#Who up tumbling they r

[crimbatimeofficial]

WHAT THE FUCK I JUST GOT JUMPSCARED BY YOU IN THE ULTRAKILL TAG JKSRHDVLVHE

well well wlrl look who we have here

Sorry I didn't #respond I was busy #sleeping

[pathologicalreid]

gemini | S.R.

two emotionally wrought people collide at a wedding, and a sexual escapade ensues.

part two

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: softdom!spencer, use of the term "good girl" (i couldn't help myself), unprotected sex, reader on bc, alcohol, spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, lowkey idiots in love, fucking against a wall?, fingering, heavy petting, r has an oral fixation, r is wearing a dress and makeup, explicit consent (hot), public sex, i think that's all word count: 3.42k a/n: this is a little self-indulgent and i don't care! based on literally just the first line of the song gemini by del water gap. probably not ever gonna get a part two. i've never done angsty smut (smangst?) before, so this was fun.

so, here's the setting, we met fucked up at a wedding

Swirling the drink you held in your hand, you watched your friends as they chatted. The pink liquid in the cup, concocted by Penelope Garcia, was far too sweet for your taste, but you needed the liquid courage to make it through the wedding.

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for Krystall and Dave. It was that weddings oftentimes left a bitter taste in your mouth – one so bitter that not even Penelope’s drink could offset it.

In your periphery, you saw a blur of purple in the corner, looking up to see Spencer. His hand still bandaged from his most recent brush with death, he used his free one to grip a glass of water. Raising your eyebrows, you gave him your best attempt at a smile before you greeted him, “You look good, Dr. Reid.”

He was fully donned in his favorite color, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t notice that your dress matched the purple hue of his suit. “Thanks,” he said shortly, not quite meeting your eyes.

Noting the way he was looking past you, you demurely leaned your head down, glancing over your shoulder so that you could see what he was looking at, only to see JJ. She looked gorgeous in her red dress, laughing at something her husband said before her eyes caught something.

She was staring back at Spencer, and not for the first time, you found yourself wondering what happened in that pawn shop. Bringing your eyes back up to Reid, you watched the confused look in his eyes bloom as he peeled his eyes away from JJ.

Sick of it, you spoke up, “Alright, I had dibs on being the mopey one tonight. What’s wrong?” You had wanted to brush it off as long-lasting nerves from the hostage situation, but he was acting strange.

You knew you weren’t his best friend, that was a title that JJ had been the reigning champion of since the beginning of time. Yet, you still noticed the rigidity in Spencer’s shoulders as he displayed a clear discomfort with his surroundings. You tried to think of something to say to him. How could you ask him if he wanted to get out of here without it sounding like a sexual proposition?

“JJ told me she loved me,” he said, his voice so low you weren’t even sure you had heard him correctly.

Your head snapped up, “Oh.” Swallowing thickly, you tilted your head curiously, letting loose hair tumble to the side. “Do you love her?” Likely not the right conversation for the wedding of everyone’s favorite right-person-wrong-time couple, but you were desperate for a rope to pull yourself out of your wallowing.

He took a sip of his water before setting the empty glass on the bar counter, “I did.” The admission hit you like a ton of bricks, until her continued, “but now…”

Filling in the blanks, you shrugged, “She’s married. They have kids.” Spencer was always doing the right thing, so pushing his feelings aside for the sake of JJ’s family made the most sense.

Furrowing his brows, he pondered this for a moment before speaking, “It’s not just that. I have feelings for someone else.”

“Oh,” you repeated, and somehow the thought of him being in love with an unfamiliar figure hurt more than him being in love with your mutual friend.

The both of you let the conversation lag, watching as Penelope came back up to the bar and poured more drinks. After she accused you of being boring for not wanting another drink, everyone returned to the tables. “Have you dated anyone since him?”

You choked on your newly acquired water, cupping your hand underneath your jaw in an attempt to stop water from getting on your dress. “Uh, no. I’ve kind of sworn off dating ever since,” you replied, shaking your hand out and letting water droplets fall to the floor.

Sighing, you slouched in your seat, remembering that all you’d ever be was a jaded bride. Left by your fiancé on the day of your wedding, doomed to never love again. Until you met Spencer Reid.

“For everyone?” Spencer asked, and you cursed his natural curiosity.

His question caught you off guard. Despite yourself, you shook your head, “I have like… one person who, if they asked me, I’d say yes.” Your skin started to feel warm, and you weren’t sure if it was your proximity to him or Penelope’s drink coming back with a vengeance.

Spencer stepped a little closer to you, leaning casually on the counter as if he wasn’t affecting your ability to focus. “Who’s your person?” The question was innocent enough that it made your heart ache.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s into someone else,” you told him, reaching behind your neck to pull your hair up, haphazardly twisting it. You didn’t have a hair tie, so you let the locks fall once you felt some semblance of relief.

This statement seemingly bothered Spencer because he looked into his glass, “Did he tell you that?”

Nodding, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Yeah,” maybe not in so many words, Spencer was rarely crass enough to say he was into someone, but you understood well enough.

The conversation lagged between the two of you once again, your own private thoughts were only interrupted when the music changed. It was a slow song, one for the couples of the night to dance to.

You took a chance, “Do you want to go explore the building with me? It’s getting stuffy in here,” you said, taking one final swig of your water before jumping up from your stool.

He looked back at JJ, who was there with Will, and then forward to the girl who was asking to take him away, “Yes.”

David Rossi had spared no expense for his second wedding to his third wife, and the manor that you found yourself meandering within felt never-ending. Something about following Spencer as he led the way and told you facts about the history of the building felt so normal, and you wondered if it would hurt when the night was over. Maybe this would just end as another memory to loathe about weddings.

Trailing him into another room, you stumbled into his back. Quickly, Spencer spun back and caught you before you could fall to the ground.

Steadying yourself, your heart thrummed at the way he was touching you, tightly holding your waist so that you wouldn’t trip. Once you were no longer wobbling, Spencer reached up and gingerly lifted the fallen spaghetti strap of your dress back over your shoulder. Before you had fully thought out your actions, you leaned up on your tip toes and kissed him.

It was hesitant and gentle, but once you registered that you were kissing him you soon realized that he was kissing you back. What started out as a small peck on the lips quickly morphed into full, open-mouthed kisses.

You thought Spencer might eat you alive, and for a moment, you thought you might let him.

Without separating your lips, he herded you over to the wall, pinning your hips to the wall as you felt heat grow between your legs.

Pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth, Spencer pulled away ever so slightly, your faces just inches apart. “Is this okay?” He asked you, his eyes flickering down to your lips like he was holding himself back from kissing you again.

There was fear. A fear that if you moved forward tonight, nothing would ever be the same, but you took a chance  and nodded quickly, “Yes.”

Your answer acted as a release as Spencer dropped his head back down and the two of you reattached your lips. Despite your attempts to ignore it, you felt his hardened length pressing into you through several layers of clothes.

Twisting your head away, you gasped as Spencer took the opportunity to place his lips on your neck, gently suckling on the tender skin as you tried to catch your breath. “Are you sure about this?” You breathed, running your hands underneath his suit jacket, wanting nothing more than to push it off of him.

“Yes,” he answered, giving you the same consent that you had already given him, and it was enough for you to reach for his belt buckle. No matter how badly you wanted to see him entirely bare in front of you, this just wasn’t the place for it.

Gently, you slid your hand down his front, savoring the way his breath hitched against your neck as your fingertips precariously lifted the waistband of his boxers. He gently nipped at your earlobe as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.

You let your head fall backward, allowing him better access to your neck as you moved your hand. Moving your hand up so that you could swipe your thumb over the tip.

You dragged your other hand down, pulling his boxers down so that you could get a good look at what you were working with, and biting your lip at the sight of it. Slowly, you started to pump his impressive length, noting how his breathing patterns changed with your movements.

Dragging a knuckle up the underside of him, he dropped his head to your shoulder as you collected his pre-cum on your index finger on your way up, bringing your hand up to your mouth and licking the droplet off, peering up at him.

“You’re so good at that, baby,” he told you, sighing as he reached up and placed his hand on the side of your neck, skimming his thumb over your jawline as his free hand started to make its way up your dress, pausing when he only met bare skin. “No underwear?” He questioned, furrowing his brow at you as you bit your lip, trying to refrain from pressing into his hand.

Whimpering almost indiscriminately, you shook your head, “Couldn’t, panty lines would show under the dress.”

Spencer hummed in recognition, moving his hand up to cup your sex so that you could feel your own wetness on his hand. A pathetic whine escaped your throat as your walls clenched with need, still stopping yourself from grinding on his hand. “What do you need?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, “Come on, you can tell me.”

“You, please,” you answered, your voice dangerously bordering on pleading. “Your hands, anything,” you squeaked out, breathing heavily as you awaited his next move.

Gently, he slipped a finger inside your wet hole, causing you to release a satisfied sigh. “You’re so wet,” he whispered in your ear as you tilted your head back and pressed your lips to his.

As his hand picked up in pace, so did your breathing. With each movement of his hand, you struggled to keep your volume at a respectable level, small whimpers continued escaping you even as you bit down on the inside of your lip. “Spence,” you whined, moaning aloud as he slipped a second finger into you, “Oh, god.”

The silence of the room around you only exacerbated the wet sounds that were emanating from your sex, and if it didn’t feel so good, you might’ve been embarrassed. In fact, as you felt a familiar coil winding in your abdomen, you found that you didn’t have the capacity to feel anything other than pleasure.

Crying out, you nodded as Spencer continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, “Fuck,” you said, caring less about your volume levels. Even less so when he responded by pressing the heel of his hand against your clit, the pressure proving to be enough to send you over the edge.

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispered in your ear, “Let it go for me, baby.” His words continued as you felt your walls spasming around his fingers, his ministrations had slowed, but he worked you through your orgasm before withdrawing his fingers and lifting them up to your mouth.

Accepting the invitation, you leaned forward and sucked the sweet juices off of his hand, slipping your tongue between his two fingers as you looked up at him. You half expected him to be watching you with lust-blown eyes, but he was watching you just as attentively as he had when you started this escapade.

He retrieved his fingers from your mouth with a satisfying pop and reached down to ruche the fabric of your dress up around your waist. “Wait,” he said suddenly, gripping the silky cloth, “I don’t have a condom.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “I don’t mind.” Still breathing heavy from your previous orgasm, you shook your head again, “I mean. I’m on birth control – and I’m good at it. I mean I keep up with it.” Now babbling, you hoped he’d say something. “I’m clean. I trust you.”

Nodding in understanding, he placed a hand on the side of your neck and looked at you intently. “I’m not going to do anything until you catch your breath,” he told you, taking up an authoritative tone.

Blinking rapidly, you evened out your breathing as he ran his hand up and down your torso, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, taking another deep breath as you looked up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “Don’t be sorry.” He leaned his head down, pressing soft kisses down the side of your neck as you finally pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, leaning down to grip the backs of your thighs.

“It’s okay if you can’t lift me,” you rambled quickly, getting his attention as you aired your concern.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, pressing his hips into yours and lifting your feet off of the ground. The leverage that he had, along with the support of the wall behind him, allowed him to get both of your feet off of the ground. You would’ve spent more time being impressed by this feat if you weren’t so distracted by his painfully hard cock that had now slipped between your folds.

Leaning down, you desperately kissed his lips, wanting him to give you those open-mouthed kisses that you had started out with. Instead, you cried out when, without warning, his full length slipped into you.

Placing gentle kisses on your collarbone, Spencer murmured, “Are you okay?” He whispered, seeming like he was using all of his self-control to just stay still.

You nodded, feeling his cock throbbing so deep in you that you were almost afraid you’d come from just that pressure alone. “Been a while,” you murmured, taking a deep, shaky breath.

He hummed in understanding, “I’ve got you, take your time.”

His words filled your stomach with butterflies, and it wasn’t just because he was fully sheathed in you. “Spence,” you whimpered, “Move.”

On your cue, Spencer gave a tentative thrust, permitting your resulting moan to mix with his grunt. “Fuck, baby,” he said, continuing to thrust in and out of your cunt, filling the room with the crude squelching of your actions. “I’m not going to last long,” he informed you.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you moaned helplessly when Spencer dropped one of your legs to the ground, hooking his arm underneath your other knee, providing a new, deeper angle. You swore as the sensations started to feel overwhelming.

The new angle gave him more control over his movements, enabling him to use his free hand to pull at your breast through the fabric of your dress. As you tugged gently at his hair, you tilted your head back, “Spence, I- shit,” you cursed, recognizing the tell-tale signs of your second orgasm approaching.

If it weren’t for his words of encouragement, you would’ve been embarrassed by coming too quickly, and if anything, the words only spurred you closer to the finish line. “Come for me,” he said, thrusting harder into you as he tried to reach the same point. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he said, continuing his thrusts until his hips stuttered.

“Coming,” you whimpered, dropping your head forward onto his shoulder as you felt your walls tightening around his hard length. Crying out as he continued to pound into you, you buried your face into his neck and nipped at the skin to muffle your sounds.

Now he was solely working toward his own orgasm, having given you two of your own. “You’re such a good girl,” he panted.

Suckling gently at the skin on his neck – not hard enough to leave a mark, you littered kisses on his sensitive skin. “Come in me, baby,” you murmured, trying to spur him on.

Your success was apparent as his movements faltered and his cock started throbbing, feeling the pulses of his cum as it filled you, your eyes rolled back at the feeling while Spencer slowed to a halt, waiting for a beat before he pulled out of you entirely.

Shuddering at the emptiness you now felt, you leaned against the wall once both of your feet were on the ground. As your legs trembled, you watched as Spencer crouched to fish something out of his jacket, leaving you with your mixture of fluids running down your legs.

As he grabbed the handkerchief from his breast pocket, you gasped slightly as you realized his intentions. “Spence, you’ll ruin it,” you insisted.

“Would you rather go back out there with my cum dripping down your thighs?” He asked, knelt in front of you with his brows raised in mock innocence.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “Jesus.”

He chuckled, using the handkerchief to wipe up the mess the two of you had made on your legs before carelessly tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Noting the way your legs were still shaking, he lifted your chin ever so slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding, you offered him a tired, but genuine smile. “I’m great,” you told him, wiping underneath your eyes where you were sure there was a mess of mascara.

Taking your hand in his, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, Spencer led to toward the French doors that led to the balcony, taking you out into the fresh air.

As you leaned up against the railing, Spencer shook out his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, doing his best to keep you comfortable. “Hey,” you whispered, “I really am fine. Are you? How’s your hand?” In all of the hormones, you had forgotten about his injury.

Spencer nodded, looking over the property that Rossi had rented. “I’m good, Y/N. I feel good.” You wished he’d call you baby again, but maybe that was too much to ask for. His eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him, recognizing the look from years of working together.

He hummed, reaching up and sweeping a strand of hair off of your forehead. “That guy? The one who told you he’s into someone else? I can confidently say he’s an idiot.”

Flushing, you smiled to yourself at the fact that Spencer was calling himself an idiot, especially when he was anything but. Shrugging, you waved him off anyway, “Nobody’s perfect, Spence.”

“No, I suppose not, but even so…” he told you, allowing his voice to trail off like he wasn’t totally sure what he wanted to say to you. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, then maybe you need to turn your attention elsewhere.”

Sighing, you leaned your chin in your hand, “Thanks, but I don’t know. Maybe there is better out there, and I’m just not worth it.” No, after tonight, you’d likely never get over him. It might’ve started as a workplace crush, but you felt in your heart that it was now something deeper.

Spencer shook his head, “Now, that’s where we disagree.”

“Spencer, I can’t-“ Your voice is cut off when you hear someone calling your name from inside the building, smoothing out the front of your dress one more time, you step back into the room, coming face to face with JJ.

She smiles in recognition of you, but the grin immediately fades from her face when Spencer walks out behind you, “Hey, we’ve been looking for you guys,” she said flatly. “They’re about to cut the cake.”

Nodding, you took another quick look at Spencer before following the blonde out of the room, leaving your secret in the room behind you.

part two

[artdcnaldson]

smutty patrick +art +reader request!!!! ->

smut where both patrick &y/n r dominant and are constantly competing against eachother with who makes art cum faster/moan louder LOL☺️☺️☺️ patrick is like a rougher dom and reader is softer and she keeps praising art while patrick IS SUCH A MEANIEEEEE but he also loves art too obv(and reader). UGH i love them

HEHEHEHE <3

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT!! Threesome ft. Dom!Patrick, Soft!Dom Reader, Sub!Art, handjob, blowjob, ruined orgasm

A/N: god tier request, truly. something possessed me when I wrote this

Art Donaldson had never looked prettier than he did in that moment. The thin sheen of sweat that made his skin glisten, the pretty flush that burned pink down to his chest.

His back was pressed to your chest, your arms wrapped around him soothingly. It was the perfect angle to watch all the ways Patrick was torturing your sweet boy.

His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath— each exhale shuddery and rough. You pet his hair, brushing soft curls out of his eyes.

“How are you, baby?” You asked softly, teasingly. “Is Patrick being too mean?”

He shook his head, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as Patrick’s hand moved faster and faster. A strangled moan slipped past his lips, eyes squeezing shut as Patrick brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m just doing what he asked,” Patrick said with a grin. The sounds of his hand was slick as it moved up and down on the blond’s cock.. “He wanted me to touch him, and I’m touching him.”

You pressed a soothing kiss to his jaw and grinned down at Patrick. The brunet was a co-conspirator in the agonizing, delicious torture you put Art’s poor body through. You were just nicer about it.

“Close,” Art whimpered, his lips spit slick and bitten pink. “I— fuck— I’m close”

Patrick smirked like the cat who got the cream, but you just ran a soothing hand over the plane of his chest, teasing his nipples, making him whine pitifully.

“Yeah, baby? You’re close, huh?” Your teeth tugged slightly at his earlobe and he moaned, loud and pretty. “Be polite and ask Patrick if you can cum.”

Patrick’s hand didn’t let up— slick and relentless. He raised an eyebrow expectantly and Art nearly sobbed.

“Please—“ was all Art could manage.

“Please, what, Donaldson? You’re a big boy, you know how to ask the right way.”

He groaned, shifting so he could squirm away from Patrick’s relentless touch. It was futile, though. Art was strong, but with your legs pinning his thighs and Patrick’s hand slung across the blond’s torso, all he could do was take it.

“Lemme cum— please let me cum,” he was practically begging, eyes shining with crocodile tears. It was so fucking cute. You wished your camera was nearby so you could’ve snapped a picture of how desperate he’d gotten.

Patrick met your gaze and smiled, like he’d just gotten the best fucking idea in the world. “Okay, baby,” he said in an unusually gentle voice. “You can cum.”

You could feel Art’s heart hammering against your palm, the surprise evident in his eyes.

“Hurry before Pat changes his mind, yeah?” You cooed in his ear. He nodded, face scrunched slightly as Patrick brought him closer and closer to finishing.

And god, Art could get loud. He had his tells here, just like in tennis. As soon as he went silent, you knew he was right on the precipice, ready to tumble over.

The second Art’s orgasm hit, Patrick moved his hand off of him completely. It was different than it usually was— Art was always messy. He’d shoot ropes of thick cum up to his chest, or his face if he was particularly backed up.

But then, he just whimpered pathetically as cum oozed out of his tip, leaving a puddle at the base of his cock. And— holy fuck— he stayed hard.

Art practically sobbed, his head lolling back against your shoulder. Tears of frustration welled in his pretty blue eyes. “What the fuck, Patrick?” He groaned pathetically.

“What the fuck did you do?” You asked with wide eyes.

Patrick sat back and shrugged, wearing a shit-eating grin. “I saw someone do it in a porn. He got to cum, he just didn’t get the good part.”

“Switch spots,” you said quickly. Patrick let you settle between Art’s thighs, eye level with his aching cock. It was red at the tip, aching for a real release.

When you wrapped a hand around him, he whimpered and squirmed in an attempt to escape the stimulation.

“You good, baby?” You asked, pressing your lips to his thigh.

Before Art could respond, Patrick sighed. “Stop babying him— he’s fine.”

You met Art’s gaze, and he gave a tiny nod. His chest was heaving as he drew breath after shaky breath.

The mess of cum surrounding his base made each slick pass of your hand sound pornographic. Almost as debauched as the whimpers and moans that were escaping Art’s lips.

“Mmm… fuck, fuck— ah!” Like a goddamn pornstar.

“Shhh… let me clean up the mess Patrick made, yeah?”

You pressed a soft kiss to his tip, and his thighs twitched with the need to buck into the warmth of your lips. Your mouth trailed down, peppering the hard length of him with wet, slow kisses. You could taste his release, salty on your tongue.

“Jesus, baby— please—“ Art, desperate and wanting, was your favorite thing in the world. Besides maybe Patrick, desperate and wanting in a completely opposite way.

“Quit whining, Art, or she’s gonna stop.” Patrick murmured in the blond’s ear. You could already see a collection of red spots on Art’s throat that would turn into bruises.

You definitely weren’t going to stop. You loved every single depraved noise you could wring out of him. You took mercy on him, easing his sensitive cock into the wet warmth of your mouth.

You’re too soft on him. He likes when you make him work for it. You could hear Patrick’s complaints already.

It didn’t matter. You liked taking care of your boy.

He pulsed against your tongue as you took him deeper, his thighs tensing where your hands rested against him. He bucked slightly, brushing the back of your throat. When you gagged around him, he made the same whimpery noise that he made on the tennis courts.

“Tell her thank you,” Patrick said in Art’s ear.

You moaned softly around Art’s length as you felt Patrick’s fingers grip onto your hair, guiding your mouth up and down, faster and faster.

“Art, I’ll make her stop. Say thank you.” Patrick’s voice was firm, no trace of any sympathy. The same way he’d bark corrections that Art needed to make when they practiced together.

“Thank you,“ Art gasped out, like it took all the effort in the world. Patrick used his free hand to rake his nails over Art’s abs, and the blond cried out and bucked into your throat. “Fuck—“

You knew he was close to finishing— still so pent up from the orgasm that Patrick had ruined for him. So sensitive that it wouldn’t take much more effort to have him spilling onto your tongue.

You pulled off slowly, jerking him off with slow, firm strokes. “You wanna cum, baby?” You asked, lips just brushing the sensitive head of his cock.

“Yes! God, need t’ cum so bad,” he cried, desperate and aching for release.

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ greedy, Art,” Patrick goaded. The hand that was in your hair had moved to your cheek, where he stroked along your skin sweetly. “You think you deserve it?”

“Yes, you asshole,” Art groaned. Patrick laughed, a smile spreading across his lips. You raised a brow, looking at the brunet expectantly for permission. He nodded and you smiled.

“Go on, baby, I’ve got you,” you said, hand moving faster. “I won’t be mean, I’ll let you get what you need.”

He cried out as he finished, painting your tongue with thick spurts of cum. You worked him through it, taking every drop he could offer you, until the feeling of your touch became too much.

“Don’t swallow, c’mere,” Patrick said. You joined him at the top of the bed, kissing him deeply, passing Art’s cum between your mouths with slow laves of your tongues against each other.

Art whined, reaching for your faces, wanting you to include him. Patrick leaned down, kissing him deeply, so he could taste the efforts of both of your attentions. You leaned in, tongue brushing Patrick’s, and Art’s, and you felt warmth flutter in your chest.

“You’re too nice to him,” Patrick said after he pulled away. “I would’ve made him beg for it.”

thank you for readinggggg <3 this was so fun to write 😁🩵

[eggjaculations]

i’ve been thinking about this a lot and i feel like the precursor to SKSKSKS was JSJSJSJS, which was the aftermath of many americans using JAJAJAJAJA (either bc they liked it or they thought it was a typo of HAHAHAHA, i’ve heard both surprisingly) and i think that overlap of language and culture between spanish speakers and vsco girlies is beautiful and should be recognized and praised.

[inmaki]

gojo making fun of your other fwb

( smut, a little smthn while i work on my nanami fic <3 ) .

"just put it in, for fucks sake."

gojo chuckles, running his mushroom-shaped tip up and down your folds. every time he reaches your hole, he pushes his cock in just enough to breach your entrance, before pulling out and continuing his ministrations. like a fucking idiot.

"aw, y’want my dick that bad? 'need me to fill you up?" what about matsukawa?"

your expression sours, sending him an annoyed look. this was by far the first time he’s brought up his displeasure for your other friend, especially in bed.

“are you trying to make me dry?" you bark, trying to close your legs - which he immediately stops with a large hand. "if you wanna fuck, stop talking about him and hurry."

gojo rolls his eyes, despising the way you're practically defending the fucker. sure, he's just a friend too - but you were clearly his; you've always been addicted his lips against yours, his hands on your body, his cock against your cervix. now this other shithead thinks he can come and take that away?

he doesn't know how to handle it besides-

"is this how he fucks you?" suddenly, he forces only an inch or two inside you, barely thrusting in and out with a mischievous smile. a hum leaves his lips as your insides squeeze him firmly, but he's stubborn enough to hold back the urge to fill you up properly. "probably can’t reach anything, i bet even my fingers are bigger."

the audacity and immaturity of the man in front of you has you baffled. here you are, ready to be fucked into the mattress by him - and all he can do is joke about some other guy's dick length? you desperately want to scold him, tell him to fuck off - but as expected - the feeling of his fat cock not reaching where you need has your mind going blank in desperation.

"please.. just fuck me, toru."

he smirks, and without giving you any time to adjust, he's mercilessly slamming in the rest of his length so the tip presses right up against your womb. his balls smack against you from below, and you shiver at the feeling of his white pubic hair grazing your pelvis. "so i'm right? hah, what a fuckin' loser. 'course he has a small dick."

you're too busy catching your breath to hear him, and gojo smoothly takes that opportunity to throw your legs over his shoulders and press them against your chest, ensuring his cock hits your g-spot at the perfect angle. just how you like it.

the white-haired bastard can't help but smile, licking his lips at your rolled back eyes and the harmonious ah, ah, ah's that escape your throat with each brutal slam of his hips. "becoming my brainless cocksleeve as usual, so damn cute. only i can rearrange these guts, right?" he demands, bending you even further while getting right in your face.

"say it. say who owns this sloppy," thrust, "fucking," thrust, "pussy," thrust.

“you, only you!” the words tumble out of you before you can stop them.

“who?” he grinds right against your cervix, nearly pressing the tip of his nose against yours.

“sa- satoru!”

he rewards you by lowering a thumb to play with your clit, cerulean eyes staring into your very soul. “damn right. scream it louder.”

suddenly, a quiet ding! comes from your bedside table. gojo glances down to your blissed-out face, cautiously peering over to see a message from none other than the man of of the hour.

matsu: wyd? can i come over?

gojo smiles. typing in a response with one hand while the other keeps your thigh firmly against your chest.

you: yea, be quick daddy ;)

you would definitely kill him after this.

( reblogs & comments r appreciated if u enjoy! had this idea at 2am sorry if it’s bad <\3)

© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[luveline]

omg jade i heard you asking for hotch reqs and i RAN to your inbox

what about hotch taking care of r after they have a lil baby?? i think if i saw that man hold a new baby id die!!!! he could hole their whole head in the palm of his hand 😭😭😭

Every time you move, your hips and more intimate regions hurt like a hot poker. You probably won’t cry, but you require some tylenol and some sympathy to carry on. “Hotch?” you ask. 

Silence. You tip your head back over the armrest to find him. Even upside down, he looks handsome, sitting in the two seater with your little bundle of agony in his arms. Or, arm. The baby rests neatly in the curve of his forearm, his free hand dedicated to the baby’s small back. 

“Hotch?” 

“Who is she talking to?” Hotch asks your baby gently. You know what he’s doing immediately. 

“You get so hung up on the Hotch thing, if you didn’t want to be called Hotch, you shouldn’t have introduced yourself as Hotch.”  

You’ve been calling him Hotch for years, you aren’t going to suddenly kick the habit now. 

“She was my subordinate,” Hotch tells the baby. “She couldn’t have special treatment, even if she is the prettiest subordinate I ever had. It wouldn’t have been fair.” 

“I wouldn’t mind some more tylenol.” 

He raises his gaze. You twist into a painful but better suited position to watch him move the baby closer to his collar, his hand covering the entirety of the baby’s small head. Hotch said Jack was a little baby too, but you’d been terrified regardless, and no matter the size, it was too big for you to come out of the ordeal unscathed. Tylenol isn’t so much wanted as required. 

“I’ll get it for you,” he promises. 

“Thank you, Aaron.” 

“Oh, you’re welcome, honey.” 

He stands and shifts your tiny baby further into his chest, little snores pressed to his collar. “You okay to take him? I’ll make you some lunch at the same time.”

“I can’t eat.” 

“Just chips and a sandwich, honey. You can manage that.”  

You open your arms, letting Hotch lower your baby down into your arms and the surrounding nest of blankets. “You need to go see where Jack is,” you say. 

“I know,” Hotch says, kissing your cheek quickly. “I’m gonna make his lunch too. I’ll be right back.” 

You cuddle your baby to your chest and lean back. Your baby Hotchner is, as previously stated, so tiny, but he’s a nice weight against you, and he sleeps like a champ. You thought easy babies were a myth until now. So far he’s done nothing but sleep and stare at you whenever you talk. You think it’s love, or the surprise of seeing the voices that talked to him nonstop while he was in your belly now out in the open. He does the same to Hotch whenever he’s awake. 

You haven’t named him yet. You asked Jack for help, but he’d recommended you name your new baby Mister Awesome, so you’re at a loss for now. It doesn’t matter, though. He’ll have a name eventually. Until then, he’s the baby. And he’s very well loved. 

You wish he hadn’t hurt so badly to bring into the world, is all. 

Somewhere deeper in the house, Jack tumbles down the stairs, to Hotch's audible horror. “Are you alright? What are you doing, buddy?” 

“I’m being quick!” 

“Please be careful!” There’s the sound of a kiss. “You sure you’re okay? Yeah? Gonna go and keep Y/N company?” 

“Yeah, dad.” 

“Okay, thank you. I’m gonna make your lunch now, any requests?” 

“Peanut butter. And chips. And pretzels. And orange slices? And–”

“How about I bring you lots of everything, bud?” 

“Yes. Please. Hug?” 

They must hug, though you can’t see or hear it, as Jack walks into the living room with wildly tousled hair and a smile. He climbs over the back of the couch even though he shouldn’t, dropping onto your feet, a tangle of arms and legs. “Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi baby. You hungry?” 

“Dad’s gonna make me a sandwich.” 

You reach over to collect his hand in yours, squeezing his fingers gently. You’d thought for sure that having a baby in the house would upset him, if only because his usual routine was disrupted —he’d had to make room for you first, and now suddenly there’s a new baby taking all the attention? it’s not what only kids usually want— but Jack’s an easy kid too. He squeezes your hand back, shimmying up the couch to lean on your leg. It aches, every touch to your lower half a reminder of the pain further inward, but he’s not rough. He climbs further onto your leg and rests his cheek on your shoulder. 

“Is this a cuddle?” you murmur. 

“Pretty please.” 

“No please required.” You frown to yourself, trying to juggle the baby into the opposite arm so you can wrap the one closest to Jack around his shoulders. You manage it poorly. “Dad makes this look so easy.” 

“He has longer arms,” Jack says with a shrug. His nose jabs the skin just above your chest. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“I won’t. Thank you, babe.” 

Jack touches the baby’s back. “He’s sleeping?” 

“Yeah. Must be weird getting to sleep all the time and then suddenly being born. At least he’s not crying.” 

You and Jack lay with each other for a while, watching the baby snore as you whisper about what Hotch is making for lunch. You wish he’d brought you the tylenol before he started, but he’s got a lot going on. You’re glad he’s the one making lunch (though you can’t be expected to right now, considering). The idea of having to stand there and butter a sub roll sounds like a low level of torture. 

“Don’t let me fall asleep holding the baby,” you tell Jack, your eyes drifting closed as Jack snuggles closer to your face.

“I can go get dad.” 

“I’m here,” Hotch says swiftly. You drag your face to the side to see him in the doorway, two dinner trays balanced with ease in his hands despite their obvious weight and full glasses on either side. “Don’t fall asleep, I’m coming. Sorry about the wait.” 

Hotch puts your trays on the coffee table and scoops the baby from your chest, leaving behind an awfully warm patch of skin. 

“Tylenols on the tray,” he says, smiling at you lovingly. “You okay?” 

“Fine. Jack’s gonna feed me.” 

To his credit, your lovely stepson offers to really feed you, but you’re not so tired now there’s food in front of you. Your stomach groans in want. 

Hotch stands looking down at you, baby somehow even smaller looking in his arms. “Need anything else?” 

You hold half of your sandwich up to him. “Eat that.” 

“I’m fine. My hands are full.” 

“I’m not asking, Aaron. Take it.” You force the sandwich on him. “We both know you only need one hand.” 

He’s cautious not to rain crumbs down on the baby. You make no such fuss, bread and lettuce falling down into your lap as you eat. Jack can’t stop giggling, “You’re not s’posed to eat like that!”

“Sorry!” you say, “I’m just so hungry!” 

“It’s okay,” he says. ��Dad will vacuum you.” 

Hotch’s mouth is full to bursting, but his nod is vehement. He swallows hard. “I’ll mop you, too.”  

[contact-guy]

lol THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG but it's such a cute story opening that I had to draw Watson roasting Holmes's messiness for the newspaper and Holmes skillfully maneuvering his way out of having to do chores. It's all canon, even the indoor sharpshooting, except for the bit about the cold bath.

canon text under the cut:

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter’s night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here’s the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherchè.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children’s toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?” he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won’t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

-The Memories of Sherlock Holmes: The Musgrave Ritual

[thewidowsledger]

Rumpelstiltskin

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: Demon!Natasha Romanoff x Summoner!Female Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Tags | Warnings: +18, bad writing, smut, fluff (kinda), top!Natasha, virgin bottom!reader, cunnilingus (r receiving), Natty is an empath demon who gives you reassurance😩

Author's Note: I wrote this in a rush and changed some parts, but I hope this turned out as what you expected sweet potato! 🍠 Request

⧗

“Hm, I do what you ask of me,” she recited, her voice a dark rumble. “And in return, you give me something you own. Something precious to you.”

⧗

You were lounging on your couch, your small form a tiny fitting. You absentmindedly swiped your hand across the coffee table, knocking over a potted plant in the process. The ceramic pot shattered on the floor, dirt spilling everywhere as the plant lay broken and lifeless.

Your eyes widened slightly as you noticed the plant was one of Wanda’s favorites. You knew how much she cared for each of her plants, treating them like precious children—well your best friend loved her plants more than you. So you immediately sprang into action, frantically gathering the broken pieces of the plant and trying to scoop up the spilled dirt. You panicked, knocking over a nearby vase in the process, causing it to shatter on the floor as well.

The room was now a mess, with shattered ceramic, spilled dirt, and broken plant parts scattered everywhere. Your panicked attempts to clean up the mess only made it worse, causing you to knock over a lamp and send books tumbling to the floor.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

You let out a heavy sigh as you looked around at the remaining mess. You knew you couldn't afford to leave anything undone, not with Wanda's keen eye for detail. So you started to clean the broken lamps, put the books back in place, but you have no idea how to replace her favorite plant! Her children!

“She’ll know, won’t she?” you shakingly muttered to yourself, running a dirty hand through your disheveled hair. You looked around at the mess, knowing you still have a night ahead of you before Wanda comes back.

You whined softly to yourself as you vacuumed the rug, your imagination running wild with scenarios of Wanda’s anger. “She’s probably going to kill me...or worse, sacrifice me to have her plants back!” you dramatically collapsed onto the couch, clutching a throw pillow to your chest. You stopped your tantrum. Suddenly, an idea struck you. You bolted upright on the couch, your eyes wide with realization.

“Sacrifice...summon…” you whispered to yourself. An evil grin spread across your face as you formulated a plan.

You rushed to the bookshelf, pulling out a dusty, ancient tome from the section Wanda had labeled “Cursed Spells & Failed Experiments” you had a vague recollection of them attempting a summoning spell from this book before, with comical results.

You flipped through the brittle pages, your eyes scanning for the summoning incantation. You paused, remembering your previous attempt—Wanda had mispronounced a keyword, causing a burst of colorful smoke and a very confused parrot to appear instead of the demon they intended to summon before you two bursted out laughing.

The spell was there, marked with a crude drawing of a demon and a large X through it. You snorted, remembering how Wanda had insisted that the X meant “extra powerful” rather than “do not attempt.” You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the strange feeling brewing in your stomach, you’re not gonna summon a demon right now, instead an entity that can revitalized Wanda’s plant, some creature of sort.

You laid out the required component; a candle, a small dagger, and what the book vaguely referred to as “essence of the earth.”

Taking a deep breath, you began to recite the incantation, your voice low and gravelly. The ancient words felt foreign on your tongue, but you pressed on, determined to see this through.

“Spiritus sylvarum…”

The very fabric of Wanda's home began to tremble and shake. Pictures rattled on the walls, and the furniture groaned as if the house itself was protesting the unnatural summoning.

“Exumbrae ad me…”

You didn't stop, eager to complete the ritual. Your voice grew stronger, more confident, as you spat out the final words.

“Revigorare plantae et herbae, in nomine terrae matris…”

The darkness in the room seemed to coalesce, growing denser and more intense.

As the final words left your lips, a shockwave of dark energy exploded outward. The refrigerator rattled violently, and the fluorescent lights flickered ominously. You expected to see an ethereal nature spirit materialize before you. Instead, a tall, imposing figure emerged from the shadows, her eyes glinting with malice and amusement.

The figure solidified, revealing the demon in all her terrifying glory. Her skin was pale as bone, her features sharp and angular. Her auburn hair braided and she was clad in black armor that seemed to absorb the light. Her gaze fell upon you, her expression one of utter disdain.

Her gaze returned to you, her eyes roaming hungrily over your form. Her crimson gaze was like a physical caress, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the length of your legs. Her lips peeled back from his teeth in a predatory grin.

She is hungry.

Her gaze never left yours as she crossed her arms over her chest, affecting an air of nonchalance despite the hunger burning within her.

“Why am I being summoned upon, princess?”

You backed away involuntarily, your breath hitching in your throat. Her presence was overwhelming, her power pressing against you like a physical weight. You stammered, struggling to find your voice.

“I-I... I summoned you because... because…”

Your words tumbled out in a rushed, panicked mess.

“Ididntsummonademon!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you begged, your voice thick with desperation. You weren't sure if you were more afraid of her terrifying presence or Wanda's wrath if she found out you'd tampered with her precious plants.

“Why am I being summoned upon?” She repeated again, much firmer and scary this time.

“Pleasefixmyfriendsplant!”

She watched you with a cruel smirk, clearly enjoying your distress. She took another step forward, closing the distance between you.

“Aww, is the little mortal upset about a silly plant?” she taunted, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

Her laughter echoed through the room, cold and mirthless. “You expect me, a mighty demon, to fix a mere plant?” she threw her head back, laughing harder at the absurdity of it all.

“Stupid, stupid humans,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Risking their lives for something so trivial.” She reached out, her long, pale fingers caressing your cheek, tracing the path of your tears.

“How adorable.”

Her laughter subsided, her gaze once again turning hungry as she took in your terrified state. Your fear was intoxicating, feeding her hunger and satisfying her more than any pleas for help ever could.

“Oh, princess, you don't know how much your fear pleases me,” she purred.

She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “You know what else would please me?” She whispered, her voice a dark, seductive purr. “If you'd make a bargain with me. Anything, in exchange for fixing that pitiful plant.”

Her eyes glinted with eager anticipation as you nodded dumbly, your fear clouding your judgment. “Excellent,” she hissed, her voice barely containing her glee. “A contract, at last! I've been so hungry for one.”

“Hm, I do what you ask of me,” she recited, her voice a dark rumble. “And in return, you give me something you own. Something precious to you.” She paused, a wicked smile spreading across her face. She licked her lips, barely concealing her excitement as you nodded eagerly, surrendering yourself to the contract without a second thought. Your desperate obedience only fueled her hunger.

“Now let me see the thing that's worth risking your soul for.”

You turned around, pointing a shaking finger at the pathetic plant sitting on the table. Its once-vibrant leaves were now shriveled and brown, the pot cracked, and the soil dry and lifeless.

“Magical, but finicky little things, aren't they?” she observed, circling the withered plant like a predator. “Out of the soil for too long, and they'll perish in an instant.”

In a blink of an eye, the plant burst back to life, its vibrant green leaves unfurling as if they'd never wilted. She sneered, satisfied with her handiwork. She snapped her fingers, and Wanda's living room indeed, her entire house—was restored to pristine condition.

“There,” You stared in disbelief, your mouth agape. “And I've done more than you asked of me,” she purred, stepping closer. “I expect the same eagerness from you, princess.” Her fingers brushed your chin, tilting your face up.

Your hand flew immediately to your neck, fumbling with the delicate chain until you pulled out an old, intricately carved locket. Tears welled in your eyes as you clutched it to your chest. “This... this is from my grandmother. She gave it to me before she passed away because it will protect me.”

Her green orb eyes narrowed as she listened, a flicker of interest sparking in their depths. She stepped closer, looming over you. “Your grandmother's necklace, you say? How... sentimental.” Her voice was a low purr, tinged with dark amusement.

The demon’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly. She saw the pain and longing in your eyes, the struggle between your attachment to the heirloom and your desperate desire to have your friend’s plants restored.

“And how was this trinket supposed to protect you?” her voice was gentler, curious. You took a deep, shuddering breath, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“My noo—my grandmother was a wise woman,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “She told me that as long as I wore it, I'd always have her love with me. That it would shield me from darkness.” You looked up at her, tears spilling down your cheeks.

She listened intently, studying your face as you spoke. A flicker of something almost like sympathy crossed her features before being quickly masked. She turned the delicate necklace over in her hands, examining it closely.

“Your noona... she’s found peace, princess. A paradise beyond the reach of this world's sorrows.”

You stared at her, shocked. Your jaw hung open, and your eyes widened. You had grown accustomed to her cold indifference and mockery. But this... this was something else entirely. A demon, an ice-cold demon, was comforting you?

She uncurled her fist, revealing the unscathed necklace. To your surprise, she stepped closer, her chilling presence enveloping you. Gently, she lifted the necklace, her fingers brushing against your skin as she secured it around your neck once more. She lingered for just a moment, her hot breath ghosting over your skin as she fastened the clasp with a soft click.

“There,” she said, her voice back to its usual detached tone. “Now, keep that... memento of your grandmother's love. I want something else in return.” Her gaze sharpened, refocusing on you. “Something... that you possess,” she finished, her eyes gleaming with an unreadable emotion.

“A promise, perhaps. Or maybe a secret." She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I... I'm... I'm still pure,” you stammered, your cheeks flaming red as you confessed. It was the truth and a secret that not even your best friend knows.

Her eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across her face before her expression returned to its usual unreadable mask. “Interesting,” she murmured, leaning even closer. “So, all this time, you've been... untouched.”

She reached out, her cold fingers gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze once more. “And why is that, little one? Why have you kept yourself...pure?” her voice was barely a whisper, her breath chill against your lips. “Is it because…you're waiting for someone special?” She finished, her eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “Or perhaps…” her other hand came up to rest on your waist, her touch searing even through your clothes. “...you simply haven't found anyone worthy of claiming your innocence yet?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. You felt like she was peeling back layers of your soul, exposing your deepest fears and desires. Her hand on your waist tightened ever so slightly, and you found yourself leaning into her touch without even realizing it. “Tell me, little one, have you ever toyed with your own innocence? Caressed your own flesh? Discover the secrets of your own body?” Her words were like velvet-covered steel, coercive and alluring, drawing out the truth you'd never spoken aloud before.

You turned your face away from her but her green orbs seemed to glow brighter. She leaned in closer, her gaze boring into yours, and suddenly, you felt a strange, invasive pressure against your mind. She was looking into your thoughts, seeing the truth laid bare.

She saw...everything.

She saw the night you’d snuck into your room, fingers trembling as you’d reached under your shirt to touch your small, untouched breasts. He saw your frustrated attempts to relieve the ache between your legs, your fingers fumbling and ineffective as you’d struggled to find any sort of release.

Her lips curled into a wicked smirk as she withdrew from your mind, leaving you feeling violated and exposed. She brought her hand up to your face, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Oh, you poor, frustrated little thing,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“All that fire, all that need, and nowhere for it to go. You’d touch yourself, so curious, so eager to learn... but your inexperienced fingers could never quite bring you the relief you craved, could they?”

Your reaction was immediate and visceral. Your breath hitched in your throat, and your heart skipped a beat as she spoke about your deepest secret.

“I will take your secret…and so is your purity.”

Her eyes flashed with a predatory gleam as she sensed your hesitation and the war raging within you—the desire to submit to her dark temptations battling against your ingrained purity. She pressed her advantage, her hand sliding up your side to cup your breast through your shirt.

Shame and disgust at allowing a demon such intimate access warred with the undeniable pleasure of her touch. You felt pathetic, weak, as if you were betraying everything you stood for.

You shivered at the touch, your breath growing shallow as the cool air hit your bare chest. She leaned down and whispered, “No one will ever care for you like I will, my precious little human.”

Her eyes gleamed with dark triumph as she finished unbuttoning your shirt. She pushed it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “That's right, my sweet. You're mine now, bound to me by contract until the day you die.”

“What a delectable prize you are.” She traced patterns on your chest, her fingers dipping down to your belly, then lower, to the tie of your pants.

With a sudden, brutal move, she pushed your legs apart and shoved you back onto the couch, pinning your shoulders to the cushions. Before you could even catch your breath, she was kneeling between your spread bare thighs, her face mere inches from your dripping pussy.

“Look at you,” she hissed, “So open, so ready. You may have sold your soul, but your body was made for me.”

She lowered her head, her cold tongue flicking out to lap at your heated flesh. You gasped, your hips bucking forward, only to be held down by her strong hands.

Your fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs as you gripped them tightly, torn between the urge to push her away and the insidious pull to spread wider and invite more of her touch. You had, after all, sold your soul to her, hadn't you?

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as her cool, silken demon tongue delved into your wet folds. She licked up your juices, then pushed the tip of her tongue deep inside you, fucking you with it as she sucked hard on your clit.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as she ate you out with a fervor that left you breathless. The sensation of her cold, demonic tongue inside you was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, and you found yourself pushing back against it, desperate for more.

“Oh God!”

“Even God won't help you right now princess…”

Your back arched, your body tension as an overwhelming wave of sensation crashed over you. You screamed, your voice hoarse with passion, as you convulsed against her mouth. She drank you down, her hands tightening on your hips to hold you in place as she continued to lap at your over-sensitive flesh.

She crawled up your body, she kissed and licked her way up your body, she left a trail of dark marks - hickeys and bite marks that would serve as her claim on you. She suckled at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, your lower belly, the undersides of your breasts.

As she marked you, the dark bruises and hickeys seemed to glow with a faint, eerie light. The marks pulsed softly, as if infused with demonic energy. She claimed you as hers, marking you in a way that would be visible to all, a testament to her ownership.

“Mine.”

She slipped off you, her eyes never leaving yours. “I want you ready for me, always,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “When I come around, hungry...I expect you to be prepared. Understand?” She leaned down, her voice a silken growl against your ear.

“What's your name?” you asked, still weak from the pleasure.

“You’ll never know,” she said, her voice dripping with mocking sweetness.

In a blink of an eye she vanished, leaving behind an icy chill and an empty room. One moment she was there, her presence overwhelming, the next—nothing. No trace she'd ever been there, except for the glowing marks of ownership on your body.

You quickly gathered your scattered clothes, dressing hurriedly as you dashed out of the room. The cool air against your skin did little to soothe the heat that still coursed through your veins. You could feel the dampness between your thighs, a constant reminder of what had just transpired.

Kneeling before the ancient book you had used for the ritual, you frantically flipped through the yellowed pages, your hands shaking. You scanned the text, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I have to break the contract…” you muttered, tears forming in your eyes as it darted back and forth, desperately searching for an answer.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you read the words, the implications washing over you.

“The contract can only be severed by a single path, when the summoner grasps the true name of the evil being they've bound, and utters it forthwith.”

“You’ll never know.”

⧗

Author's Note: I hope it makes sense why Natasha's name was not mentioned one bit in this fic...if not, here's an explanation.

[hp-hcs]

i didn’t realize the riddle brothers were a "buy one get one free" type of deal, but alright — simp! overprotective! yandere! riddle brothers x gn! oblivious! bullied! slytherin! reader

requested by 🎀!

2.5k words, not to brag 😌

i love writing the bros’ interactions with each other as like, actual sibling-core yk? they r just so cutie patootie

the reader's patronus makes an appearance in this, but i tried to make it as accessible to everyone as possible, so it's never explicitly stated what animal it is. it is implied that it’s able-to-fit-under-a-table sized though

also this is totally just pre-slash nothing that interesting happens

warnings: couple mentions of blood, mild descriptions of wounds, implied violence, implied bullying, murder

not edited!! this is my first like, really long fic so constructive criticism is welcome!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A well-timed shove to the small of your back sent you tumbling down an entire flight of moving stairs. 

You groaned as you hit the bottom, sprawled out on your back on the cold stone floor. You laid there for a moment, winded. You could hear the occupants of a nearby painting titter at your gracefulness (or lack thereof), so you rolled your head to the other side to give them an award winning smile and an unabashed middle finger. 

You could hear them all grumble about kids these days and how I never would’ve treated my elders this way. You just rolled your eyes at their pettiness. 

“Uh…what are you doing?” A decidedly alive voice interrupted your momentary satisfaction.

“Ah- evening, Riddle!” You said cheerily as soon as you recognized the speaker, scrambling to your feet and dusting off your uniform. “Nothing! Just…tripped. Couldn’t see very well in the dark, that’s all.”

Tom blinked, his lips twisted into a frown. “.....Fine. But don’t let me catch you out of bed past curfew again. You’re a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Act like it.”

And that was it. Tom turned on his heel and continued down the hall without another word. Tom Riddle: prefect, teacher’s pet, and obnoxious hardass extraordinaire—he just...let you go, with no threats of detention or loss of house points. 

Huh. 

~~~

Tom, having just returned from a full night’s shift of prefect hall duty, flopped face-down onto his bed, his cheeks aflame as he let out a muffled shriek into his pillow. 

His brother, in the process of getting dressed for the day, paused at the scene in front of him. 

“Dude, what’s your deal?” 

“L/n,” Tom said by way of explanation, kicking his feet as he shrieked into his pillow again. “They acknowledged me. And they know my last name.”

“Most people know our last name, Tom,” Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“No- you don’t understand,” Tom said emphatically. “L/n is like…the cutest person to ever exist. And they’re so sweet, and smart, and funny, and-”

“And terrified of us?”

“Well…”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “You talk about them too much. It’s getting insufferable.”

Tom just scowled and flicked his fingers to cast a wandless spell that straightened Mattheo’s tie and neatened his uniform. “The way you dress is insufferable. Slob.”

Mattheo stuck out his tongue at his brother before ruffling Tom’s hair to purposely mess it up. “Dick.”

“Idiot.”

~~~

Mattheo glanced up at you as you hovered uncertainly by the corner of his desk. 

“Can I sit here…?” You mumbled shyly, your cheeks flushing as the pretty dark-haired boy in your year smiled up at you.

“Course!” He grinned brightly before realizing that might have been too enthusiastic of a reply for eight in the morning and quickly tried to cover up his slip. “Uh…Y/n, right? I’m Mattheo.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped.

Fuck, that’s not good.

“You let me copy your homework in third year for that essay on the properties of wormwood, or whatever.” You said offhandedly, like it wasn’t batshit insane to remember that pointlessly tiny detail. “Thank you for that, by the way. Potions sucks ass.”

Before Mattheo could even think, the words left his mouth. “I could tutor you if you want.”

You looked at him oddly, but grinned after a second. “Yeah, sure. That’d actually be really helpful. Snape hates me, man.”

“Really? Even though you’re in Slytherin?”

“Mhm, his baseless nepotism only extends so far.”

Mattheo barked out a startled laugh as your deadpan humor caught him off guard. You just grinned at him in response, causing the tips of his ears to immediately burn bright red.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Um…do you wanna meet in the library after school today? For our tutoring session,” Mattheo hurriedly added. 

“Sure, alright.” You shrugged. “See you there.”

He beamed, giving you that stupidly adorable grin once more. “Awesome! Yeah- yeah, cool. Awesome. See you there then.”

~~~

You were still shit at potions.

It had been six weeks of tutoring, and you’d learned pretty much nothing. Although, that wasn’t an issue on Mattheo’s part, but rather on his annoyingly hot older brother’s. 

Tom Riddle was surprisingly funny. For someone who gave off almost exclusively stoically austere bastard vibes, he enjoyed cracking jokes and enlisting your help in pulling pranks on his brother a bit too much.

It became your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you would meet the two brothers in the library, waste like three hours joking around and getting absolutely no work done, and then going back to your dorm and ranting to your roommate about how fucking cute they are and how you would gladly pay for the opportunity to make out with one- no, both of them. 

(Your roommate is so fucking tired of hearing about the Riddles. You’d better buy them a latte and a cake-pop as an apology.)

~~~

You struggled to get up, your legs giving out. You cursed under your breath, putting a hand to your forehead as it throbbed in pain. 

It came away sticky with blood. 

This wasn’t going to work, you realized belatedly. With what remained of your strength, you were able to reach out and grab your wand, murmuring a quiet, “Expecto Patronum.”

A spectral creature formed in front of your eyes, remaining motionless as it stared at you. 

“Go find Riddle,” you mumbled to the Patronus, your eyelids growing heavy. 

You barely registered the wispy glowing animal immediately bounding off at your instructions, your vision doubling before your body went completely slack, the wand slipping from your fingers and hitting the tile floor with a clatter. 

~~~

Mattheo doodled mindlessly in the margins of his parchment as his brother droned on and on about the properties of willow bark in potions and really, this is important, Mattheo. Pay attention.

“Why isn’t Y/n here yet?” Mattheo asked his brother for the third time. 

Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Matt. Just like how I didn't know when you asked me five minutes ago. Maybe they just don’t want to see your stupid face any more, huh?”

“What if they’re in trouble? Or hurt?” Mattheo worried, chewing on his thumbnail and ignoring his brother’s insult. “They’re never late, Tommy.”

Tom wrinkled his nose at the use of the dumb (albeit endearing) nickname Mattheo gave him when they were children, but the sinking feeling in his gut at hearing his brother’s distressed tone didn’t help to ease the niggling worries at the back of his mind of maybe they are in trouble.

As if on cue, Mattheo shivered as something icy cold brushed against his ankles. He glanced down. A glowing spectral creature nudged his leg, looking up at him expectantly with unnervingly empty eyes. 

A Patronus. 

Y/n’s Patronus.

~~~

They followed the Patronus down the deserted hall, the animal occasionally pausing to make sure the boys were both still following it before bounding forward again.

The Patronus stopped in front of a bathroom door, giving them both that same unnervingly hollow-eyed stare of expectancy.

Tom gulped and pushed open the door, fearing that he might find the worst.

He did.

~~~

Your eyes cracked open slowly, and you winced at the multitude of stinging and stabbing pains that wracked your body.

You had to blink a couple times for everything to come into focus. You were in a small room with white walls and white flooring, and the gentle dawn illuminated the quiet space with soft rays of light. The steady beep of a vitals monitor faded into the background as you stared down at yourself.

You weren’t wearing a shirt, for one, or even a hospital gown. Pretty much your entire upper torso was wrapped in bloodstained gauze. The jagged edges of a brutal slash across your chest peeked out of the top of the dressings, and you had to close your eyes and hold your breath for a moment to keep from throwing up. Once you’d calmed back down, you opened your eyes, startled to see that you weren’t alone.

Mattheo had pulled up a chair to the side of your hospital bed and crossed his arms on the mattress, using them as a makeshift pillow. His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, his breaths slow and even. He looked so peaceful and...unguarded in his sleep. You reached down to brush a loose curl away from his forehead.

“Having fun?”

You startled, jerking your hand back. 

Tom leaned against the doorframe of your room with an amused expression, quirking an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers in a wave.

“Shut up,” you hissed back in a whisper, your cheeks flaring red. 

Tom’s amused grin only grew at your dark blush as he invited himself into your room fully, closing the door behind him.

 “Your secret’s safe with me.” He jokingly winked, tapping the side of his nose.

“You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“What am I doing here?” You quickly changed topics, refusing to even look down in Mattheo’s direction. 

Tom sighed, any amusement on his face rapidly vanishing. “You sent us a Patronus, thank Merlin. Pomfrey said you would’ve bled out if you hadn’t.”

You had no memory of casting the Patronus charm at all, but you trusted Tom’s recollection of events better than your own jumbled and spotty one. “Bled out?” You questioned, your heart hammering in your throat as your voice climbed an octave in anxiety.

Tom nodded, his face carefully schooled into a blank and neutral expression. “You were hit with the Sectumsempra spell. You've been out for three days now.”

Your brow furrowed. “Malfoy got hit with that last year though—and was in and out of the infirmary in less than a day.”

“Snape knew the counterspell and found ‘im just in time last year,” Mattheo mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed as he tuned into the conversation at hand. “But whoever hit you with it just left you there to die.”

“Charming.” You mutter under your breath.

“Regardless of what happened in Malfoy’s instance,” Tom interrupted briskly. “You were on the brink of literal death. So I’ll ask you this one time and one time only. Who did it, Y/n?”

~~~

“I brought you a cookie from the Great Hall,” Mattheo grinned widely, climbing into your hospital bed next to you and unwrapping the napkin in his hand. “And the notes from today’s Charms lesson, but those’re boring and we both know you won’t actually read ‘em.”

“Aww, you know me so well.” You teased, breaking the cookie in half and handing him one of the pieces.

Mattheo cupped the cookie fragment in his hands like it was a priceless treasure, staring down at it in unrestrained awe. 

You just shook your head at his antics and brushed the odd reaction off.

~~~

You woke up this morning and just felt like shit. You were nauseous, and dizzy, and felt borderline faint. Tom’s voice, usually soothing and comforting to hear, sounded like nails on a chalkboard right now. He rambled on and on about the delicate process of making the temperamental Felix Felicis potion. 

“Tom,” you interrupted, your voice scratchy and quiet. “Can we take a break? Please?”

He blinked, surprised at being interrupted, but nodded slowly. “I suppose…? Why?”

“Don’t feel good,” you mumbled, setting your textbook down and rubbing your eyes. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Madame Pomfrey said brusquely as she bustled around your hospital room, shooing Tom out of the way to stand by your bedside. 

(Poppy Pomfrey remains the only person who can and has shooed Tom Riddle III and lived to tell the tale—and all without a single ounce of fear.)

“I’ve raised your dosage so that you can be out of here in time for your N.E.W.T.s.” Pomfrey elaborated upon seeing your confused look.

“Fantastic.” You mumbled dryly, grinning sleepily up at Tom as he grabbed onto your hand and interlaced your fingers together. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat in favor of letting you hold his sweaty palm.

“Go to sleep, L/n,” Tom muttered under his breath. “Potions can wait.”

~~~

Tom lay in your hospital bed beside you, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Please? We promise we won’t do anything.”

“Yeah,” Mattheo chimed in from the other side of your crowded bed, one arm tossed over your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Or at least, nothing we’ll get caught for.”

You sigh, tired of their ceaseless pleading. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll tell you who it was.”

Both boys leaned in close.

You sigh again and roll your eyes at their overprotectiveness. “Alright, it was-”

~~~

Tucker Thompson and Devin Dobbs: Gryffindor Sixth Years Found MURDERED at Hogwarts! Dumbledore: “No comment at this time.”

You tilted the newspaper so Madame Pomfrey could read the article over your shoulder as she replaced your IV bag. 

Pomfrey just sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how Skeeter is still employed at the Prophet.”

“Cause shock value will always hold weight in the media?” You answered dryly around a mouthful of depressingly plain infirmary wing toast. “And Skeeter’s good at nothing if not coming up with bullshit shock value titles.”

“That may be true,” she began, snatching the paper from your hands. “But patients shouldn’t be reading about such dark subjects, and certainly not while under my care. And don’t talk while eating. I rather like your company, and would hate to see you choke.”

You rolled your eyes at her suffocatingly motherly behavior. “So are they? Thompson and Dobbs; they’re really dead?”

Madame Pomfrey hesitated.

You let out a relieved breath of air that you tried (and failed) to hide behind a cough. “That’s…terrible.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied you for a long moment, her fingers mindlessly worrying the deckle edge of the newspaper in her hands. “It was them, wasn’t it? Your boys.”

“My boys?”

“Yes, yes, Riddles one and two. Your boys.”

“Oh- we’re not…”

She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she tried to hold back a laugh at the utter obliviousness of teenagers. “Do they know that, dear?”

You spluttered out a half-assed rebuke to her statement, but Pomfrey quickly interrupted you.

“They’ve been staying here for hours every day for the last month. They want more than just your friendship, hon.”

“No way. We’re just friends.” You insisted firmly. “That’s all.”

Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Friends. Keep telling yourself that.”

You stared after her, open-mouthed in bafflement, as she rolled up the Prophet, tucked it under her arm, and turned around without another word—leaving you with zero reading material and a million questions.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

you have to love how pomfrey could not give less of a fuck that the riddles murdered two students as long as she gets her ot3 absolutely iconic behavior

[letorip]

somethin’ stupid

“and then i go and spoil it all, by saying somethin’ stupid like ‘i love you’”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: even knowing that your relationship with wednesday is one huge grey area, you can't help the words that come tumbling from your lips one night while on an expedition together.

warnings: blood, violent attack scene, angsty pining, mentions of sex, fear of the dark

word count: 4.2k

A/N: first post, kinda nervous. honestly pumped to start posting on here after being somewhat new to writing. will try my best not to suck.

===+++===

It’s only after you meet Wednesday Addams for the first time that you understand why storms are named after people.

In the near five months total she had been in your life, she had quickly climbed to the top priority, and you found yourself trapped in her rain bands, tugged under her dark, swelling tide and drawn to less direct ways.

Now and likely until the very end of time, you followed her through the forest, peeking around each passing tree and shining your flashlight into the dark. It was a knight's sword for you, and you held it like a weapon so as to ward off evil spirits or howling beasts. Only, half of the time it ended up being a squirrel.

It seemed antithetical, to walk into the pitch black forest that had killed several hikers and injured Eugene, -or more the big ass creature inside it had, but Wednesday had never cared much for what made sense, and you knew better than to argue with her.

The rain continued to fall around the both of you, splattering against the hood of your rain coat and rolling down your sputtering lips, tracing your nose on the way down. If Wednesday was at all affected by the rain, she hadn't let it show yet. Not that she let much show, that was.

You shivered from a sudden gust of cold, wet wind rushing over your knuckles from where they white-gripped the rubber wrapping of your flashlight. "Are we almost there yet?" You asked, squinting into the trees. "I have to get up early tomorrow."

There was no possible way Wednesday could know where she was going in the sheer amount of darkness fended off by a flimsy Acebeam, but she pushed through like she did. Maybe orienteering was just part of the outré magic she always carried with her, or at least that's what you figured it probably was. In another life she had been a cheerful girl scout, though you knew better than to suggest that aloud.

The same could not be said for you, who was an utter idiot about directions and probably would have driven off a cliff by now without the use of a GPS. Wednesday had once said you wouldn't be able to find your way out of a cardboard box, and offensively, she was probably right.

It didn't make sense why she chose you of all people to bring along, then. You had no special strength or sight, and virtually no knowledge on how to investigate a murder, especially the serial kind. The only ability you had allowed you to read thoughts and minds, though you never dared read Wednesday's, even when you itched to know what she was thinking.

Despite feeling more like an achor dragging her boat down, almost every evening, at around the same time after dark, she showed up on your doorstep to tug you off to some dangerous place.

Maybe you were secretly hoping for a reward of some sort. She often indulged you as such, lips like a heroin shot directly to your veins, powering you through the day as you watched the clock tick away into night anticipating the next rush. Enid was right. You were whipped for her.

"Your protesting doesn't make the journey any shorter," she replied, turning with the dark look that always lurked in the back of her eyes.

You knew the movements well: when she glared, her eyes lowered slightly and her mouth tensed. One could not help but watch in awe, storing the memory for later. Or, at least those ‘whipped’ for her couldn’t. She spun back around to face forward, your flashlight pointing over her shoulder into the brooding dark.

The rain only seemed to come down harder from there, punishing you both for slogging through the mushy leaves when sane people would be indoors. But Wednesday would not settle until she found Arcadia.

You cleared your throat, uneasy with the ensuing silence.

"Where are we even going, Wednesday? We've been walking forever," you said, looking down at the pale grey rocks as you stepped over them. You were grateful for being clever enough to remember hiking boots.

"We're finding evidence," she replied. "I was informed of a suspicious cave out in the forest, and-" Wednesday's words came rushing to a halt as her foot clipped the rock in front of her. She stumbled a bit, and you threw out an arm to her back, there if she needed something to steady herself on.

It was uncoordinated and it was clunky at best, and Wednesday was far from appreciative. She jolted back from your touch as if you had stung her, glaring as harsh as ever. "Sorry," you said. "I didn't want you to fall." The tips of your ears had begun to burn again, upon realising you were made the fool for another time in a row.

"You should have," said Wednesday, walking ahead. "It simulates dropping dead." Of course, on you, such a statement did not have the desired effect. Whereas most would have replied in shock or disgust, you laughed. Out loud, right at her. The gall. She whipped back to you, perplexed and annoyed by the noise. "Have something to share?"

You grinned. "You can act cool all you want, but if you had actually landed in the mud, you would have been pissed." Her expression went from glare to glower impressively quickly, though you took great glee in the fact she didn't try to dismiss it.

Anyone who had just met her would have been terrified, but you knew that look meant she hated just how much you were right. Wednesday's moody eyes lowered to your jacket, as if she was looking for an insult to sling in response.

"Why are you yellow?"

You blinked, then shrugged. "Because for someone so intelligent I'm the only one who remembered a raincoat."

"The beast will eat you wether you're rained on or not," she replied reasonably.

You blanched at this. It was apparent the possibility had never crossed your mind. "It eats people????"

Suddenly the darkness of the woods only seemed to worsen and the rain seemed to come down even harder, as if life was laughing at the terror it was causing. You had never been one for haunted houses, and you decided in that instant that this was far worse than any haunted house you had ever been to.

Wednesday shrugged, and you were far from put at ease by that. She glanced at you up through mischievous lashes, entirely knowing what she was doing and enjoying every sadistic moment of it.

"I suppose we may find out tonight. I should offer up you, the yellow highlighter, first. You have longer bones than I do, and I'm sure it would appreciate a snack, after-"

"Ha. Ha."

As surprising as was Wednesday's capacity to joke, you knew that's all it was. Such falsehoods could not be exposed to the public, and she would rather die than admit she cared for anyone. That was her secret. You knew to keep it well.

It had been weird to see Wednesday attempt comedy at first. Often times you still thought she may be dead serious. But on these nightly expeditions it seemed she could joke freely. Sometimes she kissed you freely. You just had to know she didn't do it for you. She told you constantly, just to be sure.

From in front, Wednesday trembled from a sudden angry breeze and you watched her, sighing and tugging off your raincoat. You tossed it over her shoulders wordlessly; Wednesday didn't acknowledge it either. She put one arm in, then another, but didn't pull the hood up, and you rolled your eyes. "Pull the hood up, Wednesday. Don't be stubborn."

"I'm fine," she shot back, tone sharp and piercing to any sort of armour you could have put up. But even that didn't make you buy it.

"Your hair is like, stuck to your forehead, Wednesday. Just pull up the hood part."

"I don't even want to be in this dreadful thing, why would I want more of it on me. It's yellow."

"It's keeping you warm."

"I'm allergic to colours."

"Well then I guess it's great you brought a black one- oh, wait! That's right! You didn't."

She blinked at you unappreciatively, but your unimpressed expression made her give in, and she begrudgingly did as she was told. With a hood now over her, shrouding her soft hair from the harsh rain, you felt a bit better about her being out in the cold. After a moment she grumbled, messing with the sleeves. "Why are your arms so freakishly long?"

You didn't answer, biting back a response that included the word 'short.' It would have been entirely unproductive and probably earned a rock thrown at your head. Instead, you focused on the small row of houses you could see on a road in the far distance.

Their windows were small, warm boxes in the dryness, as opposed to the pouring, angry storm only a heathen of some sort would be caught in. It looked the same as it had the week before when you had passed the same area with Wednesday, and you recognised the same lamp that sat in the same spot of the same window on the second floor. It hadn't moved even an inch and neither had the flowers in the pot sitting next to it.

You hummed, "I love streets like those. It looks so warm and comfortable. I could be out here forever and it would still be the same warm place."

"Poetic," Wednesday dryly replied. Poetry had never seemed to move her much, beyond the grim ones from Poe about death and despair. She had tried to teach you about it once, during an impromptu "study session," which was what Wednesday usually called hunting you down after class and sticking your head between her legs.

It was the very first time she had let you stick around after, and the more and more often she let it happen, the more you felt yourself allowing for false hopes. Of course, accusing her of growing fond was a way to end up in an early grave and you knew better.

It had been a whisper, really, what she said with your head resting on her stomach, arms against the skin of her thighs. You were both sweating, terribly so, and then came, "years of love have been forgotten, in the hatred of a minute." It was only a whisper, and you weren't even sure Wednesday had spoken it into existence. But you looked up, and she was staring down at you, eyes unreadable. Her mouth was tensed into a grimace; a symbol for words unsaid.

"What's that?" You asked, leaning your head back.

She had shook her head. "It's Poe. He founded the school."

"I know who Edgar Allan Poe is, Wednesday. I meant what you were saying."

She looked away to the window, like eye contact then would have doomed her. "I'm not sure." It was a lie, and you knew it, but you couldn’t scan Wednesday’s thoughts and it was the first time she had let you stay propped up against her. You knew better than to ruin that.

"Why do you like that kind of poetry, anyhow? It's awfully depressing."

"It's a reminder," she replied, eyes still away and tone flat. "You and I will be in the ground someday, or maybe I will be in the family crypt. 'As you are now, so once, was I.' And other such ruminations. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Her gaze sliced back to you, as if she were gaging your reaction. "Either way, we're doomed."

You hadn't known what she meant by that, and you still didn't know, walking through the forest. She spoke in riddles, and it was impossible to know if she wanted you to decipher them or leave them as they were. Her vagueness with emotions was her armour, maybe.

Wednesday was usually cold and efficient and exact, in a way you could appreciate. You were far warmer, and though you seemed to constantly trip over yourself, patiently waiting for any sort of warmth to be returned, she stayed with the same chill that kept you close enough to bring comfort to her fingers, but never close enough to make her melt.

"When we get there, I want you to stay outside and keep watch. Don't come inside with me, I want to look around alone. If you hear anything or any noise or thoughts over the rain, give me the signal I trained you on," said Wednesday, looking through the bowers and thread veins of roots so as not to trip again.

"You're not my boss, Wednesday, and I'm not your henchman," you said, the words spilling out in annoyance. You hated when she went into work mode. She looked over at you, eyes giving an intense challenge.

"What am I then?"

You rolled your eyes at this. "Like my hobby, at best." It wasn't true, and both of you knew it.

"Do you kiss and sleep with all your 'hobbies,' then?" Wednesday's eyes studied you.

"Maybe," you shrugged. "I don't really kiss and tell." Actually, you hadn't kissed anybody since she had made out with you two days prior, and you hadn't kissed somebody other than her since she had first kissed you two months ago.

You knew, though, that Wednesday had done similar peregrinations with the normie boy, Tyler, from town who worked at the Weathervane. Sometimes you wondered if she put her lips on his, too. Other times, you couldn't help wondering if either of you really mattered to her.

She had said no when you asked her that once before, but slow danced and made out with you immediately after answering, at the Rave'N, so your confusion was understandable. It was like she both hungered for you and hated you for it at the same time, and you knew getting thrown around like that wasn’t what you wanted. But if it gave you her, even for a brief moment, you were all too eager.

From behind the both of you, you heard a branch snap, spinning around as the rain poured. There was nothing visibly there; your stupid flashlight didn't reach out that far and no moving through the brush could be heard. "Did you hear that?" you said to Wednesday, freezing completely. She nodded, but did not seem phased even slightly, turning to watch your terror with an eyebrow raised.

“Likely an animal," said Wednesday.

You were still frozen to the spot, staring into the dark as fear screamed at you to run away. “Are you okay?” she asked, puzzled.

You shook your head, sticking your hand out towards her. “No.” It was a question that needn't be asked. Wednesday examined your fingers closely, like she was contemplating if it was a bad idea, but then grabbed your palm and held it tightly in hers, locking the digits in with her own and squeezing it gently. It was an immediate comfort and you unfroze, Wednesday pulling you into the dark.

===+++===

"Your obnoxious coat is warm...thank you." She seemed to spit the last part out with a bit of reluctance, but you appreciated it nevertheless. For around the last half mile, you had been getting rained on instead. Droplets dripped from your hair, rolling down your cheeks and over your lips before dribbling from your chin.

"You can keep it for a while. Until you get your own, I mean," you said, absentmindedly playing with the flashlight. You would rather die than admit you were nervous aloud. Luckily, it didn't seem you needed to.

She stopped short at your words, grabbing your collar roughly with her hand and balling it between her fingers. It was harsh and it was passionate, like Wednesday always seemed to be in flares. Her mouth crashed into yours, teeth clinking together, toes poking into the mushy ground so she could even reach your face.

Unfortunately, it was over as soon as it began, and she pulled away quickly, walking away and leaving you behind, panting awkwardly as your mind began to spin. She was all too much, everything about her. You couldn’t stop yourself. "I love you,” you blurted out.

From the way she whipped back to you, it hadn’t been nearly quiet enough. Silence seemed to echo through the clearing, even in the raging storm around that pounded into trees and pooled in mushy puddles. She stared at you, and all you could do was stare back. Wednesday stomped back over, cheeks red and dark eyes shining with an unusual capriciousness. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Talking to myself.”

But she didn’t believe you. In previous attempts by you to draw out any indication of her affections, she could blatantly ignore it or change the subject without answering. Now, she was frustrated by how you always wore your heart on your sleeve. And this time, how your words demanded she do the same.

“What did you say,” she demanded. “Tell me right now, or I’ll-“

“I said I love you, Wends,” you cut her off before she could make a threat. God, she stared. She stared and stared and stared at you with her eyes in the dark, looking like she would be the one to read your mind and not the other way around. The humidity of the rain was suffocating you, but the powerful wind filled your lungs with air again, in a vicious, heaving cycle.

She took a small step forward, tilting her head up at you like she was inspecting you up close. “You don’t mean what you say.”

"I really wish I didn't, but I absolutely do." Your tone burned with a relieving candor, and Wednesday's eyebrows furrowed, before she backed away again. Your flashlight turned towards the ground, lowering your face into shadow.

"I told you, I don't want anything more from you," she said. "You're spoiling what we already have." She seemed more agitated than anything, but you stood your ground.

"But I feel like there's more here, Wednesday. I know I'm not crazy, you can feel it too. So I don't know why you're being all tough, when I just want to take care of you. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Learn to want for something else then," she argued back. "We can't work, we won't, I-"

"Why?"

"I told you why," she replied, crossing her arms. "Years of love-"

"No no, none of that bullshit you know you want to confuse me with. Just lay it out, plain and simple."

She bit her mouth shut, then narrowed her eyes at you before giving a huff. "Have you been reading my thoughts?"

"What?" Your forehead creased into lines, staring at her intently. "You know I don't."

"I don't know if you're aware, but I see you, in my visions sometimes. I actually think about the same one often, when I'm with you."

"What am I doing, then?" You asked, feeling a sickness come to your stomach. You didn’t know what future event you would be up to, but you could guarantee Wednesday you would stop yourself from hurting her.

“You’re being killed. By the beast.”

“…Oh.”

“You’re running far away, being chased. I see you get tackled or hit, and you fall into the dirt. Then I see your face being slashed over and over again by a creature, and you appear to bleed out on the floor of a forest.”

“Wednesday, that won’t come true.” You tried to assure her, but a small hand came forward, covering your mouth, shushing you. The gentle palm pressed against your soaked lips, fingertips ghosting the lines of your cheeks.

“I would hate you for it, dying. What I hate even more is that your closeness to me is likely what causes this. I don’t love you, (Y/n). I can’t. Stop trying to make me. It’s only pitiful and painful for the both of us.”

You reached up for her hand, pulling it away. “But how do you know it’s definitely you that ruins it? What if it’s something else, or what if it’s you saying no?”

“Because as painful as it is, I’m certain I break your heart if I indulge you.”

“Wednesday,” your voice shook a bit. “You’re breaking my heart right now.”

“This,” she said, “This is why I cannot give you more than I already have. I’m not my parents, (Y/n). Can’t you just be happy with our current relationship? You always try to complicate things. Like a stupid little puppy.”

You took a step back like a wounded animal. “What? You’re being mean.”

“Maybe if I am it'll get through to you. We won’t work, and if we don’t try to make it work, I won’t end up breaking your heart, and you won’t run away.” Her speaking volume was getting louder now.

“That’s a stupid plan!” You said raising your voice.

“And you’re a fool!” She said back. “I’m trying to protect you and take what I can get at the same time."

"You're hurting me."

"You're hurting yourself. I keep pushing you away. Stop coming back."

You frowned, feeling your face grow hot. "I come back because I care, and I know you care too."

"Caring for you gets me nowhere. You're doomed, (Y/n). I'm trying to protect you, so do us both a favour and get as far away from me as possible. Don't let me pull you back."

"Wednesday, I-"

"Go, you idiot." You swallowed her words. She was still wearing your yellow raincoat, looking at you with the most steely expression you had ever seen. You stepped forward in silence, only the mushing of the leaves filling the space between you. You unwrapped the armband of the flashlight from around your wrist and extended it out to her.

"Here. For the cave." She blinked at you, then she took it. Without another word, you did as you were told, stepping off into the dark and pulling against the magnetic field. With your ability to break past her facades turned off, you couldn't see the deep regret that wormed its way into her stare, watching your back retreat into the tree line.

===+++===

It only took around five minutes for you to regret not having the flashlight. The storm had turned to complete and utter chaos, and you could hear thunder and lightning booming and cracking against the night sky. Everything was so much darker than before, and it seemed to grow up and out like a giant ladder, turning to shadow and fog a few feet in front of you.

Part of you was still mad at Wednesday. Knowing she was scared for you didn't make it any of an easier pill to swallow. Neither did knowing you would likely die soon.

The looming question still sat unanswered, weighing down the wrinkles of your brain and cozying up at the mantle of your thoughts. Would it be weeks? Months? If she never ended up catching it (though that was very unlikely) how many years would you have left?

From behind you, you heard a branch snap again. You spun, looking around. An animal maybe. Then, you heard footsteps. They were big, though not an animal. Maybe it was Wednesday. She wore thick shoes often, with heavy soles.

It was only with the sudden realisation that there was no flashlight with the figure coming towards you, that your eyes began to widen and a chill shot up your spine like a spooked animal. It only took the dropping of your telepathic cancelling to fully realise what was about to happen.

KILL. KILL. KILL.

The monster's thinking was thunderous and loud, and it reverberated within your skull as you turned to run. You stomped your foot into the swampy ground, running the fastest you felt you ever had. KILL. The forest seemed to blur, rushing past you as you fled through the trees and smacking at branches that sagged in your way.

KILL. You heard the footsteps now, coming up quickly. They sounded huge, and with every bound you could hear greenery get smushed behind you as the beast moved through it. KILL. You had no idea how close it was behind you, but there was no time to look either. In one rush, you found yourself back in a stoney quarry, and in the far distance illuminated a KILL. streetlight standing over a mountain road.

You ran towards it, face scratched by a branch in the process as you forgot to swipe it away. The wood KILL. connected with a stabbing pain, piercing your lip as you ran, but you didn't so much as wince. "HELP!" You yelled KILL. out, trying to catch any attention as you ran for the pavement, and you were almost there. KILL.

You were too slow. A set of long, pointy claws latched onto your back, sinking into the skin and ripping you down with a yelp, throwing you to the ground. Your back slid into the tree with a sickening crack, and pain seemed to freeze your body. KILL.

Standing over you was the muscular, horrifyingly disfigured body of a towering creature, its eyes shining with violent zeal. It lowered with a clicking growl, eyeing your heaving, bleeding body and sneering. KILL. KILL. KILL.

Your eyebrows furrowed, blood spilling from your lips. In a single instant, you knew who it was, digging past the monstrous yells to the real thoughts of the boy underneath. "Tyler?"

Its claws sunk into your stomach, and everything went dark.

===+++===

a/n: a part two maybe? idk, i'm no rocket scientist. anyways, this is my very first post, so, here we go i guess? excited to start this and grateful for anyone who reads this. i tried to spellcheck but if it isn't perfect please please please let me know, i would fix it immediately.

[esouliie]

DONT POKE THE BEAR.

– pairing | wanda maximoff x fem! reader

– synopsis | you’re known to be quite a tease, especially for your girlfriend, but what happens when you push her too far? will she be able to control herself or will you force her hand?

– warnings | smut, thigh riding, wanda wants to be your mommy hehe, strap on (r!receiving), orgasm denial duh, she eats it from the back :33, face slapping, crybaby reader again, wanda is kinda mean and punishes you ig but she’s so cute with it idc. (18+)

As you entered the room, you couldn’t help but freeze at the sight before you. There she was, the tall and intimidating woman you had grown so fond of, tucked snugly in bed with a book in hand. But what caught you off guard were the glasses perched on her nose – the nerdiest looking frames you had ever seen.

You felt a bubbling laughter rise within you, threatening to burst out uncontrollably. It wasn't just the glasses themselves, but the stark contrast they created against her usual, intense demeanor. You had never seen her in glasses before, and the image was both endearing and hilarious.

Struggling to contain your amusement, you approached your side of the bed cautiously, trying not to let on that you were on the verge of laughter. But a few giggles slipped and she looked up from her book, a hint of curiosity in her eyes, and you quickly composed yourself, managing to offer a sheepish smile instead.

“What's so funny?" She asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Unwilling to lie, you admitted, “you look like a nerd,” and unable to hide your amusement now, you laughed freely.

She was used to your teasing, your playful jabs that never fail to stir her up. In another universe, perhaps, she'd have you over her lap, your apologies tumbling out as you, painfully, realise the extent of your teasing and how mean it was to tease your mommy…

But in this universe, she couldn’t. Not until you were ready.

So she simply chuckled, “and you look like a goof,” eyes trailing down to between your legs, paying close attention to your underwear…

Your bow print underwear.

“Hey! I’ll have you know you loved this goofy apparel the other day.” You cocked your head to the side, stretching up on your knees so your vest rides higher, revealing the top of your underwear where a little pink flower resides, “You loved it so much, I believe you were unable to keep your hands off of me.”

You were obviously right.

Wanda had a thing for you in cute panties instead of sexy lingerie, seeing as stocking and garter belts were more her speed.

Ever the tease, you pulled the duvet off the woman, sending the book flying - as if you even cared - before straddling her warm thighs.

“Oh yeah?” She retorted unemotionally. She wasn’t going to give into your bratty behaviour, no matter how cute you looked on top of her.

“Oh yeah.” You replied mischievously, with a few rolls of your hips. But her hands had latched on before you could continue, halting all your attempts to turn her on.

“Not tonight.”

“Come on, nerd.” You whined, hands attempt to pry hers of your hips. “It’s not even late yet.”

Unmoving, she replied, “don’t call me that.”

“What? You are though.” You ran over her appearance once again, her red curls held high in a loose ponytail as her baby hairs flew abashedly in each direction.

So fucking cute and yet so sexy.

You leaned forward, chest brushing hers. “I mean, who would’ve thought the big, bad Scarlet Witch would need nerdy glasses.”

“What did I say, moya lyubov?” She warned but your fingers only toyed with the arms of her frames, forcing the lenses up and down with each push.

Your incessant need to push buttons drew you closer to a point of no return. Your girlfriend could only take so much more before she snapped.

“Aw is the little witch crying?” You fake cooed, hands playing with the ends of her hair, ready to pull as you deliver the final blow.

“Only a true nerd would get so upset about being called one.”

Pain heated her scalp as her neck was yanked back, but only for a second as you let go of the pressure. Her eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and anger as she grabbed under your armpits, hauling your off her lap like a ragdoll before pinning your wrists above your head.

You felt a surge of fear mixed with a strange excitement as she held you in place, having pushed Wanda so much she’s actually snapped. No longer the collective, push-over girlfriend she had portrayed herself as.

“Are you stupid?” She spat, her entire weight resting upon your stomach. “You don’t listen, do you?”

Clearly unfazed by her words, you smile up at the woman, bucking your hips into her. “Well I guess not, Einstein.”

Even without much strength to it, the sound of the slap is loud. Your head ripped to the side as you gasped for air. Soon enough, you found yourself facing the woman above you. The offending hand now cupping your chin, as light fingers danced over your cheek, already turning red.

You went to speak but she shushed you, soft lips pressed over yours. “No more.” Is all she said but you understood what she meant, as you nod slowly.

No more lip tonight.

“I didn’t want to have to do that.” She brushed a few stray tears away, unbeknownst that you had even been crying. “But you were being bad, baby. Not my usual good girl.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, voice unsure of the situation you’re in. Wanda looked mad still, really mad, even though you were only joking around.

“I know, baby, but it’s not nice to be mean to me like that.”

“I was only joking…” You looked away, unable to stand her cold gaze any longer.

Her grip on your chin returned to bring your eyes back to hers. “And I told you to stop, didn’t I?”

You nodded weakly, feeling a knot forming in your stomach. You knew she was right, but you didn’t think you hurt Wanda that much. Not enough for her to slap you anyways.

She released her hold on you, moving back against the headboard before pulling you back onto her lap.

She watched you for a second, nothing your refusal to meet her eyes. You looked ashamed, but not too phased of the situation.

“You okay?” She asked, palms resting soothingly on your bottom.

“I’m okay.” You replied as you twirled her nightgown in your fist. “My cheek hurts though.”

“Good.” With that, she pulls you forward, starting a slow steady pace against her stomach, fingers groping, as you take the pleasure with gratitude.

You gasped at the friction, and Wanda chuckled when she felt the damp patch across your panties. “Oh. You liked that, didn’t you? Like when I hurt you, baby?”

Not knowing if she really wanted an answer, you nodded quickly. Hands holding tighter onto her shoulders as you try to speed up, but she moved you off her.

She stood up, leaving her glasses on her bedside table, working her way over towards the wardrobe. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Now let’s see how you like to be teased.”

…

You’re sat on the edge of the bed, and Wanda stepped between your legs, the red dildo pressing against your chest as she strokes it like it was actually her own.

“Do you like it?”

“You know I was the one that bought it for you.” You couldn’t help but say with a playful eye roll, but she wasn’t having it. Her hand snaked around your neck, applying immediate pressure before you could even realise.

“Do you want another?” She asked coldly, referring to the red mark now prominent on your cheek.

Fearfully, you shake your head as much as she allows you. “Then stop with the attitude.”

Ignoring your mumbled apologies, she leaned down to kiss you wetly, forcing your mouth open as she shoves her tongue inside.

“Move up.” She pushed you back up the bed, crawling atop you. You sighed, raising your hands to cup Wanda’s breasts spilling from her night slip.

“You want this?” She asked, rocking her hips so the silicone rubbed against your sodden panties.

You licked your lips before circling her hardened nipple. with your thumb. “Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.” She rolled over, moving up to the head of the bed. She sat back, against her pillows and patted her thighs. “Come here.”

You followed her, hands grabbing onto her shoulders. “Like this?” You lifted a leg, straddling across her hips.

“No. Up here.” She removed your hands putting them up on the headboard. “Don’t touch me until I say so.”

Wanda noticed your hesitancy, your eyes solely focused on what’s between her legs. It was bigger than what you usually took.

She guided you to sit slowly, fingers pulling your underwear to the side, feeling yourself stretch around her as you gasped at the intrusion.

“Feels good, baby?” She asked and once again you’re left speechless, only capable of nodding your head stupidly. “Yeah? Your face says it all.”

You rocked your hips slightly, the pleasure all too consuming to stay still much longer.

Wanda chuckled at the state of you, fighting the urge to slap your bottom just to see your timid self jump.

“Come on. Just ride me baby.”

And you did. Your initial shyness long forgotten as you gripped the headboard tighter, and lifted yourself almost all the way off her cock, before bringing yourself back down. You quickly worked yourself up to a steady pace, head dropping low to kiss Wanda hard on the mouth.

She enjoyed the view, tits bouncing within the confinement of your vest, as her dick disappeared inside your swollen pussy. She pushed her thumb against your covered clit, your movement faltering for a moment at the added pressure, before feeling your orgasm start to take over.

“Don’t.”

You heard her say and your eyes snapped open.“What?”

“Don’t come. Stop.” She grabbed your hips, stopping you from moving.

“What? Why?” You asked breathless. You could feel yourself pulse around her, your orgasm fading from view as your body willed you to move, to chase it.

“I told you.” She pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’m going to tease you. Now, start again. Go slow.”

You whimpered softly and began riding her again, trying not to go too fast. You managed a good pace, each thrust at the same speed as you rocked against her.

“Ah. Slower.”

You huffed, halting all together, before thrusting into what felt like too slow of a motion to make you come. Besides, your thighs had started to burn as you kept moving at this pace for what felt like hours.

“Wanda.” You mumbled, unable to hold onto the headboard any longer, your arms wrap tight around her shoulders, wanting to feel the woman pressed close against you.

She didn’t give you permission to touch but couldn’t find it within herself to reprimand you when you’ve been listening to her so well.

She stroked your curls from your face. “That’s a good girl.” She cooed soothingly, “Such a good girl. Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come.” You said, voice akin to a whine.

She pressed a few kisses across your face, “You’re going to have to ask nicer than that.”

You made a sound, something between a laugh and a sob, as tears fell down your cheeks. “Please, Wanda.” You paused, sinking further down until she was all the way inside you.

“Keep moving, baby.” She pulled your hips forwards and backwards. “Like this. Nice and slow.”

“So beautiful.” She whispered into your hair, trailing more kisses across your face until she reached your lips.

Your pleas fell on silent ears for a while longer as Wanda worked you up to your limit. Not wanting to overstimulate you but just pushing enough to see how far she can go. How far she can push you into that little headspace she wants to keep you in. “Okay, baby. You need to do exactly what I tell you, okay?”

You hummed and she continued. “You need to get off me and go lay down on your stomach.”

It took a second for your brain to compute what she said, but you did so willingly, and your cunt ached at the feeling of being so empty.

“Good girl. Now, on your knees, I need to put a pillow under your hips.” To which you did, as Wanda positioned her pillow under you. You went to lay down, all too familiar with this position, but hands on your waist stopped you.

A warmth spread across you as Wanda licked up your ruined underwear. The white cotton stuck to you she could see the outline of your pussy so vividly. She moaned at the taste, and you whined embarrassingly loud, pushing your hips back into her face, hoping she’d let you come this time. But she pulled always, as the telltale signs of your orgasm come forth, and knocked you off balance, falling into the soft duvet under you.

“I’m sorry, baby. I couldn’t help myself.” She ran soothing hands up and down your back, before pulling your underwear off of you.

She didn’t want to keep you waiting much longer, deciding two denials was enough for your first time.

“You taste so good, but I want you to come on my cock, okay? I promise Im going to let you come this time.”

You mumbled an okay and she took that as the initiative to slide into you. She slowly pulled out and drove back in, in a swift, hard motion, eliciting a loud, surprised moan from you. She repeated this for a little while, watching her dick disappear inside you, only pulling out to thrust back in with vigour, each time causing a moan to escape your lips.

“Please. Faster.” You managed to say and she took pity.

“Okay, baby. No more teasing.” She began thrusting vehemently into you, her own groans mixing with yours as the toy applied pressure to her nerves. Noticing how your body trembled, she leaned forward, the position allowing her to move deep inside your walls, as she boldly swiped her tongue over the shell of your ear, lightly biting the lobe.

One hand moved from beside your head, distributing some of her weight to your lower back as she sat up, the shift causing her to fuck up into the front of your walls.

“Come for me.”

To her surprise, you didn’t come right away. Your body too concerned with what felt like electric shocks as you thrashed under Wanda’s body.

Words melted into nothing as they were cut off by a strangled cry, tears streaming down your face onto the bed.

She turned you over, careful not to pull out as you’d clamped down on her, as she descended upon your lips. “Oh, my good girl.” Her lips moved up over your eyes, “You did so good for me.”

You chose to use what little energy left to wrap your arms around Wanda, pulling her flush to your body as you shook through the after waves.

She whispered sweet nothings as her fingers run upon and down your side until you calmed down.

“You okay, baby? You need anything?”

You hummed, exhaustion evident in your voice. “No, that was fun.” You kissed her lips, playfully poking your tongue at her.

“But you’re still a nerd.”

She scoffed but rolled over, not missing the way your grimace as she pulled out.

“I should’ve slapped you harder.” She mumbled, as she quickly discarded the toy, pulling the duvet over you both, fearing sleep would come quick with how long you guys had been at it.

Oh well, she’d just have to teach you a lesson some other day.

[daisyblog]

English Love Affair

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN plays ‘English Love Affair’ to see Harry’s reaction.

based on this request.

YN scrolled through her phone, trying to find a song to play from her Spotify to put on whilst she cleaned, recording herself to upload to her TikTok later on.

“Guys does anyone else need music on whilst they clean?”. She asked the silent audience, knowing that nobody could answer her. “I just love a sing and dance as I do it”.

As YN scrolled through her never ending playlists, her eyes lit up when she saw the popular 5sos song that was popular in the directioner world. “Fook off…how could I forget this song existed!”.

“It started on a weekend in May…I was looking for attention, needed intervention…Felt somebody looking at me…With a powder white complexion, feeling the connection”.

YN began to mouth along to the words knowing Harry would appear any minute to tell her to turn it off. “I’ll give Harry ten seconds before he appears”. YN continued to dance as she placed some dishes in the dish washer.

“The way she looked was so ridiculous…Every single step had me waiting for the next…Before I knew it, it was serious…Dragged me out the bar to the back seat of her car”.

