#and the collar DID fit at that point

[besnouted]

i think i’m gonna have to sell one of my creepyyeha collars and i’m very sad about it because it was customized with hardware she doesn’t use anymore :’(

[egginfroggin]

Crowned.

This was supposed to be significantly simpler, but then backgrounds and crowns happened.

Frankly, I rather like how it came out, excessive effort aside.

Anyway, I hope you all have a very good, blessed night. <3

(Program: Krita; time taken: about 2 hr 45 minutes)

[t-u-i-t-c]

you already know that's going on buffa at some point

[tonariofjananda]

Happy Birthday Mizuha!!! 4/6

(I’m a little late to the party sorry 💔)

[solxamber]

Jealousy, Jealousy with: Housewardens

Riddle Rosehearts

It was honestly impressive how oblivious some people could be.

You weren’t even doing anything particularly inviting—just standing in the courtyard, minding your own business—when someone you barely knew strolled up and started laying it on thick.

“Wow, you must be tired,” they grinned, leaning a little too close for comfort. “From running through my mind all day.”

You stared. Slowly blinked. “...I literally don’t know who you are.”

They laughed, undeterred. “Oh, a little mystery! I like that. We should get to know each other. How about a—”

Before they could finish, a very distinct presence materialized beside you, and suddenly, your hand was clasped in a vice grip.

You turned your head, already stifling a grin. Riddle stood stiffly at your side, his expression carefully neutral—too neutral—but his fingers tightened around yours with unmistakable possessiveness.

And then, in the most Riddle way possible, he opened his mouth and immediately started critiquing their uniform.

“Your tie is loose, your shirt is untucked, and your posture is abysmal,” he declared, gaze sharp. “It’s disgraceful. If you have time to loiter and bother people who are clearly uninterested, then you certainly have time to fix your appearance.”

The person, previously brimming with confidence, visibly withered. “I—wait, you’re—”

“Housewarden Rosehearts,” Riddle confirmed, tone clipped. “And if you ever plan to talk to my partner again, I strongly suggest you do so properly dressed.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—without another word—the person bolted, nearly tripping over themselves in their rush to escape.

The moment they were gone, you turned to Riddle, your amusement barely contained. “Riddle,” you said, voice dripping with mirth. “Were you jealous?”

He scoffed, tugging at his collar. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You raised a brow, glancing pointedly at the way his grip on your hand hadn’t loosened in the slightest. Then, you took in the very obvious, very intense red dusting his cheeks.

He refused to meet your eyes.

You laughed, delighted, and before he could protest further, you leaned in and kissed him, pressing a quick, affectionate peck to his still burning cheek.

Riddle went still.

“…You are jealous,” you whispered against his skin, just to tease.

“I am not,” he insisted, but his voice cracked ever so slightly, and that was enough to send you into another fit of laughter.

Still smiling, you tugged on his hand, leading him away. “Come on, let’s go do something fun before you start assigning uniform inspections as an act of vengeance.”

Riddle let out a heavy sigh, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he laced his fingers more firmly with yours, the corners of his lips twitching—just barely—before he let you drag him along.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was going to lose his mind.

Three days.

Three days of watching you run around with those two idiots and that furball, pouring over textbooks, muttering formulas under your breath, completely oblivious to the fact that he existed.

You were studying. Fine. He got it. But you were studying with them.

And not him.

The moment the door to Ramshackle creaked open, you knew.

It was a sixth sense at this point—an awareness of a certain presence, of a lazy kind of arrogance that filled the air like a storm cloud waiting to break.

And break it did.

Because before you could so much as blink, a heavy arm was slung around your shoulders, and your entire world tilted.

You let out a startled yelp as you were bodily dragged from the dorm, Ace and Deuce frozen mid-review session, Grim’s tail puffed up in sheer betrayal.

“Oi—!”

“Not oi,” Leona drawled, utterly unbothered by your flailing. “Mine.”

You spluttered. “Leona, I have to study!”

“You can study later,” he dismissed, hauling you across campus with a grip so firm you had no choice but to stumble along. “You’re overdue for a break."

“I don’t have time for a break—”

“You do” he interrupted smoothly, and that was that.

You huffed, glaring up at him. “This is kidnapping.”

“Tch. If I was kidnapping you, I wouldn’t be this obvious about it.”

That was… not reassuring.

By the time he finally dumped you onto his bed, you were half-expecting him to declare an official study ban, but instead, he settled in beside you, his arms casually looping around your waist, his body half-draped over yours like an oversized, incredibly smug blanket.

“Go on, then,” he murmured against your shoulder, voice low and easy. “Study.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Here?”

He hummed. “Why not? I got old notes. Bet they’re better than whatever those idiots are using.”

You blinked. “You actually have notes?”

Leona scoffed, reaching over to grab a notebook from his desk. “What, you think I just guessed my way through school?” He flipped it open and, to your absolute shock, the pages were filled with neatly written summaries, key points highlighted with the kind of precision that suggested he did actually pay attention. “See?”

“…I hate that this is actually useful.”

“Told you.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself sink into the warmth of him, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers tapped lazily against your side, like he knew you were starting to relax and was deliberately making it worse.

Still. If you had to study, this wasn’t… terrible.

You let your head rest against his shoulder, flipping through the notes. “Fine. But if I fall asleep, it’s your fault.”

Leona smirked, his breath warm against your skin. “Then I guess you’ll just have to take a nap right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but the next time you felt him shift, the unmistakable curve of his smile pressing into your neck, you didn’t even bother fighting it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto was a patient man.

A calculated man.

A businessman.

Which was the only reason he hadn’t already torn his hair out strand by agonized strand over the fact that you had been frequenting some other café for the past two weeks.

At first, he’d assumed it was a novelty thing. Maybe you had a moment of curiosity. Maybe they had some limited-time drink that you needed to try. Maybe you’d simply gotten lost—it happened more often than you liked to admit.

But no. You had kept going.

Loyal, devoted, regular patronage.

To a café that was not the Mostro Lounge.

Azul could not abide it.

So, instead of despairing in silence, he took action.

The next time you announced you were heading there, Azul smiled, adjusted his glasses, and accompanied you.

Because if there was something about this place that had captured your attention, then he would analyze it, perfect it, and eliminate the competition before they could even think about stealing away his most treasured customer.

(And partner. But semantics.)

At first, it seemed innocent enough. You gushed over some ridiculous limited-menu item with a starry-eyed enthusiasm that made him fond despite himself, but it was just cake. Cake was replaceable. Cake was replicable. Cake was nothing.

And then the owner came out.

Azul didn’t move, but his businessman’s smile settled into place with all the calculated precision of a predator fixing its gaze upon its prey.

The café owner, meanwhile, had their full attention on you.

And they were far too familiar.

Far too comfortable.

Far too eager.

Their eyes crinkled with warmth when they spoke to you, their laughter was just a touch too soft, and their entire demeanor—

Azul’s fingers twitched. He did not clench them into fists, because that would be petty, but—

He was going to destroy them.

With a pleasant, affable smile, of course.

By the time you finished your cake (which Azul had methodically analyzed with every bite), he had already formulated seventeen different ways to not only outdo this café, but to erase its relevance entirely.

He escorted you back to your room, silent for once, but his mind was racing.

And then, after a long pause, he asked, “Do you enjoy their presence?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“The owner.”

You stared at him, visibly baffled. “…I like their cake?”

Azul opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

And then, after a long, suffering pause, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, because of course you hadn’t noticed.

Because of course you had been utterly, entirely oblivious to the way they had been practically fawning over you.

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

So, in the end, he simply pulled you close and kissed you, long and lingering, with a kind of slow, consuming possessiveness that had you melting against him in pleased surprise.

He held you the entire night, unwilling to let go, much to your delighted confusion.

And if, a week later, the Mostro Lounge mysteriously unveiled a bigger, better, and undeniably tastier version of that limited-edition cake, effectively nullifying any reason for you to return to that café—

Well.

Azul had no comment.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim insisted on picking you up after class every day, no matter how many times you told him it wasn’t necessary. He always laughed, dismissing your protests with a wave of his hand, as if the very idea of not meeting you after class was ridiculous. “Why wouldn’t I? I like seeing you first thing after class! It makes my whole day better!” And, honestly, how could you argue with that?

So, as usual, you waited outside, looking for that familiar flash of red and gold. You didn’t mind—Kalim was always quick, always eager, and always a little over-the-top about it, greeting you with his usual sunbeam of a grin and a greeting so enthusiastic it was like he hadn’t just seen you that morning.

But today, before Kalim arrived, someone else approached.

At first, you thought it was just an overly friendly upperclassman looking to chat, but the way they leaned in, the way their eyes swept over you, made your skin crawl. Their words were dripping with false charm, their smile just a little too knowing, and the moment they took your hand, something in you snapped.

You were seconds away from yanking yourself free and letting them know exactly what you thought about their audacity—

And then, before you could react, a firm hand wrenched theirs away from you.

You turned, eyes widening in surprise, and saw Kalim standing beside you.

Only—this wasn’t the Kalim you were used to.

There was no bright, carefree smile, no cheerful energy. His expression was carefully blank, his eyes steady and serious in a way that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He wasn’t angry—no, you’d seen Kalim angry before, and this was something different. This was controlled, quiet disapproval as he stared the person down, his grip on their wrist unyielding.

“Don’t touch them.” His voice was even, but there was no room for argument.

The person sputtered something, an attempt at an excuse, but Kalim’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t shout, didn’t make a scene, didn’t need to. The sheer weight of his presence was enough, and after a tense pause, the person hurried off, clearly rattled.

And just like that, Kalim let out a breath and turned back to you, his usual grin slipping easily back into place, warm and reassuring. “Are you okay?”

You blinked.

Your heart was pounding. Not from fear—not even from lingering discomfort—but from something else entirely.

Because, apparently, Kalim without his smile was unfairly, ridiculously attractive.

You managed to nod, clearing your throat, forcing yourself to breathe as he took your hand—gently, reverently, the complete opposite of the unwanted touch from before. He squeezed it lightly, beaming at you as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Later that night, as the two of you lounged together, he confessed, a little sheepishly, “I hated seeing them touch you.” His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if just remembering it made his stomach twist.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, leaning in to kiss him. He hummed against your lips, pleased, the jealousy from earlier completely forgotten.

And if, after that, Kalim insisted on being even quicker to meet you after class, practically appearing the second you stepped outside—well, who were you to complain?

Vil Schoenheit

You had been meticulous in your planning. A surprise party to celebrate Vil’s latest movie role—because, really, any excuse to throw a party for him was a good one. You coordinated with Rook (a double-edged sword, given his enthusiasm), found the perfect venue, picked out a cake that was as extravagant as he was, and carefully avoided any suspicion.

Or at least, you thought you had.

Vil, on the other hand, was about five minutes away from losing the last thread of his sanity.

You had been avoiding him. Not in the obvious, dramatic way—but in the subtle, infuriating way that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. Shorter conversations, quick kisses before running off, whispering in dim hallways with Rook, of all people.

Rook, who delighted in keeping secrets and spoke in riddles even when he wasn’t actively trying to be cryptic. Every time Vil so much as entered the room, your conversations stopped, and all he got was your innocent, suspiciously wide-eyed smile.

It was unacceptable.

But Vil was not jealous. Of course not. He was above something so irrational. Why should he feel threatened? The very idea of it was absurd. He was merely… curious. Concerned. Watching you sneak around with Rook had been horrible for his blood pressure, but jealous? Certainly not.

(And if his skincare routine had gotten even more rigorous to account for stress-induced breakouts, that was purely coincidental.)

So when you finally waltzed into his room, all bright-eyed and smiling, telling him to get dressed, his patience—what little remained—snapped.

In one smooth motion, he had you caged in against his vanity.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Uh. Hi?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You have been distracted lately.”

“Uh.” Your bluffing instincts kicked in, but it was useless. Vil’s gaze was sharp, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t look angry, exactly—he looked… hurt.

And, well. That was enough to shatter your resolve immediately.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!” You blurted, hands flying up in surrender. “We planned a surprise party for your movie premiere, and I didn’t want to ruin it! That’s why I’ve been sneaking around!”

Silence.

And then—

Vil laughed.

Not a quiet chuckle. Not a delicate, amused exhale. No, he laughed so hard that he had to lean on you for support, his entire body shaking with it.

And just like that, the tension was gone. He exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before straightening. “Next time,” he said, smoothing his hands over your shoulders, “just tell me.”

You sighed, half-exasperated, half-fond. “That ruins the surprise.”

“Surprises are overrated,” he declared. “Now, come. You planned this party, and I refuse to let you attend it looking anything less than perfect.”

Before you could protest, he had already grabbed your wrist, dragging you toward his closet.

And honestly? After all that turmoil, matching outfits was the least he deserved.

Idia Shroud

Idia had been off all evening.

Not in the usual, grumbly, "the outside world is a waking nightmare" kind of way. No, this was different. This was pointed.

He was pouting.

You had first noticed it when he refused to meet your gaze, keeping his head turned at an almost comical angle whenever you tried to look at him. Even when you sat next to him, close enough that your shoulders brushed, he still wouldn’t acknowledge you.

At first, you thought he was just having an introvert moment. But then you noticed his fingers—tapping on his controller in short, stilted bursts, his usual fluid movements replaced with something far more sulky.

Something was wrong. And worse, he was refusing to tell you.

So, naturally, you did what any reasonable person would do.

You grabbed his face.

“??!!??!” Idia made an undignified noise as your hands squished his cheeks, forcing him to finally look at you. His wide eyes darted around frantically, looking for an escape, but you just leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did.”

For a second, he wavered. You could see it—the way his hands twitched, his lips pressed together in a battle between staying mad and melting like he always did when you held him like this.

But then—betrayal. Pure, unfiltered betrayal flashed in his eyes.

“If you don’t even realize your crimes,” he huffed, “then you don’t deserve to be told.”

…Huh.

You blinked at him, torn between concern and immense amusement. His cheeks were puffed up in an actual pout, his shoulders slightly hunched like an offended cat. His hair even flickered with a dramatic little sizzle, the blue flames crackling indignantly.

So, you did what any responsible partner would do in this situation.

You kissed his cheek.

He made another noise—this one more flustered than betrayed—but at least he wasn’t turning away anymore.

“Idiaaaa,” you coaxed, voice lilting as you gently rubbed soothing circles against his jaw. “Come on. Tell me.”

He hesitated.

Then, in a grievously wounded tone, he finally muttered:

“You did your dailies… without me. Who did you do them with?”

You stared at him.

“…That’s it?”

He gasped, looking even more betrayed. “That’s it?!”

Okay. Maybe not the best response.

“I just—” You tried to stifle your laugh, but failed miserably. “I didn’t know it was that serious—”

“IT IS,” he declared. “We have an unspoken promise! Every night! We do our dailies! We do our pulls! We suffer together in the gacha mines!” He gestured wildly, his voice spiking in distress. “And today—today, you—you—” His voice wobbled. “You betrayed me.”

You clutched your chest in mock horror. “I have committed the greatest of sins.”

“You HAVE.”

You bit your lip, barely holding back another laugh, but then—then you saw his face. The dramatic pout, the still-flickering flames, the way his fingers fidgeted against his sleeve.

And suddenly, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about the dailies. This was his time with you. The one moment of the day where it was just the two of you, side by side, relaxed and rambling about nonsense while farming loot drops.

And you had accidentally robbed him of it.

Your amusement softened into something warmer. You pulled him closer, letting your fingers trail through his hair as you pressed another kiss to his cheek—longer this time.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, resting your chin against his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much it meant to you. I did them alone, by the way.”

He mumbled something under his breath, still sulking, but at least he wasn’t pulling away.

“I promise I’ll wait for you every day from now on,” you continued, letting your fingers trace comforting patterns into his back. “Okay?”

“…Tch,” he muttered. Then, after a long pause, he finally slumped against you, his entire weight pressing into your chest.

You grinned. Victory.

“…You are watching the Premo concert reruns with me as compensation, though,” he grumbled, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Fine, fine.”

And that was how you ended up in Idia’s room for hours, marathoning concerts.

And if you showed up to class the next day completely wrecked from lack of sleep?

It was fine.

As long as Idia was happy.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia is above petty emotions.

He is the Prince of Briar Valley, an ancient being of immense power, the strongest fae in existence—he does not succumb to something as trivial as jealousy.

…That is what he tells himself as he watches you, once again, being hopelessly kind to people who clearly do not deserve it.

He watches as you nod along to Crowley’s latest absurd request, despite the fact that everyone knows that the headmaster is little more than a well-dressed menace with a penchant for delegating all responsibility to you.

He watches as some random student—a student who has never once acknowledged your existence before—approaches you with a bright, eager smile, undoubtedly about to ask you for yet another favor.

And he feels a peculiar, simmering sensation coil in his chest.

Malleus is not petty. He does not get jealous.

But he does dislike seeing you taken advantage of.

So, before this interloper can even get a word out, Malleus simply appears by your side, materializing in that eerie, seamless way that only he can. His presence alone is enough to make the student stumble back in terror, but then—just to be certain—he reaches out and takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours with casual ease.

The effect is instantaneous.

The student goes pale. Their entire body stiffens, eyes darting between you and Malleus as if calculating whether their life is worth whatever ridiculous request they were about to make. The answer, apparently, is no, because they immediately spin on their heel and flee.

Malleus watches them go, his expression carefully neutral.

He usually dislikes the way people fear him. But today?

…Today, he finds himself rather pleased.

Satisfied, he turns back to you, fully expecting you to be grateful for his intervention. Perhaps a soft smile, a quiet "thank you," maybe even a fond squeeze of his hand—

Instead, he is met with your grin.

That knowing, teasing grin.

The one that says you know exactly what he just did. The one that says you know he is not as above jealousy as he claims to be. The one that says, without words, oh, so you’re feeling possessive today?

Malleus pointedly ignores it.

“Come,” he says smoothly, giving your hand the lightest tug. “Let us go somewhere… peaceful.”

You let him pull you along, but not without looping your arm around his and leaning into him with unmistakable amusement.

Malleus pretends he does not notice.

Masterlist

[mariasont]

One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of—"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him—like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere—no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just—just—slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's—what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then—oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back, and—oh.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his—

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I—I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[lipglossanon]

Pound Puppy

Leon S. Kennedy x puppy!reader

A little more savory tier commission from anon 💜

word count: 2340

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, hybrid au, hybrid reader, bestie Claire making an appearance, praise kink, oral (m receiving), shower sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, piss kink, marking

proofread

Leon walks by the same alley on his way home. Unfortunately for him, the parking for his neighborhood is a complete crap shoot, so he always ends up parking at the end of the street to walk to his house. It’s a pain in his ass, but until work cuts down on his hours, he’s stuck with it.

He doesn’t see you every time he passes the alleyway, but, now and again, he’ll catch sight of you hunkered down, tinkering with something in your hands. You're a hybrid, practically a pup from what he can tell. You don’t seem to have a collar or an owner. Dirt smudges your face and hands, and your clothes look worn and ratty. Leon feels a bit bad leaving you out there, but you always run off when you notice him at the lip of the alley. 

He mentions all of this offhandedly on the phone one afternoon with Claire, who throws a complete fit. She takes the time to drive over that weekend and spends hours coaxing you out of that dingy and dirty alleyway. Your hesitant, which Leon can understand; he and Claire are total strangers. 

Claire brings you into his house, and to his surprise, with the intention to keep you at his place. 

“She’d probably be more comfortable with you,” he hisses to the red-haired woman once you’re out of earshot. “And besides, you’re the one who talked her out of that place.”

“Yes, I did, Leon,” Claire rolls her eyes at him. “But this neighborhood is familiar to her. I’m not going to force her to leave the only place she can kind of call home. Suck it up.”

Leon throws his hands up and leaves Claire to help get you settled after giving you a bath and clean clothes. Before leaving, Leon’s supposed friend gives him a quick rundown of the information she was able to glean. 

She ticks off each point by throwing up a finger. “She’s in her 20s. She’s afraid of water. She has no family. And her last owner dumped her as soon as she quit being a cutesy puppy.”

He frowns at that last bit, but Claire pushes on giving him your name and how long you’ve been a stray. 

“So, just be nice and keep a routine until she adapts. Call me if you need me!”

And with that, Leon watches her leave out of his front door and climb onto her Harley Davidson. After slipping on her helmet, Claire gives him a little wave while he sees her off from his front porch. He tosses up a lazy two-finger salute, and she revs her bike, then peels off down his street. 

Sighing, he walks back into his house. Looking up, Leon sees you hovering in the living room, biting your nails nervously. You fidget in place, toes curled into the rug while you tug on an old shirt of his, the hem fraying. 

Leon gestures to the couch. “You’re welcome to watch the TV. Uh, the cable should be set up.”

You cock your head, soft ears flopping with the movement. “I can sit on the couch? At my old place, I wasn’t allowed on the furniture.”

Leon’s lips twitch, but he keeps his face neutral. “Yeah, I don’t mind what you do as long as you don’t make a mess of the place. Just be courteous and clean up after yourself.”

Nodding, your tail wags slowly. “Okay, thanks, Mister.”

“Leon,” he scratches a hand through his hair, a sigh leaving him. “Just call me Leon.”

You nod, a small smile crossing your face. “Alright. Thanks, Leon.”

He keeps you at arms length, but you’re slowly starting to grow on him. Being greeted at the door when he gets home is nice. He’s forgotten what it’s like to have someone around—another presence taking up space in his home. It’s not stifling like he thought it would be; you’re sweet, and Leon’s realizing he needs sweetness in his life.

From that weird afternoon of you moving in all the way until now, Leon has lived with you for a couple of months. He’s noticed you’re more cuddly and have even taken to sneaking into his room to sleep with him. You’ve wormed your way into his life, and he’s all the happier for it.

He bathes you every night, helping you stay calm and cool while he washes your ears and tail. At first, it was all very clinical and quick, but now he lets you relax and take your time. It’s helped tremendously with your fear of the water. However, it’s also led to a dilemma. 

There’s no denying; you’re a very pretty pup. Leon tries his best, but he can’t help but sneak glances at your naked tits and cute pussy. He’s able to keep it under wraps, wearing jeans to help hide any stiffness he may develop. His plan works for a while—until he ends up staying late one night. 

You greet him at the door like usual, tail wagging and ears perked up. He kicks off his shoes and ruffles your ears. 

“Bath time?” You smile, tugging on his sleeve.

Leon glances at his watch. “Shit. Yeah, sorry work ran long, sweetheart. We’ll get you your bath so you can go to bed.”

You clasp your hands around his bicep, nuzzling into his arm while he guides you over to the bathroom. Once inside, you stay glued to him, watching with wide eyes as the tub fills up with water. As soon as it’s ready, Leon turns to let you undress and climb over the lip. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over the towel hook on the door.

He moves back over to you naked and wet in the tub. Too little, too late. Leon remembers that he’s just wearing slacks and not his usual jeans. Cock thickening, he quickly kneels on the mat next to the tub, keeping his waist out of your line of sight. You smile at him, titling your head so he can help scrub your ears.

Leon listens as you tell him about your day, asking questions about his—your voice soothing and soft. You dip your head back to rinse off the soap, and as you raise back up, he watches the suds trickle down your neck across the swell of your breasts. Shaking your head, you sling water from your hair and ears, giggling when Leon calls out a lighthearted hey.

Reaching in, he splashes you, making you giggle harder, splashing him back. You smack the water harder than intended, and a deluge covers Leon, soaking his shirt and pants. 

“Oh no! I’m sorry,” you raise up onto your knees, peering over the side of the tub to see how much of a mess you made. 

“It’s okay,” Leon blinks water from his eyes, then freezes in place when he feels a warm hand pet across his bulge. 

Wiping a hand across his face, his blue eyes warily take in your expression, but what he finds is nothing but interest. You rub his cock through his slacks, and he throbs, making you giggle—tail wagging happily. 

“I just thought my nose was getting mixed up,” you murmur, eyes dropping down to his bulge. “You always smelled turned on.”

He groans when you squeeze him gently. 

Biting your lip, you whisper, “It always got me really wet.”

“What a naughty little puppy,” he murmurs, reaching forward to grope your wet tits. Whining, you arch your back, pressing your breasts more firmly into his palms. 

He massages the soft peaks, fingers digging into your breasts and squeezing. Dragging his fingertips around your areola, he pinches your nipples until you whimper, thighs rubbing together underneath the water. Letting go of your tits, he leans forward to pull the stopper on the bath. 

Pouting, you gaze at him as he stands up. “Is it time to get out?”

“No, we’re gonna take a shower together, sweetheart,” he murmurs, flicking on the water before undressing and stepping into the tub. 

The cool spray hits his back, making him shiver. His hard cock bobs in front of your face, and you lean forward to lick across the tip. Groaning, Leon’s hips buck forward, cockhead grazing your cheek and smearing precum across your skin. 

“Pup—“

His sentence cuts off with a moan when you open your mouth and begin lathing your tongue across his dick. 

“Taste so good,” you pant, tail a blur behind you, ears relaxed against your head. “Can I lick you whenever I want?”

“Fuck,” Leon rubs your soft ears. “Yeah, pup, you can lick my cock as much as you want.”

Humming, you let your tongue lap at his tip before nosing your way down to his balls. He tips his head back, water wetting his hair as your hot little mouth sucks and kisses his squishy sac. You smear your own spit across your face, tongue bathing his balls in your drool. 

“Come on, sweetheart, suck my dick,” Leon coos, grabbing the back of your head to guide your mouth back up to his leaking cock.

��Mmm hmm,” you sigh, eyes half lidded, while Leon feeds his cock past your lips. 

“God, such a good girl,” he groans, and you whine around his thick length. “Yeah, you are. Such a good puppy for me.”

He rocks his hips against your face, forcing his tip to kiss the back of your throat. Spit bubbles and spills from around your lips as he keeps his cock in your mouth. Every time you swallow around him, his dick twitches and throbs on your tongue, precum leaking down your throat. 

Leon grunts and presses closer, pushing his dick a little deeper; it makes you gag hard, and he pulls out—thick, slimy spit hanging from his cock in strings. His abs and hips flex, arousal burning hot in his blood. 

“Look at you, so gorgeous,” he praises, and your eyes flutter. “My good puppy.”

Moaning, you sink your mouth back down on his cock, choking when you press too far but not stopping in the slightest. He pulls his dick from your swollen lips, then bends forward to slip his hands underneath your armpits to pull you up on your feet.

“Let me feel this sexy pussy,” he rumbles, lips brushing across your fuzzy ear. 

Whining, you cant your hips toward him. “Please, Leon. Play with my pussy.”

Both of you let out sounds of pleasure when his fingers part your slick folds, digits pressing teasingly at your hole.

“Such a wet puppy pussy,” he coos, dropping a kiss at the corner of your lips. “Does she need a cock stuffing her cute hole?”

“Please, oh please,” you mewl, tail bumping against the tiled wall. “Wanna feel full.”

He hikes one of your legs around his hip before gripping his cock and notching it at your clenching heat. Pressing the tip inside, he uses both hands to grab the fat of your ass to pull you onto his cock as he sinks deeper into your cunt. 

“So tight, fuck,” he groans, pelvis flush against your own. “God, gonna make me nut so fast, sweetheart.”

“Leon,” you moan loudly, nails clawing up his back and making his cock pulse inside your snug pussy. 

Leon blames his recent celibacy for his quick trigger response to having your soft wet pussy clamping down on his dick. You don’t seem to be much better off, pussy walls rippling and squeezing around his cock while you moan and pant against his chest. He moves a hand between your bodies, fingers circling your swollen clit. 

“So slippery and soft, baby,” he growls. “Cum for me so I can cream your sweet little pussy.”

“I’m so close,” you drool, hips humping your cunt down onto his cock. “G’nna cum, Leon. You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Good girl. I want you to cum. Want you to squeeze my cock with that fat puppy pussy,” he groans, fingers strumming across your clit faster and faster. 

You sink your sharp teeth into his shoulder and scream, body twitching and shuddering as your orgasm hits you hard and fast. Leon can’t stop himself, fucking you through your aftershocks to chase his own climax. He buries his cock to the hilt in your hole, spilling hot and thick inside your cunt. You moan, pussy milking him for every drop of cum in his balls. 

After you both catch your breath, Leon slides his cock from your tight hole with a sigh. He then helps ease your leg back onto the ground. Rubbing your arms, he leans forward and kisses your forehead, making you preen. Letting another few seconds pass in comfortable silence, Leon drops his arms to his side. 

“Gotta piss,” he mutters, moving to get out. 

Your fingers latch onto his arm, big eyes pleading up at him. 

“Mark me up,” you nuzzle against his neck. “Mark your territory.”

Leons half-hard cock twitches in interest but stays soft. “Baby…”

“Please,” you bat your eyes, and he’s quickly nodding in agreement. 

There’s no sense denying it to himself— he thinks it’s hot as hell you want him to piss on you. Too bad his refractory period isn’t immediate. He grips his cock, and you kneel down in front of him. A few drops of urine leak from his tip. You whine, and Leon relaxes into it, hot piss steadily streaming onto your neck and tits. His eyes watch it coat your skin, a possessive satisfaction settling in his chest. 

Shifting his feet, he uses his grip to aim his cock at your face, piss hitting your lips and chin. You drop your mouth open with a moan. 

“Fuck, such a good fucking puppy for me,” he grunts, directing the stream of urine onto your tongue. 

You keep your mouth open, swallowing Leon’s piss until it slows down to a trickle before tapering off completely. Humming, you look up at his with glassy eyes. 

“Thank you, Leon.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

[claramelooo]

Hey, my lovers! How are you guys? I hope you're good! As for me... I'm in my fertile period and that's why the chapters are so naughty and I won't say sorry for that!

Enjoy and hold your little hands for yourselves Lmao <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: +18, NSFW, ANGST, DEEP JEALOUSY

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader x Tough Natasha (don't get too excited about it)

Summary: You decide to take revenge on Wanda out of jealousy, you just didn't expect her to have the same plan as you.

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb | Part 6 - Pure Crimson | Part 7 - Dependece | Part 8 - Passion

VELVET CHAINS

Revenge

Wanda’s Sunday started early. The clock barely struck six in the morning, yet she was already up, moving through the house with the precision of a well-rehearsed orchestra. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen as she prepared toast for the twins, mentally checking off the day’s obligations. Sunday service was the week’s main event, and Wanda took her image—and that of the Maximoff family—very seriously.

Getting the boys ready was the first step. Tommy and Billy, still groggy, took turns complaining while Wanda, with unyielding patience, adjusted their shirts and straightened their ties. She made sure they looked impeccable: starched shirts, shining shoes. After all, they were the sons of the woman who led the choir. They had a reputation to uphold.

“Billy, stop messing with your collar. It’ll end up crooked,” she warned, raising a pointed finger at her son, who rolled his eyes but complied.

Vision was next. He entered the room with a restrained yawn, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. Wanda was already prepared, holding two tie options. One was dark gray, sober and classic; the other, navy blue with small geometric details that conveyed seriousness without being overly rigid.

“This one.” She handed him the navy tie with firm decisiveness, her gaze assessing every detail as though deciding the fate of a delicate negotiation. “Serious but approachable. You know how people notice everything.”

Vision accepted without question, smiling at her with a hint of admiration. He knew Wanda had a special talent for these things, for controlling the atmosphere and ensuring everything was perfect.

But Wanda had her own preparations. Choosing her outfit was a different ritual, something more intimate, imbued with a kind of excitement she wouldn’t dare admit, even to herself. The Sunday dress had to convey purity, elegance, and a touch of authority. She settled on a navy-blue dress with lace accents, paired with discreet heels and pearl bracelets.

However, when she entered the bedroom to retrieve her outfit, she couldn’t help but smile at what she had laid out for you.

On the bed, your clothes were folded to perfection: a simple yet elegant dress fitting the occasion’s style. Beside them, meticulously arranged, were your undergarments. And placed dead center, almost like a calculated provocation, was a discreet, silent vibrator, still encased in its translucent silicone packaging.

Wanda stood still for a moment, her eyes fixed on the object. It was intentional, of course. Everything she did always was. The vibrator wasn’t just a provocation; it was a message.

“Remember who you belong to,” it screamed without words.

You entered the room seconds later, the sound of the door announcing your arrival. Your eyes fell on the bed and then on the vibrator. Your face flushed instantly, which only made Wanda’s smile widen, subtle but laden with intent.

“I thought you might need a little... encouragement,” Wanda remarked casually, adjusting the pearl necklace around her neck as though she were commenting on the weather.

“Wanda... this is...” you began, but the words failed you.

“It’s appropriate, darling,” she interrupted, stepping closer to you. “Because even when we’re in the sanctuary, even when we’re surrounded by hymns and prayers... you shouldn’t forget who you belong to.”

Wanda reached out, holding your chin gently but firmly enough for you to feel her control.

“Now, go get dressed. I want you ready in fifteen minutes,” she instructed, her voice a low, authoritative whisper.

As you left the room, your face burning, Wanda turned back to the mirror, adjusting her necklace once more. Her expression was serene, but a shadow of dark satisfaction danced within her. There was something deeply gratifying in knowing that, even among prayers and sermons, your mind would never stray far from her.

The living room was impeccably tidy, a direct reflection of Wanda’s meticulous nature. Vision stood near the door, making final adjustments to the tie she had chosen. Tommy and Billy, seated on the couch, chattered about something only they found hilariously funny, filling the space with a lightheartedness that seemed to contrast with the growing tension Wanda felt.

She had her back to the stairs when she heard the soft sound of your footsteps descending, and immediately, something inside her stirred. Turning, she raised her eyes toward you — and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

You looked stunning, as always, but there was something more in that moment. Wanda knew exactly what was hidden between your legs, knew the sensation you carried with every hesitant step, and, more than anything, she knew it was because of her. Her gaze slid almost imperceptibly over your body, lingering for just a fraction of a second longer than it should have on your legs before meeting your flushed face.

There was hunger in her eyes. A hunger she suppressed instantly, lifting her chin with the elegance that was almost her trademark. But the flame in Wanda’s eyes didn’t lie — and you felt it hit you like a blow.

“Wow, you look amazing!” Tommy exclaimed, jumping up from the couch to get a better look at you. “If you don’t get a boyfriend at church today, I’m giving up on humanity.”

“Tommy!” Billy rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his laughter. “She doesn’t need a boyfriend. Women can be happy without men these days.”

You smiled, the blush on your cheeks deepening. “Thank you, boys. But I think I already have enough to worry about without having to think about... boyfriends.”

Vision’s soft laugh filled the room. “It’s good to stay focused, Y/n. Yale isn’t going to accept anything less than your best self.”

But Wanda didn’t laugh. She kept watching you, her dark, unwavering gaze fixed as she crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly, as if assessing every word you said and every movement the boys made.

“She’s right,” Wanda finally said, her voice calm but carrying a sharp note that drew everyone’s attention to her. “Boyfriends are distractions. Especially for someone with goals as important as Y/n’s.”

Her comment seemed to end the conversation, with Tommy and Billy suddenly shifting their focus to their shoes or their phones. But you felt the weight of Wanda’s stare, locked on you, as if daring you to entertain even the thought of shifting your focus away from her.

The tension was palpable. You knew the boys’ comments had irritated her. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, something more possessive. Wanda hated the thought of you imagining yourself belonging to anyone else.

When Vision finally declared it was time to leave, Wanda moved with her usual elegance, but as she passed you, her hand subtly grazed your arm, her delicate nail lightly scratching your skin.

“You look beautiful, bunny,” she murmured so quietly that only you could hear.

Your heart raced as you followed the group out of the house, hyper-aware of every step, every sensation, and especially Wanda’s gaze burning into your back.

The church was steeped in reverent silence, the kind of heavy stillness that amplified every little sound. The pastor spoke with a firm yet calm voice, his words captivating the congregation. Occasional murmurs of agreement and the rustling of Bible pages were the only sounds accompanying his sermon on righteousness and devotion.

You sat next to Wanda, trying to maintain the impeccable posture she always demanded in moments like these. Your hands rested in your lap, fingers tightly interlaced in a futile attempt to mask the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface. You were already uncomfortable—not just from the rising heat within you but from the constant awareness of what you carried between your legs.

And then, it happened.

The almost imperceptible hum of the vibrator roared in your ears, deafening despite your certainty that no one else in the church could hear it. The sensation was immediate, a wave of heat radiating from your core, spreading through your body and raising goosebumps on every inch of your skin.

You swallowed hard, eyes wide, but kept your gaze fixed on the pulpit, as though the sheer effort of appearing unaffected might save you. But your body was betraying you. A faint tremor ran through your legs, so subtle that only Wanda, sitting beside you, could notice.

She noticed.

Her fingers slid slowly across the wooden pew until they barely brushed against your hand. The touch was gentle, almost casual, but the deliberate pressure made your heart pound even harder. She knew.

You shifted slightly on the bench, searching for a position that might ease the intensity of the stimulation, but it only made things worse. The vibrator pressed against your most sensitive spot, and every movement amplified the pulsing vibrations. Your entire body felt ablaze.

“Shh…” Wanda whispered, so low that only you could hear. The tip of her fingers traced a slow, calming circle over the back of your hand—a gesture that, to others, appeared comforting, but to you, was an inescapable reminder of her control.

You were sweating now. Fine beads formed along your hairline, trailing down the back of your neck as you struggled to breathe deeply and steadily, but every vibration seemed to steal the air from your lungs.

Your knee trembled, and you pressed it against the pew to disguise it, but Wanda noticed. Always perceptive, she leaned in slightly, just enough to whisper once more: “Be a good girl for me, bunny.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to beg her to stop, to give you a moment of relief, but her calm gaze, fixed on the pastor, said it all. She had no intention of stopping. Not now.

Every second seemed to drag. The sermon, which you usually barely paid attention to, now felt interminable. Your body was so tense that your thighs ached from trying to contain the spasms. Shame burned on your face, but you couldn’t—dared not—make a single move that might give away what was happening.

When the pastor asked everyone to stand for prayer, your heart stopped for a moment. You could barely manage to get to your feet, your legs trembling as Wanda, with an almost imperceptible smile, took your hand and helped you up.

“Good girl,” she murmured again, and the vibrator finally stopped.

The relief was as intense as the torment, but you knew Wanda had won once more.

Wanda watched everything with a calm that was unsettling, almost impenetrable to anyone observing from the outside. While the pastor spoke about redemption and morality, her attention wasn’t on the sermon but on you—every small tremor, every ragged breath, every bead of sweat trailing down the side of your face. It was a sight that fascinated her in a dark, almost intoxicating way.

She was in control, and the control filled her with a shadowy pleasure that rivaled anything else she could feel. It wasn’t just the power to activate the vibrator pulsing between your legs or to dictate your submission in such a sacred and public space. It was the cruel satisfaction of watching you wrestle with yourself, seeing your body surrender while your mind begged for relief, for an end to the torment.

When your knee trembled, Wanda noticed before you even tried to hide it. A cold smile threatened to touch her lips, but she restrained it, maintaining the flawless mask of a devout wife and respectable mother. Even so, her eyes betrayed something deeper—a latent hunger, a predatory gleam that intensified with every sign of your suffering.

She adored the contrast.

You, so young, so vibrant, trying to be strong while slowly unraveling beside her. With every nervous adjustment you made on the pew, every breath you held in a futile attempt to conceal your vulnerability, Wanda felt a dark warmth grow in her chest. It was a dangerous mix of possession and cruelty, something she would never admit to anyone—not even herself.

But she knew.

The control she wielded over you was a secret shared only between the two of you, a bond she had forged and now held tightly. The mere fact that you couldn’t react, couldn’t scream or beg in that environment, made the experience all the more delightful for her. It was as if every one of your sighs, every drop of sweat, was a silent offering to the power she held over you.

When she whispered “Good girl” while helping you stand, Wanda couldn’t hide the malicious satisfaction that coursed through her. Seeing you on your feet, trembling, struggling against the weight of your own desire while everyone around remained blissfully unaware, was the confirmation of her victory.

She turned her gaze back to the pulpit, maintaining the serene façade, but inside, a dark and hungry part of her roared with pleasure. Knowing you had endured all of it for her, that your body responded so perfectly to her provocations, filled Wanda with an almost cruel satisfaction.

“You look beautiful like this,” she thought, catching a glimpse of the sheen of sweat on your forehead and the subtle tremor in your legs. “Beautiful in your fragility. Beautiful when you know you belong to me.”

When the sermon ended, Wanda held your hand firmly as they walked out of the church. To anyone watching, she was the picture of kindness and compassion—but inside, the dark pleasure still burned like an inextinguishable flame.

[...]

The midday heat made the glare from the pool water almost blinding, but nothing was more intense than the uncomfortable burning sensation in your chest. You were sitting in the shade with a glass of lemonade in your hands, but your attention was entirely on Wanda.

She was on the other side of the yard, next to Vision. Her laugh was light, almost musical, as she made a comment that drew laughter from Agnes and the other neighbors around her. Wanda seemed perfectly comfortable in her role as a devoted wife, the ideal woman: attentive, affectionate and… affectionate.

So affectionate that her fingers ran down Vision's arm in a way that made you squeeze the glass in your hands hard enough that the plastic rim threatened to crack.

You tried to look away, tried to focus on the blue sky or the unimportant conversations around you, but your eyes always returned to Wanda. She had a magnetic presence, as if the whole universe was conspiring so that you couldn't ignore her.

And then came the worst.

Vision leaned over Wanda, and she returned the gesture, smiling as she caressed his face with a delicacy you knew all too well. He said something low, inaudible, and Wanda let out a soft laugh before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his lips.

You clutched the glass in your hands. The anger and jealousy bubbling up in your stomach. Thoughts so bad and irrational running like a loop in your mind, you just wished you could disappear.

Agnes was a woman of Wanda's age, she seemed just as admirable. Both important women in the neighborhood and married to their respective husbands.

Agnes was the kind of woman who exuded charisma effortlessly. Her words were always carefully chosen, her laughter always at the right moment. She had an almost hypnotic charm, like Wanda, but in a different way - less subtle, more direct. You couldn't tell for sure what it was, but there was something about her that didn't seem to fit perfectly with the image of exemplary wife and neighbor that she projected.

She was standing by the pool, holding a glass of white wine, her lips painted an impeccable red that contrasted with the pearly shade of her teeth. Her dark eyes were expressive and shone with an energy that seemed to hide a secret or two. From time to time, she cast curious glances at you, but not in an uncomfortable way - at least, not at first.

As you watched Wanda and Vision once again exchanging falsely affectionate endearments, you noticed Agnes tilting her head, as if studying your reaction. When your eyes met, she smiled. It was a small, almost enigmatic smile, as if she could see something you didn't want to show.

“You look… thoughtful,” she commented, approaching with elegant steps. Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of something else - an insinuating tone that made your skin shiver slightly.

“Oh, I'm just tired,” you replied, forcing a smile as you tried to control the emotions boiling up inside you.

Agnes didn't look convinced. She sipped her wine, keeping her eyes fixed on you. “Tired of what? The party or… something else?”

The question made your throat tighten. You looked at her, trying to decipher the expression on her face. There was something about her that seemed to understand more than she should. Before you could answer, Wanda's voice cut through the air, clear and controlled as ever.

“Agnes, why don't you come and help Vision put more ice in his drinks? He insists on doing it anyway,” she said, laughing softly.

Agnes's smile widened, but she didn't seem in the slightest hurry to obey the invitation. “Of course, Wanda,” she replied, but not before casting one last glance at you, full of something that seemed both curious and… amused?

When she finally pulled away, you let out the breath you hadn't even realized you were holding.

But the discomfort only grew.

Wanda's jealousy was suffocating, but now it was mixed with a growing irritation towards Agnes. There was something about the way she spoke, as if she was always analyzing everything, dissecting the dynamics around her. And you hated to think that maybe she could see what you were trying to hide.

As Wanda continued to play her role as the perfect wife, a laugh echoing here and there, Agnes rejoined the group, now at Wanda's side. They seemed to be chatting animatedly, and suddenly, you noticed something that made you uneasy: the way Agnes' eyes slipped to Wanda when she thought no one was looking.

It was subtle, but you saw it.

Your heart squeezed, jealousy intensifying in waves. Vision wasn't enough. Now Agnes? What was so irresistible about Wanda that everyone around her seemed to want something more? And then, as if sensing your gaze, Wanda turned her head towards you again. This time, there was no disguise.

She held your gaze for a moment too long, her lips curving into a smile that seemed to be just for you. A smile that reminded you exactly who was in control.

You wanted to run. Run and cry like a baby. For a moment you even thought it would be better if you'd never left that stupid fucking convent. You looked up at the sky to try and stop the tears from falling.

No. You wouldn't cry.

You clenched your fists, feeling your nails dig into the palms of your hands. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Wanda had the power to dismantle you with a single glance, while she stood there, laughing and exchanging fake caresses with Vision, allowing Agnes or anyone else to approach her as if they were worthy of it.

What hurt most was not just the jealousy, but the frustration of knowing that, however much you wanted her, she would never be completely yours.

She had a life, an image to preserve. Vision was the exemplary husband. Agnes was the nosy but harmless friend. You? You were just a secret. A sin that she whispered to herself at night and pretended not to carry with her in the morning.

You took a deep breath, but the knot in your throat only seemed to tighten. Everything around you seemed to mock you. The sound of laughter, the clinking of wine glasses, the lively conversation that didn't include you. You needed to get out of there. Now.

Without saying a word, without looking at anyone, you placed the empty glass on the nearest table and walked quickly out of the yard. Every step felt heavy, as if the weight of your heart was anchored to your feet.

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, breathed in the fresh night air, but it didn't bring you the relief you were hoping for. Why did you subject yourself to this? Why did you still insist on getting hurt by someone who could never be yours?

Your cell phone vibrated in your pocket, and when you pulled it out, Yelena's name flashed on the screen. She had sent you a message earlier, asking if you were available to talk.

Yelena. Of course, she'd be there. She always was.

You started walking, without looking back, without even considering going back. Your mind was already made up. It didn't matter what Wanda thought or said afterwards. She was good at making you feel special, but she was also good at forgetting you when she didn't need you.

The walk to Yelena's house was quick, but it seemed to last forever. You thought of everything you wanted to say to her, but the words seemed blurred, lost amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

When you finally arrived and knocked on the door, it opened almost immediately. Yelena was barefoot, with messy hair and a surprised expression that was soon replaced by concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked, without even waiting for you to explain. You tried to answer, but your voice failed you.

The lump in your throat that you'd been holding in since the party finally loosened, and the tears began to flow. Without hesitation, Yelena pulled you in and wrapped you in a strong hug, which you hadn't even known you needed until that moment.

“Shh, it's okay. Tell me what happened,” she said, her voice low and reassuring.

But how could you explain? How could you tell her about the insane jealousy, the obsession, the forbidden love for Wanda? Yelena was your refuge, but would she be able to understand? Or worse, would she try to convince you to give up, to move on, when all you wanted was to sink even deeper into that destructive feeling?

She carried you by the hand to her room. Looking around, the room was so… Yelena-dark walls, 90s rock band posters pasted up, a desk with books lazily thrown on it. The place smelled of cigarettes, “nothing more Russian than that”, you thought with a chuckle.

“Okay, now talk. What happened?” She stared at you, sitting facing you on the sofa, her legs crossed and her eyes full of expectation and concern.

“I… I don't even know where to start.” Your voice came out shaky, almost a whisper. You pressed your hands against your knees, trying to calm the trembling that seemed to take over your body.

“Try, at least. You came here as if the world was falling down.” She leaned over, touching your hand gently. “And the way you are now, it feels like it's still falling.”

You took a deep breath, but the air didn't seem to fill your lungs. The words were stuck, as if admitting them out loud was a greater crime than carrying them inside you.

“It's her. It's always her. I can't…” Your voice failed, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that insisted on coming back.

“Wanda.” She said the name as a statement, unsurprisingly, but with a weight that made your heart sink even deeper.

“I know what you're going to say. That I should stay away. That it's wrong. That she'll never…” You stopped, the words breaking like glass in your throat.

With a laugh, the blonde continued: “I'm not going to say anything like that.” Her answer took you by surprise, and you finally raised your eyes to meet hers. There was something there-a mixture of understanding and pain that you couldn't interpret.

“You're not going?” Your voice was weak, hesitant.

“No. Because I know you already know all this, I'm sure.” She sighed, running a hand through her messy blonde hair. “But I also know that telling you to give up on her is like asking you to stop breathing. And I'm not going to be cruel like that.”

Her words were a relief, but at the same time, an even greater weight. Because it was true. You knew you were trapped, that this love was a trap you yourself had chosen to walk into.

“I wish… I wish I could hate her. I wanted to be able to look at her and feel anger, contempt, anything other than that.” You made a vague gesture, as if you could explain with your hands what words could not.

“But you can't. Because, somehow, she's managed to make you believe that her love is worth anything. Even if you never really have that love.”

You swallowed, feeling your throat burn.

“She doesn't love me. Not the way I love her.” The words were like knives coming out of your mouth, each one cutting deeper.

“And yet you're still here. Running after crumbs.” The silence that followed was deafening. You had no answer, because you knew she was right.

“What do I do, then?” Your voice was desperate, almost pleading.

“Do you want an answer from the young and irreverent Yelena or the centered and mature Yelena?” She asked, causing you to frown in confusion. And then she continued: “The irreverent Yelena says that we should introduce you to the night, take you to a loud party with drinks and good music. The centered Yelena says that I should welcome your tears with ice cream, hugs and silly movies.”

You looked at Yelena, still frowning, trying to process the options she had just given you. Party? You'd never been to a party before. You were the kind of person who preferred to spend a quiet evening reading a book or listening to music in your room. But now… the idea seemed to carry something extra.

“What if I choose the irreverent Yelena option?” Her voice came out hesitant, but there was a new sparkle in her eyes, a spark of curiosity and… something more.

Yelena flashed a wide grin, the kind of smile that made it seem like she was plotting something that probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Ah, Malysh… then let’s toss the tears aside and dress up to break hearts.”

You laughed, despite everything, and shook your head. But as you laughed, the idea began to take shape more clearly in your mind. Wanda. How would she react if she saw you at a party, surrounded by people, maybe dancing with someone? Would she be able to keep that cold control, the façade of the perfect wife? Or would it crack, even just a little?

Your smile slowly faded as you mulled over the thought. What if this was your chance? Not to hurt her—you would never do that intentionally. But to make her feel a fragment of what you felt every time you saw those touches and smiles meant for Vision.

“And... if I do this, do you think she’d notice?” You bit the corner of your lower lip, asking softly.

Yelena tilted her head to the side, her grin morphing into something more subtle, more analytical. “If ‘she’ is who I think it is... she wouldn’t just notice. She’d be livid. But the question isn’t whether she’ll notice. It’s whether you’re doing this for you or for her.”

You bit your lip again, looking away. It was a fair question but a hard one. The truth was, you didn’t know. Maybe it was for both reasons.

“Maybe I just need to remind myself that there’s a world outside... of her.”

Yelena nodded, her gaze fixed on yours, studying your expression like she was trying to decipher the layers of what you were feeling.

“If that’s what you want, I can help. But be warned: getting into this kind of game can spiral out of your control quickly.”

You pondered for a moment, but the decision was already made deep in your heart. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. But the idea of ​​seeing Wanda react, of seeing that perfect facade crack, was irresistible.

“Take me to the party, Yelena.” Her mischievous grin returned in full force, and you felt a rush of adrenaline building within you.

For the first time, it felt like you were about to reclaim a fragment of power in a game that always seemed out of your hands.

[...]

The pounding music made the floor vibrate, and the air was thick with a suffocating mix of sweat, cheap perfume, and alcohol. You were already regretting agreeing to Yelena’s idea. The overstimulation was pushing you to the edge—every sound, every smell, every flashing light felt like a shove closer to your breaking point.

Leaning against a wall near the bar, you crossed your arms and stared at the drink in your hand, now warm and unappealing. Yelena, naturally, was in her element. She danced and laughed loudly, completely unbothered by the chaos around her.

Then, as if sensing your growing impatience, she appeared at your side, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

“Okay, clearly you’re not having fun. But don’t worry—I brought backup.”

You raised an eyebrow, ready to complain, but froze the moment you noticed the woman standing beside her. It was impossible not to notice. Natasha Romanoff had a presence that seemed to cut through the noise and chaos. Her gaze was sharp, cold, and piercing, like she was dissecting every detail about you in mere seconds.

“This is my sister, Natasha.”

Natasha inclined her head slightly in a wordless greeting—no handshake, no smile. Just a curt, weighty “Hi.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Natasha was intimidating, not just because of her stiff posture and unreadable expression, but because of the quiet authority she seemed to radiate.

“Nat,” Yelena continued with a grin, “this is my friend—the one I told you about.”

The redhead’s gaze didn’t waver as she spoke. “The shy one who ended up here out of pure stubbornness?”

The jab sent a flare of irritation through you. Your mood was already sour, and now she was treating you like some lost child?

“I might be a lot of things, but stubborn isn’t one of them.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips before her neutral expression returned.

“Hmm. Debatable.”

Yelena laughed, clearly enjoying the tension crackling between the two of you. “Alright, I’m getting another drink. You two play nice, okay?”

Before you could protest, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with Natasha.

The silence between you was taut but not entirely uncomfortable. Natasha thrived in it, exuding a quiet control without needing to say a word. You, on the other hand, felt like a cornered animal, searching for a way out without showing weakness.

“So,” she said finally, her voice low and even, “what are you really doing here?”

You exhaled sharply, letting your shoulders relax as if surrendering to her scrutiny.

“Trying to forget someone.”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. She studied you with that sharp, unreadable gaze, like she was trying to unearth the truth buried in your words.

“Bad idea. If they’re important, it won’t work.”

“And who says I want it to?” you shot back.

Natasha tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as if reconsidering something. “Interesting. Usually, people come to parties like this to pretend they have control over their own lives. But you don’t seem like the type.”

Her statement was blunt, almost brutal, but there was something intriguing in the way she spoke. No fluff, no unnecessary niceties.

“And what does that say about me, then

“I’m still deciding.”

Despite the irritation still bubbling inside you, there was something about Natasha that held you captive. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed impervious to any kind of charm or pretense. There were no games here—at least not the obvious ones.

“And you? Did you come here to forget someone too?”

Natasha let out a low sound, maybe a laugh or just a long exhale. “No. I just came to make sure my sister doesn’t cause a catastrophe.”

Her answer pulled an unexpected laugh from you, and Natasha finally allowed a small, discreet smile to play at the corners of her mouth.

“Maybe you’re not as unbearable as I thought.”

Was it a compliment? A jab? You weren’t sure, but for the first time that night, you felt like maybe the party wasn’t so bad after all.

Later, you were tipsy from the alcohol. Your body felt light, and your laughter came easily... especially around Natasha. The redhead wasn’t so bad after all, always complimenting your eyes and how soft and shiny your hair looked.

You found out she was an important agent in a national security agency, though she wouldn’t reveal the name, saying it was “against the terms of her contract.”

You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it was past 10 p.m. What about Wanda? Had she already put the twins to bed? Had she already made love to Vision in the same bed she’d fucked you in? The thought made you grip your glass tightly and tense your jaw.

You downed the shot and made a cute grimace.

“Hey, little girl... slow down.” Natasha gave you a calming look, making you snort and roll your eyes. “Sweetheart, watch your manners...” she warned.

“Fuck it, I wanna dance!” You jumped off the stool, which was a bit too high for your height, your feet dangling just above the floor as you swung them when you got anxious with your thoughts. Adorable—though Natasha would deny it until the end, obviously.

The redhead followed you onto the dance floor, momentarily forgetting about Yelena. The sway of your hips, brushing against hers, dared her to move in rhythm with you. The way you tossed your head made your hair bounce, sending its scent directly to her.

"Your hair smells like grapes," she murmured in your ear—her voice tinged with something almost distracted, like she was lost in the scent and the way your body moved. It made you turn to face her.

Her gaze was intense, but there was something else beneath it. Fear? Why?

Natasha seemed to snap back to reality, her posture stiffening as she masked her expression, retreating into her usual taciturn demeanor. “I… I’ll go find Yelena,” she said before walking away.

You nodded, watching her until she disappeared completely from sight. A few minutes later, you found Yelena sitting at the bar, chatting casually with the bartender.

“Hey, Yelly!” you called out, your voice bright and cheerful from the alcohol buzzing in your veins.

The blonde turned to look at you, her eyes scanning you up and down, clearly gauging just how drunk you were. “Y/n, please tell me you don’t get hangovers,” she said, closing her eyes in mock prayer.

“Yelly, your sister…” You started to speak, but before you could finish, a voice cut through the noise, freezing you in place.

