench with need.

Your fingers found their way into his hair, pulling him closer as his lips moved to your neck, trailing heated kisses down the sensitive column of your throat. His hands moved gently, sliding over the curve of your waist and trailing along your ribs before they reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with practiced ease.

As the fabric fell away, his breath hitched, and he took a moment to simply look at you. His gaze, full of awe and intensity, made you feel seen in a way you never had before. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing reverent kisses along your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, and the curve of your shoulder.

He held you there for a moment, savouring the closeness, before his hands shifted, sliding to the small of your back. And with a reverence that made your heart ache, he eased you back onto the sofa. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he wanted to savour every second of having you beneath him.

The firelight still cast golden flickers across his face as he hovered above you, his hands bracketing your hips. His lips found yours again, the kiss a perfect blend of passion and tenderness.

Your fingers tangled in his hair again, tugging gently, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating through you and igniting something primal deep inside. His hands moved lower, their touch purposeful yet tender, exploring the curve of your hips, tracing the soft lines of your thighs, as though mapping out every inch of your body.

With deliberate care, he began to peel away the fabric of your leggings. His movements were slow, gentle, as if each layer revealed something precious. When you were finally bare beneath him, his gaze swept over you with an intensity that made your chest tighten again. His expression was a mix of awe and desire, his eyes darkened by longing but softened by something even deeper.

Joseph leaned back just enough to shed his own remaining clothes, the lights flickering over his toned, athletic form. His skin was warm and firm under your touch as he returned to you, his body fitting against yours like it had always belonged there.

The heat between you was palpable, the air charged with the unspoken understanding of how much you both craved this moment. But Joseph wasn’t a man to give in to compulsions. He was deliberate, calculated—a mindset honed as the team’s goaltender. He made choices with care, and this was no different.

Hovering above you, he met your gaze, his eyes holding an unspoken question, a silent promise. His touch was gentle as his hand slid lower, his fingers trailing down between your thighs with exquisite slowness. The first brush of his fingers against your sensitive flesh sent a shiver through you, your breath hitching as you surrendered to his careful exploration.

Soft moans escaped your lips as he circled your clit with deliberate tenderness, the rhythm of his movements building gradually, coaxing pleasure from you with every stroke. And when he eased one finger inside you, the sensation was electric yet soothing, a perfect balance of passion and restraint.

“Joe,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as your body relaxed under his touch, yielding to the sensations he created. “Mmm…”

Hearing your voice like that nearly undid him. Joseph had to summon every ounce of control to prioritise your needs first, even as his own body begged for attention. His length throbbed against your thigh, a persistent reminder of his desire, but he stayed focused. Watching your closed eyes and the soft part of your lips as you let out quiet sounds of pleasure was enough to spur him on.

He added a second finger, stretching and filling you with the same care, his movements measured and steady. It wasn’t overwhelming—it was intimate, deliberate, every touch meant to draw you closer to the edge. The golden lights danced across his face, illuminating the way he watched you, completely captivated by the way you responded to him.

Your body arched slightly, hips tilting into his hand, and he let out a low groan of satisfaction, his thumb brushing over your sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that had you gasping again. The connection between you was unlike anything you’d experienced before, a slow burn that felt timeless and all-consuming.

As the tension built and your breaths came faster, he finally withdrew his hand, leaning down to kiss you deeply. His lips were soft but insistent, a promise of what was to come. He paused, his forehead resting against yours, his voice husky as he whispered, “We should probably use… protection.”

Your eyes fluttered open, your cheeks flushed as you nodded. “You have?” 

“In the bedroom,” he murmured.

Joseph then pressed a lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, his movements fluid and quick as he retrieved what you needed. The anticipation buzzed in the air as he returned, his body warm and solid against yours once more.

This moment was yours, unrushed and full of meaning, and you knew—without a doubt—that this was just the beginning of something deeper.

[k4vehrtz]

HOUSEWARMING

-> Pairing: leon s. kennedy/ sub (cis) male reader

-> Request: yes / no

-> Word Count: 1.5K

➷...Summary: the sexual tension between you and leon is undeniable. things take a turn after you discover his rather peculiar basement.

-> Notes: debut fic? hopefully it isn't too bad and i suck at summaries lol :')

➷...Content Warnings: leon has a sex dungeon in his basement and is slightly mean, friends to lovers trope, masturbation, handjobs, oral (reader giving and receiving), chest referred to as tits, nipple play, petnames (sweetheart, angel), praise, cum swallowing, overstimulation, bondage / light bdsm, creampie, slight dumification.

Leon Kennedy was, as you’ve learned, full of surprises. However, nothing he’s said or done has left you quite as speechless as this had. It was supposed to be a tour of his new house; He had finally ditched the inhumanely small apartment he’d been living in for the past few years and you were happy for him. Then that happiness fizzled into a mixture of confusion and shock — something you’ve come to associate with him — when you find out he’s moved in down the street from your place.

That’s...well, not unbelievable for Leon. Being neighbours isn’t anything major. Neither is the tour of his new house. It’s normal, even, to show your friends your new home. That — the fact that this was so normal — could’ve possibly been the first warning sign.

The tour had gone by smoothly enough so far. Nothing too remarkable since the architecture in this neighbourhood was more or less the same. But then he stops at a door beneath the staircase and turns to you, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. You quirk a brow, “What?” pursing your lips, “Don’t even think about making a lame Harry Potter reference.” He feigns a frown, putting his hand to his chest dramatically, “You wound me,” his gaze lowers, stopping at your lips, “It’s a basement, apparently the other houses don’t have one.” Before moving back up to meet your pointed stare almost reluctantly.