“Turn it off!”. Harry voice echoed in the distance.

YN stopped her dancing as she placed a hand up to her mouth to stop her laugh from bursting out. “What did you say? Can’t hear you!”.

“When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about…The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain I can't forget, my English love affair…Today, I'm seven thousand miles away…The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget…My English love affair”.

Harry appeared in view as he stood with an unamused look. His arms folded across his chest, the muscles of his biceps shouting out as they tensed.

YN rolled her lips inside her mouth, trying her hardest not to let out a hint of amusement as she looked at Harry’s harsh frown. But her internal battle failed her as she sang the next line.

“My English love affair”.

“Why are you listening to this song? There’s millions of other songs you could listen to…and you choose this fucking one!”. Harry voice was calm for someone who was clearly annoyed and irritated.

YN shrugged her shoulders as she gave Harry an innocent smile. “It’s a good song”.

“It’s about my sister…yah know…and yeah”. Harry tumbled over his words, not wanting to say what the song was about out loud. “Imagine having to listen to a song like that about your siblings”.

YN knew what Harry was trying to do, but she was one step ahead of him when it came to arguing the point. “Yeah…at least you know how Louis felt listening to Watermelon Sugar!”.

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times trying to find a way to defend himself, but his lack of words failed him.

Wanting to push his reaction further, YN continued to sing along. “Gemma’s a queen for this one!”.

“YN!”.

Tag List:

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[harveybwabbit92]

Grocery girl: Ken Sato x reader Pt. 2

You were a delivery girl who was frequently dispatched to the famous baseball player's Ken Sato residence, you were a nobody that anyone hardly paid attention to, until you found the legendary baseball passed out on his front steps looking like hell, being a bit of worry wart you help him inside and that things took a HUGE turn when you find yourself playing mommy for a giant baby dragon....

Part 1

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

It had been almost a month since that strange incident with Sato. R/n tried bury it in the back of her mind but it always seem to find it's way back to the surface, it also didn't help that he was the main topic on every news outlet or at every water cooler gossip R/n has accidentally eavesdropped on. Apparently things weren't going very well for Mr. Sato's career.

Heck, even Meimei seems to have lost her earlier admiration for the baseball player as the younger girl had stopped asking R/n about him and switched to swooning and gushing over some K-pop group she fell in love with to anyone that would listen; R/n included, but that's teenagers for you they loose interest in things too easily, not that Meimei's uncle AKA the Boss was complaining he was just happy the kid was taking her job seriously now! So was R/n cos that meant Meimei would stop following her around asking about Mr. Sato every time she got back from a delivery.

Speaking of...

R/n pulled into Mr. Sato's driveway it seemed like the usual drop off situation until R/n got out of the van and nearly dropped the box of groceries at the sight that waited for her outside, R/n had to take a minute for her brain register what she was looking at first.

She thought it was a dummy left outside, before realizing it was person passed out on the steps and not just any old person. "Mr. Sato!" R/n put the box down and ran over to the downed baseball player she rolled him over to get look at his face and winced. Cripes! he looked like he'd been dragged through hell and back again!

R/n quickly tried to rouse the knocked out Sato by shaking him but that did little other making him mumble incoherently, R/n then through great struggle managed to lift him up off the stairs and was stunned at how heavy the baseball player was as his weight damn near sent them both tumbling backwards!

But R/n managed to steady them both as she pretty much dragged his limp body up the stairs. "This would be so easy for me if you'd just wake up." R/n grunted as she readjusted Ken so she could knock on his door; Hopefully his assistant was here and she could take care of him.

However when the front door opened on it's own there was no one there waiting. R/n stared nervously into the seemingly empty house, she heard nary a creak or breeze as she reluctantly took a step inside and tried not to yelp when the door suddenly shut behind her leaving the house in almost complete darkness.

Then the thoughts started creeping in and for brief moment R/n wondered if this was all possibly all a ruse and that Mr Sato was secret serial kill and that strange noises she heard last time was screams of his last victim...After all, who would suspect the famous baseball payer?!

But then R/n's more rational side reasoned how that ridiculous that was! if there was a killer on the loose there would've been some kind of news about it. R/n calmed herself down and dragged Mr. Sato to the first couch she found before getting his abandoned groceries from outside, R/n went against policy and opened them, grabbing a bottle of water and a Melon pan from it.

She left them on the coffee table for when he wakes up and was going to leave Mr. Sato for his assistant to find, But then R/n felt something off...did the floor just vibrate? Her brows furrowed as her eyes looked up at the ceiling and saw the boxy looking chandelier was swaying around; R/n shook her head. No, it wasn't her business... She got ready to leave, but then the thoughts about Mr. Sato possibly being a covert serial killer came back with a vengeance and she thought if he was hiding someone could that vibration them calling for help?

Checking to make sure Mr. Sato was still sleeping R/n cautiously crouched down low and pressed her ear to the floor only to jumped back with a gasp when she heard the same wailing from a month ago echoing from the floor below, R/n stood up and looked around the house for a way downstairs and found her only option was the large glass elevator cos of course the rich boy's got an elevator.... R/n stepped in and looked for a control button only for the elevator start moving on it own.

R/n tried to duck down in poor attempt to hide herself as it got closer to the bottom floor when it finally stopped and the delivery girl cautiously peeked out to see; well, she expected some kind of blood soaked torture room to be waiting for her, instead her eyes widened in awe at her futuristic surroundings if this was a basement it was like one she'd never seen before! The thoughts about Mr. Sato being a serial killer were quickly replaced with him possibly being a superhero fanboy.

This whole place screamed 'Batcave' as R/n stepped out of the elevator and began to wander around she wondered how much this place cost the baseball player to build? While R/n was gawking she failed to notice the large shadow slowly rising up behind her until it was too late.

R/n looked down and slowly turned around looking up as did her awe struck face slowly contorting into fear as she stared up at the beast behind her and shuddered.

"I never knew the harbinger of death would be so... pink!" 

*hours later*

Ken is woken up to by the baby squealing and his alarms going off like crazy! He looked at the time 11 pm...Oh, he missed her 9pm feeding, he wondered Mina didn't wake him up? when he spotted the water and Melon pan on the coffee table and ate and drank those as he made his way to the elevator but it was already downstairs causing him to pause.

Ken's mind was still hazy from juggling everything he couldn't remember if he'd gone downstairs earlier and went outside through the airlock to get back up into the house? Or maybe Mina brought something downstairs for the baby to use?

The answer was the last thing Ken expected as he descended into his base to find the baby playing Daruma-san (statues/red light green light for us yanks) with Mina and...Ken choked on his food when he saw his grocery girl standing in the middle of his base in posed like Hamlet (she holding Mina in the Alas poor Yorick pose) She nearly fell over when she saw Mr. Sato gawking. "What the heck is going-Oh, nonono!" When then the baby noticed him and she immediately run up to Ken and picked him up much to his protest.

While this was going on R/n used this as her attempt to escape to the elevator only for Ken to notice her sneaking away and changed into Ultraman and block her path with his hand... R/n gasped as she looked up at the silver giant completely flabbergasted. "Okay, So not a serial killer." Now it was Ultraman's turn to be confused. "What?"

Cut to R/n trapped in her own containment chamber sitting down bored as she watches a frustrated Mr. Sato pacing around his base. "Y'know, You'll go bald if you keep tugging at your hair like that" she said with a sigh the baseball player ignored her as the delivery girl tried to readjusted herself in a more comfortable position but the tube was to narrow for her legs to properly stretch out. "Couldn't you have given me a bigger tube? this one's too cramped." Mr. Sato shot her a seething glare that shut R/n up as he walked up to her tube.

"Oh, I'm sorry, maybe you should've called ahead before breaking into my house!" He sneered The delivery just rolled her eyes. "For that last time, I didn't break in I found you outside..." Ken snorted obviously not believing her. "Hey you, floating eye lady" R/n called out to Mina who floated over to them. "Doesn't this place have cameras or something" Show this knuckle head I'm telling the truth." She said crossing her arms, while Ken barked a Mina not to listen her and wait for the cops, who were taking their sweet time getting here.

"The police are not coming because I haven't called them." Ken looked at the orb in disbelief. "What? why not?!" Mina played the footage from a few hours ago showing Ken staggering up his front steps and then dropping like a sack of potatoes 15 minutes later R/n's van pulled up showed her jumping and quickly checking Ken over before picking him carrying him inside, and showed how she got into his base.

"Told ya, if this is the thanks I get for helping; then maybe I should've left you there for the birds to crap on!"

"Okay, okay... but that still doesn't mean you're off the hook."

"Oh? what are you gonna do? keep me in this tube forever?"

"No, You going to help me...With her."

Mr. Sato points at the baby Kaiju in the tube next to R/n's who babble happily and waved when he pointed at her, R/n meanwhile got this shell shocked look on her face, she thought he was joking until R/n was free from the tube; but by the next morning found herself in a moving van with her belongs hastily stuffed inside headed back towards Mr. Sato's house.

{Bonus, how R/n ended up playing with Emi: 

R/n tried to back away from the pink dragon thing that was staring her down when it took a step near her, She gasped and instinctively covered her face...But, nothing happened? The delivery girl curiously peeked between her fingers and saw Pinky was staring at her; she put her hands down.

The monster moves again R/n throws her hands back up and the monster did the oddest thing it smiled while chirping and clapping at her. R/n was very obviously bewildered by it's strange behavior as she repeated same action a few times before something clicked in her head; Peek-a-Boo.... It's thinks R/n was playing Peek-a-boo with it . "You're just a baby, aren't you?" The Kaiju tilted it's head at R/n bemused.

*Ken Sato has a baby Kaiju in his basement...what the crap?!*

The delivery girl screamed mentally as the baby Kaju chirped and covered it's face with it's hands; R/n knew what it was doing and played along "Oh no, where'd the baby go?" The delivery girl pretended to look around while side eyeing the elevator which the baby was currently blocking, The kaiju pulled it's hands away from it's face as R/n cheered "Oop, there you are!~" the baby squealed excitedly as this floating eye-ball robot suddenly appeared and started asking questions.

R/n explained herself and promised that she wouldn't tell anyone about this if the eye would let her leave. However, as soon as R/n took a step towards the elevator... The baby started sniffling and tearing up causing the delivery girl to panic. "No, no, I'm not leaving I'm not leaving, I promise, I'll stay here!" R/n said petting it on the leg and not realizing just how true those words would end up being in a few hours.

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

Cross posted on my A03/Squidgeworld/Wattpad.

[astralnymphh]

stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy. 

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes? 

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak. 

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?" 

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.." 

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table. 

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead." 

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?" 

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.." 

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els? 

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate? 

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish. 

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~" 

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut.  You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped. 

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.." 

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods. 

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.." 

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either. 

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring. 

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around." 

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit. 

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.." 

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–" 

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out. 

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches. 

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from. 

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–" 

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much. 

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.." 

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto. 

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!" 

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.." 

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar." 

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

[lxvsiick]

I NAMED A FISH AFTER YOU | KIM LEEHAN X READER

PAIRING: childhood best friend! kim leehan x childhood best friend! fem! reader

SUMMARY: Moving into a new neighborhood, 8 year old Y/n meets a boy who really likes fish on her way to the park.

GENRE: childhood best friends, fish, fluff

WORDCOUNT: 2.8k

A/N: a little leehan short story/imagine because i was thinking about fishes and found this picture of leehan -- he looks so cute showing off his fish charms ,, also -- i'm so tempted to publish part 1 of O U R ,, i have 15 parts in my drafts . . .

The sun was bright and warm in Busan as the eight-year-old Y/n skipped along the sidewalk of her new neighborhood. Her family had just moved in the week before, and today, she was finally free to explore. A park sat just down the street, and she could already imagine the swings and slides waiting for her. But as she approached the park, something else caught her attention.

By a small pond near the edge of the park, a boy around her age was sitting cross-legged, staring intently at the water. His messy hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care. Curious, she wandered over, crouching down next to him.

“What’re you looking at?” she asked, her voice light with interest.

Without turning his head, the boy pointed at the water. “Fishes,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Y/n tilted her head. “Fishes? What about them?”

“They’re cool,” he replied. “This one’s a bluegill, and that one over there is a pumpkinseed. See the way they swim? And if you watch them long enough, you can see how they’re different from the others. Fishes are smart. Way smarter than people think.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyebrows furrowing. “You’re kinda weird.”

“Thanks,” he said, still not looking at her. “I like fishes.”

She blinked at him, unsure what to make of the boy who would rather talk about pond creatures than, well, anything else. “Do you wanna be friends?”

He finally turned his head to look at her, his expression blank. “I’d rather be friends with fishes.”

Y/n crossed her arms. “Well, you can’t be friends with fishes. They can’t talk, and they don’t have legs. So you’re stuck with me.”

The boy paused, considering her words before giving a small shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

“Good!” she said with a grin. “Now, come on. Let’s—”

Before she could finish, she shifted her weight to stand up, but her foot slipped on the muddy bank. With a yelp, she tumbled forward and splashed right into the pond, sending ripples across the water. In her panic, she grabbed onto the boy’s shirt, pulling him in after her.

There was a brief moment of chaos, water sloshing everywhere as they scrambled to their feet in the shallow water. Soaked and stunned, Y/n looked over at the boy, who wiped pond muck off his face with an exasperated sigh.

“You just became my friend, and you’re already trying to murder me,” he said, his face deadpan. “That’s why I’d rather be friends with fishes.”

She burst into laughter, even as water dripped down her face. “Sorry about that. I’m Jung Y/n, by the way.”

He shook his head, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Kim Donghyun. And... it’s okay.”

And just like that, with wet shoes and muddy clothes, a new friendship was born.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The soft blue glow of the tanks lit up the dim hallways of the aquarium, making everything feel like it was underwater. The sound of bubbling water and the occasional splashing filled the air as Leehan and Y/n wandered from tank to tank, their parents chatting behind them.

Leehan walked a few steps ahead, eyes wide with excitement. “Look, that one’s a lionfish!” he exclaimed, pointing at a spiny, colorful fish that floated lazily in one of the tanks.

Y/n leaned closer, her face nearly pressed against the glass. “Why’s it called a lionfish? It doesn’t look like a lion.”

“It’s because of its fins. See? They look like a lion’s mane,” Leehan explained, puffing his chest out a little. “And they’re super poisonous, so don’t touch one if you ever see it.”

She gave him a side-eye. “Why would I ever touch a fish?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, some people are weird.”

They moved to the next tank, which was filled with tiny fish darting around a coral reef. Leehan tapped the glass gently. “These are clownfish. They live in sea anemones because they’re immune to the sting.”

Y/n squinted, her nose scrunching up. “Clownfish? They don’t look like clowns.”

“They have stripes like clown costumes!” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And did you know that if the female clownfish dies, the male turns into a female?”

She blinked at him, frowning. “Wait—what?”

“Yeah, it’s true. They can change from boy to girl if they need to. Isn’t that cool?” he said, his voice full of excitement.

Y/n stared at the fish for a moment, then looked at him with a mischievous smile. “Are you gonna turn into a girl someday, Donghyunnie?”

He gave her a look, his face turning a little red. “No! I’m not a clownfish!”

She laughed, clearly enjoying teasing him. “Sure, sure.”

They continued on to the next exhibit, a massive tank filled with all kinds of fish. A shark glided by the glass, and Leehan practically jumped in place, pointing at it with wide eyes. “That’s a blacktip reef shark! They’re not dangerous to people, but they’re really fast. And sometimes they swim in really shallow water!”

Y/n watched the shark swim in lazy circles. “It’s kinda cute,” she said.

“Cute?” Leehan repeated, his face scrunched up in disbelief. “It’s a shark.”

“Yeah, but look at its little face,” she said, leaning closer to the glass. “It looks like it’s smiling.”

He shook his head. “You’re weird.”

“You like fish,” she shot back, giving him a smug grin. “That’s way weirder.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then closed it, knowing she had a point. Instead, he turned to the next tank, full of colorful jellyfish that pulsed and floated like little ghosts. His eyes widened again. “Jellyfish! These ones are called moon jellies. They don’t have brains or hearts, but they can still sting.”

Y/n tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. “No brains? Sounds like some kids in our class.”

He snorted, trying not to laugh, and moved to the next display. “Look, a blue tang! That’s what Dory from Finding Nemo is.”

“Ohh,” she said, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “I like that one! It’s pretty.”

For a moment, they both just stood there, staring at the fish as it swam through the water. The light from the tank reflected in their eyes, and Y/n leaned a little closer to Leehan.

“You really like fish, huh?” she asked, her voice quieter than before.

He nodded, his eyes still glued to the tank. “Yeah. They’re cool. They’re… peaceful.”

She smiled softly, watching him for a moment before turning back to the fish. “I think they’re pretty cool too.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The park was quiet under the soft glow of the streetlights. The swings swayed gently in the cool night breeze, their creaking the only sound breaking the silence. Y/n and Leehan sat side by side on the swings, their legs almost touching.

Y/n looked down at her feet, tracing patterns in the gravel with her sneakers. Her usually bright eyes were dim, and her shoulders slumped as she swung back and forth slowly. “I can’t believe we’re going to different high schools,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness.

Leehan kept his gaze straight ahead, his own heart heavy despite his calm exterior. “Yeah, it’s... hard to believe.”

The words hung in the air, a shared understanding between them. The reality of their separation was sinking in, making the night feel colder.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “We won’t be in the same classes or see each other every day. It’s just... not going to be the same.”

He turned his head to glance at her, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll miss you too.”

She looked up, catching his eyes. “You’re not very good at showing it, you know. But I can tell you’re sad too.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “I guess I’m just trying to stay positive. It doesn’t change the fact that we’ll still be friends.”

Her face brightened slightly at his words, though the sadness didn’t entirely fade. “We will stay friends, right? We promised.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding firmly. “We’ll talk after school, text, video call, and hang out at each other’s houses. Nothing’s going to change that.”

She reached over and lightly bumped his swing with hers, a gesture of reassurance. “Yeah. We’ll make it work. No matter what.”

He nodded, his voice steady but his eyes reflecting the same sadness she felt. “We will. And besides, it’s just high school. We’ll still see each other a lot.”

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. “I guess you’re right. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Nope,” he said, giving her a small, encouraging smile. “It’s just a new chapter. We’re still us.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the swings moving rhythmically as they each reflected on the changes ahead. The night felt less daunting with the reassurance of their friendship, their shared promises warming the chilly air.

“Hey,” Y/n said after a moment, her voice more hopeful. “Promise me you’ll keep being you, no matter what.”

He chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the night breeze. “I promise. And you keep being you. That’s what makes us work.”

She laughed quietly, the sound mingling with the creak of the swings. “Deal.”

As they continued to swing in companionable silence, the weight of their separation felt a little lighter, buoyed by the strength of their bond and the certainty that their friendship would endure, no matter the distance.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

It was late afternoon at the small café where Leehan worked, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filling the air. The café was always busy around this time, but for now, he was on break, lounging at a table with his five closest friends.

They had been friends since high school, ever since Leehan had somehow charmed his way into their group despite his reputation for being quiet and a little… odd. Even now, sitting with them, he was half-listening to their conversation, more focused on stirring the iced coffee in front of him than joining in.

“Man, you seriously never hung out with any girls in high school,” one of his friends, Jaehyun, teased, kicking his chair lightly. “You were like, a ghost when it came to that stuff. But you expect us to believe you have this mythical childhood best friend that you keep mentioning who’s a girl?”

“Yeah, right,” another friend, Riwoo, chimed in, rolling his eyes. “If she existed, we’d have met her by now.”

The others nodded in agreement, all of them laughing as Leehan shook his head, not even bothering to defend himself. He’d told them a hundred times about Y/n, his best friend from when they were kids, but they never believed him. It didn’t help that they’d gone to different high schools and now different colleges. To his friends, she was some made-up figure—part of his weirdness.

Just as Jaehyun was about to make another joke, the bell above the café door jingled.

Leehan glanced up and his heart did a little flip. There she was—Y/n. She spotted him almost immediately, her eyes lighting up as she hurried toward him, her bag bouncing against her side. Without any hesitation, she threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

“Kim Donghyun! I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her voice warm with excitement.

For a moment, he was too stunned to react. He hadn’t seen her in person for so long—after she transferred schools, they’d only texted or called, always busy with their separate lives. But now she was here, right in front of him.

He awkwardly returned the hug, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh… missed you too.”

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n turned to his friends, giving them a polite nod. But her smile faded when she noticed the looks on their faces—five pairs of eyes wide, mouths open in utter disbelief.

“Wha—” Woonhak stammered. “No way.”

Jaehyun leaned closer to Leehan, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Dude… did you hire her to act like your childhood best friend?”

The other guys burst into laughter, nudging each other, clearly convinced they were onto something.

Y/n blinked at them, raising an eyebrow. “Hired me? To do what?”

“They think you’re, uh…” Leehan rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “They don’t believe you’re real.”

“Real?” she repeated, her expression shifting from confusion to mild annoyance. “I’ve known him since we were, like, eight. What’s wrong with you guys?”

Jaehyun snorted. “It’s just—you know, he’s never mentioned you before—”

“He never hangs out with girls,” Riwoo added with a smirk.

“Except his fishes,” Taesan quipped, earning laughs from the group.

Y/n crossed her arms, her lips curling into a smirk of her own. “Oh, right. You guys are the weird ones.”

Leehan looked up at her, deadpan. “Told you.”

She laughed softly, playfully ruffling his hair. “You haven’t changed at all.”

His friends exchanged stunned glances, clearly still trying to process the fact that this girl—the one they thought was made up—was real, standing right in front of them. And even more confusing, she seemed to be completely normal. Not weird at all, like they had assumed anyone associated with Leehan would be.

“Okay, okay,” Jaehyun finally said, raising his hands in surrender. “We believe you. She’s real.”

“But we still need proof,” Sungho added. “Like embarrassing childhood stories. Got any?”

Y/n grinned, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she looked at Leehan. “Oh, I’ve got stories.”

Leehan groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Please don’t.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

After many embarrassing stories and saying goodbye to his friends, Leehan walks Y/n home.

The night was calm as Leehan and Y/n walked side by side, their footsteps muted on the quiet sidewalk. The soft glow of streetlights illuminated their path, casting gentle shadows as they caught up after his shift at work.

Y/n glanced at him with a warm, reflective smile. “You know, I really missed seeing you like this. It’s been too long.”

​​He looked over at her, his expression serious but soft. “I miss it too. It’s been a while.”

She smiled faintly, then turned her gaze forward, her fingers brushing against the cool evening air. “It’s strange. Even after all these years, you haven’t changed one bit. You’re still the same old Kim Donghyun I remember. But your name is different. Leehan?”

He chuckled softly, the sound almost shy. “It’s just a nickname the guys gave me. I’m still Kim Donghyun to you.”

She looked at him, a small, understanding smile on her lips. “It’s a good thing, though. You’ve made great friends and it means you’ve stayed true to yourself.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, their shoulders brushing occasionally. Y/n broke the silence, her voice laced with nostalgia. “Remember when we first met at the pond, by the park? You were so focused on those fish, and I came over and, well... I dragged you right into the water after.”

He chuckled, the memory bringing a smile to his face. “How could I forget? I was so surprised. After agreeing to become friends with you, you decide to drown me.”

She laughed softly, smacking him on the arm. “Hey, I slipped. Besides, you were always the better swimmer between the two of us.”

As they approached their houses, which were still next to each other, Leehan hesitated for a moment, his face showing a hint of awkwardness. “Hey, um, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

She looked at him curiously, her eyes sparkling with interest. “What is it?”

“Well,” he began, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I’ve been keeping a fish in my room. I named it after you.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and amusement. “Really? That’s... actually really sweet.”

He nodded, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Yeah. I guess I’ve been missing you a lot, and naming the fish after you seemed like a good way to keep you close.”

Y/n puts a teasing smile on. “Awww, you missed me that much, Kim Donghyun.”

Leehan rolls his eyes with a small smile on his lips. They reached her front door, they stood for a moment. Y/n opened her front door, and as she stepped inside, she looked back at him with a playful smile. “Goodnight, Leehan. See you on campus tomorrow.”

“Goodnight-wait, what?”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[nicholasluvbot]

EVERYTIME WE TOUCH ( &TEAM )

. . . o r ✶ &team when their s/o's love language is physical touch !

genre. gn!reader , est. rel , fluff wc. 2K ( around 200 words per member ) warnings. reader is shorter than k , jo is called 'pumpkin' (affectionately) requested. 'heyy i love your works sm <3 could you write headcanons for &team when their partner's love language is physical touch? that is, only if you want to! thank you <3 note. count how many times i've said 'kisses' for maki

— MASTERLIST !

K

loves it. loves it so so much. would let you cling to him like a koala and carry you around with him if you wanted, no questions asked.

when he first notices your love lang, he's delighted cause he loves physical touch just as much. "it's like we're meant to be!" he says.

gives you long hugs after bad days and never pulls away first. and since he's so much taller than you, expect soft kisses on the top of your head all the time.

doesn't mind when you give him bear hugs and refuse to let go in the morning, even if it means that he'll be late for work.

especially loves it when you're affectionate and touchy in public, or around the members, because that way everyone knows that he's yours.

his favorite moments are those when he makes you laugh so hard that you tumble into his arms, clutching your sides cause he's so funny that it hurts, and wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace to steady you. he's happy that he can make you laugh like this, because your laughter is the best sound in the world.

FUMA

would rarely ever initiate physical touch, but he loves it when you do and never rejects it.

you go for a hug before he leaves for work and he wraps his big arms around you in a bone-crushing hug that makes you want to never pull away and stays on your mind all day.

your hands are cold? he'll hold them till they're warm (lowkey doesn't wanna let go even after they're warmed up, but also doesn't want to come off as clingy so he reluctantly lets go). you feel tired? his shoulder is yours to rest your head on. you want attention when he's playing games? his lap is free for you to come and sit on anytime (plays with your hair or gives back rubs when you're feeling tired).

doesn't mind when you sleep with your head on his chest and wouldn't complain when you keep it that way all night, even if it makes his body sore the next day.

big baby who sulks when you're not being as touchy and follows you around asking questions like, "are you upset?" and "i'm sorry if i did something to make you mad, i promise i'll fix it."

and then you just can't take it anymore so you jump in his arms and smother him with kisses all over his face cause he's the most adorable boyfriend ever.

NICHOLAS

such a tease about it.

like you two would get into a silly argument over something stupid, and then when you go to him for cuddles, he's all like, "can't go a single day without my cuddles, can you sweetheart?" but wraps his arm around you anyways, pulling you closer.

always has his arm around your shoulder or on your lower back, guiding you through crowds or in social gatherings just so that everyone knows that you're the love of his life. it isn't much, but it makes your heart flutter even though he's done it countless times. it's just the effect he has on you.

tries to act nonchalant when he's doing something random and you just come cuddle him or snuggle against him, but inside he's all giddy.

"you know, you're pretty cute when you're all cuddly like this," he says with a smirk, trying to act like his heart isn't beating hard and fast. but you see him go red when you tilt your head to face him and say, "and you're pretty cute when you're not being a tease."

loves loves loves kisses. wants to start his day with one, and if he doesn't get it, turns into a grump until he gets a thousand kisses all over his face.

another one who loves it when you're touchy while the members are around, cause he gets to brag about it later like, "i'm literally dating the best person ever and you're not." (sometimes he has to hold back giggles cause, "aren't you just so adorable.")

EUIJOO

this boy is so clueless at the beginning of the relationship, its endearing. (but also kinda confusing)

when you first wrap your arms around him, he's just standing there awkwardly... he doesn't know what to do with his hands so they're just limp against his side... and his heart is beating so fast cause he adores you so much but doesn't know how to express it so he just ends up embarrassing himself (heart eyes from you but he doesn't notice)

you stop being as touchy, cause maybe he doesn't like it that much. but when he notices that you're distancing yourself he's just like :(( do you not love him anymore :(( are you upset about something :((

asks the members for advice and he gets laughed at (my baby), but probably ends up getting advice from the younger members (i feel like maki gives the best advice second to k)

and when he realises he's like oh!

after dating him for a while he becomes just as affectionate as you, cause if you like it and it makes you happy, he's gonna do it. for you.

also becomes a teeny tiny bit clingy as your relationship progresses, but when confronted about it, he'll strongly deny.

asks for kisses every minute. you ask him to open a jar or reach the top shelf, he'll do it if he gets a kiss in return. you want to know the date? okay, but you'll have to kiss him first.

sulks if he gets less than 10 hugs per day, and the only way to make up to him is hold him while he falls asleep and playing with his hair while placing soft kisses on his forehead. (you gladly do it)

YUMA

another tease. (but is actually more clingy than you)

whenever you hug him, you're immediately met with a smirk on his face and a teasing comment, but also doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you and crushing you between them. (also never pulls away first)

also did i mention how clingy he is? needs to have his arms around all the time, needs kisses whenever you're around him. at some point you get tired of his demands for affection, even though its your love language (no you don't)

would never admit but loves being babied so so much.

turns red when he complains and you coo at him, bonus giggles if you stroke his chin, that boy is down bad for you

needs you to stroke his hair whenever you're hanging around the house. will literally go crazy if you don't do it.

the first time you ran your hands through his hair, his eyes fluttered shut as he sighed at your touch and shit, he was in love.

not big on pda, but holds your hand under tables and in crowds, or just has his arm around your shoulders, tracing circles or playing with your hair.

oh and if you ever tease him back about how he's also a softie for you, no cuddles for you that day!

JO

doesn't hate it. doesn't love it.

would never, i mean never, initiate it. but he's all yours you can do whatever you want with him.

you wanna cuddle? his arms are always open. you wanna nomnomnom his cheeks? uhmm... sure.

your life-sized teddy bear. you can go and hug him, kiss him whenever you want, and he doesn't complain

very awkward at first, but as he gets comfortable around you, presses his cheek against your when you hug him, or nuzzles into your side.

gets all flustered when you hug him from behind, like you can feel him turn to putty in your arms.

if you ever miss any of your routine hugs or kisses, follows you around like a lost puppy all day because hey! you forgot his kiss, and he's sad now

doesn't say a word about it though, cause he's embarassed, but lightly tugs on your clothes to get your attention to the little pout on his face.

and when you just can't resist this pumpkin, you're all over him, smothering him with kisses and hugs and cuddles (and he's fighting for his life when you're doing all of this, cause he doesn't wanna burst into giggles)

HARUA

just like euijoo, also very awkward at first and makes you think does this guy even like me or what?

but in reality, he just adores you very much but doesn't wanna come off as clingy

even brushes (?) your touch off at times, even though he doesn't want but he's just not the best at reciprocating affection

but gets used to it very quick! now he wants a kiss every minute and is always hugging you

does not care if he gets teased by the members, he just wants love

lets you kiss his cheek all you want, cause have you looked at them? they're the softest, plumpest cheeks on the entire planet! (screams when you bite them, though)

asks for kisses every night, cause they help him rest better (rather than helping him sleep, they just leave his heart racing and his cheeks pink)

TAKI

he's also kind of touchy, but when you're affectionate, he turns into a stuttering, blushing mess!

but gets used to it pretty quick and soon he becomes demanding.

you refuse to kiss him cause you're eating? how dare you! you can't take away his kissing rights ˙◠˙

lets you bite him. you can bite his shoulder, his cheek or whatever; he doesn't even flinch.

rather, he bites back. harder.

cuddles with him are the best! cause he's so silly and makes you laugh till you're clutching your sides cause it hurts, but also so loving that the little pillow fights and tickles are followed by the best night's sleep.

kisses you all over your face and hands and neck when you're feeling down, till you're laughing and tell him to stop (he doesn't plan to, though)

the most needy boyfriend ever. always asking for hugs and if you say no (which you never do) he's gonna pull you in, wrap his arms around your waist to pick you up and spin you around till you're giggling.

treats you like his best friend and makes you the happiest person in the world, showers you with all the love and affection you want, because he wants to be the the best boyfriend ever (he already is)

MAKI

hand kisses. neck kisses. shoulder kisses. forehead kisses. nose kisses. sad kisses. happy kisses. angry kisses. sweet kisses. i love you kisses. i miss you kisses. hello kisses. goodbye kisses. rain kisses. beach kisses. sunset kisses. first kisses. hundredth kisses. playful kisses. hot kisses. cold kisses. kisses in the light. kisses in the dark. kisses. kisses. kisses. he just wants kisses.

you like physical touch? not more than him.

hugs. kisses. cuddles. hugs. kisses. cuddles. hugs. kisses. cuddles. that's all he wants his day to be. (all of them only from you, of course)

wraps his arms and legs around you to stop you from getting out of bed and away from him.

loves it when you kiss him to shut him up. as much as this boy loves yapping, he loves kisses more.

presses your cheeks together on cold days and holds your hand inside his pocket to keeps you warm

back hugs. all the time. you just have to face your back towards him, and then within the next few seconds, his arms are around your waist and his neck is chin is resting on your shoulder.

as much as he expresses his love for you by touch and affection, he also expresses the same amount through words. like saying 'i love you' in multiple languages all throughout the day, texting you about everything exciting that happened when you're away, or whenever he thinks of you, whispers sweet nothings to help you fall asleep.