“Y/n.”

That firm, authoritative tone made your heart stop for a moment.

You turned slowly, and there she was—Wanda. Impeccably dressed as always, but with an expression sharp enough to split the air. Her eyes were dark with fury, and her chin was slightly raised, a telltale sign of someone who either had control of the situation or was desperately trying to regain it.

“What are you doing here?”

You tried to respond, but the words were tangled in your mind. The alcohol wasn’t helping at all. Before you could form a coherent reply, Yelena stepped in.

“She’s having fun. You should try it sometime, Maximoff.”

The provocation was deliberate, and Wanda shot a venomous glare at the blonde.

“And you thought bringing her to a place like this, filling her up with alcohol, and letting her dance with strangers was a good idea?”

Yelena crossed her arms, puffing out her chest as if to intimidate Wanda—not that it worked.

“She’s an adult. She can make her own decisions.”

Wanda laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound laced with scorn. “Terrible decisions, clearly.”

You could feel the tension rising like a tide around you. You wanted to step in, but the words still wouldn’t come. Wanda took a step closer, now fully focused on Yelena, ignoring you for the moment.

“If you think you can toy with her like one of your one-night flings, you’re sorely mistaken.” Her eyes glinted dangerously.

Yelena didn’t back down, stepping forward to meet Wanda’s challenge. It was like a dance, both of them fighting for control, neither willing to give an inch.

“Do you even hear yourself? Who’s really toying with her here, Wanda?”

The answer made Wanda blink, just for a second, before her expression hardened again.

“I don't need to justify anything to you.” She said between breaths.

“You don't. But maybe you should to her.” Yelena shot back, pointing the glass of vodka in your direction.

Wanda's gaze returned to you, and your heart raced. She was furious, but there was something else in her eyes - a mixture of concern and possessiveness that seemed to struggle to hide behind the mask of anger.

“Let's go, Y/n.”

It was an order, not a request.

You hesitated, looking at Yelena, who just shrugged as if to say: It's up to you. But the weight of Wanda's gaze was overwhelming. You lowered your head, biting your lip and holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Okay...” You whispered softly, giving one last look to your friend who just nodded.

Walking out of the party, you felt your body being pushed into some dark place and hitting the corner of some sharp iron, making you squeal in pain. However, Wanda seemed to care much more about killing you with one look.

Wanda was standing in front of you, her breathing heavy and her eyes glowing with a mixture of anger and something darker. You instinctively backed away, but the metal spike in your back reminded you that there was nowhere to go.

“Do you realize what you did in there?” Her voice was low, but charged with fury. “Dancing, drinking, rubbing up against anyone who paid attention to you.”

“I was just… trying to have fun.” Your voice came out shaky, but you tried to keep it steady.

Wanda let out a dry, humorless laugh, taking a step towards you.

“Have fun?” The word came out as an insult. “With Yelena pushing drinks at you and Natasha looking at you like she's going to devour you? Is that what you call fun?”

“And what did you want me to do, Wanda?” The words escaped before you could stop yourself. “Sit at home, waiting for you to decide that I deserve some of your attention? Be content to watch you be the perfect wife while I run myself ragged inside?”

The intensity of the silence that followed was suffocating. Wanda stopped, her eyes narrowed, as if she were measuring the impact of your words. Finally, she took another step, her proximity taking your breath away.

“Watch your mouth, young lady.”

“Why?” You lifted your chin, tears starting to form in your eyes, but your voice was defiant. “The truth hurts, doesn't it? I love you, Wanda, but you only know how to play with me! Use me whenever you want and then go back to your perfect life with Vision!”

Wanda didn't reply immediately. Her face hardened, anger flowing from her eyes like lava. Then, almost unexpectedly, she grabbed your chin firmly, forcing you to look at her.

“You're a spoiled brat,” she hissed, her sharp tone cutting through the air. “A selfish little girl who thinks the world revolves around her.”

You tried to wriggle out of her grip, but her gaze seemed to pin you in place.

Do you know what you need?” Her voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “A lesson. Someone to teach you to control that insolent mouth of yours and stop acting like you're the center of the universe.”

You swallowed, your heart beating wildly. There was something in the way she spoke, in the darkness of her eyes, that made you shiver.

“And you're going to be that person?” The question escaped your lips before you could think, defiant despite the tremor evident in your voice.

Wanda let go of you abruptly, as if the touch had burned her hand, her eyes blazing. The woman pulled your hair back, so violently that your head was taken with it.

“Attention. That's what you wanted, isn't it, little tramp?” Wanda turns you to face the wall while she still has a handful of your hair in her hand.

Wanda leaned towards you, moving closer until your faces were so close that you could feel the warmth emanating from her, along with the soft perfume that always accompanied her. Her heart seemed to be pounding in her ears, each pulse echoing like a drum.

“Do you want to know if I'm going to be that person?” Her voice was a whisper laden with something dark and irresistible. “Do you really want to test me, Y/n?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but couldn't make a sound. Before you could react, Wanda ran her fingers down the side of your face, tracing the outline of your jaw in such a delicate way that it seemed to completely contradict the brute force you had felt just a few minutes before.

“I should. I should teach you the difference between wanting and deserving. Because, honestly, you have no idea what you're asking for.” The words came out slowly, almost lazily, but loaded with a weight that made her legs weak, even though she was sitting down.

She pulled her fingers away from your face and held your chin firmly, forcing you to look into her eyes. They were dark, almost black, and there was an intensity there that made something in you freeze and boil at the same time.

“Do you think you're brave, teasing me like that? Playing with something you can't control? Little…” A smile curved her lips, but it was a cruel, predatory smile. “You have no idea what I can do to you.” Wanda rubbed against you, making you feel a roughness, something stiff in her pants.

Her hand went down to your neck, her fingers lightly touching the base of your throat. It wasn't a squeeze, but her mere presence there made you feel as if the air was being stolen.

“You know what the problem is?” She continued, leaning in even closer. “You think you can control this, but the truth is that you're already mine. Every thought that goes through your head, every time you try to challenge me, every part of your body-all of it already belongs to me, even if you won't admit it.”

She rubbed herself more and more, making her pussy feel gooey and sticky.

“I'm inside your head, your heart. Inside your skin, Y/n.” She laughed against your ear-as if it was silly of you to think you could change that.

You tried to say something, but her hand on your neck came up to cover your mouth, interrupting any words. Her smile widened, but her eyes were more serious than ever.

“Shhh… Don't say anything. Don't try to answer me. You've said enough, and look where it's gotten you.”

Slowly, Wanda pulled her hand away, but she didn't move from her spot, still close enough for the weight of her presence to be almost overwhelming.

“You want my attention, don't you? Well, congratulations. Now you have all of it. But I'm going to give you a warning, bunny…” She tilted her head, her eyes burning into his as she squeezed his neck. “If you keep challenging me, I promise you won't like what happens. Because when I lose control…” Squeezing, squeezing and squeezing. Wanda savored it when you ran out of air and gasped for it. “…no one will save you from me.”

You felt your panties being ripped brutally, and you bucked, already craving the woman's rough touch. The head of the belt caressed your entrance, like a kiss - or torture.

Lunch at Agnes' house should have been a simple distraction, a chance to sustain the Maximoff family's impeccable façade. Wanda knew how to play the role of devoted wife and loving mother to perfection. Vision at her side, always so polished, the twins running around the pool, laughing loudly, while she served drinks and exchanged cordial words with Agnes. A perfect picture of normality.

But you.

You were there, trying to disappear among the other guests, but

Wanda always found you. Her gaze had an unerring way of finding you, even when you didn't want it to. Especially when she didn't want to. The way you looked at her - full of something intense, something forbidden - made her burn from the inside out.

And then came the twins' innocent, or perhaps not so innocent, comments. They were sharp, as only children could be. “Y/n, you're so pretty. You'll get a boyfriend at church, I'm sure!”

Wanda froze for a moment, the glass of lemonade in her hand almost slipping. Their laughter seemed to echo in her ears, and then she looked at you. Her expression was a mixture of embarrassment and something else. Something that only Wanda seemed to see.

You blushed, stammered something to change the subject, but it didn't work. Wanda saw the discomfort, the hurt in your eyes, and something inside her clenched tightly. But it was different from what she had expected. It wasn't empathy. It wasn't compassion.

It was anger.

Anger at herself for wanting you in a way she shouldn't have. Anger at Vision, who seemed so oblivious to the storm roaring inside her. And, above all, anger at you. For being there. For feeling so much. For making her feel so much.

When you disappeared from the party without warning, Wanda tried to ignore it. She tried to convince herself that she didn't care. But the thought of you wandering around alone, your thoughts in turmoil, made her grit her teeth. Then, when night fell and you didn't show up for dinner, Wanda lost her patience.

She didn't have to ask where you were. She didn't have to search. A cold, sure intuition led her straight to you. Yelena. Of course it would be her.

The sound of loud music and laughter echoed through the night as Wanda parked her car in front of the club. She felt her chest tighten, the air in the car becoming heavy. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she wasn't sure if it was from anger or the anticipation of seeing you again - and bringing you back under her control.

As she entered, the atmosphere almost suffocated her. The smell of alcohol, the sweat of dancing bodies, and the throb of the bass in the speakers were oppressive. But it was the sight of you - in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with Natasha Romanoff - that really destroyed her.

The way you laughed, the way the light reflected off your hair, the closeness between you and the other woman… it was unbearable. Something feral and possessive grew inside her, darkening her vision.

Now with you here, in front of her. All Wanda wanted was to make you pay. Looking at your trembling, demanding body - already so ready for her… The woman releases you, stepping back and making you look at her with puppy dog eyes.

Wanda smiles darkly.

“Aren't you a precious little whore?” She asked herself. “Kneel.” You were so well trained by her, being her good girl.

“Suck my cock, make it juicy for you, little girl.” Wanda ran the base of the strap-on over your lips, making you open them slowly, taking the toy into your mouth, savoring the flavor.

“That’s right, honey…” It excited Wanda to see you like that, humiliated, subjugated, sucking the cum off your plastic cock after you disobeyed her.

Grabbing your head, the woman pushes it deeper into your throat, making you cough. “Shh… breathe through your nose, Dekta.” The excitement was all there. In commanding, directing your steps, humiliating you and then welcoming you.

“Stand up and turn around again. Face forward this time, as much as I love your ass, I need your eyes for myself.” Wanda said, already positioning the strap-on at your entrance, however she only introduced the toy when you said she could.

Arching your back and breathing hard as Wanda's cock stretched you wide, you murmured, "Mommy, harder!" Wanda's eyes, which had previously been filled with rage, shone with the definition of the purest, rawest desire.

"Oh, look at that… My little slut is showing her claws… She likes to be taken hard, huh? Fucked until that tight little pussy of yours is all swollen, huh?"

The woman began with the thrusts, making you delirious. She placed you on top of a table so that you could wrap your legs around her waist—loving this position.

You moaned loudly, crazy, and Wanda increased the intensity in response. "Scream! That's it, scream! Let everyone hear who you belong to… Yelena, Natasha… They're no one to you, they could never make you moan like that."

Wanda murmured unconsciously, crazy with desire. You howled when you felt Wanda's cock go deeper inside you.

"Yes, baby. Only mommy knows how to do it, right? Only mommy knows how to hit your hot, juicy spot, right?”

“Mo-mommy!” You gasped, feeling your legs tremble—announcing the strong orgasms you were going to have.

“Oh, do you think you deserve it, Dekta?” She asked, her mouth sucking on your neck. “After everything you’ve done…” Wanda dug her hands into your hips, leaving finger marks on your immaculate skin.

You whimpered, desperate.

“No, mommy! Don’t deny it, please! I can be good! I ca—” You cut yourself off in a strangled scream as you felt the woman’s index finger caress your clit, prolonging your orgasm.

“But I didn’t even deny anything…” She laughed, enjoying your desperation, “You’re such a smart bitch, aren’t you?” Wanda breathed. “Apologize… apologize to your mommy!”

“Yes! I’m sorry, mommy! I’m sorry! I'm a needy little slut who needs your attention all the time.” You said against her lips, grabbing the lower one and giving it delicious little bites, making her moan into your lips.

“Mine!” She squeezed your clit between her fingers, making you scream and burst into a strong orgasm. “Cum, sweet girl, cum on my cock.”

You trembled around her, throwing your head back, making it irresistible for Wanda not to bite the spot hard. When you returned to your natural state, Wanda gave you no rest—making you kneel again.

“I need something, Dekta…” She let out a shaky sigh, finally exposing her real needs. “Mommy's pussy is sore seeing her baby girl so naughty and needy, fix it now, Y/n.”

You were mesmerized by the way Wanda was rocking her hips in front of you—your excitement gradually building again.

You could smell the woman’s arousal in front of you, intoxicating you. Hungry, you attacked Wanda’s pussy—as if you were kissing her. Hearing the woman exasperate in approval, you continued to do it harder.

“A little more pressure, darling… Oh!” She exclaimed as you reached her burning point. With her eyes rolled back and a deep, guttural moan, Wanda came—having to sit down quickly because her legs were shaking.

You sat up and looked at each other—the insecurity still growing in your eyes at not knowing her thoughts.

“Let’s go, little one.” She said, her voice still hoarse. You followed her, of course—but no words were exchanged on the way home.

[…]

The hot water cascaded down, filling the bathroom with steam. The sound was soothing, drowning out the world outside. You sat in the bathtub, your knees pulled up to your chest, while Wanda gently washed your hair. Your eyes were downcast, avoiding hers, your face marked by the weariness of the turbulent night.

“Do you want to tell me what happened today? Last chance.” Her voice was low, without the harshness of before. She was calm now, and her tone sounded almost motherly, which only made the knot in your chest tighten more.

You hesitated, feeling her hand slide through the strands of your hair, her fingers methodical as she applied the shampoo. “I don’t know where to start,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Start with what bothered you,” she suggested, unhurriedly, her fingers still working gentle circles on your scalp.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes to let yourself feel the comfort of her touch. “It was lunch. It was… you and Vision.” The confession came out shaky, and you hated how vulnerable it sounded.

“Me and Vision?” She paused for a moment, her hands stilling before returning to work. “What exactly?”

“I don’t know…” you began, trying to gather your thoughts. “I know he’s your husband. I know that. But I can’t…” Your voice trailed off, and you bit your lip, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I feel like I’m alone… here. Like a shadow. Something you use when you want, but that will never be enough for you.”

Wanda stopped washing your hair and knelt beside you, ignoring the hot water that was soaking your clothes. She took your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. Her eyes were softer now, but they still held that intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Look at me, Y/n.” The order was gentle but firm. You obeyed, even if reluctantly. “I never want to hear you say that again. Do you hear me?”

You blinked, surprised by the seriousness in her voice.

“Do you think I would do all that for just anyone? Do you think I would lose my control, risk everything, for something that meant nothing to me?“

But I—” you tried to argue, but she interrupted, her voice lower, almost a whisper now.

“You’re not something I use. You’re… my refuge. My chaos and my peace at the same time. And yes, I’m selfish. Because even though I know it’s wrong, I can’t let you go.”

Her words disarmed you, taking you completely by surprise. You’d never heard her speak like that before, so open, so raw.

“But Vision, the twins… They’re your life,” you whispered, doubt still heavy in your voice.

“I love my boys, I would die and kill for them… But they, all of them, are my responsibility,” she corrected, her eyes burning into yours. “You are my choice, understand?” You felt the tears start to run down your face, mixing with the water from the shower. Wanda wiped them away with her thumbs, never looking away.

“I know I can’t give you what you deserve,” she continued, her voice almost breaking. “But you need to know that, to me, you are not replaceable. You are unique. And I would do anything for you, darling.”

You wanted to believe her, wanted to hang on to every word, but the doubt still lingered. Wanda seemed to sense this, because she leaned in close, her lips touching your forehead.

“Stop thinking.” She whispered, “Let me be in charge of everything, darling. Mommy will take care of everything.” Wanda helped you up from the tub carefully, holding your hands tightly as if you were going to break at any moment.

The water was still falling, warm against your skin, but you felt the heat of her hands more. She turned off the tap, wrapped a towel around your body and, with infinite patience, began to dry the wet strands of your hair.

The silence between you was filled only by the sound of the fabric rubbing against your skin, a moment as intimate as anything else you had shared.

“Raise your arms,” she asked, with a softness that contrasted with the undeniable authority in her voice. You obeyed without question, letting her put on a light nightgown on you, which seemed too big, probably hers.

As soon as she finished, Wanda took you by the hand and led you to her room. The bed was impeccable, the room perfumed with the soft scent of lavender. You hesitated for a moment at the door, but Wanda, noticing, gave a light tug on your arm for you to follow.

She laid you down carefully, adjusting the blankets around you, and then sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as if she were checking every detail to make sure you were comfortable.

“Am I still going to be punished?” you asked softly, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

Wanda’s smile was barely noticeable, but you saw it. She tilted her head, her fingers caressing your cheek with the same lightness as a feather.

“Without a doubt,” she replied, her tone soft but full of promise that made your heart race.

You swallowed hard, but before you could think of a response, Wanda lay down next to you, pulling you closer. Her arms wrapped around you, firm and protective, and she began to run her hand through your wet hair again, an almost hypnotic rhythm.

“Now, close your eyes for me, kitten,” she murmured, her lips close to your ear. You obeyed, feeling her warmth envelop you completely.

She began to rock you with slow, deliberate movements, small, gentle pats on your bottom, following the rhythm of your breathing. It was an unexpected gesture, but strangely comforting, and you felt your body begin to relax.

“You are mine, Y/n,” she said softly, as if she were speaking more to herself than to you. “And I will make you understand that, in every way possible.”

Your eyes grew heavy, the tiredness and the feeling of absolute security finally overcoming the tension of the day. The last thing you felt was Wanda’s comforting touch and the soft melody she hummed, almost imperceptibly, before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.

In that moment, as she bathed you, Wanda felt her own anger melt away, transforming into something more tender, but equally selfish.

The care she offered you was not just out of compassion; it was confirmation that you were hers. Every touch, every soft word, was a way of reaffirming that dominance.

And as she rocked you, she felt a peace that almost frightened her.

There was something deeply comforting about seeing you so surrendered, so vulnerable. As if, in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered except you, there, in her arms.

But at the same time, Wanda knew that she still had a long way to go.

Because as she tucked you in, she was also making plans. Plans to show you, slowly and deliberately, that you would never need—nor should—seek comfort anywhere else.

~*~

Y/n don't cry, your mommy is here.

UREVISED CHAPTER

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @i-luv-w1menn @lesbiansweet

[gpcwsl]

May i request lessi x r x Leah & i feel like this is fitting for the times!! Lessi and Leah are truly the star girls on both a national and club level. Fans are obsessed with the two already being together but add r that isn’t a footballer ?? Oh boy

fans try sneaking into r’s section all the time to bother her but r is so secure in her relationship she purposely will show her hickies or smirk while being extra flirty with girls that envy her watching ;) she’ll make tik toks thirst traps with her girls or sit on their laps while smirking (giving Olga vibes)

Leah and lessi are obsessed with their cheeky girl & their egos boost when r constantly claims what’s hers & the girls match it ;) maybe even getting invited to do a media day surprising her girls with an award or showing a bts of the two being the softest gfs not only to each other but the moment they see r anyone would feel hella lonely

Think of princess brat house of balloons by the weeknd vibes 🤭❤️‍🔥

Ur amazing btwww

(I dunno why there’s no photos.)

Warnings: short, hickey?

Alessia Russo x Leah Williamson x Reader

- Cheeky Girl -

MasterList

Leah Williamson and Alessia Russo had always been the talk of the football world. As two of England’s brightest stars, their on-field chemistry was unmatched, and their off-field friendship was just as captivating. But what fans couldn’t get enough of was the whirlwind romance the two had found themselves in—not with each other, as rumors once suggested, but with you, the bold, confident, and endlessly cheeky woman who had stolen both their hearts.

The world had been stunned when Leah and Lessi introduced you to the public. At first, some fans had scoffed, “She’s not even a footballer.” But as the months passed, your effortless charisma, razor-sharp wit, and undeniable connection to the star duo made you a fan favorite. Well, mostly. Some fans were still jealous and couldn’t seem to resist trying to sneak into your section at games, hoping to get a reaction out of you.

You, however, were unshakable.

Sitting in the VIP section for an Arsenal game, you noticed a few fans lurking nearby, their eyes full of envy as they whispered to each other, stealing glances at you. Instead of feeling irritated, you leaned back, smirking, and casually tugged your shirt collar down just enough to reveal the faint purple mark on your neck—a clear “I’m taken” statement. You could practically hear their gasps from your seat.

As the game progressed, you made it a point to cheer wildly whenever Leah or Lessi did something amazing on the pitch. At halftime, the camera panned to you, and you didn’t miss a beat. You blew a kiss to the screen, mouthing “good luck, baby” while holding up Leah’s jersey. Social media exploded.

After the game, the three of you reunited in the tunnel. Leah walked over first, her captain’s armband still snug on her bicep, grinning. “Did you have fun showing off, cheeky girl?”

“Always,” you teased, slipping an arm around her waist. Lessi joined seconds later, slinging her arm around your shoulders.

“You drive them wild,” Alessia laughed, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

“Well, I can’t have anyone forgetting who you two belong to,” you replied, winking at them both. Leah shook her head fondly while Lessi leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The next day, the three of you made headlines again—not for anything on the pitch, but because of a TikTok you posted. You had filmed yourself perched on Alessia’s lap, your arms loosely around her neck as Leah sat beside you, throwing the camera amused glances. You ended the clip by smirking directly into the lens and mouthing, “They’re mine.” Fans went wild, some calling you a menace, others begging for your confidence, and the rest simply acknowledging that Leah and Lessi were the luckiest women alive.

Leah’s response to the TikTok only added fuel to the fire. She reposted it on her Instagram story, adding the caption: “Can’t argue with facts.” Alessia followed suit, writing, “We’re obsessed.”

But as much as the three of you loved teasing the world, there were moments when things softened. One of those came during a surprise media day you orchestrated. Leah and Alessia thought they were there for an ordinary interview, but you had worked behind the scenes to organize an award for their contributions to both club and country.

As the interviewer handed over the plaques, you stepped out from behind the curtain, grinning ear to ear. “Surprise!” you exclaimed, holding up a bouquet of flowers for each of them.

Leah blinked, her jaw dropping. Alessia gasped, pulling you into a hug before looking at her award. “You planned this?”

“Of course I did,” you said, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “You two deserve it.”

The cameras captured every second of it—the way Leah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close, her usually calm and stoic demeanor melting into soft smiles; the way Alessia couldn’t stop grinning, her eyes bright as she kept one hand on your waist. For all your cheekiness and confidence, in moments like this, you were their soft, thoughtful partner, and they loved you for it.

The video quickly went viral, with fans commenting on how loved-up the three of you were. “No one could ever compete with R,” one fan wrote. “I feel so single,” another commented.

That evening, as you lay curled up between Leah and Alessia on the couch, you scrolled through the comments, laughing.

“People are so dramatic,” you said, showing Alessia a comment that read, “R is giving me Olga Carmona levels of ‘don’t mess with me.’”

“She’s not wrong,” Leah said, tightening her arm around your shoulders.

“They should be jealous,” Alessia added, nuzzling her face into your neck. “You’re ours, and we’re yours.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you replied, smirking.

Leah laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Never.”

And as the three of you drifted into quiet conversation, it was clear to anyone watching that your love was the real victory—not just for the three of you but for anyone lucky enough to witness it.

[bunny-jpeg]

collars, lando n. - heaven came in the form as a collar. while most assumes that it was a hefty piece of leather with a clasp on the back. something for a dog. but you weren't a bitch, you weren't an animal to be tamed. you were lando's everything. never had he had the luxury of the love of a woman like you. your love danced under his skin and sent his brain into overdrive with the simplest of touches.

lando was a possessive man, in the world of racing many things required hyper focus. and lando's hungry gaze always landed on you. he yearned for you, that's why he bought you the collar. a symbol of his mark on you. something that wouldn't ruin with age, forever a reminder of who was your man. because lando was no fool, you were going to be together forever.

you collar was a gold chain that you could never take off. to most it seemed like an evergreen accessory, but to you it was a sign that you were an owned woman. a woman with a man who loved her.

most had wedding rings, you had a pretty gold chain. lando loved you in gold. but his favourite was the collar he gave you. the piece of him that was with you always, as if there wasn't so much his cum kept safely in your achy cunt as you greeted friends for a dinner party. lando would play with your chain while you were curled up on the couch in the vip section of a club. yank on it a little when he pulled you in for kisses. his words, "good girl." made you ears burn with heat.

"a girl looks best when she's collared. owned by a man." he said with humor in his tone. he loved a independent woman as much as the next guy, but to see you grew aroused by his degrading words was often a turn on for him, "should've gotten my name around that little neck of yours. a little extra hardware around that pretty throat of yours. then no one would have the balls to flirt with you. but, i know something better than gold. pretty, splotchy bruises."

lando loved when he got you hot and bothered with just his words. to watch you squirm in your seat as he held you close to him, his fingers across your throat where the chain was, "pretty things deserve pretty things. and good girls deserve the world." he yanked on the gold chain a little and chuckled lowly in your ear, "and you're my good girl, right? you listen to your man. behave for me. i work all day and all night to make your little life charmed. that's why you wear the collar, another thing i paid for. i pay for everything you own, baby. all mine. top to bottom. from the pretty paint on your nails to your soaked panties." lando made more money than you'd ever seen. you were his to poke, prod, kiss, fuck, squeeze, spank, and most of all, mark up anyway he saw fit. after all, he paid good money. even got you a lovely collar. you were the ultimate live in girlfriend, practically a housewife for lando. and he loved that. the ability to yank the gold chain, to pull you closer in more ways than one.

he was a hungry lover. he was a passionate, starving lover. they type of lover that would have you pressed up the nearest surface with the skirt of your dress flipped up and his heavy cock sank into you. speaking of dresses, you found yourself in more dresses than before. since lando started to buy you new clothes, the colours became softer as did the fabrics. and you had more dresses than at any other point in your life. you thought it was weird that your jeans and ratty t-shirts were slowly disappearing from your closet.

"where is that red t-shirt i always wore." you pouted as you searched through the drawers. "don't know, love. but i think you look better in orange anyway." the next day there are white and soft orange striped panties in your drawer. maybe not exactly mclaren colours, but you didn't need garish, loud colours. you needed something softer, delicate. like the chain around your neck.

"don't need anyone else but me, beautiful." he often said, especially when you're so-called friends ditched you for the evening. lando may have told them that you didn't want to go out. that the plans were mixed up and tonight you were spending with him. and don't even bother looking at instagram. it always made you sad when you saw them out without you. but it was alright, he'll make it all better. that was what he did, right? no need to worry about anything while he was by your side. clubbing isn't as fun when you could spend the night in bed with lando getting orgasm after orgasm out of you. fingers and tongue, followed by his cock. it left you out of breath and out of your mind. the throb of want coursing through you. insatiable.

curled up at lando's side, his hand in your hair. maybe he needed something nicer than a collar, maybe he was right. he needed to mark you pretty neck in the darkest purples he can make with his teeth. <3

a/n: thank you to everyone who basically forced me to take a few days off from writing. i'm slowly getting back into the game. here's a little something for you

[bagerfluff]

i need a fic/drabble on the last public play imagine on casper im on my knees ‼️‼️

An: Your wish is my command. You didn't specify what you wanted so I hope you like this. Don't forget to drink water and have a good day/night/afternoon :)

Cum Filled Casper

Sub/Bottom Casper x Top/Dom Male Reader

Prompt - Butt Plug

Warnings - Rough Sex, anal, cumming inside, butt plug, public sex, praise,

“Where did you take me?”

Casper asked as he looked around. This was a weird part of the mall you took him to. While everywhere else children were running around only adults were here.

It was bright yet dark, like it wanted and didn’t want to be seen. “Welcome to The Pleasure Cave”, you said with a smirk. Casper lets you drag him into the store.

Casper looked around with wide eyes as he took it all in. Casper had no idea what was all around him, it was a little too much. “What catches your eye?

You asked while staring at Casper. You’d never get over how Casper looks when he finds something new. Even if it is a bunch of sex toys. “What’s that?”

Casper asked while pointing to something. “That’s a dildo, it’s a silicone dick that you use to fuck yourself”, you said with a straight face. While Casper was a little red.

What?

Is this what mortals do in their free time? Casper let go of your hand and started walking around. He found more dildos, all different sizes and colors. Some said that they had a vibrator inside too.

Casper walked away when he found one shaped like a tentacle.

Next Casper found things called butt plugs, at least the name was fitting. They were the same as the dildos. Different sizes and colors, some even had tails on the end.

Casper found this weird, mortals are weird. But Casper can’t deny that his pants were getting a bit tighter. Casper only glanced at the cock rings and collars, though you thought Casper would look good in a collar.

You made a mental note to look online for ones you and Casper might like. You were following Casper with a smirk on his face. You had half a mind to buy the things Casper looked at.

You didn’t have that type of money though, so you just settled on a vibrating butt plug and a normal one. You followed Casper throughout the store.

Taking note of things he looked at.

The gags, whips, scented lube. Soon you noticed the bathroom in front of Casper and got an idea. You smirked and grabbed Casper’s hand. “What?” Casper asked as you dragged him into the bathroom and into a stall.

“What are you do-?” Casper tried to ask but was caught off by you. You shoved him into the stall, ass facing you. You pulled down Casper’s pants and unbuckled yours.

“Hey”, Casper said sternly but you ignored him. You reached into your pocket and brought out a citrus scented lube, one that Casper had been looking at.

You squeezed some into your fingers and started to finger Casper’s ass with two fingers. “Ah~”, Casper moaned, but you covered his mouth. “Quiet now, there’s people”, you said with a smirk

Casper turned his head to glare at you but it was short lived as you added another finger. “Mmm~”, Casper moaned as you thrusted your finger faster.

You removed your fingers, lubed up your dick, and thrusted into Casper. “Mmm~”, Casper moaned as he bit your hand. You thrusted into Casper at a fast and rough pace, grunting with each thrust.

“Just a little longer sweetheart”, you grunted. Casper just clenched around you as you thrusted harder and faster. Casper soon came on the stall wall and you came inside of him soon after.

You quickly pulled out and shoved the butt plug into Casper.

“Oh~”, Casper moaned as you did this. Casper whined at the feeling of your cum inside of him and the stretch of the plug. You grabbed a tissue from your pocket and cleaned Casper’s dick.

Making him while again.

You put your dick back in your pants and helped Casper pull his up pants. “Come on, I have to pay for the thing up your ass”, you said.

You smacked Casper’s ass and walked out of the stall. Casper followed you with a weird walk. Every time Casper walked he could feel the plug and the cum. Casper kinda liked it.

Maybe he would yet you do this again.

[misslovasstuff]

Prompt: When you tell them you’re in the mood

content: how do they react? Are they sweet and all? mhmmm.... warning: contains nsfw paired with: Sanji, Law and Sabo author’s note: pretty blonds and an emo boy sheeeesh

please, support me here if possible: ko-fi

Sanji

It’s not a new occurrence that you find yourself in Sanji’s arms, being saved from an enemy’s attack. However today, perhaps because you’re completely conscious, your wondering eyes stare at your dangerously handsome rescuer;

His shirt had undone buttons, revealing a part of his bare chest along with his collarbone. His hair fell partly on his face but never aimed to cover his neck: fit and wide, dripping a bit in sweat. Pretty lips remain open as he gasps for air. Sanji keeps a tight grip on your shoulder and thigh as he carries you in his arms, eyes analysing and scanning where you two could hide for a moment.

“Damn it!” - he unleashes his tie aggressively, his anger evident from people chasing the both of you.

You knew… goodness of course you knew this could never be a good time but; Sanji is so fucking hot right now. Irresistible hot. And this anger he portrays from time to time it turns you on instantly, no matter how embarrassing it is to admit.

“Sanji…”- you reach for his collar, pulling it down so he could lean in closer to your face. Those blue eyes of his looking at you so innocently and worriedly, changing completely from the intensity they were holding just a second ago.

He hums in response, attentively listening to what you had to say.

“I’m in the mood.” - your voice low and needy makes the blond blush immediately. He widens his eyes and shakes his head with a smile. Did he hear that right or was it his imagination?

“Sweetheart, how could you possibly be turned on in this situati-

Sanji gazes down at you pressing your chest against his, a view that always makes him weak in the knees. You place your hand at his which is grabbing your thigh, pressing it even further into your flesh. Then you slide it swiftly at your ass whilst dragging your lips on his neck.

“Fuck, - it didn’t take long for Sanji to make a decision. he cusses, stopping almost immediately to look at the surroundings in an even bigger hurry. He runs with you in his arms until he finds an alley where he was certain you wouldn’t be found. He takes one last turn while changing the position he was holding your precious body that he would punish anyone if they even left a small scar on your golden skin. You smile at how quick your man was to react to your needs and obviously at some point, his too.

Now your hands are over his shoulders, front body pressed agasint his as his hands are holding you from behind. Just like that, he pushes you agasint the wall, breathing heavily. Your lips clash with his into a passionate, hungry, soul-sucking kiss as your hands caress the back of his neck. You moan in his mouth when Sanji takes a better hold of your legs, pushing his lower body closer to you.

“Promised to be always on your rescue, didn’t I, love?” - you breath for air as Sanji grabs your ass and slaps it, biting your ear as he whispers:

“Such a naughty girl to get turned on like this, telling me such lewd things in the middle of the battle- his breath tingles your neck and you tighten the grip you have on his shoulders. - i see you wanted another kind of saving.”

Law

“There are things I want to do and say to you…”

Law furrows his eyebrows, not really getting where you’re coming from, however it does not take him long to notice your body language and how you are obviously in the heat.

“Hm. Is that so? Can you be more specific?” - it was so obvious now that he wanted to tease you, make you say those needy words to him face to face. You didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, however your desire is bigger than your pride right now.

“I’m… im in the mood, Law.” - you confess, looking down and shutting our eyes close due to the embarrassment.

As you are, you feel a warm hand around your waist pulling you closer.

“Cute. - he says with a cheeky smile, lowering his head to face you up close. - thats why you came to see me?”

You nod and he gives you that satisfying smirk that had become a weakness of yours. His eyes sparkle in a different way now as his gaze is fixated on yours. After a brief moment of silence, Law caresses your shoulder with his hand as he approaches and whispers in your ear:

“You and I, at the back deck, now.”

It’s hard to say no to that low voice that sent shivers down your body and that warm hand which has grabbed yours, guiding you exactly where he wants. Law sits down on a chair, his expression unreadable.

“Sit.” - he demands and you swallow hard, sitting on his thigh. Your hands travel to his bare chest, hesitating to caress it. Law grabs your hand, kissing it and pressing it agasint his heart.

“Smart girl, - he gazes down your legs and the pretty skirt you’re wearing. His curious hands soon figure out that that pretty skirt is all you’re wearing down there. - very smart.”

“Law…” - your voice shakes when you call him, feeling his hand going lower and lower your body.

“Quiet now…”- His fingers tease your entrance, rubbing your lips up and down while you moan in his ear.

“Is this what you were in the mood for?” - he asks with a cheeky grin.

“I… - you shyly hide your face in the nape of his neck. - …yes.”

His fingers were doing for you what all other men couldn’t, getting you on edge.

“More… more…” - you manage to blurt out, grabbing onto his hair and pulling them slightly. Law sucks his teeth in, letting out a cheeky laugh.

“You want more? - his fingers are now inside you, pumping in and out at an agonising low speed. He is not only fucking you physically but mentally as well with this much teasing.

“You’re quite the sadist for a doctor.” - you exclaim, riding his fingers as your hips start moving on their own.

“I tend to fit in with my patient’s needs.” - he cups your cheek with his other hand, pulling you in. - Let me take care of all your needs.”

Law kisses you gently, biting your lower lip as the pace of his fingers fastens.

“What…were the things you wanted to tell me…?”- the air is so hot and you’re both breathing heavily. Yet you manage to give a reply to the man who’s making you lose your mind with his fingers only.

“I… wanted to tell you that I … you… you are always in my mind and lately I just… couldn’t stop thinking of you doing… unspeakable things to me…” - your moans get louder as Law takes a strong grip on your hip.

“Ah, if we’re confessing then, I wanted to do this with you too, for a while now.” - he claims, pulling you closer and dragging his lips on your shoulder.

“You want to…do those unspeakable things to me?”- you ask, smirking while trying to catch your breath.

“You were such a good girl for telling me you were in the mood so I’ll do any position you have been fantasising about. You won yourself an all night-fucking and trust me, you won’t be speaking much, your mouth will be occupied with other things.”

Sabo

“Something is off about you tonight, isn’t it?” - the blond asks, titling his head to meet your eyes but you avoid his gaze.

“What makes you say that?” - his scent overwhelms your senses, making your mind foggy but yet you remain somehow composed.

“Well for starters, - Sabo paces forward and stops in front of you. - You’ve been avoiding your boyfriend all day. Even now you’re going to who knows where.”

He grabs your chin, glancing shortly at your lips then at your eyes.

“Beautiful…- he whispers, getting lost in your gaze for a moment before continuing. - You are completely red in the face.”

Sabo strikes your cheek gently with the back of his hand. Your quick blinking and lip bite hits the bells on his head. Surely, you would have not been needy and not tell him about it, right?

“Look at me. - he demands, putting strands of hair behind your ear, his voice low and breathy. He tries not to surrender to your pretty gaze so he swallows hard, Sabo himself turning a bit red at the thought of what you could possibly want from him. - tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

He brushes off the hair off your shoulder, placing small gentle kisses there.

“Tell me… - his breath hits your skin and sends shivers down your spine.

“Sabo, - you answer with a shaky voice, almost letting out a moan when he pulls you in by your waist with one hand, continuing kissing your neck ever so softly. - I’ve been so needy the whole day. I’m in the mood for us to-

A bite on the nape of your neck makes you leave out a gasp, grabbing onto your lover’s arms as he begins unbuttoning your shirt.

“What were you thinking not telling me, huh? - his hand now gropes your chest, making you unable to answer properly. You wanted to tell him that there shouldn’t have been any distractions for his work so you just, stayed away. - Fuck, baby I’m so sorry for not noticing. But if it helps, I’m always needy of you, like all the time.”

You chuckle, pushing your head backwards as Sabo conquers your chest with kisses, bites and so many powerful sensations all while holding you close to him.

“Must be hard then?”- you ask, referring to what he just said but your boyfriend looks down on himself and then smirks at you.

“Ooff, it’s just what you do to me, sweetheart. Take pride in that. Just you saying you want me gets my being completely under your control.”

The stare he has on you becimes irresistible, pulling him in a kiss as your hand reaches the belt of his pants.

“I want you, Sabo.” - he whimpers, watching every action of yours.

“Oh, if you talk to me like that, - Sabo hovers over you, stripping his clothes off. - I’m going to make it up for a whole day lack of fucking.”

[diejager]

not exactly a specific prompt or anything but - could you write more stepdad!könig and dbf!horangi pls? 👉👈

Cw: DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, STEPCEST, AGE GAP public sex?, exhibitionism, fingering, under the table, mention of forced piercing, rough sex, unprotected sex, PinV, mention of anal sex, tell em if I missed any.

You jerked, dropping the fork in your hand and biting your lower lip to stop a moan from slipping through between them. Unfortunately, the sudden click of your fork and you shift in expression worried your mother, making her question you, brows furrowed and lips pursed into a frown. She was worried, you knew she was, but that was the last thing you had on mind, neither her quiet quarry about your health and unpredictable act, nor König’s piercing eyes and the food that was now sprayed on the table.

What truly worried you was Horangi and your own inability to hold your voice back. He looked nonchalant, brow quipped up in faked confusion, knowing that your reaction resulted from him, his wandering hand that slipped under the waistband of your short and into your cunt, pumping in and out fo you with a slow and unbothered pace. You jumped from the unexpected tap against your gummy wall, three fingers curling before they hit your sweet spot, sending an arousing pulse up your spine. You’d be fucked stupid by his fingers alone, thick and long - not as long as your stepfather, but they were better than yours - stretching your hole open to take his cock later that night.

“I’m ah-okay, mom,” you smiled shakily at her, hand gripping tightly around your knife, tremors wracking your body as you swallowed down moan after moan. “Just a stomach ache.”

“Oh dear, do you need to lay down?” She frowned good-naturedly, the skin on her brow wrinkling.

“Yeah,” you internally cheered, you’d be able to get away from this situation until later, when you’d be stuck under Horangi, ”Thanks mom.”

You were gagged, mouth stuffed with a soiled pair of your panties, drooling around your thong, down your lips while you wailed. You were stuffed with cock, legs jerking with every push of Horangi’s cock, walls forcibly pried open to take his thick shaft and his prettily trimmed pubes rubbing your swollen clit. You felt his cock carve the walls of your cunt to fit his girth, thicker in the middle with a petty and angry head and veins crawling up the shaft. It cured lightly, light enough to stand between his legs, but heavy just enough that you could feel it weigh you down, pounding away at your crumbling resolve.

He was panting, a husky and laboured breathing on your neck, his hot breath hitting you as he kissed down your shoulder, teeth scratching your soft and tender flesh, weak under his sharper teeth. He hungered for more; he lusted for eternal pleasure. Suckling the curve of your collar, teeth skimming the swell of your jostling breasts, nippled flared and wet from his manhandling. He dove back in, lips wrapped around your least swollen nub, sucking as if he was trying to milk it of all substance. You cried out when he bit down, sinking his fangs into the fat of your chest before he unlatched himself with a wet pop, leaving the indentations of his mouth on you. Then he did the same to your other tit, mind keen on fucking you, his dick ramming into you roughly while he gave attention to your sore nipples.

“Fuck, imagine these pierced,” he chuckled dreamily, a low, addicted daze in his mind, dreaming of piercing your nipples himself, “Wouldn’t you like that?”

You shook your head frantically, dreading giving them mor to use against you, more leverage to make your body betray and succumb to their whims, especially with how often your stepdad’s at home. You struggled under him as if to prove your point, feet kicking around his narrow waist, the scarred flesh a touch different from the rest of his body, pulling at the restraints keeping your hands tied to your headboard —his belt. You let out a ragged and angered scream, silenced by the gag but your body still shook with the force behind it, teary eyes closed while they rolled back in reluctant pleasure.

Horangi’s chest rumbled, a smile stretched awkwardly by the tiger-like scars on his face. In retaliation, he gave a few hard thrusts, rocking your bed against the wall, his cut head kissing your bruised cervix after brushing against your sweet, gummy wall. It punched the air out of your lungs, leaving you heaving and gasping for air, fully at the mercy of your stepfather’s friend-

“Ja, she would look so pretty,” König’s sudden appearance scared you, his mocking coo and statement reaffirming Horangi’s thought.

Your closed around Horangi, flinching away as much as you could in your restrained state, your fear and trepidation made you tighter and wetter, slick suddenly bursting around Horangi’s leaky cock. You could hear your stepfather move, his purposefully-loud steps booming in your ear, but you couldn’t see him, eyes rolled so far back in an explosive release. You felt the bed shift under him, dipping to a side while he loomed over you both, looking at your swollen nipples as if he was admiring how pretty they’d look if he had you pierced them, a rod straight through your round nub.

“Sehr hübsch, Schatzi,” he hummed, his rough hand sliding down the curve of your navel where he could feel every hard thrust and found your clit, rolling it with a big finger, “Or a piercing here, on your little clit.”

König smiled handsomely, a brazenly hungry stare covering his threatening and dominating composure. His ice blue eyes squinted mirthfully, gleaming with a dark urge, something that demanded control, that wanted submission and subservience from you. He’d fill that rimmed hole of yours after Horangi’s done with your pussy, spreading your ass around his thick and veiny cock that pressed uncomfortably against his briefs.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

[paceprompting]

We'll Meet Again

written for ‘shopping’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: no warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, pre-relationship, fluff, flirting, part two of "Need a Ride?"

Part One

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t mind the mall around Christmas.

Yeah, the tinny music through the building’s speakers might grate his nerves after a few hours, but Eddie made it a point not to be there that long in the first place. And with everyone so busy from Black Friday to New Year’s, he could slip through the crowds with little to no dirty looks in his direction.

Which meant shopping for Wayne’s Christmas present in peace.

He’d noticed it around Halloween, coming home after Wayne to find him passed out on the couch. His coat hung on one of the kitchen chairs, and Eddie had stared at it while eating a midnight cereal. The old man had the thing since before Eddie started staying with him, and the wear was starting to show.

The inner lining had started to come away, and the corduory fabric on the outside was a few patches from unsalvagable. Not to mention the ratty state of the fur collar.

It had taken until now, two weeks into December, to save up enough for a coat—after his half of the rent and gas money. At least for the good ones at Bloomingdale’s.

He’d planned to be in and out in under an hour. It took the longest just to get into the store, and then to the men’s section at the back. Eddie found the style he wanted immediately, and went to searching the rack for the right size.

“Branching out?”

He may have been overly confident about flying under the radar.

Eddie’s eyes shot to the other side of the rack to find himself across from Steve Harrington. Again.

It had only been a week since the night Eddie still wasn’t sure he hadn’t hallucinated—where Steve had given Eddie a ride home without asking anything in return. Eddie had lived in terror for two days at school thinking Steve would pop up behind him and demand repayment.

“How’s the van?” Steve asked.

Because Eddie hadn’t said anything. And for some reason Steve was waiting there until he did.

“Waiting to go to the shop,” Eddie finally managed, swallowing hard. “Sharing the truck with my uncle.”

Steve nodded, standing with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. Eddie peered around the rack and noticed that Steve didn’t have any shopping bags. Or any clothes laid over his arms, ready to buy.

Eddie raised a brow. “Something catch your eye over here?”

“Uh.” Steve blinked, like he’d been caught. He frantically scanned the clothing rack, plucking out a jacket that looked nearly identical to the one he was wearing. “This one.”

“Very you, Harrington.”

Steve held it up to his chest. “You think?”

It was ridiculous that that made Eddie chuckle. He spent twenty minutes with the guy, and he was already laughing at his charming, jock personality. Because Steve had been pleasant during that ride, even when Eddie tested the limits by changing the radio to a metal station.

Then Steve held the jacket out to him.

“Try it on.”

Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed. Then at the jacket, and back. “I can barely afford the buttons on that thing. I shouldn’t even touch it.”

Steve gave him a flat look, and shook the jacket. Eddie set his hands on his hips, and they remained that way until Eddie was sure Steve’s arm was going to fall off before he gave in.

He rolled his eyes, and went to strip off his own leather jacket, leaving Steve to join him. Eddie expected to be handed the garment, but when Eddie was just in his long-sleeve, Steve was holding the jacket for Eddie to slide his arms into.

Holding his breath, Eddie turned his back to Steve and eased into it.

It didn’t have the give of Eddie’s well-worn jackets, but it was warm. He examined the fit against his body, and definitely not what he thought were Steve’s eyes trailing over his torso.

“Alright, it’s nice,” Eddie admitted, glancing at Steve from under his lashes. “One tip for you, though,”

Steve set his hands on his hips, raising his chin. “Oh yeah?”

Eddie put on his stage smile, wide and bold.

“Black. Always.”

“Can I, uh, get you a pretzel or something from the food court?”

Eddie thought he was surprised that they’d walked out of the store together. And then Steve asked him that.

He stared at Steve, the question echoing around in his skull like a ping-pong ball. And Steve…looked almost nervous, pink tongue darting out along his bottom lip. Between the good will of that snowfall drive and the easy way Steve had stayed at his side this whole time, Eddie didn’t have an answer as quick as he usually would.

He almost wanted to say yes.

But it was less his decision to actually make.

“I really have to get the truck back. My uncle’s shift is starting soon, and I don’t want to make him late…” Eddie turned his shoulder toward the exit.

 Steve nodded, lowering his head. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why was he apologizing? He’d never promised anything. He and Steve barely knew each other.

But maybe it was the somber way he’d made Steve say that same thing he had in his car in that knowing way—when now it was quite the opposite.

Steve recovered quickly, getting his hair out of his face with a quick movement. He put on that subtle smirk of his in the face of the rejection.

“It was nice to see you again,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, hearing the vapid state of his reply too late. “I mean, you too.”

Not better, Edward.

But Steve visibly held back a larger smile, rocking on his heels. Apparently, if Eddie wanted Steve not to think he was an utter waste case, he had to interact like a normal human.

“See you around?” Steve asked, pivoting like Eddie had never denied him.

And the mental whiplash had to be the only explanation for his answer.

“Sure.”

Part Three

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing 1890s Day Dress in Doll Scale

I went slightly overboard with this second historical doll project. Here's my first one. The style is from around 1897 and more of a middle class style. As with my first doll outfit, I tried to stick to historical methods as much as possible, but the scale forced me to do some deviations. I hand-sew everything though sewing machine was already widely used, because in this scale it's easier to control the stitch, there's not that much to sew anyway and also I just really like hand-sewing. Here's all the items I made. As said, I went a little overboard. One thing that's missing is the corset cover, but the layers of fabric were creating enough bulk on the waist as is so I decided to not make one.

This time I decided to try repainting the face. I don't have any doll customization materials, so I used acrylics. After couple of attempts I got decent results. Acrylics can't make as smooth and delicate finish as pastels, pencils and gouache, which can be used on vinyl with basing sprays, and I'm not experienced with painting small details on 3D objects, so it's a bit smudged at points, especially with the other eye. I aimed for 1890s very neutral make up and the type of expression that was popular in fashion plates and other illustrations.

Undergarments

Combinations and stockings

The combinations are split crotch as they were in the period. They are from thin cotton voile I have a lot of and is very appropriate. I didn't have really tiny enough lace for this, so it's kinda bulky, but I think it's okay enough. The stockings are cotton knit, which fits well. The garters are not actually necessary for this doll since her legs are rubbery.

Corset

I made the corset from a firm-ish linen and satin rayon pretending to be silk as the fashion fabric. The stitching of the boning channels is not super neat, this fabric is very unforgiving, I didn't have exactly matching thread and the scale made it very difficult. I of course didn't have tiny busk, so I used small hooks, sewed thread loops for them and used narrow metal wire for the edges. I think it looks surprisingly right on the outside. I used the same wire as the boning to reinforce the lacing on the back. I didn't actually use boning elsewhere but the tightly packed linen edges in the boning channels kinda work like lighter boning. I think it keeps the shape pretty ways even with just that. I stitched cotton tape inside to shape the corset further. I also didn't have tiny metal eyelets so I hand-sewed the lacing holes.

Bustle pad

The bustle pad is from linen and stuffed with tiny cabbage.

Petticoat

The petticoat is from the same cotton as the combinations.

Outer wear

Skirt

The fabric is cotton half-panama. It's pretty thin, but firm. I would have liked to use a woven wool, but I didn't have any that's thin enough to work in this scale. I think this cotton looks close enough in this scale to a wool with a tight weave, so I'm imagining it's that. My problem was that the cotton was white, but I wanted light brown. I wasn't going to buy any fabric for this, so I did the reasonable thing and dyed it with red onion peals (I've been doing natural dye experiments so this worked well for me).

Shirtwaist

The shirtwaist is from the same cotton as the undergarments. Yes, I dyed it too. I didn't have thin enough cotton in a color that would fit with the skirt and the purple bow, so I dyed it light blue with fabric color. Since I already went the trouble of dyeing I decided I might as well make a small flower print to it since that was popular in the era. I didn't want it to jump out too much but the lighting makes it even less visible. I made it with a white fabric pen. The collar and cuffs are reinforced with linen. I also sewed small stick-like beads to the cuffs on both sides, so one acts as a button (I sewed a buttonhole too) and the other makes it look like they are cufflinks. The bow is from the same fabric as the corset and the belt is sewn from the same cotton as the shirtwaist. The buckle is from a barbie belt.

Waistcoat

The waistcoat is from the same fabric as the skirt, thought the lapels and the back are from another satin rayon. I tailored the front panels and the lapels by stitching the linen interlining with tailor's stitches (I don't remember if that's the correct word in English) into shape. There is some wonkiness on one side of the hemline for some reason.

Boots

I made the slightly insane decision to make the shoes fully from leather, like they would have been in the period. I had an old broken leather wallet I had saved in case I needed some leather scarps. It has fairly thin leather, so it was workable here. It's light brown though, so I used black shoe polish to darken it. I wanted black or very dark brown shoes. I stacked the heels from glue and leather pieces and carved them into the right shape and sewed the shoe itself to leather shaped as the sole and glued it to the heeled and shaped sole. After I had shaped the shoes and the heels as much as I could I painted the heels black.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

you walk into the room, mid-sentence about something entirely unimportant, and then—you see him.

nanami, standing near the mirror, adjusting the hem of a fitted black turtleneck.

your brain malfunctions.

your words die in your throat. your hands twitch at your sides. your vision blurs at the edges, because holy hell.

nanami notices the abrupt silence and glances at you, brow slightly raised. “what’s wrong?”

you inhale sharply, gripping the nearest surface for support. “you—” you point at him, dramatically, accusatorily. “what is this?”

he looks down at himself, then back at you, visibly confused. “a turtleneck?”

“a turtleneck,” you repeat in a strangled whisper, staring at him like he just walked off a high-end runway.

because he looks like he did. the sleek black fabric clings to his frame just right, highlighting the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trim fit of his waist. the sleeves are snug around his forearms, and the way the high collar frames his jawline—

you clutch your chest. “nanami.”

he blinks, tilting his head slightly. “yes?”

“you look illegal.”

his brows furrow, his lips parting like he’s about to argue, but you don’t give him the chance. you push off the counter, pacing the room as you wave your hands wildly.

“why did you never wear this before?!” you demand. “who allowed this?! why does it look so good?!”

nanami exhales through his nose, rubbing his temple. “you’re being dramatic.”

“am i?” you whirl around, pointing at him again. “do you see yourself right now? i feel like i need to sit down. no, actually, i need a moment of silence to process this.”

“you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, shaking his head, but the tips of his ears are pink.

you stomp closer, grabbing his arms, squeezing them through the sleeves. “oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide. “this is life-changing.”

nanami sighs but doesn’t pull away, letting you fawn over him, his mouth twitching like he’s suppressing a smile. “if i knew this would be your reaction, i would’ve worn it sooner.”

“yes! you should have!” you shake him slightly. “this is unfair! i wasn’t prepared!”

he finally chuckles, deep and warm, and it makes your knees weak. “noted.”

“good,” you huff, pressing your forehead against his chest, defeated. “but you’re never allowed to wear this in public. ever.”

he hums, amused, resting a hand on your lower back. “and why’s that?”

you glare up at him. “because i will get arrested for public indecency when i start fighting people for looking at you.”

nanami sighs again, but there’s undeniable amusement in his expression as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“noted,” he murmurs.

you grip his arms tighter, as if grounding yourself, but it only makes things worse because—why are his arms so firm in this? why is the fabric hugging him like it was personally designed to make you lose your mind?

“nanami,” you breathe, eyes flickering between his face and his absurdly unfair physique. “i feel like i’m seeing you for the first time.”

he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “you see me every day.”

“not like this,” you argue, shaking your head as you run your hands up his arms, over his chest. “this is different. this is—this is criminal.”

he exhales, exasperated but undeniably amused. “it’s just a turtleneck.”

“just a turtleneck?” you gasp, stepping back like he’s offended you on a spiritual level. “nanami kento, you’re standing there looking like a—a millionaire assassin, or—or a mysterious stranger in a noir film.” you gesture wildly. “you could walk into a high-end bar and steal someone’s wife right now.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose. “why would i want to steal someone’s wife when i have you?”

your brain short-circuits for a second, but you recover quickly, smacking his chest. “don’t distract me with sweet talk! i’m still reeling!”

nanami sighs, stepping forward to pull you into his arms. his hands settle at your waist, fingers pressing into your sides in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“do you need to sit down?” he teases, voice low and warm.

you scowl up at him, but it holds no real heat. “yes, actually. i do. because if i look at you any longer, i might pass out.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “maybe you should get used to it. i was thinking of getting more.”

you audibly gasp, clutching at his shoulders. “you were?”

he hums, tilting his head slightly. “considering the… positive reaction, yes.”

you grip the front of his turtleneck, staring at him with pure adoration. “you would bless me like that?”

his lips twitch, eyes soft. “i would.”

you dramatically flop against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. “nanami kento, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

he chuckles, rubbing slow circles into your back. “all because of a turtleneck?”

“no,” you murmur, squeezing him tighter. “because you’re you.”

nanami goes quiet for a moment, then sighs, resting his chin on top of your head.

“… you’re impossible.” he mutters, but the warmth in his voice gives him away.