You nod wordlessly, walking past him and opening the door. Leon doesn't say anything more, quietly trailing behind you as you make your way down the carpeted staircase. That is until you come to a complete stop, your face heating up as you survey the room.

Leon leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder, and practically whispers in your ear, “It’s too soon to go all airheaded on me now sweetheart.” And that sends a shiver down your spine.

You spin around on your heels to face him, fighting a heated blush. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly but no words come out initially. A sex dungeon. You almost can’t believe it. But then again, some part of you could believe it.

He stares at you intently as if he could read every thought that crosses your mind. Then he gradually lowers his gaze to your crotch and against your better judgement, your eyes follow his. One minute he’s staring at your face and the next he’s staring at the visible tent in your pants.

“I won’t touch without an explicit ‘yes’.” He says, finally breaking the silence between the two of you. The tension in the room is palpable and your breaths become laboured. Your gaze flickers between your rock-hard cock’s imprint straining against the denim of your jeans and Leon’s eyes. Before finally giving in, “Yes,” with a breathy moan.

It’s then that Leon’s lips curl upward into a full-on smug smirk. He wastes no time in guiding you to the bed at the centre of the room, forcing you into a sitting position with your legs spread and kneeling before you. “Take it out,” he says nonchalantly but even then, you feel inclined to do as you’re told. You scramble to free yourself from the confines of your jeans and briefs, and your cock springs up, staining your T-shirt with pre-cum.

Leon wraps one hand around the head, running his fingers along the slit, while the other plays with your balls. “You’ve touched yourself to me before, haven’t you?” He asks matter-of-factly, and your eyes flutter close as you turn your head away. Whether that be in denial or shame doesn't seem to bother him.

His full attention is on your cock, smearing your pre on the shaft before he begins moving his hand up and down. He takes the head into his mouth without hesitation, dragging his tongue along the slit. Your entire body trembles and your hands go to his shoulders for support.

Leon pulls off of your cock with a pop, although his hands never stop moving, “Do you want more pretty boy?” He asks as he licks the pre-cum around his face. Your cheeks are practically on fire at this point, but as you open your mouth to respond to him, he lets go of your weeping cock and presses a slick finger to your lips. “I was talking to him,” He points to your cock, “Not you.” Before taking your full length into his mouth.

You’re unsure of how to respond but you don’t linger on it for too long. Waves of pleasure crash into you as he skilfully sucks you off. Bringing you to the edge of your orgasm before pulling away, switching his mouth out with his hand and pumping your cock until a rope of cum shoots out, coating his hand while also further staining your T-shirt.

Leon smiles, watching as your chest rises and falls, before pulling you to your feet. You’re slightly wobbly but it doesn’t matter as you’re forced to your knees and he takes your previous position of sitting on the bed. He pulls your damp T-shirt off of you, tossing it to the side, before leaning back on the balls of his palms.

“I always loved those tits of yours,” He hums, licking his lips. You immediately protest, “They’re not tits!” But he leans forward, groping your chest before pushing the mounds together, “They look and feel like tits to me,” only releasing them to free his cock which stands at full mast, a visible vein running along the shaft. “Tell me you want me to fuck your tits angel,” He grunts, and your eyes widen but you find yourself giving in regardless.

“I...” Your voice is quiet at first, sounding unsure, “Please fuck my tits, sir.” But you slowly sound sure of yourself. Your hands go to your chest—no, to your tits, and you push the mounds of flesh together. Leon smirks triumphantly, coating his cock in his pre-cum before pushing it into the mediocre hole you’ve created in between your so-called tits.

 He lets out a low moan as he begins to thrust his hips in between your chest. It’s slow at first but he gradually goes deeper, the tip of his cock kissing your lips before you open your mouth, allowing the head of his cock inside. “Fuck,” He curses to himself, it’s long and drawn out as he angles his hips to go deeper into your mouth, “You were made for taking my cock, weren’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, of course, but you awkwardly nod your head ‘yes’ with his cock in your mouth. His moans become louder, and the sight of his cock in between your tits which glistens with saliva that drips from your mouth, your lips stretched around the head of his cock is simply too irresistible. If he knew you’d be this good he wouldn’t have waited so long to make a move on you.

“You’re perfect,” He moans for what feels like the hundredth time as he picks up his pace. It’s not long before he’s full-on fucking your face while pinching and twisting your nipples. You squirm in his grasp, whining pathetically each time he touches your chest. You just came but you can feel another orgasm creeping up on you. Leon isn’t any better — you could feel his cock throbbing. And within minutes the two of you climax in unison. You try your best to swallow most of his cum but some fall onto, and in-between your tits.

You’re out of breath, your chest is heaving, but Leon isn’t done with you just yet. After pulling out he helps you over to a bench of sorts, before handcuffing your hands and legs to spreader bars. Your nude body is on full display to him. He seems feral but still makes an effort not to hurt you.

Leon chuckles wryly, his eyes zeroed in on your tight ring of muscle. “Naughty boy, your hole is still all stretched out from the last time you fucked yourself while thinking of me, huh?” He hums, aligning his cock with your entrance. You nod mindlessly.

Leon doesn’t hesitate and slowly pushes himself in — all the way to the hilt. He soon bottoms out and begins thrusting his hips into you, the sound of his balls colliding with your ass echoes throughout the room. Your blissed-out sobs every time he hits your prostate is music to his ears.

You’re all the more sensitive after two orgasms; Your body is trembling, eyes rolling back in sync with the movement of his hips. Leon knows it won’t take much for either of you to cum soon so he makes the most of how much you’re clenching around his throbbing cock. “Airhead,” He tsks, exhaling shakily as his thrusts become more desperate — only to come to a complete stop when he’s blowing his load in your hole. You don’t even seem to realize you’ve cum a third time. But Leon does nothing about it and simply leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead.